《The Bannermen》


 Wademount

    There were few places in Maeraland as inhospitable as Wademount.


    At the southernmost tip of the realm, Wademount was comprised of a series of treacherous, severe mountains ranging east and west that did not appear as much majestic as they did threatening.


    The ridge of mountains formed a natural barrier that made a nautical approach from the south inadvisable, if not impossible.


    Worse, if one managed to survive landfall their difficulties would only grow. Once past the mountains, to proceed in any direction would require you to pass through harsh, unyielding desert. For days on end, travelers would only see craggy, dry rocks and sparse, needle-like vegetation.


    Water could only be found by the most knowledgeable and enterprising. It was there to be had, but the effort required to retrieve it was more than most could manage.


    And yet, thought Baron Garrick Varsus, someone decided to build a castle here.


    Baron Varsus stood at the forefront of his four hundred strong troops, waiting for¡­ well, waiting for something. When he and his men had arrived at this Gods-forsaken end of the world he had not been told much more than to hold this position and prevent anyone from going north.


    And so he did.


    Looking upward, he could just make out the white rocks and the forbidding shape of the castle somehow carved into the cliffs of the very mountains.


    They had always referred to it as Wademount Castle. The name was lazy and uninspired, but there was little reason to devote thought to anything better.


    Varsus looked upward. He knew it must be misleadingly high and far away, but he focused, and yes he could just make it out. The dull sliver of moonlight available this night was not much, but Varsus thought it was a testament to the sheer size of the monstrous castle that it could be seen at all from down here.


    Usually among the tallest of men he accompanied, Varsus felt dwarfed by the thing. It held an air of menace, the architecture of the awful place such that it appeared to have a face gazing down on them.


    It was not known who had built the castle. History told it had been here, already long-abandoned, when the first men came to Maeraland.


    Early in the founding days of Maeraland, the House of Wademont, supposedly a noble house from the old lands, attempted to rule from this terrible place. They found it already built and strove to make it the seat of their new empire.


    That had been a tactical mistake. The inhospitable terrain cut the castle off from natural resources. The House of Maera had led the struggle against them, and eventually won.


    Perhaps things had once been different, but with the lands as they were now, it would be nearly impossible to simply live in the castle, much less rule from there.


    He supposed that was why no one objected to naming this place after the hated Wademounts.


    Still, when Varsus thought of the titanic effort and resources necessary to construct such a thing, he thought such men must have been formidable, indeed.


    So what happened to those men long ago? Varsus asked himself, knowing even as he formed the thought that now was not the time for such questions.


    A harsh wind blew around him then, a fitting response to his line of thought. Varsus wouldn''t have been surprised if the wind came from the castle itself.


    He was suddenly glad he had not been called upon to enter the castle with the Prince and his men. He would have done it without hesitation, for that was his duty, but still¡­ he felt he was better off down here.


    With that thought, he turned to face his men. He smiled at how disciplined they were. They wore the red and gray livery of the Barony of Varsus, the home that bore his family name.


    Most of the men were older than he. At twenty-five summers, he knew many of them had considered him a boy, and not ready to rule the Barony when his father had passed over five years ago.


    Varsus frowned, thinking of his father. Garrick Varsus II had been a giant of a man, but the wasting sickness had reduced him to skin and bones within a year.


    Before his death, he had commanded respect, even from his superiors. Every time there was a crisis, his father had known what to do. It had been instinctive in the man.


    Varsus feared he lacked the same ability.


    Even so, he had worked hard to earn the respect of his men and his subjects. Despite his relatively young age, he felt he had done that. Though his forces were small compared to some, the near constant string of skirmishing on the northern coast kept his men sharp and alert.


    Not so with others. Varsus, his knots of curly, dark red-brown hair whipping around his face, turned to survey the rest of the scene.


    He saw banners flapping in the wind. They bore sigils of the many regions that made up the Kingdom of Maeraland. Most he recognized, but a few he had never seen. He thought they must be from smaller principalities within the larger regions.


    When the King calls his Banners, the Bannermen must ever ride.


    Varsus smiled his lopsided grin as he recited the unofficial oath of those noble men who upheld the King¡¯s rule.


    His smile faded somewhat as he viewed the relative chaos of other forces compared to his own. Men were restless, even shouting out to their superiors, asking when they would fight.


    Some were breaking ranks. Not to leave, but to mill about in disorganized fashion. Some were even roughhousing. Varsus could hear the harsh laughter and even harsher language.


    Varsus did not approve of that, but he could not very well tell another commander how to lead their own men.


    The wind picked up then, fierce and howling. His cloak whipped around him, snapping in the powerful gust.


    ¡°My Lord, we caught a few trying to slip by us to the north!¡±


    Varsus spun on his heels to face the speaker. The wind was such that he had not heard the man approach.


    He berated himself for the lapse. He thought this was an ill-omened night, and it would be best for him to be on his guard.


    However, the man who approached was no enemy. It was his own Master of Arms, Lord Abel Multon.


    ¡°Say again, Multon!¡± Varsus shouted. The wind seemed to grow in intensity as if to spite him, drowning out the words of his subordinate.


    But Multon did not speak again. Both men paused, looking around in dismay as horses shied and balked at the wind. Supplies blew away, and men broke ranks to chase them down.


    Ill-omened, indeed, Varsus thought.


    The wind calmed a bit then and Multon repeated himself. Shouting perhaps louder than necessary.


    ¡°I say, we caught three of the foul mercenaries trying to cut around our forces and make a break across the desert!¡±


    Multon shouted the word with contempt in his voice. His disgust at the desperate gamble was readily apparent.


    The terrain here went almost directly from craggy mountain rock ahead of them to the south, and flat, featureless desert behind them to the north.


    Even with just the bit of small moon out tonight, anyone trying to run for it across the desert was lit up like the King¡¯s own birthday festival.


    Varsus smiled as he spoke. ¡°Good man, Multon! I would speak with them.¡±


    Then Varsus followed behind Multon as the Master of Arms led the way. They walked through the company of his own men. Many called out greetings or gave nods of respect as they passed.


    As he walked, Varsus considered Multon. The man was thirty seasons his senior, and the years were showing their effect.


    Though still tall, Multon was beginning to stoop a little, and his hair, already mostly white, was thinning markedly on the top. His pale skin seemed even more white than usual.This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    He had been the Master of Arms at the Barony when Varsus¡¯ departed father had ruled. The two had been firm friends, and Multon was almost a second father to Varsus.


    One day Varsus knew he would have to bury Multon, just as he had his own father.


    By the Gods, I am maudlin this night! Varsus thought. He endeavored to keep his thoughts positive.


    It was this place. He knew it. This place was dark and foul, and he and his men had been left out here by the Royal Family to wait and wait and wait.


    No wonder his nerves were becoming frayed.


    Finally, they came to a rigid grouping of six of his men. Varsus could see that they had formed a ring around three darkly clad mercenaries. They had skirmished with this lot earlier when they had arrived at Wademount.


    The men, not needing to be told, parted when Varsus arrived, allowing access to the hapless captives.


    Varsus strode forward and stopped directly before the man closest to him.


    ¡°You,¡± he commanded, ¡°what goes on in the castle? What was your intention here tonight?¡±


    The man on the ground was middle-aged, stocky, and handsome. His reddish blond hair and the light-colored dusting of beard on his face contrasted with the dark coloring of his clothing and leather armor.


    The captive man looked up at Varsus and smiled. The smile was harsh. Varsus could tell it was the smile of a cynical, jaded man who believed in nothing.


    ¡°Well, my Lord,¡± began the man, ¡°you grant me and mine safe passage out of here and I¡¯ll tell you every¡ª¡±


    The man did not finish. Varsus kicked him in the face, laying the man out on his back.


    In an instant, the man scrambled to his feet, appearing as if he would rush Varsus, but the men surrounding him grabbed him. Not gently. They forced him back down onto his knees.


    ¡°You¡¯ll not bargain with me,¡± Varsus said, his voice calm. ¡°Now, I asked you some questions which you have not answered. I am becoming agitated.¡±


    Varsus was not lying. He had little patience and even less respect for mercenaries and brigands.


    ¡°WELL?¡± Multon demanded, about ready to kick the man in the face again.


    ¡°Fine!¡± shouted the brigand. ¡°Fine, I¡¯ll tell you.¡±


    Both Varsus and Multon leaned in expectantly.


    ¡°It¡¯s the Princess. She¡¯s a witch!¡± the last came out in a hiss that somehow transformed into laughter.


    ¡°Can you believe it? The Princess! Wait until word of this gets out to¡ª !¡±


    Multon backhanded the man. The weight of his armored glove knocking one of the mercenary¡¯s teeth out.


    The man collapsed to the ground and lay still.


    ¡°Filthy hireling! How dare he speak of the Princess like that!¡± Multon snapped. Then he turned to the other two captive mercenaries. These two were watching wide-eyed.


    Multon looked as if he might advance on them next, so Varsus stepped between them.


    ¡°Is there anything you would care to add?¡± he asked the captives, trying to keep his voice steady. The slander of his Princess also angered him.


    The wind picked up again, rendering speech impossible. Men braced themselves, wrapping their cloaks tight around themselves to ride it out.


    As it died down, Varsus looked again at the captives.


    Each shook their head violently in the negative. They had nothing to say.


    Varsus was sure Multon and the guard could get them to say something, but he wasn¡¯t sure it would be the truth.


    Damnation, he thought. Was the Princess of the realm actually here at this bleak end of the world? He could not imagine what purpose would call for such a thing.


    He frowned. They had been left out here with little information while the Gods only knew what had happened in the castle.


    Earlier that week, just as they had arrived there had been bright, sharp explosions of light and sound coming from the castle, and the wind was such that it sounded like horrible, inhuman moans.


    In fact, Varsus could swear he had heard a voice on the wind, cursing ¡°foul humans¡± in a guttural, malevolent voice.


    But that must have been some trick of the wind.


    He cursed his luck. His province was the northernmost province in the entire realm, and as such he had the furthest to ride when the banners had been called.


    They had ridden like demons for the better part of a month to cross the kingdom, letting nothing delay them. They left behind men and horses that could not keep up, and they cut through all but the most dense terrain to maintain their speed.


    Varsus felt it had all been for naught. It was clear that whatever happened here, it had been over and done with days ago. Other, more southern houses were given the glory, and he was left to look the fool and clean up after everyone else.


    As usual.


    The wind whipped up into a brief frenzy, nearly knocking him over, and then just as quickly subsided.


    Ill-omened, he thought. He was being unmanned by this dark place. In fact, even with his own men surrounding him, he couldn¡¯t shake the feeling that he was being watched.


    ***


    Avalaine watched Varsus intently from a short distance away.


    With a little help from her mother, she had managed to slip away from her father¡¯s watchful eye as he tended to more important business.


    Avalaine smiled at the thought of her poor father, The Earl of Teyscha, badgered by his determined and relentless wife into taking not only her, but his own daughter clear across the Kingdom into only the Gods knew what.


    No one had much information. Certainly not her father. He had demanded to know why they should march to this place, but his demand was denied. The riders had come, and the orders had been clear.


    ROUSE THE BANNERS! BRING ALL AVAILABLE FORCES TO WADEMOUNT CASTLE! ROUSE THE BANNERS!


    The orders had not just any seal, they came with the seal of the King, himself. There would be no arguing.


    Whatever this is, it must be of the utmost urgency, thought Avalaine.


    She was hiding in the shadows cast by the torchlight and low moonlight. No one had seen her position next to a hastily-erected tent of the Varsus men.


    Avalaine examined Garrick Varsus from her hiding place. To her, he was Garrick, but most everyone else referred to him simply as ¡®Varsus¡¯. She suspected even Garrick thought of himself that way.


    Her gaze lingered on him, taking everything in. She liked to look at him, and she felt a charge of something rush through her as she looked. He was so close. She hadn¡¯t seen him in over a year.


    Her father had known full well why she, a Lady with no business in a fighting company, had wanted to cross the entire continent with his forces. He had most certainly disapproved.


    Again, Avalaine smiled. Her mother had known too and had made it happen.


    However, even though she had put so much effort into getting there to see him, she couldn''t bring herself to step forward and speak to Garrick, even though he was less than twenty paces away.


    Her stomach was tied up in knots, and she was afraid she would say something stupid. She usually did around him.


    ¡°My lady, what in the name of the Gods are you doing here?¡±


    The voice, coming from directly behind her, made Avalaine jump and blurt out a quick yelp of alarm.


    She spun to see a young soldier of the Varsus Barony. He was not threatening, but his face showed utter confusion at her presence.


    He looked her up and down in disbelief.


    Avalaine knew how it must appear. She was slight, tall for a woman, but not so tall as the average man. Even more, she was quite young still, so her youthful appearance made her even more out of place.


    Finally, she had been told all her life that her blonde hair and clear blue eyes granted her great beauty. And her bright lavender dress peeked out from under her cloak, revealing someone who most definitely did not belong there.


    She supposed finding such a person here in the camp of soldiers would be surprising.


    ¡°Ah, er¡ª,¡± she began, not knowing what excuse she was going to give.


    Then a voice she recognized well spoke, again from behind her.


    ¡°Lady Avalaine?¡± the voice was commanding, but she could hear the confusion in the question.


    Her cheeks burned, but she had no choice now. She closed her eyes, rueing her terrible luck. Then she opened them, turned and affected an air of nonchalance.


    ¡°Garrick, by the Gods I did not even see you!¡± as she spoke, she dropped into a deep curtsy..


    Avalaine was gratified at the surprised expression on his face. She had now put Garrick on his back foot.


    ¡°My lady, you show me too much deference!¡± He took a step back from Avalaine and glanced around nervously. Some of his men had gathered around their Lord and seemed amused.


    Avalaine held the curtsy much longer than necessary. She knew he would find this behavior improper, at best.


    Despite the fact that she held no formal title in her own right, and he technically outranked her, as the daughter of an Earl, she did not owe Garrick any deference.


    He surged forward, and with a smooth series of motions, bent down, took Avalaine¡¯s hand, then gently pulled her back to her feet.


    ¡°My lady, this dark region is truly no place for you¡­ or any Lady! What in the name of the Gods brings you here?¡±


    Avalaine smiled at the confusion in his voice and on his face. Despite his great intelligence, the man simply could not or would not see what was right in front of his face.


    She hadn¡¯t let go of his hand yet. He had attempted to drop his hand once they stood, but she had held onto it.


    Garrick realized this and yanked his hand back, offering his apologies.


    ¡°I will walk you back to the Earl¡¯s camp, my lady. You should not be here. This place is foul and dangerous.¡±


    Master Multon approached the two and cleared his throat. Avalaine saw that he had been standing behind Garrick, observing the encounter.


    ¡°My Lord, surely one of the men here can escort the Lady Avalaine back to her father¡¯s camp.¡± Multon said. His voice was flat, and his eyes locked onto Avalaine¡¯s.


    She did not look away. The two of them had a strained relationship. A year earlier, Multon had as much as told her, in so many words, that her semi-public interest in the Baron was scaring off more suitable matches.


    Before anyone could answer, the wind picked up, then seemed to double in strength.


    Then it doubled again.


    Avalaine was thrown into the Garrick¡¯s arms, but she wasn¡¯t able to enjoy it. The howling wind buffeted them so harshly that some soldiers fell to the ground.


    Anything not securely fastened flew away into the night, never to be seen again. Multon only remained upright with the help of a young soldier, and Avalaine held onto Varsus for dear life.


    The sound of the wind seemed to Avalaine like angry, horrible moaning.


    All at once, a chill ran through her. Being in contact with Varsus, she felt it run through him, and she knew everyone else felt it, too.


    Varsus felt as though his thoughts had been scrambled and then put back in the wrong order. He steeled himself against the odd feeling.


    Then the wind subsided, and all was relatively still, leaving everyone to wonder if that had really just happened. Then people began moving about their duties again.


    Varsus, painfully aware of the young girl in his arms, gently disentangled her and stepped back.


    Avalaine didn¡¯t want him to do that, but she could not very well say it, especially with old Multon burning into her with his disapproving eyes.


    ¡°I think that was the worst one yet,¡± said Avalaine, looking up at Garrick. It amused her that his face was red with embarrassment.


    ¡°Indeed, my lady,¡± he responded, pointedly not looking at her. Then he seemed thoughtful.


    ¡°Earlier tonight, I could have sworn that I was being watched,¡± he said, turning to look up at the awful castle up in the mountains as he spoke.


    Now Avalaine blushed.


    That was probably me, she thought, but did not say.


    Or maybe it is just this awful place.


    With that thought, she stepped in closer to Garrick. He did not back away, as his attention was on the old castle.


    But she peered into the shadows that formed just past the torchlight all around them, just in case there was something out there.


    ***


    Something was out there. Something looked back at Avalaine, something that felt disgust and minor amusement as it watched these human meatbags carry on with their pitiful lives.


    It would destroy them all one day. Maybe even one day soon.


    Unfortunately, that day was not today.


    It waited for now, outside of the limited range of human senses.


    Waited, and plotted.

 Wademount II

    Avalaine¡¯s mind was whirling as Garrick was speaking. He was completely unheard by her..


    She was trying to think of a way to stay in his presence as long as possible. She knew he would soon lead her back to her father¡¯s camp, and then she would never get another chance to sneak off.


    Old Master Multon had remained annoyingly close, and he never took his sharp eyes off of her. This flustered her, hampering her desperate planning.


    Avalaine wished the wind would pick up, then she could stumble into Garrick¡¯s arms again, but now the air was regrettably still. She frowned.


    ¡°My Lady, are you well?¡± Garrick asked her. He had finally noticed she was not listening and had seen the frown on her face.


    ¡°Oh!¡± she said, quickly. ¡°I just thought of something!¡± she nearly shouted, and she had just thought of it.


    ¡°I believe I passed Viscount Brandu¡¯s camp earlier! We should definitely give our regards in person!¡± her voice was breathless as she spoke, willing Garrick to agree.


    He smiled, lighting up his entire face.


    ¡°Ah, Brandu!¡± he said, obviously pleased. ¡°I agree, that man undoubtedly has insight into this entire affair. We would do well to speak with him.¡±


    Multon spoke up then. ¡°Very good. I will send a runner to ask his permission for an audience.¡±


    Garrick waved a hand dismissively.


    ¡°No, no, Master Multon,¡± he said. ¡°Such will not be necessary with Viscount Brandu.¡±


    Multon looked as if he might disagree, but Garrick kept speaking.


    ¡°You hold command here while I am away. I will return shortly.¡±


    With that, he began moving off. Multon, balked, waved at two soldiers to follow along with the Baron, and they fell in behind him.


    Avalaine took advantage of the situation to slide her arm into Garrick¡¯s. She made certain to keep the gesture formal, as if she needed assistance walking, so he would not pull away.


    However, as they walked, she also made certain to turn and favor old man Multon with a brilliant smile declaring her victory.


    A scowl of annoyance from the old Master of Arms rewarded her. It put her mood at a soaring height.


    ***


    As they walked, and Garrick addressed various men along the way, Avalaine considered Viscount Brandu.


    Most times, a Baron would not simply call upon a superior without gaining leave beforehand. However, in this case there existed a camaraderie, a certain affinity between some of the Bannermen of King Maera.


    All would serve together when called upon, but not all cared for one another, and some were outright hostile to others, with only the firm hand of the House of Maera preventing bloodshed.


    Viscount Brandu was ¡°one of them¡±. Although he was a dry man, with a personality that resembled crumbling stone at first experience, he had become a trusted ally over the years.


    There had even been a point when her father had wanted to marry her off to the Viscount, but Brandu had put a stop to it, without any stain, smudge or mark on her honor.


    She had been barely fourteen summers, but even then she had seen the man¡¯s frightening intelligence, and his clever navigation of the rules of the Nobility.


    Since then, they remained in contact, mostly writing about mathematics and natural phenomena, and sometimes playing a game of Luneboard, which could take months to complete, as they played each move via message delivered by bird flight.


    It had been she who had recommended that Garrick contact the Viscount when he had been having strange difficulties in his barony several years earlier.


    Avalaine snapped out of her rumination when they arrived at the camp of Orel, the province of which Brandu was Viscount and ruler.


    The flag of Orel was a gray field with black horses running. Avalaine did not find the colors inspiring, but the device seemed to fit Brandu perfectly.


    They could move through the camp without interference, as the men there either held their places or moved with purpose about their business.


    Garrick looked on approvingly at the orderly camp Brandu maintained. Avalaine smirked as she watched Garrick¡¯s face. She could see the approval there, and it amused her.


    Finally, they arrived at the large tent in the center, gray of course, that would be the temporary home of the Viscount.


    Two gray-clad men stopped them, but said nothing, waiting for the newcomers to announce themselves.


    The two soldiers who had accompanied them stepped forward, but the Baron waved them off and spoke for himself.


    ¡°I am Baron Varsus of the Varsus province, in the presence of Lady Avalaine of Teyscha, here to see the Viscount should he be available.¡±


    One man was about to speak, but a voice from inside the tent came first.


    ¡°Send them in.¡±


    Instantly obeying the command, the two tent guards stepped aside and opened the tent flaps for the two noble visitors.


    Garrick and Avalaine entered the tent. Without instruction given, the two Varsus soldiers that had accompanied them stepped to the side of the two Orel guards to wait.Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.


    The inside of the tent was brightly lit, so much so that both Avalaine and Garrick stopped to wait for their eyes to adjust.


    When they did, Garrick examined the man before him.


    Viscount Tempus Brandu was on the shorter side for a man, perhaps even a full head shorter than Garrick. He was bone thin, and his features were sharp and angular. His brow protruded such that his eyes always appeared in shadow.


    The man¡¯s bushy eyebrows and thick head of hair were deep black. Brandu was easily on the far end of middle age, yet there were no hints of gray in his hair or short beard.


    As Garrick remembered, Brandu was always bearing some new burn or scar upon his person. He had learned the hard way that the Viscount was something of an alchemist, and his experiments had a way of going wrong. Very wrong.


    This time, the man had a red scar on his left temple, and Varsus was not sure if he should ask about it.


    Avalaine took the matter into her own hands.


    She rushed forward and gave the older man a tight hug, which Garrick observed went unreturned. Viscount Brandu stiffened, and Garrick could tell he was uncomfortable.


    Avalaine did not take it personally. Both she and Garrick knew it was just his way.


    ¡°Tempus, what have you done to yourself now?¡± Avalaine asked, laughing as she reached up to touch the wound on his face.


    Brandu, not offended at the use of his first name, recoiled slightly from the touch but allowed it all the same.


    ¡°Do not worry,¡± said the Viscount, ¡°it was only a minor combustion this time. Everything is under control.¡±


    Avalaine and Brandu began talking about the nature of his last experiment. Garrick, quickly losing track of the conversation, took the opportunity to look about the tent.


    There were candles, books and scrolls everywhere, even on the Viscount¡¯s bedroll, but in the center of the room, a makeshift table hosted a large map, one that Garrick quickly realized was a map of the entire kingdom.


    Focusing on the map, Garrick could see that Brandu had left small marker stones in various positions.


    Most of them were at the southern end of the kingdom, but there were two inside of the Royal Maera province, which itself was nearly at the center of the kingdom.


    Garrick didn¡¯t like the look of those two stones. If something had happened in the very heart of the kingdom, surely that would prove dangerous for all.


    I suppose that is why we are here now, he thought. What seemed an outsized response to him had perhaps been exactly what was called for to end this threat¡­ whatever the threat actually was.


    ¡°Those stones mark areas of disturbance in the past year,¡± said Viscount Brandu, who had appeared suddenly behind Garrick.


    Turning, Garrick gave the man a quick greeting.


    ¡°Well met, Viscount,¡± he said, bending his head down in a gesture of respect to a superior in rank.


    ¡°Indeed,¡± said Brandu, his voice dry and crisp. Garrick, like Avalaine, knew not to take the Viscount¡¯s mannerisms personally. They had all proven themselves friends many times over by now.


    ¡°As I said, those stones show trouble spots over the past year, and I can¡¯t help but feel they have something to do with the Battle of Wademount.¡±


    ¡°Battle?¡± asked Varsus. ¡°Is that what we are to call it? By the time I arrived we only engaged with a few mercenary bands.¡±


    The Viscount shook his head slowly.


    ¡°The battle to reach the castle raged for weeks before my troops arrived. I have heard tell that the royal troops engaged with something far worse than mercenaries on the mountain.¡±


    ¡°Far worse?¡± Avalaine asked, her voice rising a bit in pitch. ¡°What was far worse? Elves?¡± She began to look around, as if there might be an elf in this very tent.


    Brandu shook his head definitively in the negative.


    ¡°No, no. No one has seen any sizable force of Elves for over a century.¡±


    Garrick nodded in agreemen. Every once in a while one of the mad creatures would be spotted along the rim of the Endless Forest, but the Elves no longer made any genuine attempt to come out in force.


    ¡°Then what was it?¡± Garrick asked.


    ¡°I heard both ghosts and demons,¡± said Brandu, shortly. He did not elaborate.


    Avalaine and Varsus said nothing, then both turned to look at one another. Avalaine gestured toward Garrick as if to prod him to speak, and so he did.


    ¡°You heard this from who?¡± asked Varsus.


    ***


    In short order, the company had grown another member, as Garrick, Avalaine and now Viscount Brandu walked through his camp, on the way to the camp of another good friend of theirs, Earl Mondrake of Kaston.


    Brandu¡¯s two guards cleared the way as they walked, and Garrick¡¯s guards brought up the rear.


    Varsus allowed Lady Avalaine to take his arm again, but he half thought of sending her back to her father with his guards.


    He still felt this night was dark and foul, and that something did not feel right about anything here.


    But then he thought maybe she was safer under his direct protection. Besides, he enjoyed having her on his arm, although that was something he could barely admit even to himself.


    He had always enjoyed spending time with Avalaine. It seemed they could talk about anything, and they had been doing so since they were children. Although he conceded that back when they were children, the level of discourse was mostly arguing about something completely inane.


    With both of their provinces on the northern coast of Maeraland, they always attended the same court events as well as private events arranged by other nobles.


    She had always been a part of his life somehow. But now with the responsibilities of rule, he had seen little of her, and suspected he would see less in the future.


    Garrick was glad to have his train of thought interrupted by the Viscount.


    ¡°Look around. Observe the quiet around us,¡± he said. Brandu¡¯s near-monotone voice lowered to a whisper.


    Garrick, jolted from his dark thoughts, did just that.


    He could see that men went about their duties, but there was no speaking. No casual chatting, no crass japes or even the usual complaining when fighting men were told to stand and wait.


    No one even looked at the Lady in the bright dress who definitely should not be there.


    The wind had died down completely. Now one could hear the creaks of leather harnesses, the soft stamping and whinnying of horses, the crackle of nearby torches, and the clanking of armor pieces meeting.


    The trio and their guards kept walking, but Garrick¡¯s was more aware than ever of a dark feeling of unease. He knew something was wrong, but could not explain what, and so he kept it to himself.


    He did not want to appear unmanned by the circumstances. Whatever it was would likely fade as soon as they left this place.


    ***


    Still a short distance away physically, but out of sync with this bright, noisy reality¡­ IT followed along behind Garrick.


    It had searched through the man¡¯s mind earlier, not gently, and had determined that this fool resided in a part of this land that would be beneficial for it to visit. Thus the man had been marked, to be used for later purpose.


    It could feel the woman¡¯s lust for its pawn. It laughed at her repressed urges. It found much about this Human meat to be laughable, but now was not the time to play with her.


    There were many things that must be done, and it was growing weaker by the moment. It needed to be away from this place soon.


    A return was inevitable, but for now, it was best to hurry away and avoid detection and the same fate as its brethren.


    That would not do at all.


    It was so hungry. It needed to feed, badly, but it would not be wise to do so here, surrounded by the Human chattel. Some of them possessed not-insignificant power, and it was no fool.


    That was why it remained while others endured banishment, and why it would pave the way for its master, thus reaping the rewards.


    The Master''s arrival would bring the cleansing and proper use of this place and the rest of this pitiful world.


    It had been nothing more than an accident that had made The Master aware of this world, and he had sent his most trusted minions to secure this place. They were to have prepared it for The Master¡¯s eventual arrival and use.


    The thing that followed Garrick knew that those beings had been entities of terrible, vast power.


    And they had been defeated.


    No, it was no fool. It did not have their power, but it did have guile, intelligence, the will to do what others could not.


    As soon as it was able, it would tear open another hole in time and space, call out to The Master, and thus bring about the end of this world and its wretched inhabitants.


    No Human could see it, but the thing that stalked behind Garrick smiled a grotesque, terrible smile.

 Wademount III

    A more mundane viewer also saw Varsus and his companions as they walked through the camps.


    Baroness Elsa O¡¯Lear watched with narrowed eyes at the trio, especially the woman with them. She watched them and their retinue pick their way through the mud and the masses of bodies doing the business of keeping the camps running.


    Elsa was a tall woman, so she looked easily over the heads of the guards and servants near her. She saw the direction they were heading and concluded that they were going to Fat Earl Mondrake¡¯s camp.


    Scowling, she took a few steps, meaning to head after the trio, but a voice called out to her.


    ¡°Baroness! To where to do you mean to go, my lady?¡± the voice sounded near hysterical.


    Elsa turned, knowing who she would find, and highly annoyed by that knowledge.


    Master Steward Tristan stood by the opening to Elsa¡¯s tent. She knew he had been waiting for her to come in so he could badger her about some inane minutiae that no one with any sense would care about.


    ¡°Master Steward, I will be back shortly,¡± Elsa said, as she spun around to leave. Her voice was clipped, just short of snapping at Tristan. The thin, middle-age man was exceptional at all tasks requiring organization and structure, so she had brought him along to help move her forces when the Banners had been called.


    However, he was also exceptionally annoying and condescending. As a civilian, he had no more business being here than, well than Avalaine did, but he had proven himself useful as always.


    ¡°My lady, will you walk off into the night with no guards?¡± Tristan called after her.


    Elsa snorted in response, though she knew she was far enough away that he couldn¡¯t have heard it. This being her own camp, the people recognized her in her dark blue dress with gold trim. She had her cloak on against the cold, but her long, wavy red hair could be clearly seen.


    In her own camp, harm was unlikely to befall her, and as a Baroness, other camps would show her at least basic courtesy, if not offer her genuine welcome.


    She was tall and athletically muscled. The dagger strapped to her belt inside her cloak reassured Elsa. Anyone who tried anything would find out what she was capable of.


    Growing up, she had fought with, and been required to hunt and fish along with her brothers. And rightly so, as she was better than most of them.


    As she walked, four of her men ran to catch up with her and fell in step slightly behind her. She was always darting off somewhere and leaving them flat footed.


    Elsa knew it was because she was used to doing things on her own. Despite her title, she had not grown accustomed to waiting around for others to do something she could certainly do herself.


    She stalked across her camp, personal guard in tow. As she did so, she thought of the many nights when her family would not have eaten if not for her skills. One could hardly grow soft and flabby when they had to run down game or haul in fish in order to eat every other day.


    You couldn¡¯t be soft and carefree like Avalaine of Teyscha if you had grown up as she did. You had to toughen up, both inside and out, or else be run over by this life.


    Elsa was aware she did not possess a lithe, girlish figure like Avalaine. It bothered her, but there was nothing to be done. She had always been self-conscious of being larger than most other women. Her husband, the late Baron Liam O¡¯Lear of Inessa, the province she now ruled, had called her ¡®divinely statuesque¡¯ one evening when he had come to her bedchambers.


    She remembered how she had almost punched him in the jaw, and had barely stopped herself when she realized it was a compliment in his eyes.


    Liam had saved her from a life of hardship, and she missed him daily.


    He had noticed her at one of the many festivals he provided for the people. She had won the axe throwing contest and nearly won the archery competition.


    She had entered the contests to attract attention from passing nobles and wealthy merchants, hoping the same thing as many other young girls, to find someone to make things a little easier.


    Being tall, shapely and athletic were traits she used to her advantage. That last winter, when she had been sixteen, had been the most difficult and desperate her family had ever faced. Both her parents had died, and her youngest brother had passed from what they had thought a common flux.


    Yet she still had family left. She had an older brother, Tun, and two younger brothers, Rik and Mark, and none of those boys had the smarts of a chipmunk.


    Left to their own devices, they would have starved to death within a month the following winter, and she would be damned if they would go through that again.


    To that end, she decided there was only one way to get what they needed. She endeavored to be noticed by those of higher station.


    At first she simply became a visual battery of lips, hair, legs, breasts and behind, making sure she, and much of her flesh, could be seen at local establishments frequented by out-of-town nobles.


    However, though she was red-haired, pale of skin, beautiful, curvaceous and very well-endowed in some areas¡­ other girls were just as beautiful, if not more, in their own way.


    Elsa came into constant competition with these ¡°other girls¡± who were just as hungry as she was to raise their station and change their lot in life.


    She soon found she could not compete with the refinement of many of the young women around Inessa, so she leaned into her strengths. She would be known for all the things she could do that were usually left to men.


    It worked. Far better than she had expected.


    After she had won the axe-throwing contest, a wine merchant from Royal Maera began showering her with attention. The man was flabby and old, but Elsa only cared what his coin looked like. If she could feed her family, it would all be worth it.


    He took her to the Royal Inessa, easily the finest inn and tavern in the whole province. Elsa had waited tables there a year earlier, but after the other girls tried to steal her tips one night, a brawl ensued, and property damage was extensive.


    Finnel, the owner, blamed Elsa. He not only fired, but banned her from the tavern, too. Elsa had no problem with this, as she could not afford to eat there, anyway.


    The tavern owner had also tried to bed her several times during her short time of employment. She had rebuffed him as gently as possible, but the last time, he had finally had enough. That night the other girls had jumped her, and she had been banished from the tavern.


    But now the old merchant wanted to go there, and there had been no dissuading him.


    She told the merchant of her past trouble, and he waved it away, saying it would not be a problem.


    He was right. When they arrived, the merchant started throwing his money around, buying drinks and food for others, then placing bets on some of the local events.


    When Finnel came over and informed the merchant that Elsa was not welcome in his establishment, the merchant had become belligerent, demanding to know who Finnel was to tell him what company he could keep.


    Finnel backed away as he apologized, bowing low and giving Elsa a look of icy hatred. Elsa smiled widely, giving the tavern owner her own look to let him know she had won.Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.


    The old merchant was giddy after humiliating Finnel, and after that he had pulled her onto his lap and his hands had been all over her, working their way inside her gray riding dress, squeezing and touching her everywhere.


    Not only did she allow this, but she¡¯d been laughing and smiling as he did so. She let him do it because he was the best of the lot who had shown interest in her after her axe-throwing performance that day. Also, the thought of her brothers going hungry was enough motivation for her to endure almost anything.


    Some of the very same girls who had attacked her a year earlier were still serving. Elsa enjoyed their jealous glares. Even though they could see the old man pawing at her body, she knew the other girls would gladly trade places with her if it meant they could land a man of his wealth and status.


    However, she soon discovered that she had caught the attention of someone even better than the merchant.


    Guards from the Baron¡¯s household burst into the tavern, throwing people aside to get to her. They dragged her away from the fat old wine merchant, who could only blubber and pout as they snatched his prize.


    The guards had practically tossed her into a carriage. She was told, with little fanfare, that she was to be delivered to the keep of Baron Liam O¡¯Lear in the dead of night.


    Elsa had guessed she was to be bedded or otherwise used that night and then discarded. The Baron¡¯s wife died several years earlier, surprising many that he hadn¡¯t taken another wife since then.


    She remembered hoping that she could get him to spill his seed in her.


    If it would result in a child, perhaps he would pay her to keep silent? Pay to send her far away from Inessa? Keep her and her family on the grounds of his estate in secret?


    Never could she have imagined what was to happen that night.


    He was kind to her.


    The gate allowed the carriage through with no resistance when it arrived at the Baron¡¯s estate.


    The guards said nothing to her, nor to each other. They helped her down from the carriage and then hastily ushered her into the large stone keep from which the Baron ruled Inessa.


    They walked her in so fast she barely had a chance to appreciate the beauty of the grounds. Before she knew it, the heavy wooden doors of the main entrance had closed loudly behind her.


    Two guards escorted her through several large, opulent rooms. Elsa had expected to be led upstairs to a master bedroom, but her journey ended in a darkened room lit only by an enormous fireplace and minimal candlelight.


    Without a word, the guards marched her to stand in front of the fireplace, then turned and stalked briskly out the way they came.


    Elsa, warming herself by the fire, was now alone in a mostly dark room owned by the most powerful noble in the region.


    Or at least she had thought she was alone. As she was adjusting the front of her dress to show even more of her already mostly exposed breasts, she heard a voice.


    ¡°Please, my lady, do not be afraid,¡± said a warm, friendly sounding voice.


    Elsa spun quickly, ready to defend herself if need be.


    It was unnecessary. She saw a man sitting on one of the large couches facing the fireplace. It was so large, and the light so low, she had not seen him sitting in it when they passed.


    Elsa looked at the man she assumed to be the Baron. She stepped forward, squinting a bit.


    Baron Liam O¡¯Lear was indeed an older man, but nowhere near as old as the wine merchant she had been with earlier in the evening. His thick brown hair was fully gray at the temples and his short-trimmed beard was almost completely gray.


    Elsa had never been this close to him before. She had seen the man for years from afar, but never expected to be in the same room as him, let alone the same room in his own home.


    The Baron stood. Elsa could see the gold and white of his formal doublet glittering in the firelight.


    The man was tall. Even taller than her, as she found herself looking up at him when he walked closer. His black leather knee-high boots squelched as he moved. Besides the crackling fire, it was the only sound in the room.


    She tensed. Everyone had heard tales of depraved nobles, and Elsa swore she would not just disappear one night, never to be heard from again. If the man tried anything violent, he would have a fight on his hands.


    ¡°What is your name, my lady?¡± asked the Baron. He had come within an arm¡¯s length of her, then stopped.


    His face seemed friendly to Elsa, so she began to relax.


    ¡°I¡¯m not a Lady,¡± she said, with a bit of challenge to her voice.


    The Baron¡¯s face lit up in a grin.


    ¡°No, I suppose not. Not with the way you throw an axe. I found it very impressive,¡± he said, still smiling.


    Elsa didn¡¯t know what to say, and the two simply looked at one another. The only sound was the crackling of the fire. Finally, after a long, uncomfortable silence, she started sliding down the shoulder of her dress.


    The Baron stepped forward and put his hand over her own, stopping the dress from sliding down any further.


    Then he pulled the dress back up and stepped away.


    ¡°Would you mind if we just¡­ talked¡­ for a while?¡± he asked, looking down at her, directly into her eyes.


    ¡°You¡¯re asking me?¡± Elsa blurted out, incredulous.


    The Baron laughed, then took her hand and led her to the large couch he had just been resting on.


    ¡°Yes, I find I would like to know more about you¡­¡± he said.


    He had not been lying. Elsa both loved and hated thinking about Liam. There had been good times, but now that he was gone, they were painful to remember.


    And besides, now was not the time. Something besides the blatantly obvious was going on here at the dog¡¯s-ass end of the Kingdom, and whatever it was could be the key to solidifying her precarious position back in Inessa.


    And even if it wasn¡¯t, she would make sure that if Avalaine was involved in it, she would be too. That spoiled brat of a Lady from Teyscha always got something for nothing, and Elsa declared to herself that she was going to get some of whatever it was for herself.


    Elsa and her guards arrived at the camp of the Earl of Kaston.


    Kaston was a very wealthy province, and they had quite a show of guards lining the border their camp shared with Inessa.


    Elsa¡¯s eyes narrowed. She counted over twenty guards. They did not move aside as she approached.


    Annoyed, she opened her mouth to speak, but one of her guards stepped in front of her.


    ¡°Stand aside!¡± the guard demanded, speaking directly to one of the Kaston province guards.


    The Kaston guard regiment did not move or speak. They looked bored, but did not react to Elsa¡¯s guard. They all simply stood in their green and gray livery and said nothing.


    He spoke again.


    ¡°Are you deaf!? I said stand aside, the Baroness O¡¯Lear will pass through here!¡±


    That triggered a reaction from the Kaston guards.


    ¡°Baroness?!¡± one guard barked in derision. ¡°I see only a jumped-up commoner here.¡±


    All four of her guards stepped in front of her then, and Elsa sighed. What the guard had said was a sentiment even her own people shared. They just would not stand for it from outsiders.


    ¡°Stand down,¡± she said, her voice cracking through the night air like a whip.


    Waving her own guards back, she stepped up to the Kaston guard who had spoken. She could tell he was young and full of bluster, barely a man and thinking he was important in his guardsman livery.


    She knew how to deal with his type. In a flash, Elsa drew her dagger from beneath her cloak and brandished it.


    ¡°You can either let us pass, or you and I will address your insult by duel right now.¡±


    ¡°Wh-what!?¡± said the guard, his confidence now shaken. ¡°I cannot duel a Lady!¡±


    Elsa smiled. ¡°Oh, so now I am a Lady? I thought I was a jumped-up commoner? Shall we duel, then?¡±


    The guard looked to his fellows, but none of them would catch his eye. He was on his own, and in a lose-lose situation. They all knew perfectly well that she was the legitimate Baroness and ruler of Inessa, and if he should fight her and harm her, his punishment could be death by hanging.


    However, if he were to fight her and lose¡­ the blow to his dignity might be a fate worse than death.


    Elsa watched many emotions play out on the young guard¡¯s face until he finally chose the least problematic option: simply standing aside to let her pass.


    He did so without speaking, and Elsa marked the hateful glower on the guard¡¯s face as they passed through into the Kaston camp.


    I¡¯d best be aware of that one while I¡¯m in his domain, she thought. Accidents have been known to happen.


    She had lost track of Avalaine and her companions, but she and her guards headed for the center of the camp, knowing she would find Fat Earl Mondrake there, along with his usual wagon-loads of food.


    The Earl¡¯s tent was even larger and more elaborate than she had expected. Elsa shook her head in disbelief and amused disgust.


    As she approached, she guessed she could line up at least twenty horses end to end in the Earl¡¯s tent. There were many guards stationed around the perimeter, and Elsa saw a contingent of what she assumed were the Earl¡¯s personal chefs carrying pans and cooking equipment into the tent.


    That man requires a feast for every meal, she thought, again shaking her head.


    She and her retinue approached the guards at the tent entrance. She saw guardsmen from Varsus and Orel, and knew that Baron Varsus, Viscount Brandu, and of course Avalaine of Teyscha would already be inside.


    The Kaston guards watched her dispassionately as she neared. If these men had any personal animosity or disdain for her, they did not show it.


    Again, one of Elsa¡¯s guardsmen stepped in front of her.


    ¡°The Baroness O¡¯Lear of Inessa to see the Earl,¡± he said, and Elsa could tell he was bracing for more trouble.


    But there was none. The Kaston guard told them to wait, then turned and ducked into the tent.


    Almost immediately, someone inside roared with laughter.


    The guard quickly reappeared.


    ¡°You have leave to enter, my Lady,¡± he said and gave a quick nodding of his head in deference, stretching out his arm to pull back the tent flap to allow her entry.


    For a brief moment, Elsa felt a wave a nausea come over her. She also felt a chill, and she shuddered. She caught a look from the Kaston guard that told her he had just felt the same thing.


    Then she immediately felt better, so she tried to put it out of her mind. The guard was still holding the tent flap open.


    She steeled herself and walked in.


    ***


    Before Elsa could walk into the Earl¡¯s tent, IT brushed past her and the guardsmen, entering the tent unseen but not unfelt.


    In this place, there was heightened emotion, and even though it was not completely safe yet, it found itself unable to leave, as it had become amused by these inferior creatures and their pitiable hopes and dreams.


    This latest mortal cow was a whirlwind of ambition, anger, and fear. She would definitely prove useful.


    The thing relaxed, its presence unobservable to humans, and waited to hear what these mortal fools had to say.

 Wademount IV

    Earl Thomas Mondrake suppressed a quiet belch.


    He was grateful that at that very moment, the tent flap pulled back and Baroness O¡¯Lear entered, her beautiful face set in a scowl as she moved through the busy and somewhat crowded tent.


    Everyone¡¯s attention went to the Baroness, and the Earl¡¯s social foible went unnoticed.


    Before they could turn back, the Earl tore another chunk of meat off to the turkey leg he had been eating, then downed the rest of his wine cup. This almost resulted in yet another belch, but he managed to stifle that one as well. He did not want to be rude.


    As the Baroness came closer, he thought about greeting her from his seat, because he had just eaten so much and was feeling quite lethargic and content. But he decided against it. Some conventions, after all, demanded adherence.


    Grunting slightly, he adjusted the ever-tightening gray breeches around his waist and unbuttoned the fine green vest to allow his ever-expanding gut some room to move.


    Both clothing articles had been about to burst in any case, so Thomas felt he was just heading off trouble.


    Now, with an even more pronounced grunt, Thomas gathered his enormous bulk and forced himself to his feet. He realized he had forgotten to wipe his hands, and proceeded to do so on his heavy, flowing brown beard. The beard grew almost down past his chest, so it was always handy to use as an alternative napkin.


    He teetered a bit when he reached his feet and became lightheaded.


    No bother, he thought, that always happens after a good meal.


    Although he also felt a little nauseous, too. That never happened to him.


    The Baroness finally reached the group in front of Thomas, still scowling. He sometimes wondered if that was her only expression.


    He knew people thought he was nothing more than a fat fop. Someone who didn¡¯t deserve his Earldom¡­ but he saw things. He noticed things that other people didn¡¯t.


    Sometimes he saw things because others assumed he was a fool and didn¡¯t bother to hide them.


    The people in front of him were those he considered friends, but he knew that they also discounted him.


    Right now he could see that Baroness Elsa was, as usual, focused on Avalaine, who she obviously considered herself to be in some kind of competition with.


    Elsa was usually in an unhappy temper, and Thomas could see it had to do with her ambitions and, frankly, her commoner attitudes. There was nothing to be done about that, though.


    Lady Avalaine, by contrast, was always a delight. She lit up every room and always had a kind word for those around her¡­


    ¡­ unless Baron Varsus was around. Then she mostly ignored everyone else.


    Oh, to be young again, he thought, smiling.


    It was obvious to all except Varsus that Avalaine quite fancied the Baron. Thomas had noticed that she would not allow more than three paces to grow between the two.


    The Baron himself was an honorable man. Righteous, but not self-righteous. Upstanding and quite likable. The man had an affable nature and good humor, willing to take a jest at his own expense. That meant a lot to someone like Thomas.


    However, his inability or unwillingness to see what was right in front of his face worried Thomas. The man was either less intelligent than Thomas had thought, or he just didn¡¯t want to see it.


    Their respective provinces were on opposite ends of the Kingdom, so they did not see each other often, but they corresponded regularly, so he felt he knew what was happening in the young man¡¯s life.


    Still, some things were none of his business, so he put it out of his mind.


    His eyes rested on Viscount Brandu next.


    Brandu was a serious man. A man with no humor to him that Thomas could find. However, the Viscount was especially good at Luneboard, which they played via correspondence.


    The Viscount had also come to Kaston and set up an observatory to the stars in his very castle. The two men both enjoyed viewing the stars, but for very different reasons.


    Thomas enjoyed their beauty, but Brandu kept going on and on about gasses and reactions. What in Maeraland was the man always talking about?


    Sometimes Brandu could forget that others were not well-versed in his studies of natural laws. Was it insufficient simply to appreciate the world¡¯s beauty? Brandu always wanted to know why this, and why that. Thomas found it tiresome.


    Even so, he considered the man a good friend.


    The Baroness¡¯ raised voice interrupted his thoughts.


    ¡°My lord, WHY ARE ALL THESE PEOPLE HERE!?¡± she shouted at him. It was not the way a Baroness should technically address an Earl, but it amused Thomas, so he allowed it.


    ¡°I don¡¯t understand, my lady? What people?!¡± Thomas asked, honestly wondering.


    ¡°THESE!¡± Elsa shouted, waving her arms about her.


    Thomas surveyed the tent. Besides her and his friends, there was only his meat chef, currently preparing what smelled to him like some sort of delicious pork delight. Then his dessert maker, but she was on the other side of the tent icing up a few small cakes. Thomas licked his lips.


    In another corner, his bread maker was busy preparing the rolls, toasted breads and his other doughy side dishes that went well with any meal. The soup maker was positioned next to him.


    Each of these people had various subordinate staff with them, but that could not be helped if a decent meal was to be cobbled together out here in this uncivilized wasteland at the end of the world.


    Finally, there was also his personal cupbearer, but surely Elsa could not be upset at his presence. Who else was going to pour his wine?


    It was only then that the Earl realized his error. He felt his stomach drop away in shame and embarrassment.


    ¡°By the Gods!¡± he cried, ¡°I have not offered you any of my glorious repast! Forgive me!


    ¡°YOU THERE¡ª!¡± The Earl snapped his fingers at one of his many servants. ¡°Get these good people some chairs and make room at my¡ª¡±


    A collective groan went up from the assembled nobles before him. They began begging off, politely (mostly) refusing his largess.


    Thomas did not know whether or not he should be offended, and was about to speak when a burst of coarse laughter erupted outside of his tent.


    All turned to watch as someone thrust aside the tent flap and a large, imposing man draped in a long cloak ducked inside. Leather armor could be seen underneath his cloak, and the man was armed with an oversized great sword strapped to his side.


    At once all the nobles cried out in unison.


    ¡°GEMPLE!!¡± the cry was excited and happy, as with this man¡¯s arrival, their unofficial group was now complete.


    Thomas examined the newcomer. Tall, blonde, beardless, heavily muscled Sir Rodrick Gemple was a young knight of what the Earl took to be twenty-eight to thirty summers. Still young, but also a bit too old to be a landless, wandering knight with no wife and family.This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.


    ¡°By LaKrona¡¯s gaze, I¡¯m so hungry I could eat a horse! I think I came to the right place!¡±


    Everyone stepped forward to greet the latest arrival, but just then Sir Gemple removed his cloak, whipping it around in front of him in a flourish.


    Unfortunately, his cloak was dripping with water, mud, latrine runoff and other undesirable substances. His motion sprayed the oncoming nobles with the residue before they could realize the danger.


    Then another cry went up as the group reared back, hands flying upward to protect their faces. However, they were too late to avoid being splashed with the foul ooze.


    ¡°GEMPLE!!¡± they all cried again, almost in unison, but this time it was not as friendly.


    Gemple¡¯s face turned red. He always had to good grace to know when he had munged things up.


    Earl Mondrake had reflexively leaned forward in an attempt to protect his table full of foodstuffs, but he conceded to himself that it had not been necessary. He sighed in relief at his good fortune.


    His meal was safe.


    Sir Gemple, however, was not. When Thomas returned his attention to the group, Baron Varsus and Viscount Brandu grumbled to themselves as they wiped what they could from their own garments. Baroness Elsa was upbraiding the young knight, while Lady Avalaine attempted to wring some of the wetness out of her hair.


    When Gemple saw Avalaine¡¯s distress, he stepped past Elsa, who was mid-tirade, and approached the young Lady.


    ¡°My Lady Avalaine,¡± Gemple said, ¡°my sincerest apologies!¡±


    Thomas noticed a distinct huff of annoyance from the Baroness, but she simply folded her arms and glared at Avalaine.


    Avalaine smiled, her good humor apparent.


    ¡°Good Sir Gemple,¡± she said, laughing, ¡°I will thank you to leave my hair arrangements for me and my ladies-in-waiting.¡±


    Everyone joined in then, laughing along with Avalaine. Except for the Baroness, who shook her head and muttered under her breath.


    Gemple¡¯s booming laughter subsided, and he began fishing inside of his cloak.


    ¡°Ahh, I can make it up to you!¡± he declared, producing a small leather pouch from the nether regions of his cloak.


    Holding up his hands, he dumped out a small, faceted crystal that was about as big around as a large walnut.


    Immediately, the candlelight in the tent dimmed, and it seemed many of the candles might blow out, even though the air was mostly still. A wave of cold washed over those in the tent. Not one of them could prevent a shiver.


    Baron Varsus looked around the tent, his eyes narrowing.


    ¡°That was not normal,¡± he said, ¡°Gemple, what is that thing?¡±


    Gemple handed it to Avalaine as he responded.


    ¡°It¡¯s an odd-looking rock I found while in the castle with the Royal Family. It looked interesting so I¡ª¡±


    Gemple was not able to finish, as outbursts from everyone surrounding him interrupted him.


    ¡°You were with the Royal Family?!¡± demanded Elsa.


    ¡°Sir Gemple, what did you see in the castle?!¡± shouted the Viscount, his usually low voice loud with excitement.


    ¡°Is the Princess with them??¡± Varsus shouted.


    The vocal bombardment continued for some time, preventing Gemple from answering even a single question before another was asked.


    Finally, Varsus held up one hand and put fingers of his other hand to his mouth, producing a loud, sharp whistle that silenced everyone.


    ¡°Let us all be quiet and allow Sir Gemple to tell his story. He will likely answer all our questions on his own.


    Then the tent became still, and Varsus thought he could not even hear the omnipresent wind.


    ¡°Speak, fool!¡± shouted Baroness Elsa.


    Gemple flinched, but began speaking.


    Soon all assembled heard the tale of how Sir Gemple had arrived here some weeks earlier with men from the province of Royal Maera itself. He had been in the province for the tourney season, but joined with the men from the Royal Army when the banners were called.


    There had been hard fighting when they arrived. An unexpectedly large number of mercenaries, far exceeding Gemple¡¯s expectations, had united and were displaying impressive precision in battle.


    The fighting had lasted those long weeks, with the men being told only that they must take the castle, and that everything depended on it.


    As more banners and fresh troops arrived, they pushed the mercenaries further and further back until just days earlier there had been a massive final thrust to take the castle.


    Gemple had fought hard, striking down man after man. He found himself in the company of Prince Ryan Maera, the oldest prince of the Royal Family.


    With twenty men left in the company, they at last made it inside the castle, running from hall to hall. Gemple did not know what they were running toward, but the Prince bade them keep going, and he seemed desperate.


    At the last, a feeling of terrible dread overtook them as they reached a large room that must have been some sort of audience chamber.


    Gemple saw a figure standing with none other than Princess of the realm Regina Maera. Gemple had seen her several times the previous month in Royal Maera, so he knew it was her. But the figure, so dark, he could not see the details of the man, if it was a man.


    As Prince Randall screamed and rushed to his sister, mercenaries caught up to them and fell on them from behind.


    Except these mercenaries were not normal. Gemple recounted how they fought in complete silence and never said a word. The lack of life in their cold eyes had frightened Gemple, but he fought on.


    Gemple swore that some mercenaries kept coming even after being stabbed through the heart or enduring other wounds that should have stopped them cold.


    Elsa snorted at this, but quieted down as the others shushed her.


    Gemple continued, explaining that the strange mercenaries pushed them back out of the chamber, and would have eventually overwhelmed them, as they did not seem to tire, except then the event happened.


    ¡°Event?¡± Varsus asked, then held his hands up in supplication, knowing that he should have kept quiet.


    ¡°Yes!¡± Gemple said, his excitement clear as he recounted his tale of heroism.


    The ¡®event¡¯, as he called it, was when everything became ¡°wobbly¡±, and the air took on a thick, molasses-like texture. Every sound was audible, and every hair on the back of his hand was magnified.


    Then there was a massive ripple, as if the air were water, and some ¡°force¡± exploded outward through the air.


    The force of the impact knocked everyone to their feet. Gemple heard a massive cry of anguish from the other chamber, and it sounded like it came from the Prince.


    Then the world shook, the castle began to crumble, and an inhuman cry washed over them.


    After that, everything seemed to snap back to normal. The mercenaries dropped dead where they stood, and just like that, the battle was won.


    ¡°But what happened!?¡± cried Brandu. Varsus thought he had never seen the man this animated.


    ¡°What do you mean?¡± Gemple responded, confused. ¡°I just told you.¡±


    ¡°No no!¡± Brandu said, ¡°What happened in the chamber? With the Princess?!¡±


    Gemple considered for a moment.


    ¡°Oh, that,¡± he said, ¡°I actually don¡¯t know what happened in there. Once we recovered our wits, Prince Randall and Chancellor Brent arrived, then they bade us leave the castle, so I did.¡±


    Everyone frowned and began muttering to each other, realizing that Gemple had little more information than they did.


    ¡°That¡¯s when I found that rock,¡± he said, trying to reclaim attention. ¡°It looked interesting, so I grabbed it on the way out.¡±


    Varsus and all looked again at the small crystalline rock, now held in Avalaine¡¯s outstretched hands.


    It looked as if it had a dull sheen to it, and should have been reflecting more light, but for some reason it simply did not.


    Avalaine cleared her throat.


    ¡°Well, Sir Gemple, I will, um, I will¡­ cherish it?¡±


    She looked to Varsus as she spoke the words, but he only shrugged and smiled wryly at her, offering no help.


    Avalaine narrowed her eyes at him, but as there was no way out, she accepted the gift.


    ¡°Thank you, good sir, for your generous gift.¡±


    Gemple smiled widely, glad he had managed to recover some good will.


    ¡°It¡¯s my pleasure, in fact, I would suggest¡ª¡±


    Earl Mondrake cleared his throat then.


    ¡°My friends, should we not all eat?¡± He gestured at the tables full of food throughout the huge tent. ¡°There is more than enough to go around and we should not waste it.¡±


    Before anyone could answer, the tent flap was thrown open again, and a tall man in the Kaston colors entered.


    ¡°Chief Marshall Finlay!¡± cried the Earl. ¡°Have you come to dine with us?¡±


    The Marshall, a stout man with short cropped brown hair, stepped forward. He was wearing a green and gold doublet with silver inlay, black riding breeches with black boots.


    Finlay shook his head sharply.


    ¡°My lord, there is no time for feasting! The Prince is coming! Here!! NOW!!¡±


    Earl Thomas Mondrake drew himself up and smiled, knowing all eyes were on him


    ¡°No, good Marshall, this is exactly the time.¡±


    Again, the flap was thrown open, but this time a company of Royal Guardsmen advanced into the tent, their steps in practiced unison.


    The men formed a column, then stood at attention. All in the tent waited to see who would come next.


    A tall man with sandy brown hair sauntered down the column. Earl Mondrake recognized him immediately as Prince Randall, the youngest Prince of the Maera blood.


    He wore the purple, red and blue of the Royal Family. His cloak was open, and his doublet, pants and boots were obviously of the finest caliber, and looked as if he were attending a gala, and not traipsing about the battle site at the forlorn end of the kingdom.


    When he reached the end of the column, his handsome, square-jawed face twisted into smile, but it was more of an expression of amused annoyance.


    ¡°I should think kneeling for one¡¯s Prince is still a custom, even here at the end of the world?¡±


    Then the smile dropped off his face.


    ***


    At the same time, IT was focused only on the faceted stone Gemple had given to Avalaine.


    Although it was out of sync with the reality of these mortal grubs, it had almost leaped forth and snatched the stone from the woman¡¯s hands.


    Such a stone contained great power, and must have been brought from its own home lands with one of the more powerful of iitscomrades. It could feel the throbbing of the energy within.


    Normally, for one such as it, a stone like that would be out of reach. At least until it was ready to challenge one of the more powerful members of his race. And it was nowhere near ready for that yet.


    But if it could acquire one now? Perhaps one thousand years of toil could be skipped. It could take its place with the mighty lord. The destruction they would cause¡­


    ¡­it paused then. It was the only one of it¡¯s kind left here on this plane, and there were mortals here that were not insignificant. It dared not show itself now.


    Instead, it chanted a low chant of minimal power. He marked the wisp of a woman that held the stone. It would have to find her at a later date.


    Time was growing short and it needed to rest. A few cycles of rest, and then it could move forward.


    How it wished it could it could reveal itself, tear out the throats of these mortals, none of which knew it was standing among them, outside the limits of their nearly useless senses.


    Instead, it gathered information from its new pawn, rummaging through the human¡¯s thoughts as one might hastily sort a sheaf of papers. It found what it needed.


    Then it turned and walked out of the tent, no longer caring what sounds might come from mortal mouths.

 Wademount V

    Sir Gemple immediately dropped to one knee at the words from Prince Randall.


    All else in the tent did so as well, excepting the Prince¡¯s guardsmen. Gemple heard a grunt of effort or perhaps even pain come from behind him, and he guessed it was from Earl Mondrake, lowering his massive frame down to one knee.


    He saw the Prince wore a look of satisfaction on his face, so Gemple assumed the show of obeisance was good enough, and he shot back up to his feet and moved toward the Prince.


    He hoped that his service with the Royal Guard had been noticed and perhaps he could take up a position with them. Gemple knew he might not have a chance to speak with a member of the Royal Family ever again, so he had to take it.


    Then it suddenly occurred to him that he should have offered to help Lady Avalaine stand up. He cursed himself and turned to do so. Sometimes he was not good with the gentlemanly aspects of knighthood.


    However, he found he need not have bothered, as she had reached for Baron Varsus and he helped her instead. Gemple cursed himself again. Sometimes he was such a lout!


    He turned back to face the Prince, and he heard a sharp hiss come from Baroness Elsa.


    ¡°Many thanks, Gemple!¡± Elsa said under her breath. Her tone was sarcastic, to say the least. Gemple turned to face her, then felt like an even bigger lout as he realized he had not offered to help her, either.


    He opened his mouth to apologize, but he was forestalled by the Prince, who stepped forward, his movements commanding the attention of all present.


    ¡°Earl Mondrake,¡± the Prince stated, his voice slightly elevated to reach all in the large tent.


    My irreproachable brother has dispatched me to inform the leaders at this end of the camp personally that your presence is no longer required. You are to break camp immediately and return to your homes.¡±


    There was some muttering from the assembled nobles, but it was Earl Mondrake, as the highest ranked, who spoke.


    ¡°In that case, my Prince, may I offer you some of the delicious meal you see before you? It would be my honor to have you join us.¡±


    The words were barely out of the Earl¡¯s mouth before the Prince barked out a laugh of derision.


    ¡°By the Gods, Mondrake, NO,¡± the Prince stated. Loudly. He began laughing and looked to his guardsmen to share in the jest.


    ¡°If I were to eat any of this food, I might end up as fat as you!¡± shouted the Prince, and then he and his guardsmen erupted into undisguised laughter.


    Gemple froze. He was not amused, but most in the tent were laughing to some extent. You did not dare take issue with a jest made by a Prince of Maera.


    At least not this Prince, thought Gemple. He had not exactly become friends with the older Prince Ryan he had served with, but that man had not seemed as callow as this younger man appeared.


    Turning slightly, Gemple snuck a look at Earl Mondrake. He knew he was not always the best at gauging the emotions of others, but it seemed obvious to him that the remark and subsequent laughter had devastated the heavyset older man.


    Baron Varsus was not laughing at all, and neither were Lady Avalaine and Viscount Brandu. Baroness O¡¯Lear smiled, but seemed to be trying to hide it by lowering her head.


    The Prince noticed that there was a small group of people not laughing and stepped forward.


    ¡°Now who are these, Mondrake, that find no humor in a friendly jest?¡± the Prince asked. The warning-laden words made Gemple tense immediately.


    Earl Mondrake cleared his throat.


    ¡°My Prince, I give you Lady Avalaine Lirra of Teyscha, Viscount Tempus Brandu of Orel, Baron Garrick Varsus of Varsus, Baroness Elsa O¡¯lear of Inessa, and Sir Rodrick Gemple, Knight of the Realm.¡±


    The base title of ¡®Knight of the Realm¡¯ embarrassed Gemple, but he understood that this was the term for landless knights like himself, and knew Mondrake intended no insult.


    The Prince said nothing for a long while, but stared at the assembled nobles. His face showed heavy concentration as the moments slipped by.


    Finally, he spoke, mostly to himself. ¡°Ahh yes, of course.¡±


    Stepping forward, he reached Sir Gemple. The young knight prepared to be addressed, but the Prince simply raised his hand and waved at him to move aside.


    Gemple, again embarrassed, did so without speaking.


    Next the Prince came to Baroness Elsa. Unapologetically, he looked down at her breasts, where much of her abundant bosom was visible.


    Gemple could not blame the Prince. Although he was used to Elsa¡¯s wardrobe choices, he stared like a fool himself from time to time.


    The Prince, however, did not continue his staring. His dark brown eyes snapped up to lock onto Elsa¡¯s dark green ones. Gemple saw Elsa seemed amused by the Prince¡¯s ogling.


    ¡°You¡­¡± said Prince Randall, a smirk on his face, ¡°I have indeed heard of.¡±


    With that, he turned decisively away from her and moved on. Elsa¡¯s face now burned red with embarrassment, and she lowered her head.


    Viscount Brandu was next, and the Prince stepped directly in front of him. The Viscount was a short man, so the Prince stood looking down at Brandu, as he was almost a full head taller than the smaller man.


    However, nothing intimidated Brandu. Gemple was glad, because he hated to see his friends insulted, even by a Prince of the land.


    The Prince smiled, but Gemple could see it was not a friendly smile.


    ¡°Now you,¡± the Prince began, ¡°when are we seeing another tourney in Orel? Your good father used to hold several each year. Truly, they were some of the best times in my life!¡±


    Again, Viscount Brandu was not nervous or intimidated in the least.


    ¡°My Prince, those tournaments came at the expense of the people of Orel. My father nearly beggared the province, all for the amusement of ¡ª¡±This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    ¡°AHHHH nonsense!¡± the Prince cut him off. ¡°Those tourneys bring in coin, they don¡¯t lose coin. Unless someone runs them badly. I will send one of our advisors to you next month, and I expect to receive notice of a new tourney this summer!¡±


    Now Brandu lost his cool demeanor. Gemple could see that he was about to say something inadvisable, but luckily Elsa placed a hand on his shoulder to get his attention. She shook her head sharply in the negative.


    Prince Randall did not see any of this, as he had already forgotten about Brandu.


    The Prince now focused his attention on Baron Varsus. The two were of an even height, and so able to look one another directly in the eyes.


    An uncomfortable staring contest ensued, and Gemple found himself holding his breath.


    The Prince broke off the contest as he appeared to inspect every aspect of the Baron¡¯s face with close precision.


    Finally, Prince Randall stepped back and smiled.


    ¡°I must say, Baron, your skin does not look dark at all. You might almost be one of us!¡± then the Prince turned to his guardsmen, who all nodded and voiced affirmation of the Prince¡¯s observation.


    Gemple gritted his teeth. He knew the darker skin coloring of the earlier Varsus line was an issue for the Baron.


    Not that the Baron was ashamed of it. Quite the contrary. But everyone knew that the Kingdom had given the Varsus province to the current Baron¡¯s ancestor because the land was nearly worthless and far from the Kingdom¡¯s center.


    As such, anyone who wished to remain on the Baron¡¯s good side did not discuss these things openly.


    Or those who simply don¡¯t need to care about being on the good side of a Baron, thought Gemple. He no longer wanted to be a part of this Prince¡¯s retinue. He did not appreciate the man¡¯s mocking tone toward his friend. Maybe he could find Prince Ryan later.


    Varsus, to his credit, took the insult with grace. Although he, too, gritted his teeth as Gemple did, and managed to recover while the Prince laughed with his guardsmen. By the time Prince Randall looked back, Varsus was smiling a tight smile.


    ¡°Thank you, my Prince,¡± said Varsus. ¡°I do my best.¡±


    Prince Randall reached out and clapped Varsus on his left shoulder.


    ¡°Good man!¡± he exclaimed. ¡°Now, perhaps you can¡ª¡±


    The Prince¡¯s words trailed off as he looked to Lady Avalaine. He regarded her with wide eyes, taking all of her in.


    Avalaine blushed and looked away.


    ¡°Mondrake!¡± the Prince shouted, ¡°What did you say her name was again?¡± As he spoke, the Prince moved over to stand in front of Avalaine.


    Earl Mondrake cleared his throat again and spoke up.


    ¡°My Prince, she is Lady Avalaine Lirra of Teyscha. The daughter of¡ª¡±


    ¡°¡ªof Earl Brentan Lirra,¡± the Prince finished for him.


    The entire tent was quiet, and no one dared move as the Prince continued staring at Avalaine.


    As for Avalaine, her face was completely red, and she knew it. Being stared at by everyone was making her want to hide, but there was nowhere to go.


    Prince Randall stepped in closer, took Avalaine¡¯s hand and brought it up to his lips for a kiss.


    Avalaine could actually feel her face burning now.


    Gemple looked on, wide-eyed, waiting to see what would happen. He saw Baron Varsus watching as well, and the man¡¯s face was as expressionless as a block of stone.


    ¡°You come from an excellent family,¡± the Prince said, and his voice was now infused with sweetness.


    Avalaine responded to the compliment as best she could.


    ¡°Thank you, my Prince,¡± she said, and attempted to pull her hand back, but the Prince did not let go.


    ¡°I think your father, the Earl, has been remiss. Why have you not appeared at court in recent seasons?¡±


    Avalaine stammered. ¡°U-uh, well surely there are enough Ladies about the court, I would hardly be missed.¡±


    ¡°But none with such beauty as you,¡± said Prince Randall, ¡°I say you¡¯ll need to make an appearance soon or it shall be quite an offense to the Crown.¡±


    Gemple heard Elsa scoff and saw her roll her eyes, but no one acknowledged this.


    Avalaine, still not in full possession of her hand, tried to beg off.


    ¡°Never fear,¡± she said. ¡°Baron Varsus was just about to walk me back to my father¡¯s camp, and I will bring this very matter to his attention when I see him.¡±


    With that, she attempted to withdraw her hand from Prince Randall¡¯s, but still he did not let go.


    ¡°Pfah!¡± he cried, ¡°Ridiculous! I shall walk with you and deliver you back to your good father myself. Let us go now, my Lady.¡±


    Varsus had begun to move when Avalaine had mentioned him, but now had to arrest his motion and stand still as the Prince began leading Lady Avalaine away.


    She looked back at Varsus as she was nearly dragged to the front of the tent, but he could do nothing. A Prince of the Realm had demanded her attention, and he would have it, and there was nothing to be done.


    Gemple and the rest of his friends could only watch, most with blank looks of astonishment on their faces, and Elsa with a look of disgust on hers.


    Before he stepped out of the tent, Prince Randall turned back and addressed them all.


    ¡°Remember, you are to quit this place at once! This very night! Those are orders direct from my brother! The Crown thanks you for your service!¡±


    And with that, the Prince¡¯s Royal Guardsmen surrounded both him and Avalaine. Then they moved out of the tent, out into the harsh wind of the night.


    All was silent after the Prince was gone. Gemple got the feeling that no one wanted to speak.


    ¡°Well,¡± Gemple said, daring to be the first, ¡°can we at least break bread before we break camp? I¡¯m still hungry!¡±


    ¡°So am I,¡± said Earl Mondrake, and his tone was sad, ¡°but I don¡¯t think the Prince has given us time to have a proper meal this night.¡±


    Varsus spoke without looking at anyone. ¡°I¡¯m not hungry, Sir Gemple. I had best get back to my own men and let them know we must break camp and endure a night march at the orders of the Crown.¡±


    Viscount Brandu spoke and said much the same. Then he and Varsus bade farewell to the Earl and rendered their apologies for not sharing his table.


    They only paused to offer a brief farewell to Baroness Elsa, and then they were gone out into the howling wind like the Prince.


    Gemple approached Baroness Elsa, but before he could speak, she turned and stalked after the two men. Gemple heard her grumbling under her breath, but could not make out her words.


    She threw back the tent flap and stepped out into the darkness without even a farewell.


    Gemple was used to Elsa¡¯s temper, they all were, but he thought she could have at least said goodbye. Technically, she should have asked the Earl for his leave to go, but Gemple admitted to himself that he would have been more surprised if she had done so.


    Earl Mondrake reluctantly ordered his servants to clean up the tent and pack the food.


    Marshal Finlay, who Gemple had forgotten was there, was ordered to get the rest of the camp moving toward a night march.


    Gemple turned to the Earl.


    ¡°My Lord, surely all of this food should not go to waste!?¡± Gemple said, eyeing turkey drumsticks, breads and wine that were still on the tables.


    Earl Mondrake sighed. ¡°It is a horrible waste, is it not? Much of this will spoil, no matter how it is packed.¡±


    Gemple smiled then, ¡°Well then, my Lord Earl, it behooves us to eat as much of this good repast as we can to avoid such a fate.¡±


    Earl Mondrake brightened up then.


    ¡°You know, lad, I believe you are right! Devine Lady LaKrona despises waste, and since it will spoil long before it could go to the poor, we must do our best!¡±


    Without another word between them, Gemple and Earl Mondrake bent to attack the food on the tables.


    The servants backed away, some in disgust, and some because they feared to lose an appendage, but they continued packing up what they could.


    Gemple had hoped for a night of good food and camaraderie, but if he could not have one, he would take the other.


    He tore into a turkey leg and washed it down with a bottle of the Earl¡¯s wine.


    Sometimes life is not all bad, he thought, his mouth full to bursting, even as he stuffed bread into it.


    ***


    Outside the tent, IT was also hungry.


    So hungry.


    It needed to sleep, but it also needed sustenance so that it could survive such a sleep.


    Its pawn was heading away from this place, but it could find him again in short order.


    Now was the time for feeding.


    As if on cue, a short, fat little man with close-cropped brown hair emerged from the tent.


    YES, it thought. This one would do nicely.


    It watched and followed the food as it darted through the camp, barking at others of its kind from time to time.


    Finally, the food entered a dark row of uninhabited tents. It watched as the food relieved itself, spraying a large fountain of liquid into a trench behind the tents.


    When it struck, it did not have time to make the mortal man suffer as much as it wanted to. Unfortunately, time was running out, and the need to sustain itself outweighed the need for the pleasure of torturing the human meat while it savored the pain and fear it caused.


    The Master will make this all worth it, it thought, as it let the useless husk of the mortal fall to the ground into the trench and into the waste liquid it had secreted.


    Feeling better, it moved off to catch up with its pawn.


    Its plan was only now going into motion.


    If all went well, it estimated these mortal fools had less than one year to live.

 Clarion

    Varsus smiled when his company finally crossed the border into his own province, named ¡®Varsus¡¯ after his family line. It was late in the day, and he wanted to get home before nightfall.


    If one was heading north, this was the last border to cross in the entire Kingdom. The province of Varsus ended at the sea, and to continue further north you would need a ship.


    He heard tired groans of pleasure from many in the company of riders, wagons and other carriages. They, like him, were glad to be home again.


    It had taken them almost two months to get back from Wademount. After the Prince¡¯sunceremonious dismissal, they had rushed to break camp and leave as ordered, as did the rest of the assembled troops.


    However, they did not maintain the same pace going north as they had when called south by the King.


    That ride had been one of desperate speed, not knowing what lay ahead of them or if they were already too late. Many horses had faltered and been put down or left on their own.


    Additionally, on the way south they had cut through some terrain that made for bad riding. On the way back, with time on their side they chose the path of easier travel to save the wear and tear on the animals, carriages and the people.


    Even more, on their earlier ride they had observed none of the usual social graces as they passed through the provinces. They neither sent notice nor stopped to call on local lords and ladies, reserving all of their energy for reaching Wademount to help in the battle¡­ or whatever it actually was.


    This time, heading north and the danger now over, they had no such excuses, and in fact had to render some apologies for the mad scramble across the realm.


    Some places they were required to stay several nights, or else render further offense. This caused the travel time to stretch from weeks into months.


    Truthfully, Varsus had welcomed the diversions. He could have easily camped out and slept on the road, but dealing with other local lords helped him to keep his mind off of things he would rather not dwell on.


    Even more, those holdovers had been necessary. Hunting had been extremely poor on the way back, to the extent that Varsus wondered if all the game in the forests had decided to pick up and leave en masse.


    He had never seen such bad hunting in his entire life. Everywhere they went, the forest were quiet, and Varsus suspected not so much as squirrel was in evidence in the entire wood.


    Even their own animals had been acting strangely the entire ride back. The mounts were either skittish or else the lead animals in the company had to be reigned in, lest they outstrip the rear of the caravan. They fought with the horses the whole trip from Wademount.


    He knew the hunting, at least, was through no fault of his men. He had some of the best hunters in the realm.Varsus knew that because they had to be. It was not always easy to survive in Varsus province, despite his attempts to change that.


    Varsus wondered if even worse might on the horizon.


    Two of his men had gone missing during the ride back.


    The men were free, but they had sworn oath to him, and to run off without asking his leave was not common behavior.


    One of the men was known to be a solitary type, but the other had family that everyone knew well. Varsus found it difficult to believe the man had just ran off.


    Now he would have to tell her family that her husband was gone and he knew not where.


    It was that damned place. Wademount. Forsaken by all, and rightly so. It had done something to him. Who knew what it had done to others?


    By the Gods, he thought, I am become bleak and mawkish!


    His company kept moving. Their speed now was slowing, and it seemed as if they were taking the last bit of their strength to finally make it to the end of their journey.


    Varsus looked around at his surroundings. At this southern border there was green everywhere. The oaks and maple trees of the middle and southern regions had given away to the pine trees that marked the north of Maeraland.


    The province of Varsus was a very hilly land. It made construction of roadways somewhat difficult and farming not feasible for the majority of the country land.


    Therefore, they relied on a lot of fishing and trade for goods, although there were some lean years recently.


    Varsus frowned, in fact, one of the reasons he had been so glad to cross into his own border was the province he had just left, a much larger Earldom bordering Varsus province called Clermont.


    The Earl of that province had no love for Varsus, the province or the man, and made no bones about saying it.


    Any goods that Varsus would send south must necessarily go through Clermont, and Varsus had come to understand that he could expect delays of shipments and even complete disappearances of goods that were leaving or coming to Varsus.


    Shaking his head, Varsus frowned. He had not went to the monarchy with this yet, but the slights were becoming more and more egregious, to the point where Varsus could not ignore it much longer.


    ¡°Ahhhh now we can finally relax!¡± a sharp voice shouted, almost directly in his ear.


    Varsus jumped when he heard it, snapped out of thoughts that were becoming darker and darker.


    Turning in his saddle, he saw Lord Multon stretching, his old craggy face smiling at the sight of the familiar territory.


    The old Master at Arms was beginning to go a bit deaf, and as a result, Varsus had noticed that Multon raised the volume of his voice to compensate.


    Varsus pretended that the old man was not yelling at him, and responded in a louder tone so the man could hear him.


    ¡°Somehow I feel I can¡¯t quite relax yet, although it is good to see home.¡±


    Multon stared at Varsus, looking him up and down.


    Varsus grinned, although he did not feel in such a jovial mood.


    ¡°Is everything alright, Master Multon? You regard me as if inspecting me for your good wife¡¯s cookpot.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t look well, my lord,¡± Multon said, lowering his voice to what Varsus was sure he considered to be conspiratorial, but was in fact normal speaking volume.


    ¡°Ehh, I am just tired,¡± said Varsus. ¡°Much as we all are. It has been a long journey.¡±


    Multon frowned and lowered his head. Then seemed to come to some decision.


    ¡°My lord,¡± Multon began,¡± is this about Lady Avalaine?¡±


    Varsus jolted completely upright in his saddle.Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    ¡°What?! I¡¯m certain I don¡¯t know what you mean, Master M¡ª¡±


    ¡°Ohh come off of it now!¡± growled Multon. ¡°I saw the look on your face when Prince Randall took her away.¡±


    ¡°He did not take her away!¡± snapped Varsus. As soon as he said the words he knew they had come out too harshly, too hot.


    Multon did not pounce on this, but kept silent. The silence became awkward.


    ¡°Of course, she had no choice but to leave with him¡­ or I should say she did not leave with him, but he merely escorted her back to her father. Regardless, it is of no consequence¡­ or not to me¡­¡±


    The rambling trailed off with no conclusion. Multon thought hard about his next words.


    ¡°My lord, if you want to marry her, then ask. I doubt her father would approve, but if he does not, at least you will know. Either you marry her, or it might be time to move on to other options, get about to the business of Varsus.¡±


    When the Baron did not respond, Multon became annoyed.


    ¡°My lord,¡± he began, his voice low and hissing, ¡°heirs to the province are not going to create themselves! Without an heir, then Clermont may well end up taking this land for themselves.¡±


    Varsus was scowling now, his face red with embarrassment and anger. Embarrassment at his transparent feelings for Lady Avalaine, and anger at the thought of Clermont annexing or otherwise taking control of Varsus province.


    ¡°My lord¡ª¡±


    ¡°That will be enough, Master Multon,¡± Varsus snapped, much louder than he had intended.


    Quiet fell over those in the company near enough to overhear.


    Varsus felt drained. He shouldn¡¯t have snapped like that, but the old Master of Arms was constantly pointing out one lady or another that he should wed, and Varsus did not like to think of it.


    He had been having nightmares most nights on the road. Horrible nightmares where he was dropped into a void. An endless black void of cold nothing.


    Or at least he thought it was nothing. Only after falling through endless, lightless black for an eternity did he come to understand that there was someone, something there in that darkness, a vast presence filled with patient, cold malice.


    Many nights he had awoken, drenched in sweat. He hoped that finally arriving home would put him to rights.


    As the silent company wound through the countryside, they began to encounter the hamlets and villages that made up the outskirts of the province. Some of the people shouted out to them in greeting, although most merely stared.


    The settlements grew more and more populous, until finally the roads became paved.


    Varsus knew that it would be only a short while now until they would reach Varston, the town in which his castle sat directly in the center.


    There were outer wooden walls that encircled the entire town, and they would need to pass through the main gate to gain entry.


    Inside the wall would be more densely packed homes and businesses, and at the center of the town would be another wall, this one taller and thicker and made of stone.


    Beyond this wall would be the castle grounds and his own castle, Clarion Keep, so named for its purpose centuries early to alert the populace of attacks from both vicious pirates and brutal Elves. Both had been inhuman in their violent intent.


    These days though, attacks from the Elves were improbable, as none had been seen for generations, and although there was still occasional pirate trouble, they now knew the people of this land would not only fight, but would exact a hefty price for any loot the pirates made off with.


    Varsus left off his ruminating as they approached the outer wall of the town.


    Something was wrong.


    ¡°Gods damn that man!¡± Multon shouted, and Varsus did everything he could not to shout as well.


    As he looked up over the wall, he saw his banner flying. The red field in the background with gray trim all around, and in the foreground a gray shape that looked like a crown, but was really four fists raised in victory. That was what he expected to see.


    What he did not expect to see, was another banner flying above his.


    This one was midnight blue with a white border. On the inside were 3 owls flying, wings looking majestic and trimmed with silver.


    The standard of Clermont.


    Now most of the men had seen it, and under-the-breath grumbling could be heard traveling backward down the line of men.


    Varsus raised his hand for silence, and the men did so. Fury burned through him, washing away his fatigue in an instant.


    As they approached the outer gate, Varsus could see that those guarding the gate were not his men, but instead wore the colors of Clermont.


    The men did not try to bar his way. They merely opened the gate and stood aside.


    Varsus did not acknowledge them as he entered. His face was frozen in what could only be described as surprised anger.


    The company continued through the town, and Varsus saw many subdued people lining the streets. Some half-heartedly welcomed them back, but most stared at them, just as the people in the outer villages had earlier.


    The light was fading. It would be time to light the torches soon, but Varsus thought there were still more people out on the streets than usual for this time of day.


    The company rode in silence all the way to the inner gate of the keep. Again there were more Clermont guards manning the post, and again they made no move to stop him from entering.


    As soon as the entire company had amassed at the gate Varsus turned and spoke.


    ¡°All you men,¡± he shouted at his company, ¡°go now to your families or wherever else you would! Rest well and know you have served me, and the Crown well, and I honor you for it!¡±


    The men shouted back multiple iterations of affirmative acknowledgement and began to disperse.


    Master Multon sidled his horse close to Varsus.


    ¡°My lord, are you sure?¡± he hissed. ¡°We may need these men still.¡± His eyes slid to the two guards in Clermont livery manning the gate.


    Varsus stared at them too. Hard.


    ¡°No,¡± he said, ¡°I think our friend the Earl will not let it come to that.¡±


    Then Varsus urged his horse forward, and both he and Multon rode through the gate and toward the stables.


    ***


    After they had left their horses with the stable master, Varsus and Multon stalked through the keep at whirlwind speeds.


    As they moved through the castle, Varsus noted that his people, from the administrative functionaries down to the chambermaids were all gone.


    He recognized none of the people he now saw performing those duties.


    Anger growing with every step, Varsus finally reached the place where he knew he would find the man responsible for this.


    As he reached the doors to his audience chamber, the two unfamiliar Clermont guards at the door moved to open it for him. Varsus did not allow them the chance, and moved between them to throw open the doors himself.


    The heavy wooden doors slammed against the stone walls. Everyone inside the audience chamber spun to look when they heard the noise.


    All except one man, who was sitting at the top of a modest dais in the large, high-backed chair that was usually reserved for Varsus himself.


    Varsus stalked to the bottom of the stairs and locked eyes with the man now sitting in his place.


    ¡°Earl Ragenald¡±, Varsus said, through gritted teeth.


    The Earl, dressed in elaborate dark blue finery with silver trimming, sat casually in the chair. He was easily twenty years the senior of Varsus, though not so old as Multon, who¡¯s face was red and showing signs of impending explosion.


    ¡°Baron Varsus,¡± said the Earl, his tone mocking. ¡°I was wondering if you would ever come back.¡±


    Varsus ground his teeth, but did not reply.


    ***


    Outside the gate to the inner keep, Barnaby was the last of the men to break away and depart.


    He was young, one of the youngest in the company, and he had a full head of curly brown hair with no beard to go along with it.


    Barnaby had always been a big kid, and grew up to be a big man, so he had volunteered himself to the service of the Baron in the year of his majority.


    He had the task of stowing the large supply wagon that trailed the rest of the company. It was a task he hated, but as he was the low man in the company, it was his job, for now.


    Before Wademount, he hadn¡¯t hated the job, but all the way back, it had begun to grate on him. Why should he be stuck with this wagon when they could easily trade off between him and a few others?


    It had made him so tired and weary, and yet there was a fire in him. Tonight he finally realized what it was.


    Hatred.


    He hated these people. His ¡°comrades¡± disgusted him. Why was he fighting for nobles and royalty that he had never even met and who would not piss on him if he were on fire?


    Then Baron Varsus gives them a couple of words of thanks and sends them off with nothing. Not gold, a meal, not even a drink!


    Now he was left out here in the moonlight all by himself.


    He heard the horse attached to the wagon wheezing again. The damned creature had one job to do, and all he heard day and night was constant wheezing. And it seemed no matter how much he fed the thing, it was just getting thinner and thinner.


    ¡°Quiet, Lunger,¡± he growled. Once he had loved this horse. He couldn¡¯t remember the feeling of love, but only that he was sure he had loved it. Lunger had been a fine horse. Now it was just skin and bones.


    Although he had caught sight of himself in a pond a few days back, and he was definitely losing some weight himself.


    Barnaby detached the horse from the wagon, meaning to lead it to the stables, but as soon as he unhooked Lunger the horse tilted over and fell to the ground, dead.


    Barnaby stared at the dead animal, feeling nothing. Feeling nothing but cold.


    ¡°That will change in awhile,¡± said a voice from behind him.


    Barnaby spun to face the person speaking, and he realized immediately that it was not a person.


    The thing that stood before him looked like a man, but one whose skin had gone far past pale to being gray with white mottled splotches.


    It had dark black hair that somehow did not pick up any shine from the moonlight on it.


    The thing wore a gray tunic with red trim and a high collar. Its breeches were flared at the bottom and tucked into a pair of gray boots with curled tips that pointed up toward the sky.


    Barnaby moved closer. Somehow he felt like the thing wanted him closer.


    Then he saw its eyes. Red eyes. Solid red. No white area, no pupil or iris, just red and softly glowing.


    The thing was smiling, and Barnaby saw the enlarged fangs in its mouth.


    He was not afraid. Suddenly, he knew what to do.


    Barnaby dropped to his knees then doubled himself over until his forehead was touching the ground.


    ¡°Master,¡± he said.


    The thing that was not a man was pleased.