Lord of the West

Chapter 16

Cometh the man







Daen. Was she still the girl that he had known, had loved, or had he lost her forever to this creature, this Daenarys? It was a question that Koto could not answer.



Fire. To be burned alive, that was the fate that awaited her. Without his help, he knew that this was a certainty. Koto had seen the mercy of fire at first hand – a public execution in the north of Verangia – an old woman burned alive to save her soul, to make sure that she went to Helu. But mercy was not a word he could have attached to that scene; it had been a terrible death. It was certainly not something he would wish upon someone.



“So this is your hiding place.” Perdur stated accusingly, disturbing the young man’s solitude.



“I was not hiding.” Koto, said not quite a lie, “I’m watering the horses.”



“You should have come found us as soon as you returned.” Koto bowed his head as he moved away from the lines of animals, lowering his hazel eyes, he knew arguing would do no good. His masters took it as an apology. They came down the bank towards him, Lanare following apprehensively behind them. “Was the girl with the Duke?”



Koto hesitated, but then nodded faintly.



“Are you sure?” Peredur pressed him. Koto was not yet ready for this conversation, he had to many doubts, so held his tongue until Peredur called his name sharply. “Koto, are you sure?”



“Of course I am sure. I would know Daen anywhere!” Koto cursed himself for saying her more domestic name, and bringing himself under their disapproving scrutiny.



“Then why is she not dead, if you saw her?” Gier posed the young warrior. “You were to kill her if you saw her again.”



“What, in front of all those people?” Koto demanded. “I would not have got within six foot of her.”



“Your courage failing you boy?” Gier accused.



Koto flushed hotly. “No.”



“In my day Paladin’s had more steal.”



“Koto is right.” Peredur appeased, putting an arm out to stop Gier from advancing on the young man. “We will bide our time. The noble had promised that she will deliver us Daenarys.”



“Pyr’ why need we go after Daenarys?” Koto asked brokenly. “Pyr Anselm said she was dead to us now. Why can we not just leave it be? What harm can one girl do?”



“We are Paladins, and she a heretic. It is our nature we can never leave it be; - not until the matter is laid to rest.”



It was Lanare who spoke next. “I agree with Koto, Masters. I can not feel comfortable allying myself with that Imperial hag. Nor do I like this deception. It is not our way. What harm can one woman child do?”



“I am disappointed Prince Lanare. You after all have the most to lose should we never reclaim her.” Peredur said.



“I do not understand what this has to do with me.” Lanare replied stiffly.



The Paladin sighed. “The girl has royal blood on both sides, her mother’s a tainted line – but older even older. There are those who might see Daenarys as the true heir over you Lanare. Those who would use her as a rallying point for rebellion. As a figure head for the old ways we have strived for so long to eradicate. And not just the girl, but any offspring that she might have will always cast a shadow over our line. ”



“Then why did we ever let her live, if she is so dangerous.”



“One of your honoured grandfather’s whims.” Peredur said mildly disapproving. “He loved your uncle Sheld very much, and it was for his sake. The girl also put him in mind of his honoured wife, or so I heard him say. In his conceit he believed that if the girl was in our power then she could never be used against us. That her offspring would be valuable, a mixture of the lines, strong in magic, stronger then the witches we fight against, that was until we discovered that the taint ran to strong within her to control. There is some silly prophecy, that the Dawn star – that is what the heathen’s call their savoir – will come and herald a new dawn and the end of the world or some such nonsense.”



Koto shook his head. “A prophecy. Since when did we believe in soothsayers?”



Peredur’s was deadly serious. “You would not laugh had you seen the abbot of Ari’Suril’s body. Nor the message he left us in his own blood. Men on both sides have died because they believed in this, cities have been raised to the ground. Whether it is true or no, matters not. We are at war, war for the Empire’s soul, for our people’s souls, never forget that.”



Koto’s was suddenly struck by something. “Our power. We call it strength, but in others sorcery, and witchcraft. What is this war?”



The Paladin was pensive. “Power such as our blood holds is very dangerous – we must not let it get in to the wrong hands. We use it for good, with the tenants of our faith to guide us, to protect us from its corruption, Helu’s own wisdom, and the very strength of our convictions. Without our watchfulness the world could descend back in to chaos – with people using what should be gifts for ill, or worse becoming monsters in their lust for power. Woman in particular are week, and susceptible to the arcane’s distorting forces.”



“Yes Pyr Peredur.” The young man nodded. “But Daen, she is an innocent.”



“ Even if she is. That she lives’ is a sword hanging above our heads, for as long as those heretics have hope there will never be piece in our lands.” Peredur lay his hand on Koto’s shoulder. “I’m sorry but in this case the end justifies the means. To be a Paladin sometimes you must do what is necessary, and not righteous.”



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Veonie was whistling as he jogged down the stairs, his plate armour proving no hindrance to his movement. Two energetic squires followed in his wake. The Duke had returned early that morning, and now the castle was abuzz with activity, preparing for battle. Last night as the Duke had previously ordered, all the infantry men had begun to dig deep ditches and banks on the frontier. Even Captain Tann had rolled up his sleeves, and had even thrust a spade in Timors direction. Veione was only to glad that he was already on his way back to Bala to ready his horse men, before the mountain of a man had spotted him.



The cavalry captain pulled up short on the stairs when he spotted a familiar backside – Veonie being a cognisor – he knew at once it to be Daen’s. She was watching with almost envious eyes upon the crowded courtyard below. Lord Darcia was in the process of checking his war horse’s battle harness. Orders fell like lightning from his lips, all the while Alwen – the poor lad – was trying to secure Darcia’s battle armour to his body, the Duke seemingly oblivious to the boy’s endeavours, carrying on regardless. He told his squires to go on ahead, and ready his horse, before he went to stand at the young woman’s elbow.



“Now there is a man!” Veonie’s comment startled the girl.



“Pardon?”



Veione smiled, and jerked his head, indicating to the courtyard below. “The Duke. He is an impressive figure in full battle array.”



Daen nodded in agreement. “The men seemed full of fire. I have never seen them like this.”



“A fierce bread we Marchadians, and our blood is hot very hot. Our men live to put on their battle harness. You on the other hand look a trifle worn Daen.” Veione solicited.



“It is not kind of you to say so.” Daen retorted with a ghost of a smile.



Veione bowed. “My lady, deepest apologies.” A roguish twinkle came in to his azure eyes. “But you do look tired.”



“I own, I am tired.” Daen admitted to him. “I got next to no sleep last night. And then at day brake we rode back here willy- nilly. Oh, but it doesn’t signify. My Lord slept less than I and yet behold, he is full of vigour.”



Veione’s grinned slyly. “Wore you out on the bridal bed did he?”



“We are not yet married.” Daen said with as much dignity as she could rally, blushing furiously.



Concerned, his blond brows furrowed. “Have you quarrelled?”



“Oh no!” Daen replied.



It struck him that perhaps his cousin had misread the girl. He remembered the Duke’s inexpert handling of the filly, the rough wooing, and to her credit Daen was not on the catch for a title, or even a husband. Gently Veione asked. “Have you declined his offer?”



“No. I am his body and soul.” The pretty red haired woman looked contemplative. “I dare say that I am more in love with him then ever. But..”



“Kicked him in to touch did you my girl? Good for you. Knowing my boorish cousin – for he is not at all romantic – he probably expected you to me married in clothes covered with road dust, and no flowers, or feasting, or any gayety at all!”



“As if I would care for such things! I shouldn’t give a whiskers if we were in rags and…” Daen exclaimed. Her eyes twinkled appriciativly. “Oh, you are teasing me! Veione you are quite abominable sometimes!”



He laughed, throwing his head back, before putting an arm about the young woman’s slim shoulders. “You must forgive me. You looked so solemn, like the weight of the whole world was upon your back.” They both looked back out the archway, Daen’s eyes never leaving her lord’s figure. “What is so heavy on your mind Daen?”



Daen sighed. “Lord Darcia, he is a great man is he not? Even his enemies can not help but admire him.”



“He is the greatest of men.” Veione replied, not sure where this was leading.



“I asked him to take a short rest before he sets out again.”



Veione chuckled, he had to admire the girl’s impudence. “And what did he say to that?”



“He laughed, and told me that a night with no sleep will not harm him.” She looked down at her Lord, now clad in his black raven armour. Still directing things, not shouting but his voice carried nether the less. Every moment passing, his men seemed to burn hotter, ready for battle. “Veione has he always been this way? Is this why his men will follow where he will lead, even to death itself?”



“You should know, better than any of us what draws a heart to him.”



“Ah, but I am a woman. It’s different.” The girl replied with her canny wisdom.



“I suppose it is.” Veione considered the matter.



“Why do you follow him Veione?” Daen asked, her piercing green eyes falling upon him. “You could claim kinship with him, but you rarely do.”



“It’s complicated.” The blond man said. “I left these lands as a young man. I suppose you might have heard that I was somewhat a rouge. At length I became a mercenary – a mad dog for hire. Darcia was barely more then a boy then, I his senior by some years. It didn’t matter though, he was more man than I could ever have claimed to be. I fought against him at first you must understand. But one could not help but admire him. Cool bastrard he was even back then, he seemed to know what you were going to do before you even knew it.” Veione considered the point for a few moments. “I suppose all dogs’ need their masters. He gave me purpose, and I will serve him with all my heart. The man has vision, he wants to bring peace and prosperity to this land, justice to, and I have never yet seen Darcia swerve from his purpose, he will go to any length to achieve it. He fears no man. He’s devilish clever. I have never known anyone with such an iron will. And he expects nothing from you that he would not adhere to himself. Own him your master and he is a ruthless protector, but oppose him- and well there can be only one outcome. Hot blood, but he has a cool head, always.”



“Not always.” Daen said, casting down her eyes. “Yesterday, he lost his temper in the council.”



“Ah, and here comes to it.” Veione sighed under his breath. He looked down at the girl. “Is this what you have been worrying about filly?”



“Veione, it’s all my fault! If it was not for me then Lord Darcia would have never lost his temper before the Emperor, all this could have been avoided!”



“Twaddle!” Veione dismissed roundly. “The Emperor would have found some other excuse believe me. The only time that the Emperor has stepped foot in these lands was to depose one or other of our ancestors. There have been envious eyes turned upon these lands for years. The only miracle is how long we have managed to avoid open conflict for so long!”



“I have heard that his passions have never overruled his reason before - before he fell in love with me. He will throw over all his carful plan’s if he ever thought I was in danger.”



Veione intervened before the girl could work herself up again, using his best impersonation of Lord Darcia’s bracing voice. “Don’t be foolish. Not all the problems in the world are yours. Daen, it’s true Darcia keeps a tight rein on his passions. But he is only a man. I have seen his anger, terrible anger – and nothing to do at all with you. Do not take so much upon yourself. You are responsible for your actions, and our Lord responsible for his, and I suppose that I must be responsible for mine. I think he would agree with me. Besides I hold that you are a good influence on Darcia, it does him good to have his calm ruffled every so often. ” Veione petted her cheek, grinning at her arrested expression. “Now stop feeling sorry for yourself, and make yourself useful.”



“Useful?”



“Aye, little lioness of Rhayd. Perhaps you will ply your talents here. Help arrange the defences.”



“Yes.” Daen said enthusiastically. “Yes, I should like to. Though I doubt that between Lord Darcia and his seneschals I will find much to do.”



“Well good! Now my lady, you must hold me excused. But I cannot let my men wait for me any longer.” Be bowed over her hand, kissing her fingertips gallantly. Looking up he waggled his brows at her. “And, people may begin to talk should we be seen together tete-e- tete like this.”



She laughed at him. “Go on then cheviller!”



Veione carried on down the stairs, resuming his whistling, but stopped when he heard his named called.



“Veione, one last thing.” Daen called, from the head of the stairs. “Lord Darcia told me that it would be over his lifeless corpse that an Imperial army would have to pass before they could darken the doors of this city…. Veione don’t let him do anything so imprudent.”



Imprudent. Only Daen would dare call Lord Darcia imprudent. A smile twisted his mouth. Turning to face her he gave another little bow, meeting her frank emerald gaze. “My Lady.”











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Ahrlan chancing his luck rode through the main gate of his home. Silence ruled over Heronwall castle. Supper was being held in the great hall as usual, but it was a subdued affair, the lord and lady absent, Lord Bute gravely ill had not left his bed. The knight went swiftly up to the private chambers and unannounced scraped at the door. Bulwyne admitted him. “My Lord Ahrlan you have come.”



“How is my father?”



“He is mortal bad. His heart is giving out, good sire.”



Stepping in to the room, he saw his mother sat beside the bed, haggard looking, her eyes red rimmed. Of Goring there was no sign.



“Ahrlan, my boy is that you?” His father’s voice was reedy and week.



Ahrlan went to him at once. Falling on his knees besides him, clutching at his bony hand. “Father!”



“I am so glad.” Lord Bute smiled, looking upon his eldest with deep set, bloodshot eyes, that were nether the less blue as the open skies in his swollen face. “I knew you would come.”



“Where are my brothers? Are they to not here?” Ahrlan asked, addressing his mother.



“Goring is here. But your father will not see him.” His mother said softy, glancing cautiously at her husband.



“I do not want to see that viper. To think that I sired…” The old man frowned. “It’s of no account now. I have not long left and it all passes to you Ahrlan. I have no fears on that account.”



“It is but a spring malady. You will feel better presently I am sure.” Ahrlan said, fighting the grip of strong emotions that threatened to unman him. “It is damnably cold in here, who left all those shutters open?”



“Your father wanted fresh air, and to see the sky.”



“Well it can not be helping! Has a healer seen him?”



“Ahrlan, I am dying not senile.” His father interjected sternly. “Now sit, and leave those shutters be! We have much to speak about.”



At length Lord Bute talked with his son, all the matters of his estates that the young knight would need to know, not that Ahrlan was unschooled in these matters already. The old lord gazed upon his son for a few moments, “It’s time you were thinking of marriage lad.”



“Suffice to say father I have been thinking on it. But I would see myself secure first.”



The old man nodded. “Just don’t wait to long. Ladies can not wait forever.” Satisfied at last he leaned back against his pillows, exhausted he closed his eyes. His wife, son and faithful retainer kept vigil by his bed as he slept, his face only taking on a more and more unhealthy colour.



Lord Bute only woke once more, his eyes turned out of the window, looking out towards the land’s beyond. “Where is Alwen?” He asked fretfully. “Where is my son?”



His wife petted his hand, soothing. “He is in the north serving the Duke. We have sent a message, but he may not have received it yet.”



“I remember now.” Lord Bute sighed. His face crumpled, and he brought a hand to his eyes. “My boy, my dear sweet boy! How I wish I could have seen him one last time.” The old man choked, and fell to silent sobbing, subsiding back in to a fitful sleep.



It was not long after that a priestess was summoned to attend upon him. She gave him a sleeping draught before leading the hymens, weeping Lady Bute’s voice choked over the words. He did not wake again. Not long before dawn Lord Bute passed from the world. Gray faced, Bulwyne kissed the cooling hand of his Lord, before gently pulling off his signet ring. Kneeling stiffly he pressed it in to Ahrlan’s lax hand. The knight looked down at it, and finally succumbed to his own emotions.









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The Duke’s cavalcade had left Bala in a shower of red petals. The cavalry had travelled fast through forest paths. Now as dusk was falling, and the fog roiling in they waited in the shadows of the trees, looking out upon the grasslands of the Mere’Ambras. Gunar chomped on his bit, and shook long mane, impatient to be at work.



“Steady boy.” Alwen soothed the desterier.



A strong gauntlet suddenly griped the boys shoulder. “It would be better to steady yourself boy. Your nerves are fidgeting him.”



“Yes My Lord.” Alwen said contrite, but was oddly reassured when encountering the Duke’s smile.



Captain Tann was stood leaning against a tree, his spade now replaced with a huge battle axe. He would not be upon the field today, his infantry to man the new defences, it had made the burly man as testy as a sulking bear. “Get your helmet on boy. There is work for you to do soon. When they pass we will hit them hard and fast you had best be ready.”



The men had blacked their faces, and shining armour had been dulled with soot and grease. Dark horses shifted in the gloom. The knight, visors down sat as grim sentinels, like crows crowding in branches, watching those below, knowing that death would come, inevitable, and that they could afford to be patient.



Fire’s were being lit at the Duke’s orders, leafy branches thrown upon them and fanned some way off, plumes of smoke adding to the deepening fog that obscured the flat plane.



“Much more and we will not be able to see them coming!” One of Veione’s commanders complained.



“Just so!”



“How will we know how many men we fight?”



“You will not.” Darcia smiled again, a flash of very white teeth.



“Well that is a comforting thought!” The man groused, only to be teased by the men around him.



In the distance, the sound of harness came to their ears, and the company fell at once silent, hushed by an imperious gesture of the Duke’s. Men tightened their rains, and lent forwards slightly in their saddles staring out in to the murk. There was the hiss, of swords being loosed from their scabbards.



Close by someone uttered the invocation to battle, it whispered on the wind.



‘Forth now we will ride, then through the ranks rushing be busy where friend’s blows blithe give and take. After that let us steadfastly stand by the brave; then men shall mark mournful their shields red with gore to banners rush on. Mind, maidens, we spare not one life in the fray! We pray to you oh raven maids; oh coarse choosing sisters have charge of the slain!’



A shiver went up the young knight’s spine. Alwen’s heart was beating fast, loud in his ears as if it were a drum in his helm. Beneath him Gunnar had raised his proud head, his ebony ears pricked. He could feel the warhorse’s great thundering heart through the saddle. Not a virgin to battle anymore, but dread and anticipation filled his mind.



“The vanguard approaches.” Lord Darcia said softly. “Steady, steady now. We attack their flanks. Hold your men firm! Wait for the horn.”













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Sargon would be glad when they reached the border and could set up camp. Having risen late the army awaiting his pleasure, could not begin its march until after noon, and it was already growing dark and they had not yet reached their destination. The steady cadence of hoof fall, and tread of men marching was lulling, and the Emperor found himself swaying in his saddle. More then once the hand of Captain Peregrine had pulled him discreetly back upright in the saddle. Fortunately with the fog so thick no one could see much beyond their own horses. And so half asleep he thought that he had dreamed the noise at first.



The men in front of him came to a sudden halt, jerking him awake. “What’s going on?” He demanded, annoyed at the delay. “Why have we stopped here?



Captain Peregrine, menoverd his horse closer, the customary smile friendly gone from his eyes. “I do not know yet, your Majesty. There is some kind of disturbance ahead.”



“Well someone go find out what the hold up is?” The Emperor ordered, sending one of the Verangian guard down the lines. Standing still, the cold carried on the fog seemed to seep under his clothes, and wrap miserably about his bones. Oppressed by the darkness, the Emperor ordered torches be lit, and felt immediately some measure of relief. Refreshments were brought forward he enjoyed a light repast and some congenial conversation with his courtiers as they waited on news. However despite the distraction, the young Emperor could not help but be aware of sounds muffled by the fog but it was difficult to tell what they were.



Galloping hoofs were approaching. Sargon assumed it was his man returning to tell them about a river crossing or some such thing. He was about to complain to his Captain behind him, when the expression of horror on the face made him turn back around. From the gloom, a rider-less horse appeared, just as that strange horn call came again. A chonorch horn it’s low melancholy call lingered like the ghosts of echo’s long after it’s eerie notes died away. The horse passed them closely, and in the flickering touch light it was horrifyingly apparent that it was blood and not sweat that soaked the animal’s neck.



In answer to the unspoken question, a cry came down the lines. “The vanguard, we are attacked!”



Jumbled conversation followed between his generals. There was a sudden press of men, pushing backwards with no where to go and Sargon found himself jostled roughly, his usually docile horse cowering back. Only Captain Peregrine’s strong hand grabbing the beasts bridle above the bit held it in check. Ruthlessly the Verangian guard made space for the Emperor pushing them back. “Back, back; do not crowd his Majesty!” Sargon was shaking, as more and more riderless horses came at them from the gloom, and beyond their vision dark shapes moved past them in the darkness, and the sounds of battle could now be heard in the distance. They were not long followed by horribly wounded soldiers, barely clinging to their wild mounts.



The generals shouted at them as they went past, demanding to know what was going on.



“They came from the mist, like demons! They will kill us all!” Came the reply of a wide eyed soldier, holding his arm where it had been crushed by a mace blow.



A blooded warhorse limped towards the Imperial party. One of the Emperor’s body guards caught it’s bridle. His rider was hanging beneath him, groaning in agony, dragged along by the stirrup. An Imperial knight. Sargon’s ashen hand came to cover his mouth. The man’s chest plate, good Imperial steal had been cleaved open, and his entrails were dragging behind him in a gruesome trail, tangling about the horses legs.



One of the young Verangian guard jumped down. And deftly put a period to the wretched man’s life, before offering a hasty prayer still bent over the body.



“The Emperor!” Someone called, as Sargon slipped from the saddle. Fortunately that same young man was there to catch him, as he swooned away, and was not to recover his reason until some time later.



At last one of Peregrine’s men returned. “My Lords! Lord Darcia’s cavalry has launched a surprise attack on both flanks of the vanguard. First the one flank, and then the other. And when we were in disorder, crowded together they attacked us with arrows. We have taken heavy losses!”



“So much for demons!” Lord Terent Edourard scowled.



Lord Cinna, and General Aticus took charge at this point. “We will go and see what can be done.”



“I’m coming!” Terent declared.



The older men frowned, displeased but would not gainsay the Emperor’s favourite. “As you will.”



At the head of their horse they rode down the line, coming upon a scene of complete disorder. Lord Cinna a man of many campaigns was disgusted, and turning to his old friend expressed that he had never seen such a maul in all his life. Men were trying to retreat, but stopped by the rest of the cohorts behind them, they were pressing themselves together like sheep harried by dogs.



Finding at length the vanguard’s marshal, they held their rebuke’s when seeing that he had an arrow in his shoulder, and on hearing that his horse had been killed underneath him at the outset they held him excused. “How many are there?”



“We have no idea. They hide themselves in this infernal miasma! They harry us on one side and then the next, disappearing before we can defend ourselves. Like dammed ghosts!”



"We can not kill them! You make a hit and still they come!" A young knight standing close by stutterd out.



Lord Cinna snorted. "Look at your sword fool. If they can blead, they can die! You just did not hit home. There men of March are a tough breed, like wolverines, they will fight untill they can not!"



The sound of hoofs thundering towards them sent their hands hastily to their swords. Lord Cinna watched in admiration as out of the murk came a head of the Duke’s cavalry. Dark spectral figures, galloping hard baring down in a tight V formation upon the crowding men at their right. They cut through them like a sheath through grass; their charge barley checked by the Imperial force, the Marchadian knights expert with sword, axe, lance, and mace. “Risky, risky but bold.” He commented to no one in particular.



“Follow them!” General Articus called out, waving a torch above his head to guide his men.



The Emperor’s heavy cavalry finally forced its way through, but their horses were not swift enough to catch up with the powerful mountain horses, nor were the knights brave enough to gallop flat out over unknown ground, unable to see much beyond their own noses.



At last a halt in the pursuit was called, when the last of the Marchadian knights disappeared in to the deep shadows of the forest.



“Why have you stopped!” A Terent called out.



“With respect Lord Edouard. There is no point risking our necks chasing them in to there!” The Emperor’s Marshal said, now remounted on one of the fallen’s horses.



Lord Cinna had trotted up besides them. “He is right. They probably want us to follow, Who knows what trap they have laid in there for us. Our strength is in a pitched battle - if he will ever let us fight one against him. But he is no fool, and will not likely let us force his hand.” He shook his grizzled head. “This is not the war that I would like to fight. That man as a boy was a devilish clever general. Reckless bold, and ruthless cool in measure.”



“Cowards!” Terent was laughing, brandishing a garish blade. His voice grew louder. “Look, see they run from us! Will you not stand and fight us!”



“Have you not tasted enough blood for today?” a disembodied voice called out, echoing disconcertingly across the plane.



“Show yourself coward!”



“Coward am I? I did not see you Terent in the mealy.” Lord Darcia responded calmly. Astride a great war horse, clad all in black the duke seemed to suddenly appear in the mists, as if a curtain had been pulled back. Even in the dim light, the handful of knights could see the blood dripping down from the Duke’s sword, and that the shine on his horse’s neck was not all sweat. Even Terent blanked, reining back involentry. The Duke of Marchadia threw up his visor, placing a gauntleted hand upon his hip, he regarded them his face stern. “Depart from my lands in peace, and we will offer you no further harm.”



“Oh we will depart, once we have attained our goals!”



“Laugh now my lords, but ignore my warning and you will weep on the morrow. If you try to march upon my city then the three hundred hostages life’s will be forfeit.”



“Contemptible threats. Willing to kill your own kind Darcia?”



“My own kind? I am Marchadia, the glacier waters of these mountains flow through my veins, and not the stagnant waters of the Nargessia. You are not my kind.”



“You will be punished most righteously for your crimes against the Emperor. Your threats do not scare us Lord Darcia.”



“You will care enough when it is your body’s strung from my city walls!” The Duke pointed his sword at the men. “You have been warned, next time I will not call off my men. I will brake your army here, and you will not be able to raise another for years hence. Think on that tonight!”



A grumble of protest came from the Imperial knights, but before they could rush upon the Duke he seemed to vanish before their very eyes. Hither and thither some of them went like hounds who have lost a sent looking for him in the night, but it was to no avail. Men shivered, and more then one of the Knights held his sun disk pendent, murmuring a prayers.



“Surely that man is a demon?” One voiced aloud.



The cavalry’s general Lord Articus, a man of many campaigns threw back his helmets visor. “Don’t be a fool!” He scolded. “He is but a man. But that was a clever trick!” The wounded moaned in the darkness, dazed and frightened men ambled about looking for fallen companions, or the weapons they had dropped in flight. General Articus took in the scene with misgivings. “He meant to scare us, and he has succeeded.”





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The Imperial army had retreated back to the lake during the night, the vacant abbey providing the better quarters for the knights, and those of any importance. Apparently the Emperor had been taken unwell. As one of his privy council, young lord Edouard had of course attended upon him, and had been all solicitations, helping anoint that pale brow with rose water, and offering him wine. Chafing his hand, and speaking to him in soothing accents until a physician dosed the Emperor with laudanum.



Alone in his room, sprawled in a chair, he spun his belt knife before him on the table, disconsolate. Nothing was going to plan, and Darcia had won the last hand, dam his eyes! Terent looked up as his servant opened his door, dark taffeta, and a musty odour announcing Lady Umra; her maid guiding her tottering steps.



In severe mourning black, with a headdress that only emphasised her bulbous forehead, and her milky eyes, Lady Umura looked the very illustration of a witch. “How is his Majesty’s health?”



“It is naught but vapours, like a maid!” Terent laughed contemptuously. “Fainting over a little blood. Someone should put him out of his mystery.”



“Soon enough.”



Terent scowled, his passablely good looking face becoming at once ugly with malice. "I supose you are aware of the humiliating defeat that we have just sufferd. Nothing is going to plan."



A voice as horse as burning autumn leafs spoke. “It looks like your plan to capture the Duke’s mother and woman has failed Terent.”



“What of it?” He scowled, the nobleman testily.



“You will need another distraction. Something to brake the Duke with.”



“What did you have in mind?”



“There is something hidden in these woods.” Lady Thett confided. “Darcia’s secret shame. So secret that he had it obliterated from the records.”



“What are you talking about old woman?”



“A monster. Of such that has not been seen for century’s.”



The nobleman took a slip of wine, before dabbing his lips with a lace kerchief. “Forgive my scepticism, but are we not to old for bedtime stories.”



“Ignorant young man.” Umra, murmured some words, causing the candles to gutter out. The foppish noble let out a startled exclamation. Another word, and they blazed alight again, in a violent flash of blue flame before subsiding back to normal.

“What was that!?” The noble man panted, as he picked up the glass that he had toppled over in his shock.



“That was not much more then a parlour trick.” She stated. “There are darker, more powerful magic’s in this world.”



Red wine dripped down off the table, a steady patter, pooling like blood on the flagstones. Terent templed his hands, leaning forwards his eyes gleaming with avarice. “How powerful?”



Lady Thett sat down, an unpleasant smile upon her thin lips. “Very.”



“Powerful enough to destroy Lord Darcia?” Terent asked, pouring himself another glass of wine.



“Powerful enough to bring down an Empire, or so the old stories say.”



The young nobleman watching the ruby liquid as he swirled it in it’s glass. “I think you should tell me more about this monster then? What is it, and how will we lay our hands on it if Darcia keeps it so well hidden?”



He waited for the old woman to sit, her hands like claws on the table. “An old acquaintance provided me with this.” She said and from her reticule pulled out a small piece of vellum, a map scratched upon it. “It is not far from here, or so he told me. Up towards the north.”



“Is this the friend that father introduced you to. His spy?”



Umra nodded.



“Well what are we looking for?”



“Not what, who.” She produced a small miniature portrait, set in an oval frame. Terent frowned over it, where did he know that face? Stern frowning brows, and grey blue eyes. “Barranus, Lord Darcia’s half brother.”

















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A.N: lovelyl, thank you for the review! In reply to the question Daen is twenty one, and Lord Darcia is thirty six, i probabaly havent mentiond their exact ages before.