The Conjured and the exiles

Leoff was practically in paroxysm of happiness when he discovered that they were not to stay much longer at lord Sindri’s castle. He was bored out of his mind. As an officer he couldn’t even lounge off with the other men to gamble, or wrestle. No, he was stuck babysitting the young noble, standing for houses at a time while Terent did nothing. A further irritant was Portia, lord Sindri’s daughter had been following him around like a moon calf, and it seemed the curter he was her he was the more obsessed with him she became. His men however semed to be faring better, though his men had been warned not to interfere with the people in the castle they still found ways to flirt with the castle women folk, or perhaps it was the other way around. Vas, with his unusual dark hair, deep tanned skin, and onyx eyes had become very popular with the fair Machadian women, for whom he entertained with songs, sitting high up on the castle wall like a troubadour from an old romantic tale.

Early in the evening’s Leoff crossing the court yard to check on the horses with Quiem, their company’s farrier. Quiem, or Que to his friends was a barrel chested man, he walked with his arms out in a North man’s swager making himself appear larger than he was, he wore a neat beard,had mellow brown eyes, and bashful red hair that in most lights appeared brown. In battle he wielded a unique halberd, not just a weapon, but it fulfilled a duel roll, as the spike to its rear was for putting horses out of their misery should they fall, never to rise again. Que never lost his temper around the horses, which was strange considering his hot North man nature. And despite the fact that he looked like he would be happy as a woodsman, he was actually very intelligent and surprisingly articulate.

Up on the castle wall, one leg bent, the other swinging down over the edge Vas sat serenading his gaggle of female fans. Noticing Leoff when his song finished he waved down at the men. Leoff raised a hand in return. ‘Ho, Vas are you going to come down at some point or are you going to make a nest up there?’ Que shouted up at the minstrel soldier.

‘Yes, please come down.’ A chorus of female voices chimed in broken imperial. A general noise came from the crowd as some of the more of the bawdy women discussed what they wanted to do with the dark eyed man once they had him in their wicked grips!

Vas laughed, throwing his head back and swept his arm wide indicating at the crowd of his admirers. ‘I don’t think so; I think they would rip me apart fighting over me by the sound of it, like a fox torn to bits by over eager hounds!’

‘In which case, which of us is the hound who has slain you first, which of us had devoured your heart?’ A pretty blue eyed woman shouted up at him.

The young man just smiled mysteriously, his obsidian eyes twinkling. ‘How could I tell in front of such a crowd? Wooing is a private activity, but I would have them know that I sing my songs with them and them alone in my heart.’ Leoff laughed, and Vas aimed his smile at him, sharing the joke with his friend.

The woman giggled excitedly below him, some shouting questions, though with their thick accents it could be hard to understand them. ‘Is it Sada?’

‘Is it Tamasin?’

‘No he loves Cassy, don’t you?’

‘Oh it’s always the quiet ones that men fall in love with!’

Vas just smiled enigmatically at them and shook his head. ‘Well if you won’t tell us who you love the most out of us then sing us another song at least!’

‘What would you like me to sing?’

The women once more burst forth in to a jabbering discourse over what song they would most like the smoothed voiced bard to delight them with. They settled on a saccharin romantic ballad that was not really to either Leoff, or Que’s tastes. However the women sighed over it, the various blue shades of eyes turned to the performer adoringly.

Que let out a soft laugh. ‘Some men have all the luck! All those women wasted on him.’

‘What do you mean?’ Leoff asked.

‘You know Vas is...’ Que realised by the baffled look upon the young man’s face that he did not in truth know. He scratched his head considering how best to broach the delicate subject with Leoff, he had assumed that the second lieutenant been so close Vas would have known, the young man had some odd blind spots. ‘Leoff, haven’t you ever wondered why Vas has never had a woman.’

‘No, of course not! it’s not my business.’

Que didn’t want to put his hazel eyed superior on defence so he tried another tack. ‘In all the time that you have known him have you ever seen in touch a woman?’

‘I have seen him dance with them.’

‘But he doesn’t paw them, dose he, unlike like most men?’ Que explained. ‘I bet that he has never stolen a kiss from even a tavern girl has he, and it’s not like he dose not get offers. Women throw themselves at him don’t they?’

‘But that doesn’t mean that he... Vas is just very polite.’ But the excuse sounded lame even to Leoff’s own ears. ‘Besides they are brought up quite strictly to have good manners in the Cwarmorth mining towns.’

‘Not that strictly.’ Que observed. He took on Leoff’s obvious discomfort. ‘I’m sorry, I thought you knew, otherwise I would have never brought it up.’

‘Does everyone know?’

‘Pretty well.’ Que replied, ‘it’s not exactly a problem or anything. We joke about it sometimes.’

‘Joke?’

‘Nothing bad, Vas knows about it, you know how he is, he just laughs. Everyone likes him, you can’t not like him.’

Leoff allowed himself a half cocked smile. ‘Yer, you can’t help not like him.’

Leoff walked away from Que as soon as it was polite to, afraid that his iron hard control on his emotions might slip in front of red haired man.

They stayed only until the day before Noshirnos , Leoff was pleased to leave, pleased to be back in the open air. Leaving at dawns first light, they even managed to turf a querulous Terent out of bed on time. On the ride back to their base Leoff had time to think his first concern had been the cold feeling in his gut left over from the other night. Leoff was not surprised when Dumas’s group did not return; he was however surprised that his own men accepted their absence without comment. The native residents of the castle likewise did not notice the absence of a few men amongst so many. Leoff wondered if that was what captain Nadar had planed all along by bringing along so many men. As captain Nadar himself made no comment about the missing men Leoff had to let his suspicions go, it was not his job to worry about such things, and likely as on the men were on perfectly legitimate business, perhaps they had been called away to defend some of lord Edouard’s territories. His suspicions regarding Dumas’s men seemed to be foolish in the day light, melting away like frost in the sun, they were suspicions based nothing more than night terrors. That was what became of him when he had noting better to do then imagine trouble. Leoff as a soldier tried to keep his imagination to the minimum, it didn’t help you in a battle if you were constantly wondering what if, and a moment’s hesitation because of fear could cost you your life.

So one problem dealt with Leoff was able to turn his attention to another worry, one that was closer to his heart. And he was left facing a hard truth, he wonder why he was so perturbed, after all it was a suspicion about his friend that he had harboured for some time now. He had however denied it to himself. Vas was his closest friend ever. And he didn’t want anything to spoil that. Now that he had to admit the possibility that Vas did not fight with a straight sword he wondered whether if it would get between them. Leoff hoped not, as he liked Vas a grate deal, like the brother he never had. He wondered whether that was natural to love a non related man as much as he did, was there anything wrong in the depth of emotion he held for the other man?

With Vas around Leoff felt that he could survive anything, if he fell, Vas would be there to catch him, if he had not the strength to go on Vas would carry him, often literally. Leoff had always felt like an outsider where ever he went, never really belonging, though he was of Nhemian stock he had not been raised in their ways and so was an non entity for them, not even fit to merit the distinction of been outcast, not even an Isra. But because of that blood he was a foreigner anywhere else. Moving about a lot with his father had ment that any connection he made with another person was fairly transitory, even his sister came and went from his life like a stray cat, though she had done her best razing him, only young herself. Vas was the first person since his father to have stuck, and Leoff felt that he knew him, just as Leof knew Vas. The question was how did Vas see him? And did it mater?


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Darcia woke early despite his lack of rest. Daen was still curled around him. He sat up only to let out a mild exclamation of pain, realising that Daen’s small hand tightly griped a hank of his hair. In her sleep she had twined his midnight strands about her fingers. He was somewhat bemused by her unconscious fascination with his hair, and when he tried to get up a second time the dormant woman still refused to release the captive tendrils of his mane, effectively tethering him to the bed. In the end he was forced to try and pry her hand open to free himself.

Two viridian orbs opened drowsily, their owner disturbed by Darcia’s efforts to extricate himself. ‘Daen.’ Darcia called softly. But the woman’s eyelashes fluttered laden back down, as she drifted back to sleep. ‘Daen.’ There was still no response, leaving the noble exasperated. ‘Daen, I have to get up!’

‘So get up.’ She yawned; her temper was never at its best in the morning. ‘I’m not stopping you.’

‘Your wrong little one, you have me bound.’ He pulled on the captured strand.

‘Oh.’ She relaxed her grip, and the strands slipped through her fingers like sand. Yawning she stretched languidly like a cat. As her breasts arched up, Darcia was sorely tempted to take one of their coral tips in to his mouth. She looked thoroughly tumbled, her hair in disarray, still naked under the covers, and her lips still kiss swollen. Unfortunately as much as he was stirred by her, he had pressing business to which he had to attend. She looked up at him with lazy curiosity. ‘Where are you going?’

‘Cyrch, it’s a village to the very south of my domain.’


‘But today’s the hunt?’

‘I know, but it cannot be helped.’ He said businesslike and unsmiling, as he swung his legs over the bed.

Daen recognising the seriousness in his tone asked him quietly. ‘What happened?’

. His voice was grim, and flat. ‘Cyrch was attacked, burnt to the ground. Everyone there is dead.’

She looked up at him without comprehension. ‘But I thought raids didn’t happen until the spring, when the snow melts?’

‘That’s why I must go.’

Darcia began to dress, pulling on a black leather cuirass over his clothing. Since he wanted to travel fast he chose his lighter armour, made of hard lacquered leather, and chain mail. Daen sat up on the bed watching him. ‘How long will you be gone for?’

Darcia was secretly thrilled by her downhearted expression, her face upturned to his, her eyes wide, shrouded in only her rich hair, she bit her bottom lip as if she was trying to keep words in. He sat back down on the bed and cupped her cheek in his gloved hand, and softly kissed her desirable lips. ‘Not long, a few days at most.’

‘Can I come with you? I won’t slow you down.’ Daen pouted.

‘No, it may be dangerous still.’ Daen looked disappointed, but she did not argue. Perhaps stilled by the haunted look he wore. Darcia regarded her contemplatively for a moment. ‘Daen, do you remember much abut your dream last night?’

Daen’s brows furrowed in puzzlement ‘Which one?’

‘Last night you were talking about a village.’ Darcia replied hoping to jog her memory.

She stared up at the ceiling, as she tried to call up the dream. ‘I’m sorry but I don’t recall….wait I have been having a strange dream recently, but know what it’s like once you wake up.’ Dean looked uncertainly at the noble. ‘At first I thought that it was just one of my own nightmares. Only it’s not quite my own memory, there were places in it that I had never been, things I haven’t seen.’

‘I think you had a vision, in which case it could be useful.’

‘Well if you think it will help.’ Daen replied, and then began a halting, and convoluted account of her dream, Darcia asking questions about parts that he wanted more detail on. When she mentioned men with swords he grew more intent. But unfortunately she couldn’t give him any more information; her recollection of the dream was hazy at best, by the sounds of it she had somehow taped in to someone else’s memories. The Duke was finally stratified that he could get no more information out of the girl had to leave, that is after he had taken one last lingering kiss.

Per was saddled and ready for him when he emerged in the court yard, armoured and helmeted. Joining him would be Timor, and a few of his men, a few of Veione’s, as well as the captain himself, who was already mounted, and the messenger from Delft was in the process of mounting a tall animal borrowed from Darcia’s own stables. The noble doubted that the town’s person would have ever seen a horse as fine as that one, let alone ever ridden one. Still, speed was of the essence, and you could only go as fast as the slowest member of your group. Darcia hoped to be able to sort the situation out before his nobles came to here of it.

The horses having been in the stables all night, though fresh needed to be thoroughly warmed up, especially as Darcia intended to push them all hard today, they had thirty miles to cover today, another thirty back tomorrow, and he couldn’t afford for any one of them to go lame. Once leaving the city, he let Per spring in to a brisk trot, but it was not until they reached soft the woodland roads that ran through the evergreen forest like a parting through a head of hair that he lead the group into a workman like canter, standing up in the stirrups to allow his big horse to use its whole back, it’s effortless strides eating up the ground beneath him. But the shifts up to canter were rare; the group mostly stayed in a rhythmic trot, the most efficient pace to cover large distances. Lord Darcia had been known to force a galop before, but what use was a broken winded horse when it was not an absolute necessity?

Twenty miles were cut off the journey by travailing on the ferry across one of the many lakes within his territories, and so it was only a further hour’s ride up to Cyrch. Cyrch was fairly isolated, and since it was one of the villages in the southernmost of his lands, in what had been one of the safer arias of his domain he probably had never before visited it, and so needed the man from Delft to guide them.

The bitterly familiar sent of burnt thatch greeted them on the road even before the scorched palisade came in to view. The grate gate posts remained standing, untouched buy the fire. Huge logs of cedar, which formed a rectangular arch, like a door frame; the cedar wood itself was ment to prove protection from evil. But that Darcia had learnt was an empty kind of magic if the stout oak door was not closed, and since the doors hung open, unmarked by assault he knew that they had been. As the season’s traditions dictated boughs of hawthorn decorated the gate in welcome. But the ribbons and colourful paper that decorated the bare branches had for the most part blown off in the alpine winds. Red wool remained, woven in amongst the thorns, but the red thread only served to make the skeletal branches look like the carcass of an animal once scavengers had been at it. Only a few red and white ribbons remained, they had unwound themselves, seeking to escape this place, stringing themselves out on the breeze, appearing like the ribbons that marked a grave.

The settlement had been of a reasonable size, spreading over probably about four acres, there had been probably about twenty houses, and more outbuildings, even a small mill. But everything had been burnt to the ground, leaving nothing but charred poasts, like a rotting forest. The men fell very quiet, the only sound was the carrion crows squawking. ‘What have you done with the bodies?’ Darcia asked, dismounting from his horse. When he did he noticed hacked hastily in to the gate a bind rune, one for the protection against demons. The marks were fresh, no doubt made by superstitious town’s or village folk when they found the place in its horrific state.

‘The ones that had kin in Delft have been taken there for burial, the other’s have been collected by families from other villages hear and about. But there weren’t many, most of them had been burnt by the fires, just charred remains.’ The bald headed man replied.

‘I need to see a body, to ascertain what killed them.’

The smaller man looked uncomfortable. ‘I understand sir, but people might not take kindly to having to dig up their kin.’

‘I’ am aware.’ Darcia sighed. ‘It is however an unfortunate necessity.’

‘Is there anyone who might not have buried one of the villagers yet?’ Veione asked hopefully. ‘Or perhaps, there is one hidden amongst the ruins still?’

‘There could be.’ The man from Delft conceded. ‘But we gave this place a real good looking over, if you can find any more than burnt remains I will be surprised.’

‘The remains should be collected and buried.’ Darcia said softly. ‘Timor, Veione put your men on that first.’

‘But the ground will be frozen, how by the God’s are we supposed to burry anything’ One of Veione’s men quibbled, when his captain informed him of his unusual duty. Darcia overheard, and decided to educate the non native cavalry man, his voice like the north wind.

‘In the mountains they build tumuli over their dead, mounds of stone raised over a shallow grave, usually all the kin and their friends will help, sometimes even a whole community. It is a grate honour to be allowed to help bury someone.’

‘I’m sorry sir.’ The cavalry man said contritely.

‘Don’t bother apologising; just show the victims the respect that they deserve.’ Darcia answered a little more warmly. ‘Mr Kerk, will you help guide the men in what needs to be done.’

The man from Delft bowed, and nodded vigorously, removing his hat and twisting it in his hands. This left Timor, Veione and the Duke some privacy in which to investigate the burnt out shell of the village. They walked through what was left of the cremated buildings, it was a sight that they were all familiar with, a sight that Darcia was never truly deadened to, the memories might have all blead together and faded, but the feelings remained the same, the iniquity, the sense of uselessness, the failure. It was dry up here in the cold atmosphere of the mountains, and the wooden buildings once burning would go like kindling. Yet even so it was highly unusual to see a whole village raised to the ground in such a way. Veione looked around cynically.

‘Veione what are you thinking?’ Darcia asked, joining the blonde captain by one of the free standing buildings, what had probably been home to one of the more affluent members of the community.

‘Even the buildings set apart have been too reduced to nought but ash.’ Veione commented as he kicked a broken shard of ceramic with the toe of his polished boots. ‘Even in the summer I have never seen a raid burn a village out like this.’

‘Sparks, sparks from one fire could land on the thatch of another house to cause a fire.’ Timor pointed out reasonably.

‘Perhaps.’ Veione conceded, but he sounded unconvinced. In what would have been inside the building a door was left standing only scorched a little, Veione a hand’s on kind of man clambered over the charred rubble to reach it, attracted by the oddity of it. He put his hand out, and moved it downwards through the air. ‘There’s a bloody handprint here, they were trying to escape.’ He glanced around the buildings, his grip tightening on his sword a violet blue light shimmered out from it, like a faint heat wave. After a moment he spoke again. ‘I think that whoever did this didn’t want any evidence to be left as to who did this.’

‘How did you work that out, it looks like a Meiw attack to me.’ Timor replied.

‘At this time of year?’ Veione scoffed.

‘It’s possible that they found a way through the passes.’ Timor stated dryly. He made a placating gesture. ‘I’m not saying that it wouldn’t be difficult, but we have managed to get through the passes in harder winters than this one.’

Veione shook his head, but he did not voice his doubts. Darcia had something he wanted to check out, but it would require going outside the burr. Remounting his horse he began to circle the village, looking for hoof prints. Veione caught up with him, jogging through the snow. ‘My Lord?’

‘I’m looking for a trail.’

‘Oh, I’ll help.’ With that the captain went to retrieve his own horse.

It had frozen hard the last few nights so it was likely that there would be some tracks left in the snow. However it was not to be as simple as that, the town’s people, and the subsequent villagers seem to have also had the same idea and there was a confusing array of horse tracks criss crossing the crusty surface. Darcia growled in frustration. By this time Timor had also joined them in the search. ‘I don’t think we are going to find anything of use.’

Darcia was inclined to agree. Then his attention was drawn to a small coppice just up the hill from the village. It was the perfect place to hide horsemen. Spurring Pur on, he jogged his horse towards the line of trees. The ground in amongst the trees was too dry to allow any indentation of hoofs, but in the brambles, some strands of horse’s tale were left dangling. It might just have confirmed part of Daen’s vision.

‘Veione look here, horse hair.’ Darcia called.

Veione ambled over, his face exited as a boy’s. ‘Euryale says that they were here two nights ago, the tree’s have some faint recalling of it. We are lucky, they don’t usually remember such things. I think this raid was carried out by professionals.’

‘I think we need to speak to a witness, and take a look at those bodies.’

‘There were survivors?’ Timor asked. ‘Someone who might have witnesses this?’

‘A young girl, who according to the messenger has gone mute from shock, and her infant baby brother, so no one who can tell us much.’ Veione replied.

‘That’s not entirely true.’ Darcia answered carefully. ‘ Daen had a vision the other night, I think somehow she saw what the young girl could see. She told me about men in the woods on horses. In which case this was not a Meiw attack.’

‘If it’s not a Meiw attack, then the situation has just become a good deal more complicated hasn’t it?’ Timor asked.

‘Only if we can’t find out who did this.’ The noble commented.

‘What do you mean?’ Veione asked.

‘Veione, who holds this land from me?’

The blond captain took a moment to think, going through the chart that hung on his wall in his mind. ‘Lord Sindri holds the south....Oh, I see.’ He fell silent for a moment. ‘No, even he wouldn’t be stupid enough to attack one of the villages.’

‘I don’t know, I remember when he attacked Delft before it gained its charter of independence. Since then he has feared any of his villages going that way again.’ Timor expanded, he licked his lips. ‘And a big village like this way out here, isolated like this, well it’s not surprising that it might have it in mind to go independent.’

‘But why attack it like this, so secretly.’ Veione reasoned. ‘Sindri never used cloak and dagger tactics before, he would send his thugs in, and then make up some thin excuse about peace keeping or some such thing.’

‘And who has always won the confrontations in that situation?’

‘Well the village folk of course. Lord Darcia would never let them be oppressed like that for no reason.’ Veione answered, slightly offended for his lord. Darcia sat listening to the conversation, venturing no comment yet.

‘Exactly.’ Timor exclaimed, waving one finger. ‘So what can he do when he sees another of his villages running out of control? His usual tactics wont work, as lord Darcia is more likely to give the place a township than support him in suppressing it. But the village is isolated, way out here. No one would find it for weeks perhaps, he kills everyone, no survivors to tell tales so no one can pin it on him, but of course who else could have done it. The other villages get a scare; it serves as a warning for them, acting as a deterrent for any further uprisings. And with no proof, who are the villages going to tell.’

‘I see, but it was found wasn’t it.’ Veione said, almost in triumph, ‘I bet he didn’t expect the independent town to find them first. Because the first thing they would do is come to us spoiling his plan.’

‘Settle down Veione. We have yet to find any evidence that it was Lord Sindri.’ Darcia finally interrupted, casting a damper on the flaming blue eyed captain. ‘It’s not wise to go brandishing about accusations with nothing to back them up.’

‘I know that! But who else could it be?’

‘I have to agree with Veione my lord, all the evidence points to Lord Sindri.’

‘There is not enough evidence, but I would admit right now he is the most likely suspect.’ Darcia finaly replyed softly. He looked up at the blond captain with meaning. ‘Veione, its not settled yet however, there are outher explanations.’

‘Like what?’

‘Some one could want us to think its lord Sindri.’ Darcia said calmly, ignoring the denial on Veione’s face he continued with his logic. ‘Further more, I believe that in a way you were right, people from Delft were not supposed to find the village first, but not for the reason you’re both thinking. Lord Sindri was supposed to get the news first, not us that way he would believe that it was our doing. That I ordered an attack on his lands.’

‘Now who would believe that?’ The dark haired captain sighed.

Darcia carried on calmly, explaining his reasoning to the dubious captains. ‘Lord Sindri would, he believes that I harbour deeper animosity against him than I do. Others have encouraged him to view me as a tyrannical overlord, who fears no one. That’s the sense I have always got of Sindri these past few years, he fears me, and fear in a man like that makes them unreasonable, he believes me capable of anything.’ He sighed. ‘It is however just a theory.’

‘I don’t see why someone would do that.’ Veione said firmly. ‘What good would scaring Sindri do?’

‘I don’t know yet.’ Darcia admitted. ‘I’m still trying to work it out.’

Timor looked at his lord calculatingly, but found it was impossible to see what went on behind his impregnable blue, gray eyes. ‘Playing your card’s close to your chest again.’ He commented.

They arrived in Delft just before dark, having helped with the grave building. Darcia had wanted to see any of the victim’s bodies that were still yet to be inhumed. Unfortunately everybody had been buried, but before he was forced to ask much to his distaste to unearth the corpses, he found Jorek Munn, someone he had known well to tell him a reliable firsthand account. Now an inn keeper Jorek had been a soldier, but after losing an arm, he had been forced to retire. Over ale, he was happy to recount all that he had seen, reporting in a clear military fashion, his training still unforgotten. Though Darcia thought that there was an element of showing off for those listening, the old man wanting to remind the patrons of the bar that he once had been something more than what he was now. It was however a very enlightening report, a veteran like Jorek would know if it was a Meiw attack, he knew exactly what the wounds looked like. But He had seen no sign of tooth or claw, only evidence of clean sword wounds. And not mand bodies left at that, the ones that were left were probably due to lack of time. Who ever had done it came in fast, stealthy, hit hard and vanished like they came. There didn’t seem to be any raping and pillaging gone on, he also informed them, which might rule out marauding bands of out of work mercenaries.

Darcia was unsure what to do next. Rationally all the evidence did point to Lord Sindri. Over the past few years the large prosperous southern villages had desired more autonomy from the tight fisted noble. Often they appealed to Darcia, who preferred the township’s on the whole, as it cut out the middle man, especially if the middle man was Sindri. However over the years the young lord’s political leanings had mellowed somewhat and he had long stopped his trimming of the old buzzard. Petty revenge was not a luxury he could indulge in; sadly. However as much as the noble hated his vassal, his gut told him that he was not the mind behind this attack. But someone wanted him to think it was. The question was who was this someone, and why Sindri, it was common knowledge that no love was lost between the two men, so why destroy either man’s reputation with the other further? Sindri would never rebel again; it was only because Darcia had been feeling particularly lenient that he kept his title last time around. But then again, if he had the right backer he just might be foolish enough, but the only person strong enough to tae on Darcia was the emperor himself, and that was not a likely situation.

Still Lord Darcia felt unsettled, for now they would do nothing, they would just wait and see what developed. At least by being seen to be investigating they Sindri would not be able to accuse him of any involvement in the affair. Though like as not he would try to, though the rumours might be little more than smoke, some of the nobles might believe it. After all Darcia had to tread on a lot of toes in his reign for various reasons. He might be popular with the normal folk of his lands, but the nobility were another story all together. A few like lord Alistair were staunch in their loyalty to the Darcia house. But many of his father’s nobles resented that he was a bastard, declaring that that made him unfit to reign. With Bherith, cunning, and an iron hard will he had won his ancestral lands. Paying for his inheritance in blood; his own and his enemies. For a while after that Darcia had sought to rid himself of the turbulent, and untrustworthy nobility, but life was not that simple and in time he realised that they were a part of his government whether he liked it or not, and he would have to find a way to deal with them, regrettably without a sword.

Perhaps if he brought the survivor to Daen it would be of use. Mr Kerk had been right; the poor girl was entirely mute. She gazed, wide eyed and terrible at everyone, only a slip of a thing. No parents, and on near kin who would take her in. The town’s folk were also reluctant to take in the children for the long run; disturbed by deep held beliefs that evil like that would curse the children with ill fortune forever. It was a foolish notion, but old traditions were deep rooted and hard to shake. He might as well take the orphans with him. But not for entirely altruistic reasons, Daen might already have a connection with the young girl, in which case she should be able to draw the memories out of the child, thus solving the need for her to talk. But it would mean travailing slower, taking longer to get back, perhaps by even as much another day.

‘My Lord what are you planing?’ Timor asked, Darcia having stood staring in to the fire which burned in the small private parlour of the inn.

‘What makes you think I am planing anything?’

‘You have only taken one bite out of that venison. Plus, the interesting progress of expressions across your face.’ Timor smiled. ‘I’m intrigued to know what thought made your face soften for a moment, when you have been staring that the fire as if it had just kicked your mother.’

‘Daen’ The noble said, allowing himself a smile, which Timor returned knowingly. ‘I told you about her visions. Also the high priestess believes that she has some clairvoyant skill, that she can sometimes read people’s minds when she has the mind to. She suspects that Daen doesn’t know that she is even doing it, it’s just another voice among the many she can hear, but with practice she could conceivably focus in on one mind.’

Timor looked aghast. ‘She could read people’s minds? I didn’t know a Sybilla could do that?’

‘Only the most powerful. Hopefully she can read the girl’s mind, and we can find out a little more about this whole mess.’ Lord Darcia rubbed his face wearily. ‘I wish I had a plan. The only think I can think to do is warn the villages to keep their palisades closed tight. Have criers warn them of a roaming mercenary band, who knows it even could be...’ He put up his hand. ‘No Timor, don’t argue. For now I don’t want suspicions brandied about.’

‘Yes my lord.’ Timor knew better than to argue once Darcia’s mind was made up.

‘Could you say thank you to Jorek for saving us some of the hunt’s meet, I’m going to bed.’ Darcia excused himself, for he was bone weary, Veione had already gone to bed, leaving time alone Timor to write his letters, and carry out his orders.

By the morning a thick icy fog had settled in from the lake. It was hard to see more than five horses lengths in front of you, in some places where the fog hung thickest visibility was down to one horses length. Veione, the most sunny of disposition, and non threatening looking man in the group had the young girl Cira sat up in front of him. A young woman from the Delft riding the spare horse had the baby, willing to help out for some coin, and a promise that she would be escorted home within the week. She came with her parent’s blessing, and after all she could meet a nice officer. ‘Earthy folk these.’ Veione noted with a wink.

The young fair haired woman sat on the tall horse with a look of someone who expected to enjoy a huge treat. Darcia was less optimistic about the whole affair; he knew it would be a long ride, cold, wet, the babe would likely cry, and they already slowed down by the younglings, would now be further frustrated by the winter fog. But hopefully by mid morning it would have dissipated. But he would be proven wrong, as that creeping white dance mist was to hang in the land of the falling lakes and did not look to be losing its ghostly grip any time soon.















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