Lord of the West

Chapter 3.

Desires and machinations.



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Lord Darcia stood leaning against one of the stout posts that formed the entrance to his campaign pavilion in just his lose shirt, black breaches and his long boots, his long ebony hair tied only at the nape of his neck. He was unadorned, for his signet ring the only piece of jewellery he ever wore was absent from his hand. He stood silently and unmoving as he watched the heavy rain fall that would make his armies passage across the Sylvatci River tomorrow only more treacherous. The campaign so far had been a successful one. The battle at the outset had been unusually decisive, but Darcia had been right in thinking that the campaign would likely be a lengthy one. Rebellion rumbled on and hid like maggots in fly stricken sheep. Just when you thought you had the last of them, the next day you would find yet another nest.

The Duke had sent a large part of his army back only retaining his own private force. All of his border men were needed back at their respective posts to prepare for the summer raids. What was left of his force Lord Darcia now used in taking castle after castle before forcing the unruly vassals in to compliance. The main aim was to take Lord Sindri’s main keep. However he could not afford to simply go past the other fortresses and run the risk of them attacking him from the rear. It was tedious and time consuming work that required a grate deal of patience and would keep him in the south for some time yet. Still there was yet to be a fortress built that Lord Darcia could not defeat.

The real art of siege was not necessarily in the taking of the castle but what you did afterwards. If the castle submitted swiftly then Lord Darcia would be gracious to his hostages, but the longer and the harder the siege was the less benevolent he was with its occupants. This rule generally encouraged the besieged occupants to cave in swiftly knowing that the longer they held out the worse it would if Lord Darcia’s forces (and they would) finally crack the defences. However Lord Darcia would not have children or women harmed for all of that, this meant keeping a very tight rain on his men, many of which as ex-convicts from the Imperium were often of a violent and excitable disposition at best.

Darcia fortunately was just the man to rise to such a challenge. So far he had kept his men well curbed. His reputation alone went along way in securing their obedience. One particular tale was told down the lines of the dark lord that he had intelligence that almost made him laugh when had had first heard it. Some unknown author had made up a terrifying tale of joining the ranks in the Duke’s army as a squire. The tale went that he accompanied the Duke on a hunt with his prise hounds. One of the hounds, the Duke’s favourite stayed at his stirrup, a fine animal, one that the Duke was immensely proud of jumped up in excitement at his master. The Duke in a stern voice told him “Down.” And when the hound did not do so the Duke took his sword and slain the beast. When asked by one of his knights as to why he slain his own hound the Duke answered “I never repeat myself.” Lord Darcia wondered whether the spurious legend really was to his credit, but it certainly seemed to keep his men in line though he would rather have been sure that obedience was due to respect rather than fear, situations were rarely perfect.

It was imperative in any case that his men head him in all things. He could not afford an army that indulged in rapine or pillage not in his own lands at least. On some campaigns he had run close to losing his grip over his men when supplies had run low. Nothing was more dangerous than a hungry army, and Darcia had headed those lessons protecting his supply train like life itself, for if rations ran short Lord Darcia could do nothing but allow his men to scavenge for what food stuffs they could find in the surrounding area, in essence allowing them to pillage off his own people.

Darcia had been in far worse situations than this. Though he took the rebellion very seriously indeed, it was manageable. Stronghold after stronghold were falling to him after only token defences, though some put up more of a fight than others all would submit to him. Eventually they all must submit to his will. The actual campaign was not proving to be a perilous as Darcia and his Captain’s fears it might be. The real rub lay for Darcia in having to be on campaign in the South at all. Foolishly perhaps he had hoped that after his last expedition to the South only two years ago he had them cowered. Apparently he had misjudged the resilience and the resentments of the Southern Nobility in his Duchy. “If only they would put this sort of energy in to defending our borders.” Darcia sighed leaning his head back against the post.

“Sire?” The young squire’s voice rose in question from his place within the tent. “Sire did you want something?”

“Hmm, What? Oh no I was just thinking.” Lord Darcia replied to his squire. The boy satisfied he was not needed went back to the task of cleaning his armour. Lord Alistair stubborn old man that he was had still refused to go back to his own hearth and his wife came now from across the field towards the Duke’s pavilion braving the down poor. Where another man might have made comment on the weather Lord Alistair ventured none a veteran of too many campaigns to be phased by bad weather. Lord Darcia smiled at him and placed a hand upon the old man’s shoulder’s noticing with some sadness how the once heavy muscle was wasted from them. “Old friend.” He greeted him. “Come inside I take it you have news from Lord Odo?” The old man nodded and shook the water from his fur cloak. Inside the pavilion the rain beet a steady percussion upon its canvas roof, making it noisy within, but the sound was oddly soothing. It meant that they had to stand close to hear the other speak over the din.

Lord Alistair paused in the threshold and his eyes rested upon the boy who was sat cross-legged on his palate working on Lord Darcia’s ebony armour. “I see you have got yourself a squire. He was your banner bearer was he not? Dangerous job for one so young.”

Lord Darcia chuckled. “I doubt that being my squire is any more dangerous that it was for me to be yours.”

“And a pretty time I had with you my lad. By the Sisters you were fierce. Obstinate and stubborn even then. Many were the cuffing I gave you but did you mind. No not you, you took it as coolly as you pleased, never saying a word or retaliating, and then you went your own road say or do what I would.”

“It is my breading or so I am told.” Lord Darcia smiled, his grey eyes glittering. “So what do you think of my Squire Alistair, he is one of Bute’s brood?”

“Bute is no friend of ours. But I like this boy.” Lord Alistair said. “How came you by him?”

“He found me.” Lord Darcia replied.

“Ah so he was the boy who came to warn you of the rebellion.” Lord Alistair looked thoughtful and then his face sharpened with a sudden thought. “You have him sleep here? Do you not fear him?”

“Why should I?”

“Ah but you are cool. But think my lord.” Lord Alistair said looking speculatively at the boy. “Perhaps his family sent him to get close to you.”

Lord Darcia’s eyes glittered with secret amusement though he frowned. “I have known enough treachery in my life to perceive it. No the boy is an innocent.”

“Ay, well you would know.” Lord Alastair answered. He knew that Lord Darcia was a man who read the hearts of men with more perception than most. Even as a youth he had known what he was about. A man by the age of fourteen few would have doubted. They spoke for some time, Lord Alastair reporting what his friend Lord Odo had reported about conditions in the lands they were advancing upon. However before the night grew advanced Lord Alistair left to return back to his own pavilion leaving the Duke to factor in the new information in to his tactics.

By the light of a lamp Lord Darcia worked on a map. His quill sure and steady as he inked in lines. However something distracted him from his work. Alwen usually a boy of cheerful disposition had something lying heavy on his heart that evening and as transparent as he was Darcia knew what. Tomorrow they would be heading South West to Castle Dor. The siege there would perhaps take a few weeks or so. Lord Nerwinter and his followers were stubborn and intelligence had said that it looked like they were preparing for a long siege. They would be disappointed, for Darcia had the plans to that castle in his possession and knew the north wall to be week, built to high on poor foundations. Timor’s siege engines would make short work of it. But after that the army would likely head only a short march further west to Castle Hereonwall, Alwen’s father’s castle.

“Something is troubling you Alwen.” He said softly as he pulled off his boots, it was not a question.

“No sire.” Alwen lied.

“Then why have you being polishing the same poldren for last six span of minuets?”

“Nothing is wrong sire.”

Darcia sighed in annoyance and he turned his piercing glance upon his squire, a glance that had broken grater men under his scrutiny. He softened his expression however before he spoke. “You are concerned for the welfare of your family.”

The boy’s mouth opened like a fish in shock. “Yes Sire.” Alwen replied his eyes down cast. “I didn’t think I would be but I am worried about them.”

“That is only natural.” Lord Darcia went back to his cartography. “Alwen, why did you choose to come in to my service and not stay with your father, surely you could have done some good there?”

Alwen flushed. “I know you must think it strange that I owe no allegiance to my family.”

Lord Darcia let out a low noise of amusement. “Gods I am not one to judge you on that boy. I was curious simply as to why you seek to stay with me?”

“My Lord you are not thinking of sending me away are you?!”

Lord Darcia chuckled. “No, don’t look so stricken boy, I have no intention to send you away as long as you continue to prove your worth.” Lord Darcia shook some sand over his work and then looked it over before glancing up at the boy who was now standing.

“Sire, can I ask you something.”

“Oh?” The Duke raised his dark brows but once side of his haughty lips qwerked in amusement. Alwen flushed. Taking pity the Duke laughed. “Ask away boy. I fear no question.”

“Sire It is …..That is you fell out with your family?”

Lord Darcia managed to prevent himself from grimacing, but the merry twinkle in his smile faded a little. “Fell out with is perhaps an understatement, but go on what is it you wanted to know Alwen.”

“Did you forgiven them?” Alwen asked quietly.

“No.” Darcia said. “I didn’t.” He did not add that he in fact had killed one of his uncles personally on the battle field and two of his cousins on other days, the third brother he had strung up from a tree when after he had ridden him down. All of their carcases had been torn asunder and scattered through the land to be pined to town and castle walls. Only the heads he had kept on spikes outside of Bala grizzly reminders of what fate would befall all who betrayed the young Duke. His other uncle and cousin he had captured when he was in a better mien and had them locked up instead if killed, they had eventually killed themselves saving him the trouble. No he had not forgiven them, but it was not a road he would encourage anyone else to travel.

Darcia glanced up at the boy who stood nervously. He sighed, “It is not your burden.” He said to the boy. Carefully he folded the map and with it a brief missive then held it to his squire. “But this is. Take it to my Captains.”

“Battle plans?”

“Perceptive boy.”

“I will guard them with my life.” Alwen promised and strode smartly from the pavilion in to the wet evening. Darcia chuckled when he had left. The boy’s seriousness amused him, for what harm could come to a missive within Darcia’s own camp. It was like seeing a figure from a tale sprung from the pages. “Now there goes a knight.” Darcia smiled ruefully, “I am just a Lord.”



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Lord Salford had been surprised not to see Terent at their usual gaming hell. This was highly unusual, as Terent rarely missed a nights pleasures, Terent Edouard lived for gambling; cards, death matches, races, wagers and dares what it was didn’t much mater to him so long as it had money upon it and he was wining or at least thought he could win.

Still it remained that Salford had seen his old companion only once since his return to the Imperial city and now he was curious as to what exactly Terent was up to.

Eventually Salford went and looked for his friend at his elegant city tower, which had been greatly expanded upon by Lord Edouard senior. Lord Salford having been admitted to the hall by liveried footmen could not fault the décor. It was perhaps a little more ornate than the quiet elegance he liked, the architect obviously having used the garishly splendid Imperial plaice as his inspiration.

He was inspecting an embroidered silk panel when he herd a rustle of fabric behind him. Turning he saw Lady Sienna pause in the doorway her eyes wide, startled to find him there. He bowed slightly, his voice was a civilised drawl, “Lady Sienna.”

“Oh!” She said, “Lord Salford.” and made a belated curtsy. She smiled, but it was an automatic reaction, brittle and fixed rather than her usual sensual and artful look. It was obvious that she did not want to stay with him but as the Lady of the house it would be rude to leave her husband’s guest standing on his own. “Can I offer you some refreshments.”

“Ah no, thank you.” He said.

“Would you care to sit then?” Sienna asked, gesturing to a settle. Salford carefully arranged his tail coat and sat. The lady however remained standing buy the door. Salford watched her closely watching as she adjusted and then readjusted her shawl so that it covered her shoulders.

“Are you well?” Salford asked as a matter of courtesy.

“Oh, of course why wouldn’t I be?” She said swiftly after a brief and pregnant pause where her eyes had grown wide. The woman bit her lip and glanced behind her.

“Why indeed.” Salford purred moving across the room towards her.

Lady Sienna laughed, throwing back her head, her red lips curling back to reveal very small white teeth. “Oh Salford you are silly.” She fluttered her fan. “You do like to tease.”

He smirked. “Ah now this is a beautiful piece of work.” He said and fingered her woven silk shawl. “The colours are very becoming, though I must say you are wearing it rather like an old woman today Sienna.”

“There is a chill.”

“But one must suffer for fashion.” Lord Salford tutted, “Sienna as a high flyer you should know this. Who knows might see you. You are lucky it was me who saw you thus and not some other it might have ruined your reputation as of the mode.” He pulled the shawl down a little so that it slipped down her arm revealing some blue and red bruises. The kind of bruises made by hands griping hard on soft flesh. Sienna’s eyes were wide with horror, she immediately pulled her shawl back up again. He could tell that she was hoping that he had not seen the marks marring her creamy skin. Ashamed of them. His face a mask of civility of all times gave nothing away. So Terent had once again taken an interest in his wife, he pitied the woman though she might be a scheming bitch she was still little more than a child.

Salford did not understand Terent’s violent way with women, it was not really the behaviour of good ton. But then apart from that once deviancy Terent was all you could wish for in a gentleman. He had never beaten his wife before, even if he had it really was none of Salford’s business after all a woman belonged to her husband. However Salford knew Sienna's famlay, well her mothers side at least, her father was nothing more than a merchant be it a welthy one. He drew in breath to speak but was stopped by the sound of footsteps in the hall behind Sienna.

“Salford! By the Lloer’s tits it’s been a long time!” Terent greeted him as he came down the hallway. Sienna looked fearfully behind her and then up at Salford.

“Excuse me.” Sienna murmured and walked swiftly from the room.

Salford smiled urbanely at his friend. “Your lovely wife has been entertaining me.”

“I’m sure.” Terent said dismissively. “No doubt boring you with prattle about fashion.”

“I happen to like talking about fashion.” Salford said with a smile. He twirled his quisling glass. “You for instance are dressing a little to er, militarily for my tastes.”

“Better than a preening peacock!”

“I have never dressed like a peacock!” Salford responded with a yawn. He gestured his quizzing glass and Terent. “Look at all this gold lace work on you.” He let out a disgusted sigh. “Far too ostentatious for my tastes!”

They talked about genial things fore a while, boots and coats and the like. They sat down and helped themselves to a decanter of brandy. After a while Salford decided to ask just what Terent had been up to the last month or so. Salford was to artful to ever jump right in to a conversation, no he bided his time to find out the information he wanted. Salford's alterior motive in becoming Terent's freind was to gain infomation on the Imperial court, as who was closer to the Emporor than his chancalor Gaius. Terent's conversations though he did not know it often provided Salford with the information he neded to plot the political currents.

“It has been so dull in town without you!” Salford exclaimed. Terent gave him a colourful account of his time spent in the Marchadian;s with lord Sindri. Terent made all of the right comments and responses throughout though he cared little for such a back water and out of the way place as the Marchadians. The only person worthy of any note was Lord Darcia, and he was out of favour with the Emporor, which was to say he was a social pariah, not that that man cared what the ton thought of him. If he was not a Duke then no one would invite him to balls. But as a Duke whenever he was in the Imperial city, which was seldom, then every matron of note would invite him to their balls hoping that he might take notice of their daughters. But he never did. Salford thought that his disinterest was no more than the scheming harpies deserved, He had to like the man for vexing them at least. Terent himself had sworn never to be caught in such a trap.

“So what now.” Salford asked, he was not an unintelligent man and he could see that Terent’s dealings in the West would have put the cat among the pigeons as so to speak. “I’m sure the West must be fairly fired up right now.”

“Yes. It is exactly what I planed.” Terent smiled victoriously only a little drunk, but drunk enough to loosen his tongue, and Salford knew well how his friend enjoyed boasting.

“So you had a plan. It sounded to me like you were just a playing at being Knights.” Salford goaded.

“You don’t beleve me do you Salford!” Terent grinned. “Well I did it, there is rebellion in the West and Lord I’m so clever Darcia has walked right in to the nose.”

There had been some lesser nobiliy - if they could even be called that - hanging aound the Imperial city looking a little worse for ware. They had been complaining of persecution or some such thing but Salford had not realy paid any atention as they were rather below his touch. However if Terent thought that those southern Marchadian nobles had the spine or the ablity to win him a kingdom they he stupid. “Your confident. Lord Darcia is not a man I would chose to have as an opponent. This rebellion of yours will be put down in no time.”

“And that is all part of the plan. He will put down his rebellion but father has been hard at work poring poison in the Emperor’s ear. And since the Emperor is the Duke’s over lord if say lord Sindri came and complained to the Emperor about the Duke’s hard ways then the Emperor is well within his rights to discipline the Duke. Right now the Emperor as you know is not in charity with the dark duke!” Terent continued to expand upon his father’s plans to Salford passing them off as his own, Salford listened, knowing full well that the architect of such a intricate piece of mischief was not his friend.

“Cunning Terent.” Salford smiled. “Cunning. But I still think that you underestimate Lord Darcia. There is a reason that the Emporor’s father never made a move against him. Wasn’t he just seventeen when he turned away an army of Meiw which was over seven thousand men strong from coming through the passes?”

“So what, I will ride at the head of the Imperial army, ten thousand strong!”

“Dreams.”

“Not dreams. The Emperor himself has said that he will put me in charge of the Imperial army.” Terent boasted. Salford thought that the Emperor really must be a fool in that case for Terent had no idea how to organise an army. But then again if Gaius was in the shadows, and he must have been he would only have Terent as a nominal head. And there had been gossip that Terent had all of a sudden become one of the young Emporor’s favourites.

“The imperial army was not what it was anyone can tell you that!” Salford pointed out. “The imperial army mostly sits around on there fat arses. They have not seen battle in years. Lord Darcia recruits fighters, and his own Knights are as stark as he is. They have been fighting themselves and the Meiw from the moment they were born. There is a reason that the old emperor made Lord Darcia his Marshall against the Cydrus in the north even though he hated and feared the boy. You will be fighting on his lands. The only ones who might match up to the warriors of the West are the Varangain guard.”

“The Emperor’s body guard.”

“The very same. But much good that will do with you they only answer to the Emperor. They will follow only him in to battle.”

Terent smiled. “Well I will just have to get the Emperor to come with me then.”

Salford left his friend distinctly uneasy. Terent had for the most part up until now been mostly just piss and wind. However there was something more about him since his return from the West. Salford wondered if his friend really knew what he was getting himself in to, Terent was not a man with cunning nor a cool enough head for politics. He might like to think of himself as his father with a sword, but he was no Gaius. And he was defiantly no match for Lord Darcia. Terent was at heart a coward, and he knew that he was not a match for Darcia. But perhaps the incident when Darcia had horse whiped Terent over that Nhemian woman had made Terent determind to take his revenge upon the Duke. It made Salford wonder just what exactly Terent was up to.


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Alwen had been kicking himself over asking Lord Darcia impertinent questions. He should have known not to ask about Lord Darcia’s family. It was well known that the young Duke had been betrayed by his family in the worst of ways and then hunted them down and revenged himself upon them in a way that verged on the barbarous.

“Boy what has you so long in the face?” Veione asked him the minuet that he reached the Captain’s pavilion.

“I think I might have upset Lord Darcia.” Alwen admitted unhappily as he handed over the precious documents.

“You stripling?” The blond captain laughed as he read over the missive, “What did you do, dent his armour? Rip his cloak?”

“I asked him something impertinent.”

“Oh, did he tell you so?”

“No.”

Veione chuckled again. “Did he answer you?”

“In a few words, Yes.”

“Well then he did not consider it impertinent. Our Lord does not answer impertinent questions, well not with words at least.” The Blond captain passed the message on to Timor who was sitting quietly over his own map. “Sooth boy, what is it that you said to him that has got you wringing your hands like a school boy about to see the school master for a thrashing?”

The young squire’s voice was quiet. “I wanted some advice. So I asked Lord Darcia about his family, about his uncles and cousins sir. I’m such a fool.”

“You are a fool boy.” Kef who was sitting cleaning his own battle harness growled. “Impertinent! I would say so, what business is the Lord’s family to his squire? I would have boxed your ears for plaguing him so!”

“Kef!” Veione scolded him, but the ex gladiator looked unrepentant and glowered at the squire from under his brushy black brows.

“Our Duke would not answer if he had not wanted to.” Lord Alistair interrupted softly. “What did you ask boy?” Alwen told him. The old warlord looked serious, but gestured eloquently for the boy to sit. Lord Alistair considered the young man. “And why did you ask that Alwen of Bute?”

“I though he might advise me.” Alwen explained. ““My family they are traitors I should not love them. They did terrible things. But I still every day fear to hear that they have been slain. Worse I fear that if pitched against them I could not fight them. The best I could manage last time was to run away from them, My views did not stand up to theirs. My heart been torn in twain. I know that what I do here is right. I swore an oath to protect the people of our lands when I accepted the responsibility of becoming a knight. Alwen continued with fervour. “I believe in this. To may people have forgotten what it means to be a knight. I watched as my brothers and my neighbours took up there swords against each other and over what? Nothing but some age old grievance that should have been long forgotten! And who gets caught up in the middle of this? The peasants who cannot defend themselves. I tried and tried to get my father to see the error in his way.”

“But it was to no avail.” Lord Alistair filled in for him; Lord Darcia had struggled against such local warfare for years. But it seemed trying to prevent the Marchadian nobles fighting amongst themselves was like trying to stop it snowing though Lord Alistair had never joined in such things to busy guarding the border to get involved in such mischief.

Alwen nodded. “It never did any good. They just couldn’t understand.”

“But they are still your family.” Lord Alistair said.

The young squire nodded duly. “Yes, they are still my family though they love me not.”

“And what did our Lord tell you?”

“He said that he had never forgiven them.” Alwen replied his eyes troubled.

“And that bothers you boy?” Lord Alwen said in a low voice. “Does it seem hard?”

Kef s broke in with some grim humour. “Have you not heard the saying we should forgive our enemies but only after they have been hanged.”

The boy flinched. “Alwen of Bute why did you chose to serve our Duke in his house he is no easy master. You came in to the lions den, he could eat you boy?” The old man demanded of the squire his washed out eyes holding some of their flint yet.

“It is hard to enter Lord Darcia’s personal service, or so I have been told.” Alwen said.

“And you like the hard task?”

“I think it is the more worth doing.”

“Now that is a philosophy.” Lord Alistair said snaking his knee. “I was right I do like you boy. You will serve him well but you may come to rue the day you decided to come under his black wings!”

Come one lad, I need to check on the horses.” Veione escorted the boy out to the lines, shooting a chiding glance at Kef and Lord Alistair. The blond captain laughed to himself. “They are right you know Lord Darcia can be a right cold hard bastard.”

“That’s not very respectful, sir.”

“I respect him more than any man. We were boys together.”

“Oh I see.” Alwen said, understanding perfectly that one rarely wasted civility on ones chosen intimates. “What was he like as a boy?”

“Much the same as he is now, brave, serious, good at everything, dutiful, with a will like steal.” Veoine paused but added as an after thought. “Lonely.”

“Lonely?” Alwen echoed.

“To rule is to be very lonely I think.” Veoine said. “Lord Darcia is more lonely than most, because he is more powerful than most. I have Darcian blood in me, from my mother did you know that? Darcia is my cousin.”

“You’re his cousin? But you don’t really even look alike.”

“Look closer.” Veoine said. “As boys we could have been twins if it wasn’t for our colouring. That dark hair of his is from his mother other than that he favours his father.”

“More like his grandfather.” Alwen said thoughtfully. “He showed me the family portraits.”

“Should I have wanted I could contend for the Duchy.” Veoine said wistfully. His smile widened taking in Alwen’s discomfort at this declaration. “But I don’t want to. Not with all my heart. Lord Darcia had to take on the mantle of a ruler at a very young age. It might be selfish but I’m glad it was him and not me.”

“You were never even tempted?”

“No never. Oh and my mother tried to encourage me. Others would have used me as well as a game piece but I outwitted them all. I purposefully blackened my name so I would never be considered.”

“Why?”

“Heavy lies the crown my boy.” Veoine answered, he laughed at the boy’s confused expression. “Look at Darcia he must always stand aloof from everybody. Even me, he and I cannot be as we were when we were just boys. Lord Darcia cannot confide all of his fears in anyone, he cannot show weakness, he cannot fail. Life and death are weighed in his hands and he feels it keenly. People fear and envy his power. There is a lot of responsibility he carries, all the while riding a nervy unbroken horse of a county.”

“But he is a grate man.”

“He is still a man.” Veoine said. “But who am I to say. He goes by his own road, always has. He is a grate Lord. He has to deal with the worst of it. He has to make the hard decisions. If he is out of temper lad I do not think it is you who has caused it.”

“Is it bad that that makes me feel better?” Alwen said.

“No other things rest of our Lord’s mind.”

“What, the siege?”

Veione shook his head and wrinkled his nose. “You are perhaps too young and inocent to understand.” He smiled. “What lay’s heavy on the heart of man and bringeth the greatest man low.”

“Death?”

“No! Love.” Veione exclaimed both amused and disgusted with the boy. “Life doesn’t really mean a dam if you don’t find love somewhere along the way. Trust me I am after all the grand high priest of love. I worship at her alter.”

“So I have heard.”

“Ah, not so innocent then. I assure you Alwen the storeys are greatly under exaggerated.” Veoine crowed in delight. “Mark my words Alwen. Life is not worth living until you find someone to love. Not all the lands nor all the riches in the world can beet it!”

“Fine. Consider them marked.” Replied an unconvinced squire. It was silent for a while but then Alwen spoke again. “Veoine does Lord Darcia mean to marry Lady Daen?”

“I don’t know.” Veione answered. “But I hope that he does. For the man who tries to live alone will not succeed as a human being. His heart withers if it does not answer another heart. His mind shrinks away if he hears only the echoes of his own thoughts and finds no other inspiration.”

Alwen looked up at the Captain and considered his words, he was surprised by the bawdy man’s eloquence. “There is something wise in that.”

“I know. I thought so.”




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The young emperor stood somewhat impatiently awaiting his weapons master to finish putting on his armour. Piece by piece the swords master added, securing the plate armour that had been made for Sargon by master crafts men.

“It is done.” The captain of the Variagian guard said standing back.

Sargon admired the effect in the mirror, the rich gold inlays, and the way the plating fit together as closely as fish scales. The added bulk of the armour made him look bigger, with boarder shoulders, and a deeper chest. He then bent and twisted, lifting his limbs. “It is still heavy.” He complained.

“If it was any lighter it would be no better than decoration. You won’t be fencing out on the battle field.” The veteran warrior pointed out. “Sire.” He added as an after thought.

“I suggest that you remember who you are talking to.” The young emperor snarled.

“Sire.”

Sargon turned away from the Nhemian, the fact that the captain was right did not make him feel any more charitably towards him. The emperors’ Verangain guard were the elite of his troops what they did not know about fighting was not worth knowing. His personal body guard were formed from predominantly Nhemian warriors, all who swore an oath of loyalty to him alone. It was a long standing agreement between the empire and the small independent province of in the east. If the Helge provided the emperor with ten men a year to train to be part of the elite troops who served as his personal bodyguards men who served him with the same loyalty that they served the god Helu, in return he would leave Nheim to manage its own business.

The emperors had often used Nhemian’s in such a way. As the heart of the Heluan religion they were often happy to aid the emperors if the emperors forwarded the religion’s cause. The Nhemian’s skills at hunting magic users made them ideal assassins to use against any member of the Arcanum that became a problem. In recent years that relationship had broken down somewhat. The Nhemian Inquisitors had two century’s ago swept thorough the empire like a righteous flame, the emperor then was to afraid of his own nobility to gainsay them. The Inquisitors were on a mission to get rid of all magic users. Hundreds were burned or striped of their magic through terrible means. The sinister reputation of the Nhemian’s was then forever written in blood. The Inquisition was eventually quashed, the Nhemian economy throttled by trade embargos, but fear still remained, relationships between the empire and the small independent state were never quite the same and Nhemian’s would forever it would seem remain a kind of bogy man in the hearts and minds of those who lived in the empire.

The hazel eyed captain ran his hand over his head, as if he was running it through the locks of rich auburn hair that was no longer there. All imperial troops had their hair shaved off, partly to prevent lice, but also should they desert then the tattoo on their neck would be easily visible, if the shaved head was not give away enough. The penalty for desertion was of course death. Sargon watched enviously as his captain picked up his sword and swung it deftly. The young emperor had been trained how to sword fight since he was ten summers old, however it had always been just part of the tapestry of his life, only now at eighteen was he truly coming to grips with it. And as his captain had casually pointed out fighting with a broad sword was miles away from fencing.

His sword masters critic on the young emperor was not that he lacked talent, rather application and determination. On turning sixteen the young emperor had forgone his daily weapons practice, saying that he knew enough. The captain supposed that Emperors’ probably did not need to know how to fight, after all that was what his armies were for. However it was not how he would have brought up his own son. Now he could not help but approve of Sargon’s new found enthusiasm for the martial arts. “What’s brought on this new found focus?” The sword master asked as he led the young emperor through his warm up drills.

“I thought it would be a good idea to sharpen up my skills before I head to the West.”

“So it is true, the rumours of the army going to the border then?”

Sargon practicing his high guard nodded. “Yes, I have been thinking about going to the West for some time now.” The sword master doubted that. He had known the emperor since boy hood and the young man rarely thought about much beyond own comfort. The scepticism must have shown on his face for the emperor’s brown eyes fastened on his face with a glower. “You don’t believe me.”

“I would not presume to say what your Lordship thinks of.” The captain replied diplomatically.

The emperor snorted. “Indeed, and it doesn’t matter what you think. I have long thought of going to the West.” He reiterated. “My cousin has to long needed his wings clipped.”

The captain of the guard realised that the young emperor was talking about the Duke of Marchadia, Lord Darcia. From what he had seem of the man the Duke was not one to be trifled with lightly, the Duke’s of Marchadia had a fearsome reputation. As keepers of the Western march, they were well versed in the tactics of war. It was often said of the Darcia’s that they cared for no achievement but that which was won by their prowess in arms.

The captain as the personal body guard to the Emperor kept himself up to date with court politics, looking for potential assassination attempts. The whole court had been set upon its ears when Lord Sindri had arrived at court. No one had expected the minor noble of a distant provinces complaint to be listened to all that seriously. Normally a lesser noble might have to wait weeks kicking his heals at court before a petition was heard. But within minuets of his arrival the councillor lord Edouard had ushered him through to the Emperor, not long after that the Emperor had declared that he himself would go with a force to the West to look in to the allegations against the Duke of Marchadia.

Apparently for weeks messages had been coming from the south of the province begging for aid. And many of the messages sent the Duke had not been responded to. There were even allegations that the messengers were being killed once entering the Dukes lands, probably by his own men. Certainly messages seemed to be going astray, and it was common knowledge that there was little love lost between the Duke and the Emperor. Perhaps the young duke had finally decided to try his luck and shake off the Empire, it was not unfeasible. Still it did not fit with the carful politics of the Duke, but any man’s tether could brake if pushed enough. And the empire had to long ignored it’s provinces.

He watched as the young emperor made a parry in the air and a slash at an invisible foe. The move would have left him wide open to any half skilled opponent. The captain sighed, perhaps the young man would be better off trying to trim the infamous raven’s claws and beak before he went after its wings. In the mean time he had better teach the young man the most effective ways not to get killed.


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Lord Darcia’s tent was silent all save the rain upon the canvas still steadily falling.
Settling back on his own bed roll Darcia sought sleep, but knew it would not come easily, not with such dark thoughts in his mind. The specters of his past seemed determined to haunt him, taunting him. Reminding him of what he once was, of the barbarous acts that he was capable of. There was perhaps one small chance of salvation for his black heart, a star glittering in the deep darkness. And it came in the form of a young woman. She seemed to see what was good in him. She forgave his many trespasses against her. It might be selfish, it might be the most selfish thing he had ever done but he had to bind her to him. He could not suffer her not to be his. She made him want to be a better man, a kinder man all because he did not want to taint her innocence by touching her skin with blood stained hands.

It was his nature to command, to conquer, to rule. Like father like son, his conscious taunted him. Abducting the woman they loved, though the reality was far from the romantic ideals. Though Darcia wanted with all of his heart to allow her to choose him of her own free will he doubted in his ability to allow her to do so. The fear in his heart was that he was not strong enough to let her go if that was what she wished. He wondered whether she knew this.

“You should write to her.” It was Veione.

“And why would I want to do that?”

“Because you are moping.” Veione replied blithely. “Because she would want to hear from you, because it might set something right between you, because you miss her, because you want to, because you want her to write back, I could go on.”

“Pray don’t” Lord Darcia said and sat up regarding his cousin who now sprawled himself indolently across the bottom of his palate. “Veione, tell me what is love?”

“I will tell you nothing you don’t know already. I warned you long ago the day would come when some woman would wake your cold heart. Though I did not expect it to be a tiger cub of a girl, but perhaps a tiger needs a tiger.”

“It is love then that stirs my blood? But…” Darcia said softly with wonder.

“I am saying naught but that you should write that letter to her.”


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Daen saw the letter upon her bed. She recognised the bold script immediately having watched Lord Darcia writing many messages in the evenings they had spent together while she idled the time away reading. She often found herself glancing up at him as he worked. It always amused Daen at how Lord Darcia would give his intense attention to whatever he might be pursuing, whether the schooling of a horse, listening to a report, his swords practice, the writing of a letter, and when he made love. Daen was sure that whenever he applied himself to a task nothing else was on his mind. Daen had no such concentration, her mind was liable to sidle off in other directions when she was not paying attention. She smiled to herself, how often watching him and his brow furrowed in concentration had she wanted to district him from his work. Perhaps to strip from her clothing standing right in front of his desk? Exited and a little nervous she picked up the letter and read it immediately.


To my dearest Little one.

I continue to take the castles in the south, yet there is one citadel remote I have fears will hold out still.I write to make sure you know my intentions towards you. I gave you my seal to ware. I would know whether you would ware it longer for when I return I have a question of grate importance to ask you. I have few tender emotions in my breast, but your happiness is essential to my own.

I am not a man who by nature has fear in his heart, but the thought of losing you I find it is so. However I am a man of action and the only things in life you regret, are the risks that you don’t take. My intentions are often good, but I seldom act upon them. I fear should I see you again I would bare you to the alter whether you would have me or no such is the passion with in me. I know nothing of love, but I will have you.

Andaras.




Daen read this through first quickly but then with care. Absorbing each word and dwelling over his message. She smiled, and then frowned. Oh her dread lord. She lay pondering his missive and could not have said what was in her heart as she did. However as she lay there she noticed that the seal had been broken on the letter before she had come to read it.

Sitting up she looked at it closely, ire taking hold of her enraged that someone would invade upon her privacy. Someone might have opened it by mistake Daen thought trying to be reasonable. However it had clearly been addressed to her. Wanting to get to the roots of the problem and avoid having to think about the implications of her Lords missive (though she did not know it) Daen took herself back downstairs and set out to find the one person who might be able to shad some light on the issue. Arriving at the High priestesses chambers she rapped sharply on the door.

“Who is it?” Replied a voice. Daen said her name curtly and the High priestess unaware of the girls temper called lightly “Come in child.” Daen stalked in like a thwarted cat. The priestess met Daen’s burning emerald gaze coolly. Daen who was already suspicious of the old woman was now doubly so. Daen held up the missive for the Priestess, who was taking her evening meal to see. “I see you have received a message form Lord Darcia.”

Daen scowled, at the distance she was standing there was no way for the Priestess to have been able to read it. “Did you open this?” Daen demanded her green eyes flashing and her face perfectly white with fury.

“Yes.” The High priestess answered simply, before patting her lips with her napkin. She gestured to the empty seat beside her completely unperturbed by the young woman’s wrath. Lying to Daen would get nowhere. “I wanted to be sure of his intentions towards you. I only thought to spare your young heart any more trouble.”

“I’m hardly green. And I am very well able to look after myself.” Daen replied thoroughly offended turning and pacing to the fire place.

“Oh tut!” Said the high priestess, “Don’t scold me like that foolish child. You are not very old you know, you are certainly not as old as you seem to think you are. It would bee a poor thing if I did not look after you as much as in my power to do so. Goddesses know you have few other protectors.”

“Why must everyone assume I need protecting!” Daen turned her back on the Priestess and stalked away to the fire place. Her bosom heaved with her passion. On the mantel piece a vase stood. Looking at it for a moment she then picked it up and dashed it down upon the flagstones.

“Better?”

“Quite.” Daen answered. She looked down at the shattered pieces and felt a twinge of conscious. “Was it very precious?”

“Priceless.” The Priestess replied.

“It was very ugly.” Daen said lamely.

“Yes it was. I never cared for it much myself either.” The priestess came and helped Daen pick up the pieces of the broken vase. “You have quite the temper.”

Daen laughed at that. “Some times. It has gotten me in trouble more than once. I can’t keep it in.”

They cleaned up the rest of the pieces. The priestess telling the girl the rather uninteresting history of the vase. It was not until later when she approached the girl in her room and Daen was in a better mien that she judged it prudent to take up the conversation again. “Why must everyone assume I need protecting!” Daen said exasperated, she brought her hands up and counted on her fingers, “My brother, Avis, Kef, Veione, Lord Darcia , and now you to!”

“Perhaps it’s because we care for you.”

“Damnation! I would consign you all to the underworld if I could, but I suppose that is the truth of it.” Daen swore .

The girl was stood looking out of her bedroom window. The letter opened beside her, lying on top of that was a man’s signet ring attached to a length of chain.

“Sometimes I feel perfectly suffocated.” Daen said.

“You’re used to your freedom and Darcia is very overbearing.”

“Not just lord Darcia.” Daen replied flatly. “ My Family were much more stifling, everything there was censure. Having made my own way in the world for some years now I don’t like my Independence to be taken from me even though sometimes it is a relief sometimes to not have to worry about oh so many things. It scares me, he scares me,’ She put her hand to her eyes. “Oh he terrifies me so!”

“Child he would never harm you!”

Daen laughed. “You don’t know him as well as me if you think that. But that is not why I fear him, I fear him because I want him so but what will it cost me?”

“I quite understand. It is not an easy path for a woman to gain control of her own destiny is it? That is why I offered you a place here, so that you need not feel quite so pressured in to being with Lord Darcia.”

“Hmm, But to be a priestess I still lose my freedom.”

“Child when you commit to any thing of value you will lose your freedom. A drug addict are they free, no they are slaves to there addiction. A mother serves her children, a Priestess her gods. We all serve something; even true freedom itself has its price.”

“A price.”

“Yes to never know love. To be truly free is to care for no one or nothing but yourself.”

“And why is that?”

“Well to know true love, is to sacrifice something of oneself to the other. Dreams, plans all in favour of building a future together you have to compromise sometimes.”

“Perhaps it’s fortunate then that I have no dreams.” Daen said bitterly.

“There must be something that you want?” The older woman asked.

“No nothing.” Daen answered sadly. “Would that I could go back and change the mistakes I have made. But no one can give me that. No one not even the gods and goddesses. Once fate is woven you cannot unbind it. You know during the day I feel perfectly content here, perfectly.” Daen said as she stared out of the window her hands on the stone frame. “And I am never lonely.” She sighed. “But come midnight I need that man. Oh dawn seems so long in coming. Oh he frustrates me when he is around. But he is a pain in the heart when he is not.”

"Well perhaps you should not make a mistake you will regret for the rest of your life." The Pristess said as she moved to go.

Once the Pristess had left Daen sat down to scribble out her missive to her Lord she sat for a while nibbling on the end of her quill. Her first challenge lay in how to address him. “To your grace.” She scribbled it out, it was too impersonal. She knew his first name, “Dearest Andaras.” But somehow by writing that it felt as if she was conceding him too much of her feelings. “To My Lord.” She finally settled upon and began with a flurry of resolution that soon faltered. At first she thought she would write her feelings plainly, but unsure as to entirely what they were and the sentences becoming terribly involved she screwed up that first attempt and consigned it to the fire. Sighing deeply she took up another piece of paper and began again this time more cryptically. It was a brief missive, but no more so than his often where.


My Lord,

The temple is lovely in the spring and I find myself content here. I enjoy walking on the gardens. You ring fits me ill. It is too heavy upon my hand. But fearing losing it I ware it on a chain so that it lays safe by my breast. I'd like to run away from you, but if you didn't come back to me I would die. I wonder why you want me so, I fear that you will soon relise your mistake. I will watch for your return so that I can give you an answer for I know not own heart untill I see you.


Daen.



Finally pleased with the attempt she sprinkled sand over it and having no seal of her own stuck down the wax with her finger.




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A/N: Sorry this took so long to get up. I have parted company with my old computer and now have a new one.

As ever any reviws, constructive critisium ect are welcome.

Enjoy.