The Conjured and the exiles

Leoff was not sure how he had done it but somehow he had managed to reach his sister in the same way that she had reached him. The effort however once he returned to himself made him shake and tremble all over as if with a chill. His limbs tingled with cold as if he had been sitting still in the snow for hours. It burned his lungs and even chilled his stomach as if he had drunk ice cold water nearly doubling him over with pain. He didn’t like it, the unnaturalness of the sensation, the wrongness. Magic. Every fiber of his body, right to his very bones knew that it was not a sense humans were meant to have, yet it was a part of him. It was a discomforting realization that there was a part of him that was not quite human. His whole body was shaking uncontrollably now. No wonder his sister had told him not to try use the newfound skill. However he could not regret using it to reach her, but he swore to himself that he would never use it again.

A small part of him wondered how his sister had used it so effortlessly. And he added the question to the multitude of questions he already had for her. The first being, what by all that was good was she doing with Marshal Andras Darcia, Duke of the Marchadia? Perhaps she really was the sybilla and it had not just been a mistake. If she was then what by the gods was he to do, if he failed in his mission could he return? Captain Nadar would find out that she survived the attack and send others Leoff was sure. The only course of action Leoff could see was feasible was to take Daen with him.

Leoff looked up surprised as a warm body pressed up against him, an arm draping over his waist casually. In the darkness he saw the glint of light off Vas’s dark eyes. ‘Your cold.’ He stated as a mater of fact.

‘It’s not that bad.’

Vas snorted his face close to Leoff’s. ‘I expect they can here your teeth chattering in the next valley over. I wish I could offer you a hot drink or some food.’

‘A fire would give us away.’

‘I know. No fire they could see, no food they could smell, and just hiding in our dank hole until it’s safe to move right? See I have learnt something. ’

Leoff let out an amused humph, and relaxed, welcoming the warmth of the other mans body, he was deathly cold, and there was no sense in getting hypothermia. They were silent for a while, and Leoff felt the cold and tension ease in his body to be replaced by a deep weariness. The night was cool and clear, and somewhere is the shadows his sister was making her way towards them. He had forgotten how good it was to have Vas at his back. He almost mentioned it, but he could not think of the right words and instead he let out a long sigh.

Vas echoed his sigh and shifted to look up at the sky through the tangled branches overhead. The dark eyed mans cool, lightly springy locks brushed against Leoff’s neck and chin tickling slightly as he rested his head on Leoff’s arm. Leoff closed his eyes, but he knew the stars that Vas was looking at, practically seeing them in his minds eye. ‘My sister is coming to find us.’ He said softly so Blake would not overhear. Leoff had thought to keep that piece of information to himself. But in his way Vas had been with him from the beginning of this whole mess, traveling with him along the road of time and experience that had led up to this. Vas would understand what this meant to him.

‘Here?’ He asked incredulously. Leoff nodded. Vas’s voice was quiet, soothing. ‘How?’

‘Magic.’ Leoff answered as if that explained everything. He didn’t want to give away that he to had some small newly discovered arcane ability. Warriors for the most part were distrustful if not down right scornful and disgusted by the use of magic. Though he was sure that Vas would accept him as he was, he did not want to see the fear and speculation he knew that such an admission might cause Vas to feel. After all it was not as if he would ever use magic again. Leoff had tried to work the magic he had felt his sister use to talk to him in a sense of desperation. He hadn’t actually expected to be able to do it, and he had felt a strange mixture of elation, fear, and shame that he had been able to wheeled magic even in such a cursory and feeble way in comparison with his sibling.

‘Oh.’ Vas answered and fell to silence again, thinking what to ask next. ‘What happens when she gets here?’

Leoff’s eyes were drooping with exhaustion, and he still felt deathly cold. He would just rest for a little while. ‘By the Gods I’m tired!’ he said. ‘Vas could you wake me when my sister gets here?’

‘No problem.’ Vas answered. And he listened to the slowing rhythmic breathing of the young man as he succame to sleep his body growing heavier against Vas’s.

Time passed, and the night deepened around them. Vas wished he could light a fire. But he knew to do so would be the height of foolishness. Vas had noticed Leoff’s growing coldness towards him with no little concern. But it was not just him, the young man seemed to have been drawing back in to himself, recoiling from the world in general, retreating behind that wall of ice and natural reserve. Vas almost laughed at himself, at how such a small show of warmth from the young man made him feel so elated. The dark haired man had noticed that Leoff had not smiled since they had left lord Sindri’s castle. It was the desire to find out exactly what was going on with his friend that he had volunteered to join this mission. Hoping that if he saw first hand just what Leoff was doing then he might understand the change in him.

The mystery that was Leoff was his favorite obsession. He had written at least forty songs in his head about Leoff only to discard them all. Not one of them could encompass the conflict and complexity of his friend. Warrior, friend, murderer, protector, loyal, brave, foolish, clever, emotionally stunted, tenacious all words he could use to describe him but they seemed crude tools. Vas found himself more confused than ever. Selfishly he was pleased that the disturbing progress of this mission had once more opened Leoff to him. He almost felt guilty about it, almost.

Vas once again turned his mind to putting Leoff to music, using the man’s own strong heart beet as a metronome counting the rhythm. Vas knew he would never have children. He wanted a different kind of legacy, lasting fame wanted to be among the grate minstrels, to do that he had to write a grate song, one that would be sung down the ages, long after Vas’s own voice faded from the world. A grate song needed a legendary subject. When Vas had met Leoff Vas had immediately seen potential for a song, a truly epic one. There was something about Leoff, potential, the potential for greatness. Vas sighed in frustration, his muse failing him again. He almost laughed and cursed himself as a fool, for only a fool would let his heart go on loving someone who could not love them back.

What kind of song would Leoff’s story make now? Today it very nearly turned in to a tragedy. It had been a miracle that Leoff’s sister’s horse had spooked, and Blake’s bolt had then missed its mark, something that never happened. The dark eyed man glanced at his friend’s sleeping countenance. He could hardly imagine the guilt and horror that Leoff must have felt the moment he had spotted that it was his sister that they had been hunting down so ruthlessly. Leoff had looked like it was he that had been hit by the bolt when the veil of the red habited rider was pushed back. For a second Vas and Blake had both thought that he was in danger of a swoon.

They had managed to escape for the time being. The night before Leoff had got them to dig out a trench large enough for all there of them to lie down in, then used twigs, branches and undergrowth to disguise it. He had explained that if they were discovered it was better to lay low for a while close by where no one would look, and then move under cover of dark.

They had waited in perfect tense silence and then with increasing boredom in the damp dug out as men had passed by, crashing through the undergrowth. Vas was relived that they didn’t use blood hounds. Full dark had come now and the search party was probably back indoors with hot meals and a roaring fire. But Leoff insisted that they wait for the deepest part of the night before they moved. Vas had no idea of how late it was town bread and born he could not mark time by the position of the stars in the heaven like Leoff could. He supposed he should wait a little while longer and then wake Leoff and Blake to cover as much ground as they could before dawn, it was going to be hard going on foot, the border was a long way away. He didn’t put much store in Leoff’s saying that his sister was coming tonight, Leoff often talked in his sleep, and Vas supposed that it was little more than a tale end of a dream that the drowsy Leoff had been recounting.

In the distance Vas could here the midnight tole of a city bell faintly. Closing his eyes he counted its peals absorbed by its mournful tone. The night once more fell to unbroken stillness. Then Vas’s ears caught the sound of light footsteps on the forest floor. He immediately tensed, and sitting up a little he peered in to the dark trying to see what approached.

The forest was all deepest dark and gray, the slight breeze making the shadows shift and move like living things. Vas felt the hair on the back of his neck raise as something approached. The moon suddenly broke from behind clouds bathing the clearing in light, and though it was spring in the mountains on a cold night such as this frost lay sparkled on the branches of the trees, and painted the long swaying grasses. Chill mists had crept between the trees from the lake, caressing the branches like tentative lovers. Despite the wintery chill the woods were filled with the sent of spring, delicate snowdrops and bluebells. It was a magical setting Vas thought for a moment.

And that is when it began to grow strange. At first he thought that he must have been imagining it but he began to here the faint cords of music. It was faint to start with, the faint snatches of a half remembered tune of the breeze. When he sat up to listen better the sound faded completely, but when he set his bare hand to the tree they had built the dug out underneath the music once more sprang to life about him. It was so startling that he almost cried out.
However what came over the slight brow of the small knoll stunned him to absolute silence. It was a sight that Vas took in with his greedy minstrels eyes, trying to remember every detail of the vision. Silent as a snowfall a ghostly animal sedately walked, transparent as cobwebs, as big as a large pony, but was more elegant and slender than any horse Vas has seen. It moved with the casual grace of a trained dancer, as graceful and effortless as a swan on water. Besides her came a pale figure, a lovely young woman dressed only in a pale airy gown and a rich green cloak. Her long hair was unbound and fell about her shoulders in soft waves. Even from the distance, in the dark Vas could tell her eyes would be green. And not just hazel, but true emerald green.

The woman stood still and looked about the clearing, searching for something. The phantom creature inclined its horned head towards the woman, before shaking it slightly. Vas realized that though he could not here them the two apparitions were conversing with each other. ‘The fairy queen and her court?’ In this ancient wood at midnight Vas felt like the intruder. Perhaps he had fallen asleep and this was just a dream?

His gasp of wonder must have given him away and the ethereal unicorn lifted swiveled her ears of mist towards where he was hiding, pawing the ground and then with a swish of her opaque tail it was gone. The woman strode purposefully towards him now. Vas was terrified, but as she grew closer Vas began to see that despite the otherworldly aura surrounding her she was in fact human.

‘Leoff?’ Came a soft enquiry.

Vas let out a sigh of relief and scrambled out of the dugout. Leoff’s sister’s eyes widened at his appearance, but other than that she showed no sign of surprise. Vas couched back down and shook Leoff. ‘Leoff, your sister is here!’

Leoff gave a low groan, but he did not stir. He was out cold. Vas made a small noise of frustration and worry. He looked back over his shoulder; the girl had come closer and now was peering in to the dark hole. ‘Leoff?’

Vas trued to rouse him once again more roughly this time, but it was to no avail.’ I think he might be out for the count tonight.’ Vas said wearily. ‘He said you might come. My name is Vas by the way.’ He sat back on his heals and then standing stiffly held out a hand for her to shake.

Leoff’s sister was smaller than he had expected her to be. For some reason across the clearing she had looked much taller. In fact considering how tall Leoff was, his sister’s small stature was quite shocking. Vas and his brother’s all looked very similar, but the only things that were similar about Leoff and his sister was their identical hair color, and a similar stubborn set to their expressive eyebrows.

The woman tilted her head in consideration, and then set her small hand in Vas’s shaking it with surprising firmness. ‘Pleased to meet you Vas.’ She answered her imperial accented with the faint roiling ancient of Nheim. It was pleasant, as was her natural smile so easily given. Even in the dim light Vas could see that Leoff had been right Daen was uncommonly pretty. She looked anxious.’ What happened to Leoff, he was not hurt was he?’

‘What, no. I don’t know, I think he is just exhausted.’ Vas maneuvered so that they could both get at still sleeping Leoff. ‘He hasn’t really stopped for weeks, always out on missions.’

‘Missions like the one tonight?’ Daen asked her gaze sharpening. Vas nodded. The young woman set her pale hand to her brother’s cheek and shook her head. ‘Oh Leoff!’ She sighed, not in condemnation, nor in benediction but a strange mixture of both emotions.

‘He didn’t mean to attack you!’ Vas said defending Leoff, but it was needless as the woman only waved her hand and smiled.

‘I know. He wouldn’t ever harm me.’

The woman closed her eyes, her brow furrowing in concentration for a moment. When she opened her eyes again she blinked uncertainly. ‘He will probably sleep until late tomorrow. Your right he is exhausted, but not for the reason you think. He used magic to reach me, drawing from his own body to do it.’

‘Magic? Leoff?’

‘It’s in our blood whether we will it or no.’ Daen said sadly. ‘But he’s not very strong in it, thank the gods.’

‘Have you seen this happen before? People been drained by there magic?’ Vas asked anxiously worried about Leoff. If it had just been normal tiredness he could handle that, but what did he know of magic or magic users?

‘Not exactly.’ She looked at Vas reassuringly. ‘I know of it from those who have. You won’t be able to move him for a while.’ She looked at the hidden trench. ‘Will you be able to stay here during the day? If the guards didn’t find you today I doubt they will tomorrow.’

‘What if they use dogs?’

‘Dogs? They don’t have any tracking animals like that.’ Vas felt reassured by that somewhat. The girl sighed and sat back on her heals. ‘I was hoping to speak with Leoff tonight. It’s not safe, any of this.’

Vas chuckled at her obvious statement. ‘No, we really are in the lions den aren’t we!’

‘You have no idea.’ She smiled faintly. She ran her hands through her hair. ‘Oh, if only you could have gone tonight, then you would be at the border in three days on foot!’

‘Well that had been the plan.’ Vas explained.

‘Oh, what in the worlds made Leoff want to dally longer here? I told him to run. He knows better than to…’

‘I think he wanted you to come with us. That’s what he told me at least.’

Daen’s mouth hung open for a moment, and her strange witch’s eyes were thoughtful. ‘I couldn’t leave. I have already told him that.’ Vas raised his eyebrow at that.

‘Why can’t you leave with us?’

Daen was much more open about her motives than her brother ever was. Vas, and Blake who had awakened to the sounds of conversation, soon had a fairly comprehensive account of Daen’s reasons for serving lord Darcia. Vas suspected that Daen left out a lot of personal details, but he saw that like her brother Daen had a keen sense of duty and right now she felt that her duty lay with serving the Duke and his country.

‘I wrote to him.’ She summed up defensively.

Vas was a little exasperated by her answer, angry on Leoff’s behalf. Didn’t she know what kinds of fire Leoff had jumped through to get to her? He decided to tell her everything, all of the things that she knew that Leoff would never tell her. How he had sold himself, how he had taken wounds, how his soul was been taken from him bit by bit mission by mission. Episode by episode Vas told her. Daen sat bolt upright, her face growing paler and paler, but she did not filch from the words he knew would be like stones flung at her.

‘Vas your being unfair, your making it seem like this is all her fault. The Lieutenant is perfectly capable of making his own mistakes. From what I can see it she had told her brother she was fine and he went and got himself in trouble anyway!’ Blake interrupted.

Daen gave a wane smile. ‘It’s alright Blake. I probably deserve it.’

‘Leoff seems to think you were taken against your will, and he has been fighting to get you back ever since.’ Vas said in reply softening a little. She was as open as Leoff was closed, and Vas could see the conflicting emotions at war in her breast. These were her people now, she served them, yet her own brother was the one harming them. But she couldn’t stop loving him, nor her lord. He pitied her.

Daen looked down at her hands. ‘I was at first.’ She bit her lip. ‘But I…’ She blushed. ‘I have come to care for Lord Darcia, very much.’

Vas realized that this was a big admission for the young woman. There was the core of it, Leoff’s sister had lost her heart to the Duke after a rough wooing. Vas knew that there was no way, that Leoff would understand it.


‘Well I suppose I will have to atone by helping you to escape.’ Daen said after a moment.

‘Couldn’t you just tell your lord that it was all a big mistake and that we really are no harm?’ Blake asked hopefully.

The green eyed woman shook her head. ‘I wouldn’t want to risk you in that way. Lord Darcia can be… If you hadn’t been involved with the other murders there might have been a chance. But you have to understand he is a ruler of an unsettled land and any threat…I don’t agree with is methods but I understand them.’ She looked at the young men thoughtfully. ‘Perhaps. Well perhaps if you defected. Then he might be lenient. If you explained everything like you did to me, I mean you honestly didn’t know. Or we could use one of the captains as a go between. Lord Darcia is still pretty furious, but if Captain Faorin or Captain Brand interceded for us.. .’

‘Ah.’ Vas said. He looked at Leoff. ‘I see the problem. You don’t think that since Leoff has sworn an oath to serve lord Edouard that he will accept those terms do you.’

‘No he is very proud.’ She said bit added. ‘In the best of ways.’

Vas sighed, Daen was probably right about Leoff. But they could broach it with him tomorrow. In the mean time they began to make a plan of some sorts. Daen offering to slip away again and bring supplies at nightfall. ‘Oh if only you had horses, then tomorrow night you could be at the border by day brake!’

‘But we do have horses. Our contact has them stabled with some locals, at a hunting lodge some six miles from here.’

Daen’s interest sharpened. ‘A contact?’

‘Of course how else were we to know that the target would be wearing red?’ Blake said unconcerned. He suddenly realized what he had said and looked at the girl who was staring at him hungrily. ‘Look we have never seen the bloke, it was all very cloak and dagger, and you know secret notes and drop points.’

Daen sat back. ‘I see.’ She said disappointed.

It was growing late, or was it early. And at last Daen decided to err on the side of caution and head back to her lord. She lent down gracefully and stroked back Leoff’s slightly curly mop of hair, before kissing his brow as a mother might do. The dark haired man felt a twinge of jealousy that she could so easily touch and hold him, yet he could not. He dismissed the emotion as unworthy and just to prove to himself that he could he walked with her some of the way, having the gentlemanly urge to escort an unaccompanied lady in the dark. Protecting her in stead of her brother as a friend might do. Conversation flowed easily.

‘How long have you loved him? Vas asked genuinely curious about the woman’s relationship with the legendary fighting Duke.

‘I don’t know, it just sort of creped up on me. But probably as far back as when I was in the imperial city. He never really gave me a choice.’ Daen looked at Vas speculatively. ‘You love my brother don’t you?’

Her artless statement startled him, and he flushed hotly, his quick minstrels tongue failing him for once in his life. She smiled warmly. ‘I though so.’

‘Well you know..’ He stuttered embarrassed.

‘Leoff is fortunate to have a true friend in you.’ She gave him an unexpected hug. ‘And I bet my fool of a brother dose not appreciate it!’

She smiled, and then stepped out in to the shadow wood, boldly and without fear. Vas was left smiling after her. For some reason that last interlude had warmed him. He liked Leoff’s sister, she was very different from him, but he liked her. But Leoff wouldn’t be half cross when he found out that he slept all the way through her visit, nor that Vas had told her all his most shameful secrets. Vas winced, he soused he would just have to deal with that as it came.


---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


Georg of Bute, gave a sword to his youngest son on the day of his sixteenth year. ‘Though I don’t know what you will do with it.’ He had grumbled.

Alwen had practiced with swords since he was old enough to walk, but this gift, the fine steal blade, engraved with runes, and a hilt inlayed with ivory and gold marked him as a knight of the Marchadians. He had twined his fingers about the hilt and despite his fathers luke warm welcome in to the marshal brotherhood answered with awe; ‘By the goddesses I will put it to good use!’ His father and two much older brothers had laughed at that, for although they were fond of Alwen they thought little of his ability to fight.

However the first use the young knight found his sword was to draw it upon his own brother within one moon of having it. Goring and Ahlarn his older brothers had always been warlike. And since the days of the last rebellion had been growing ever more malcontent, picking fights with nearby neighbors. Alwen the youngest by a seven year gap was to well accustomed to such happenings to pay much heed. Raids and pillages were everyday occurrences in the Marchadians, in times long ago but not forgot their ancestors had raided the empire itself (when they were not fighting amongst themselves) until Sargon the ninth thought to marry the daughter and hair of the duke, annexing the ducal kingdom to become another imperial province. If anyone chose to come in force and ravage Bute lands, Alwen would put on his armor and defend them aside from that he had little interest in war or politics. But on the day that Alwen had been knighted, the idealist that he was he had decided that it had become his duty to become interested in such things.

The Marchadians had always been turbulent. And not just from the raids of the Meiw but the noble houses themselves often warred amongst themselves, raiding each others lands if ever the chance presented itself. Though the nobles closest to the border were less inclined to involve themselves in such petty feuds to busy looking to defend themselves from outside attack, but those in the central, south and to the east had less to worry about from the Meiw and so had time to covert the possessions of each other and nurse grievances towards each other. It was an old mountain saying that the noble houses of the Marchadians were bound as much by there enmity as they were by marriage.

For the most part the energetic young Duke had done much to stamp out such lawless behavior, but in the most southern counties where his iron grip was less choking raiding still occurred as age old rivalries continued to war with each other, resentful of intrusion on what they considered solely their business. Few complained about it, it was there own prerogative and all had deiced that they would rather put up with the annoyance of the raids to suffering under the inflexible laws and judgment of the Duke. Sure the villagers disliked such goings on, the raids hitting them the hardest, but who cared for the voices of a few surfs. Certainly not the knights, who often rode quite literally rough shod over the rural population.

Lord Sindri arguably the most powerful of the local nobles had been throwing his weight around as of late. His castle a hive of activity, and he had been seen to ride out with a retinue of full of fully armed men, not his own retainers but mercenaries threatening his villagers in to obedience much as the nobles always had done. The noble had even began to bully the local lesser nobility, but in to what Alwen did not know nor care for the most part.

He was however neither blind nor deaf, there was not yet talk of open rebellion, but something was in the air, Sindri and his foreign allies were recruiting the south for something, coercing his alleys, threatening ducal sympathizers. His father, a brother to Sindri through marriage was often gone for days at a time with his brother in law. Georg never discussed what was on his mind with his youngest son, but Alwen watching closely noticed his fathers increasing gravity and terseness. Something was playing on his mind.


When out hunting Alwen decided to ask his father about his suspicions that his uncle was raising a rebellion his father had given him a sharp glance then observed sagely that Sindri was mostly all full of hot air. He then gave his son a dark look and growled that he would be well served to not speak such dangerous accusations lest he want to feel the back of his father’s hand. Alwen wisely did not mention it again, though he was convinced his father knew more than he would let on. His suspicion only grew when his brothers returned from their ‘hunting’ expeditions smelling of smoke and blood.

It was no secret that Georg was no grate lover of Lord Darcia, as a younger man he had been among those who had risen up against him. Used to a lighter rain he had bridled at the young duke’s perceived interference and more particularly the taxes he raised to give to the border nobles and his mercenaries. After all up until then each noble had been expected to look to his own, it should have been up to the border nobles to pay their own way and defend themselves! Georg like much of the south had sided with Darcia’s more amiable cousin over the stern young lord. The rebellion had after a hard fought civil war been crushed, and it still rankled with many though Darcia could have been harsher than he had been. Alwen had been brought up to distrust the Duke through osmosis, absorbing the words spoken against him from the cradle. But when the young man had glimpsed the austere lord he could not help but be awed by the imposing dark figure of the Duke.

Alwen cannot have been a day over nine when Lord Darcia had swept down to the south to quell yet another uprising, one his father had stayed for the most part out of, too old for such games as he put it. As a child no one really explained to him what was going on so Alwen had to collect bits of information about the battles and sieges like a street cur devouring scraps, earwigging on the adult’s hushed, tense and sometimes irate conversations. To young to be afraid the month of fighting seemed to pass quickly. The ferocious duke who had descended upon the south with his army seemed a figure of legend. Alwen a child the war had not really affected any part of his life directly, that is until all the families in the south march were called to Merton to sign a new charter to ensure their obedience. Even the children were expected to sign this agreement. And so Alwen for one got to join in at the tail end of something he had been viewing from afar.

As Lord Darcia, passed by in the streets of Morton, victorious astride a proud black desterier Alwen saw him for the first time and was close enough to touch the sides of his horse’s glossy flanks. The marshal cut an almost sinister figure in dark armor with his long mantel sweeping behind him. Hanging from his hip was his famous demon sword, a red ruby winking on its guard. Upon his chest was an ebony raven with grasping talons set on a red background and above him the emblem was repeated in a flapping silk banner. He was as tall as a Northman, dwarfing many around him and even with his mask on his eyes were piercing. When he spoke everyone grew silent. And Alwen well believed that his was a voice that if raised in anger could make army tremble as it echoed across the town square like rich thunder. To the young boy exactly what a sovereign lord should look like; here was a man who could slay dragons.

His interest in Lord Darcia had not waned since. Alwen had gathered bits of information about him, stories as bright as a magpie’s treasure trove. The nobles to the south rarely had a good word to say about their sovereign lord. But whenever Alwen ventured in to the towns or villages the stories about the Duke were quite different. The stories that they told of him made him seem more like a figure of legend than a real man. They told him about his demons sword who no other man could weald but he. About the victories he had won, about his cruelty to some enemies’, and mercy to others. Recently there had been story that heartless Duke had fallen in love with a beautiful foreign woman who he had rescued from prison. With every story Alwen’s interest grew.

Hardly a month after Alwen had received his sword and spurs that he rode out on his new courser (as his father could not afford a desterier for him yet) to the market town of Morton some twelve miles from his home that lay on the banks of Morlyn lake which stretched for miles like a grate inland sea merging in to the grate marshes of Sidana. His errand had been to by a new saddle for his mount, a young horse that with training had put on more muscle making his old saddle fit to tightly, pinching its withers. On the return journey he decided to take the shorter road which would lead him across a corner of Lord Odo’s land a man who had so far refused to be drawn in to any rebellion and who Sindri had long waged a somewhat one sided private war against.

Some thought that grudge flittered across his mind, as the nephew of Sindri he would be a good hostage, if not a whipping boy for his family’s sins. But it was growing late and he wished to be home before darkness settled over the land. He didn’t really expect to see any of lord Odo’s men at this time of the day so far from the safety of there castles and burrs. Boyishly, despite been unarmored and carrying only his sword he decided that he would trust his gray’s swift hoofs to keep him out of any sudden danger.

However it was not an enemy he was destined to meet. The sun was setting when he turned aside from the road to follow a small bridle way that ran along some ploughed fields. The evening had grown quiet, and after the bustle of the market town the silence was welcome to the young man. Glistening golden and red in the distance was the rushing river, beyond them rose the mountains already almost lost in the blue encroaching haze of dusk.

He rode at a gentle pace, whistling a tune and musing on the pleasant countryside that he called home, the flat flood planes and undulating hills that were between the river and the forest. It was good land for farming, if only one might be sure that his harvest would not be seized by a hungry neighbor, or fought over for no other reason than an age old grievance the origins of which had long forgotten and only enmity remained. This thought was in the young mans mind when his attention was caught by a red glow a little way to the west of him, behind a small coppice of trees. On the light wind he caught the smell of smoke and as he looked more closely he saw the unmistakable flicker of flames. His young horse’s ears also pricked up in the direction of the fire, its nostrils flaring to catch unfamiliar scents.

His horse let out a low pitched niker, obviously scenting other’s of its kind and still too young to have the manners not to call out. But even over his horse’s soft whinny Alwen though could hear the sound of someone screaming. He rained his gray in hesitating, for he was not upon his own ground, it was no concern of his if a surf’s house caught on fire. Then like a lightning strike he realized that it could be his own men of Bute who might be responsible. He was not sure where it came from but he was filled with the sudden desperate urge to go and help. Impulsively he set his spurs to his horse’s sides and cantered across the deep plough towards the trees.

As he drew nearer he herd again, and this time unmistakably the sound of a woman’s scream. This was followed by the sound of laughter which made the young man press his lips tightly together. He recognized that brutal laughter; men drunk on blood lust. He spurred the virgin sides of his gray mercilessly; never pausing in his ire to consider what he would do if he were to find himself in the midst of foes.

Flames were roaring up in to the sky, a second sinking sun as Alwen drove his mount down the slope, and in the hellish light cast by the buildings of the small hamlet burning Alwen saw men standing around with swords and torches. Swine stuck in there pens squealed like the dammed. A woman perhaps the same ones who he had herd scream now struggled in the arms of two men, her hair coming lose from its cloth cap, her blouse torn down to her naval. A surf was tied to a near by bit of fence, another man’s his sword worrying the terrified man’s throat. Just as Alwen came crashing down the steep bank in to the village the woman shrieked that for the love of the mother she would go and fetch her daughters as long as they did not kill her good man!

She was allowed to go amongst ribald comments, two men sat upon a great desteriers, cold-bloodedly observed all that was going on. One man dressed in amour of the imperial style; the other wore something more familiar. It was this man who shouted to the men at arms that they need not kill the villager if the woman kept her word.

Alwen forced his horse to vault the small palisade and ditch before reigning in the gray so hard that the un-battle trained horse was forced upon its haunches. The young man twisted around in the saddle to face the man who had spoken a second ago. ‘You Cur, Goring it is you!’

Goring was surprised to see his younger brother. He nudged his horse closer to his brothers gray, his grin was friendly not the least abashed that he should be found behaving in such a debased way. ‘Oh, and where have you come from so suddenly?’

Alwen was white with fury, shaking with it he ignored the foreign men who spoke curiously between themselves. He pressed up to his brother and said in a low voice. ‘What demon has got in to you, what work is this, call off your dogs right now!’

The older brother laughed. ‘What business is it of yours little brother?!’ He looked on his brother with amused eyes. ‘My your in a fine temper today. Look about this is not our land; I’ am not harming our surf or his daughter!’

Alwen realized that his brother thought that adequate explanation for his conduct. Thinking of no adequate reply he threatened boyishly. ‘Even so, it’s not right. Let them go Goring or you will be sorry!’

‘Let them go! Hah!’ Goring sneered, then grinned over at his companion. ‘I will let them go if that old slut brings me her daughter, perhaps, but not before. You must have hit your head somewhere today Stan if you think you can threaten me.’

The young man saw that it was useless to brandy words to and fro with his brother. In silence he wheeled his gray about riding up to the captive villager before using his sword to cut the man’s bindings. As soon as his elder brother perceived he was in earnest he stopped laughing displeased to be shown up by his brother in front of his guests and shouted angrily. ‘Get off my pray you dog! Here you, get my fool of a brother off his horse he’s gone stark raving mad!’

One of his men moved to obey the command. Alwen urging his horse forward brought his foot out of the stirrup to smash full in to the man’s face cracking his nose, knocking him clean over. No one else made a move, though they were Goring’s own men at arms, they knew what was owed to the other sons Bute.

Glaring at his ender brother, and seeing that no one else would move against him, Alwen finished off freeing the unfortunate surf, who staged to the floor with a groan, his back lacerated with whip marks.

Goring had been furious with Alwen for his impudence, but the shrewd kick to his mans face had done much to return his humor. Instead of cursing and lashing out as he usually did when crossed he clapped his brother on the shoulder; - ‘By the good gods that was neatly done. I didn’t know you had it in you. Under all that lambyness there was man lurking, father will be pleased to here of this. But you are wrong you know, that fitly villain had been hiding his daughter from me for the past few weeks, she bares my child. I had to beet that cur to within an inch of his life to find out…’

‘Keep your hand’s off me!’ Alwen said. ‘No doubt you got her pregnant when you raided Odo lands come seven moons ago! Hah, if I believed you I would be a fool, you just sought out sport! If there was justice in the south marches you would be flogged and hung!’ He slipped down from his horses back to bed over the felled surf. The man lay to still. ‘I think you have killed him.’

‘One less of that cowardly Odo’s men to clutter up the world then.’ His face had darkened as he turned to his brother. ‘When did you become so free with your tongue brother? May be I should school you a little to mind your betters!’

At that moment the foreigner caught sight of the woman who had gone off to fetch her daughters. He spoke with a noble’s languorous drawl. ‘Ah the wench was true to her word.’

Goring immediately forgot his brother’s audacity and jumped down from the saddle. ‘You see Lord Edouard, I said there was good sport to be had in this country.’

‘She is adequate.’ The other man answered.

The elder woman was dragging her two daughters by their wrists her face hard and emotionless. They were both very pretty, very young and very scared. One girl desperately tried to hang back, even with her lose dress it was obvious there was a bump under her girdle. Tears spilled from her eyes. The smallest of the pair gasped in horror at the sight of her father laying on the floor. In a small kittenish voice she called him, begging him for aid. ‘Father, father, get up.’

Goring’s eyes devoured the elder, and he caught her about the waist as she stood shivering. ‘Well my shy bird! I remember you well. I have a mind to take you again.’

Terent Edouard was in the process of dismounting when Alwen who could bare it no longer rushed at his elder brother. Goring jerked his head up, but he was too late to fend off the blow that sent him sprawling. He and the girl fell in a tangle of limbs. The girl quickly got up and scrambled over to her father. Her sister braking free of her mother did likewise, as if the unconscious and probably dead man could possibly defend them.

Alwen’s sword was out and shortened for the thrust. ‘Lie still!’ He snarled. ‘I have something to say before I let you up!’

‘You insolent whelp! By the gods if I don’t have your head for this!’

‘That may be so, but right now you are ill advised to provoke me brother.’ The young man stated practically, letting his blade bite a little deeper. ‘It would be better that you do as I say, for I am in the mood to stick you like a pig rather than have you for a brother.’

‘Stick me! By the gods- You have gone mad!’ Goring gasped his eyes wide and round. ‘I shall flay you for this!’

Alwen swallowed. He did not doubt his brothers thereat for a moment. But he carried on; he was in to deep to pull out now. ‘Swear on our ancestors that you will let the wenches go and I will let you up! Afterwards it will be as the better man decides.’

‘You mean to duel me! I never knew you had such spine! But I will not swear! What interest have you got in such wenches?’

‘None, I do not kennel with surfs.’ He stated proudly, ignoring conveniently that he had never been with any woman. ‘But I shall certainly slay you if you do not swear. I shall count to twenty.’

At the fifteenth count with much cursing Goring swore to let the girls go and harass them no more. Alwen drew his sword back then. The imperial noble gave a peal of laughter, apparently highly amused by the spectacle. The moment that Goring was up he punched his brother hard with a gauntleted fist. Alwen collapsed down, his eyes roiling up in his head.

‘Goring that was hardly necessary.’ Terent sighed.

Goring clenched his knuckles. ‘The boy needs to mind who he draws his steal on. Better I teach him than someone else.’

The women by now were in the process of fleeing back to the wild bramble mire they had been hiding in before. Their father was dead; they could do little for him now but wait until the men had gone to reclaim his body. Terent watched them running idly, noting that despite his grumbling Goring did not send his men after them. Nor infact did the men move an inch to retrieve the pray for their master as good hounds of war should. ‘Are you going to let them go?’

‘I swore an oath, I have to.’ Goring spat, then nudged his prone brother with the toe of his boot disdainfully. ‘He will have to come with us, we have dallied long enough. And we shall get no more amusement here.’

Terent looked up at the sky where the full moon hung large and bright in the sky. ‘Indeed the hour grows late. We need to meet up with the main force before dark.’

Like hefting a bag of turnips, Goring slung his unconscious brother over the grays saddle, securing him with some rope least he fall and delay them further. They set off at a brisk trot. Alwen bounced heavily in his saddle, and Goring hoped that it bruised his ribs, as badly as the whelp had bruised his ego. If he could have thought up a good explanation for his father he would have killed his younger brother for the insults he paid him today. However none came to mind and he doubted that his father would believe that the dreamer Alwen was capable of what he had done today.


------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------



Veoine sat up in a tree, his leg dangling down as he gazed up at the stars in the sky that was the color of sapphires in the shade. He needed a little time alone as he readjusted to been wholly human again without his demons strength and senses added to his own. This tree had long been a private retreat. As a boy he had made a den of the vas oaks boughs, as a teen he often came back to spend the nights away from his father when they visited Bala. He didn’t come back so often now, only when he sought complete solitude.

He had managed to fool his troops, rushing in barking orders, scattering men with a list of tasks, before any of them noticed the unnatural gleam in their captains’ eye, or the strength of his grip. He was in away fortunate that Euryale’s eyes had been aquamarine unlike Bherith’s ruby red. Normally Veoine’s eyes were the color of the summer sky on a clear day; Euryale’s influence only gave them an otherworldly luster. Not something you would notice if you were not looking for it.

He had not been able to find the assailants. It rankled a little, but with s shrug he had to let it go, you won some you lost some, that was how life went, though he doubted that Darcia would see it that way. He had set men to the task, but if it was his guess the attackers were long gone from Marchadia.

Veoine sighed and lent his head back against the rough bark of the massive oak. He was a coward. He had not yet had that promised conversation with Vespa yet. When he had arrived back from Cyrch he had been bone weary, and depressed by what he had seen. Within an hour of getting back to Bala he was drunk as an ass downing tumbler after tumbler of spirits to keep back the hopeless, enjoying the warmth of the alcohol, enjoying the fuzziness it brought, the numbness.

Vespa had knocked on his door. He had not answered. She didn’t deserve this. What could he offer her, a drunk, unfaithful, nerdoel, or so his father had always told him. ‘I know you’re in there Veoine!’ She shouted finally. He still did not answer. She kicked the door, the wood thudded dully. ‘Fine be like that you bastard. I should have known better!’ As her herd her retreating footsteps it all seemed suddenly very funny and he laughed, or had he cried? He didn’t remember.

In the morning he promised that he would speak to her. That somehow he would make it right between them, but the coward that he was he put it off. Tonight would be better, or perhaps tomorrow. Always tomorrow and tomorrow but never today. He laughed now his voice loud in the peace of the forest. What kind of a man was he that he could go in to battle with no fear in his heart, but he could not face Vespa, the woman he had practically raised in his own unique way?

Vespa had grown colder and harder towards him. She did not even offer him rage, and he wondered if she had given up on him. He wouldn’t be surprised if she had. Was he been selfish in wanting her for his own? He didn’t even know if he could be faithful to one woman. Perhaps it was better this way, if she hated him.

‘He who dares wins.’ Euryale said. ‘Is that not what you tell your men?’

Veoine pondered this in silence. His blade was right of course, he often told his men this. It was his favorite maxim, and he prided himself in living up to it. Taking what he wanted, a true hedonist. To be that man you had to sacrifice other things, your good reputation, not that Veoine had ever cared for his reputation as a noble. It also had meant giving up close relationships, the kind that he saw with Kef and Avis and now Darcia and Daen. Veione was not a heartless man; he never went out of his way to break women’s hearts. He only courted women who knew the rules to his game, nights of pleasure, but just one night may be two but never to keep. Catch and release. He had loved all of them and none of them. And then there was Vespa. Somehow she had snuck in under all his defenses.

He realized that he was sitting tensely. He rolled his shoulders and licked his lips. ‘Now or never.’ He dared himself, just as he had as a boy. The decision was made and there was no going back on it. Victory or oblivion, but at least he would know. It was true that the worst part of a battle were the long hours waiting before it. Lightly he jumped down from the tree, landing squarely on his feet. Then resolutely he strode back to Bala, his heart racing and his blue eyes burning.


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


A/N; Thanks to Solitude for the detailed review. I hope this chapter answered some questions.

Hugs to all my regular readers!

Hope you enjoyed this chapter, as ever all comets are welcome good or bad.