The Conjured and the exiles

Alwen had fallen asleep hard, darkness claiming him the moment he had closed his eyes, a sweet oblivion.

Sometimes he herd voices, but they seemed disembodied from him. ‘That’s right Luff, and Buff you keep an eye on him for me. Cira are you coming? No? Oh alright you can stay, keep an eye on him if his condition gets much worse come find me, I will probably be at the gaol or in the library.’

He felt something warm with course hair lay down beside him; there was the familiar smell of dog. On the other side of him was something much the same size as the hound, but smelt much better curled up against his side, a light warm weight. But that warmth swiftly turned into the raging inferno like the fires from the raid. However much Alwen tried to run from the heat, it followed him into a world of dizzying and confusing images from which there was no escape, his father, brothers, the flames, the blood black in the darkness…

He tried to cry out but he could not find his voice. From somewhere deep in the confusing memories he heard a small voice like looking up at the sun from deep water, barely more than a whisper. ‘I see it too. And so dose She.’

Pain wracked his nerves. His body felt as though it were boiling. The next moment, it was as though he had been buried alive beneath the snows the mountain peeks or dunked in the winter frozen lakes. Alwen was sure he was dying. Chills seized his limbs and shook him so violently that his teeth rattled in his skull. Heat flared through him again, so that he felt that larva was been pumped through his veins not blood, drying him out from the inside. It was followed again by the sudden coldness that nothing could warm.

Occasionally, a touch would break through the madness, an unexpected softness amidst the burning and chills. Tender strokes to his sopping forehead, a soft female voice. ‘Alwen you need to drink this.’

‘Mother.’ The curve of a palm around the nape of his neck, small slender hands holding him up for water to trickle between his lips, those same hands tended his wounds. Though he wished he could just be left alone.

After a long time, the flames subsided. Alwen opened his eyes which were gummed thickly together. He could feel his body for the first time in days. He was damp with sweat. He was exhausted. Beside him two huge hounds panted, and the other side of him a small fair haired girl was curled up sleeping soundly. The one hound woke at his movement and sniffed him with interest before licking his chin soundly and settling back to sleep. There was the faint sent of lavender left in the room, a woman’s sent. It was dusk, orange and red light slanted through the gaps in the shutters. Alwen sank back into an exhausted sleep as his sickness slowly bled from him.

Over the next two days the sybilla attended his wounds personally (as she had done he was informed later through the whole of his convalescence) helped by her silent little shadow. The little girl with whom no attempt he made at conversation had gained anything more than a smile from the child. He assumed she must be a mute, but he would have sworn that during his fever it must have been she who talked to him. During his time spent in bed the little girl would detach herself from her mistress to sit with him, watching him. The lady sybilla (for Alwen would not dare to presume to call her by her given name) saw this and gave the young knight some books with which he could perhaps amuse the girl and himself, books of fairytales, of knights and their deeds. They sybilla a foreigner herself seemed keen to here the child’s tales as well. At first it pained Alwen to be reminded of his old favorites; however the animated expressions of the sybilla and the little girl as he read the stories soon persuaded him to persevere.

It was late in the evening, the stars were out. And Alwen woke up famished, the salty broths he had been eating not quite hitting the spot, he was after all still a growing boy. Slightly embarrassed he hoped to be able to find a servant and ask for a bite to eat, or at least directions to where he could get some food. The halls however were deserted, and he was forced to venture further than he had originally intended. Just as about he was about to give up and go back he ran across a familiar face. ‘My lady Sybilla.’ He bowed hastily.

She chuckled at his gallantry, ‘Alwen what are you doing about?’

‘I was…’ The modest young man didn’t know where to look quite, for she was wearing only her nightgown with a green and gold shawl over the top. His stomach growled, and flushed red right to the very roots of his hair.

‘Oh I see.’ She laughed behind her hand. ‘Well you must be feeling better. Oh don’t look so mortified, come on I was heading to the kitchens myself.’

Alwen couldn’t find the words to protest as she took his arm and lead him through the vaulted halls. Feeling intimidated by the grand surroundings, and the bold woman who led his so assuredly. His reservations swiftly disappeared when he could smell the savory sent of meet cooking, his stomach gave another growl. The kitchen was much like his at home, larger perhaps, cleaner to, but the smells and the atmosphere were much the same, he relaxed a little.

The sybilla invited him to sit at the bench. He sat and watched silently as the sybilla, his lord’s lady moved about the kitchen like a house wife getting some cold cuts, cheese, preserves, bread and a thick slab of butter together, she placed the bounty before him along with a large glass of milk. ‘Don’t stand on ceremony for I certainly wont.’ She informed him as she settled on the bench opposite, drawing her knees up under her lose nightdress and looking suddenly like a young girl as she began picking apart a chicken leg with her fingers.

Alwen helped himself to the cold cuts and some bread chewing thoughtfully. Everything that he had been told about the Sybilla could not have prepared him for the reality. She really was unique. Lord Darcia had dazzled him, a magnificent figure of a man, a man worthy of following, but his Sybilla really was the strangest creature. Beautiful, but she certainly did not fit any model of a grate lady, or a prophetess even, else she would not be sitting in a kitchen as content as a kitchen maid, but there was nothing humble about her, every gesture, every well turned phrase spoke of both breeding and quality.

‘Your news had caused quite a stir young knight.’ She said with that confiding lilt to her voice. ‘I expect you want to know what is going on.’

‘My lady if it pleases you to tell me.’ He answered.

‘Oh?’ She said with a raised brow, ‘And if it should not please me? Ah, see you want to know very badly. I’m sorry I should not tease. I will tell all I know, which it’s not much I will admit.’ And so she did, what she told him in her only slightly accented voice was nothing he had not expected. Rebellion, as yet small but it was growing. More villages attacked, but as yet no more towns. She reported, all that she knew and answered all his questions without evasion.

‘Has Lord Darcia left yet?’

‘No not yet, he is still gathering information. I believe that he has sent out an envoy to try to offer them terms. Or rather he had said that if they surrender right away he might not crush them completely.’ She looked concerned for a moment, and reached her hand across the table to clasp his. ‘I’m sorry I often speak what ever is on my mind when I am among friends. Your form the south. This must be very hard on you.’

‘Not as much as you think. But I do long for more news.’ He admitted. ‘No one at home ever told me much; I always had to find out by myself, scraps and bits. It’s nice to have someone who will just talk to me.’

‘Then I’m truly glad.’ The woman smiled after giving him a sympathetic look. She sat back, her smile widening. ‘Oh I am glad you are better. We thought that you might die after all you had been through. When your fever broke I don’t think I have been so relieved about something in such a very long time. There has been precious little other good news the last few days.’

‘I know that voice.’ Came a deep voice from the door way. ‘You know Daen you could simply order food be brought to our chambers if your hungry.’

Alwen stood up hastily almost upsetting his meal as he made a bow to his sovereign lord. He peeped to see that Lord Darcia had a hand on his hip looking at his woman with amusement and disapproval. The sybilla shook her head, ‘Things always taste better in the kitchen.’

‘Imp. You wretched little scrub maid.’ He said and came behind her, lifting her jaw with his thumb and first two fingers he tilted her head back so that he might kiss her. Alwen watched with a blush as Dacia took a fairly chaste kiss from his lover’s lips. As the noble straightened his steal gray eyes alighted on the young knight. ‘Ah, I see you are up Alwen of Bute.’ He stood to his full height, which was to say he towered over Alwen. ‘Have you finished your meal?’

‘Sire.’ Alwen nodded, and quickly swallowed down the last of his cheese washing it down with the remains of his milk. Lord Darcia made a brief ‘hrmph’ of amusement, though his expression did not change.

‘Come then, I have wished to speak to you boy.’

The sybilla’s hand came to rest on her lords, her face still turned towards him. ‘Sire he has not yet recovered from his fever.’

‘I will have him abed soon.’ Darcia replied, he removed her small paw and lead the way for Alwen to follow. The hallways were draughty and cold compared to the domestic warmth of the kitchen. And although Alwen did not want to own to it he was exhausted and still week. Lord Darcia seemed to notice his struggles to keep up, and slowed his pace a fraction, pausing before paintings of his ancestors, pointing them out to the young knight.

Names from history suddenly had faces. Andrealphus the merciless, Adramelech the bold, Dantalion the wise, Darcia’s grandfather Andrainanyas the lion heart. ‘My name sake. It is an unwieldy name Andras is easier.’ Lord Darcia informed him solemnly. ‘ By the gods he was a stark old man, but he always had time to spare words on me. Now here is my father Andromalius.’ The duke looked at this painting for a moment, but he ventured no anecdote or comment upon it unlike the other portraits.

Alwen followed his lord in to the library, and did not scruple to sit when a seat was offered least he faint again in front of his hero. His lord asked him may questions about what he had seen over the past few months leading up to the raid. Alwen answered as best as he could despite the intimidation he felt was the mask-less Duke watched him with hawk like intensity, his face hansom, but like a statues it was cold, lacking in any softness.

‘This must be hard for you young knight. I too know what it is like take up a sword against my own blood. It grieved me greatly to do it. But sometimes a man’s principles have to be set above even family bonds. That is the burden of ruling, to put your personal feelings aside for the grater good.’

‘I grieve, but not for my family, but for the innocents they killed. I would do anything to make reparations to them.’

‘I think you already have.’ Darcia stood; he placed his hand on Alwen’s shoulder like he had on that first meeting. The Duke’s tone was such that it was impossible for Alwen to work out whether he meant what he said next in earnest or jest. ‘Keep saying such things and I may have to find a use for you young knight.’

Alwen looked up hopefully, but than hung his head. ‘Sire what do you mean?’

‘I mean tonight you should go to bed. Daen was right and I should not have kept you up. But as you will find there is little kindness in me, and precious little pity.’ Lord Darcia went to a writing desk and scribbled out a note, sealing it closed with his ring. ‘There take this to Captain Faorin first thing in the morning.’

It was a special kind of torment to not know what was in the letter that night. Alwen managed to resist the urge to hold it close like a love sick girl a note from her sweet heart. But in the morning he was aglow with excitement and nerves. He found the infamous captain Veoine the lightning strike in the stables the next morning grooming his horse and overseeing the general care of the military mounts. He passed the small scroll that Lord Darcia had given him to the captain who read it through slowly. ‘Do you know what this note contains?’ The blond haired man asked.

‘No sir.’

Veoine smirked, ‘Our lord seems to think I need a distraction while Captain Vespa is away. The note says you shall be calling me Captain from now on. You are the newest recruit to Darcia’s cavalry.’


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Daen knew that Veoine soft hearted man that he was, hoped to keep the worst of what could happen from her and so she asked Kef instead. Kef, to the point had filled in one very important detail Veoine was ignoring, that for the worst crimes, the sentence for murder could be death. But at least her fears for her brother’s immediate comfort were assuaged even if her concerns for his future were much less settled. Veoine was making sure that Leoff and his companions were been treated well. And not just for Daen’s sake, but he also seemed to have struck up a genuine friendship with the two Clodden, Leoff however remained as intractable as ever.


Daen constantly felt either knotted with anxiety, or wretched under her lord’s sudden coldness. She wondered if he suspected that Leoff had been the one to attack them. She wondered whether Leoff had felt even a fraction of the anxiety she was feeling for him now when she fell a foul of her family and ended up in that imperial hold? Quiet watchful Timor had worked out the connection between Daen and Leoff and offered to aid her in any way he could. Other than that only Veione and Lord Darcia knew that Leoff was her brother.


Daen had managed to catch Veione in the stables. Sitting on some straw bales she unburdened herself of a few of the anxieties that she felt for her brother. ‘What do you think Lord Darcia will do with them?’


‘Nothing. They face trial at the ducal court. He presides over the court, but it will be the jury that decides, and the judges will sentence them.’


‘But he presides over other cases.’


‘Only when they have to do with his own nobility, other than that apart from cases on appeal traditionally only the nobles have recourse to the ducal court. Darcia presides over other cases of interest sometimes, larger land disputes, or those that will set presidents. That is when he can find time.’ Veoine shrugged, ‘For the most part he delegates to his judges. It’s unavoidable now.’


‘So what’s likely to happen?’ Daen asked quietly, chilled by the foreboding in Veoine’s tone.


She knew he was about to tell a lie, to gloss over the worst of the situation and she waved him off with a hand. ‘No Veoine, the truth as a friend. Even the worst of it.’


‘It will depend on the jury and the judge. The Clodden, they might get away with time spent in the army. But your brother…..He killed three men, another four were seriously wounded, and more with lesser injuries. There are more than a handful of witnesses including Timor and myself.’ He paused for a moment. ‘The men seek to demonise him.’


‘But he was not himself. I think he was partly possessed by his sword!’


‘Perhaps.’ Veoine said, he looked down at his own blade and rubbed his chin. ‘I have seen such things before. It would explain why he went berserker. But the lay people in a court would not believe it. Everyone is on edge, they want someone to blame for the recent attacks. They want blood. ’


‘But not you?’ Daen asked carefully.


‘No not I?’ He gave a bitter snort of amusement. ‘I don’t need to.’


The blond captain looked all of his years today. Cool Timor had been philosophical about his murdered men, but Veoine had felt there loss keenly, having known those men as drinking partners and friends, not just subordinates. ‘I’m sorry.’ She apologized. ‘I don’t mean to press you Veoine. I know that those men were your friends. Its just..’


Veoine surprised her with a hug. ‘It’s alright. Thank you Daen.’ He said. He let her go, his eyes sympathetic. ‘I don’t mind. I won’t lie mind.’


‘I didn’t expect you to.’ Daen answered.


He looked relieved, and gave her a smile at half mast. ‘You had your witch’s eyes on me and I suspected… I should have known better eh?’


‘Yes you should have.’ She feigned annoyance. But swiftly she put this aside and looked back at Veoine seriously. ‘But will you help us?’ To Veoine she suddenly looked very young, and very afraid. Veoine had a suspicion that the young men had been the ones to attack Daen and his lord. Of coarse the young men would say nothing on that topic. Vas stuck firmly by the story that their presence in Marchadia was should to help Leoff find his sister. Leoff said nothing at all. Veoine was willing to believe it was a mistake. But it would not be long until Darcia figured it out; there was no fooling that one, though gods only knew what he would make of all of it. Veoine though ever loyal to Darcia was happy to live in the shades of gray that colored the world and helping Daen did not impinge upon his honor.


‘Yes. I will do what I can. I will not for instance be saying that they were the ones who attached you and our lord the day before. Hopefully the jury won’t put two and two together. I have said that Leoff is your brother that he was here to see you.’


‘ah, so not a lie exactly.’


‘Exactly.’ Veoine almost smiled. ‘The best untruths always are based in fact. In any case letting people know that Leoff is your brother is not going to hurt him. But I would suggest that you encourage your brother to tell the whole truth to Lord Darcia and throw himself on his mercy. Lord Darcia is perhaps one of the only people who would comprehend completely about a demon sword and what they are capable of. He should be sympathetic. Our Lord will work it out one way or another, and he has never taken been lied to very well, it makes him malicious. ’


‘I will tell him that. I just hope for one he will listen.’ Daen said wearily as she hoped down from the straw bale, dusting down her backside. ‘I think I will go to the library, there are some law books, perhaps I can find something useful in them.’


Veoine smiled at her, ‘Never content just to let things take there course eh?’


‘No. I have never liked to leave anything to chance.’ Daen replied as she straightened out her habit.


‘In that I think you and our lord are very similar.’ Veoine commented off hand.


‘You think?’ Daen smiled a little. She sighed and shook her head. ‘I must go. I promised Leoff I would visit him. Oh it feels like I never have a minuet to myself at the moment!’


‘I will come with you; perhaps the two of us may be abele to persuade your brother to our course of action.’



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‘You are being rude, Veoine means you no harm. He is trying to help you.’ Daen sighed as once more Leoff through his adolescent surliness insulted Veoine who had only been trying to help. The captain had left politely, sending a pitying look towards Daen.


‘I know.’ Leoff said when the blond man had left as he lent his big shoulders against the wall, his hair was a rich brown against the pale gray of the cold stone, his eyes in the greener end of their spectrum. ‘I cannot help it. All of this, and you not making any progress with your Duke…..What is going to happen to us?’


‘I don’t know.’ Daen finally answered, saying those words for perhaps the hundredth time as she hovered just shy of touching the cold iron bars that divided them. ‘Lord Darcia rarely says what is on his mind. I have not seen him the last two days to ask, he keeps himself closeted up with his war council’


‘War council?


‘There is a rebellion in the south, Lord Darcia and has called a council. He ‘s demanding the rebels submission, to come to court and face judgment. If they do not I don’t know what will happen. Leoff do you know anything about this.’

‘No that I can say.’


Leoff looked up at his sister. Her face was a carful mask hiding her true emotions. He had always admired her control, as much as it often frustrated him that he could never read what went on behind her green eyes. ‘What’s wrong?’ He finally asked.


‘Leoff, what you have done it makes me angry, and it makes me sore here.’ She said pointing to her breast fleetingly her brows drawing together in a faint frown.


‘Me, why?’ he asked softly looking down he saw that Daen was gazing steadily on his face. ‘Daen, why do you look at me like that? I am not your foe!’


‘Can you say that you are truly not my foe?’ Daen said in a low voice.


‘Is that how you think of me now?’ He asked, his eyes wounded. ‘As your enemy?’


She let out a small gasp of distress and held out her hands to him through the bars. ‘Not you, never you Leoff!’ he took her small hands in his own, and she griped hard. ‘But I knew the men you have slain. They were good men.’ Her façade was dropped and he almost backed away from her at the intensity of the hope and fear in her expression. ‘It was an accident was it not? It was like you never met to kill me. Please tell me it was all a mistake. Then I can tell My lord and …’


‘It was not a mistake.’ He answered truthfully. ‘I am Edouard’s man, and the empires. I knew why I was here. Had the sybilla been anyone but you then I would have killed them without remorse.’ Leoff had always believed in the strict truth. He was pitiless in that respect. Daen’s hands twitched in his own. ‘But I would never kill you Daen, I could never…’ He tried to reassure her.


Daen did not say anything but stared at her brother in a startled way, very calmly she then pulled her hands from his and clasped them before her at her breast looking at him with horror. Leoff had folded his arms across his massive chest.


‘Daen what is wrong.’


He was tainted just by association. Daen could feel bile rising up to her mouth. She
closed her eyes; this was Leoff, not that man…


‘Back in Mawnaws I was almost raped by a noble named Edouard. It was the night I tried to see you before we left for Bala, I snuck out. It was foolish to wander the streets at night by my self, but I wanted to see you. That man attacked me…If it were not for Lord Darcia, he would have…’


‘Lord Edouard? Was he an old man?’


‘No young.’


‘Terent.’ Leoff scowled. ‘That bastard, I will kill him.’


‘You know him.’


‘Yes and he is as corrupted, indolent and useless a person as I had ever been led to believe about the Arcanum. But I did not think he was as bad as that. I never thought that he was dangerous. Honestly I’m surprised he had the courage. I will have his balls for this insult!’


Daen laughed bitterly. ‘There is no point; my lord bull whipped him.’


‘Ah so that’s where that scar came from. By the gods I think I like your lord a little more for that. You should have seen how that dog has been whimpering over that scar, right across his pale cheek too!’ Leoff answered savagely.


She turned troubled eyes on him. ‘Leoff, how can you serve such a man?!’


‘I don’t serve Terent. Gods forbid it. I serve his father Lord Gaius Edouard. He’s a good man. He reminds me of the Lord Eastwatch, the man father served under. He’s a true imperial. You might not understand that Daen, been brought up a Nhemian, the loyalty owed to the Empire. That was my dream when I was younger if you remember to serve in the Imperil army.’


‘I remember.’ Daen said.


‘You think it a poor dream?’


Daen shrugged. ‘Who am I to judge your dream? I don’t even have any.’


They fell in to a gloomy silence for a while. Leoff was the one to break it with a small curse. ‘Bastard, I will kill him next time I see him. I swear to you Daen for that he will pay.’


‘Leoff.’ Her voice was quiet. ‘Please don’t. I want no more blood spilt over me. Promice me.’ He gave her his word grudgingly. She thanked him before asking. ‘So what doses your master intend?’


She could see her brother thinking, wondering how much she knew or could have guessed. And then wondering how much he could give away to her knowing where her allegiances lay before it went against his strict ideas on loyalty. ‘I think he means to take the south march for himself. And many in the south would welcome it. And he would have the emperor’s support. This is just my speculations though. I do not know my lord’s mind any better than you do yours. I am still just a solder.’


‘Lord Darcia will not concede it. The emperor can say what he likes.’ Daen said. ‘Lord Edouard will only reach what he wants across our dead.’


Daen’s curiously resonate voice echoed faintly down the stone halls. A queer silence followed it, and over both siblings a sudden chill fell, a sense of prescience. Daen lifted her back of her arm to lay across her eyes as if to ward off a terrible vision.


‘What is it?’ Leoff asked.


‘Nothing.’ Daen answered, but her eyes were haunted and searching his expression. To her Leoff suddenly seemed a stranger, what was he capable of? She was already asking what was her Lord capable of but she never thought that her brother would ever make her ask the same questions, could she survive being caught in between them?


Leoff sensed her thoughts, he spoke reassuringly. ‘I am not your foe, nor these lands. My desires do not lie this way.’


‘No, But you will follow your master, as I shall follow mine.’ Daen said sadly. ‘Perhaps you won’t want what he wants but I think now you have made your oath to serve him it will make small difference. We have chosen you and I, to follow two men from who there is no turning back. You because of your oath and I…’


‘You have made no oath to Lord Darcia? He seemed incredulous. ‘Then why don’t you come with me.’


Daen flushed angrily. ‘Women have never needed words to bind them!’ She said almost scathingly. ‘Three times I owe Lord Darcia my life.’


‘Then…’


‘I am his.’ Daen confirmed.


‘Oh Daen, that… I thought you said that you had left Nheim and their ways behind you.’


She looked thoughtful. ‘No one really leaves their past behind. You don’t separate yourself from the morals you picked up from father and the solders you grew up with do you? Why should I cast all of mine aside?’


‘You believe in your emperor, and the men who serve him. I have never been a subject of the emperor, nor his nobles. I will chose myself who I follow, now I chose here, I chose Lord Darcia. If you ever get to talk to him you will understand why.’


‘So that’s it then. Despite everything, despite our ties of blood you have been swept from me to serve Darcia’s ends when the time comes.’


‘At least I believe in the man I serve. I respect what he dose and what he stands for.’ Daen bristled at her brother’s accusation.


‘I had never expected you to be befuddled by your womanly emotions. I had always thought you better than that.’ Leoff retorted. Daen looked as if he had just slapped her. Stiffly she brought her hands down by her side and she lifted her chin defiantly and swung about to leave. And a blind panic rose up in him, and clutching at her skirt as he had not since he was a small boy he pleaded. ‘Please don’t go.’


Daen looked up at her brother’s eye’s so similar to her own and she sighed sharply, her anger defeated by the loneliness he seemed filled with. ‘I won’t leave you.’ She could not leave him now, even though staying with him only reveled more of his darkened soul then she cared to see, she would stay, though it pained her. They moved conversation in to safer channels. But she still felt raw leaving him.


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Darcia was writing at his study desk, his dinner, cold cuts of meet and cheese as yet untouched beside him. His companion entered the room as quietly as she was wont to do, her bare feet making little noise on the floor. He gave her a warn smile and then went back to his correspondence. It was late; she had probably been visiting her brother again. He didn’t really approve of her going to the gaol, but he did not want to stop her seeing her brother. He had hoped that the situation would have been dealt with by now, but with the rebellion in the south it would have to wait. After a while he could practically feel her restiveness.

‘Is everything alright Daen?’ The ebony haired noble asked the young woman who stood staring out of the window in his study.

‘I'm fine.’ She answered to quickly.

Darcia raised his head again, well tuned to her moods from their time together. ‘Are you certain?’ He'd spoken the question gently, well aware that Daen tended to be skittish ( as a filly Veoine had aptly observed) when faced with revealing personal problems. Though the young witch was often transparent when it came to her suffering, she very rarely sought comfort or a sympathetic ear for what ailed her. He had to drag her all the way to Penburr last time something upset her just for a few words of what was on her mind. It was a troubling habit Lord Darcia was trying his best to break Daen out of; after all he wouldn’t be able to take her off every time something lay heavy on her mind.

‘Daen you know you can speak to me about anything,’ he continued softly, dropping his eyes to the parchment in the hopes that the lack of eye contact would ease Daen, from what little she had said of her family they had often treated speaking to her like an inquisition, Darcia did not want her to feel like that when she talked to him. ‘I would like to help you in any capacity that I can my little one. But you have to tell me what is wrong first.’ He offered her aid as a lover, as a man, the man who loved her.

He knew his approach had worked when he felt her forest colored gaze focus on the side of his face. From the corner of his eye, he saw Daen's fingers creep across the table top to pick up his extra quill. The woman plucked at the feather in agitation.

‘I ... I have wanted to ask you something’s.’ She murmured so quietly it was practically a whisper.


Darcia set down his quill and looked at Daen, who was still fiddling with the feather. ‘We haven’t had much time to talk recently have we little one.’ The young woman had her eyes fixed firmly on what her fingers were doing. As Darcia watched she bit her full lip and slid her eyes to look speculatively at him, like a child not sure whether to tell a parent what they had been doing least they get a telling off. He felt slightly stung that she still did not trust him. ‘So, what did you want to ask?’


‘I was wondering what you meant to do about my brother my lord. It has been nearly a week since they were captured.’ She reminded him.


‘Ah. Yes. I am sorry Daen, I have been as you know preoccupied, and I doubt that the situation will be resolved swiftly.’ He sighed wearily ‘ I’m afraid they will have to remain in the gaol for perhaps a few weeks longer until I can find time to call a trial. There situation is unusual you see. Normally the city courts would deal with this sort of thing, or the military court. But your brother is a foreigner, and he attacked my men.’


‘Veoine dose not think that the outcome in the Ducal court will be favorable.’


‘Why shouldn’t it be?’ Darcia said. ‘Everyone keeps telling me, your self included that they are if not innocent than not entirely blame worthy.’


Daen was unable to meet his eyes for a moment. She sighed before asking ‘Is there anything else you can do? How about an imperil Judge?’


‘I see you have been reading the law codexes.’ Darcia said blandly.


She nodded, ‘I read that if a foreigner who perpetrated a crime is a subject of the emperor’s then an imperial judge can adjudicate on his own the case.’


‘That is a very old law.’ Darcia answered.


‘It was used during your fathers rule.’ Daen replied.


‘When he was absent.’ Darcia said stiffly. ‘I am not absent.’


‘But it seems like the best way, the most certain way that my brother will be safe.’ Daen argued, her face flushing hotly as she lent forward over the desk.


‘Did you happen to read why that law was made?’ He asked coldly, he laughed at her blank expression. ‘No of course you didn’t. Let me illuminate you then.’ Darcia crossed his fingers over his abdomen and watched the fire twisting in the large hearth. ‘That particular law was put in place under my ancestor Andrealphus, you can see his portrait in the hall, the one with a peacock beside him. Marchadia was once a much more independent place. Minor lords ruled over there minor territories. However with the threat of the Meiw they had to bad together and so larger territories were consolidated, and from the maelstrom rose the Duke’s of Bala, my family the Darcia’s clamming the whole region as there own.’


‘The empire was both ally and enemy. But Marchadia had its own sovereign rule, that is until Andrealphus. He was perhaps foolish, he hated all foreigners, and any citizen of the empire who fell in to the wrong hands in our lands was easy pray. He was charging innocent people of all sorts of things, but there was nothing that they could do about it. Eventfully the imperial emperor at the time was provoked enough and waged war upon Marchadia. Andrealphus was defeated, and forced to terms. Form then on the Dukes of Bala would be subjects of the emperor. Obviously some concessions were made, but that foreigners be judged fairly was one of the things that at the time the emperor was keen to ensure. However as long as the duke’s court is not unfair, as long as the criminals in question are judged to the same rules as the countries subjects then there is no cause for complaint. And certainly not under my rule.’


Daen looked away from his angry gaze. She spread her fingers placating him. ‘I’m not criticising you my Lord. Your courts are well known for there justice. But I just fear that because he is a foreigner, and blood runs high against them with the raids you will have to admit, and because he killed your men under suspicious circumstances my brother will not be given a chance. There are already rumors; the people seek to demonise him.’


‘I have not heard any such rumors.’


‘You have been closeted away for days. Surely it would be..’


‘Daen the answer no.’ He said with finality. ‘I don’t want the interference of the Emperor. And that’s what this would invite. That law is only invoked when the duke’s courts are seen as unjust. Right now with rebellion in the south I cannot afford to show that kind of weakness!’


‘As you will my Lord.’ Daen said between her teeth. She left stiffly, and Darcia was too vexed and tired to follow her. He was used to her temper, though it had been a while since he had been on the receiving end of her hard looks for a while. When she left he rubbed his temples. It was yet another thing he did not need, for Daen to be angry with him, when she was angry like this she was quite impossible. Frosty and remote, why could she just not trust him that all would be well?


He looked at the door. For a moment he wondered if he could hear her sobbing. He stilled his breathing and listed harder, but could only hear her moving about, closing the draws with more force than was necessary. He winced. She was going to be impossible for the next few days he could tell. With a sigh of a man deeply wronged he went back to his writing.




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Veoine had returned back to his chamber, which was despite his occasionally slightly scruffy appearance as neat as a pin, as next as he kept the stables. However there was something different about it. Clothes strewn across the floor, a discarded belt knife, a hair brush. He looked pulsed for a moment before smiling, Vespa she must have returned. The woman had moved back in with him within a day of his much put off confession. Part of him wanted to run for the hills at the symbol of commitment, but the other part of him, a part of him which made his heart feel like a handful of butterflies when she was near was pleased. He reasoned with himself that it was just going back to the way it was, after all Vespa had lived with him for years as his page, in this very apartment.

‘After all old boy, you couldn’t expect to be a bachelor forever.’ He had told himself. He picked up a discarded pair of leggings. ‘She certainly makes herself at home!’ He said louder, a stage voice. ‘If only she was tidier.’ His boot got caught on a pair of silky underwear. ‘Hmm, that’s a bit better. Perhaps I should make that a rule, no clothes on the floor but lingerie.’

He searched the flat for her, but apart from her discarded travel gear she was nowhere to be seen. In all likely hood she probably went straight up to the palace to report to Lord Darcia. Veoine had very little fear, a lack of sense he had always thought, though it was with a demon may care laugh, but he had felt it stirring that night a week ago. He had known instantly that Vespa would chose to go herself to the south after the young boy had delivered that hammer blow. She needed to find out why her men were not getting though, and gain precious information. He watched her packing, her back to him as she laid out her gear on their bed. Before he could help himself he held her from behind, unwilling to let her go, mouthing against her neck as he kissed it, ‘Don’t go, Don’t go.’

But she was a captain; she was silk covered steely intent just as he was, she had a will and a purpose of her own. Weapons both of them, a sword is still a sword despite its fancy jewel incrusted guard. He had to respect that, there was a reason she had become a captain, and it was all down to her skill and tenaciously. He had almost wept that night for the very things he loved about her now were taking her away from him in to certain danger. He had laughed instead that night as they made love, it was his way, pleasure over pain. Given the choice between action and inaction he chose action, he ran with life, he would kiss and laugh until there was nothing left. Loving her forever and ever, they had already wasted enough time and he knew as a warrior that life was now or never because forever may never come around.

He settled in his favorite chair by the fire, eased himself out of his boots and coat to stretch out. More tired than he thought he must have been for he dosed off.

Vespa entered the warm room gratefully unbinding her hair from its long plait. Home she thought. She had reported to her lord, nothing good and the holes in her intelligence were glaring, but with her informants meeting mysterious ends there was little she could do. It seemed that the south was a blind spot for her men. She wondered how she could have made such a huge omission, how she had not seen the hole in her network. Lord Darcia however had not taken her to task over her laps, instead he seemed thoughtful, grim to be sure, but it was almost as if he was expecting it. Timor was right, there lord did play his cards very close to his chest, and it was a little unnerving. Sometimes it made Vespa feel like a game piece moved by unseen machinations. She had told Veoine this once when she was much younger, he had laughed and agreed, ‘Yes we do dance to his tune don’t we.’

‘I just whish I knew the steps.’ She had rejoined.

Deciding to leave her work at the door she slipped up to the only man she wanted to be on her mind right now. He lay dosing before the fire as she had seen him do so often. The sight brought out an unusual tenderness in her. Vespa had always shunned her past; preferring to forget it and move forwards, forget her inferiority and concentrating on the powerful woman she was now, not the scrubby little brat she had been. So that she reminisced now was unusual, but not unpleasant. She remembered living with the captain as a girl. He often sprawled out on the chair as he did now. Hid hands folded in front of him, his bootless legs stretched before him, and his head lolling back to rest in the wooden back of the chair, his features cast gold by the glow of the firelight. Looking at him it was hard to tell if he was asleep or just closing his eyes to think. Even in sleep his lips still twisted in a slight grin. She had just watched him then, but now he was all hers.

Taking up a comb she decided to take up one of their old rituals. Gently she began to brush out his aurulent locks. His sandy lashes flickered and she found herself looking down in to eyes of summer sky blue. ‘Vespa.’ He smiled dreamily his teeth as white as snow against his permanently tanned skin.

She knew he would want to ask questions, nosy creature that he was and before he had a chance she clamed his lips her brown freshly washed hair forming a scented silken curtain about them. His mouth was warm and pliant, he groaned allowing her dominance. When she broke away he murmured her name again.

With characteristic forwardness she straddled his lap. He went a little wild, his hands suddenly everywhere as he tried to pull her in to a messy kiss. ‘Like a boy.’ She chided. ‘No touching.’ She warned pushing his away. He laughed and folded them behind his head watching her with interest. He knew this game.

Slowly she began to strip, the fire warming her back as she let her shirt slip down her shoulders. Veoine’s eyes watched her feverishly though the rest of his face remained sill in an almost taunting grin. She slipped off his lap, wriggling out of her leggings. She flashed him a look over her shoulder as she removed the last of her underwear before turning to meet his approving gaze. His hands were still behind his head, but the way that position made his body arch up slightly only made the bulge in his own leggings so much more obvious.

With a smirk that matched his own she came forwards and ran her hand over his length watching as he swallowed hard, a long sensuous wave. Biting her lip she used her thumb to tease it’s flat head earning a low groan from the captain. ‘Undress, then sit back down.’ She ordered.

Veoine moved away from the chair a little, and removed his clothing like a practiced slut. It made her laugh, but she still could not help but admire the way he would reveal a bit of his toned tanned body only to hide it once again, the top of his ass, a glimpse of his abbs. He was a prime piece of man flesh, but by the gods did he know it. ‘Modest Veoine?’ She said coolly.

He stood naked and aroused, holding his arms out he shrugged not in the least abashed. ‘Why should I be?’ Vespa pointed at the chair when he approached her, Veoine hung his head in mock defeat. ‘My lady you are so cruel.’ He sat and looked up at her expectantly and putting like a thwarted school boy.

She swung her leg over him easily. ‘Oh but I can be so kind.’ She ground her heat against his straining arousal, her hot slick petals anointing his desire.

‘Gods.’ He hissed.

She smiled evilly, ‘But you’re right I am cruel.’ She hissed in his ear, licking it, as she twisted his nipples hard. He gasped and squirmed beneath her like a restive horse. ‘What is it going to be Veoine?’

‘Oh be kind my love.’ He panted as she continued to grind against him. She laughed at that, but lifting herself up she impaled herself upon him and allowing a long wanton moan pass her parted lips. The chair was quite high, so he needed to help her rid him, flexing his strong thighs as she ground in circles upon him. Leaning back slightly as his arms warped about her narrow waist she found that he hit something wonderful.

The view for Veoine was in his opinion breathtaking. Vespa had her head thrown back, her breasts reaching up, and oh so kissable. Veoine was never one to deny himself anything took one nipple first and than the other in to his mouth laving them with attention.

Vespa mused that while the blonde captain could be a voracious, intense lover, Vespa thought that she preferred having sex like this. Veoine, when he chose could bring a level of caring to their bouts that was somehow more rewarding than the mind-numbing releases that he could coax out of her body. He would look at her like a virgin boy, like he had never seen a woman’s body before, worshiping and exploring her every curve with, rough palms, finger tips, lips, tongue and teeth.

She decided to repay the favor and reached a hand beneath them to cup his balls, roiling and kneading them. She could tell by the way they lifted in her hot palms that he was getting close. Conformation of this was when the pads of his fingers found her wet petals, stroking the small nub he found there until she was shivering above him. The gentleman eternally he always let the lady come first. While she was still shivering with her aftershocks he clutched her closely and thrust twice more in to her, pulling her down hard on to him as he arched up with a groan.

They were sweaty, they were panting, and the chair beneath him was slick with their spent desires. He held her still close, alive he thought, alive and here, though he would need to perform the act twice more that night just top be sure.

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After a fairly joyous reunion, despite the oppressive circumstances Daen resolved to spend as much of her waking time with her brother. Life was so cruel to reunite them at last, but then hang a sword above his head; that overshadowed any true joy she might have felt. For yes her he was, Leoff her beloved brother but his life could be snatched away from her by the other man she loved even if indirectly. It was torture, a torture that only grew worse as time progressed.
.

Then Leoff began with the accusations, ‘Why wont you tell me what is going one. Why have you done nothing to help, why, why?’ Daen understood, she truly did. Leoff was frightened, not just for himself but for Vas and Blake. But she was doing all she could for him. She spent hours in the library reading dusty law tombs and scrolls trying to fins some loop hole, and every night she pressed Lord Darcia even though it was only leading to arguments. Thank the god’s that he had been so busy with the worsening situation in the south that he had no time to spare on her or her bother. Like a spiral she was losing control of everything, watching what was good in her life escapee through her hands like water draining from a bath. Closing her eyes she refocused on the conversation.


‘Daen I need to know the worst case scenario.’ Leoff demanded.


‘Oh.’ She sighed shakily, ‘The worst case is that they find you guilty of murder.’ She looked at him dejectedly, Loeff her brother the killer. But then who was she to judge him.


‘Daen, please concentrate and stop moping off.’ He growled tersely. ‘What then.’


Hart sick she answered ‘Service in the army, or more likely now execution.’ She did not watch Leoff’s expression as she continued. ‘Veoine thinks that Vas and Blake since they did not harm anyone will get off with some service in the army.’ She carried on morosely, the answers been dragged out of her by her brothers demanding stare. ‘Leoff, you killed four men, so it’s allot more serious.’ She herd him curse and she kept her eyes on her own hands.


‘Then you will have to help us escape.’


‘Escape?’ Daen repeated dully. ‘How?’


‘Steal the key, drug the guards by the gods Daen something. You offered to help us escape before.’


‘Yes when you were not locked in gaol in the middle of a castle preparing for war.’ Daen sighed. ‘Leoff have some sense.’


‘At least tell me my swords name and then I can get out of here by my self.’


‘No!’ Daen said with more venomous than Leoff expected as she jumped up and glared at him angrily. ‘If you were ready to know it, then it would tell you itself. Right now you don’t even understand what it is otherwise you would not ask.’


‘What is it then?’ Leoff flung not willing to back down.


‘A demon, a spirit which if you summon you will pay for in blood and with your life.’ Daen answered. ‘All magic has a price.’


‘Your lover has a demon sword has he not? Why deny me mine.’


Leoff drew in a sharp breath. And then glowered at the floor. ‘We really are more different than alike. Sometimes I don’t understand you at all.’


‘Some times I don’t understand you. Back in Porth, the first excuse you got to leave school and go back to a life as a man at arms you took. I never understood that.’


‘You were sick.’


‘Hmm.’ She neither agreed nor disagreed. ‘But you never went back to school once I got better.’ She put up her hand taking pity on Leoff. ‘Brother, I don’t judge you for it. I realized that in a way we were making a pretend life for each other. Pretending to be what the other person wanted us to be. You are in your heart a soldier.’ Her smile was fleeting. ‘Perhaps I am a witch. But all I know is you can’t force your heart sideways. You live by your word. That is your honor, your heart. My heart is freer to go where it will, and yet bound tightly for all that.’ She regarded him curiously. ‘It doesn’t mean that I love you ant less, you still are my brother.’


‘Do you love him more than me?’


‘Don’t ask me such things?’ She whispered fervently.


‘Why did I cut to close to the bone Daen?’


She shock her head numbly away from him, but he did not miss the glittering of tears threatening her eyes. ‘I can not answer such a question. And you shouldn’t expect me to!’


And this was what all the arguments eventually boiled down to. The accusation that Leoff flung in her teeth every time she could not answer him, or could not agree to his plans, ‘You love him more than me.’ She laughed bitterly it was the same accusation that was in her lords eyes, and in his of late cold demeanor, ‘You love him more than I?’ How could she prove either of them wrong or right?



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Darcia looked across the table at Daen who was staring blankly down at her plate, she had hardly eaten, merely pushing her food about. Even when they were at odds, the sight of Daen rarely failed to make Darcia’s blood run faster. It's not that she was beautiful though she was undoubtedly, for he have seen many a fair faces bedded them, too. It's not that she was jut witty or clever, she was all of those things but it was something else that drew him to her. In the past few days all attempts at conversation had ended invariably with frostbite. Daen’s single concern seemed to be her brother, and Darcia had already told her that really it had little to do with him, and that they would have to face trail. However that was not good enough for Daen.


His blue eyes caught hers, as she looked speculatively up at him but glanced away swiftly. What it is about her that makes my skin tingle and my breath shot Darcia asked himself. The sadness within his little love made him want to just throw his principles to the wind and let her brother go. But he was made of stronger metal than that, ‘Sorry, my love but I cannot break my own rules.’


Daen went from being completely open and readable, to utterly oblique in a moment. But beyond her carefully schooled façade Darcia could sometimes glimpse guilt that Daen tried not to show, he now thought that he knew why.


Veoine had told him of Daen’s late night conversations though not the content, Veione was no eavesdropper. So Daen had been confiding in her brother. Darcia was surprised by the jealousy he felt. Darcia suspected that the young man’s motives for being in his Kingdome were not entirely noble, not with the stony and evasive silence the men maintained, nor the weapons they were carrying. Darcia had wanted to see for himself what they were carrying, if they looked unarmed he would have let them go, making up some excuse to his men though he was loathe to.


Veoine had been vague about where the captured men’s things were been kept until he had made it a direct order. That in itself was suspicious; Darcia at once saw why Veoine had been so reluctant to show his lord the confiscated weaponry. For the bolts that remained with the crossbow were a match for the one he had pulled out of his shoulder five days ago. And worse on the one man’s blade there was the Edouard seal branded on the metal.


His jealousy had turned swiftly in to righteous anger, how could Daen confide in a man who had tried to kill her, who was in all probability working for the enemy and yet still keep all her secrets form him, the man who loved her?

Darcia watched Daen’s carefully blank profile. ‘You hold yourself so tightly, afraid to let a vulnerability show.’ He thought. ‘You think you know how my mind works, how I'll respond to a show of weakness.’ He would admit she was right he was always watching, always looking for that tiny chink in her armor that would give him the advantage. But what she did not know was the way he intend to press that advantage. For all their closeness over the past few months Daen still remained a citadel remote, a guarded heart. And he was left wondering just how he was going to storm her defenses, for in his mind he had no doubt that one day she would submit, for he was not a man accustomed to losing.

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A storm was on the horizon, hiding middy sun and casting the sky into foreboding grey ominous clouds that crouched foreboding like vultures on the sky line. That morning had been unseasonably warm and barmy, but with afternoon settling in cool air had come from the mountains meeting the day’s heat and battling over the lake. The air crackled with the wild tension of a storm about to break enough to set every nerve on end. Timor followed his hounds to where Daen was standing looking out over the lake towards the south. ‘A storms coming my Lady.’ She nodded, but did not answer. He came to join her leaning on the stone banister. ‘Something troubling you Daen?’
‘It seems all I have its troubles at the moment Timor, which do you want to hear first? About my brother, about the little girl who wont talk, my absence of visions when they might be most useful, or that I can’t help but squabble with our Lord when he already has enough on his mind.’ She made a faint attempt at a smile.

‘Which ever you would have me hear.’ He replied his brown eyes kindly.

‘Ah, thank you Timor.’ She answered but said nothing more for a while, looking out to the south. He could guess why.

‘Lord Darcia will soon go to the south, his army is ready.’ Timor spoke softly. ‘I’m sure you herd the news. War is inevitable now.’

Daen sighed sadly. ‘I wish…I wish somehow all this pain, all this conflict could just stop. But life is not that simple is it.’

‘If only men had never conceived of the idea of war, or if only there was one strong enough to stop all this fighting, centuries of it. With the normal people being caught in the center of it all, caught in storms created by their leaders weather they would go or not, men hungry for power.’ Timor said, echoing the girls own thoughts. ‘I understand Daen. The best that most of us can do is ride out the storm, and do what we can when the time comes.’

‘Your right. Though I wish I knew what I could do. I wish I could talk to Lord Darcia.’

‘He is in his study now why don’t you?’

‘Because it hurts when I do. All I can think of is my brother’s situation, selfish I know.’ The woman turned her eyes forlornly away. ‘But I love him, and I owe him. I press and press But this one thing I ask for Darcia cannot, will not give to me. The worst thing Is I understand why, I even can agree with his reasons. Talking to him now just makes it worse.’

‘I’m sure if you just discussed it with him.’

‘No. He wants to hear no more on the topic.’

‘You will work it out when the time comes.’ Timor said, he smiled trying to move the conversation on. ‘I saw that Veoine gave you a letter yesterday. Was that about your brother?’

‘It was his trial date.’ Daen sighed. ‘Tomorrow, Lord Darcia decided it should be tomorrow so that he can attend before he leaves for the south.’

‘Ah, I see. And you fear for him. You know that the Ducal court is one of the most just in the world, and I am not saying that just because I am a captain.’ Timor said comfortingly.

‘I know that. And it is because of that I fear for my brother. The other day I decided to look at the situation without a sisters eyes. From an outsiders perspective. The only conclusion I could make was that Leoff was guilty.’ She let out a long shuddering breath. ‘But in my heart I know he is good, I just can see no way to save him. ’

‘Daen…’ he faded away.

‘What is it’ She asked curious.

‘No, I probably should not mention it to you.’

Her hand was on his sleeve, her eyes hopeful. ‘Timor what is it, please do you know a way in which I can help Leoff?’

‘Well Veione and I weren’t actually going to tell you initially. I thought that it might bring you some piece of mind. But we don’t know if it will work or not.’ Timor said reluctantly scratching his pepper gray hair. He looked about carefully and dropped his voice. ‘We will go see Veione now he can explain his hair brained scheme much better than I.’

Daen flowed Timor anxiously. The storm broke as they crossed from one court yard to the next, a grate sweep of rain, accompanied with a heavy peal of thunder. Veione was inspecting the stables and settling the storm startled horses, when he saw Timor approaching with Daen in tow he had a fair idea over what it precluded to and wondered why on earth Timor had brought Daen in on such a risky venture. Resigning himself he lead them up to the blanket room above the stables, there they could speak in private.

The plan had come about like most of Veoine’s many adventures as an idea picked from thin air. Or rather not entirely thin air. The blond captain had been feeling fairly guilty about the three young men in his gaol, having conceived firm friendships in two of them at least, and a fondness for Daen’s stubborn brother. There was a grate deal to admire in the boy, as large as he may be Veione could not condone the execution of a sixteen year old. He found that within the circumstances he could forgive the young man for his trespasses, after all who was Veione to judge when taking in to account his misspent youth. No let he with no sin cast the first stone, and that was defiantly not Veione, he had far too much blood on his hands.

Timor had always been a pacifist, though a fine swords man in his own right he rarely took up arms. Veione often teased him, calling him the monk, though Timor would always declare that never had such an unjust and more untrue thing ever been said about him than that. Sitting in the mess Veoine had vented his spleen to his friend over a few ales. Timor also had felt that in the political climate the young men would face a heavily loaded trial much to there detriment. ‘I hoped never to see another execution in Darcia’s reign.’

‘I as well. It was too much to hope however that they would remain quiet.’ Veione scowled darkly in to his drink. ‘We thought them defeated, but they just lick their wounds and come back full of more bile.’

‘Civil war,’ Timor murmured. ‘It’s the towns and villages that will suffer the most in all this.’

‘Not while I have breath in my body.’ Veione said. ‘Nor while Lord Darcia has strength enough to whiled his sword I would bet my life either.’

‘Piece brought by more blood shed, that sounds as useful as fucking for virginity.’ Timor replied sagely.

Veoine’s mouth fell open at this. But then he shook his head, ‘Your right of course, The Monk speaks true. But what other option is there?’

Timor took a swig of his drink, it was bitter, the dregs, he winced. ‘None that I can see.’ He looked pensively at the bottom of his pitcher. ‘But perhaps we can save one life.’

‘Who’s?’

‘The young men were holding.’

‘They have to go to trial.’ Veione answered uncertainly.

‘Where they will face the full stirring hatred. You and I both know that the trial will be a farce.’ He looked at the blond captain. ‘The last thing we need now is more blood. To condone that kind of behavior before we even descend in to this madness. War brings the worst out in people as it is. What is it Veione?’

‘Nothing. I know you are right. It’s just hard to hear it out loud. I keep hoping that Lord Darcia will intervene.’

‘But he hasn’t.’

‘Yes and that’s the duce of it! He’s always had ice water running through his veins. But something about all this has got him in a rare taking. He only has flinty words for filly. I know this rebellion will twist salt in old wounds but I know when he is really angry. And at the moment I would not want to provoke him.’ Veione looked up at his friend his eyes worried. ‘I don’t know what he will do.’

‘We have to stop this some how. Those men even if they aren’t exactly who they clame to be I don’t think that they are any more than pawns.’ He lent back on his stool. ‘If only we could just release them, and let them be about their fates.’

‘Lord Darcia would never allow that.’ Veione said.

‘Your right. It’s hopeless.’ Timor admitted defeat and sank forwards.

There was a slow dawning smile that broke across the blond captain’s face. Timor sat up his brow cocked at the grinning captain. He knew what that smile meant, it was the smile Veione reserved especially for his more high jinxes, it meant trouble.


To be fair to Veione his plan was both incredibly simple and yet very ingenious. But then what else could be expected from the legendry escape artist. Veione could boast that no goal could hold him, well not for long at least, and certainly none that he had sourjoined in so far. Veione and Timor between then could easily contrive that there be a light guard. With the influx of men into Bala preparing for the expedition to the south some procured uniforms would be a good enough disguise. And mountain ponies for transport were easily obtainable, there were ponies grazing the eastern orchards as they plotted. However should the young men escape it would be obvious who helped them. And as Veione pointed out Bherith would be keeping a watch on the gates at his maters request if the captain’s suspicions were right. Darcia had already asked Veione to employ Eyreale in this line of work.

Daen however had an answer for those questions. If Timor, who to all intensive purposes knew nothing of Leoff’s demon sword gave the boy his weapon, after hearing it was a family heirloom as well as it being known that Nhamian’s thought of there swords as their souls took pity on the young man and gave it back to him, seeing no harm in that. Daen would show Leoff how to summon his demon. And then with some luck the young men could escape by themselves. In the mean time Daen would distract Lord Darcia.

‘It’s risky.’ Veione said once he finished filling in the finer details. ‘Not just the fooling Lord Darcia. But you giving your bother his swords name. he may well go berserk and kill again.’

‘I know. But this is the best plan we have. It may well be that Knowing his swords name will stop it from ever taking over him again.’ Daen said.

‘So it is settled then. Tonight.’ Timor said.



a/n;
Solitude; Veione is Darcia’s cousin on his fathers side. His father had quite a few brothers. It will be explained. Glad your enjoying it so far, lol, I have to be cruel sometimes or there would be no plot.

Luinil_Telcontar; Sorry there was no Darcia, Daen action in this chapter, but its set up for the next, promise.