|
Version 13
By
The Gray Man
Part III
Lady Cora Golwyn, the Countess of
Sharford, known to her enemies as ‘the Scorpion’, was stunningly beautiful as
she dismounted her horse and approached the gathering. Her long hair was combed, oiled and braided
into an intricate design. She wore
leather boots, buff colored linen riding breeches so tight they seemed molded
to her skin, and a short, waist length tunic.
Her dress, as always, was designed to compliment her figure and distract
those men whom she chose to speak with on anything close to equal terms. She could feel the attention on her and she
did not mind. Her appearance placed so
many people off balance. And being off
balance around a scorpion could be deadly.
With her audience assembled Lady Cora
gave a nod to Varisa. She, in turn,
motioned for the guards to bring the prisoner forward. Four of her black armored guards brought
forth a naked man between them. He was
middle-aged, of medium height and heavy with arms and legs powerfully
built. His head and face was covered in
dark hair and his green eyes were fixed on the woman who had ordered him
brought there. Lady Cora was not shy as
she stared back at his hatred. When she
moved out of his way it was because she was standing on the site where she
wanted him placed, not because of any fear of or deference to the
condemned. The man stumbled and nearly
fell but the guards held him firm. The
Countess stood at his feet as the guards forced the man down onto the ground
and tied him spread eagled to the stakes already pounded into the dense
earth. The man tried to fight back at
that point but there was very little fight left in him. Varisa had already used many of her
considerable talents on him and his body showed the evidence of her
treatment. Soon enough the guards
finished their task and stepped away.
Lady Cora pondered the man one more time. He was fairly handsome in a rugged sort of
way and his long, flaccid member and hefty set of balls were impressive. He had a decent body as well...or at least
before Varisa had taken a set of branding irons and hot pincers to his chest,
abdomen and thighs. The man winced in
pain as he struggled to pull up the stakes but Lady Cora knew they were too
well placed, too deep for that.
She faced the group of officers and smiled
icily as she motioned to the man on the ground. “I imagine,” She began. “That
many of you know Sir Bryndin Bayne quite well.”
No one dared say a word lest they end in
his position.
The countess continued on wistfully. “I
should think so because Sir Bryndin has served me and even my late husband with
distinction.” She turned sharply on her
booted heels and stepped around the bound man until she stopped at his head. “On many raids Sir Bryndin rode forth and killed
my enemies, stole their treasures, and brought me back those who would make the
choicest slaves and for his service I rewarded him well with lands and servants
and anything a good and loyal vassal would want. But was it enough for Sir Bryndin?”
She shook her head slowly. Sir Bryndin remained silent. His jaw was set and his breathing was
heavy. The cordlike muscles in his body
flexed to the limit his bonds would allow despite his injuries. He was preparing himself for what was to
come.
“Once, Sir Bryndin was one of my most
loyal officers, worthy of my highest trust.
He was even close to becoming Lord Commander of my army instead of Sir
Ansyl.” She spit the last words as if
they were a curse. “But now look upon
him. He lays before you a trait......”
“Lies!”
The man screamed. He had heard
enough. “All lies! I am no
traitor!” His eyes focused on the band
of men in front of him, many he had once called friends. They stood silently watching. “Do not listen to her! I withdrew!
Any of you would have done the same!
She li...auuuugggppphhhh!”
Two of the guards grabbed a handful of
hair and lifted Sir Bryndin’s head into position as Varisa fitted a heavy
leather gag into the man’s mouth and strapped it on. When they moved away Lady Cora placed a foot
on the man’s shoulder and dug a heel into one of his fresh burn wounds. The man’s eyes became wide with the pain and
a grunting scream emerged from his throat.
“I shall thank you not to interrupt me again.” She told him with a sneer
and a final twist to her boot.
Once she was done she stepped back glaring
at all those around her. “Did you not
hear him? He dares to call me a liar
when he has uttered so many lies to us all....such as the lie about
Nordale. Sir Bryndin was in command there. He was supposed to hold the town but was
forced to withdraw...or so he said.”
With an angry jerk of her head she
commanded a scribe to step forward. The
scribe did so. He unraveled a scroll and
cleared his throat as he began to speak.
“Sir Bryndin Bayne, Knight and Officer, formerly in the service of Her
Ladyship, the Countess of Sharford, you have been charged with treason against
your Lady and Mistress, for purposely having subverted and disobeyed her direct
orders to hold the village of Nordale and the surrounding area from enemy
hands. Having been accused and
arrested you were put to the question and confessed to abandoning the village
without a fight and attempting to flee back to your home. After being given a fair trial in all manners
of the law you have been found guilty.”
Sir Bryndin shook his head violently,
claiming his innocence from behind his gag.
The scribe continued reading, oblivious to the outburst.
“And so, as is the law of the land, the
sentence for treason is death. The
sentence shall be carried out at Her Ladyship, the Countess of Sharford’s
discretion and in the manner of her choosing.”
The scribe bowed gracefully and was
gone.
Lady Cora stood at Sir Bryndin’s head and
purposely stood on his hair so he could not lift his head from the ground. She looked down at him, her eyes filled with
evil intent. “And so how does one best
kill a traitor?” She asked him. His only answer was a wild grunt of anger and
frustration. She quickly lifted her gaze
to the others. “Hmmm? Sir Olric? Do you know?”
That worthy shook his head in silence.
“No? How about you, Sir
Marin? Do you know?” Again no answer came.
Lady Cora sighed. “Well, if no one knows, I shall tell you.”
Her eyes turned to glaciers as they watched. “You kill them as slowly as you
can......Varisa?”
Varisa came forward and Lady Cora turned
her attention to Sir Bryndin. “I have
contemplated your fate ever since Nordale fell.
I ordered you to stay and fight but you ran instead, saving your own
skin. Your actions have eaten away at me
for some time but soon the tables will turn.
It is you who will be eaten. Let
me tell you of your predicament. You
have been staked out near a fire mite mound.
I shall have your wounds and...oh yes...your privates covered in sweet
oil.” Sir Bryndin’s eyes widened and the
first traces of fear wear apparent. It
was like a fresh breeze to the countess.
“Ah, yes. You understand, don’t
you? You must have seen fire mites when
stimulated with sweet oil. The bite of
one or two is horrid.” She paused then
for ultimate effect. “But shortly you will be covered with hundreds.” Servants with jars of oil knelt at the
condemned man’s side and began to rub handfuls of the sticky fluid onto his
body at Varisa’s direction.
“You shall die here, Sir Bryndin. You shall die in agony as you are de-fleshed
one layer at a time. And what’s more,
you shall remain here as a lesson to others who doubt if they should obey my
commands. But have no fear. I would have you know that your wife and son,
who you were so desperate to get back to, are safely in my care, awaiting my
pleasure in the dungeon of Sharford Castle.
Perhaps I shall pay the soon-to-be widow and that strapping young
bastard of yours a visit to offer my condolences on your demise.”
Sir Bryndin’s eyes bulged in horror. He screamed into his gag and struggled in
vain against his bonds. The servants
soon moved away leaving tendrils of oil on the sandy soil as paths for the fire
mites to follow.
Lady Cora went over to where the group of
officers stood in hushed silence.
“Remember what has happened here today.” She told them. “Tell your men to remember as well. Such will be the end for any who fail
me. You may go....all accept you, Sir
Olric. I shall have a word with my new
Lord Commander.”
The group of officers, some with faces as
pale as death, scattered as quickly as they could. Sir Olric Dunsan waited patiently, showing no
sign of his feelings and paying no attention to Sir Bryndin writhing and
screaming into his gag.
Lady Cora grabbed him gently by the arm
and guided him away from the horrible scene.
“Sir Olric, I must return to the castle soon but I wanted to speak with
you about how matters are progressing.”
Sir Olric dropped his voice so no one else
could hear. “You ladyship, I feel I must
tell you in all honesty we are in a bad way.”
“Really?
How bad?”
Sir Olric came on guard as soon as she
spoke. It was sometimes dangerous to
tell the countess the truth. In her best
mood she could be accepting. But after
the past few weeks, Sir Olric just didn’t know.
However, he surmised, if she found out he had lied or not told her the
complete truth....he could end up next to Sir Bryndin. It sent a shiver down his spine to think of
it.
“Ladyship, the enemy has taken near half
of your lands and is twenty leagues away from Sharford as we speak. Only three day’s hard march.”
“What of the army?” She asked with a
hint of a cold smile.
Sir Olric nodded. “We have managed to put together a small
force. But those we have are little more
than boys in plate and mail. Too many
good men were lost in the Western Wood.
They were the hardened veterans of countless raids and other actions.”
“Do you have any plans?”
“My
first thought would have been to fall back on the castle and wait the enemy out
from behind the safety of its stone walls.” He commented hopefully but she
shook her head.
“You know well I have forbidden such a
course.” She told him sourly. “I will not be trapped behind Sharford’s walls
while this fat toad roams freely throughout my lands. I demand you offer open battle.”
“Then, your ladyship, we find ourselves
in a position,” He expressed himself with brutal honesty. “, where we cannot maneuver
without opening up the castle to assault and we cannot attack for we do not
have enough men and it would surely fail.
Lord Dullman will strike soon. He
has moved fast so far and there is no reason to think he will stop. I fear our only hope is to fight him to a
standstill. If we can keep him at bay
then this could well last into the summer.
By then the vast resources of Sharford will begin to show. Our numbers will grow while his will
decline. He will tire of this war and
could very well take an offering of peace.
But above all, no matter what happens, we must keep the army together.”
Lady Cora’s dark mood eased a bit as she
ran a hand down the front of his breastplate. “If that is what you think is the
wisest course. For years you have served
me well as the captain of my guard. I
trust your judgment to be sound.”
Sir Olric bowed. “I shall do my best,
your ladyship.” What else could he say?
“Of that I have no doubt.” The countess
said. “But even so I have some plans of my own.
I should think they will work quite well.”
Lady Cora looked over her shoulder where
Varisa stood sullenly in plain dark breaches, tunic and breastplate. She motioned for her to come over.
“I am sure you know of my dear Varisa.”
Lady Cora purred as the woman approached, her sword swinging at her hip, her
long golden ponytail bobbing.
“Of course, ladyship.” He did not mention he had not been able to
stomach her presence ever since her and that other woman, Ayla, had come to the
castle. At least the other one was gone.
“She carries with her a set of orders,
Sir Olric. She will accompany you on
campaign to make sure they are followed to the letter.”
The lord commander nodded with barely
concealed apprehension. “As you wish, your ladyship.”
Lady Cora reached up to run the back of
her hand gently across his cheek. “I
must leave now but my prayers go with you.
Be sure you do not fail me as others have done.”
The black haired beauty bit her lower lip
softly and left, giving one final glance at Sir Bryndin Bayne.
He screamed and thrashed about as the
first tiny insects swarmed over his oil covered skin. Not far from where he lay a post had been
set. A plaque covered in large white
letters was nailed to the top.
It had a simple message.
HERE LIES A TRAITOR
Sharford village had never been the
happiest of places. In the best of times
it was a dreary, overcrowded warren within the shadow of Sharford Castle, the
seat of power for the region. With an
invading force so near, the town was a ghostly ruin. The sun bleached wood and plaster homes were
empty or shuttered. The markets and
shops closed. Many were gone, pressed
into service or fled. Those who stayed
remained locked in their homes. There
were few who milled about. Only the
dregs who begged any passersby for whatever handout they could get. Lady Cora paid them no mind as they cantered
down the eerily desolate cobblestone street toward the castle’s central
gate. The trip back from the camp had
been quiet. Sir Aiden Thorne, her new
captain of the guard, did not wish to speak or draw attention to himself. He rode silently beside her, never once looking
in her direction. Her mood could change
so quickly and he had yet to find any rhyme or reason to the shifts. If she had needed him she could have
called...which she didn’t. So much the
better. He did not want to end up like
Sir Bryndin after only a few days on the job.
They ran along in column through the
raised gate and into the bailey. In the
days of not so long ago Sharford Castle had been an armed camp. A place where no one in their right mind
would have dared to attack. But there
were so few defenders left. So many had
died at Raven’s Forge, and despite the training groups being full of recruits,
there weren’t enough to even man the walls in case of a sudden assault.
At the entrance to the main tower stood a
greeting party headed by Sir Jaylin Foster, the Steward of Sharford. He was a healthy looking man, clean shaven
with solid white hair and the flashing smile of an obedient lackey. He bowed with a flourish as a black collared
slave ran forward and dropped down on his hands and knees. Lady Cora slipped down from the horse using
the slave’s back as a stepping stool.
“Ladyship, I trust your vis....”
Sir Jaylin stuttered to a stop as the
countess brushed past him headed into the tower without so much as a word. He stood up straight and ran behind her,
struggling to catch up.
“Your Ladyship!” He called out as she
walked away. “Wait please!”
She whirled on him at the door to her
apartments, stopping him cold with a backhand across his face. “Why am I surrounded by fools?”
“Your Ladyship?” Sir Jaylin was aghast as
he skittered to a stop.
“Ansyl Wellock was a brute but he was no
fool.” Lady Cora told him. “He was one
of the few Sharford men I have ever met that was worthy of being called a man.”
“But, your ladyship, Sir Ansyl is dead.”
She struck him again, this time with the
other hand. “You state the obvious to me as if I did not know.”
Sir Jaylin’s eyes widened, then he dropped
to his knees. “Your Ladyship, I did not wish to imply....”
Lady Cora waved him off angrily. “Stop whimpering, you spineless pig!”
“My apologies, your ladyship. I did not mean to anger you.”
“Is it any wonder that I am angry? This was supposed to be over. The lord of Hargate should be long dead and I
should have received my reward as I was promised. But instead that fat worm is now threatening
to overwhelm me. Do you hear, Jaylin?”
“Surely not, your ladyship. The lord commander has an army well placed to
stop the enemy.”
“The Lord Commander is a fool with an army
of farmers and street sweeps.” Lady Cora huffed. “His only plan is to wait and see what ‘the
pigeon’ does and then try to block him until he tires himself out. He will never hold. The enemy will be besieging this castle
within the week unless I miss my guess.”
She turned and proceeded into her
apartments, shedding her riding gloves while Lorri brought forth a glass of
wine on a silver tray. Lady Cora downed
it all in a few gulps. She motioned for
the beautiful young slave to return and demanded another. Sir Jaylin regained himself and stepped
inside the door.
“If your ladyship believes there is no
hope, then perhaps arrangements should be made to leave Sharford Castle and go
elsewhere.”
“I did not say there was no hope. I said Sir Olric is a fool who will never
hold. But I have other plans. I trust they will soon come to a successful
conclusion.”
“I pray to the Goddess that they will,
your ladyship.”
“Do not speak to me of prayer.” Lady Cora
chided after she downed half of the wine Lorri brought to her. “I have prayed
to the Goddess for guidance for weeks to no avail. The Goddess used to talk to me. Now when I pray I hear only silence in
return. So be gone. Leave me to rest.”
“But your ladyship, there is a matter I
must discuss with you.”
“I’m listening.”
“Lady Trista Bayne begs you to give her an
audience.”
Lady Cora’s eyes glinted with a malevolent
playfulness. “Does she beg? Really?”
“Most pitifully, your ladyship.”
“Good.
Is she unharmed?”
“Physically? Yes, your ladyship. I had her placed in a cell next to her son,
as you ordered.”
“Can she here what is happening to him?”
“She can, your ladyship. And she is most distraught.”
The countess tossed her head back and
laughed heartily. It was the first time
she had done so in a long while.
“Lorri, you must remind me to visit the
poor widow when I have a chance.” She told her personal servant after regaining
her composure.
“Sir Bryndin is dead?” The steward asked.
“No, but he will be soon. Where is Sir Lanart?”
“He is resting in his apartment, your
ladyship.”
“Good.” She replied. “Send him my
compliments and bid him dine with me on the evening. We have much to discuss.”
Jack Dullman, former janitor, now Lord
of Hargate, threw back another cup of honey ale and looked to his friend across
the campfire.
“I gotta tell ya’, Axel. This honey ale is some good shit. If I ever get back I wonder if I could sell
the recipe to this stuff?”
“As with every program, it is most likely
a simulation of a real beverage used in your world.” Axel replied
matter-of-factly. “I don’t think it would be legal or ethical for you to try to
sell a recipe to something someone else owns.”
“Well shit.” Jack said with a frown. “You
know, big guy, I miss the real world.”
“I’m sure you do.”
“Now don’t get me wrong.” He quickly
added, mainly for the benefit of the others who were also by the fire as the
sun sank below the horizon. “There are a lot of things about this world that I
really love.” His eyes locked onto Lady Lynette Hunter for a long moment. “Like
peace and quiet. My old apartment was
near a railroad track and there were freight trains going through my back yard
every couple of hours every damn night.
Oh yeah, and there’s the air. No
smog or pollution. Just crisp and
clean. And the food? It’s all awesome. The roasted chickens and the beefsteaks are
great....but there are a few things I really, really miss.”
Axel smiled thinly. “And pray tell us what they would be?”
“Yes, my lord. Tell us so perhaps we may provide them for
you.” Lady Lynette added earnestly.
“Well,” Jack continued. “I haven’t found
anybody who has figured out the concept of pizza and cheeseburgers yet.”
“I tried, my lord.” Ktari said as she
refilled his cup. “You had one of those cheese-things only last night.”
“Yeah, I know you did, sweetie. But somehow I think whoever fixed it didn’t
understand what I meant by ground beef.
It was a little too...chunky for me.
Sorry, nibblet. So anyway....oh
toilet paper. I almost forgot toilet
paper.” Everyone stared at him as if he were speaking in a foreign language. And in a certain way, he was.
“Television, radio, ranch dressing and hot
wings, but I think we might be able to fix that, and, last but not least, air
conditioning. It’s getting hotter than a
motherfucker around here.”
“Yes.” Sir Alwyn agreed in his typical
short manner. “It has been a hot spring.”
“And it will get hotter still.” Axel added
seriously.
Jack knew his friend had a point and he
was not talking about the temperature.
Earlier in the day Sir Jeremy’s scouts had confirmed the rumors they had
been hearing about another Golwyn army gathering to the south to stand in their
way.
“It’s the last gasp of a defeated enemy.”
Sir Jeremy Ross offered his opinion when the subject changed. “The Scorpion is
all but beaten and she knows it. They’ve
barely a thousand men left. Her lands
are taken. Her people are broken. Mark my words, my lord. They will try to parley.” He leaned in a little closer over the fire as
if to impart some special secret. “We should take advantage. Move ahead and attack as soon as
possible. Hit them now before they can
prepare.”
“The Scorpion may be wounded.” Sir Alwyn
Kessel countered. “But a wounded animal is often times the most dangerous. Perhaps we should hold here, my lord. Even send out envoys of our own. What we have done is most unusual among the
great houses.”
Axel nodded vigorously. “Sir Alwyn is
right. Most of the warfare on this scale
is conducted by raids and counter raids.
A burned village here or there is the worst thing done. We are on uncharted ground. If we continue on as we are we may well anger
the other local houses into joining forces against us.”
“If this is my lesson in Medieval World
politics, it’s coming at a bad time.
We’re asshole deep in enemy territory with an army big enough to pull
down the ‘Bitch in Black’ before the week is out and NOW you are worried about
what the neighbors might think?”
Axel shrugged. “It is a consideration.”
Jack threw up a hand as if swatting a fly
away. “Fuck considerations. She started
it. I wonder how many of these other
nobles were almost murdered in their own castles by the woman next door?”
There was silence to answer because he had
a point. Everyone knew it.
Finally Axel cleared his throat. “It’s
whatever you decide to do, Jack. We’re
all with you.”
“Do you even remember why we are here,
Axel?”
He chuckled. “Of course I do. Do you?”
Jack snorted and rolled his eyes. “Yeah.
I remember. And I think somewhere
down the line we lost focus.”
“This is not a game, Jack.” Axel warned.
“There will be serious consequences to whatever we do. We must be cautious.”
“What if this is a game?” Jack countered
as the others around the fire squirmed uncomfortably. “This certainly isn’t the
medieval fuck-fest I was promised when I signed up for this shit.”
“Nor is it any gaming program I ever
recall.”
“Well, what if we ain’t in the known
database anymore, Toto?”
“Jack, I think it highly unlikely...”
“Unlikely?” Jack interrupted. “Everything
that’s happened to us for the past three months has been unlikely! You really wanna know what I think? I think somewhere along the lines we got
stuck, somehow, someway, in a bastard version of Medieval World. One that wasn’t listed. Like...hell...let’s call it Version 13. How we got into Version 13 I don’t know. Maybe it’s some sorta’ lost program running
on its own. Maybe it’s a failsafe where
the users get sent if the mainframe goes down.
I don’t pretend to understand it.
But whatever it is, it’s all fucked up.
So now we have to find our way out.
And the only way I know of doing that is to go forward and see where it
leads us. Do you have a better idea?”
Axel studied his companion for a long
moment. “You have thought about this for a long time, haven’t you?”
“What else did I have to do?”
The Personal Program Assistant started
counting off on his fingers. “Plan a campaign.
Fight for your life. Drink
massive amounts of honey ale....”
Jack laughed dryly. “Very funny,
Axel. You’re getting pretty good with
the jokes.”
“....eat too much. Get your arse knackered by Lady Hunter every
afternoon.....”
“Okay!
Okay! You made your point.”
Axel smiled briefly but stopped teasing
his companion. “Truly I had not considered it in such terms. Version 13, you say? I suppose it’s as good an explanation as
any...for now.”
“Yeah.
It’s an idea we can build on. But
the only way to find out for sure might be to get a hold of this crazy,
psycho-bitch countess and ask her ourselves.”
“Then to do so we must take the castle.”
Axel reasoned.
“My thinking exactly.” Jack said. “We’ve
come too far to slow down or stop, dude.”
“Yet caution may still be in order.”
Jack raised his hands in resignation.
“I’ll tell ya what, we advance as quick as possible and try to catch this
bitch. But if we are called to a
truce.....and you all think it’s a good idea.....I’ll agree to talks. But that’s it. That’s as far as I’m goin. No promises.
If the other lords and ladies get pissed at me for what we’re about to
do then so be it. I’ll fight them too.”
There was iron in his last words and he
saw the spines of those who served him straighten ever so slightly with pride.
“Then it’s agreed. We continue the march on Sharford Castle on
the ‘morrow.” Axel announced.
There was a chorus of affirmation from
around the fire. The course was settled.
Lady Cora placed the guest’s hand on top
her own and walked with him down the long corridor. She looked into his eyes with a smile. “I trust dinner was to your satisfaction, Sir
Lanart?”
“As always, your ladyship.” The man
replied. “All of your dinners are so
well done. I should think I will not see
a meal of their like until I reach home.”
Sir Lanart Brassey was a huge man, over
twenty five stone; almost as big around the waist as he was tall. His hands were fat with large, sausage-like
fingers, his beard was greasy and his breath smelled of garlic. The countess knew him to have but two loves. Food was one of them. The man had eaten like the cow he was and
nearly drank her cellar dry during his extended stay.
“I must compliment you on setting a most
satisfactory table for someone so far from civilization.”
She bowed her head, ignoring the insult.
“At such times as these one does the best one can.”
“I’m sure it must be horrid. No theater.
No court. Only poor wines to
sample.” He said with a cultured sniff. “I will be sure to tell my brother of
how you suffer out here. Such a lovely
creature as yourself deserves better.”
Lady Cora’s smiled deepened despite her
revulsion at being so close to him. “You are too kind, Sir.”
“Nonsense.” Sir Lanart told her. “Silvan
shall know of what is going on here.”
“Do you mean the fighting?”
The big man nodded. “He shall know of
the heinous acts this Lord Dullman is committing against your people and he
shall be put down and brought to justice.
I give you my word.”
Lady Cora stopped and turned to him. She placed a hand on her cleavage to steady
her heart, suddenly fawning with emotion. “Oh, may the goddess bless you, Sir
Lanart. I’ve hoped for someone to answer
my plea for aid. This Lord Dullman is
evil incarnate. The things he has
done.....”
The countess paused and tried to catch her
breath.
“Do not fret, your ladyship.” Sir Lanart
told her, openly concerned. “We shall see this man destroyed soon enough.”
“This very night would not be soon enough,
Sir.” She said, sounding as if she were ready to faint.
Lanart’s confidence vanished and he
stammered apologetically. “Un...unfortunately it is a long journey back to
Knightsbridge. It would be still longer
to consult with my brother and return.”
“Then there is no hope for me. Am I to be abandoned to fight alone?” She
asked, a tear forming in her soft blue eyes.
“Nay, your ladyship, but there is scant help
I can offer you for now. Have matters
truly come to such a sorry state?”
Lady Cora started to walk again amid a
swish of skirts. For the months Sir
Lanart had been a guest at the castle he had been in the dark about almost
every aspect of the conflict between Hargate and Sharford. Fortunately he was a blind fool and keeping
him miss-informed had not been too difficult.
But it was now time to come clean.
“I had thought not to worry you, Sir
Lanart, but the situation is desperate at best.
Lord Dullman is within three days march of the castle and, unless the
Goddess grants us a miracle, we will not be able to stop him.”
Sir Lanart was dumbfounded by the
confession. “My dear, I had no idea!
This is a most grave situation indeed!”
“I do not mean to be an unkind host,” She
continued on hesitantly. “, but as it stands, it may be best if you were to
leave the castle and return home as swiftly as possible. My men still control the roads east...some of
them, at any rate. But I do not know for
how much longer. It would seem I cannot
guarantee your safety anymore.”
The envoy bristled. “Your ladyship, I
would be remiss if I did not stay and see to your well being.”
“No, Sir Lanart. Please.
It is so brave of you but I would not have you fall into the hands of
such a fiend as he.” Lady Cora begged. “He would do things, unspeakable things
which...” She stopped to calm herself, again a hand went to her ample chest.
Sir Lanart made a poor attempt to hide his
nervousness beneath a blanket of bravado. “I shall not leave you to such a
horrible fate. Perhaps you will come
with me. The roads are long and I am
poor company but I believe my brother would be most taken with you.”
The countess tuned up to cry, pulling out
a silk cloth to dab at her eyes. “And leave Sharford behind?”
“Only for now.” Sir Lanart added quickly.
“My brother is a powerful man. Once he
hears of how you went to this villain in peace and barely escaped with your
life he will be enraged. You could
petition him in person.”
“I don’t know if I could. I feel responsible for Ayla’s death. She was one of His Grace’s favorites, was she
not?”
“Indeed she was. Both Varisa and Ayla have served my family
well.”
“Just as Varisa continues to serve me at
your bequest.” Lady Cora said with forced gratitude. “For which I thank you.”
“Pity about the girl.” Sir Lanart sniffed.
“Are you sure of her death?”
“One can only hope poor Ayla has found
some final release.” She remarked sadly. “I shudder to think what could be
happening to her if she were still alive.”
Sir Lanart sighed. “My brother will be
most inconsolable.”
“That is why I think it best if you were
to speak for me. He may focus upon me as
the reason for the girl’s loss.”
“Very well.” He answered. “But you should
still come with me. Events here sound
dreadfully dangerous. There is much life
and culture to partake at Knightsbridge.
You would be my guest, under my protection until I have shown my brother
what is happening out here and we can decide on a course of action which will
correct this little problem once and for all.”
She turned to him and shuddered with
released emotion. “Truly? The favor of
the Goddess be upon you, sir. I have
prayed for weeks to find someone who would help. You have answered those
prayers. But...but perhaps I should stay
to await the coming battle. It would be
unseemly of me to flee the castle while my brave men are still fighting in the
field.”
He smiled yet deep down in his belly there
was a queasiness growing as his own safety hung in the balance. “We shall wait
for word of your coming battle. If
matters should turn then we will go.”
She curtsied to him, a sign of far more
respect than she felt. But it was
something she had to do. “You are too
kind by far.”
They continued to walk until they reached
the guest rooms set aside for Sir Lanart.
“I must rest now, your ladyship,” He told
her before going in. “, but it has been a delightful evening. I thank you for your hospitality.”
Lady Cora nodded with a slight twinkle in
her eye. “I wish you a good night, Sir
Lanart. I hope you do not mind but I
have provided you with some entertainment I am sure you will enjoy.”
Sir Lanart’s smile grew ever wider. He opened the door and found a dark haired
youth face down on his bed, bound hand and foot to the four corner posts,
wearing only a golden collar around his neck.
“Oh my dear.” He muttered, barely able to control himself.
“He is yours. Consider him a gift.” She supplied though she
didn’t even know if he was listening.
“Is he broken?” He asked. His skin appeared smooth except where he had
struggled against his bonds and rubbed his wrists and ankles raw. And there were several pinkish lines crossing
the two fleshy orbs of his ass, the sign of a caning.
“Nothing that won’t heal. He has been handled roughly but remains
untouched.” She assured him. “You will find him most pliable.”
“Pliable?
Are you sure? There can be such
fire and tenacity in one so young.” He told her, salivating.
“His slave training was, of a necessity,
short and brutal....but it was complete.
He will give you no trouble. You
have my word.”
“Thank you, your ladyship.” He bowed his
head to her. “I shall not forget you for this.”
Lady Cora began to back out of the
room. When she got to the door she
stopped and gave the son of Sir Bryndin one final glance. “His name is
Nicholus. Have joy of him.”
“Thank you. I will.”
She closed the door when Sir Lanart began
to remove his cloths.
With the towers of Sharford Castle barely
visible off in the distant haze the two armies met in a large clearing. A two story wood framed structure loosely
called an inn and a set of crossroads were on the edge of that clearing. White Tavern was the name of the place. The Golwyn army, a ragtag force of only eight
hundred infantry and a handful of cavalry, sat over the intersection guarding
the route to Sharford with their lives.
On the other end of the field, with Axel and Lynette at his side, Jack
watched his own men deploy from a nearby hill.
He was burning up in his armor. He had put his helmet aside, so he wore the
wide brimmed beige hat he usually preferred.
The breastplate was heating up and the greaves and shoulder pauldrons
were like ovens. But even if he was
roasting in the scorching heat he was awestruck by the sight before him. Sunlight glinted off countless pikes and
spears. The steel helmets and
breastplates of cavalrymen shown with the brilliance of tiny stars beneath
flapping banners of blue and gold. A low
but continuous rumble filled the air as his men moved forward; seven hundred
cavalrymen to the left and right of a massive line of heavy infantry. He had never seen such a display.
He had been in the thick of the fighting
at Raven’s Forge but that had been different.
He could remember only snippets here and there. People screaming and being hacked to pieces
or shot with crossbows. He had only seen
a small section of the field amidst the fog.
Here he could witness everything.
“Those guys over there are so screwed.” He
muttered.
“Aptly put.” Axel agreed dryly. “We’ve
have over a two to one numerical superiority with the initiative, training and
experience to boot.”
The rumbling stopped. The army reached its set lines. Only an eerie quiet hung in the air, accompanied
by the flutter of his banners snapping over his head and the occasional courier
riding back and forth.
Lady Lynette observed the lines for a
time. “I believe we are ready, my
lord. Sir Alwyn awaits your signal.”
Someone on the field yelled out. It sounded strange as it was carried by the
wind. A half dozen riders struck out
from the Golwyn army for the center of the field. Jack noticed each one wore black armor from
head to toe, with one carrying a rectangle of stark white cloth on a pole. A pair of riders rode out from his own lines
and met them there.
“Okay, what’s happening?” Jack asked and
Lady Lynette nodded.
“It is as we suspected. They wish to
talk.”
“About what?”
“Remember what you said, Jack.” Axel
chided. He was in full armor as he had
been at Raven’s Forge and the heat didn’t appear to bother him at all.
Jack suddenly felt cornered. “What is that
supposed to mean? What did I promise?”
Lady Hunter refreshed his memory. “I
believe you said you would talk if a truce were called and we all agreed it was
for the best.”
Jack shook his head, giving her a
disgusted glance. “Thanks, Lyn. How
could I forget.”
The Hargate men broke off from the group
and returned to their lines while the black clad Sharford men waited. It wasn’t long before a messenger came up the
hill and informed him of what was going on.
“Sir Alwyn Kessel’s compliments, my lord,
but the enemy wishes to parley a truce.”
Jack tilted his head over to Axel who
nodded. “At least see what they have to say, Jack. They may be ready to surrender.”
“I agree it is for the best but you must
go well protected.” Lady Lynette added. “Take the Eagle Guards with you, my
lord.”
“The Eagle Guards?” Jack asked with
consternation. “Who the hell are they?”
Axel chuckled deep within the recesses
of his helmet and Lynette grinned. “The
same men who have been guarding you ever since you were rescued...oh sorry, my
lord. I did not wish to bring back bad
memories.”
“No, no, it’s okay.” The Eagle Guards?” They were the same annoying bastards who had
followed him around at Hargate Castle like a group of wayward geese and been at
his side during the attack at Raven’s Forge.
“If they’ve been protectin’ my fat ass
since I got here they deserve a nickname if it’s what they want.” He sighed heavily. He had a really weird feeling about
this. A sudden thought flashed through
his mind. Maybe he could order the
advance anyway. Maybe he should order
it. Crush the enemy before they would
even have a chance to react. But,
no. Just as quickly he dismissed the
idea. They were under a flag of
truce. The white banner. It was sacred even in his own world.
“Okay.
Let’s do this. Get ‘em ready to
ride, Lyn.”
“As you command, my lord.”
Jack and Axel, accompanied by eight guards
wearing gold chains with pendants of a rampant eagle around their necks trotted
out to meet those who waited under the flag of truce. They were joined by Sir Alwyn as they went
out into the empty field. Jack pulled
back on the reigns and Midnight pranced to a halt fifteen feet away from
them. The Eagle Guards fanned out behind
him and Axel and the Master-of-Foot came up to his sides.
A lone knight walked his horse
forward. His armor was dinged and dented,
the breastplate embossed with the emblem of a silver scorpion. A single plumed feather, dyed crimson,
protruded from the back of his helmet.
He stopped, raised his visor.
Inside was a face which at one time may have been young, but
responsibility had taken its toll. Yet
his back was straight and his voice strong.
“I am Sir Olric Dunsan, Lord Commander of
the Golwyn army.” He said to them. “I am here at the order of Her Ladyship, the
Countess of Sharford. I demand parley by
the rights of warfare as sanctioned by all the great houses of the land.”
Jack nodded stiffly. “I’m Jack Dullman,
the Lord of Hargate. If you wanna talk,
then talk. Don’t waste my time.”
“My lord,” He began, removing his helmet,
revealing a head covered by a silver chain mail hood. “, it is the wish of the Countess that a
message be delivered to you.”
Jack humphed. “And what would she want to
tell me?”
“She says that everything which has
happened so far has been a grave mistake.”
“I’ll say.” Jack snorted.
“A misunderstanding, if you will.”
“I’m listening.”
“She says that in many respects Her
Ladyship and you are much alike. More
alike than you know. She says she has
merely been a pawn in a much larger game.
A game you know nothing about.”
Jack smiled coldly. “It might surprise her
what I know.”
“Did you know it is no accident you are
here?”
“Really?
How did I get here then?” Jack asked, more than a bit curious but trying
to sound as sarcastic as he could.
“Perhaps we could arrange another meeting. You could discuss it with her
personally. She knows many of the
answers to which you seek.”
Jack chuckled. “I don’t think so. The last meeting we had together didn’t go
too well.”
“Yes.
She told me what happened. Yet
she still offers you a hand in friendship.” Sir Olric said. “You would refuse
it? We could end this conflict here and
now.”
“What the hell are you talking about? What did she tell you?”
“This is not the time or place for
recriminations. Despite all the offenses
you have given her she is willing to set them aside and offer you peace.”
“The offenses I’ve given her?” Jack
snapped. “That bitch tried to kill me!”
Axel’s hand on his arm came too
late. It was already said. Sir Olric gritted his teeth and his eyes
narrowed in anger.
“My lord, we came to you in good faith
under a flag of truce.” The lord commander exclaimed. “There was no need to give insult.”
“You wanna talk about insult?” Jack
retorted angrily, his blood was starting to boil. “Bite my ass, you prick! How’s that for a insult?”
“Jack!” Axel leaned into him and groaned
underneath his breath. “What are you doing?”
Sir Alwyn rode up between the two sides,
his hands raised. “Perhaps we should calm ourselves, my lords.”
“I am calm, Al.” Jack snarled. “Now get
your ass back into line!”
Sensing the rising tensions, Sir Olric’s
warhorse began to jostle about, whinnying.
“Very well, then!” Sir Olric rumbled icily
as he tried to maintain control of the horse and his temper. “If you do not
wish to take the hand of the Countess in friendship then she gives these
demands! You will disband your army and
leave the lands to the south of the River Nyder! You will pay the Countess of Sharford the sum
of one hundred thousand crowns for damages done to her holdings and lives
lost! You will submit yourself to the
justice of a tribunal council formed from lords and ladies of neutral houses
who will determine fault for this war!
And finally, if found to be guilty by the council you shall renounce all
rights and claims to be lord and master of Hargate!”
Jack raised a hand, extended his middle
finger and yelled back at him. “FUCK...YOU!”
THUNK!
Something hit Jack square in the
breastplate. He looked down and his eyes
widened. A crossbow bolt was protruding
from his chest. He looked around,
surprised. They were supposed to be
under a flag of truce! You didn’t shoot
people under a flag of truce! There was
a scream. Sir Olric was yelling
something, he couldn’t tell what. His
ears were ringing and everything was moving in slow motion. One of the black armored knights was throwing
down a crossbow. It wasn’t one of the
smaller, one handed types. This was a
heavy, double handed crossbow with a wooden shoulder stock. He picked up another and shot Sir Alwyn in
the neck while he fought with a rearing horse.
He fell backward in a heap, a fountain of blood spurting from his
wound. Jack saw several other bolts fly
by. One of his Eagle Guards fell from
his saddle but the others were drawing their own weapons. People on both sides began to tumble to the
ground. The black knight drew his sword
and charged at him. One of the Eagle
Guards placed himself between Jack and the knight. Steel rang on steel and the Eagle Guard
screamed as the black knight sliced downward into his shoulder shredding armor,
bone and muscle alike. Jack slumped
forward holding onto Midnight’s neck as a hand came from nowhere and grabbed
the reigns.
Jack shut his eyes. He didn’t know what happened next. He must have blacked out but when he came to
he was staring up at the sky. He was
lying down but could feel the strange sensation of motion. Soon he realized he was being carried. He tried to clutch the bolt in his
chest. There wasn’t much pain. More pressure than anything. He felt if he could just get it out he would
feel better. Not so tingly.
Axel appeared over him as he was put down
on the ground. Someone was holding his
head. It was Lady Lynette. There were tears in her eyes as her hands ran
a cool, damp cloth across his forehead.
There was a sudden sense of urgency.
Something they had left undone.
Then he remembered.
“Axel!” He sputtered. “Axel, the battle.”
He couldn’t hear what he was saying but he
saw his mouth form the words. “Don’t worry, Jack.”
But there was an expression on his
companion’s face he had rarely seen before.
It was concern, but for what.
Jack suddenly had the feeling this was not going to be good. Damn but he wished he was back home.
Someone reached in and pulled the bolt out
of his chest and a wave of white hot pain seared across his torso. Jack screamed and coughed which sent even
more agony into him. The cough was wet
and a sticky liquid filled his mouth. Be
brought a hand up to wipe at his lips. It
came away bloody. He was coughing up
blood. People hovered over him. Some screaming and yelling, others took off
his armor and tried to hold him. His
head started to swim and he could feel his body jerk. A dark haze filled the air and the last thing
he saw was lovely Lynette crying, calling his name.
Lady Cora decided she did not like having
her fate in the hands of others. It was
a helpless feeling, one she did not much care for. The two armies had met, she knew. Reports had already reached the castle. But what was happening was still a
mystery. She had tried to concentrate on
other things unsuccessfully. She tried to
read but failed. She paced the rooms of
her apartments and tried to eat but found she had little appetite. Even sex with Noran, her favorite slave, had
not taken the edge off her anxiety.
Finally she gave up and decided it would
be best to burn off her frustrations.
She dressed in black boots, a black pleated kilt, and a dark gray corset
decorated with intricate gold embroidery.
Then she went down to the dungeon.
Once there she quickly found the person
she wanted to torment. She picked up a
whip and examined the braided cord leading from the wood and leather
handle. It was thick yet supple. Just the thing she had been looking for. She spun back to her victim, striking at mid
air and was rewarded with the satisfying crack of the steel headed tip. Lady Trista sobbed behind her teeth but there
was little she could do. She was tied to
a short stake, only about three feet tall, her elbows were hooked behind iron
pegs on the back side of the square post, her wrists bolted to the sides at her
waist. Her ankles had been pulled up and
bolted just below her wrists, forcing all of her body weight down onto her throbbing
kneecaps. Her head had been wrenched
back over the top of the post and leather straps across her chin and forehead
kept it secure, forcing her mouth closed and her eyes to the ceiling. There were two iron spikes on the front side
of the post, the first sharpened point pressing between her shoulder blades,
the second, and longer of the two, driving into the small of her back. Her breasts were exposed, her throat
bare. A thin sheen of sweat covered her
from head to toe. Her breathing was slow
and shallow. In such a position every
rise and fall of her chest was agony.
The countess layed the cord of the whip
across her breasts and heard her groan in response. Her skin was smooth and unblemished. Her perfectly shaped breasts still firm and
perky. Lady Trista was a beautiful young
woman. Bryndin Bayne’s second wife.
“You poor thing,” Lady Cora said, enticing
a shiver from her victim. “You look positively miserable. How long have you been bound to the post like
this? Two days?”
She brushed a hand over her forehead
gently. Trista followed her with
pleading eyes. They were swollen and red
rimmed, blood shot from lack of sleep. The
suffering in them was apparent. She
groaned plaintively and tried to whisper something back.
Surprised by the effort, Lady Cora bent
down to her. “Yes, dear. Is there
something I can get for you?”
Through dry, cracked lips she mouthed.
“Wa....water.”
Then it dawned on her. “Water? You haven’t had any water since you were
placed here. Have you, dear?”
Lady Trista’s grunted. “Water, pleeeese.”
The countess nodded to one of the guards
at the cell door. The guard left but
shortly came back with a ladle full of fresh water. She took the ladle, had a gulp for herself
then held it above Lady Trista’s head so she could see it clearly.
“Is this what you want?” Lady Cora
gestured toward the water bringing it closer and closer to her mouth.
The young brunette squirmed. Her eyes became desperate. The water was so close to her lips she could
taste it.
“Pleeeese!” She begged weakly through
clenched teeth.
At the last minute, when the ladle was
only an inch from her, Lady Cora laughed mockingly and pulled it away, pouring
the cool liquid out onto the stone floor.
“Stupid girl.” She gloated. “I’m the same woman
who left your husband to be eaten alive and had your stepson turned into a boy
lover’s sex slave. Why would you think I
would give you any water?”
She bent down to speak directly into her
ear. “You are going to die here. Didn’t
you know that? But first I’m going to
whip you raw.”
Lady Trista sobbed openly, her eyes
pinched shut. Lady Cora stepped back to
give herself plenty of room. She cracked
the whip once more in promise of what was to come.
From behind, at the entrance, someone
called with urgency. “Your ladyship!...Your ladyship!”
The Countess of Sharford whirled about and
caught sight of Sir Jaylin Foster entering into the chamber, pushing the guards
at the door aside.
“Your ladyship, word has arrived from the
lord commander!” He caught sight of Lady
Trista’s body, naked and twisted, and quickly dropped his gaze to the ground.
“What is it?” Lady Cora demanded hotly,
Lady Trista was all but forgotten.
“He sent word by courier.” Sir Jaylin
stammered, barely able to keep his composure.
“There has been a battle at the White Tavern. The fighting was said to be fierce.”
“Yes, yes.
Go on, imbecile.” The countess pressed eagerly.
“There was a truce called, your
ladyship. Lord Dullman was
there...and...and things were said. The truce
was broken and Lord Dullman was killed.”
Lady Cora’s eyes flashed and a smile
etched itself across her face. “Are you sure, Jaylin? Is Sir Olric positive?”
“The lord commander witnessed the strike
himself.” Sir Jaylin’s hands shook as he
spoke. “A bolt hit him in the chest
which went in four fingers deep.”
The Countess’s smile slowly began to
recede. “He was not beheaded?”
“No, your ladyship. He was led off of the field before he could
be finished. But the Lord Commander said
there is very little chance of his survival.”
Lady Cora’s face darkened. “The lord
commander is a fool. As long as there is
life in him, the worm is a threat. What
of the battle?”
The steward was taken aback by his liege’s
abrupt mood swing. “Your...your ladyship,
perhaps the courier would be the best to ask.
He was a witness to the day.”
She handed her whip to one of the guards
and moved into the central chamber.
There she waited as Sir Jaylin had the courier brought forward. He was a man lightly armored and covered in
dust. On his head was a blood soaked
white bandage.
He went to one knee before her.
“What did you see happen after the truce?”
“Your ladyship, there was much confusion.”
The man drawled amidst heavy breaths.
“Men began ta’ fall from their horses as we watched. Sir Marin Canmore thought to take advantage
and ordered the line ta’ advance. We
took the enemy unawares and drove ‘em back.
The fighting was hard, your ladyship.
Very hard. Sir Marin held the
line together until the Lord Commander returned....but there were too many of
‘em and we were out in the open. Their
cavalry scattered ours ta’ the four winds and turned on our flanks. But even so we managed to hold ‘em off an’
withdraw from the field.”
Lady Cora observed the courier with a
callous eye. “So you were defeated.”
Her words seemed to confuse the soldier.
“Nay, your ladyship. Twas’ a draw, I’d
say. The lord commander is retreatin’ in
good order t’ward the castle an’ the Eagle o’ Hargate is all but dead.”
She paused, giving the man an evil glance,
then reached out a hand to one of her guards.
She gestured wordlessly to his crossbow which he handed over in due
course. “Why do you presume to lecture
me on what a defeat is? Are you one of
my commanders?”
“Nay, your ladyship.” He answered nervously
watching as she drew back the string and set it.
“Are you one of my advisors?”
“Nay, your ladyship.” He tried to stand
as Lady Cora took a razor tipped bolt from the guard and loaded the weapon.
“Good,” She said. “, then you won’t be
missed.” She raised the crossbow to her shoulder and pulled the trigger. The bolt struck him in the middle of his
forehead. The courier went backward with
a grunt to sprawl across the floor. His
body twitched then was still.
She stood overtop the soldier for a
moment amid the quiet of the chamber.
Then she calmly handed back the weapon and focused on Sir Jaylin.
“Inform Sir Lanart I will accept his offer of travel to Knightsbridge as his
companion but if we are to leave we must leave within the hour.”
The steward was shocked to silence but he
nodded.
“Find Sir Aiden and have him assemble my
guards in the courtyard.” She continued on, resignedly. “And ready the coaches. Lorri should have already made certain they
were packed.”
“What about this one” One of the guards
asked, pointing into the cell at the helpless Lady Trista.
“Leave her as she is.” She replied. “Bar
and seal the door. Let her cell become
her tomb.”
There was one final, whimpering cry as the
door clanged shut but the Countess of Sharford was too troubled to enjoy it.
Jack woke up covered in sweat.
“Okay,” He exclaimed drowsily as he threw
off the blankets. “Which genius decided to wrap me up in wool during a heat
wave?”
There was a laugh. It was full and genuine, tinged with a great
deal of relief.
“I think that was Ktari, my lord.” A
familiar voice answered. “How do you feel?”
“Like shit. How do I look?”
“You have regained much of your
color. With any luck you shall be ready
for another lesson with the sword in a few days.” Lady Lynette leaned over him,
dabbing a fresh cloth on his forehead.
Jack opened his eyes and looked at his
surroundings.
“Where the hell are we?”
“The White Tavern, my lord.” She
explained.
“Oh yeah?
I hope we didn’t pay too much for it.”
The walls were filthy, the sparse furniture barely usable. The floor was covered in grime.
“This is one of the better rooms, my
lord.”
His hand reached up to his chest where
the bolt had struck him. He rubbed it
gently. It was very sore but much better
than he had expected. The quick healing
the program provided him was hard to get used to but he was not about to
complain. By all rights, if he had been
in the real world he would probably be dead.
“How long was I out this time?”
“The better part of two days.”
His eyes widened. “Huh?”
Jack tried to get up but the guard
captain stood and pressed down gently on his shoulders. “Wait, my lord, you’ve
not yet fully healed! You could
re-injure yourself.”
She called to one of the men at the
door. “Go find Sir Axel. Tell him his
lordship has regained consciousness.”
“Right away, my lady.” The man said
excitedly and was gone.
Jack grabbed on to Lynette’s arms. “What’s happened? Is everything okay?”
She nodded her head and a few strands of
dark red hair spilled out to dangle above his face. It smelled of jasmine.
“All is well. There was a battle but that is all I will
say. I shall let Sir Axel explain the
details to you.”
Jack fell back on the feather bed. He rested a little easier then...until he
realized had an erection fighting to free itself from the sleeping shirt he was
wearing. Despite the pool of sweat he was
laying in, Jack quickly pulled the covers back up hoping Lynette hadn’t
noticed. If there had ever been any
doubt of his survival, it was now at an end.
Jack and Lynette talked for a few
moments. Then she left him alone. Not long after she walked out the door there
was a shimmer in the air and Axel appeared out of nowhere. He was dressed in full armor, his helmet
under his arm looking almost exactly like the day they had first met.
Jack nearly jumped out of his own skin. “Fuck!
I forgot you could do that shit!”
“Hello, Jack.” He greeted with a broad
smile, extending a hand to his friend. “How do you feel?”
Jack took it. “Like I got run over by an
ox cart. What the fuck happened out
there?”
The blond man chuckled, pulling up a
stool and sitting by the bed. “One of Lady Golwyn’s knights shot you while
under a flag of truce. Don’t you
remember?”
“Yeah.
Kinda.”
“Do you recall me pulling you to
safety?”
Jack’s eyes grew wide. “Oh, man. That was you?”
Axel grinned.
Jack quickly became solemn. “So you
saved me again. I guess I owe you
another one, don’t I?”
“You owe me nothing, Jack. I did exactly as I am supposed to. Protecting you is, after all, one of my
primary purposes.”
“How’s Midnight? Is he okay?”
“He’s in better shape than you.” Axel
teased.
There was a flashing image, something he
had seen during the fight right after being hit. Jack frowned.
“What about Sir Alwyn?”
Axel’s grin faded. “Sir Alwyn Kessel is
dead.”
Jack cursed.
“You very nearly died yourself.” He
added. “We were all worried.”
“I thought you told me I was nearly
invincible.” Jack demanded, unable to understand. “Lyn said I’ve been out for two days and my
chest still hurts. I haven’t healed
nearly as quick as I did before.”
“Up to now your worst injury was a
severe burn.” Axel patiently tried to explain.
“This was different. You were
shot at point blank range by a heavy crossbow.”
“A heavy crossbow? One of those big ones with the winch on the
end?”
“Yes.
They were most serious about ending your life with this attempt.”
“Can you tell me when they haven’t been
serious?”
Axel chuckled. “At any rate, this wound
was very deep with a large amount of tissue damage and blood loss. You may be nearly invincible, but you are not
immortal.”
“So now you tell me?”
“The choice program is designed to heal
almost all injuries, even purge your system of poisons. However, there are some wounds which, if
incurred, will default the user back to a preset area.”
“Such as?”
“Catastrophic injuries to the brain and
heart.” Axel told him. “The bolt you were shot with punctured one of your
lungs. If it had pierced your heart,
which it very nearly did, you would have automatically been sent to the Program
Start-gate.”
“And with no program start-gate....”
Jack had finally caught on.
“Precisely.”
Jack thought about that for a
while. It didn’t take long before he was
ready to switch subjects. “So after I got shot, what happened?”
“A battle happened.”
“How’d we do?”
“Not as well as you might think although
the situation now is most agreeable. The
men were disheartened to see you and Sir Alwyn fall, Jack. It nearly took the fight from them but myself
and Sir Jeremy were able to rally and drive what was left of the Golwyn army
back to Sharford Castle.”
Jack nodded proudly. “Good job, big
guy. You won your first battle.”
Axel bowed his head. “Thank you. It was not easy but we did it. At any rate, Sharford Castle has been
invested since yesterday and we are laying siege.”
“Yessssss!” Jack whispered, pumping his
fist in the air in triumph.
Axel cleared his throat.
“What?”
A strange smirk came across his bearded
face. “There is one thing I have yet to tell you....and I hesitate to even
mention it because I know the reaction I am going to get but....”
Jack was resigned. “Go ahead. You may as well say it.”
“Well....” He continued shyly. “It would
seem that since this morning the red and black banner flying above the castle
has been supplanted.”
“Huh?”
“...by a flag of truce.”
Jack nearly jumped up from the bed. “Oh no
fucking way!”
Axel raised his hands to soothe is anger.
“Now, Jack. Please. Calm yourself. Under the circumstances of what has already
happened I would probably agree with you.”
“Why do I feel a ‘but’ coming?”
“But...I believe something has been
happening behind the castle walls.
Something is not right.”
“Do you have one of those feelings
again?” Jack huffed.
“Yes.
And do you recall the last time I had one of those?”
“Ayla.” They both said the name in unison.
There was a long silence. Jack lay in the bed staring up at the
ceiling.
Finally he said. “We really need to get
you and these feelings of yours checked out.
I can’t believe you actually want me to talk with that asshole
again. He killed Al and almost got me
too.”
“It was not Dunsan who shot you and Sir
Alwyn. It was one of his knights.” Axel
argued.
“That’s a shaky distinction, pal.”
“Agreed.
However, I do not believe he is fully responsible for what happened.”
“Why not?”
“Because I saw his face. He was as shocked as anyone when you were
hit. He cursed his own men and ordered
them to stop.”
“Oh yeah?
Well they didn’t listen.” Jack snipped.
“Matters were too far gone by then.”
Jack’s eyes narrowed. “So what? Am I supposed to forgive him and invite him
down for a second chance at killing me?”
“There will be little risk this time.” He
confided. “If Sir Olric or whoever is in command truly wishes to talk with us
he can refuse no demand we place on him.
This is what I would propose as conditions....”
Axel went on to explain his thoughts and
when he was done, Jack grimaced.
“Those are some pretty heavy
conditions. I don’t think I would go
through with it if I was in his boots.”
“You would if you were sincere and
trusted the honor of those who you wished to talk with.” Axel countered.
“So, in other words,” Jack drew it out.
“If the commander doesn’t really want to talk then he’ll drop the truce flag
and keep fighting.”
“Exactly.” Axel said. “And if he wishes
to talk in earnest he will have no choice.”
“Are you sure about this? Are you sure your feelings are leading you
right?”
“I’m certain, Jack.” His friend replied
soberly. “I would not ask you to do this if I were not.”
Jack took a deep breath and exhaled
slowly. He couldn’t believe he was
actually contemplating doing this.
“Okay.
Set it up.”
Sir Olric Dunsan had chosen to put on his
finest suit of armor. It was polished to
perfection, the shining silver emblem of a scorpion on his lacquered
breastplate standing in stark contrast to the obsidian black surrounding it. He was, after all, Lord Commander of all
Golwyn forces remaining in the lands of Sharford. He should at least look the part in front of
the enemy.
He dismounted cautiously amid a group of
soldiers wearing sashes of blue and gold and followed his escort to the
entrance of the White Tavern. The two
men he had been allowed to bring with him followed but were stopped by the
guards.
“They must stay here.” The escort told him
coldly and Sir Olric gave them the signal to hold.
Sentries were at the door wearing eagle
pendants around their necks, hands on the hilts of their swords. He started up the steps to the door but was
stopped.
“Arms up, sir.” The escorting knight
ordered and hesitantly he complied. The
sentries moved in to search him for weapons.
They relieved him of his sword, sword belt and a knife he had carried
since he had become a member of the countess’s guard. Finally, once satisfied, they passed him
through.
“You may go in.”
He entered, not knowing what he would
find or what type of reception he would get.
It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to
the dark but when they did he found himself standing in a large common
room. A place where, in better times,
travelers and guests and drank and supped.
Men bearing weapons at the ready stood at every corner and nearly every
window. The floor had been cleared
accept for a single table. It had been
placed in the center. And seated at the
end of the table in the only chair was......
Sir Olric’s eyes widened in surprise. He had seen him hit and all but killed by a
crossbow bolt. And two days later here
he was again, very much alive. The man
wore a plain buff colored tunic and white shirt beneath. His wide brimmed hat lay on the table. By his side stood a small man with short
blond hair and a beautiful young woman with thick red hair pulled back in a
ponytail.
He had always heard the countess call him
names like fat pigeon and worm. He could
not say such a thing as he studied him without the bulky gear war
required. He was broad in shoulder and
solid, but not as fat as he had been led to believe. Once again the countess had lied. He was bald with only a slight tuft of dark
brown hair on the sides of his head. On
his face he bore a thick mustache curved downward at the corners of his mouth
and grown long, nearly to his chin.
Lord Dullman eyed him cautiously as he
relaxed in his chair. To his credit the
lord commander recovered quickly and bowed to him feeling the powerful stare of
everyone in the room.
“We meet again, my lord.” He said, slowly
moving to the area at the opposite end of the table a good distance from the
Lord and Master of Hargate so as not to appear a threat.
“Yeah, we do.” Lord Dullman answered
simply.
“I compliment you. You have shown great forbearance in allowing
me to come here after the events of our first parley.”
“Yes I have.” Was all he would say.
“I must tell you what happened was not of
my sanction.”
“I’m sure it wasn’t.” There was heavy
sarcasm in his voice. Sir Olric realized
then he was standing on very dangerous ground.
“Believe what you will. Countess Golwyn gave me orders to make a
truce with you if it were possible.
Failing that I was given instruction as to the only demands she would
accept. I had nothing to do with her
plan to murder you under a flag of truce.”
“So now it’s her fault?” Lord Dullman’s
brow furrowed. “Does she know you’re blaming her for everything? Why in the hell did she send you back out
here?”
“I am not here on the authority of the
Countess of Sharford.”
“Truly,” The blond man spoke up. “On who’s
authority have you come to us?”
He lifted his chin as a shot of pride ran
through him. “My own as Lord Commander.”
“And the Countess does not know you are
here? I find that hard to fathom.”
“Her Ladyship fled after news reached her
I was withdrawing to Sharford Castle.
She is not within its walls.” Sir Olric informed him.
Lord Dullman and the blond man gave each
other a short glance.
“Why are you here then?”
“To negotiate as best I may. It is my aim to end this conflict. Enough have already died.”
“Then put down your arms and surrender the
castle.” The blond man demanded.
“I would gladly do so...but first we must
discuss the terms of the surrender.”
“After all that has happened, you come
here and ask for terms? You are
besieged. You are in no position to ask
for anything.”
A thin smile crossed Sir Olric’s face
though there was no humor in it. “A
siege is a curious thing. Some
work. Some do not. There is no guarantee. If possible, I believe it best to avoid such
a long, drawn out hardship.”
“Perhaps we will attack. You are outnumbered near three to one. All your men would be put to the sword.”
“Then do so.” He fired back sharply. “You
would bleed yourselves white in the attempt.”
Lord Dullman cocked his head to one side
and appraised him with a sly look. “You got a set of balls coming back, I’ll
give ya’ that.”
“Thank you.” Sir Olric replied with a nod.
“Put down your weapons and surrender the
castle and your men can go free.” Lord Dullman told him.
“There will be no harm to them?”
He shook his head. “They can go wherever
they want. I won’t bother them. If any wants to stay in my service they can
take an oath and join up.”
“The officers too?”
“Most of them can go too. But no more black armor and no more
scorpions.”
“Most of them” Dunsan repeated. “But not all.”
“Some
will face a trial for crimes against the people of Hargate.”
“My lord, this has been a hard fought
campaign. Things were done on our
advance north. It is the nature of war.”
Sir Olric tried to explain.
Lord Dullman’s eyes suddenly became hard
and cold. “Do you know how many bodies we buried on our way here? How many victims we found of your ‘hard
fought campaign?’”
“All done by the order of the Countess and
by the hand of Sir Ansyl Wellock.”
The blond man spoke up. “Of those, one is
dead and the other is gone. How
convenient for you.”
“It is the truth. I swear to it.”
“You swear your oaths all too easily.” The
red haired woman finally spoke with much bitterness in her soft voice. “Did you
not also swear an oath to maintain the sacredness of the white flag when my
lord was almost killed?”
Sir Olric leveled an angry glare in her
direction but held his temper. “Tis’ true, lady. What was done was against all laws of good
conduct and tradition. That is why I
offer to you, as a token to redeem my honor, the one who was responsible for
the attack.”
“You got the guy that shot me?” Lord
Dullman prodded.
“Aye, my lord. I have the woman in my care.”
“Woman?”
There was a note of disbelief in his tone. He had naturally assumed the knight who had
shot him had been a man. But the more he
thought on it the more he realized it could have been a woman. A suit of armor with a visor pulled down was
the perfect cover on a battlefield.
Sir Olric nodded. “She has been a companion of the countess
ever since our little war began and was given a position of some
authority. Fortunately, such authority
was lost when Her Ladyship decided to run away.”
There was a long pause.
“Her name wouldn’t happen to be Varisa,
would it?”
The Lord Commander tried not to show the
shock he felt when the Lord of Hargate called the woman’s name.
“You remember her? She was one of the escorts for her ladyship
during her embassy to Hargate.”
“Let’s just say Varisa and I have a
history. You’re gonna give her to us?”
“I also offer you myself.”
The redhead snorted with derision.
“You? What possible use would you be?”
“I offer my knowledge of the Countess and
her schemes.”
“Maybe I already know enough about her.”
Lord Dullman bated.
“Oh?
I should think there is much you would want to know. The two of you are so much alike.”
Lord Dullman pointed a finger at him, a
fierce anger seeping into his voice. “I
am nothing like that bitch.”
“My apologies, my lord.” Sir Olric
said. He dropped his blue eyes to the
chest where a crossbow bolt had been. “I had thought since you both can heal
wounds so quickly....and you both have, at times, spoken in the same strange
manner, there could be a connection.”
His words had the desired effect. Lord Dullman’s mouth dropped open. The blond man’s eyes flared beneath brows
arched in surprise. Seeing both her
companions in such a state the red headed woman recovered her wits.
“What price would you put on such
information?”
“A parole.” He quickly stated while they
were off balance. “I would become my lord’s prisoner. I would tell him all of what I know and have
discovered about the Countess over the years I was with her. I assure you, I have the most fascinating
stories. Once I have told everything I
would be allowed to take my leave and return home like my men. It is all I ask for myself and my second in
command, Sir Marin Canmore.”
There was a brief hush over the room, then
the chair scraped across the floor as Lord Dullman slowly stood. He placed a hand on his chest as he did so
while the blond man and red headed woman helped him to his feet.
“Freedom for the men who want it....only a
handful of officers put on trial for war crimes....you get paroled....I get
Varisa. Anything I forgot?”
Sir Olric shrugged. “I think it shall do
nicely.”
“Shake on it.”
Lord Dullman offered out an empty sword
hand across the table. Sir Olric felt
the apprehension in the room. He heard
hands tighten on weapons. He stepped
forward cautiously and took the offered hand.
They shook.
“My lord, Sharford Castle and all the
lands of its domain are now yours.” Sir
Olric Dunsan took a quick step back and bowed formally to Jack Dullman.
For months, ever since Lady Cora had given
the order to summon her levy in plans of moving north, Sharford Castle had been
adorned with banners of crimson and black hanging from the high walls. Those banners were now tumbling to the ground,
their tethers being hacked through by Hargate axes. The massive flag bearing the Golwyn sigil
which had once flown proudly from the spire of the central tower was gone,
replaced by aquamarine blue and shining gold.
A procession of men, haggard and defeated, stumbled out of the main gate
headed back to their peacetime lives.
Axel sat on his warhorse watching them,
silently contemplating whether it had all been worth it. So many had died. Sir Alwyn Kessel, Hargate’s Master-of-Foot,
would be buried under the shade of an oak tree not far from the place where he
fell and Axel had very nearly had to bury Jack too. Sharford had been conquered. But the Countess had gotten away despite
their best efforts to stop her. Sir
Jeremy believed her to be somewhere to the south or south east, headed toward
the border regions. The Master-of-Horse
had sent out scouts and detachments to search but Axel believed they had little
hope of success. The countess had a two
day head start.
Lady Hunter rode up to him, giving him a
brief nod. “The last of the defenders are disarmed and my men are searching the
castle room by room.”
“Is everything in order?” He asked.
“There has been some looting but that was
expected.” Lynette replied. “Sir Olric Dunsan has been given a suite of rooms
with the company of my best guards and the woman known as Varisa has been
secured and remains in the dungeon to await Lord Dullman’s pleasure though she
seems none too happy about her new living quarters.”
“Excellent.”
“There were many prisoners in the
dungeon.” She continued on. “Some in rather poor shape. What shall be done with them?”
Axel thought for a moment. “If they were
imprisoned by the countess, they may not be all bad. Keep them where they are but see to their
needs. There will be time for them soon
enough.”
“My lord continues to recover?”
“He does.
He should be well enough to ride on the morrow.”
“It is hard to kill one of the Chosen.”
She said with a smile of relief. “Thanks be to the Makers.”
“Thanks be to the Makers, indeed.” Axel
agreed. “But be mindful of yourself.
Such talk is fine with me but there are things which must not be said
where His Lordship can hear.”
“As you wish.”
For a long moment Lynette sat by his side
not saying a word but all the while she studied him closely.
“Sir Axel, why do you seem unhappy?
“What is there to be happy about.” He
snorted in return.
“We have been victorious. Is that not enough?”
He turned to her solemnly as a wagon laden
with wounded Sharford men trundled by.
“A victory you say? Perhaps it
is. But it is nothing to be happy
about. There are dark clouds over the
horizon. There is much danger in them.”
“Are you certain?”
“I can sense we are standing on the edge
of a great conflict...one which will drench the land in blood.”
“Perhaps we should tell his lordship.”
Lynette pondered but Axel shook his head.
“For now Lord Dullman should rest. I will tell him in due time. You see, there is an innocence about him this
world has not yet destroyed. If I were
to inform him of what I suspect he would think there is something he can do
about it. He is still new to this world,
Lady Hunter, and does not yet realize there is much which goes on in this place
that is beyond his control.”
The sun was setting in the west, bathing
the world in its crimson glow. Somehow
it seemed fitting.