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Where the road began - TheNickelKnight - 10-18-2019
“Kal! Kal, come back here!” He heard her calling after him, and yet, he didn’t stop. He bounded down the steps and out the door of the moldy ramshackle cabin, missing the caved in step at the bottom. Sweet freedom. It was a chilly day, but not so bad if you were directly in the sun. Early spring. He raced across the fields of wheat, fingers spread wide as he dashed through the rows, his fingers only just grazing the stalks. Soon it would be ready for harvest. Kal ran until he came to the end of the world. That is, the fence that enclosed the farm he lived on. Except for the very rare trip beyond that fence Kal rarely left the farm. Arriving at his spot he climbed the fence to look out along the road. Wagons passed. People milled by. Not in any hurry. Not with any exuberance. These things went unnoticed by a boy of seven though. His eyes wandered across the wide road, settling on the failing wall that faced the farm. Once, a long time ago, it might have stood firm. Maybe it was manned by proud sentries. Maybe it meant safety to all those within it’s confines. Today though that wall did little more than keep out a draft. A group of lazing sentries barely watching the passing traffic idly played dice and occasionally pulled from a flask. If you’d asked them, it was so they could ward off the cold. In truth they were far past the point of paying heed to the cold, or much of anything at all. They lazily turned their attention to the franticly waving boy across the road, proudly manning his fence. If they’d noticed him, they didn’t respond.
Kal felt a firm hand on his collar and cried out in surprise as he was yanked down from the fence. The drunken sentries, watching from their table at the gate, let out a loud burst of laughter at the site. Sister Katarina Monwere, his nemesis, glowered at him. She was old, but then when you’re seven isn’t everyone? Her hair was a greying shade of brown but was probably a rich brown color once. She had weathered features, slight crow’s feet and wrinkles, blue eyes. Despite having chased him through a wheat field nothing appeared out of place, though she was a bit short of breath. He’d thought to slip out of his shirt and take off again, but he knew better. She was seething. She used a run-down storehouse on the large mill farm where Kal lived to teach children. She’d kept him after, to scold him simply because that’s what she liked to do. He’d bolted at the first opportunity when she was out of reach and he thought she hadn’t been paying attention. Katarina Monwere was practically a revenant though. If he escaped her today, tomorrow, or the next day she’d simply reappear after that period of absence to exact some sort of vengeance upon Kal. She thought ears were detachable too. Maybe they’d became detachable when he got older. Maybe that was why old people didn’t hear so well. They'd probably detached their ears and hadn’t put them back on right. He hurried after her as she hauled him by the ear, after all, it hurt less if he kept up, and he knew better than to remind her that his ears weren’t detachable yet.
Kal leaned forward in his rickety old desk. It hurt too much to sit back. He’d been given the switch. It was her preferred weapon. “Kal, why did you run off like that?” She demanded as she sat at the head of the dilapidated room. Broken desks and chairs were piled in the corner behind her, some were used to cobble together other desks and chairs later. The rest would likely be used for a fire sometime before the chill left. He let out a long sigh, wistfully looking out the muddied window on the building’s western wall. Her hand uncoiled like a striking serpent, seizing his chin as she jerked his head towards her. He swallowed, hard, knowing anymore defiance would earn him another beating. “I’d rather be an adventurer.” He answered flatly. She tightened her grip on his jaw before releasing him, shaking her head. Her expression did soften a little though. “There isn’t anything at the road end of the road for adventurers Kal. I’ve said that countless times. You know how important learning to farm is, don’t you? What it could mean for you, for the town?” he nodded. “Yeah… I know” he muttered in reply. Three more years of this and he could decide for himself if he wanted to continue or not. He only had to suffer her tyranny for three more years.
She released her grip on the boy’s chin, straightened her outfit and that stern face she usually wore returned. “You can go Kal, go straight home.” With how fast he took off you wouldn’t have known only a short time ago she’d given him the switch. She sighed as she watched him run along the dirt path back towards the plantation building where he’d lived with the other families that worked on the farm. Halfroad. A ramshackle town halfway between the northern provincial capital of Lau Tier and the Western provincial capital of Nine Peaks. In truth, during the days of the Patriarch, it had been a prison camp for rebels. That was over a hundred years ago now. Most of its residents were poor, sick, or outcast. It was a punitive posting given to lesser nobility to settle grievances, or perhaps forgive debts and dishonors. Even the Church of the Twin Pillars gave very little in the way of resources or support to their faithful here. People like Sister Katarina Monwere. As she watched Kal disappear into the setting sun she took a small chain out from beneath her habit. At the end of it was a piece of plated bronze. It was well cared for, the only piece of ‘jewelry’ she owned, and it was engraved. She clutched it for a minute, a tear gathering at the corner of her eye “No, there was nothing at the end of the road for adventurers.” After a few minutes she wiped the tear away and once again resumed her traditional stoic expression. She only had three years left to save him.
RE: Where the road began - TheNickelKnight - 10-18-2019
Kal winced as he helped gather the wheat stalks. It had been about two weeks since Sister Monwere had given him the switch. He only saw her every other day now. It would be that way during harvest season. Relief came at the sound of a whistle. Kal fixed the basket strapped to his back and wiped the sweat from his brow. He milled along with the other kids back towards the plantation house, making his way up the ramp, and leaving his basket with the guards. He tiredly tottered over to one of the benches and hoisted himself on to it. They were having stew tonight, that was at least something to look forward to. A shuffling to his right pulled him from his thoughts, and his eyes fell on Briol Tirag. Briol was a year older than Kal at eight, and a head taller than anyone else near his age. Like Kal, Ashlynn was seven. He was covered in dirt and bruises, but all smiles. There were strands of wheat in his hair, and he had a bloodied lip that only just dried. Hiding in his shadow was a small and quiet girl. Even if she hadn’t been a girl, their childhood friend Ashlynn was everything Briol wasn’t. She was small, sickly, and where he tended to fill up a room, she went largely unnoticed in any capacity. Beneath the dirt and grime was a hauntingly beautiful girl who if not for her poor health and lot in life easily could have been the daughter of some noble. Like Briol she was an orphan. Briol hoisted her up on to the bench, setting her between him and Kal. “Fighting again?” asked Kal as he looked Briol over. Briol grinned over to Kal. If it’d been any wider, he might have split his lip back open. “Nah. Mash and Wyatt were hassling Ashlynn for her share.” Ashlynn was all scowls as she glanced between the two of them. Kal shook his head. “You’ll catch it for that later you know.” Briol scoffed. “Why? Because Mash’s older brother is off the plantation now and in with the Broken Glass?” Ashlynn nodded, before speaking up quietly. “You should have let them have it Briol. You’re just going to get in trouble tomorrow when his brother visits.” Briol laughed, reaching for a bowl as one of the older children set a large bowl down at their table, along with a tray of day-old bread. Today it was only a little stale. Briol’s grin only widened as he served out a couple of bowls for the two of them and passed out some of the stale bread. “Nah. I’ll fight him too.” Kal sighed and Ashlynn elbowed Briol in the ribs. “My sister will be here.” Said Kal. “They won’t do anything while she’s around.” Kal’s older sister Gavyn had left the plantation a year ago. She’d been taken on with an adventuring company, she was fourteen. “What about your father?” Ashlynn asked, looking at Kal hopefully.” Kal shrugged. “I don’t know. I haven’t heard from him in a long time.” Ashlynn frowned at that and dipped some of her bread into the soup to let it soak.
Kal’s father Kyle, was an adventurer. The kind that rarely came home. He left his children at the plantation. It had been several years since Kal had been off the plantation at all. At least for any mentionable length of time. Gavyn was actually his half-sister. Her mother had been an adventurer, but she’d died when Gavyn was very young. Kal’s mother, in contrast, was a tavern worker. She’d given him up to Kyle as he was passing through to Halfroad where he’d been already planning to leave Gavyn. Kal’s surname became Halfroad when he was declared at the gate the day they’d arrived about six years ago. That was common for bastards. With dinner finished Briol, Kal, and Ashlynn left for their bunkhouse. Children their age didn’t have separate bunkhouses. Victor, their bunkhouse guard, stopped Briol as they tried to make their way inside. He shooed Ashlynn and Kal inside but kept Briol for questioning. It was an hour, maybe a little longer, before Briol finally joined them inside.
“Trouble?” Kal asked, as Briol walked up. Still all smiles. “Nope.” Victor didn’t usually ask too many questions. It was front, probably. He’d have early work detail or something to that effect. Longer hours maybe. Victor might have been a good person, and he cared for those in his charge, but he had his own job to look out for. That was how things were in Halfroad. They stayed up talking for a while, Ashlynn passed out long before either of them. Dutifully Briol tucked her into bed heaping her under enough blankets that you thought she might be crushed. While he’d just as readily have had Kal’s back, Briol was especially protective of Ashlynn. They were already living here when Kal and Gavyn were brought here two years ago. Neither of them had ever lived anywhere else. Kal stretched as he got to his feet and groggily made his way over to his bed. “Staying up for a while?” He asked Briol as he noticed he hadn’t moved from his spot on the floor. Briol nodded, offering a tired smile. “Not too much longer.” Kal nodded as he rolled over to face the wall. He knew Briol was staying up to watch Ashlynn. Her health must have taken a turn for the worse. Kal knew that, but he never confronted Briol about it. Kal was tired. He knew hew wouldn't be able to stay awake much longer. He hoped Briol wouldn't either. Tomorrow he’d get to see Gavyn. With luck she'd bring news of their father, and in the three months since her last visit perhaps she'd have new stories to share.
The Broken Glass - TheNickelKnight - 10-20-2019
Kal overslept. He’d rolled out of bed in a near panic, dressed himself faster than one might have thought possible and took only the briefest of moments to splash a bit of stale water on his face scrubbing as he crossed the dorm room floor, he pitched a communal towel into a heap at the foot of a trunk closest to the door. They’d need to wash that tomorrow, it smelt more than a little rank. He squinted into the morning sun as he stumbled from the bunkhouse. Victor was in his usual spot by the door. He bid Kal good morning with a nod but said nothing. Kal, bleary eyed, greeted Victor in kind. His eyes settling on the much older boy leaning against the far bunkhouse. Gunther, Mash’s old brother. He’d lived at the plantation before, so they probably let him come early. He waved to Kal, offering what might have been a genuine smile, but he said nothing. He was probably waiting for Briol. Kal sighed and headed for the dining hall. He managed to pocket a few cold biscuits for breakfast as he passed through the kitchen. They’d long since quit serving meals in the hall. No, today it was where those with family would wait to meet with visitors if they had them. Sometimes those looking for apprentices, or adventuring companies who were looking for help would also make their appearances. Those bought off the plantation made one less mouth to feed, and they were cheap labor. The law only permitted them to buy orphans though.
Briol and Ashlynn had taken extra time getting ready this morning, and although they’d risen earlier than Kal they arrived in the dining hall sometime later since they’d gone to breakfast first. They were wearing their best clothes, though since they were a few months old now Briol’s didn’t quite fit right. His wild mane of coarse red hair had been combed and washed. He still bore some slight bruising from his fight yesterday, but the swelling wasn’t too bad. The long sleeve cotton shirt he wore was a bit too short in the arms, he was broad shouldered, it may not have fit right when he bought it, but Briol and Ashlynn couldn’t be sent money by parents they didn’t have. He wore a jacket with it and matched it with a pair of mended leggings. They were a little worn in spots, but still far outstripped his working clothes. Ashlynn, who moved always in Briol’s shadow, had a purple ribbon tying up her wispy blonde hair. She wore a simple dress; it too was purple and a pair of immaculate black shoes with brass buckles. Kal couldn’t help but watch her as she moved across the room towards where he sat. He thought she looked very much like a doll. She was pretty. She took her usual spot between the two of them once Briol pulled her up on to the bench seat. She offered Kal a small smile. Kal returned it, greeting her in kind, then looked past her to Briol who was cheerfully waving to Mash, and his partner in crime Wyatt. They were both wearing their best, but neither of them was in particularly high spirts. Mash clearly got the worst of Briol’s wrath yesterday, one of his eyes was swollen shut and that side of his face was badly bruised. His coarse brown hair was parted down the middle, and he wore a plain cotton shirt and trousers matched with shoes. Wyatt was nursing his side, probably from bruised ribs. He was better in a fight than Mash, bigger too, he’d probably done most of the fighting once Briol intervened. He had bruises on his arms probably from blocking punches, so Briol had gone for his ribs. Wyatt looked much like someone’s manservant, a proper butler even. The smartest thing about Wyatt was his coat though. If Mash was the brains Wyatt was the brawn. He had blonde hair, not too in different in color, from Ashlynn’s with fair skin and stood a good deal taller than most of the other kids except Briol. He wasn’t quite as stocky either. He and Mash both glared at Briol as he cheerfully waved in their direction. If Mash and Wyatt hadn’t slept in the bunkhouse next door Kal had no doubt their melee would have resumed after dinner. The guards saw to their good behavior, at least for the kids. When they got older those with a scrappier nature normally went off to work for adventuring companies, sometimes as household guards, those with no prospects ended up as guards on the plantation. Kal shuddered at that. He’d hate for a mean-spirited lout like Wyatt to take Victor’s place at his bunkhouse door.
Kal looked up as he heard the large main door that joined the dining hall to the plantation house open. It wasn’t time for families, tradesman, or guilds to be let in. Briol and Ashlynn went a ridged, and she tried to make herself as small as possible, shifting over on the bench so she could hide behind Briol. Kal winced. That meant these were slave traders, or worse. Two plantation sentries on either side of the door pulled it closed. They weren’t usually assembled in the hall until the rest of the guests arrived, they were probably still getting ready. A weasley looking fellow dressed in fine clothes hurried into the room, behind him another man. Older. He was clean shaven and wearing a robe. He was flanked by two guards. They weren’t from the plantation. They wore fine metal armor, emblazoned with a coat of arms. Some noble house Kal didn’t recognize. The weasley looking man in the front was Percival Gant. He was the owner of the plantation. It had been passed to him by his father, Roland Gant, who had been a retired knight sworn to the Church of the Twin Pillars. Age and sickness had taken him a year before Kal arrived on the plantation. Briol and Ashlynn used to talk about how much better life there had been. The school was nicer too. Percival was a corpulent man and didn’t scrimp on luxuries, or meals. He was quick to push the children who were old enough, like Gavyn, into work off the plantation. One less mouth to feed. More coin in his pockets. Most of the older guards had been raised here and stayed on out of loyalty to his father. In the time since Kal had arrived not a single child of age had stayed on even if they had the option. Sister Monwere held a dislike for Percival, and he knew it, but she was protected by the church and they paid him to allow her to teach the children living on the plantation.
The clean-shaven man sneered, clearly disgusted, at the sight of the dining hall. Percival was uttering excuses at a rate that might make a proper auctioneer proud, but Kal was too far away to make out what he was saying. The man cast another glance around the room before settling on Kal. His face twisted in a perverse grin. It made Kal queasy. He practically danced across the dusty stonework towards the table kneeling before Kal. “How much for this one?” the balding man spoke up to Percival, who’d become winded just rushing over to the table. Percival stammered a response. “Not for sale. He’s not an orphan.” The man’s face twisted in something akin to rage at Percival’s answer. He glanced to the right then, sneering at Briol, who didn’t bother to hide his scowl in return. Then his eyes went wide. Far too wide. He saw the black shoes and lace socks pulled up on to the bench and had finally noticed Ashlynn cowering behind Briol. That twisted grin returned to his features, Kal could see he was visibly shaken with pleasure. Thrill. “How much for this one?” There wasn’t even a hint of his earlier disgust. He couldn’t have sounded more enthused. “a hundred and twenty gold pieces” Percival blurted out, still catching his breath. The man shook his head. “A hundred and ten.” Percival didn’t even blink. “She’s yours.” The man grabbed Ashlynn by the wrist and tried to jerk her from the bench.
She clung to Briol knowing full well her life depended on it. Kal moved, but Briol was faster. He’d hit the man square in the jaw, not that did anything, Briol may have been big, but he was still a child. The man fell back on his ass and let out a piteous shriek as though he’d been run through. One of his guards slammed Kal back into the table, and Percival took a riding crop to Briol as the man’s other guard went to help him to his feet. He shoved the guard away, rage etched on his features as he looked toward Briol. He drew a dagger from his robes still fighting with his guard as the man tried to hold him back. Kal was battering the guard trying to hold him firmly to the table while Ashlynn scampered beneath it to escape. Percival was shouting for his guards even as he savagely took the riding crop to Briol. There was a deafening crash from the direction of the plantation house and as they all turned to look over their shoulders Kal heard the telltale click of a crossbow as a bolt flew between the commotion at the table. The way the guard was holding him Kal could only just make out Mash, Wyatt, and Ashlynn all behind Gunther, Victor and Sister Monwere. Several of the other children had joined them. Elsewhere the hall had pretty much cleared out. Percival, who was slick with sweat, gasping for breath and his mouth marked by spittle managed to straighten himself leaving a badly beaten Briol to lay limp against the table. Kal could tell Briol was barely alive. “Guards! Where are the guards!” Roared Percival. His left hand shook as he raised it, pointing a finger at Sister Monwere “You Bitch. This is all your doing!” He sneered at Victor. “You ungrateful peasant filth! After I kept you on following my father’s death! You’ll hang for this!” The doors leading from the plantation house to the dining room finally began to creak open. Percival’s face twisted in a cruel smile. “Guards seize them! Seize all of them!” A mocking, but all the same lilting, and musical voice responded. “I’m afraid they won’t be joining us, those that didn’t flee are dead or dying.” The color ran from the shaven nobleman’s face, his guards drew their weapons. The stench of ammonia reached Kal’s nostrils as Percival pissed himself. A woman, clad in scaled mail with an opening in the back for her single feathered wing, casually strode through the doors. Just beyond her, back from where she’d come, was a scene of absolute carnage. Kal only knew who she was because of the single wing. Elaine Glass. The head of Halfroad’s most whimsical, and most dangerous, mercenary company. The Broken Glass.
Interlude - TheNickelKnight - 10-20-2019
The origins of Halfroad, and the origins of Elain Glass are their own tales, but here we briefly pivot from my story. Halfroad was never really a city. Not as the peerage saw it. No, Halfroad had been a prison camp for rebels once. Rebels from the lower races. After the Patriarch’s death his two children refused to fight for his throne. Their plea for change went unheard amongst most of their Tel’fahrian kin in the ruling caste. Even if dismantling the patriarchy had been their father’s final wish. The Tel’fahrian ruling caste quickly splintered into factions. Those who supported his sons eventually broke away to found what would later become the church of the two pillars, even if the children who were supposed to be its namesake wanted no direct involvement. Their father had been worshipped as a singular deity. They did not wish to be worshipped as a pair. Of the two largest remaining factions you had the traditionalists who began to look for a way to anoint a new successor to the Patriarch’s legacy, and those who preached a certain brand of equality. That is, the type of equality brought about by violently overthrowing the ruling caste. The kind of diplomacy you work out with sword and spell. A coup.
Simply put, they stoked the fires of resentment long held in the hearts of the lesser races. The largest lesser race factions included the humans, the elves, orcs, dwarves, others too, but none that were represented by such a large number. It was said that if humankind hadn’t joined the rebellion, the Tel’fahrians would still rule their homeland. The elves were wise, owed to their long lifespans. Sages without peer. The orcs were steadfast warriors, a touch savage perhaps, but they too filled the ranks of city militias and private armies in those days for they made fine warriors and if you could earn it of them, finer friends. The Dwarves were master craftsman, able to outfit Tel’fahrias armies with the finest weapons, and armor. Their ingenuity, cleverness, and natural talent with their machines and tools brought all manner of improvements to Tel’fahria as a whole. Then there was humankind. Humankind, over whom the Patriarch was said to have doted. They were not singularly as wise as the Elves, as powerful and fearsome as the Orcs, or as capable as the Dwarves. It was true that rarities among them did aspire to those heights, or even surpass them. While humankind may have been capable of breaking the mold, they had one tendency the rebels could count on. Ruthlessness. Perhaps, in his wisdom, the Patriarch knew what was to come, but he’d acted to late and his life left him before he could see to change. The kind that only he could make without contest.
Humankind, more than any other race, was driven. The key thing that drove humankind, at least at first, was always fear. Their short lives, relatively speaking, made them naturally aggressive. That meant they were also expansionist. By comparison they bred very quickly. In their assemblies, councils, taverns, and living quarters they spoke of their generational links to Tel’fahria. How their lives, livelihoods, and legacies were on the line. It was laughable to the other races in that they spoke of mere decades whereas the elves could mark the centuries. Still, it was this tendency that the rebellion counted on most. It was true they didn’t think much of humankind, but they certainly understood how to use them as a weapon. So while the Elves in the rebellion sought to wield magic that might bring their oppressors to their knees, the orcs prepared for combat, and the dwarves fortified their homes called back their wandering kinsman, and shuttered their forges and armories the Tel’fahrians used to equip their own armies, what did humankind do? Humankind poisoned water supplies, burned foodstuffs, killed loyalists among the lesser races, all in the name of assuaging that fear. Given their relatively large population the traditionalists were quick to round those rebels up and at the slightest suspicion cart them off to encampments. Places like Halfroad.
Halfroad was, as it happens, the largest of these encampments. So large that by the time the rebellion ended, and the camps were being dismantled the nobility now ruling the land of Tel’fahria left it alone. A local from Halfroad, as most were familiar with it’s legends, would tell you that by the time the rebellion ended the prisoners had long since taken over the prison. By some stroke of luck not all within Halfroad’s walls had been savage and warlike. No, Halfroad was a microcosm. A world that accepted only as much rule as it wanted but had grown so much that the real rulers of Halfroad were some of the mercenary, adventuring, or merchant companies that had sprung up within it’s walls. That’s not to suggest it was lawless, but the peerage didn’t rule here. They left it alone at the end of the rebellion because they weren’t sure they had the resources to combat those companies if they united to throw off their new rulers. It still stood because infighting amongst the peerage meant that at least in my lifetime no single house had amassed enough soldiers and materials to conquer Halfroad.
Local legend regarding Elaine Glass claimed that her father was a mercenary and her mother was one of Tel’fahria’s war kindred. I can tell you, having met the woman, it is no legend, but the truth. The war kindred were the strongest in Tel’fahrias warrior caste. In their glory days they were bred and trained for the single purpose of battling demons. They traveled the void under the Patriarch’s banner battling demons in distant worlds wherever they might find them. Most never returned to Tel’fahria. Those who did usually lacked the refinement, morality, and civility Tel’fahrians usually adhered to. That is, they had become far too warlike for their peers. That is not to suggest they lacked these qualities entirely, simply that they didn’t meet the standards of the society they’d been bred to serve and protect. As such it was natural you might find one or two floating around Halfroad. None were especially accepted, but they weren’t shunned. It was a place for the dregs of society, those with dreams limited by their station elsewhere, and those on the run from the law. Both a holy land of opportunity, and the very epitome of a monument to sin.
Coin was the law in Halfroad, ultimately. Any crime could be squared away with enough compensation paid to the offended party. Even if the offended party was the entire city of Halfroad. The Shattered Glass was the singularly strongest mercenary company in Halfroad. As such, they could generally enforce the law as they saw fit. Truly, it was as Elaine saw fit. She answered to no one. Those that served under her were said to have unquestionable loyalty, and she was quite possibly the closest thing Halfroad had to a queen. Slavers were terrified of her, and noble houses only operated in the city either under her immediate protection or under the protection of those she wouldn’t cross. The latter was a very small number. The former even smaller. In her heart she was perhaps Tel’fahrian, but she did not find acceptance in their society. Her heritage was that of an honorable people who loathed slavery, lived for duty and honor, and once saw themselves as a shield to those who lived in their care. Those that had aided the rebellion that saw the traditionalists overthrown were not fond of her, nor she them, but they could not call on the remaining traditionalists to deal with her, and as long as she kept her activities confined to Halfroad most among the new peerage paid her little mind. After all, she was a half-breed upstart in their eyes. On that day, for a pair of orphans she was deliverance. On that day, for a would-be slaver and his foolish nobleman buyer she may as well have been the grim reaper. On that day one of the Two Pillars began to shift, and with him, so too did the land of Tel’fahria. I had no idea, that on that day, I was witnessing the beginning of the second war for Tel’fahria. History in the making. A war that still raged when I suddenly found myself swept away.
- Kal
The Queen of Halfroad - TheNickelKnight - 10-21-2019
Kal rubbed at his neck, and the few bruises he had, watching the two guards, with their weapons drawn. The woman had rich golden hair, her eyes including the irises, were a slightly lighter shade of gold. From the right side of her back sprouted a single white feathered wing. It was kept close to the center of her back to maintain her balance. Despite that her form wasn’t disproportioned. There was a pair of medium length swords in scabbards on either hip, and a scale mail hood pooled around her neck. She had a polished stride. Confident. She could have been walking towards a crowd of a hundred men and she’d have shown not a hint of fear. The two men fell back towards their charge trying to make a wall between her and him. As she walked towards Percival she pressed a hand to his chest and with a surprising amount of force that bellied her size, and considering she had no momentum behind her, he was sent backwards and slammed ungracefully into one of the bench seats. She paused only long enough to regard the puddle that had formed where he’d been standing. Kal thought he could make out only the slightest smirk as she gave it a wide berth. Her gaze fell coolly to Percival. Then to Briol and Kal. She only briefly passed over Kal and lingered for a few moments on Briol. “Gunther” she pressed her thumb and fingers to her forehead without looking back over her shoulder, and sighed. “Which one of them beat the boy?” Gunther didn’t miss a beat in reply. “Lord Gant did.” She nodded. “I see.” Gunther didn’t bother to hide the venom in his tone, even if he used a proper honorific. “Sister Monwere, Victor?” Elaine spoke to the other two, this time she turned around. “Take the other children outside, please.” Kal couldn’t help but notice Mash reaching for Ashlynn’s hand as they were lead away. She took it, hesitantly, but she took it all the same. She looked over to where he and Briol were sitting, mouthing something to him, doll-like features stained with tears. She kept glancing back over her shoulder as she was lead away.
Just as the doors were about to close the clean-shaven nobleman who’d slipped out of his sandals tried to sprint for the door. There was that tell-tale clicking sound as Gunther’s crossbow loosed another bolt and moments later the man was howling in pain. The bolt had hit him in the shoulder. He tumbled to the ground with a thud scattering some cups and bowls from a nearby table as he failed to break his fall. He was sobbing quite loudly at this point. With a sigh Elaine glanced back in his direction. His guards went to help him, but with an outstretched hand Elaine stopped them. “Leave him.” Assuming the guards weren’t local they had clearly figured out who she was. “Gunther, tend to the boys.” She turned to the two guards pointing to the smaller of the two. “You. I want your sword on Lord Gant. If he moves, kill him.” Then to the other. “If he doesn’t kill Lord Gant for moving, you can kill them both.” It took a few seconds for her orders to register, but Kal hadn’t ever seen two fully armored men move that fast. The smaller one had his sword on Lord Gant, who by now was holding his head in his hands, the larger one held his mace at the ready eyeing either one of them. At that she started a slow walk across the hall to where the piteously wailing nobleman was leaned up against a table.
Gunther looked Kal over, assessing that his injuries weren’t all that bad, and instead went immediately to Briol. “Kal, right?” said Gunther as he began to clear the table. “Give me a hand, otherwise your friend here is dead.” Kal began to help clear away the table and then helped Gunther move Briol so that he lay atop it. His face, most of his upper body was covered in gashes and slashes from the riding crop, he had bled through all over his clothes. Kal could barely recognize his face. “Help me get his shirt off.” Said Gunther. Kal’s hands shook as he fiddled with the blood soaked buttons. “Kal.” Said Gunther, his voice was even and calm, his hands fiddled through a pouch at his side without looking he was settings things on the table just inside his peripheral vision. “Calm down, just take a deep breath.” Kal gulped, then nodded. With a little work Kal managed to get Briol’s shirt out of the way, and Briol's breathing seemed to be a little easier. Gunther began sizing Briol up. Then looked to Kal as he pulled out a needle and thread, along with a pair of bottles. “Cut bandages from this roll of cloth about this long” Gunther dragged his finger from his elbow to his wrist. Kal nodded and began unrolling the cloth.
Gunther uncorked one bottle, it was clearly some kind of alcohol from the smell and dipped a needle and thread into it. Thereafter, with surprising dexterity, he began sewing some of the gashes and cuts shut. This clearly wasn’t his first time doing this sort of thing. Gunther motioned for the strips of cloth and Kal began handing them over. He dipped each of them in a bit of salve and then pressed them into some of the more grievous wounds before wrapping them with a separate roll of cloth. Finally, with that done, he propped Briol’s head back and poured a potion of some sort down his throat. “It’s a healing potion, not a miracle or magic, but it should speed up his natural healing abilities.” He passed one to Kal too. Kal slid back down to the bench and drank it down. He glanced to where Elaine was kneeling beside the nobleman. She was saying something, he could see that, but Kal couldn’t make it out. The nobleman was babbling incoherently, and sobbing. Gunther sat down on the bench beside Kal, at the same time he checked his crossbow and glanced over to the two guards and Percival, then followed Kal’s gaze. “She’s giving him last rites, or maybe saying them for all the children that bastard has killed.” Kal’s face screwed up at that, and he glowered at the man. A
Elaine’s hand closed around the man’s jerking his chin upward to look into her eyes. “Lord Kaspen Crutchfield.” She shook her head, finally naming the monster. “It wasn’t enough of a message when we kept sending your solicitors and guards back to Lau Tier brutalized, eventually dead? Did you think I wasn’t sincere? Your perversions and the dark magic you wield might be overlooked in Lau Tier, but not here. You’re not terribly bright, you know. I let slip that we would be away from Halfroad to draw you here.” She motioned to Gunther “I sent him there to bring word to you, personally. You fell right into my trap, you’re a monster. I couldn’t reach you in Lau Tier, but you made the mistake of stepping into my world. Halfroad is mine, and as much as I would like to see your corpse swing from Lau Tier’s gates as a warning for your entire miserable clan to stay away, I know they might use that as an excuse to turn you into a Lich.” He sobbed and moaned but couldn’t form words. Fortunately, his fall earlier had shattered his jaw. Not that she was terribly interested in what he had to say. She glanced back over her shoulder to Kal, then unfurled her single wing obstructing his view. A soft glow enshrouded Elaine and snaked down her arm. Kaspen squirmed and tried with all his might to get away, but she held him fast. Reciting rites as the glow crossed the threshold where her fingers contacted Kaspen, he began to writhe and squirm. The whole of his body was soon engulfed in it, and a white-hot light born from the azure flame that spread across his form burned so bright that Kal had to look away even with the obstruction of her wing in the way. When she stood, where Kaspen had once sat there was nothing but a pile of ash and his clothing. There were no residual burn marks, nothing else had gone alight. He was simply gone. She picked up his purse, which contained the money he intended to use to purchase Ashlynn.
Elaine turned on Percival then. The man nearly fainted, as did the two guards. “Lord Gant” She said flatly as she pulled up a chair. She turned it around, straddling it, folding her single wing in against her back then motioned for the two guards to sit. They did as they were bid, albeit a bit loudly as their armor scraped against the benches causing them to creak a little beneath their weight. “I knew your father. He was an honorable man. I’m sure if he’s watching from his place at our departed Patriarch’s side, he’s sick at the rot that’s festered in your core. That you would do this in my city, invite this filth to my home? How dare you?” She glared, her voice raising several octaves as she spoke. Percival tried to shrink further into the bench. She sighed. “Still, today will see you with the chance to turn over a new leaf.” She tossed him the satchel of coin she’d retrieved from Kaspen. Despite his shaking hands he caught it, fidgeting nervously he waited for her to nod before he tried opening it. “You are banished from Halfroad. Your property is now mine.” She motioned to the satchel of coin. “That is payment for what I estimate the value of your property to be.” She smiled. “The grounds were in such a state of disrepair, not to mention the state of the manor house as I passed through on my way to meet with you.” In truth the plantation’s manor hadn’t been in nearly as bad shape as the rest of the grounds. That is, until her men had ransacked it during the fighting on their way in. He couldn’t argue though. “You will take that coin, and you will make a new life for yourself somewhere else. Anywhere else. Just not here. I don’t care where you go, or by which means you arrive there, but if you should ever return to Halfroad know that your life is forfeit. You have until sundown today to gather your personal effects, and you will depart before dawn tomorrow. You will take these two men with you and return them to Lau Tier.” Percival began to get to his feet. “Oh, and one more thing?” He stopped. “As you depart my domain there are three taverns. You will stop at each of them, speak to your crimes, and of my magnanimous nature.” She turned to the guards. “You are to accompany this man as far as Lau Tier. I will have a writ placing you under my protection prepared. Gather your master’s remains and bring them to his family. If they, or anyone in their service, should darken the gates of my city from now until the day I am interred, know that all the defenses Lau Tier can muster will not stop me from bringing a fight to their door.” Percival and the guards nodded and nearly trampled each other in their rush to be anywhere but in that hall.