"...never underestimate me."
Zaiden felt the chill of a cold fire burning through him at those words. There was now no doubt in his mind that he and his sister were in danger. The Raj, recognizing the importance of this mission, had thought to hire one man with the power of ten. It would have been better to bring one soldier who could follow orders, rather than this independent creature who might do anything. As in most stories, this deal with the devil had already turned down a dark path.
"I shall remember to always estimate you correctly, Devil of the Sands."
__________________
The next hours were full of activity. Additional servants were allowed up from the camel train to help wash and dress the envoys of Al-Ador. These servants would not be remaining within the fort's inner walls overnight, and would instead encamp in the courtyard until they were needed. There, under the watchful eye of the fort's guards.
It was a risk, to bring up six and send seven down again. But while the Bryddians of Mindolin seemed to have their eye on their distrusted visitors, they also seemed to have forgotten to count them. One servant, more or less, seemed to draw no particular interest.
So far.
Eventually, the time for dinner came. A Paige was sent to escort them to the dining hall, where a single table was flanked by long glass windows. Here, finally, the visitors from the East could take some pride in their accomplishments over the endless wealth of the Bryddian Kingdom. For these glass windows were not native, but instead costly imports from the Draavosi Dune Sea, where people knew how to make perfect, clear glass. Native Bryddian glass was of poor quality compared to these. The Blackfort had been forced to choose: Have inferior windows, or import from their former enemies.
Pride had forced them to select Draavosi glass.
It was that same pride which was central to the envoys' plans.
Zaiden and Zara were announced as Lords and Ladies, Envoys of Al-Ador. Akris was announced as Sir Akris, as the Bryddians assumed only a Knight would be in such close company to other nobles, even staying with them in their suite of rooms.
That was a misconception Zaiden had no intention of correcting.
Sir Lardin was here, as was the Lord of the Blackfort, Reeve Piotr Mindolin whom they'd met earlier. Also here was the Templar of Ceros, alluded to be present by their rescued runaway magician. Introduced as the Templar Velom, the glowing rings in the night sky cast a foreboding light upon the man. The native Bryddians were all seated to Lord Piotr's right, while the Draavosi were consigned to the less favored left side of the table.
"So," Templar Velom spoke in a deep, accusing tone, "the envoys of the East, where dark denizens dwell. What brings envoys of a petty desert Kingdom into the halls of the Blackfort?"
Sir Lardin, who seemed the most tolerant of the assembled Bryddian personalities, spoke up. "They are here at the invitation of the King," he said, "to bring gifts and honor to the Tourney on the Anniversary of our Kingdom."
Velom scoffed, "They may bring gifts..."
His eyes and tone said the rest.
The Lord of the Blackfort spoke up now, "I have ordered plenty of fruits and vegetables to be brought along with the roast pig. I know your lands suffer a poverty of healthful plants. Everything in your country is barbed and covered with thorns."
Tancred smirked and commented to some of his own vassal knights gathered about him, "Well Irongron was an ambitious one. Had not even won this battle when he was planning to fight another one against his lord. But then that is the sort of man Offo gathers about him."
Alcide kept his mouth shut. Let them exult. Irongron had planned his rebellion months ago, it was only Offo's move to take the fortress at Greyfalls that had stirred Tancred into action and forestalled the revolt. It was almost as if Offo knew something was afoot. The rebels had taken every precaution to keep their machinations secret, but Offo seemed to have almost supernatural abilities when it came to intelligence gathering: then again, everybody said his daughter was a witch.
That was another thing Alcide was careful not to mention: for common report had it that Tancred had given the girl a good seeing to before sending the ransomed daughter back to her father, and trafficking with a witch was not good for anybody's reputation, man, woman or child. It mattered not that Offo, upon hearing these rumours, had the girl Fredegund examined by wise women, or that her maidenhead was found virgo intactus.
Tancred had Alcide of Pellême untied and the man rubbed his wrists while he listened carefully to the victorious warlord's words. He was relieved to have his life, but at what cost? he wondered.
"Very well, Alcide of Pelleme, you may see a priest on your own time later but I am releasing you now. However, in return I expect you to owe me a boon. I am going to give you a cask to take back to your false king. Inside will be Irongron's head. You must swear an oath you will oblige me in this."
"You have my word, Tancred." Alcide replied simply. You could make complicated vows or swear on the Book of Ceros or make your sign on a dozen vellum parchments: but in this region of Aereth, the spoken oath of a knight was the safest bond of all.
It were well, the defeated warrior concluded: for if his message to Offo had got through, one of the King's many sons might be on his way here even now with a host of knights at his back, and he would not want to be caught in Tancred's camp should such a force prevail. As it was, however, he faced a very uncertain future, once in the Kingling's hands.
Zara held onto each word the old man uttered about the various flowers and plants she had sketched. She grabbed a scrap of paper and began to jot down the information he was so freely given to her. She soaked up the knowledge like a rag dipped in water. Such a diverse foliage the land had, from helping one to find eternal night, to helping one find eternal love.
So many ideas began to swirl around in her mind, all the different things that they could create, all the various possibilities that were at their fingertips. The man was a boon, a sign that they were on the right path, and being rewarded already for their work. Their task was not yet complete, but it already was sprouting seeds of victory for them.
“Do you think you can make gardens where none grew before? Our homeland is not known for growing much, flowers are a rarity. I’ve dreamed of creating lush, vast gardens since I was a child. It would be a real boon if we could make the land fertile for such wealth to prevail for our people,” Zara smiled, and curtsied to the old man.
“Oh, do forgive me. I can get quite carried away when it comes to talks of things that bloom. I’m being quite a terrible hostess. Do you care for any drink or food? I’d be happy to serve our new desert botanist!”
Zara glanced towards the other room where her brother and their bodyguard were most likely making a lot of male posturing. There were parts that all of them had to play, and her brother was a master actor.
The real story would be told when the sun set, and there were no peeking eyes or ears around. Only then would she know what everyone’s fate would be.
@[Cubanwriter]
Longshot
"I am Alcide of Pellême, Irongron was my feudal Lord!" the prisoner spoke loudly. "As Offo was his."
Tancred nodded, he well understood expected feudal obligations. He had vassals and could and did demand they fight for his causes. So he held nothing personal against this man. He had fought on the losing side, this day at least. But then the man continued and said more than he would have ever needed to
"I only ask one boon, Tancred, a priest: for I have need to be shriven of my sins before you execute me and I stand in judgement before Ceros himself. For know ye that Irongron had planned rebellion against Offo, for which shameful act he was struck down by Ceros on the field this day, and I, for following him, although it was my duty to obey my Lord, am captured and not even allowed the honour of dying in battle."
Tancred smirked and commented to some of his own vassal knights gathered about him, "Well Irongron was an ambitious one. Had not even won this battle when he was planning to fight another one against his lord. But then that is the sort of man Offo gathers about him."
"Short lived rebellion," remarked Arnaud, holding one chainmail mitten against his side, he had sustained a slash that broke some links of his armor though nothing too serious. Unless the wound festers.
"Untie the man, soldier," Tancred now commanded, seeing the look of frustration on the fellow's face, he added, "I will pay you for him, fear not." It was important the army got it's share of loot.
"Very well, Alcide of Pelleme, you may see a priest on your own time later but I am releasing you now. However, in return I expect you to owe me a boon. I am going to give you a cask to take back to your false king. Inside will be Irongron's head. You must swear an oath you will oblige me in this."
“The goblins are already in the room my Lady,” Ismay warned the woman with a sigh as she looked back over to the groupings of men plotting how to best take advantage of a strong man’s death.
The mysterious woman smiled at Ismay's ready wit.
"Do you not think that is rather unfair to real goblins?" she returned.
“Give me a moment to get my cloak and a lantern and I’d happily escort you,” accepting the woman’s request with little thought.
The woman looked at Irongron, sat upon his solid looking lordly throne, while she waited. She saw what others saw, aye, yet something more: the mark of death upon him. She counted the fingers of one hand: within five days the head and body of the Great Lord Irongron, Beaman's patron, would lie upon the battlefield of Aelfthryth's Mound, the head in one place, the body in another. And this great hall in which they stood, would be burnt to the ground. Many here tonight, laughing, feasting, planning their fatted futures, would be dead or dispossessed within the week. Again, a smile played upon the pretty lady's lips.
Ismay was ready, and they stepped outside, the strange woman pulling up her hood as black as the night that awaited them without. Ismay led the way: she was strong, she was bold, she knew her way and her tread was firm and measured. The creature in the black cloak; for in truth, despite her beauty, she had nothing of the human about her; the creature looked upon Ismay Beaman gladly. Anis had been wise and right to have her fetched hither.
They did not speak - for to speak in the tangle-wood at this dark hour was to miss a sound that might save your life. Ismay's tread might well be soft and undetectable: but that of her companion was completely intangible. Still, tiny woodland creatures fled from both.
They came to a clearing.
There was the road, there was the stinking, fetid swamp - glowing insects hovering and humming above it, just visible in the light of the stars and planets. Of the carriage, there was no sign, unless an old gourd with a couple of slugs crawling with their slime upon it was the Lady's form of transport.
The beautiful stranger now turned and smiled at Ismay and then suddenly called out: "Horse and Hattock! Anis, I summon thee!!"
The most foul, ugly looking, hideous old witch then shot out of the swamp as if propelled by a rocket and landed flat footed on two enormous clod-hoppers in front of both young women, with a sickening splat!
"Hello Mummy" the lady in black greeted her dame, completely unfazed by this horrible apparition, grinning before them "This is Ismay, daughter of Beaman, the one I was telling you about."
"And who be you?" Tancred demanded.
Alcide stood erect, it was all he could do having come to this sorry pass.
"I am Alcide of Pellême, Irongron was my feudal Lord!" he spoke loudly. "As Offo was his."
At first, this sounded as if he was underlining that his battle against Tancred was lawful and as it should be: for there was nothing worse in Saskian custom, than rebelling against or refusing to serve one's feudal overlord, to whom one had sworn fealty.
However, in his next statement, he intimated something quite different.
"I only ask one boon, Tancred, a priest: for I have need to be shriven of my sins before you execute me and I stand in judgement before Ceros himself. For know ye that Irongron had planned rebellion against Offo, for which shameful act he was struck down by Ceros on the field this day, and I, for following him, although it was my duty to obey my Lord, am captured and not even allowed the honour of dying in battle."
He shut up then: awaiting Tancred's reply, to see how stood the lie of the land.
Ismay had to wonder if she chose the wrong word earlier. Life and death always balanced each other, the woman was correct. What Ismay didn’t understand is why someone would willingly choose death. To her there was a single choice, not two, she would always choose life. She found it frustrating that her sex limited the options available to her if she chose to follow her own path, rather than being bound to someone else for the purpose of breeding and little else. Fatherless daughters didn’t get to marry for love, they married in order to support the weight of her surviving family.
"It is natural at this hour that you grieve for your Father and drown in despair, your mind is not your own. And yet now is the time you must decide: whether to slumber and let life carry you downstream to a mundane destination: or whether to rouse your spirits and swim agin the tide to a fate worthy of your great skills and abilities. I am a rope that dangles overhead: you have a fleeting chance to snatch at me now, before the rush of the waters carries you away, and gain aid, for I shall not come here again." she said, her ocean-blue eyes burning into Ismay's black coals.
For a moment Ismay found herself lost in the woman’s eyes. It was uncommon to see blue eyes. She was left to wonder if she had picked the drowning analogy because of her eye color, or if it was just by chance. “I’d grab the rope my Lady,” she answered in a quiet voice. As if waking from a brief dream. “Grabbing the rope will save me today. I’ll worry about what’s at the other end of the rope once I’m safe from the rushing waters,” she added. Her voice returning to its normal tone.
"The hour grows late, the sand runs through the time glass. My horse is tied up upon the road beside the marshes..." she reached out a small white hand and touched it to Ismay's unusually muscular arm "... strong lass that you are, will you not accompany me through the forest to that place, lest I become lost in the tanglewood or beset by footpads or goblins?" she asked, or rather, dared: for even the strongest of men and doughtiest of warriors would scarce venture into the woods by the marsh at this late hour, where strange lights often showed and odd noises groaned when night had come and all good Ceros worshippers were asleep in their beds.
“The goblins are already in the room my Lady,” Ismay warned the woman with a sigh as she looked back over to the groupings of men plotting how to best take advantage of a strong man’s death. “Give me a moment to get my cloak and a lantern and I’d happily escort you,” accepting the woman’s request with little thought.
The momentum of the battle was already going Lord Tancred's way but the sudden and very dramatic death of the enemy army's commander seemed to take the heart out of them. Most of those who could pulled away from the melee and spurred their horses to escape. With the defeat of their chivalry, the infantry knew it was hopeless and dissolved into a fleeing mob. Others simply sought quarter. For all practical purposes the battle was over, Tancred had his victory against Offo's host. The rest was just mopping up.
Tancred directed a squire to dismount and recover Irongron's head, it would be set upon a pike later as a trophy of victory then sent to Offo in a cask so that he might know for certain the false king would be needing a new commander. But that would be for later. For now Tancred concentrated on organizing a pursuit, at least as far as Irongron's camp where the victors would enjoy looting. And seeing to it prisoners were taken too. It was fortunate for Alcide he was indeed a knight otherwise an eager soldier might have decided to simply finish him off. But knights could often bring ransoms.
Stripped of his sword and bejeweled dagger, Alcide was pulled from beneath his dead horse and then had his hands bound behind his back. His captors, a few common sergeants, proudly marched the man up to where Tancred sat upon his horse and was quenching his thirst with a drink from his waterskin.
"M'lord! Look what we've managed to snag!" laughed one of the captors.
Tancred looked down upon the fellow, something about him was vaguely familiar.
"And who be you?" Tancred demanded.
The two veteran warriors came in swinging, Irongron's sword banging off loudly Tancred's shield, it's upraised boss in the main. However Tancred's counter swing left Irongron at quite a disadvantage with nothing to block it but one's upraised arm? And even that you could only do once and then the limb would be gone.
Alcide was cutting his way through the throng of tiring warriors: for strong though they were, there was only so long the mounted men, protected cap-à-pie by a mesh of thick chainmail, which protected arms and body from any slashing sweeps of weaponry and was only vulnerable to pointed thrusts, not to mention helmets and shields, could keep bashing away at each other without weakening. It was his privilege to see the end of Irongron: hear the bang of his sword on Tancred's shield, observe the flash of the Eastern Saskian's sword as it glinted through the air.
Irongron's horse, taught by habit to commit a demi-volte to bring its rider back around for a further attack, did so, and its rider sat firmly in the saddle, even if his arms seemed to sag somewhat. The only thing wrong with the picture for Alcide was his feudal lord's un-coifed head which, instead of sitting proudly above his shoulders, as it had always been wont to do, was now rolling merrily towards him on the muddy ground, like a 'prentice-boys' football at a shrove day feast, stopping shortly at the fetlock of a meandering mare.
Irongron's visage possessed, in disembodied death, a peculiarly peaceful and beatific mien that Alcide had never seen it bear in life. Alcide himself knew his duty, and was about to touch spur to his destrier's flank and reek vengeance sore upon the invading Warlord's body, when a quarrel from an ill aimed arbalest struck his horse with deadly penetration and down came rider, mount and all, trapping Irongron's second by the leg, his shield uselessly beneath him and forcing the roaring warrior to henceforth use his sword to fend off the cascading heavily shod hooves of the warhorses battling above him.
Beside him, in the churned up sod, smiled the ghastly head of Irongron.
Tancred was still helmeted, it was a crucial part of one's equipment especially with the cut and slash warfare on horseback, but his men knew him by the distinct emblem on his shield. That and the near proximity of his well known bodyguards who fought beside him and guarded his back. Irongron seemed to have lost both helm and shield, that was his bad luck. This was not some sporting tournament, this was plain and simple brutal killing. But whatever else one might of have thought of Offo's man, he was no coward. He accepted the challenge with alacrity and so charged right back toward Tancred.
The two veteran warriors came in swinging, Irongron's sword banging off loudly Tancred's shield, it's upraised boss in the main. However Tancred's counter swing left Irongron at quite a disadvantage with nothing to block it but one's upraised arm? And even that you could only do once and then the limb would be gone.
ooc: Your move, :)