ENNIS

With a tremendous sense of awe Ennis gaped his jaw as old lady Cinth drained a full tankard of dark ale down her gorge in one breath. Cinth was a local to every drinking hole in Vanguard but no more than The Crippled Sap, a joyless old inn nestled at the end of three tight back alleys.

As the last mouthfuls of ale disappeared, Ennis' coppers lightened in his pocket.

“There ya are.” Cinth exhaled, slamming her empty cup down. “Nothin’ like the day’s first drink.”

Ennis doubted it was her first but one couldn’t deny a fair traveller's tax. He handed over a bronze punt.

“Thankin’ yous.” Cinth said biting on the coin with what teeth she had, not that that was an appropriate test for bronze. “Now if you’d excuse a lady. What goes in, must come out.” And with a less than graceful twirl Cinth wobbled towards the door.

Ennis knew Cinth as well as any did, not that that was a wealth of knowledge, and he knew Cinth would spend her night wagering people across the hold to a traveller’s tax. Most locals will roar her out having been stung by her impeccable talents before but she’s sure to make a profit from unknowing wanderers or chancing drunkards who for some half-witted reason think today’s the day they’d defeat the inevitable.

Doubtless she made a queen’s ransom over the past fortnight with all the visitors, Ennis thought as the spray of her triumph hissed against a wall outside. And doubtless she squandered it all already only hours after the bulk of the mob had gone.

Ennis tapped on the tavern’s counter. The reliably discret publican brought another dark ale. Ennis reflected on the long past few nights and thought the man who took his coin looked as relieved to be free of the outsider hoard as he felt. Around mayhaps three others filled the narrow hovel and all kept quietly to themselves. That’s why Ennis favoured the place, no busy eyes. That and the ale was good. Heavy and dull unlike the imported fruiter drinks Ennis had no tongue for.

He spent the night sitting undisturbed doing not a thing and Ennis was grateful for it. Ennis had thought the past week’s ponderings had been hectic enough to end him. Thankfully Allard made up his mind up and so began their offensive. From the bedlam that was the mass council of seventy Lords in the Greathall to private talks of some of the more troublesome ones. When Allard announced his decision to take Leondre north to face the crown’s judgement even some more royalist houses brought forward their concerns.

Some lords were easier to please than others, like Lord Edwin who was reserved in his opposition and was even more quietly reassured with the pledge of some extra treefellers for Westport.

Others like Lady Leen, a mean-old spinster from outside the Tri, with little folk in her land she cared only for her own self-regard and insisted she would not stand for any perceived slight on her honour. Her tantrum was only furthered when Raven was included in the council, insisting she would not address the mother of a bastard. That was a mistake of course and gave Allard as much anger as it did an excuse to expel her back to her estate.

In the end they had succeeded in convincing most, and abating the rest, that handing Leondre over was the best for him and the Forelands. Now Ennis was allowed to unclench as they marshalled their convoy and mapped the path north.

And so he drank. He was good at that. It came natural. He sat alone for as long as he could knowing that when the morn came he would saddle up with the rest and head out for who knows how long. While he may not have been born in Vanguard he’s spent his life here and found himself surprisingly nervy at the thought of leaving. And so he drank.

The inn promised to be the retrieve Ennis hoped for until the bellow of some boorish man crashed through the Sap’s door.

“Careful wench, I fancy a lengthy go of it for my coin.” The round boor swatted at the groping hand at his crotch as he entered with two harlots under each arm. “Father’s hole, this is a dreary shack of shit.” Ennis was careful not to turn around in hopes of avoiding any trouble.

“The most wicked acts occur in the darkest hollows.” The redheaded scarlett whispered in the man’s ear, biting at his earlobe.

That seemed to be enough for the trio to find some corner to nest in. Ennis was happy to pay them no heed when a fourth followed behind them. A young lad, unlikely even twenty whose eyes stuck to the floor as he slunk to the table the group settled into.

The publican moved to them. The flush cheeked man ordered four large tankards despite the younger one’s attempt to dissent. The man then wedged himself between the wet gaping mouths of his two companions leaving the boy to sit embarrassed.

Poor lad, there are worse fates but are their crueler ones? Ennis did what he could to put the moaning out of his mind ordering another ale. But when you try not to do something it’s often the only thing you can manage to do.

“Vanguard whores, huh? Who knew?” The man chortled to himself. Their four drinks arrived and they lunged for the reprise. Except the boy. That earned him the scorning eyes of the man. “Come, drink up.”

“I don’t want to.” The boy responded weakly from apparent recurrence.

“How would you know if you’ve never had some?” The man replied.

“I don’t have to die to know I don’t want to.” The boy said without a hint of cheek.

The man went mad at that, his silence spoke volumes. The auburn harlot closest to the boy intervened by sliding to his side.

“Come laddie, it’ll make it easier.” She cooed.

The boy was caught in the headlights. He took the plunge taking a bitter gulp of the ale that tingled like only the first time could. Ennis could barely remember his first tonight, let alone his first ever.

“There ya go.” The man rejoiced. “Barkeep, keep ‘em coming.”

He did. The four drank at a heavy pace giving the inn some life if nothing else. But that was not what Ennis came for.

“Let me settle.” Ennis called to the publican as he rooted out of his pockets several punts.

“You’ll be goin’ in the lord’s company then?” The publican surmised.

“Aye.” Ennis said.

“Best be wary on the north road. Them lot aren’t like us. Sure there’s decent folk, there’s decent folk everywhere. But their’s a different way to life. They don’t have our values, you see?” The publican said as one of the whores let out a squeal.

“I know.” Ennis replied, quickly placing his coins on the counter. “That should do it.”

The publican nodded. “May the Father watch o’er yer travels.”

Ennis nodded, turning to leave and was about to when the unmistakable flash of bare breast caught in his eye. One of the wenches was now topless and sat on the fat man’s lap who nipped at her teats.

“Oi, oi! None of that.” The publican contested as best he could.

“Fuck off.” The fat man yelled back.

“Father!” The boy said in shock.

“You can shut it too. I haven’t spent good money on this one to play with your hair.” The man returned. The wench at the boy’s side seemed more regardful of his nature, almost motherly in her attentive stroke of his shoulders and hands. “Yer nearin’ a man grown, you should be able to shag. It’s mortifying, I’ll never ship you off to some pretty high girl if you can’t use your cock.” The boy sank further and further with every slobbering word. “And if you can’t even please a whore, pray to the Sister your balls drop someday. Though maybe the gift skips a generation, I’ve been pleasin’ women since I was fourteen.”

Ennis laughed at that, loudly and proudly. His chuckles emptied the room of all other sound.

The fat man glared up at him. “What’s so comical?”

“Oh, my error. I thought you were making a jest?” Ennis replied, stepping closer.

“Bugger off. I’m not here for your amusement.” The man said.

“No, but I am amused. Maybe you don’t get it. Allow me to explain. You see, I came here for some peace. Instead I’ve been forced to listen to some boisterous mule run himself out of breath at the thought of having the stand long enough to screw someone. Then when told to keep his frolicing in his pants he throws a tantrum.” Ennis recounted as he strolled to their table. The man fumed harder every moment. “Then the highlight of it all is that this slug of a man has the audacity to chastise a decent boy while claiming to be the erotic salvation to all women when he’s nothing but a fat drunk little lord.”

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

Ennis gripped the end of their table staring down Lord Rant. Ennis knew him just by his voice but it was only now that Rant placed Ennis’ face. Rant pushed the whore off of him and stood to his feet.

“You all think you’re better than me. You think being the Liege Lord’s lackey makes you some sort of important? You think being Sea Lord of some fucking rubble is some great privilege? We’re the same you’n’I.” Lord Rant scoffed like some great insult.

“The lads embarrassed.” Ennis said. “Embarrassed of his old man. Leave him be.”

“You don’t not command me or my son.” The man said, turning to the boy’s harlot. “Go on then. Do your duty.” The harlot looked around confused. “You took my gold. Show my lordly friend here who’s in charge.”

Ennis watched the auburn harlot turn to her colleague who pushed her on with a nod. She then gave the boy a look of apology. Mayhaps the boy was too pissed to realise what was happening because his look of shock was something to behold as the harlot forced her hand down his pants. He didn’t even think of squirming, the boy was drunk and defeated.

Lord Rant’s mouth twisted into a sickly grin and rose to Ennis. “I suppose you’re no father so you won’t understand. He’s my boy, I’ll raise him how I like.”

Ennis’ felt a rage inside him grow. His hand gripped the hilt of his blade but that only made Lord Rant grin more.

“Well? I’ve heard the stories. Feel like showing off, my lord?” Rant teased.

The publican watched wearily from the counter. “M’lords, I beg.”

Ennis turned from Rant back to the boy’s face. It gave enough pain that Ennis wanted to slice his father then and there. It would be a mercy to him. I could do it easily, Ennis knew, I would have before.

But he couldn’t. Ennis let go of his blade.

“Hah.” Rant exploded. “I knew it, just stories. You don’t look like a brave man. Now I’ve a lot more to teach my son. So kindly fuck off.”

Rant sat back down in victory.

Ennis was rendered powerless and had no choice but to just leave the inn out onto the alleys. He wandered in a drunken stupor cursing himself for intervening too much and not enough.

Ennis had killed petty men like that for sport once. Back when he was just a man with a sword. Free to wander the realm and even roam the seas beyond. But he couldn’t now. He bore Allard’s namesake as much as his own. And owed Allard for even being allowed to be here to drunkenly prowl Vanguards’ paths. He couldn’t betray Allard like that. To betray his oldest and best friend that would be the worst thing he could do. The worst.

As Ennis returned out from the smaller lanes not even birds had woken in the calm of the pre-dawn stretch. The red street laid bare except for the ever clinging stench of meat. Fisher row, which at this time in any other hold would be hauling in the day’s catch, was still vacant as fresh fish wouldn’t arrive for hours due to Vanguard being landlocked. Even the Highstreet which stretched from both the north gate and the east gate meeting at the central market and continuing to the castle bridge was empty, bar some guards and vagrants.

Ennis made his way under the faded wicks of the streetlights over the moat bridge towards the castle’s gatehouse. Two guards stood idle, the rest absent, likely getting their first break in a week. Ennis paid them no heed, instead his eyes locked with Sir Eason who stood at the gate like he always did. Ennis had long given up speculating how he seemed to go without sleep.

“Sir Eason.” Ennis nodded.

The town’s kids were known to whisper of him as a scarecrow come to life built alongside Vanguard as its protector. Some would be so afraid of him they wouldn’t even cross the bridge but stare at him from the other side. Mayhaps he let the rumours go unspoiled to keep some peace, Ennis pondered.

At times though Ennis was like to believe the rumours. In the dead of night seeing him here without a hint of weariness was one of those times. With a strained focus and steady breath Ennis attempted to portray a sober temper as he passed.

“Lord Kester.” The gatekeeper returned, only making eye contact briefly before returning his gaze to the horizon.

As Ennis entered under the castle he wondered why the man punished himself with such service. He hated the job, everyone knew it. Keeper of the Gate was a stepping stone position for knights seeking further ambition but Sir Eason had been there for two decades now without a hint of complaint. When Master Nickle became Master of Arms, not a word. When Sir Ansel became Head of the Pathfinders, not a word. And yet here he stands day in and day out. I’d go mad, Ennis reckoned. Mayhaps he is just truly unambitious.

As the gatekeeper faded in the distance, so did his place in Ennis’ thoughts. It was both too early and too late to go to sleep now so instead Ennis aimlessly wandered the castle’s many nooks and crannies. A castle this big was never quiet, never fully. There were always some distant footsteps, some creaking wood, if you had the ears for it. Ennis even reckoned he heard some woman’s moaning somewhere.

Vanguard’s castle walls were rich in history, every inch re-telling the past. At the end of one hall a shrine-like display of two aged blades, the weapons of Vienna Astarre, Dawn made of what was once a brillant silver and Dusk nearly as dark as a seasword but with hints of violet.

Down a few steps and through some twists and turns one would find a worn tapestry from the eve of the One War. It depicted the first meeting of the Last Warking Ragnarr in his frightening bone cladded armour with Chieftain Umbreon riding a giant fletcher deer as their two forces united behind them under a glorious sun. Part of the image was left undone, likely because the intricate work took so long the war had been lost before it could be finished. In another life where the Haakons had won this would be held up in the Greathall as a monument to past glory. Instead it fades in the dark.

Of course hawk’s in every forms and size decorated everything from rafters to candelabras to cutlery. Ennis thought the higher lords' obsession for heraldry was incessant. But that was just the way of things, even the good ones like the Astarres clung to civility and primitivity. Ennis only wore his sigil out of necessity. A flying black kestrel with a sword held awkwardly in its talons. It was intended to denote speed and strength but Ennis had no sentiment for it, unsure how a bird could use a blade.

When Ennis first arrived at Vangaurd in his youth Allard had inquired the difference between a hawk and a kestrel. “Smaller and smarter.” was Ennis’ answer and to his surprise made the Lord-in-waiting laugh.

“The hawk and the kestrel. Not a bad pairing.” Allard had returned all those years ago.

In fact in all of the Vanguard the only place you can be sure to be free of the hawk’s gaze is the chapel. By law no familial ownership of any kind can decorate a place of worship. At times this has expanded to include even embroidered clothing but now you were free to enter wearing nearly anything.

As Ennis entered through the always open arched doors he felt the almost omnipresence of its priests despite their absence. The candles were always lit and never wilted in any fashion, the aisles and altar lay pristine, and the sandstone walls shone like new.

While the hawk’s eyes weren’t present there were other eyes watching. From the three statues in the room. On the left the Father, frozen in stone forever reading the Sacred Covenant with a sullen look. On the right the Brother, in a vigourous stance that evoked His silent laughter. He held onto the hilt of His sheathed sword.

But both were smaller than the third and central stature on the altar, the Sister. Every hold choses one of the three gods as their protector and Vanguard chose the Sister. She stood arms open with Her robes flowing around Her. Beneath her newborns and stillborns alike are depicted around Her peacefully. Above rays of light shone from Her candle in Her hands.

Each God is a champion of multiple skills, desires, needs, forces of nature, or principles. If someone wanted a good harvest they’d pray to the Father. If they wanted good fortune in war they’d pray to the Brother. Ennis knew not why the Sister was the Vanguard's chosen one but She’s as good as any he supposed. She is mostly associated with the feminine qualities She possesses. From idle romance to a painless birth, women throughout the realm made prayers to Her, touched the feet of Her altar, and stitched the Sister’s three armed cross.

Ennis was not a sceptic but always thought that the Gods possessed contradictory qualities, the Sister noneless than the others. She was the symbol of both chastity and fertility. Another hypocrisy. But in truth, it’s only right that the Gods embody the hypocrisies of life.

“So it is true. You’ve gone devout.” Raven cackled as she announced herself behind Ennis.

“I got used to being the only nightbird round here.” Ennis said. He turned to meet her. She smirked, relishing in spoiling in his private time.

“Well? What were you praying for?” She asked. “Have you spotted a fair haired squire that you want to go on a moonlit walk with?”

“I was going to beg the Sister to give you your heart back. But the Gods don’t perform miracles outside of the books do they?” Ennis asked.

By now Raven and Ennis stood side by side in front of the Sister. “Unlikelier things have happened.” Then slowly Raven leaned in close to Ennis. Close enough for him to smell the fragrance she wore. Then away, for she smelt him too. “Spent your last night here went well? You are a lord, remember.”

“Let it go, Raven.” Ennis said flatly.

Raven tilted her head. “You always did prefer to drink than talk. And that’s saying something.”

“What would you know?” Ennis said. “You haven’t been around in years. You think you’re free to drop in when you like and pretend like you know us? Without so much of a word? What about your brothers? What about your son? How long has Kiann gone without a mother?”

Raven let her humour drop. “He’s done alright.”

“More than alright. He’s a good lad. In spite of you.” Ennis added.

“And you suppose he would have done better with me?”

“It wouldn’t have hurt.”

“Wouldn’t it?” Raven asked but no answer was needed.

A silence filled the chapel as the two stood together. Ennis was both annoyed and drunk enough to not fill the quiet void. However, to his surprise Raven made the effort.

“I don’t claim to be flawless. I’ve made my handful errors. But I’m here now. And we can’t argue our way north.” That made Ennis turn his head.

“Shitting hell, you’re coming?” Ennis groaned.

“Let you all mess it up without me? Besides Kiann’s going. I can’t let go of one of the few things I’ve done that wasn’t a mistake.” Raven said.

“I’m sure he’ll be as happy about it as I am.”

“Likely. But if that’s the cost.” She grinned stubbornly enough that Ennis had to look away to hide his own.

“It is a long way to Briarhill. Mayhaps more company shouldn’t be tossed aside.” In truth he wasn’t as annoyed by her company as he let on.

But she knew how to read him well enough, even after all this time. Before Ennis knew it she was close again, close enough to feel her breath.

“I’m not just going for Kiann.” She said. “Last time I left somethings went unfinished.”

“I thought that was you finishing them.” Ennis said.

Raven shook her head, a loose strand of black hair falling in front of her eye. “Never.”

“Then why’d you leave?” He asked.

Their eyes locked together in a moment of heat.

Raven’s then turned away. She looked down to the feet of the Sister. “The Sister’s candle was said to burn forever without waning.”

“You remember the parables?” Ennis joked.

“Some things leave an impression.” Her eyes returned to Ennis.

Ennis took a breath. “Things aren’t the same as when you left.”

“Nothing ever changes.” Raven whispered as she closed the gap between the two relighting an old flame beneath the gaze of the Sister.