Ch: 213 We Shall Express Our Darker Purpose
“It’s strange, that such a peaceful and orderly place should exist in such chaos…” Angie murmured as she and Rolf walked alone in the garden. Everyone else was long asleep, or at least it seemed that way in the quiet, moonlit night.
They could hear the warcamp, the soft murmur of the river against the barge hulls and the horses, snuffling and moving peacefully. All that was beyond the high walls and seemed to belong to another world. Tonight the soft swish of her skirts and the sound of the breeze among the fruit trees was all that mattered.
Creamy white lace ruffled the edge of her nightgown, perhaps it was a little looser than strictly proper, giving chaste hints of what she might, or might not, be wearing underneath…
“Chaos and order coexist in the natural world, why not in your friend as well?” The young knight smiled at that thought, as though he had not just voiced it. “I could get used to a little chaos in my life, I think.”
“You say that now…” Angie said softly, stepping closer to the young knight and tipping her face to look up at him, just as Thirp instructed… The moonlight glanced off her cheeks and brows, leaving her eyes in shadow… Perfectly.
“I watched them create this place, I really watched for the first time… It’s madness, beautiful, tender madness.” She whispered, her lips parted just a little as she gazed up at her prey.
“I participated in a fascinating experiment related to this very subject… Perhaps you would like to see my notes?” His usual confidence and calm certainty were gone, dashed on the rocks by the winds of this very beautiful girl.
“Oh, yes… in your quarters?” She cooed, stroking his arm with a touch so gentle he could have simply imagined it.
“Why wait? Here in the garden… I want to share with you, I have so much to show you…” The young knight whispered excitedly, stammering with passion, as he fumbled with his robe. With trembling hands and a tentative, hopeful look in his eyes, for the first time Rolf pulled his thick, rigid secret out in front of a girl…
“I have an enchanted reading light… Gary gave it to me!” The muscular blonde nerd said, as he opened his huge, leather bound notebook to the appropriate pages.
#
Angie came swanning back into the room, all blushes and smiles. Becky set down her book and smiled at her sister. “Sooo… I guess you did?” She whispered, blushing a deep purple brown.
“Ohhh? No, he was a perfect gentleman… we talked and talked about ritual magic, of all things… you never told me he was a mage!” She whispered in mellow outrage.
“Of course I didn’t tell you that! Like putting catnip on a bowl of cream…” Becky fumed at her.
“Now what do I do… I want him even more now?!”
Just like that her elated, giddy joy collapsed into anxiety and worry. She flopped down on the bed with Becky and buried her face in her shoulder for a good long cry. “He didn’t try anything… I used all Thirp’s tricks, too!”
“I’m sure he likes you… just let it happen sweetie…” Becky stroked her hair and rocked the poor girl to sleep. Once she was all cried out and snoring like a runaway lumber cart, Becky slipped away with a sigh.
She could feel Gary, through her growing connection to the house and grounds. He was downstairs working, as usual. More interestingly, she could feel Rolf and Liam, up and running around the camp perimeter together. She slipped into her clothes and trotted off to join them.
#
“I had no idea she was so erudite… She is more familiar with ‘Essential Magery: Sixty Basic Conjurations’ than I am! I tell you Liam, she is a very special woman! She must be mine, yet I shouldn’t pursue her… You have no Idea what I’m going through!”
Rolf was breathing deeply and speaking in a smooth, even cadence, in time with his natural breaths and his footfalls. That was Gary’s subtle influence… Liam saw it in his own movements and breathing as well.
“Everything is cultivation, sir Rolf… even the tender emotions of the heart can expand and develop your body, mind and soul in new and interesting ways.” Liam said sagely, while grinning like an idiot at Tawny’s younger brother. “But I must remind you, Angie is an orphan, fostered to duchess Sheng. You may encounter resistance if you try to court her.” His grin was wide, wicked and ecstatic as he delivered a variation on the speech Liam had received from this very young man, just over a year ago… in the context of Rolf’s older sister.
“I don’t care what anyone thinks! A fig for all the ‘resistance’ in the world…” He snarled, suddenly seeming a very different young man. A moment later he blushed golden, faltered in his steps and clasped both hands to his lips as though he had just uttered some hideous, unforgivable blasphemy. “Oh dear…” He muttered.
Becky slipped back into the predawn shadows, satisfied and smiling widely, within her all concealing cloak. Knowledge can be found in many places, sometimes even on a well trodden path, an hour before sunrise.
Lord Fargnahagn was restless and upset… something wasn’t right about the events of the last few days… He paced around his chambers aimlessly, then started wandering the halls of his rambling family manse on the outskirts of the uplands district. He ambled around the family quarters, occupied by only himself since Katy passed in childbirth so many years ago, taking their only daughter into Secret’s arms with her. Those thoughts churned and boiled uncomfortably, so he started strolling down lesser used halls and corridors.
Eventually he wandered through the library, dusty and forgotten tomes, preserved in magically crafted cabinets lined the walls; along with half remembered portraits of his illustrious forebears. The antiquated furniture was worn and faded, even moth eaten in spots, but he never visited this wing of the mansion. His idle footsteps disturbed cobwebs and dust all around, though the path he trod was relatively dust free… more like it was well trodden than it had been swept. He was going to have some words with the cleaning staff.
More from idle curiosity than anything else, he kept wandering in the darkened halls, following the trail of trampled dust into even older sections of the structure.
‘Why have I not walked these halls in so long…’ He wondered. Followed by other thoughts. ‘Why does that ridiculous orphan vex me so?’ Ever since that day… When he’d awakened in that madman’s bath, these strange thoughts had been troubling him, always twisting and curling back to his unreasoning desire to crush that boy and all his workings into dust…
‘Why is there so much cursed dust?’ He mused silently. He would make inquiries of his head of housekeeping, old mistress Flannery… that couldn’t be right… she would have to be a dozen years gone, she had passed not long after his Katy… a dim light from under a doorway interrupted his thoughts. He would get some answers on the state of things presently!
Before he flung the door open to confront his shirking staff, he took a moment to collect himself.
“Resistant to influence, the human becomes… Now our spells fade faster with every dawn…” A harsh, croaking whisper barely slipped through the heavy door, only the silence of the library let him hear.
“Soon we will feast on his bones and leave this place to fester under the rule of Istyrithiassis, the Harbinger of Plague.” Another croaking voice answered.
“So you keep saying, yet where is this demon? We’ve invoked him three times now, we’re running out of humans! Are you sure you have the name right?” Yet another voice demanded.
#
The sun was just coming up over the uplands district in fair, peaceful Wheatford town. Guard captain Olan and his new bride, Evylyn Firth were standing their first watch together, since coming back from Flintspire. Change of guards went smoothly, and in the two hours since, nothing at all had occurred, just as usual. Sunrise marked the downhill run on their shift, things would start bustling, people would hit the streets and just before second bell, their relief would take the duty…
“Olan…” Firth muttered. “Trouble.” She was always one to understate matters. A half naked man came stumbling down the uplands road, with a bloodied horse head bookend in his hand and claw marks raking his bare chest and face.
“Call the guard… I’ve harpies and wererats in my home.” Lord Fargnahagn, earl of Uplands and Peebles said calmly, before he collapsed in a dead faint on the road.
“I remember when this was a quiet little town…” Firth muttered as she rang the bell, while Olan tended the fallen man as best he could.
#
Tony’s heart sank as he took stock of the doings. Clearing the nest of wretched creatures had been no small task… clearly they had been coming and going for years, though the settlement in the basement was relatively recent. The few servants and housekeepers that survived captivity would be unable to tell their tales for days at least.
Evidence told much of the story. A narrow cramped tunnel led under the rambling manor house from the hills, entering the basement on a sub level that had been disused and forgotten for decades. From there, the infestation crept out into the rest of the manor. A well used passage led from the main burrow all the way under the house and up through the ancient inner walls.
In a narrow crawl space below the lord’s very bedchamber they had wrought their curses and spells, drawing his mind and will into the grasp of some malign force.
Alien glyphs and runes were everywhere, scrawled and scratched on beams, floorboards, or painted on stones with blood and less identifiable substances. Ritual objects of indeterminate nature were heaped all around, skeletons of small animals, crude tallow candle stubs and incense ash crowded the corners and crawl spaces, the refuse of years of dark magical workings.
The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
It was in the small reading room off the long disused library, where the creatures’ plots came unspooled. Three harpies, small dark feathered half avian women lay where they fell, just inside the door, their small skulls bashed in, presumably with lord Fargnahagn’s bloodied bookend. The wererat blood king had an obsidian sacrificial knife jammed through his big round ears, his eyes were rolled back; as though trying for a glimpse of the jagged volcanic glass piercing his brain.
Lord Fargnahagn had been a decent warrior in his youth, his shocking wake up call seemed to have awakened a long dormant passion for immediate justice. That did nothing for lovely old mistress Flannery, his head housekeeper, tied to a sacrificial altar in a ritual circle, with her poor heart cut out.
Tony and his squires had taken most of the day rooting out the skulking vermin, while town guardsmen combed the hills for any remaining malignant fae. Now came the arduous task of unraveling this plot and finding whoever else might be involved, in one way or another.
His squires were all young nobles from good families, unused to this kind of thing, but well trained and steady; they would make good knights and true… What he needed was a witch, one steeped in occult lore, alien languages, death, and the magic of outside realms…
“Seal the house, we will need to await an expert…” Tony ordered his exhausted and shaken charges. “Gods, he’s going to be insufferable about this…” The big knight muttered.
#
Full morning brought a flurry of activity in the encampment by the river between Fallon and Belen. The War cult disassembled itself quickly and efficiently, leaving only trampled grass, fire rings and peg holes behind. Carts and wagons rolled out, escorted by platoons of foot and horse, on their slow journeys back to Wheatford and Port Fallon.
Adventure also tidied up quickly, though they loaded all their gear into the strange fortress inn and bath house standing in the boggy low spot by the river.
War’s legion drew lots, as was custom when breaking a long term camp; with the losing platoon disconsolately heading for the latrine trenches with shovels and mattocks in hand and grim determination on their faces.
Knight captain Khan and his second, Luna were near legends in Port Fallon, so when they cantered up and waved, wearing the badges of the Adventurer’s Guild, The troop formerly known as sixth platoon paused the march to their unpleasant duty for a chat, and a little traditional trash talk.
Even ‘Turd Battalion’, as they would be known for the rest of this march, could and should, poke a little fun at Adventure.
“Khan, come to help us shovel over the trench, relive the glory days when you were actually a warrior?” Sergeant Vane asked, shooting him the sultry wink that had made so many raw recruits sit up and pay attention. She grinned at Luna, with an equally ribald smile.
“Did you finally corner this mustachioed morsel of man in some dark stable and mount him?” She demanded, tossing her short raven curls and tapping her fingers on her shovel handle. “Never could pin him down for a ride, myself.”
“We rode out to tell you not to worry about the latrine trenches… our mad wizard has taken care of them… Now I think we’ll not mention it.” Luna answered with a grin, while Khan changed colors a few times and Annie nickered, tossing her head with glee.
“Hmph, yes…” The red faced warrior muttered finally, once his horse stopped yucking it up at his expense. “It’s been handled with a bit of… He calls it natural magic.”
“Ahh, witchcraft…” The platoon murmured quietly to themselves.
“Luna, how did you ever talk me into guiding this fool?” Khan demanded, turning on her, in gently mocking frustration.
“Don’t look at me, it was you damn fool horse that got us tangled up in this! Creepy mushroom men, dark cults and dryads…” Luna complained cheerfully. “I just wanted to make a few chubby babies and feed your horse until she’s too fat to carry you off to war.” She shrugged. “You know, wife stuff.”
Before she knew what was happening, the silly man’s bushy ‘stache was in her face and making all the right tickling motions to curl her toes in their stirrups.
The whole platoon ‘Ooohed’ and ‘Aahhhed’ at all the right moments, while someone in the back called out a saucy ‘Ooo La LA!’ in the prescribed manner… Some things are truly universal.
The trench team grumbled happily about not having to shovel over the trench, since that was the smelliest, most disgusting and wretched job in the legion, aside from battlefield cleanup… They were still not happy, since by tradition and regulations they would be the last War platoon to march. That meant they would be ‘Tail End Charlie’ for the rest of the march, as far as War was concerned. Last to arrive at camp, last to finish working and last to leave, when they had covered the trench they would need to dig tonight.
Adventure would straggle along in the dust and mud at the back, as was also tradition. Rank hath its privileges and Adventurers had none at all, even when led by nobles. Adventure bands were seldom mounted and never well, doubly so when a troop from War was along, tripply so if a noble was present…
With four dukes and a double fistful of foreign and visiting nobles riding and sailing along, Adventure might not reach Wheatford til three days after the head of the column.
While the rest of War’s legion helped break down the main encampment and the noble pavilions, sergeant Vane and her platoon of ‘Latrine Lancers’ found themselves at loose ends.
War’s legion had a million different ways to bust the chops of any platoon unfortunate enough to lose the lottery… the only perk was not having to help with the pavilions and noble junk hauling. Sixth had been on an unlucky streak for a while now, drawing shitty details and duties on the regular. Drawing the brown lot and being ‘Poop Platoon’ was the shitty icing on a massive brown cake.
Vane lounged in the inner garden bath and sighed, while her gear was being warmed and dried by those crazy armor stands. Three little tykes were gamboling around with practice weapons, under the watchful eyes of a pair of teenaged orphans, who looked like they knew what they were doing.
Two red haired giants served tea and hot biscuits, as sweet music poured out of the open doorway to the mysterious house in the boggy end of camp.
#
“Since we must wait for the noble parties to get underway, would you like to join us for tea?” Khan had asked innocently, once he finished sweeping Luna’s face with that push broom on his upper lip; she seemed to be on board with the bristles. The next thing they knew, all this was happening.
After breakfast, the platoon retired to the luxurious and steamy private baths…
“I’d let a man take a wire brush to my face to ‘camp’ like this on patrol.” Vane murmured happily. “How did you find this treasure, Luna?”
“Meh,” Luna murmured, half submerged in the bubbling water. “He’s the red haired woman’s, I hear he just fell out of the sky one fine day… Keep your eyes open and maybe you’ll find a mad wizard of your own.”
Vane grumbled a bit at that, but the redhead seemed unwilling to share her odd musician. “I just wanted to have a pinch to see if it was really that firm. You shouldn’t cut the seat of his pants so tight if you don’t want women to look.” She complained, her roving hand still tingling and numb from the iron hard grip of the smith woman, Shai.
“He does stitch his own clothes, sister… he does know mine own preferences an caters tae them, nae thine.” She huffed good naturedly.
“Sweet Shai is terribly selfish with some of her toys…” A woman with long curly brown hair complained from across the pool.
Buxom and beautiful, tradeship captain Esperanza sighed deeply, distracting most of the pool. She was seated on the lap of a grinning red haired giant, even bigger than the madman’s huge woman, with a tiny blonde girl nestled between them.
It took a second glance to realize that the blonde woman wasn’t a child, when curled in the arms of her giant and pressed between the impressive boobs of the merchant.
#
“Should we really leave the kids here? It seems…” Celeste fell silent as Leo hugged her close.
“Rolf and Tawny aren’t like Adam… They wouldn’t appreciate being separated from their teams. Certainly not from that damnable house.” Leopold Belen, Duke of Wheatford and surrounds muttered to his wife. “Anyone but those two, I’d worry they might get soft, living like that.” He grumbled, unironically lounging in their stateroom on board ‘Spray’, duke Holloman’s luxury barge. “Is there any more of that sweet wine?” He asked, with a sleepy smile.
“Men, murder a few hundred monsters and suddenly it’s naptime and a job well done… everything else can go to the rubbish pit!” She complained. “I saw how much you offered Tawny’s pet to ‘clean up’ the greenskin remains! Spendthrift fool of a duke! You’ll be taking contracts from your own notice boards to pay that sum! Boil me for a pudding if you’ll touch my next daughter’s dowry for such foolishness!”
“Take a fresh look at the family accounts, before you tear any more strips from my hide, wife!” Leo grumbled right back, as he gleefully pulled her back down beside him in the covers. “Your sweet tummy is not the only thing enlarging as summer approaches!”
When his big, calloused hands started rubbing sweet scented oil and a secret emollient from Tawny’s mysterious ‘laboratory’ into the bulge swelling from his previous attentions, she moaned happily. “When will I ever learn?” She murmured. “You are forever chasing me around with that awful, thick, stabbing thing… Why ever, do I let you catch me?”
“Because you like being plowed behind the barn like a common milkmaid, once your fancy robes are set aside?” He asked sweetly, as he kissed her navel, right above the nicely leavened bun he’d placed in her oven, just a few short weeks ago...
“Clever man!” She growled, dragging him closer.
#
“Has anybody seen Rolf or Angie?” Gary asked, around second bell.
“They went riding, don’t worry, Annie and Petunia took them.” Becky called from the low stage. Fats and Amadeus were helping her with something that sounded sweet and hopeful, like a bright dawn in the springtime.
“I don’t like it…” He grumbled, looking sour. “Angie’s just a kid, should she be gallivanting around with monsters and nobles nearby?”
“She’s with Rolf, he’s a knight of Order…” Becky scoffed, while she and her two cronies played a demeaning little fanfare at him.
“Not helping your case…” He complained. “Half my troubles come from Order knights and nobles.”
“Aye, an how much else comes from yer own stubborn thick headedness?” Shai demanded, knuckling his scalp gently, with her elbow locked lovingly around his throat. “Yer first meetings wi Order hae been fraught wi misunderstandings an foolishness on both sides. Ye an Rolf will be fast friends, an ye forget how ye met him.”
“Still don’t trust him with our Angie…” He grumbled from between Shai’s boobs.
Becky scoffed and laughed, along with her dumb ghost friends. “You said he had a cuddle with a unicorn yesterday…” She giggled, nearly falling off her stool. “We can absolutely trust him with ‘our Angie’!
#
A fine spring morning and a lovely bit of river side road was just the thing… no fair damsel was safe in the company of a man on such a morning, all the stories and songs said so…
Angie sighed, frustratingly safe with her mailed companion, a brace of light javelins waving their tiny pennants merrily from his saddle mounted quiver. A broadsword and shield dangled from his pommel, as did a short war horn mounted with bronze. In every way he was an ideal escort for a fair maiden.
Rolf was kind, chivalrous, solicitous of her well being and the very image of knightly virtue; curse his wretched, annoying, delicious, golden hide!
Whenever she tried to fall behind a step or two, just to watch his bottom as it bounced lightly on the saddle, barely kissing it with his round, firm… The fool boy would slow the pace and inquire whether she was weary! A pox on his backside… just a minor one, that wouldn’t leave any scars or unsightly blemishes on those golden moons that sailed through her dreams, nightly.
Lately, she had taken to hiding in Becky’s dream world, just to avoid the shining golden sun and moon in her own. And those rippling abs… she drifted off in a small fantasy, where she was on a sheet of canvas, riding down a golden summertime hillside, just like the orphans back home did… but the undulating terrain was golden skin, with a deep, sexy naval hazard, right before the pillowy golden forest that was her goal… and the mighty, towering, golden oak beyond that tangled shrubbery…
“Miss Angie, are you well, do you need a rest?” Rolf asked, when he noticed her thousand yard stare and a small line of drool forming at the corner of her smiling lips.
“Mhhuu? Mebbee… I didn’t sleep well, last night.” She murmured softly.
#
Angie was out of uniform, wearing clothes he suspected had been sewn for her by Tawny’s… By Gary. Rolf mentally scolded himself. Her skirts were a mix of red hues, from bright crimson to deep scarlet, she wore a wide sash of red and a deep, wine red bodice, overflowing with white, frothy lace.
Not enough lace to conceal the plump, pale, sun kissed bosoms nestled in that delightful confection, not by half. Unfortunately, she kept riding slower, confounding his attempts to watch them jiggle from the corner of his eye. Gary had tipped him off to that little trick. If one could master the knack of watching no single thing, one could, with practice, see everything around and track motion more effectively, whether an approaching foe, or a delightful bouncing…
#
“Are those tits, you’re looking at so intensely, sir Rolf?” Angie asked suddenly. “Blue capped greater wood tits I believe.”
“Yes, yes!” He stammered, as the small birds took flight. “Birdwatching, I am new to the art… Gary suggested I look at them!” He panicked and reverted to the truth out of habit, nearly wrecking everything. With growing disappointment, He listened as Angie started talking about damn Gary.
“He does seem to have a deep connection to the natural world… I find that to be terribly interesting…” She cooed, leaning forward in her excitement for avian studies. “Perhaps we could watch the night birds this evening, I know a little spot in the garden…”
“I fear that Gary and Shai’s garden will be far from here tonight…” The clueless dolt murmured unhappily, completely ignoring how she leaned forward and brought her cheek so dangerously close to his lips.
Angie sighed, patted Petunia on her broad cheek in apology… and slipped from her saddle, thumping to the soft roadside turf with a squeak and a gasp of feminine distress.
‘Dignity can go screw itself…’ She thought furiously, as Rolf swept from his saddle and dashed to her side.
#