-
All doors are open for the Fair Lady
All lustful hours of the day and all veiled calls of each night.
-
(Common Priestess' greeting & old hymn to Naossis
Also the Goddess' own words when she roused Abrakas from his slumber)
Depth's Hymns
verse 1E:6
found in the Library
Valeria, Academy of Senses
-
----------------------------------------
> Last day of Summer (2nd Bacchanalia)
>
> Early morning,
>
> The year of the New Calendar 58
>
> Tenth into the reign of Duke Rupert I ‘the Violent’ of Asturia
>
>
>
> Dubrot snapped his huge head his way, reddish brown hair fully dried up by the summer sun and lack of proper sleep –as in a bed- now swollen like a wiry bush and not helping the dwarf appear any less thick.
>
> He boomed –the thick dwarf did- hard as he could seeing the distant riders coming towards them from the coast road.
>
> “FUCKING BUG-EYED KID! IDIOT!”
>
> “What?” Valwarin protested, not believing he was to blame for losing their only horse. He turned to his friend, the whistling a catchy tune Ebenezer -the older teenager much taller than him, for support.
>
> Receiving none per usual.
>
> “It’s yer fault, for selling the other,” Ebenezer told him matter-of-factly and glanced back to gauge the distance from their pursuers.
>
> “I made a deal!” Dominique protested furiously spittle flying out of his mouth. “I got myself a lute!”
>
> “FUCK YE NEED THAT FOR!” The dwarf bellowed tipping his head back, almost toppling backwards on the hard cobblestone. “YE CAN PLAY FUCK ALL! BUFFOON!”
>
> “That’s not true! Ebenezer tell him!” Valwarin croaked hurt. His friend scrunched his nose first, light green eyes narrowing and then glanced the other way to the river, still a good hundred meters away. The bridge crews resting for the day and across the river already.
>
> “Sorry mate, you suck…” Framtond started, but paused seeing tears running down his eyes and sighed once deep before adding. “At notes, but that is how they all start.”
>
> “They do? THEY DO!” Valwarin snarled at the sweaty dwarf, the latter huffing and puffing seeing the riders approaching.
>
> “Ebenezer, if they catch us with the sword, we’re dead meat. The roadkill variant,” he grunted ever the pessimist, extending his short arm to show the glaring him Dominique a stubby, very fat, middle finger.
>
> “Don’t I look like man that can own an Imperial blade?” Ebenezer queried waggling his bushy eyebrows.
>
> “No, ye don’t,” Dubrot Snowguard retorted, ever the truth teller. “But ye do look like a hoodlum. So do wit that what you want.”
>
> “And I shall my short angry friend. You’ll stall them for a bit,” Ebenezer decided assuming his haughty pseudo-didactic manner, a sign he already had a plan -since Eb was always a quick thinker at least that was what a staring him in utter awe Valwarin thought. “And I’ll sprint to the Thieves Guild to unload it to Eight for a pretty penny.”
>
> “How are ye gonna do that?” Dubrot asked, although he should have queried first on the how a thirteen year old up-and-coming bard and a shortish… well, dwarf… were going to stall Mercator’s men. All ten of them. “No boating across without coin. Do ye have coin?”
>
> “I’ll use the supports. Just give me a couple of… hours tops,” Framtond declared and caught them both unawares. “I’m good at jumping as long as that. Tis nothing. All ye need is proper speed.”
>
> The first truth coming out of his friend’s mouth in two whole weeks.
>
> The last being that he needed to take a shit.
>
> In his sleep.
>
> Anyway Ebenezer was faster than most.
>
> He could jump higher and longer than anyone else and despite how it sounded, his longtime friend could see in the pitch black the blacksmith’s wife sleeping on the balcony when it was too hot.
>
> In the nude.
>
> Ebenezer had kept Framtond’s ‘accurate’ drawing of her tits in his back pocket like a treasure.
>
> They buried him with it and the Gish’s ivory pipe.
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
> And so over the river Ebenezer went and gave its now famed bridge his name. A couple of decades later another much mellower Duke named the river after him as well, since the old name was weird for the flocking tourists to pronounce and ‘not good for business.’ The new name strangely an old archaic phrase meaning ‘across a level surface’, or ‘water’ and most times than not, ‘across a river’.
>
> Or a lake.
>
----------------------------------------
----------------------------------------
Praetor Lucius Alden
None, but the Fair Lady tolerates it
Part II
-No such thing, as a perfect plan-
----------------------------------------
----------------------------------------
----------------------------------------
----------------------------------------
----------------------------------------
[https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSdlSKvD6aVRoMaYzF7sHaqbABpIlvhuhIoaTTsRCW5CaPS-9sbQyfYFyPSY1LSuSuD0kbZ1fGg8ROwUNkc6fSpvjrOmluyqHsWjeY6qwPJJJzub8O3VcN1hRy44Jh48j_EnC0p5kM3945DtT8ccscB4ipId9ggCMtR9GmtApCsFv5_h4oZ7DAR-dk/s2000/Asturia%20city%20v2.jpg]
-Right click on map to open fully-
Here goes, Lucius thought nervously, suddenly fearful of all the small, or big details he’d missed. All that he had forgotten and the always treacherous foe that was nostalgia.
Henceforth everything is statesmanship.
Let them talk first.
Lord Holt beating him to it, the Duke’s face revealing nothing, when his eyes settled on Faye.
But settled they had.
“My wife, Lady Faye Alden,” Lucius was forced to introduce her, Lord Holt offering an appreciative nod, probably in response to hers. Faye wouldn’t perform a curtsy for no man, or woman.
“Greetings Duke Holt,” Faye said surprising him. “Yours is the biggest city I’ve ever seen.”
Eh.
“I serve her,” Hunter Holt replied with a small smile. “Asturia was here afore me and thus it shall remain long after I breathe my last,” Alright I get it old bones, Lucius thought. “You’re not from Sovya,” Lord Holt added casually.
“I’m not,” Faye replied and Lucius thought about interrupting them, but then that would have shown everyone he didn’t trust her to speak her peace, which anyway they could barely tolerate on a Lorian woman anyway, much less a barbarian and Lucius didn’t want them to think he was of the same mind.
All he ruled over for now, was northern cities and peoples.
“Was born beyond the Great Ol’ River,” Faye had answered the old Duke and he’d nodded attentively in response.
“I fought for and against Valkyries in my youth,” he told her reminiscing.
“Ye must be a good warrior, if yer still here,” Faye retorted and Lucius glanced her way to stop her but his wife was on a roll. “Or they were shit. Not everything wit tits can wield a blade proper.”
Rupert found it hilarious and chuckled aloud from his spot. Lord Holt taking it in stride and turning to Lucius.
“Perhaps we allow the Ladies a respite, while we delve into old and current news,” he told him. “Anne could show Lady Faye the gardens. The shade is lovely and the view best be divine for what I’m paying for it.”
Another row of laughter came, mainly from Trupo and Rupert, Bernard forcing a smile on his narrow face, the younger man wound up alike a coil. Is it the business with his Herald? Lucius wondered. Bernard was left running the city while Lord Holt had been away the previous years.
“Father I’d like to see my sister Goddess willing,” Lady Anne replied her tone measured, clad in her yellow and light blue summer dress and looking younger than her years. She was five years older than Lucius, but didn’t show it at all. Lord Holt’s second child from his first wife. The much older Sir Marcus killed rushing the walls of Yepehir. One of the finest knights a young Lucius had ever seen competing in the tourneys, up there with the Iron Griffin and solemn Sir Emerson Lennox. “Take her along to the gardens with Lady Faye, if she’s willing to endure the stroll.”
“Not at this time,” Lord Holt replied brusquely and Lady Anne bit her lip, afore nodding.
“Lady Faye?” she asked Lucius wife.
“A walk in the woods?” she queried unsure.
“Well,” Lord Holt grunted, something bothering him. “I thought it the more interesting activity. Visiting the city is perhaps premature until the crowd calms down and we only have stables, barracks and the armory as options here, unless you’d like to be shown the palace, or gods forbid the dungeons.”
Lucius cleared his throat looking at the thoughtful Faye considering her options.
“I’m willing to show you everything dear Faye,” Lady Anne assured her in a friendly manner. Being older than everyone else, Anne always tried to mediate over the rest of the unruly noble scions during their vacations. It was said the Van Durren of Badum had tried twice to entice Lord Holt with marriage proposals, but either because she didn’t want to live across the pond, marry an Uher-loving Issir, or some other reason a young Lucius never bothered to learn, Anne had stayed in Regia and but for Lord Doris’ timely intervention she’d have married his father. Perhaps that was the reason for marrying her late, he thought feeling a little awkward putting it together after all those years. “I haven’t the chance to visit home in years,” she finished in her refined Common.
“I want to see the armory,” Faye decided and Lady Anne blinked in a state of mild shock, her ‘everything’ not including it probably, but she recovered quickly, smiled at her father, paused to stare austerely at her two brothers grinning , but keeping their distance and then added with a deep sigh.
Oh, sweet Red, Lucius thought, but couldn’t fault her.
“I guess, I’ll see the armory as well,” Anne said. “There is always the first time for everything. Father, Lord Alden, Baron Draco, Rupert, Bernard, it was a pleasure… we shall see each other later hopefully.”
“I shall escort the ladies my lords. After all the tumult, sightseeing sounds rather enticing,” Lord Pryor assured them, Lord Holt adding nonchalantly.
“Sir Battas shall come with you just the same.”
“Milord,” the unseen knight said and with another series of curtly greetings, they walked outside. Logan would probably follow after Faye, so Lucius didn’t worry about that part. The awkward silence following her departure along Lord Pryor and his wife telling.
----------------------------------------
----------------------------------------
Lord Holt showed them to a marble table with similarly carved marble chairs located on the right side of Naossis statue. “Let’s us have a drink with Lucius,” he said. “I know we have current matters to discuss, but I want to catch up with Lord Heir.”
Lucius agreed with a nod and sat across from Lord Holt, the old Duke taking his place at the head. His sons sitting on either side, aged Lord Draco next to Sir Rupert, Trupo and Ramirez sitting closer to Lucius.
“Young man,” Lord Holt told Sirio. “If you don’t mind sitting at the scribe’s spot,” he pointed at the small table behind the large statue. “It’s empty.”
“Of course my Lord,” Sirio said quickly, his sweaty face shining in the light coming from the open windows.
“What’s your name?” Holt stopped him. “Your face looks familiar.”
“I’m Sirio Veturius, Centurion Ramirus’ assistant,” Sirio replied quickly, a slight tremble in his voice.
Lord Holt glanced at Lucius amused. “Galio’s son? I’m shocked he found time to get married. Never left the camp when I was there.”
He still doesn’t. Only Tribune willing to assign himself patrol duty when the numbers come up short. Galio would just wither away if they took the army away from him.
“His sister’s kid,” Lucius replied.
“Where’s that old boot? Haven’t seen his sour mug in years.”
“Back in Anorum,” Lucius replied, Sirio moving his weight nervously from one leg to the other, breathing heavy and looking guilty as all hells.
“Didn’t have the legs to come visit?”
“He sends his regards Lord Holt,” Lucius said. “But I ordered him to take care of the Legion in my absence.”
“Solid officer material,” Lord Holt agreed, then grimaced. “Would have promoted him myself, but his is a politically unsafe name,” he finished staring at the uncomfortable Sirio. “Grab that bottle afore sitting down my lad and bring it here. Pour a cup for yourself, don’t worry I’ve plenty. You probably need it more than anyone else in here.”
“Haha,” Rupert chuckled. “Seems like it!”
“Not the time to be the fool,” Lord Holt warned him. “Open your ears. Both of you.”
Lucius stood back on the hard, uncomfortable, but cold chair.
“You know more than me Lord Holt,” he said opening his arms afore placing them on the shorter than usual, but well-crafted table.
“I was with your father until the end,” Holt told him, wrinkled mouth scrunching this way and that. “Fought like hell to pull through, but the damage was too great. Messed up his innards. Eh, riding and fighting didn’t help.”
“Who did it?” Lucius asked.
“A Centurion of the First, Lord Ursus cousin. Distant, probably a legitimized bastard from that actress his uncle was fooling around with… eh, it’s an old story,” Holt said seeing Lucius’ stare. “Came up behind him during a break in the talks afore the south gates. We were trying to negotiate with the guards, Alistair wanted to get out of Riverdor.”
“Did Ursus order it?”
“There’s suspicion, but we can’t be sure. There was dislike sure,” Holt replied. “They had that dispute about the High Baronship. Alistair should have just given him the title in hindsight. But he didn’t like the man, or his family. He could have acted alone, but I don’t believe it.”
“What did Jeremy do?” Lucius grunted, since he was of the same opinion.
“Made him a Duke, but it wasn’t his decision, I’m willing to wager on it. I don’t think he has any control of the other lords and I’m not sure he can handle Scaldingport or his Issir wife. They have army in Sabretooth and Alden. Heavy cavalry.”
“Was Scaldingport involved?” Lucius said and tasted the rosy Asturian wine Sirio brought them.
“Every year it turns out better,” the Duke told him seeing his appreciative expression. “Keep it cool enough and it’s a fine drink in the summer. Bernard thinks we can put those wines of the coast out of business. Give the Barons fits. It gave me pause politically speaking.”
“What of Scaldingport Lord Holt?” Lucius asked, putting the goblet down now that he gotten the gesture out of the way.
“Lord Ruud had the marriage,” he replied thoughtfully. “A deal with Alistair, who he trusted. Why toss all that away?”
“The Throne of Regia.”
“Nah, no one could predict what happened, or you being away for years and Lord Ruud wanted assurances for his own schemes anyway. He’s backing Princess Elsanne for the throne is the rumor. Has army on Eplas already and had to save Colle from the Midlanor’s soldiers a couple of months back. Him and Castalor have their arms full to open another front with you. This was Lord Doris and Ursus mess. Probably Brakis followed along due to the pact he has with Novesium. The Lorian Coast is your culprit, but for the Sula that is, per usual they stand by themselves.”
“Ruud’s backing one rebel already,” Lucius noted.
“It’s Ruud, if the opportunity is there he’ll take it,” Lord Holt told him. “And it is there.”
“Would Jeremy step down?”
“He might consider it, but then there’s his wife and kids. Lord Doris would want him on the throne after all that has happened. Ursus as well.”
“Why did Doris force his sister down? Better for him to have her on the throne,” Lucius probed. Most of what Lord Holt was telling him he knew, but his information was not second hand and it mattered.
“Doris wanted Jeremy on the throne, rightly he didn’t trust a woman on it,” Holt explained. “But he agreed to the compromise as it was in his favor.”
“Wanted Jeremy?”
“Eh, not initially. They wanted to knight him. Along with Miranda. Alistair wouldn’t have it, despite the lad finishing the Hunt per the custom.”
If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
“Jeremy had no inclination for it,” Lucius murmured. “But it isn’t unfathomable to have him knighted. He’s a man now. People change.”
“Alistair was right,” Lord Holt replied and glanced at his sons. “Sometimes someone just doesn’t have it, but perhaps again in hindsight… he should have given in.”
Not his father, he wouldn’t.
“Why did Miranda step down?”
“Spoken to you of all I personally know Lucius. I don’t like speculating on such matters,” Lord Holt stated warningly.
“Neither do I,” Lucius retorted in the same vein, “but for Doris to agree, something happened.”
“Miranda was in Alden during the Conference of Lords, there’s no way she could have found the opportunity, assuming the rumor is true, amidst your father’s men.”
“What’s the rumor?” Lucius grunted narrowing his eyes.
“Ah,” Lord Holt grimaced unwilling to discuss it.
Bernard stooped over the table and looked at the frustrated general. Lucius returned the stare.
“I can put it to words,” Bernard started and Lord Holt turned his way with a warning glare.
“You may not boy! We don’t soil a good man’s name after he’s gone!”
Lucius grimaced. The Duke was worried about Alistair’s reputation and not Miranda’s.
He wanted the truth, such as he could find it.
“My father would have liked me to know, so I can deliver his justice Bernard,” Lucius said steel in his voice.
“Word is the Queen Regent became pregnant well after the King was gone,” Bernard replied, over Lord Holt’s disgusted hiss from across the table. “She was seen… Lord Heir.”
Lucius pursed his mouth, but said nothing.
Lord Doris had to force her to step down then, or he could have ended the pregnancy quietly. Lucius didn’t believe Lord Doris had it in him to spare his own sister in order to avoid a costly scandal to his house. What stopped him? Why risk it?
Miranda is lucky she’s still breathing, he thought. The fact they even negotiated with her astounding. Who could have listened to her at such a dramatic moment, or risen to her defense?
Why would anyone?
They didn’t need her to step down, they could have just gotten rid of her quietly or not. Maybe Doris negotiated a deal…? No… She was an asset to him, now poisoned. Why would he even consider giving up coin, or some lofty position for a guilty wayward woman?
He wouldn’t.
Then again how could Storm miss that the Queen had a lover? Granted they didn’t like each other, Lord Nattas being from Lesia like his late mother, but still… perhaps too much was going on and he got overwhelmed. He had his own mess to deal with, with an illegitimate daughter popping out of the woodwork.
Perhaps what Doris had used to tie Nattas’ hands?
Lucius sighed. The story didn’t make sense.
----------------------------------------
“Was Jeremy privy in the plot to have my father killed and removed?” Lucius asked tiredly a long moment later, leaving the matter of Miranda aside.
Lord Holt pushed himself away from the table with a frown.
“Does it matter, whether he was or not?” he asked neutrally.
“He’s my brother,” Lucius replied and eyed the silent Baron Draco. “My mother’s young boy. You council against restraint Lord Holt?”
“Eh, stop it,” the old Duke grunted. “You came with an army Lucius, because you knew where this was going since the beginning. If you’re looking for absolution, or to lay the blame elsewhere, you won’t find it in this Hall. The boy knew taking the throne made him your enemy in Gods and peoples’ eyes. It’s too late now. Family hurts you as well as a stranger, sometimes more,” Lord Holt finished and stooped to grab his gem-encrusted gold goblet to sip from his wine.
Lord Draco cleared his throat and a surly Lucius stared at him over the table.
“Why is the army in Anorum my Lord Heir?” The Baron of Whitetiger asked.
“Draco, we can talk of this later,” Lord Holt said, but Lucius gestured for the Duke to allow him to answer.
“The Legion is in Anorum, because I want them to head down Uher’s Passage, through the mountains and hopefully reach Oras Navel at the Goat Plains afore your Tunnel Pass finishes my Lords,” Lucius told them.
There.
“How will you go over Framtond?” Lord Draco asked furrowing his brow.
“Same as your ancestors and mine did,” Lucius replied.
“You want to reach Cartagen,” Lord Holt murmured.
“Take the capital, or save it. Deal with Ursus and free up Duke Sula.”
“Save it,” Lord Holt said skeptically and placed his goblet on the table, while Baron Draco stood bad a look of disbelief on his aged face. Rupert didn’t seem particularly bothered by the revelation and Bernard was staring at his tied up hands on the table. He was squeezing that goblet so hard his knuckles had turned white. “Save it from what?”
“I’ve angered Lesia, but even I hadn’t,” Lucius retorted trying to keep his voice steady. “The temptation is too great and the city ripe for the taking. They’re building up for an invasion. A chance to recover lost prestige, or gain coin. The latter would be my pick. Even both.”
“You think Lesia will attack Cartagen? Attack Jeremy to hurt you?” Holt grunted.
“It has nothing to do with that. They can’t go another way safely,” Lucius argued. “But I’ve told you my reasoning. We are landlocked, your ‘sea’ exempted and this isn’t a winning strategy. Even if we march all the way to Aldenfort and beyond, they could always land under our noses, hit us in the rear. As long they control the ports.”
“We are not fighting Lesia!” Baron Draco exploded, veins bursting at the side of his neck, his face flushed. “You will have us open another front?”
“Calm down Vibius,” Lord Holt cautioned with a grimace.
“Lesia has been fighting me,” Lucius replied his voice hardening.
“You expect us to fight on our own?” Draco asked, on the verge of apoplexy.
“Lucius,” Lord Holt told him. “What if Jeremy attacks us?”
“He hasn’t. Even if he does, can’t you hold the city?”
Lord Holt puffed out exasperated. “I can put numbers in the field, but I can’t risk an open battle on the plains. Jeremy could send everything down the coast road.”
“It won’t matter if you stay behind the river.”
“You want me to stay behind the river and abandon my holdings and subjects? What about Pascor? Do I retreat to Ruinal and abandon Whitetiger as well? You are not making it easy here for me Lucius.”
Lucius smacked his lips and glanced at Ramirus. The LID officer gave him the scroll he’d received, Lucius answer already traveling the other way, since despite discussing his plans with Lord Holt his decisions had been made much earlier.
Asturia could take a punch and survive, but not if Jeremy gained control of the Lorian Coast, or if Lesia overrun everything whist they dwindled their thumbs thinking on potential risks.
Now this, wasn’t easy to say to the old Duke understandably.
“Sula and the Fourth will secure Van Calcar’s loyalties,” he started not needing to read the missive again. “So you only have one front to worry about Lord Holt.”
‘You’ll trust the Lord of Pascor,” Draco grunted, a hand rubbing his forehead in an attempt to alleviate a nasty migraine. “You know what the fishermen say? You topple your boat near Pascor, better to slit yer own throat and sink to the bottom. You aren’t getting back alive.”
“You want me to trust the fishermen words and superstitions?” Lucius retorted harshly. “Or hear the Lord of Pascor himself?”
“What does he say?” Lord Holt asked tiredly.
“He invited me to his wedding,” Lucius started. “I won’t go, but Sula will with my blessings.”
“Lord Ton is getting married? How is that relevant?” Rupert asked, the stout knight’s sole contribution to the discussion. “Is it a close cousin? His sister? Word is the lass is nuttier than a shithouse rat. Wait she’s already married! Haha!”
Eh, half a contribution.
“Lady Aafke Van Durren, of Badum,” Lucius told them. “Along with the invitation, the Lord of Pascor asked for a defense pact with Greater Kas and the Fourth to travel to Pascor. He vowed to bring them across the lake with his own ships after it.”
“Why does he need the Legion there? Why not let them travel through his lands to the bridge at Picker’s and over it?” Bernard asked guardedly.
“Why do you think?” Lucius asked him.
Bernard shrugged his shoulders. He had Lord Holt’s blond hair, but a narrow face and was thinly built without much muscle for a knight.
“Lord Albert hasn’t sanctioned the affair, so he probably fears repercussions with the High King incapacitated and every lord doing his own thing,” he said and Lucius nodded.
“That’s true Bernard. Very astute.”
“Did you agree?” Lord Holt asked a little perturbed.
“I asked him to turn Bisonville into a free city and release control of the bridge over the Picker River to Whitetiger. If you built a fort there Baron Draco, the road to the North will be safe and you’ll control the Cattle Fields again.”
“Through Van Calcar’s lands,” Draco noted.
“Does he attack the caravans in his own lands? No,” Lucius said. “He hits them on yours and taxes those that slip through. He won’t do it again.”
For a while.
“You can’t trust the Lakelord Lucius,” Lord Holt said.
“I don’t trust him, but he fears an attack on his own city and I intent to help him save his head. Whilst he’s busy with that, he won’t look to anger Asturia.”
Bernard breathed out impressed. “He wants the legion there as a deterrent, looking to avoid fighting if possible during the summer months, but you hope to provoke a fight instead. You want them to fight. Does Sula know?”
“The Legatus will do his part,” Lucius replied vaguely. “By simply being there.”
“Mercator is a close friend and relative,” Lord Holt reminded him. “I can’t abandon him Lucius. I understand Anorum, but you can’t ask me to throw my people to the wolves.”
“No one is in danger at this point,” Lucius assured him. “There is time to move our pieces on the board afore they get wind of it my Lords. Bring everyone behind the river is my suggestion. With a bit of luck Legatus Sula could be here before Jeremy, or Doris make their move. By then the Third would be to Cartagen and with the Tunnel Pass finished, we will have full control from the Canlita to the Lorian Gulf.”
Unless Lesia decides to get greedy.
“I’ll need to think on this. Discuss it with Mercator… eh, it’s not an easy ask,” Lord Holt said and Lucius nodded. “Will the Third stay in Anorum for the time being? What does your plan say Lord Heir?”
“There is no such thing,” Lucius replied evenly. “As a perfect plan. So I can’t answer your query truthfully Lord Holt. And I won’t.”
The old Duke clenched his jaw at his reply. “Asturia needs more than that Lucius. While we haven’t asked for anything, this appears more like punishment than reward. Goodwill and loyalty can only do so much when folk’s livelihoods are in danger.”
“Aldenfort,” Lucius deadpanned without hesitation.
“You’ll give me control of the junction and the south coast?” Holt asked standing back.
Lucius nodded. “Can I count on your banners Lord Holt?”
“I can’t answer you truthfully at this time Lord Heir and you know it,” the Duke of Asturia replied evenly. “So I won’t.”
Lucius had feared that.
----------------------------------------
----------------------------------------
Lucius had meal with Lord Holt at his Palace, Faye loving the many plates and varieties in foodstuff and drinks so much she had one cup too many. Thankfully nothing dramatic occurred at the table and Lady Anne came to take care of Roderick in their lavish quarters in the Palace. Anne had a teenage son with Lord Pryor, the boy Decius left behind despite wanting to come along.
“Boys are great until they start figuring things out,” Anne whispered, not wanting to wake Roderick, or his already snoring mother. Faye had fallen asleep the moment her body touched the soft fluffy mattress. “Then they are trouble.”
“Were we trouble?” Lucius asked staring at the Duke’s garden in the light of the setting sun.
“Not you, but Ralph was…” Anne paused with a frown. “Apologies.”
“No reason for it,” Lucius told her civilly. “I’ve brought it up.”
“A gesture means more to my father,” Anne told him. “Than anything else.”
“My old teacher used to tell me that,” Lucius said keeping his voice low. “Back in Cartagen.”
“I knew him before you,” she reminded him with a motherly smile.
“How was he back then?” Lucius asked her.
“Di Cresta? Violent, brusque, foul-mouthed,” she counted.
“No way.”
Lucius remembered the old scholar as a sage and understanding orator.
“He hated teaching girls after hours, despite the coin,” Anne replied. “But father wanted all his kids to get the same education even if they never had the chance to use it. He rarely refused us anything.”
“I didn’t know that. Sounds very open-minded for him.”
“He’ll allow you to swim on your own. It can be liberating, but he expects a lot.”
Lucius looked at her. “Sounds like a good deal.”
His father was a bit like that, but with a much tighter leash and Roderick’s long stick.
Ahm, Lucius realized his father appeared harsher in his younger years than he perhaps was.
“Not always, it isn’t,” Anne replied solemnly. “Removing walls doesn’t mean they aren’t there and having noble intentions won’t always bring you the best possible outcome.”
----------------------------------------
----------------------------------------
Two hours later Lucius strolled out of the palace and into the gardens, the humidity and heat of the night not allowing him any sleep. Gripa followed after him, half-asleep and stumbling down the stairs.
Lucius’ mind was preoccupied with the many moving pieces of his plan, unfolding without him being present and out of his control. You can only do so much, he thought. You can hope for Luthos intervention, but that is a foolish wish to have. Luck comes at a terrible cost.
He walked the well-maintained copse, its path covered with fine yellow grit, crashed stone from the now abandoned quarry that had built the city. A cool breeze was coming beyond the palace’s walls and its moat. It was gusting over the port city and the coast. Lucius had an estate of his own there and he intended to visit it at some point in the next days. He had trouble remembering how it felt visiting the city with his family in the past. Like Lucius was a different person now, detached and watching the familiar roads, lights and buildings with indifference.
When younger, Lucius liked to work on his verses on similar nights, or thinking on nature’s silly little mysteries, like how could a closed lake be a sea? Was there a greater ocean under the earth, or it was just the waters standing much higher in the distant past? Had they retreated following the lower elevation towards the Lorian Coast?
Life ever making circles, indifferent in its turn with petty human problems.
He paused near the benches of the small lake, its waters shinning in the light of two moons and looked towards the city center. Lucius couldn’t see it standing amidst the trees and the rich vegetation of the Duke’s gardens, but he could make out the massive shape of Ebenezer’s head over them. The still adventurer looking at the skies like a mythical giant, more than ten times the size of Layton, the statue a way for the crafters of that time to pour into his stone body all they had. A great city’s dreams and ambitions, an unrelenting will to survive despite the many enemies coveting its riches. Above all an immeasurable pride in its conviction that in those ancient streets and on these shores, a Goddess had walked once upon a time, before returning to her island across the quiet lake’s briny waters.
The wind rustled between the leaves, dancing Alders and whistling ferns, with rows of giant elms watching over them. The pond’s benches hidden behind clusters of flowers, mainly roses. Red, white and the blushing pinks Naossis favored because it remind her of the Gish. Blue like the sea as if touched by Abrakas who had loved her as much as he’d loved her mother.
Ah, Lucius thought surprised that he’d let his poetic soul wander free, the respite needed to rest his troubled mind. He turned around intending to leave the pond, Gripa waiting stoically ten meters away, fighting to stay awake and paused hearing a woman’s chuckle. Lucius frowned, the hour almost three in the morning, the palace grounds dead silent, but for the distant patrols that avoided the empty gardens. Then he heard a gasp and a murmur answering it.
“What is it milord?” Gripa asked hoarsely, perking up and the murmurs stopped abruptly.
“Show yourself!” Lucius barked and walked back towards the benches. A slim figure intercepting him midway. The young woman covered in a dark long cloak, a whiff of blond hair escaping her hastened clasped front to keep it closed.
“My lords,” the comely woman gushed. “Blessings of the Goddess upon you.”
Eh?
Lucius stood back and glanced behind the much shorter than him woman. “What are you doing here? Do you live in the palace?”
“All doors are open good knight,” she beamed, painted lips splitting, her sweet perfume reaching Lucius nostrils. For the Fair Lady, Lucius added and blinked, the young woman’s smile growing seeing his expression afore adding.
“All lustful hours of the day and all veiled calls of each night.”
Lucius pressed his mouth, a little rattled a priestess of Naossis was roving the Duke’s gardens at this hour and then his mind told him that the priestess’ voice wasn’t that of the woman that he’d heard laughing earlier.
“Oops,” the priestess murmured empathetically seeing his sharp eyes returning towards the benches and the second figure that was standing there, half-hidden in the darkness. Black hair billowing over her slim shoulders, as tall as her friend, but with an attractive, perfectly oval high cheeked face and familiar eyes.
Lucius had spent his day talking with her father.
“Goddess, that’s Lucius,” Monica Holt said stunned and the priestess moved to distract him again. She was one for sure since Lucius could see the sea shell tattoo clearly on the underside of her bejeweled forearm, when she raised it to perform a teasing curtsy.
“Lord Heir,” she purred. “You are in our prayers.”
What is this nonsense?
“Lady Monica,” Lucius grunted hoarsely turning his eyes on Lord Holt’s fiercely blushing youngest daughter. “The hour is ungodly late. What are you doing here?”
----------------------------------------
“I couldn’t sleep,” Monica murmured and Lucius realized she was wearing a flimsy nighty under her loose summer cloak. “So I came to sit down by the lake,” she added her voice gaining strength with each spoken word.
“In the middle of the woods?” Lucius asked and heard Gripa approaching behind him.
The young woman shrugged her shoulders. “It’s really just a garden with big walls. No one can get in.”
“She did,” Lucius retorted and stared at the now silent priestess.
“Vita is a friend.”
Yeah, that is not an answer girl.
“Does anyone else know you are here?” He asked her remembering Lord Holt’s daughter had been absent the whole day. After talking with her step-sister, Lucius found it strange the Duke had kept her hidden from his visitors.
“It’s my father’s palace. I grew up under these trees,” Monica said returning his stare brazenly. “I know its secrets. Don’t worry yourself Lucius.”
What?
“I’m not worried Lady Monica, but your father will want to learn of this,” Lucius said harshly, not liking her tone and vague responses. Then Lucius remembered he wasn’t in the North anymore and women behaved differently in Regia. “I shall escort you back to the estate.”
Monica pouted. “Can I refuse?”
Lucius blinked not expecting it. Gripa cleared his throat to remind him he was technically in the woods with an unmarried girl of age and a priestess of Naossis, very late in the night.
“You can’t,” he retorted brusquely already frustrated she’d ruined a fine evening for him and Vita stepped closer into his personal space, which infuriated him even more.
“Lord Heir,” Vita said softly. “I shall take her back.”
Ahm.
Lucius grimaced, trying to keep it civil, being a guest in another Lord’s house he didn’t want to cause a scene. “I don’t know you,” he finally told her, his patience running thin. “I won’t say it again milady.”
Monica made to move, but Vita used an arm to stop her.
“Gripa,” Lucius said indifferently. “Wake the guards. Or find a patrol.”
“The gates milord?” His aide offered an alternative.
“Get all of them,” Lucius replied looking at the priestess, trying to keep the emotions from her face. What in allgods is your problem girl? “We have intruders inside the walls. We might need the dogs.”
Vita raised her brows, a nervous clench on her jaw. “You’ll harm a priestess?”
“You’ll have your answer soon enough.”
“Fine good knight,” Vita retorted, her demeanor changing. “I’ll leave.”
She raised the hood of her cloak, her priestess’s robes underneath a fierce red and with less material than Monica’s nighty. Lucius narrowed his eyes and heard Endariel’s lullaby whistling amidst the trees. He had unsheathed it unwittingly, the sharp blade now resting under the priestess’ chin.
The lullaby turned sinister, resembling a paean, the air all about them humid and heavy.
The sword as if it had a will of its own urged him to draw blood.
To finish it here.
Ah, what is this? Lucius thought clenching his jaw so hard it was hurting him.
“Stop it please!” A scared Monica gasped in panic –her first truthful emotion- and got between them, an arm pushing a frozen Vita away, the other clasping at his sword’s hand at the wrist. Vita stepped slowly away a couple of steps on shaky legs.
“We don’t take from the Goddess,” a pale faced Vita warned when she recovered some and a rattled Lucius almost run her through, despite Monica’s desperate hold on his arm. He reached with his left and grabbed her small wrist. Using minimum force Lucius dislodged Monica’s fingers freeing his right arm, kept twisting hers despite the young woman’s efforts to stop him.
“Pull your cloak’s sleeve up,” Lucius hissed. “All the way,” he added eyeing the smirking priestess. “Show me the arm.”
Monica did with a nervous whimper, the skin smooth there but for the black ink.
> The sleeping Naossis breathed out delicately, the breeze coming from her nearby Isle turning dry and smelling of aromatic incense. A touch of ripe lemon, of freshly-cut roses, sweet myrrh and burning sandalwood.
Oras shadow, Lucius thought shocked and let go of her arm, Monica covering it swiftly at the sound of the guards approaching.
“You’re a priestess?” He asked, their strange behavior making sense now, along the secrecy of the spot and the peculiar time. Monica scrunched her comely face, her young beauty strangely vulgar now to his eyes. What folk called Nesande’s Moon was shining its pale blue light over their heads, its disk full.
Naossis mother.
“Let us go,” she pleaded, those clear-blue eyes that of a mature woman.
Allfather. Does the old man know?
“Milord?” the returning Gripa asked unsure, the gate guards standing further back behind him in guilty silence. What is going on here?
“It was an animal,” Lucius rasped and sheathed his sword, the blade screeching disappointed as it submerged in the rough leather. “It’s gone now. Get the men back to their spots Gripa.”
“Of course milord,” his aide replied, without batting an eyelash and turned around to inform the guards about the false alarm.
“See you get out of the palace grounds,” Lucius told Vita soberly and she nodded without any fanfare this time. “Lady Monica,” he continued turning his eyes on Lord Holt’s daughter. As her sister had perceptively feared, or perhaps knew, sometimes noble intentions won’t bring you the best possible outcome. “You have until we reach your quarters to explain yourself,” Lucius added tiredly, wishing he hadn’t stopped at the pond.
The last thing Lucius needed at this junction of his life was to get mixed up in this type of upper-class angst-filled family drama.
As habitually happens in these matters, even the shrewdest of mortals can be blind.
----------------------------------------
----------------------------------------
----------------------------------------
read it at Royalroad : https://www.royalroad.com/fiction/46739/touch-o-luck-the-old-realms
& https://www.royalroad.com/fiction/47919/lure-o-war-the-old-realms
Scribblehub https://www.scribblehub.com/series/542002/touch-o-luck-the-old-realms/
& https://www.scribblehub.com/series/547709/the-old-realms/