>
> The Northern Sea brought an icy wind over the reforming glaciers beyond Krakenhall’s Port. It turned to big lumps of hard snow that dropped in the water and turned to ice slowly. The port itself would soon completely freeze over as it did when early fall came, the ice covering the roads and the sturdy stone houses. But Krakenhall will continue living after the winter’s real cold arrives, as its people know how to handle winter and don't fear it.
>
> Zofia could feel the chill penetrating her direwolf fur coat, her intricate chainmail armour and the woolen shirt she wore underneath it. Hard leather pants kept her warm enough and the only part of her body protesting was her lost toe because Zofia had been standing before the open window of the castle for so long.
>
> She loved keeping the Mayor Jerome Otter unsure on her intentions. In the fourth year of her reign Zofia had learned how to handle everyone in her court. Nine parts cruelty and a touch of sweetness.
>
> “Duchess,” Otter said finishing his report on the talks with Governor Tutor of Krakenfort. The Governor had written his reply on her demands. “That would be all.”
>
> Zofia turned to stare at him, the wind on her back making the torches and giant the fireplace’s flames flicker in the distance. Her long shadow reaching Otter’s feet. It was always rather gloomy inside the stone walls of Krakenhall’s citadel and full of shades.
>
> “How many loads of iron?”
>
> “The usual amount, plus the rivets already made numbering twenty-five thousand but we’ll need way more than that.”
>
> “Melt them down as well. You’ll make splint mail for the warriors,” Zofia said. “No cuirasses, but for the Citadel’s troops. Talk to the Guilds.”
>
> Mayor Otter blinked. “Ringmail and plate had been made traditionally in the area. Tutor is using the army’s designs for the segmented armor he ships to Kas and he's using a lot of artisans to do it. This has reduced our production and you want to halt—”
>
> “I don’t care what Tutor does. Krakenhall has tons of thick leather rotting in stores. We shall use it. If the crafters don’t like it, I’ll have their heads and work with the apprentices,” Zofia hissed and Otter’s face paled. He glanced towards the silent Curd sitting near the fireplace and then cleared his throat nervously.
>
> “Will the Duchess wish a suit made for her?”
>
> “No,” Zofia replied. “I prefer mail for I can move better with it.”
>
>
>
> ----------------------------------------
>
>
>
> “Why are you still here?” Zofia asked him.
>
> “I wanted to see me boys,” Dirk rustled and got up from his seat.
>
> Steven and baby Lud.
>
> “Better that you didn’t.”
>
> “I really don’t…” he grunted. “This fuckin’ arrangement is plenty one sided,” Dirk finally said more confused than angry.
>
> “I have a meeting with Captain O’ Leary. Best he don’t see ye here as he fancies me. You need to get yer rest anyway and depart. You have a long road ahead of you. See you keep away from the main paths.”
>
> “I know the way,” Dirk protested adding with a grimace. “He knows. Most do.”
>
> “You need to understand something Curd,” Zofia said and approached him. “It doesn’t matter what some may know, if they can’t speak of it. And they won’t. That’s how it is.”
>
> “That’s just a bunch of fancy bullshit lass,” Dirk spat.
>
> “That’s called ruling.”
>
> “Umm. Dead men speak the fewer words is me personal experience,” Dirk argued scrunching his face. “I don’t want young Kent De Vent wit me.”
>
> “His presence will inspire the locals.”
>
> “I don’t want them coming along either. I’ve enough men. They’ll slow me down,” Dirk rustled and she touched his hand softly to stop him.
>
> Fear didn’t work with Dirk Curd.
>
> “You’ll need numbers, but most of all I need soldiers that have seen battle,” Zofia explained and retrieved her hand. “My needs are above yours Dirk why?”
>
> “You’re the Duchess of Krakenhall,” Dirk murmured.
>
> “And I always repay me debts,” Zofia added.
>
> Dirk Curd grimaced and then nodded. With a last look at the fireplace, he turned around and walked towards the doors of the hall.
>
> “Don’t get yerself killed Devious Dirk,” Zofia called on his back and Dirk paused. “I’ve more need for ye likes.”
>
> “That’s not exactly inspiring lass far as words go,” Dirk retorted. “But I’ll take the shaggin’ sentiment.”
----------------------------------------
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Nard
‘All veiled hours of each night’
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Semi-Independent Island of Valeria,
Fall of 193 NC
A kilometer from the village Port of Valeria
Valeria Settlement, marketplace
Third Week of 3rd Month.
Second Day of IV Legio’s stay on the Island
Early morning
“You should stay in the sun more,” Jan-Bert offered following after him. The young man getting more annoying with each passing day. Nard had met him in the ship, the Tollor youth working the decks. Mostly sweeping, repairing and carrying ropes for the sailors. Singing. Nard wanted to knife him in the throat during that time, but their ship’s deck was crowded with people packed there so it could carry more. So Jan was spared Nard’s knife and managed to stick to Nard like glue. Having everyone else avoiding him wasn’t helping to get rid of the young Issir. “Then your skin would darken more and no one will ever know!” Jan-Bert added.
“It doesn’t work like that,” Nard retorted stopping to glare at the idiotic smiling young Issir. Jan had short-cut hair but left plenty at the top so he could comb it back with grease. Nard just cut his enough so they didn’t fall on his eyes.
He carried what looked like a crooked flat plank on his back tied with a hemp rope, he’d gotten from the ship.
“How do you know?” Jan replied staring obliquely at the witch approaching them. In her half-breed form, since apparently it was better for people to not know where they had disappeared to.
“I was born like this,” Nard hissed. “You go away now. Back to the ship or whatever other jobs you have.”
“I don’t,” Jan replied beaming. “They don’t want to pay me for the time we are moored so I get to go wherever I want!”
Shite!
Nard glanced at the approaching witch nervously. She had told him to avoid speaking to anyone on the trip. But while the silent, stupid Fish Folk routine worked on the other Issirs and the Lorians, it didn’t work with Jan-Bert.
“I say better ye go away now,” he told him, but the witch intervened before Jan could answer.
“Nard, don’t be so severe with the good lad,” she said sweetly and Jan stood up straighter at her words. The fool that he was.
“Warm greetings fellow Fish Folk lady,” Jan said with a toothy smile, an eyebrow raised in what was intended to be a seductive expression, but just made him look like an idiot.
“I’m Leirda,” the witch said and tended a hand. Jan grabbed it and bowed.
“Jan-Bert Luffy, at yer service,” he said warmly.
“You were in our ship,” Leirda said.
“I was… still am that is. We’re in the same ship was my meaning,” Jan replied that fool’s grin plastered on his mouth.
“What’s that on your back love?” Leirda asked.
“Ahm… that would be a lute, sweet lass.”
“Your name means that,” Leirda elucidated. She was always difficult to please. “It wasn’t an endearment.”
Hah-hah.
Fuckin' dufus.
“Ah. I won’t retract mine just the same,” Jan replied unfazed. “It’s a moniker. I’m an artist.”
“Does it work? Your lute?”
Why do you care? Nard thought.
Why did you keep him from me? The Hag asked in his head.
“Well, I need to hollow out the cavity a bit more and add at least one more string to it, or two,” Jan admitted in turn. “But I can already play it. As a matter of fact, I’ve already written a song.”
“You have indeed,” Leirda agreed as if she was interested. “What is it about?”
Seriously?
“The White Witch of the Isles,” Jan replied.
What?
“What did she do?” Leirda asked strangely pleased now.
“Saved Tollor of course,” Jan replied.
Bullshit she did.
The witch glared at him.
“Are you from Tollor Luffy?”
“Yes Leirda,” Jan said openly flirting with her. “I’m also more experienced than I look.”
Stinking bloated fish!
“That’s enough Jan,” Nard said. “You had that thing to work on remember?”
Jan frowned. “No, I didn’t Nard. You’re confused man hah-hah!”
“Better to check it out wit the captain,” Nard insisted.
“You don’t fear the witch then?” Leirda asked ignoring him.
“I’ve seen her. I stood amazed in her splendor,” Jan replied reminiscing. “Her memory weakened by your own alas.”
You slimy son of an ugly crab!
What an idiot.
These cheap stupid words won’t work on the Hag fool!
“Perhaps we share it then, all the splendor,” Leirda chuckled apparently enjoying the fool’s words and pointed at the market. “Why don’t you buy a lute Luffy?”
“Too expensive, but hey, I’m working on it as a backup plan!” Jan replied with enthusiasm.
“How much do they pay you?”
“A copper Eagle per day.”
Wow, might as well you worked for free, Nard thought and shook his head.
“How much for the lute?”
“Two Gold ones. I’m still ways away,” Jan admitted. “And I’m only employed for this trip.”
Tough luck buddy.
“You have one?”
“Sure, I keep them here,” Jan replied and got a round copper coin out. He gave it to her and Leirda took it in her hand to give it a good look.
Nard all but groaned in frustration not understanding what she was doing and fearing it won’t end well for the amateur bard.
“Hmm,” Leirda said and tended her arm to return it, her fist closed. Jan opened his palm, the witch opened her fist and a gold coin fell on Luffy’s hand. He almost dropped it, the large square coin heavy.
“Eh, that’s not… it’s not mine,” Jan said with a shocked grimace.
“Not yet, it isn’t.”
“Wow. Is that gold? It is. Why square?”
“It worth’s more than the others,” Leirda said. “So I guess you could be lucky Luffy.”
“But it’s not mine,” Jan argued. “I can’t accept this Leirda.”
“He-he. We will make a trade silly bard. A copper and something for my gold coin,” she replied with a shrug. “Do you want it?”
“What is that something?” Jan said.
“A simple choice and you could have it.”
“What’s the choice?” Jan asked.
“Nothing difficult. Will you go to the temple Nard?” The witch asked surprising him.
The locals called it the Academy.
“Why?” Nard asked suspicious of her intentions.
“I would go,” Jan retorted biting on the coin with his large front teeth. “Can’t miss that!”
“You’ll need to offer a gift of entrance Luffy,” she explained.
“What type?”
“Gold, jewelry, but mostly gold,” she explained. “You could offer them that coin.”
Jan stood back thoughtfully.
“The coin isn’t mine,” he finally said. “If it was,” Jan sighed and stared at the local market. “I would use it to have a proper lute made.”
With that, he made to return it to her, but Leirda stopped him. Her hand touched his dark-skinned face, the watching Nard grimacing as he feared the worst. The witch pouted her mouth instead and retrieved her arm.
“The coin is yours Luffy,” she said and stepped back. “May your songs be heard until your light extinguishes… and for many years after it does.”
Right.
“I’ll speak to the priestess again,” the witch told him, while Jan looked at his coin entranced and she pointed at the rather heavy middle-aged woman wearing a long purple hemp robe she was talking with earlier.
“That’s a priestess?” Jan asked snapping out of his reverie. He blinked unsure. “Eh, well I guess… I don’t know. What do you think Nard?”
Nard wanted nothing to do with any of it.
“You know Jan, now you have yer coin, you should go back to the ship,” Nard told him.
“Hah-hah, nice one,” Jan said laughing. “You’ve got a sly type of humor Nard.”
Idiot.
“I’ll ask her about letting us inside,” Leirda explained.
“Us?”
“Yes, Luffy. Don’t you want to come?”
“It’s gonna be too expensive.”
“Luffy,” the witch said looking into his sweaty face. “I’m not going to pay for it.”
Jan-Bert frowned unsure, but while Nard thought he knew what the witch would do, the young man was wrong as well.
----------------------------------------
“Priestess Hermione,” the witch said to the older Lorian woman.
“Priestess Leirda,” Hermione replied respectfully with a nod. “You’ve brought company.”
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Huh?
“This is Nard and Jan-Bert,” she replied.
“Hello boys, or is it young men?”
“The latter,” Jan replied readily.
Nard just grinded his teeth uncomfortable.
Priestess?
“We’ll take a carriage,” Hermione said. She looked more like the local baker’s wife than a priestess of Naossis. Not that Nard had ever seen one, but the sailors had never stopped talking about them during the journey.
The driver had a shaven head with a blue ribbon tattooed around his gleaming skull, his eyes penciled and he was built like a prize bull under the plain robes. They climbed inside, Nard not liking the tight space and Luffy pressed on him, the ‘lute’ knifing his shoulder with the crude arm.
“I haven’t seen an amulet of the Daughter’s Mother before,” Hermione commented sometime later, the carriage bouncing on the cobblestone towards the distant Academy of Senses. A couple of geedy groups of visitors following it on foot, the road itself cut amidst cultivated pink blossomed Crape Myrtle trees and the willowy Wisteria with its purple hanging flowers. “But have seen the Blue Moon plenty to know what it was.”
“No other priestess appeared?” The witch asked, while Nard kept himself ready for any abrupt developments. You never knew what the witch had in her mind. Luffy in comparison was staring outside the narrow carriage’s window quite excited, wild head sprouting out to better absorb the scenery.
“Not in my lifetime, or that of my mother’s,” Hermione replied.
The Island’s Custodian, the witch had told them. Sort of like a mayor with plump hands and legs and a sweet motherly smile.
“It smells pretty nice this forest! Right fellow travelers?” Jan-Bert yelled at those they passed by.
“Your apprentices?” Hermione asked unsure.
“The Issir is a bard,” Leirda replied and then looked at him. “My brother… doesn’t have the gift, but he’s skilled in other ways.”
“The Crugs are like that,” Hermione agreed. “Bear and his brother Acqer.”
“A predator and a ‘meadow of Oak Trees’. Or graveyard,” the witch pointed out.
“Not all in life is love and wine,” Hermione replied and glanced at the stretching Jan-Bert. “You know any new songs from the mainland young bard?” she asked him and Luffy smiled full of confidence.
Shite!
“Many, but I have one written myself,” he started getting his custom made lute out, hitting Nard’s head with it a couple of times in the tight space. “Would you like to hear it sweet Hermione?” He asked in a fake lower voice after clearing his throat.
What a fucking idiot.
That’s a firm no of course. A grown-arse woman wouldn’t fall for—
“I’d love to. It’s quite the trip,” she replied with a warm smile cutting through a frustrated Nard’s thoughts. Jan-Bert’s loud voice and brutal thumping on the cords coming out of their moving carriage and picking up the tempo with each gaudy verse. No one loved it more than the Hag though, despite managing to keep a neutral expression throughout the whole ordeal.
For she caaame down the muddy aisles
Oh, ye sweeeet old laaass of the Isles!
The Temple of Senses was a round columned dome-shaped structure twice the size of Duke Hoff’s castle. Not because it had as many buildings or towers housed in it, but because the two thousand long, very polished red marble and stone columns enclosed a large garden inside it and at its center a glass-walled atrium. The Goddess had built it was the story, but it was probably made along the rest of the temple or Academy eight or nine centuries ago, when the first merchants arrived at the shores of Valeria and discovered the community of priestesses living there.
Then again, Nard didn’t know which of the stories the sailors had told him during their travel was real. What was very real was the beautiful twenty year old priestess waiting for them inside the temple. Not much taller than him, wearing that short thin red robe depicted on the walls with the irregular hem, the cavernous side-split that reached the armpit where the long sheer lace-sleeves started. She had dark honey-colored hair that curled at the ends and her long legs and painted blue toes had a pair of strappy heeled sandals on.
They were made out of silk string and white pearls. Nard had never seen such a weird pair of shoes in his life.
“It’s an Imperial design,” Leirda explained and the Priestess nodded with a naughty smile, her fingers also painted blue in the local style. “Lorians and Cofols have copied it.”
“Not everyone can wear them,” the Priestess said and bending right at her waist started untying the cords.
“I’m sure you can,” Leirda retorted.
“Heh, well I have to remove them. Everyone please remove your footgear,” she told them and Nard slapped Jan-Bert’s chest to wake him up, as the bard was gawking with his mouth open at the priestess’ heavy breasts left exposed through the robe’s opening.
Nard was looking as well, but he could do it discreetly.
Those melons were a moving!
“I’m the First Idole of the Academy Drusilla,” she told them while working on the other sandal. “The Atrium’s floor is very expensive to preserve. It’s very impressive.”
Drusilla had folded in two almost, but maintained her balance which was equally darn impressive, Nard thought. Then seeing the witch was glaring at him, he added in his mind.
But less so if one considers she’s trained all her young life for it.
She’s over thirty, Leirda hissed in his head.
Ah.
That’s an awful lot of training.
“Is the High Priestess available?” Leirda hissed when Drusilla got rid of her sandals to lead them inside the richly decorated Atrium. The glass had been stained with age on the walls and it wasn’t easy to see inside through it, but enough light reached from afar to give a green and red illumination on the surface of the large pools of clean water, with touches of gold coming from the adorned oil lamps hanging from the unseen ceiling.
Not oil lamps. While there was incense burning a plenty, it was done in separate basins. The lamps contained stones in them that were glowing.
“She might be. Is everyone here looking for a sermon?”
“How expensive is it?” Jan asked and she stared at his smiling face intrigued.
“The Goddess appreciates any gift accordingly…” she paused expectantly.
“JB-Luff,” Jan replied lips split in a disconcerting grin. “I could sing for you sweet princess… priestess! Was my meaning.”
“As could I,” Drusilla replied unimpressed, adding in a more promising tone. “But I’ll sing all the more with a gold trinket between my toes,” she had raised a nimble leg with that, the painted toes jiggling invitingly to the young bard.
“He has a gold coin,” Nard blurted out.
Jan was never going to make it as a bard anyway. Might as well put that coin to good use, he thought.
“JB-Luff,” Drusilla purred and Jan blinked in the effort to keep ahold of his functions.
“Thank you for your assistance,” Leirda cut in frostily. “We don’t need you anymore.”
“Ah, as you wish sister,” Drusilla replied sweetly, lowering her leg. “Perhaps we shall see each other again.”
“Pray to the Goddess,” the witch countered solemnly. “That we don’t.”
Nard stared at her unsure on her meaning, as she rarely said anything without reason, but Drusilla walked away from them, the sun penetrating her robes when she stooped to pick up her sandals from the Atrium’s large open doors and all manner of revelations were exposed for him to see.
Allgods ‘n devils darn it!
“Flavia will try to seduce you,” Leirda said austerely snapping him out of his aroused state. “See you perform better than this. Both of you. Reveal nothing and don’t speak unless I tell you to.”
“Hah, your sister is really bossy,” Jan replied. “But you can’t stop Luffy from performing around the ladies. Rest assured though that I’m always in control and on sure footing sweet Fish Folk lass.”
Eh.
Jan marched ahead of them deeper into the Atrium, intending to navigate between the curved artificial pools, but only made three or four strides afore slipping on the damp mosaic floors and catapulting head-first inside a shallow pool with a yelp and a huge splash.
Nard had to get him out half-unconscious before Jan drowned himself as he kind of liked the bard deep down. He got soaked to the bone in the process.
----------------------------------------
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“Is he alright?” A woman asked in a controlled very polished voice. Nard sighed and then stood frozen in his soaked tunic, leaving Jan to drop on the colored tiles like a heavy sack of potatoes. The stunning woman stepped out of one of the deeper pools, her long blond hair wet and curling, wearing nothing but a pair of long thin gold chains. One around her narrow waist, connected to a gem at her fit navel and another around her long neck, hanging loosely between a pair of heaving breasts.
All her skin pores reacting to the light chill of the large humid Atrium.
“He’ll live for quite a while,” the witch replied stiffly stopping to examine with interest one of the paintings set over a columned altar, with small lighting stones and incense burning under it.
“That’s good to hear,” Flavia replied huskily this time and approached them after picking up and tossing a red tunic made of sheer lace over her dripping wet body. She used a silk belt to close it, but Nard could still see everything almost. The lacy outfit darkening and sticking on the priestess’ skin immediately.
Mother’s milky grace dripping from the heavens!
Nard averted his eyes with superhuman effort and stared low before the approaching blonde woman.
Flavia’s naked fingers and toes were painted gold. Nard blinked. So were her bulging nipples and the trimmed strip of soft hairs at the part of her legs.
The gold paint sparkled in the light of the stones.
Magic.
Flavia walked moving all parts of her body it seemed. A deliberate, slow and taunting approach. His leg started shaking uncontrollably and Nard had to put a hand on it, left eye tearing from the effort to keep a neutral face.
And failing spectacularly.
The High Priestess of Naossis paused in front of him, a mature woman for sure, probably around forty, but despite not having any makeup on there were very few age wrinkles on her face and body. Nard could forgive the tiny imperfections given the sum of all parts on display.
When you spend time sardined in a ship with a lot of smelly sailors, war-weary men and a witch that ate a couple of them in the trip, you can appreciate beauty like this all the more, as the equally lovely Drusilla would say.
Nard hadn’t forgotten about the low-ranking priestess.
“They are so young,” Flavia commented with the hint of a smile. “As are you priestess Leirda.”
Eh. You’re way wrong there ruler of the soft flesh.
But yer forgiven.
Flavia turned to approach the witch still examining the painting unaware of his lewd thoughts. It depicted a raven-haired Lorian girl in her birth suit sitting on a lavish throne with them long legs open, (the artist sparing no details) another girl kneeling in front of her, the second girl’s hands clasping at the fit parted thighs for better purchase.
Good grief.
One would have to be an idiot not to guess what was happening there.
“Priestess Leda,” Flavia elucidated for the witch. Nard would have liked a bit more details on the painting, but just stood there ogling at the soaking fast tunic of the priestess in silence. “Way before our time. The Muse of Beauty though graces us still with her presence. Gives inspiration at our difficult times.”
She does indeed.
“Her hair was more red than black,” the witch replied without looking at her. She was in a bad mood. Flavia had reached to touch the witch’s shoulder in the meantime, but stopped at her words alarmed. “She had plenty of the North in her, but Leda liked to pretend it was just paint,” the Hag of the Fenlands added.
Flavia stood back, her demeanor changing briefly, afore she gave a nonchalant shrug. “Artists always take liberties. You serve at a temple then Leirda?” She asked next changing the subject. Yes, Nard thought. But it’s not as lovely as this, nor has as interesting employees. “It’s an unusual name. I like it though. It gives me a certain tingling,” Flavia added meaningfully.
“A small one,” the witch replied still looking at the garish painting oblivious to the priestess’ flirting. “In the Fenlands.”
Flavia nodded in silence and retreated towards a small table next to the altar. She reached for a vial of perfumed oil and poured some in her hands, the color a golden yellow, rubbed the palms together and then spread it at the opening of her tunic up to the base of her wet neck slowly.
“Are you her apprentice then?” she asked casually stooping and picking up a strange gold piece of jewelry with a rough crimson stone attached on it. Flavia made to touch the strange stone on the wick of a fat black candle, but Leirda’s voice stopped her.
“It is better they don’t know. Your sisters,” she told the priestess.
Flavia pouted and stared at the witch apprehensively. “Better for whom?”
“You,” the witch replied and reaching picked up the black candle to examine it. “Do you know who gave this to her?”
“It was my great grandmother’s,” Flavia replied. “A gift from the High Priestess,” she added glancing at the painting.
Ah, yer grandmother had looked lovely from the back, Nard thought looking at the painting with a newfound interest.
The witch touched the aforementioned girl in the painting that had her lovely back turned with a finger. She traced the whole of the painted body, from the exposed round bottom to the luscious head, the nail cutting the old canvas with an eerie scratch until it reached the belly of the ancient High Priestess and then cut her in half as well.
Nard gulped down nervously.
“You can’t gift what isn’t yours,” the witch said evenly. “If you lie in the trade,” she added turning to the priestess. “Then the trade is forfeited.”
“It’s the way of the Temple,” Flavia retorted narrowing her eyes. Nard had no idea what they were talking about. The Priestess’ perfume was making him dizzy and he had a raging hard on that he kept at bay with a forearm pretending to scratch his leg. Jan groaned from the floor coming about almost giving him a heart attack. “Let me see you,” Flavia asked Leirda in the meantime and a muffled breeze whistled inside the Atrium.
The lights flickering, the colors dimming for a moment.
The Hag had become the lady of his dreams again.
“You crowned a king recently,” the witch told the awed high priestess. “That’s not the way of the Temple child. But you did it. Why?”
“There was no trickery in the trade,” Flavia replied, wetting her lips. “I ripped a sister’s heart out of her chest. It was earned.”
“Perhaps, but she’s still breathing,” the witch said. “All those whispers in your temple and you are deaf to them.”
“I’m aware, but the next King of Regia will be blessed by the Goddess. He’ll never forget that. The Goddess shall walk prideful again in Alden land.”
“Beware of men that don’t easily forget young Flavia and the madness of broken hearts,” Leirda told her. “Those who wish to rule the realm must always be vigilant. All veiled hours of every night and fear their pupil’s touch in their sleep.”
“She’s gone,” Flavia replied. “I’ve sent her away.”
The witch grimaced and stared at a white-haired young Issir Priestess enter accompanied by an unlikely couple. A large muscular male and a thin slanted-eyed female.
“Augusta,” the priestess asked blinking once. Leirda was standing next to the High Priestess again, but Nard could see the witch’s true form reflecting on the surface of the nearby pool. “You wish us to perform for your visitors?”
Nard wanted nothing to do with the burly bald man.
“I shall do it myself dear Birgite,” Flavia replied casually. “I’m in the mood today.”
“As you wish,” Birgite had replied and turning to the couple, she added the witch’s eyes on them. “Laila, Acqer, come. We shall leave the Augusta to her own devices.”
Nard stared at the High Priestess and she returned it with a half-smile. The young man tried to decipher its meaning, but Flavia took two small quick strides while he did and reached for his arm. Her fingers oily and smelling of something really nice, the priestess’ hand fondling a lot of cock probably by accident.
“Mmm,” Flavia hummed in his face smelling of roses and honey. “You need to get out of these wet garbs Nard,” she counselled him. “You might catch your death.”
Nard glanced at the witch unsure, but she was walking towards an empty pool already. Leirda paused sensing his query and turned around to stare at him.
“Don’t be an idiot. You’ll never have the chance again boy,” the witch scolded him and Flavia chuckled at her words. The tunic parting from all the commotion and then dropping between them.
“Damn divine inspiration!” Jan-Bert gasped loudly from the floor having a rare underside view. “Realm’s hallowed spirits living inside goddess’ deep folds… holds!” He croaked in panic. “Was my meaning,” but Nard had stopped listening to him already.
----------------------------------------
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A patrol of legionnaires intercepted them on their return. They brought them to the village and then the legion’s camp. The Legatus of the IV waited for the soldiers to exit his office before speaking.
“You’ve left the village,” Sula growled and his aide, another hard-faced Lorian examined them one after the other. He paused briefly on the grinning Luffy, as if wondering what the bard was doing there, afore turning his eyes on the witch again. “To visit the Temple. What was the reason?”
“It’s a lovely place.”
“Nonus, what’s the purpose of all this?” the Prefect asked.
“You’ll get it soon. Remember the girl from the meeting?”
“Not easy to forget that. Though I lost her afterwards,” the officer replied.
“What do the men say?”
“A witch came out of the lake, or Dolf’s dead sister.”
“That’s the witch over there.”
“The Fish Folk girl?” The officer blinked unsure. “Ah, I don’t know. She’s… she just doesn’t look like her at all Nonus.”
Sula glared at the witch. “Do that thing. Change… into, you know darn well what I mean!” He blasted her and Leirda chuckled and gave him the black candle she had taken from the Priestess.
“Nonus,” his aide said grimacing in the attempt to get up. He still had that leg bandaged, but Nard got himself ready to hoof it for the door if things turned nasty.
“Calm down,” Leirda told him, then turned to the fuming Legatus. “Better to have a story no one can verify, than a witch… however comely, her presence you can’t possibly justify Sula.”
“Lass,” the Prefect told her angrily. “I don’t know what game you’re playing—”
“Sit down Pete,” Leirda ordered him and he took a seat with a groan. “Rest that leg. You’ll carry that till the end of your days.”
“Hey!” Pete protested. “Take that back!”
“Too late,” Leirda retorted pursing her mouth.
“Enough Pete! You as well!” Sula barked to break their back and forth. “What does this do?” He asked wearily next deep in thought, looking at the candle.
“It will break an illusion if you stay in its light,” Leirda replied. “You don’t want to harm me Sula,” she added reading his mind.
“I can’t have you doing whatever the fuck you want!” Sula grunted.
“I just want to reach Asturia,” the witch replied. “I’ve given you a win.”
“A war you started!” Sula growled and thudded his fist on the table. “Valens is dead because of you!”
“Ton had to go,” the witch replied callously. “He’d have mellowed the heart of the old Duke, gotten an agreement out of it and used the opportunity to penetrate deep into Holt’s lands, reach as far as the walls of Anorum.”
“I could have handled Lord Ton!” Sula argued irate. “Lots of people died witch!”
“Eh, you’re so easily angered. The old man will wait for you to act and cut you down. He has people in your camp Sula. In Asturia. Everywhere.”
“Spies?”
“Patriots, but with a different king in mind,” Leirda replied.
“Point them out!”
“If I do, this future will change,” she explained with a sigh. “You can only lightly steer things, more than that and it’s a different plot altogether.”
“What the allhells is she talking about?” Dumont protested from his chair.
Sula grunted thinking it through. “If you know them aforehand you should tell me witch.”
“That’s not how it works Sula. I sense them, recognize their shades when I’m near. Their smell, or voice. But if I act on that knowledge then this isn’t what I saw, is it?”
“Then what help are you?”
“There’s no danger lurking at Canlita’s northern shores,” the witch replied. “One less foe to worry about. You call that nothing? Lucius will be stuck at that mountain for months and you will be left—”
“Lucius is in Cartagen,” Sula cut her off with a scowl. “Yer visions are a bit shaky witch.”
Leirda took a step back and furrowed her brows. “Hmm.”
“Hmm?” Sula rustled. “Well that’s plaguing great! Now what?”
“I didn’t… someone’s manipulating the threads.”
“What in Tyeus spear…?” Dumont griped. “Are you making sense of all that Nonus?”
“Pete I’m trying to get the gist of it so I can tell you,” Sula retorted with a sigh. “Who?” He asked the witch. “Is there another witch on the loose we have to worry about?”
“No witch left,” Leirda said but she didn’t sound certain. “But there might be something else in Wetull.”
“A what?” Sula gasped in total bewilderment.
“Wetull?” Dumont asked curious.
“An old prophecy best we leave unmentioned.”
“How about we don’t?”
“If I tell you, then I can’t risk it getting out,” the witch explained calmly. “I won’t. So you better off not knowing Sula.”
“Man your sister is something,” Jan said in his ear when the conversation devolved into a shouting argument. “Is she really a witch?”
Nard turned to stare at him. “Jan do you think a Fish Folk girl would ever talk back to a Lord or a Legatus?”
Jan-Bert Luffy thought about it for a moment then nodded.
“Yeah, I do,” he replied surprising Nard who expected the complete opposite answer. “What? If she’s crazy,” the young bard argued and raised his hand, wiggling his fingers to count. “Drunk, under the influence, his mistress on the side—”
Nard reached and poked hard at the large knob on his temple to stop him. Jan had it there since the fall inside Flavia’s shallow pool. Jan howled in pain and everyone in the room turned to stare at them peeved.
“What are these two idiots again?” Dumont asked rubbing his face tired.
“That shit-faced urchin was with her,” Sula replied eyeing them. “The other grinning idiot, I haven’t seen afore.”
“JB-Luff!” Jan introduced himself with a bow. “Milords and officers of high rank, I have a song written about current events, with many more coming soon and taking the opportunity I’d like to give you—” Jan ducked under an inkpot Sula hurled at him cutting him off mid-sentence.
“A song he said? Why?” Dumont was heard wondering, while Jan stood on his feet again and declared in a serious voice.
“I’m a rapidly rising in fame bard milords. So what do you say?”
With Sula’s retort coming over the witch’s delighted chuckle being equally serious.
“Vibius!” The Legatus of the Fourth had barked to the guard standing outside his headquarters. “Throw this fool out posthaste!”
“Out in the yard sir?” Vibius had asked coming inside to make sure he got it right.
“No, in the pen,” Sula had replied brusquely. “Don’t want to see his stupid mug in here again!”
So Jan spent the rest of our stay in Valeria in the camp’s prison, where he performed his first concert behind bars for the nearby nurses, medics and Dottore Borealis himself who loved the young bard’s talents, bought him a real lute and sponsored Jan’s tour of the Lorian coast the next year, starting from his home city of Novesium.
Bizarrely enough the Dottore run a smuggling ring there, but that’s another story.