“Relaxing and having fun was much easier the first time.” Nua muttered, recalling the way she charmed the Prince when still at the hotel months earlier. ‘Because you were faking it.’ She told herself as she made her way back to the feast, “Sobella was right, I need to enjoy myself more. I’m not less driven if I just rest sometimes. Even Raymond took time for himself.” Nua slowly talked herself into letting her hair down when Kaiji approached her.
She curtseyed deeply, and with her bronze and purple colored garment, shaped much like that of a maid, she stood out as a servant. The wide dress came down to her thighs, and surrounded them like a bell. “My Lady, a visitor is at the door hoping for admission, but he has no invitation.” Kaiji’s red eyes darted in the direction of the entryway, but to her surprise, Nua was nonplussed.
Nua nodded and replied, “A centaur? I’ll go with you, we’ll be letting him in. I was just informed a little while ago of his coming at the Prince’s own suggestion, it would be rude to the Prince to turn him away.”
‘So much for relaxing tonight… at least one potential worry has been put to bed… literally.’ Nua pondered and then hesitated, “Actually, Kaiji, go retrieve some food and a bottle of wine, enough for two. Then visit my office, escort the Prince and Tir, discreetly to a private bedroom. You are personally responsible for the Prince’s happiness tonight, no one else matters, am I understood? I don’t care what he wants, he gets it. I will attend to the ambassador myself.”
“Yes, my lady.” Kaiji curtseyed again and they parted ways.
Nua arrived at the front door of her estate and the attending servant, a teenage human boy in crisp, black pants and a jacket with a white shirt that was ruffled up the center, stood at hand. “Mistress.” He said, and bowed, and Nua hesitated another time that night.
“Boy, what is your name?” Nua asked, and he flushed bright red.
“J-Jord, mistress.” He stammered, then shuffled his feet nervously, “D-Did I not do it right, did I do something wrong?”
Nua gave him an indulgent smile and looked back toward her office where she had the sinking feeling that Tir and the Prince had probably chosen not to wait on Kaiji. ‘I should have had her wait in a bedroom. Now I won’t be able to be comfortable working there until the whole room is scrubbed. But at least she’s safe here…’
She turned her attention back to the nervous servant boy, “No, you did fine, Jord. Is your family with you, are they safe?”
Jord bit his lip, ‘Why is she talking to me…?!’ He cried out inside his head, but answered truthfully. “My father is one of your soldiers. My… my mother, I don’t know what happened to her. But a new group of women came in yesterday, so after they’re settled and identified? Maybe?” His flushed face was hopeful.
“Well, I hope your wish comes true, good luck, Jord. Now, the door?” Nua said, and the boy snapped to attention again, reached for the handle, and opened it.
“It’s alright, let him in, the Prince informed me just a little while ago.” Nua said to the waiting guards who briefly looked panicked, worried that they had made a mistake, only to relax as Nua explained the late change.
The clip clop sound of Ambassador Botisa’s hooves coming up the stairs again was the only noise until Nua stepped aside from the doorway to let him in.
“Ambassador, welcome to my estate.” Nua said and extended her left arm. He reached out and clasped it, she felt him squeeze on the false hand through the sleeve and long glove, his head cocked when he felt no flesh.
She winked, “Not everything is what it seems, ambassador.” When their forearm clasp broke, she removed her glove, revealing the white metal hand and the black gem in the palm. “I know very little of centaurs, but I do know that honesty is the best policy.”
“How did you lose the original?” Ambassador Botisa asked, looking with great interest at the unfamiliar metal object.
“A monster ate it, almost all the way up the forearm. But, I got a better one, so I call that a fair trade.” Nua gave an amicable laugh that the ambassador quickly joined in.
Nua waved toward the long hall, “Come, let me show you to the feast, there are as the Prince said, other mercenary company leaders here.”
“You invite your competition into your home?” Ambassador Botisa asked, looking down at the well dressed elf with an uncertain expression. Where Nua walked with her hands behind her back, he walked with his hands clasped at the front. Over his shoulders he wore a simple crossed purple sash, emblematic of his status.
It prompted another memory of Nua’s, ‘Centaurs live on the move, therefore they own little, the height of wealth is a good tent, good weapons, good food, and good wine.’ The voice of the teacher she’d imported from abroad came back to her, and she suppressed the smile in favor of answering him.
“Nobody prospers by offending their peers. We may be competitors, but if I’m so insecure that I can’t face them in my own home, how can I ever face them on the battlefield?” Nua’s practical answer seemed to satisfy the centaur ambassador, and she shifted the topic to himself.
“Tell me, what is happening that makes you in need of mercenary support?” She asked and kept her face turned up to his own as they made the slow walk to the feast.
As he explained the alliance of centaur tribes, Nua saw a cunning mind at work. ‘Danger. Danger. Danger. Do I want to expand against disunited centaur tribes, or a united kingdom of them?’
“I understand, yes, that certainly sounds like the sort of job I would take. How many mercenaries do you need?” Nua asked with tight pursed lips as she considered the danger of a centaur empire riding in from the steppes against an empire of her own.
“Twenty thousand would be enough to fight on equal terms.” The ambassador replied.
“Tell me about your enemies.” Nua requested matter-of-factly.
“They’re a confederation of five larger tribes that came together under Nemenix, they formed first to fight off an orcish horde farther east, but since then they have been lording their victory over one tribe after another.” His fists clenched with anger, “Now they demand we give up our lands and move when the growing season comes.” Botisa was agitated, his horse tail lashed angrily behind him, his eyes glared ahead, and Nua stopped in her tracks.
He was so furious that he actually continued a pace or two beyond her before he realized she wasn’t there. “What stops you? Are you not interested? The wealth from something like this can be significant.” He felt his estimation of the Duchessa begin to fall. ‘Is she weak after all?’ He wondered.
“Ambassador, tomorrow we are setting out to the south on a contract with Prince Isaura, when that is finished I intend to return this way, it sounds like there is ample time remaining for this, but I want to propose something to you. What if I can stop them without a battle?” Nua’s words had the desired effect, and his brown eyes went wide as if he had a horse’s head and not a man’s.
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“How?” Botisa demanded skeptically.
“Suppose I could, what would you give me?” Nua pressed, stepping closer to him, she took his hands in hers and kept her eyes fixed up on his doubtful, swarthy face.
“Gold, lots of gold. We know how you people covet it, the orcs and the dwarves often send tribute to us to raid one or the other, or did, now it goes to Nemenix and little comes to us.” Botisa’s bitter voice lost none of its vitriol when he answered, but to his surprise Nua shook her head.
“I can get gold from battle, if I can do what you do not believe can be done, I expect more than gold.” Nua answered, and Botisa could only look at her as if she were utterly mad.
“What else do you want then?” He asked with exasperation.
“There will come a time, Botisa of the Wind Racers, when I will need the aid of your mighty people, promise me the aid you would grant a blood sister, and I will ensure they do not approach your lands for years, and I will do it, by sending only one person. If they fail, I will bring all of my Breakers to fight for you, and I will do it for nothing.”
Botisa looked at her with his dark brow furrowed tight, trying to find her angle, a downside, a trick, and found none. ‘It’s an absurd claim, but she doesn’t seem to be mad or stupid, but how is such a thing possible?’ He wondered, at a total loss to explain her intent, weighing in her favor was his raw curiosity at how one person could stop an entire invasion.
Finally, he answered, “Very well, my chief has given me the authority to accept contracts on his behalf, and this is by far the cheapest I can expect to make. I will of course, seek others, but… if you really can do what you say, then my chief will proudly call you his two legged sister.”
“I assume you will require a document for this…?” Botisa asked, and again she surprised him by her denial.
Nua answered in the formal manner tribal peoples tended to prefer. ‘A wound is always the most sensitive place on a body, no less so on a body of people. Put their honor on the line, and it will answer.’ She recalled the lesson in manipulation, and formulated her words accordingly. “No. If your word is worth nothing without paper, it is worth nothing with paper. Tell your chief that Nua Calen Aiwenor, Duchessa and priestess of the god of death and change, General of the Breakers, will place her faith in his tribe’s honor. My words are given in the trust of guest and host. Now please, come, take salt with me, enjoy my wine and the finest of my hospitality… I don’t think I have women or men to your taste, but all else should be to your liking.”
“You offer me your salt?” The centaur ambassador asked, one hoof skipping a step in surprise.
Nua gave a slow nod and looked up at the centaur that walked beside her. “Years ago, some of my faith were oppressed by powerful people. They took to hiding, fostering out strangers among one another. Of course, the fallen paladin learned about this eventually and tried to hunt down our followers. In order to signal who one was, that they were of the faith, a visitor would offer simple salt on visiting. The host would then use it to prepare a meal for the guest, and if the guest left, the host would provide them some salt of their own for them to have a way to signal the next home that they were a friend. By lucky chance, some part of our ways align. You are my guest, and I will honor you who have come farthest, asking for my help, as I would honor any of my people who come far from home.”
“Will you accept it?” Nua asked, the simple question bearing the weight of fate behind it, Botisa held back only for a moment.
“With pleasure. Duchessa, I do believe my chief will be pleased by your friendship.” Botisa remarked with a far more cheery look on his face.
They resumed their long walk to the feast, his mouth watering as he went, his estimation of the odd Duchessa rising steadily again, when they reached the hall, his mouth fell open with hunger. ‘By the gods of wind and steppe…’ He prayed silently as he saw heaps of meat being hauled out and laid on a long table at various intervals, cut by servants in silver collars, rich silver tureens filled with thick stew being ladled into bowls, and casks of wine which were wheeled around the table on carts to ensure every silver chalice was filled to the brim at all times.
‘My chief will not believe me, and I will not blame him, because when this is a memory, I will not trust that it happened!’ Botisa mentally exclaimed and trotted forward eagerly to accept a share of the host’s offerings.
----------------------------------------
Vargas looked at the stone floor, he’d been looking there for a long time, ‘How many hours now? What did I do… what can I even do?’ He rubbed his jaw where Nua kicked him earlier, and touched his stomach where he remembered the sword entering his guts years earlier. He finally turned to look up at the bars on the window, there was a full moon, but it was late. ‘Ta’lea is sleeping now, still thinking I’m her hero, she probably fell asleep rubbing her belly where my… child grows, that is the sort of thing… that is the sort of person… she is.’ He closed his eyes and squeezed out tears he despised.
Vargas tried to think of the verdant plains and rolling hills of his childhood home, pretending to be a great slayer of the elven menace with his friends. A hero of his country… a country dead for years before today. ‘Now I’m…’ He couldn’t finish the thought and brought his hands up to wipe the sweat from his face, the restraints cut into the circulation of his wrists and hurt the base of his palms. The chains rattled with every motion.
Freyjin’s face, twisted in pain, passed before his eyes. ‘I hurt her worse…’ And part of him rejoiced, and he felt his blood boil with self loathing. He cocked his ear and listened, even without elven senses, the celebration in the estate of his mistress was clearly getting louder by the minute.
The reverie was disturbed a moment later when Sado appeared before him in full armor, sword and shield present, but also with an iron wrapped truncheon sticking out of his belt.
“Is it time then?” Vargas asked, subdued.
Sado looked down at him with cold anger burning in his gaze. “It is. I will stick to the story our mistress settled on, but you and I, we know the truth, even if Freyjin doesn’t. The Lady Aiwenor may want you returned to service, but if it were up to me I would put you down.”
“I would too.” Vargas acknowledged in a low, weary voice, he couldn’t meet Sado’s stare, “I don’t know what I believe anymore… who was that man who did those things? But then I realize, it’s me, I’m that man! But I’m not! My love for my wife wasn’t a lie! Isn’t a lie! So what am I supposed to be?! It would be easier to be just dead… the dead worry about nothing…”
“Maybe that’s why she didn’t kill you, because it would be merciful.” Sado kept the glare and gritted his teeth, “I will keep the story straight but if you step out of line, or I even think you have… I’ll kill you myself. I don’t care if I’m whipped for it, I won’t let you harm any of our unit.”
“No… no I understand. When I have… settled, if I feel the need, I will challenge the Duchessa myself. I promise.” Vargas replied and took up a hunk of now dried bread and took a bite.
Sado opened the cell and entered, bending down, he unlocked the chain that secured him to the stones, grabbed the links between Vargas’s wrists, and hauled him to his feet.
Vargas came up easily, the ragged remnants of what was little more than a sack and some torn old sandals were all he wore, and he half walked, half stumbled after Sado. ‘He’s monstrously strong for a human, could he be godkin with an unawakened bloodline? The black hair makes it possible, but who knows if that is the same here as… back there?’
His questions passed by when they made their way to a long hall. The entire core twenty-five were gathered, two on each side, with to his shame, Freyjin herself at the end. All were in full kit, armor, helmets, and so on, and all were armed with heavy truncheons or clubs.
Their burnished armor was a stark contrast to his own bedraggled state, and when the two were in front of the line, Sado moved out of the way, went behind them, and spoke. “For negligence of safety and the rules of dueling resulting in the injury and near death of Freyjin, by order of Duchessa Aiwenor, you are sentenced to one walk of the gauntlet and one night of pain. By order of our lady, no man or woman is to hold this punishment or your acts against you beyond the morning healing. But at this moment… may your guilt weigh your every step even more than our blows.”
Vargas heard Sado remove the truncheon, and he felt the blow fall hard on his lower back. “Walk!” The fallen Prince ordered, and Vargas began to step forward. The first blows broke fingers on each hand, he made efforts to protect his head, but it was quickly obvious, by the third set, that they were trying to avoid lethal blows. He felt Sado at his back with every step he took, the greatest of Komestran warriors, it wasn’t hard to conclude that Sado was there to ensure that Vargas neither fought nor ran.
‘Not that he’s needed.’ Vargas resolved, and step by step, he walked toward the end.
He bore each blow, dreading every step, pain shot through his body like fire through dry grass, his toes were snapped and arms rendered useless appendages. Worse however, in its own way, was that Freyjin was there at the end.
The knowledge of his breach of trust was like a coin flipping through the air, alternating between ‘she’s only an elf’ and ‘she’s your friend’ crying out and tearing his soul asunder.
Finally, he limped to the last pair of warriors, and felt their clubs cave in ribs on either side of his body, and he coughed up blood that landed between himself and the elven mother.
He looked down at the truncheon on her belt, waiting for her to remove it, and lowered his shaking, bloodshot eyes to her feet, unable to meet the withering gaze.
He waited for the blow, for the truncheon to come out, but it didn’t, the feel of blood running down his body was warm, and the smell of it, familiar, but worse because it was his own. He was swaying on his feet, unable to defend himself even if he wished. ‘Just get it over with, aim for the head, elf, and be done with it!’ He waited, and waited, and still the blow didn’t land.
Finally he saw her hand move, only it wasn’t to the weapon of punishment, it was her open palm, and it came across his bloody cheek, catching blood on her fingers and scratching him with her nails.
His face snapped to the left and Sado spoke from behind him. “You made it, I’m sure you’re in pain, but survive this night, and forgiveness of a sort, is yours.”
Freyjin spoke up, “I’ll take him to his cell, I can handle him from here easily enough. It won’t go like it did last time if he makes any trouble.”
The rest of the soldiers were already starting to disperse, but Sado looked at her doubtfully from behind Sergeant Vargas. “Are you sure? I’ve fought a lot of men in my time but…”
“It’s fine, Sado, I can do this.” Freyjin said resolutely, and after a long look between them, the fallen Prince bowed his head.
“If you think it best, but come see me before you go to bed so I will know you made it back safely.” Sado ordered, and the Steward nodded.
“I will, thank you for your concern.” She replied.
“I’m not going to hurt her… you, I’m not going to hurt you.” Vargas said weakly, still swaying on his feet.
“I know that.” Freyjin said, and took him by the restraints, and walked slowly back to the cell, allowing him time to move at his own pace, all the way back again.