Ghosts of the Past

[Laurna]

Washburn came back to the furs and sat down. His mind was troubled and running in a thousand directions. But one thought kept returning to the forefront. But before he broached that subject, he looked squarely at the scholar. "You seem a man who has many means at your disposal. I don't even know your name. " Wash laughed a little at that. "Not that you would give me your real name, you likely have not used that since you were a child. But I don't even have a name to call you by." He shook his head. "I guess that is neither here nor there." He took a deep breath. "You asked me what I would die for. I will tell you. I have never had a true love nor a soulmate, if I did in the future I would die for her. But since it seems I am never to have that kind of future, that is neither here nor there either. But there is a lady that I would die to be certain that she is safe. To have her delivered from cruelty and from imprisonment, I would do anything. You are a man of contracts.  I have no money, nor land to offer. I only have my sword," he touched the hilt that was securely tied. "And I have my integrity." He looked at the wine-skin of madness and took a deep breath. "'Vengeance is mine saith the Lord.' To see wrath brought down on my father's murderer, I am sorely tempted. I want Justice and Peace above all, but not vengeance. I was not raised that way. I know that, I may not remember it, but I know it. I ask to make a contract with you. If you save the Lady Aliset de Mariot from where ever it is that she is being kept and return her safely, and alive--not mad like I will be-- into the hands of Lord Darcy and Father Columcil, then I will pay any price that is within my means to pay. That includes drinking all of the Blue Fyre and going mad, and taking out any man who is the enemy of the Kingdom of Gwynedd. I don't even know who the king is who sits on the throne. I do hope he is a man of integrity. I just know that I love the kingdom I live in, and my friends deserve every effort that I can give to ensure their safety."

"If we have a deal, I will do what you say and even eat your Goddamn drugged food."

He reached for a most substantial food on the plate, some food that would sustain him for the day to come, a meat pie that was surely tainted.

"One more thing. I won't live a shell of life addicted to substances or full of madness. I have seen that! I won't be that! If I survive this insane quest, then kill me or send an assassin after me when all is done. I don't think you will have any qualms about doing that." He smiled sadly, holding the meat pie, waiting for the Scholar's reply.

[Bynw]

"You can call me Master Feyd if you wish. I have so many names it matters not to me. The madness of Blue Fyre is only present while you feel it burning through your veins and your mind. It rarely lingers after the power fades. The more you use it the greater are the chances of becoming addicted to it. If that were to happen, the madness the follows when you cannot obtain it is too horrific to speak of ..." The scholar, Feyd, closes his eyes for a moment remembering something terrible he has seen once before.

"Vengeance against the one who killed your father is understandable. But what good is vengeance when it will surely lead to your own death. Even with the Blue Fyre fueling your Power beyond your wildest dreams. You could not stop all of the Grand Duke's men. Human or Deryni. There is a time for vengeance, as there is a time for everything. Even scripture agrees." Feyd shakes the now colorless cap wineskin. "This is for escaping, not vengeance."

"I never liked Oswald. And my contract is not with him. He shall not have the Lady."

[revanne]

Father Columcil was already out of bed when the early morning knock came at his door. He had slept badly, going over and over the events of the last few days in his mind. His heart was wrung with fear for Sir Washburn, the young lord for whom he had developed a real fondness. He seemed so unsure of himself but Columcil had never seen him act in ways contrary to his knightly vows and his very humility made him more attractive, unlike Lord Jaxom and his arrogance. As dawn turned to full daylight Columcil had given up on sleep and knelt at the Prie-Dieu someone had thoughtfully placed by his bed. He said his morning offices, with a pang for the times he had missed them, then, fixing his eyes on the crucifix on the wall, opened his heart in prayer to the One who too had known fear and suffering. As he prayed he could not shake off the thought that his father was in deep distress; they had barely met and yet it seemed that they had already formed a bond. And there was the Lady Aliset too, something was badly wrong there, though as yet no-one seemed prepared to say what had happened the previous day.

He could not imagine why anyone would be knocking on his door at this hour but he was unused to the way of palaces and in any case it was discourteous to leave someone outside. He opened the door to reveal a page in the Haldane livery who bowed and said,

"His grace the Archbishop's compliments, Father. He is celebrating mass in a short while in his private chapel and would be honoured if you would be part of the congregation. If you wish to do so, I am to wait for you to ready yourself and take you there."

Though a little startled Columcil realised that he was grateful. He had no idea what the day would bring or what he was supposed to be doing and to receive the Sacrament would bring a sense of normality for a while, if, he corrected himself, one could call the miracle of the altar in any way normal. God knew, he hoped, that he had meant no disrespect.

As he knelt having received his Lord, he felt the peace that always came, unworthy and unprepared though he was. There was a powerful presence in the chapel which wrapped him round and he lost track of the passage of time, only coming back to the present when there was the smallest of apologetic coughs next to him and he opened his eyes to see his grandfather, unvested and dressed in a plain purple cassock standing at his side.

"I am sorry to keep you waiting, my Lord Archbishop," he began but Duncan smiled and replied gently,

"No I am sorry to interrupt you when you are communing with the One who is Lord to us both, but we may have little chance later and there are things you should know. Come through into my study, we can break our fast and talk as we eat."

Columcil found it hard to continue eating as Duncan briefly told him the events of the previous day and his face hardened as he heard of Jaxom's part in the tragedy. He found it hard to keep disapproval out of his voice as he asked,

"And his Majesty has pardoned him you say?" though he knew that his question bordered on disrespect.

"His folly and arrogance allowed him to be vulnerable to another's evil, but the evil itself was no more his than it was Richard Kirby's, though I grant you that the royal pardon given to him had much more of the King's own personal desire in it. Jaxom must humble himself before Lady Aliset and pray her pardon too, then Prince Javan has agreed that he should be allowed to redeem himself by serving in his company."

Columcil barely managed to prevent himself from saying, "And good riddance," but he had the uncomfortable feeling that his thoughts were only too apparent and, though understood, would not be allowed to pass by his companion, either as his religious superior or his grandfather.

But Duncan made no comment, merely continued,

"Jaxom is to present himself before his Majesty in the king's withdrawing room sometime today at his Majesty's pleasure. Her Royal Highness, Duchess Grania, will bring Lady Aliset there to receive Jaxom's apology and she is also to be attended by Lord Darcy."

This time Columcil could not restrain himself,

"That is asking for trouble!" Then he remembering himself, he bowed his head and murmured,

"Your pardon, your Grace. I am not questioning His Majesty's decision but Darcy will find it hard to keep his hands off Jaxom. And I would not like him to find himself in trouble for it."

Duncan sighed loudly,

"Neither would I, though I understand why the King feels it is better that the two should meet in his own presence. He hopes that Darcy will be sufficiently overawed to restrain himself. I must say, I have my doubts. Which is why I intend you to be there too, to add your influence and if necessary your physical restraint. If the King was forced himself to restrain Darcy, the consequences for the latter could be very serious indeed. I will speak to his Majesty this morning and make sure that you are sent for. It might be best if you stay here in my suite until then. Feel free to avail yourself of any of my books, though I and many others would be grateful indeed for your prayers. Now I must leave you to wait on the King."

Duncan got up from the table and Columcil rose with him, bending his knee in homage and bowing to kiss the archiepiscopal ring. Duncan did not at once withdraw his hand but looked down with both love and concern at Columcil.

"I think Jaxom will need you too. As you need him."

Columcil looked up rebellion and denial in his eyes but said nothing as Duncan continued,

"Not least to remind you, what I am sure you know well, that Christian charity has nothing whatsoever to do with your likes and dislikes."

Rebuked, Columcil bowed his head again and remained on his knee until Duncan had left the room."

[Laurna]

"He shall not have the Lady." Master Feyd did say this, his gaze locked straight with that of the Lendour Knight's. There was  honest conviction in his voice.

Washburn nodded, watching the man closely, finally satisfied. "At least in this, I find you have some honor. I do trust you at least far enough to keep that honor for the sake of the lady."

The knight's eyes drifted to the meat pie in his hand and the other foods on the plate before him. His stomach ached to gobble it all down, but his hand was shaking, finding it difficult to bring it to his lips. "I think it is easier to be stabbed with your pricker than to eat this. But truth is I am famished. If I can find the courage to do this.... How much can I swallow before the taint you have placed in this takes effect? I guess I had better just do it, and eat it all down as fast as I may. Then swish it all down with your tainted wine. If I eat it so fast it makes me violently sick, then I will be the one with the last laugh," he said in salute to Master Feyd with a brave smile.

With that, he did just as he said he would do. Young men knew how to eat quickly before the chiefs of the kitchens could grab the food away from them. Once the food was eaten, what could a chief do but go to his parents. And Washburn's parents weren't here. He ate the pie, he ate the meat rolls, the cheese, he even ate the fresh fruit leaving only the seed. Then in a half fainting spell, he managed to stay awake long enough to swallow the whole jug of water chasing it down with the cup of wine. Wine not from the  wineskin that had had the red threads removed from the cap. At least he stayed aware long enough to be assured of that. Still sitting up, Washburn Morgan passed out into dreamless mind numbing oblivion. The weak shields that had just been stirring around his mind, beginning to return, faltered and dissolved away, gone.

[Jerusha]

Darcy Cameron took the time to straighten his tunic and smooth back stray stands of pale hair while Robert announced them to one of the guards outside the door to the Queen's Tower.  As the door was opened, he took a deep breath.  He was not sure why he felt nervous; perhaps he was not sure how well Lady Aliset would tolerate his presense.

The large hall was cool compared to the warm summer morning.  He and Robert did not have to wait long before Duchess Grania and Lady Aliset arrived.  As he bowed to both women, Darcy noted that Aliset wore the same dress and coif she had worn when they were first presented to the king.  She had the same effect on him now as she had then.  Unfortunately, she noticed the fact.

"I wanted to wear something simpler, but her Grace felt this would be more appropriate," Aliset said.

"Forgive me, my Lady," Darcy said.  "But you would look as lovely no matter how plain a dress you wore."  Duchess Grania gave him a stern look, but Aliset managed a small smile.

Robert gallantly offered the duchess his arm, and she smiled her acceptance.  Darcy did not offer Aliset his arm, thinking it was better not to put her the positon of preferring to refuse it.  Instead he walked beside her on her left side, his sword ready if he needed it.  Her walk was steady now, and she walked with the dignity of a nobley born young woman.  Darcy was suddenly conscious of the fact his own gait still had a slight roll.

They made there way to King Kelson's withdrawing room without incident. Again, Robert announced their arrival to the guard outside the door.  Once inside, the ladies curtseyed and the Darcy and Robert bowed.  Upon rising, Darcy studied the room and its occupents the same way he studied a map, noticing each person't position carefully.

King Kelson was seated at the centre of the table.  Prince Javan sat to his right and Archbishop Duncan on his left.  Lord Jaxom stood at the end of the right side of the table.  He looked pale and stood stiffly.  Darcy remembered that Sir Washburn had stabbed him in his left side.  Perhaps the wound still pained him; Darcy hoped so.

Darcy had not expected to see Father Columcil.  He was a welcome sight, and Darcy nodded in his direction.  The priest nodded in return.  Darcy thought he looked uncomfortable and a bit wary.

"Lady Aliset, We thank you for attending Us," Kelson said gently.  "While We know this may cause you some distress, Lord Jaxom Trillick must apologise for his transgressions.  Please approach; Lord Darcy, I would like you on the lady's right."

Columcil mentally nodded approval.  Darcy now could not easily draw his sword without risking harm to Aliset.

"Lord Jaxom." Jaxom moved forward until he stood before Lady Aliset but not too close.  He went down on one knee and then cleared his throat.  Darcy watched every move he made.

"Lady Aliset," Jaxom began. "I have caused you great harm, though it was never my intention."  Darcy stiffened, but did not move.  "I hope you can find it within your heart to forgive me.  I promise from this moment forward to treat you with honour and respect, and to never again cause you harm.  I pledge this on my honour as a knight."  Jaxom bowed his head and then looked hopefully up into her eyes.

Lady Aliset stood stifly erect, looking at Jaxom without expression.  She was keeping her innermost feelings strictly to herself.  After a moment, she replied.  "I will accept your apology, Lord Jaxom."  She did not trust herself to say anything more.

Lord Jaxom bowed his head again and then looked up and smiled at her.  "You give me hope for a better future, my Lady."  He began to rise; Columcil began to slowly expell the breath he had been holding.  "Perhaps you would do me the honour of escorting you to dinner..."

Darcy moved forward to quickly for anyone to stop him.  He grabbed the front of Jaxom's tunic with both fists, lifted him the rest of the way to his feet, and slammed him against the far wall.  Jaxom gasped with surprise and pain.

"LORD DARCY!" King Kelson belowed.  Father Columcil mored forward quickly to grasp Darcy's left arm.

"Your Majesty," Darcy said calmly while his pale eyes bored into Jaxom's.  "I have not broken my word to you not to exact vengence on Lord Jaxom. But," he continued, his voice becoming hard as northern ice, "you will heed my warning, Jaxom Trillick.  If you ever again lay a hand on Lady Aliset, or approach her without her explicit consent, given of her own free will, you will wish I had killed you now. Do you understand?"

"Yes," Jaxom hissed, his teeth tightly clenched.  Whether it was from pain or anger, Columcil could not tell.

Darcy nodded and released him.  He stepped back just far enough to Jaxom edge along the wall and out of reach.

Jaxom could not let it go.  "You could do far better than this oaf, Lady Aliset," he sneered.  Columcil tightened his grip on Darcy's arm, but Darcy stood calmly.  "Though how many others will be willing to overlook the tarnish to your reputation?"  Jaxom shrugged.

Jaxom had not moved quite far enough away.  Darcy's fist shot out and caught him full in the face.  Jaxom's hand flew up to protect his face and Columcil hauled Darcy backwards. 

'How dare you!" Jaxom cried from behind his hand.  "Your Majesty, I demand he be punished!"  With that declaration, Jaxom pulled his hand down from his face.  Blood was streaming from his broken nose.  He looked at the blood pooled in the palm of his hand and fainted.

"Well bloody hell," Darcy said into the dumbfouned silence that followed.

It did not last long.  King Kelson waived Darcy back and Columcil forward.  Jaxom was already beginning to come to his senses, and Columcil helped him to sit up.  Kelson turned his angry gaze on Darcy.

Darcy had the good sense to kneel.  "Your Majesty," he said quietly.  "I do not believe I have broken my pledge to you.  I have taken no vengence, but I did defend Lady Aliset's honour.  She has done nothing to deserve such disdain."  Darcy paused for a moment, calm and composed.  "But if your Majesty believes otherwise, I will submit to whatever punishment you deem fit willingly, without objection."

King Kelson sat for a long moment.  Lord Jaxom was now on his feet, a cloth held to his nose, supported by Father Columcil.  Prince Javan stood beside the king; Archbishop Duncan sat looking thoughtful.  Duchess Grania had moved forward to stand beside Aliset.  Aliset, after initially looking horrified at what had happened, appeared strangely calm.  Robert stood near Darcy, not sure what he should do.

"Lord Darcy," the king said.  "You will escort Duchess Grania and Lady Alset back to the Queen's Tower.  Then you will proceed to your quarters and remain confined there until I decide whether I agree with you or not.  Father Columcil, please take Lord Jaxom to the infirmary and heal his injuries."

"Your Majesty," Darcy said and rose to his feet.  Robert passed him a handkerchief to wipe Jaxom's blood off his glove.  Darcy approached the two women and bowed. He looked at Lady Aliset, uncertain of what her reaction would be.

Aliset held out her hand to take Darcy's arm.  Surprised, Darcy held his arm out to accept it, gladdened, but suddenly feeling uncharacteristically shy.

[Laurna]

As Father Columcil led Jaxom away, the few in the withdrawing room who had the royal privilege of witnessing this, were quiet. After, as the Lady Aliset took Lord Darcy's arm and the two noble youths backed away from the king, half-way across the room, and then turned to leave, a clapping started from somewhere near the high table. Neither dared to turn around just to see who it had been. That pair of hands was joined by at least 3 pairs of other clapping hands.  It was not until Lord Darcy and Lady Aliset had reached the door and it began to open that the royal cough and clearing of throat ended the show of approval. Even then a voice yelled out, "For bravery and courage!" and then the two women and their escorts were back out in the hall, finding their path back to the Queen's Tower.

[revanne]

As the door closed there was an awkward silence in the King's withdrawing room as though all of the three who remained within had suddenly been caught in inappropriate behaviour. Finally Kelson said in his driest voice,

"Well, that went well! If I had had the forethought to enter into a wager with you Javan, I could now be the gainer by two forfeits."

Unable to read his father's expression Javan replied warily,

"How so, Sir?"

"Correct me if I misquote, but I believe you said, 'You can't just thrash people because it makes you feel better.' I would say that our young Lord Darcy has rather effectively proved you wrong."

Was he being seriously rebuked? Javan really could not tell. His only reassurance was that Uncle Duncan sat there quite unperturbed but he was still wary as he enquired,

"And the other forfeit I owe?"

"'Go a little more easily on him...allow him to prove himself'. Well he has proved himself: to be the world's biggest fool!"

"I am truly sorry if my words to your Majesty were ill-advised," Javan was beginning apologetically but stopped when he saw his father's smile and realised he was being teased, if a little sourly.

"My pleasure, Sir, to provide a release for your frustration. You're just jealous because you couldn't hit him yourself. But you have the last laugh on me, I have to endure the man in my company and entirely through my own doing. Perhaps once on the road he'll make a better showing?"

As Javan was speaking, Kelson had risen and gone to the chest in the corner of the room on which stood a flagon and goblets. He poured wine for each of them, and when he had served Duncan and Javan, brought his own goblet and sat back down.

"Well, enough of him for the present, although I will have to censure Darcy in some way, much as I will dislike doing it. Violence offered in the King's presence cannot go unpunished, however much I, as Kelson, secretly may applaud the reason. Apart from anything else, I have no desire to be visited by Nigel's ghost reading me a lecture on how discipline has lapsed since his day."

He smiled at Javan. "Forgive my ill-humoured jibe. You were in the right of it in the dungeon, but it always leaves a sour taste in my stomach when mercy is taken as licence."

The King sat brooding for a while, apparently lost in dark thoughts, while Duncan and Javan nursed their own wine in silence. Then, almost visibly shaking himself out of his gloom, Kelson brightened and said,

"Whereas yesterday's other recipient of my royal pardon seems to have taken it as licence to make a hero of himself."

Javan and Duncan both looked puzzled but it was Duncan who spoke his query.

"Richard Kirby? But it can only have been a couple of hours short of midnight, at the most, when he and Dhugal returned to Ballymar, and both of them fit for nothing but sleep."

"So one would have thought," agreed Kelson dryly. "So Dhugal thought. Despite the fact that they returned to the news of thirty ships moored without so much as a "by your leave" in Loch Mhor.  Dhugal resigned himself to the fact that they could do nothing overnight and snatched himself a few hours sleep. Not so our Sir Richard."

Both Javan and Duncan's eyebrows went up at that. Respected though Dhugal's Captain General was, he was not of gentle birth nor was the seaman's code that of the Knight.  As Darcy had just amply proved.

Kelson was smiling properly now.

"Dhugal told me the whole tale when we Spoke an hour or so ago. It's worth the hearing, one of the few bits of good news these past days. Though Richard insisted that Dhugal crave my pardon on his behalf that he only managed to disable half the fleet."

"By himself, in the dark?" Not wishing to contradict his father, Javan could nevertheless not prevent himself from sounding sceptical.

"He and eight of his hand-picked crew. And yes!"

Kelson recounted the tale as Dhugal had told it,  finishing 

"He said that he hardly knew whether to clap him in irons or embrace him. He sent the other eight out of earshot, though every eye on the quay was glued on them, and gave him a tongue lashing that drove poor Richard to his knees. Then Dhugal drew his sword, out there in the roadway and knighted him there and then. He was worried when he spoke to me that he might have overstepped his authority but how else could such a deed be rewarded? I told him to tell Sir Richard that my only regret was that it was not my hand and sword that had the privilege of conveying such a well-deserved  honour. And the man is still half- convinced that he deserves hanging as a traitor."

Kelson looked distressed for a moment then grinned in a most unregal fashion at Duncan.

"Acording to Dhugal, Richard did his best to argue him out of it. He told him that he had never heard anyone protest so much about being knighted apart from his father.."

Duncan smiled but said nothing and it was left to Javan to respond to his father's tale.

"Doubtless Jaxom and his ilk would protest the giving of such an honour to a commoner,  but well-earned indeed. We'll all have to polish our spurs to match such a deed, though I fear there'll be plenty of opportunity."

"I fear so too. And though there has been no time for Dhugal to interrogate those left stranded in the Loch I fear that they can only have been heading for Lass. Their origin can only be bad news for Liam too. I need to reconvene the Council, if you would give the necessary orders, Javan. But first, let's toast our new and well-deserved Knight."

It was perhaps as well that Sir Richard was not there to be embarrassed by the honour, as  King, Prince and  Archbishop all stood and raised their goblets in respect to him.






.

[Laurna]

The room was too clean. No clutter on the floor, no rumple in the bed covers, no dust on the desk. The Earl of Marley looked the room over making a cusury sweep for anything that belonged to his brother.

((01:24 Brendan Brendan seeking anything of Washburn's in the sleeping room at the boarding house. Advantage roll success on 5 or 6.
01:24 Brendan !roll 3d6
01:24 derynibot 1, 4, 3 == )

Disappointed that he could find no evidence of his brother, the earl turned to the landlord, asking about the perpetrator's stay.  "You say this man used your Portal, when did he arrive?"

The boarding house owner, nervous for his own future with the King's laws, spoke freely and a bit briskly in an attempt to free himself of any crime his tenant must have done. "That would have been four days ago, my lord. Lokil cornered him when he entered the kitchen. I'd been at the front of the house, so I knew he didn't arrive by normal means. I recognized him from staying here previously. He asked for a room for a few nights; said he was waiting for a friend to arrive." The earl's steely gaze told the landlord to continue. "He was a quiet man, my lord, appeared to be a man of learning. He went out each day and would not return until supper. A few times he returned with scrolls and he always carried a bag at his side. I chanced a look once, saw lots of herbs, thought maybe he was an apothecary or even medicine man. Then the day before yesterday he said his friend had arrived and we didn't see him until the next day, that had been yesterday. He arrived by portal just before the mid day meal. He asked if the good-wife would do a little cooking for him."

"What did he want?" The earl asked sternly.

"The count requested enough food to feed he and his friend for three days: sliced meats, cheeses, breads and fruits, that kind of thing. He also asked she cook up some meat pies and tarts. As she was preparing them he added his own special herbs; said his friend liked a certain flavor, one he himself wasn't too fond of, so he only added them to half the baked goods. Marked the crusts with an "M" so he know which ones. When good-wife asked to give it a taste herself, she brought on the count's anger. 'E said the taste was too good for 'er and he would know if she tried it so she better keep her fingers out of his baking goods. She told me letter that he had given her a right good scare. That is why I won't welcome him back. Well that and the fact he stole two my best bottles of Fianna red, he did leave some coin but not near what they were worth. Oddly, he had taken two bottles of sweat Dhessa wine too. If you like either of those you will never like the other. Two completely different palatable tastes." the landlord rambled on.

"It would be a good thing your lady headed her fears and didn't taste the pies. I suspect this count poisoned them."

The man stopped what he was about to say, clutching his hands suddenly across his chest. "Lord have mercy!"

"I pray that He does!" The earl stated as he pulled back bed sheets and looked under the mattress and the bed springs, finding nothing.

"You said this man carried a satchel of herbs, what else did he have with him?"

"He came and went from the schola, carried several scrolls in his belt like other men carry weapons. Had a second bag with clothes. Oh yeah, and when he first arrived he had a long rolled up bed roll. Odd that I never saw that again after the first night.  Seemed stiff and heavy too, what with the way that he carried it across his back. Kind of like a man would carry a staff or a sword." The landlord stopped for a moment thinking.

Brendan looked the man over with shrewd eyes. "You never saw this again? What happened to it."

With that both men started searching the room anxiously. Finding not the bed roll in the obvious places. The Earl of Marley stood tall, focused on his signet ring, and scried the room with a keener eye.

((01:29 Brendan Brendan, Specifically looking for the bed roll. Advantage roll Success on 5,6
01:30 Brendan !roll 3d6
01:30 derynibot 2, 3, 1 == 6))

He couldn't find what he was looking for, but something about it made Brendan's hairs stand at the back of his neck. During that brief meeting between brothers at Sunday mass, there had been little time for discussion. Brendan had not heard the story, not until much later in the king's council after his brother had been pronounced missing. When he had heard it, he felt ashamed that Wash had kept his brush with Merasha from him, also he had been angry at first to hear that his little brother had lost the Lendour Greatsword. Brandon surely would have berated him, if he had learned of it sooner. A question started to nag at Brendan, was this perpetrator the same man who had orchestrated the Merasha attempt? The Lendour greatsword was priceless and not a sword easily mistaken for any other sword. It would have been easily recognized in Rhemuth Castle by guards and nobleman alike.  Therefore, was it possible that the sword was still here? Somewhere in this building?

This room was too clean. It had been given a psychic sweep when the man had left it. Brendan left the room going back down the stairs where the building gave off the normal sensory input of living. He saw that Jamyl was at the entrance, leaning out through the open door.  Outside, Brendan could see the roof-line of St. George's Cathedral just over the next street. They weren't far from the Cathedral square then. Jamyl read off the sign over the door frame. "White Rose Boarding House."

"You changed the name. Didn't this place use to be called the Black Rose?"

"When grandpa died, I changed the name. Told everyone I don't do that business anymore."

Jamyl looked glassy eyed for an instant. "My Pa is coming by portal..." he announced.

"You best go meet him in the cellar and don't go tangling with that giant dog Lokil."

When the landlord left with Jamyl to be sure the dog behaved himself, Brendan was left alone in the entry way. The bed roll story was nagging at him. Making one last try, he cast his mind out, this time scrying not only for the bed roll but for the chance of finding Washburn's missing sword.


(( Brendan making one last psychic search for  Washburn's sword. 6 + 1 + 6 = 13 Verification Number: 3230qzx9wd))

He was nearly stunned by the instant image of the long sword very near to him in a dark recess. Only a stripe of horizontal sunlight seemed to expose the cross hilt. Brendan looked around him. The sunlight pouring in through the open door was laying across the entrance floor and touching the lower steps of the stairs. Being drawn to the stairs, Brendan touched each of the sun bathed steps; they were all firmly in place. But his fingers were nearly burning with desire to pull them up. Staying that destruction, he moved to the side of the staircase and felt his hands brush the paneling. Sure enough one was loose. Before even considering what he was doing, he ripped the paneling off. His hand shook as he reached in to lift up what he had found. In a strip of sunlight coming in from a crack in the risers lay a long great sword, the Lendour great sword. He lifted it up. The hilt was defiled; the two rubies at the cross on either side were pried out and missing, the great plover sized ruby at the pummel was likewise gone. A parchment was tied around the hilt.

Brendon undid the leather throng and unrolled the parchment; his hands going cold as he read. In seconds his long legs carried him down passed the kitchen, the store room and into the Portal room cellar. Laird Seisyll had just arrived taking in a full accounting from his son. When he saw the sword in Brendan's hand, his eyes went wide. Seisyll extended a hand for Brendan to share what he knew. Very briefly Brendan did. Then without words, Brendan took a good bottle of Fianna red from the wine racks and stepped onto the portal, seeking the Royal Library,  and then permission to have an audience with the king.

[Jerusha]

Note:  Mor is the Norwegian name for mother.

Darcy Cameron leaned against the window casement as he looked across the courtyard.  There was a bustle of activity, though he could not be sure if there was more activity than normal.  Were preparations underway for Prince Javan to march toward Meara?  How long could the king wait before sending reinforcements to Duke Kelric?  Would sufficient forces already be available in Rhemuth?  Would more be marching south from Cassan and Claibourne?

More important, how long would it take for the king decide what to do about Darcy Cameron?

One time at sea, when he had chanced to complain about having too much to accomplish before setting sail, the Quartermaster had rebuked him.  "Those whom the Gods wish to destroy they first make bored," he had said.  Darcy was certainly bored now.  Why hadn't the king banished him to the practice field, where he could have worn himself out by now?  Or sent him to the map room; he could have spent days there and not gone through half of it?  Which was precisely why he was stuck here.

Darcy turned back toward the table and sat on one of the chairs.  He had no difficulty justifying what he had done to Jaxom, but whether the king agreed personally or not, good order and discipline needed to be maintained.  Darcy had served at sea long enough to understand that, and he had been on one side or the other of that process more than once.  He wasn't overly concerned about the punishment, so long as he wasn't forbidden to see Lady Aliset.  Anything else he could easily endure.

Lady Aliset!  The smile she had bestowed on him when he left her safely inside the Queen's Tower would warm his heart for many days, and probably nights as well.  Don't go there, he said to himself firmly.

He reached for the box on the table.  Something was wrong about it, though he wasn't quite sure what.  As Darcy examined it more closely, he realized what it was; he could see no way to open it.  Surely it wasn't just a block of wood; he shook it gently and heard several things move inside of it.  He twisted it and turned it but saw no sign of a latch or hint of a line that would separate top and bottom.  Nor was there one that would separate it side-to-side.  For a moment he thought about hurling it against the wall.  While that might help relieve some of his current frustration, he doubted his brother would be pleased. 

Darcy sighed, set the box in the middle of the table, and ran his finger completely around the bottom of the box.  Soundlessly, the lid slid upward.  Darcy was not one to take the chance of closing the box to see if he could open it a second time.  He lifted the lid upward and off and then pulled the bottom of the box closer.

Inside the box was a roll of parchment tied with a cord.  There was also a ring.  A pendant seal was attached to the bottom of the parchment.  Darcy saw that it was imprinted with the Sea Eagle of Isles.  Along the side of the parchment two word were written:  Darcy Solveig.  Carefully, Darcy slipped off the cord, unrolled the parchment, and read the contents.

Darcy Solveig:

If you are reading this, you are alive, and I rejoice in that fact.  Although I know it is more likely that you died many years ago, something in the last letter Mor wrote to me made me wonder. She said that you had gone to the safest harbour.   At the time I thought she meant eternity; later, I wondered if she meant something else.  So, now I write this, in case stepfather's message was a lie.

You are Heir of Isles and always will be until my death.  I will never marry.  While I would welcome the comfort of a wife, I cannot sire children.  I would not want to deny a wife that joy.

We both fell ill with the mumps just before I was to be sent to Rhemuth to train as a squire.  You suffered only a mild fever and swollen cheeks; I fared much worse.  In fact, I almost died.  By the time the fever and inflammation abated, it was apparent I would not produce an heir.  When several years later stepfather sent word that you had died of a fever, I was convinced the Camerons of Isles had come to an end.

When King Kelson offered me the opportunity to serve him in a more obscure manner than most, I accepted.  I will not put the details into writing, but I thought at the time it would be safe to leave Isles in stepfather's care.  I have since learned that decision was a bad one.  The king has promised to grant me leave to set things straight once the present troubles are settled.

If that promise cannot be fulfilled, it will be up to you as heir.  I have left the Heir's Ring here for you.  Wear it now by right of privilege.  I trust you to put things right.

And I hope you have finally learned how to stay on a horse.

               Iain Reyvik

In spite of the seriousness of the content, Darcy chuckled at the last line.  It had taken him longer than most to learn to ride.  His father's riding master swore it was because Darcy was too easily distracted by everything else around him and not paying sufficient attention to the horse beneath him.  Nevertheless, Darcy had finally mastered the skill; he had stopped counting the bruises long before.

He picked up the ring from the box and held it to the light.  It was a wide band of beaten Isles' silver.  Etched on the surface was the label and three points of the heir; in this case, each point was a sea eagle.  Darcy reached inside his tunic and pulled forth the ring he still wore on a chain.  Tarnished and worn, if he looked closely he could still see the etchings of the same label and points.  Iain had given it to him before he left for Rhemuth.  Darcy had forgotten its significance, until now.

Darcy slipped the Heir's Ring on his right index finger.  It felt as if it belonged there.  He would look after Isles and right what was wrong, if it fell to him to do so.  He rerolled the parchment, tied the cord around it and replaced it in the box.  He closed the lid and sat back on the chair.  Iain's letter had answered many questions, but left more unanswered.  His mind reviewed all of the information again.  He had time to consider all of it.  More time than he wanted, at the moment.

[Laurna]

The Earl of Marley, knelt on one knee extending his arms with the great sword of his brother's blade bare across his palms. The bastard sword gleamed in the morning sun, shining through the alcove windows. The highly crafted blade tapered smoothly from tip to hilt, a full forty-seven inches of cold steel. The guard at the cross was slightly curved was little ornamentation except for the central thumb sized depressions where a pair of clear faceted rubies once resided, one to each side. The hand and a half handle, allowing the sword to be swung double handed or single handed as the knight desired, was wrapped in black studded leather for ease of grip, the leather ends were encased at both ends by a thin decorative ring of pearl inlay and gold. An engraved ring of steel finishing the pummel giving the sword its perfect balance. Where for centuries before a large round cabochon ruby had shined in the center of the ring, the pummel was now hollow, the gem there gone.

With permission to rise, the Earl of Marley stepped forward to place his brother's sword on the table before Gwynedd's King. With eyes of blue stabbing his anger at a parchment he pulled from his tunic, he lay it open with the scrawl of writing face up, over the sword hilt. "A Foreigner, supposed patron of learning," Brendan began with a hiss,  "stayed three days at the White Rose Boarding House. His name used was Count Los 'Meaux, although from the image the landlord supplied, I could swear I have seen this man before under a different name." Brendan put his hand out on the table palm up inviting the king and the two men at either side to read this image and all that had transpired during the night and the morning.

King Kelson and Prince Javan, nodded agreeing they had seen the foreigner, even recently.  Archbishop Duncan's frown deepened, his brows furrowed and his temper rose. "Lord Collos d'Chameaux of Vezaire." He cursed the name under his breath. "He has freely roamed the schola and the royal library for the last several days. He was working on deciphering a Healing scroll that was discovered in his homeland or so he said. I had no time to give a look at what he was working on. Now I know, his deception was keen, he was not working on that at all... " The archbishop fell silent berating himself for not recognizing the man's betrayal before it had happened.

The king's hand lifted the parchment up before him. His eyes read the neat precise handwriting. He said nothing as he read, but his fingers tensed around the lower corner and crumpled the page. Purposely not handing the paper to the archbishop, the king instead handed it over to his son.

The Prince took in a deep breath and read it, allowing for Duncan to hear.

If you know this sword and you know of it's owner, than I say to you: BEWARE!
Your pursuit is a dangerous game. As you look at this sword, you cannot but think of its former bearer. As the stone has been taken from the pommel, so he has been taken from you. It is safe, and so for the present is he, and both are prized by me for the purpose they will enable me to fulfill. But take heed: that purpose is more valuable to me than either it or he. If you press too close, or threaten to cheat me of his value, I will not flinch from breaking him. YOU ARE FOREWARNED!
Now, think you the gems at the brace of the cross are as the eyes are to this man's soul. For now the soul is blind, and will not see again unless all is restored.  Should you come too close then that will never happen! Just as the gems are gone forever, so shall the soul be forever blind. THE CHOICE IS YOURS!

((Thank you, Revanne, for revising this note to be much improved from its first draft.))

There was a long silence. The archbishop was pale, looking decidedly ill.  Kelson's hand came down on the older mentor's and for a moment there was Rapport between them that seemed to calm the Archbishop enough so that Brendan stayed himself from running over to his Uncle's aid.

Duncan held up a hand, "I will be fine." he said tersely.

"Duncan, we all know better than that. Until all of this is resolved, none of us will be fine." Kelson said in an aside. Then more boldly. "Lord Brendan, I thank you for what you have discovered. I know you too well to know that you will not abandon your brother to his fate. But it appears we can not push this matter by sending out a large search party. I am asking you to join Prince Javan's men. Go unto Meara. Do what quiet searching you can. Know that you will be in the public eye. You are to be my official Huntsman for this Collos d'Chameaux. But between Us, you are under orders NOT to get too close. Keep in contact with Javan and also with your brother Kelric. You will appear to be under neither man, but you are to take your orders from whichever lord you are near and to keep them well informed of your progress. Do not act on that progress unless the outcome is Clearly in your favor. And I mean that!  Let us discover what purpose Washburn is to be used. Don't Get Close! Other plans are being made to cover what you will not be able to do. Just be ready."

Brendan's fists had been clutching at his side, feeling tethered by the king's order. Finally he breathed. "I will be ready!" knowing he had to restrain himself. His loyalty to Kelson was strong and both he and the king knew he would follow the orders to the mark. He would never be his father even under these dire circumstances. "Prince Javan, I am your man, and I will keep my faith between you and Duke Kelric."

"Your presence is welcomed by me and my company." Javan said grasping the earl's extended hand between his own.

"Sir, Are we given the orders to march?" Javan asked his father.

"Aye! You are! At the noon hour. See to your preparations. Brendan, I have further orders for you to pass on to the Arilans. Laird Siesyll is to remain in Rhemuth and he is charged with breaking and re-trapping those two newly found Portals. Also he is to keep his senses on the riverside Portal to learn if and when what can not be felt becomes sensed again."

[revanne]

Columcil had left the King's withdrawing room still supporting Lord Jaxom. He was glad that this had prevented him from making anything other than the most perfunctory of  bows in the King's direction, given that what he had actually wanted to do was to shout,

"Bletherin' idiots the lot o' ye!" at those seated at the table.

He had not been so gut wrenchingly angry for a very long time. As a youngster he had been prone to fits of temper, driving his mother once, he now remembered, to let slip "just like yer da!" but she had immediately clammed up and the skelping he had received had driven any thought of asking her any questions out of his mind. And the years of training in self-discipline which he had received as a priest had meant that he rarely gave way to his anger.

Now he was quite simply blindingly, burningly furious. Young Washburn, who they all seemed to look down on, or at least the lad thought they did, was in God knew what straits, thanks to this pillock who seemed to have nothing between his groin and the baron's circlet he would one day wear, missing out on a heart or a brain. The man -and even in his thoughts Columcil nearly spat the word - was driven purely by lust and pride and his only punishment was that charade of a staged apology which any fool should have known would end as it had. And now it was poor Darcy likely to face punishment for doing what any decent man would have done. While he, Columcil, was expected to do the Christian thing and heal this, this creature!

Still thinking maledictions against the King and his grandfather -aware but too angry to care that at least in his thoughts he was committing lese-Majeste, clerical insubordination and getting close to blasphemy- Columcil marched Jaxom along the passageway to the infirmary, those they met taking one look at his face and deciding that it was safest to stand aside to let them past.

Jaxom too was angry. He had had time to recover from his fright in the dungeon, his pride already beginning to gloss over the memory of his humiliation. He had done what was asked of him with becoming dignity, and done his duty by the lady by warning her against further tarnishing her already dubious reputation whilst doing her the honour of offering her the protection of his company. He hoped that the presumptuous scoundrel would be properly punished, though he was unlikely to be here to see it. Tomorrow he could put all this behind him, and let Prince Javan see his true worth, as they rode out together.

He had little time for this rough country priest, and could not begin to understand why he seemed to be made much of by his Grace the Archbishop, and might in other circumstances have been disposed to be affronted by his presumption. But he had been witness to his healings, and as long as the man could do his job, he was prepared to be gracious enough to accept his ministry.

At least the man was not trying to talk to him, thought Columcil, or God help him he'd be sore pressed not to punch him too. And he really needed to pull himself together or he would not be able to heal him, and even  angry as he was, he did not want to have that sin on his conscience. As it was, when next he made his confession, he'd likely be wearing out his knees and his rosary in penance.

He knocked softly on the infirmary door and politely nodded to the sister who opened to them, vowing to himself to make a great effort to avoid the border brogue that others seemed to find so hard to understand.

"I've a healing to perform, Sister, would you be so kind as to show us to an available room. "

The young sister nodded, dividing a bobbed curtsey between the priest and the injured man, a lord by the look of him.

"Yes, of course, Father. Come this way please."

Columcil gestured Jaxom to go first and followed slowly behind, praying that he would be given the grace to overcome his own sinful thoughts. As they entered the room to which they were directed, his eyes fell on the wooden crucifix and he felt further humbled. Christ had prayed for his killers to be forgiven; who was he to resent healing for a fellow sinner? "Lord, I am not worthy," he prayed desperately.

Speaking to Jaxom for the first time, Columcil found that he was able to be gentle enough.

"I will need to touch the wounds, so you will need to strip down to your hose. I will try my best not to cause any further pain but please try to relax as much as you can."

As Jaxom took his finery off and revealed a body that was tanned, the marks of the scars and bruises of hard training evidence that there was more to him than the popinjay that was all that Columcil had previously  seen, Columcil found it easier to think of him as any other suffering human being to be healed by the grace of God. The dressing covering the wound at his side had marks of fresh blood on it and Jaxom  winced as Columcil pulled it off, revealing a thrust that was still raw and angry. He nodded to Jaxom to lie down on the pallet and knelt down beside him. He had half expected some sign of disdainful hesitation at following his instructions, but Jaxom had lain down obediently and without a word.

((Columcil  heals Jaxom 5+3=8 3xj8g5vf8v ))

Columcil  bowed his head and prayed for grace, blessed himself then making the sign of the cross on Jaxom's brow allowed himself to slip into healing trance. He felt Jaxom relax beneath his hands and first moved his fingers over Jaxom's face moving the bone and cartilage of his nose back into their proper alignment. He slipped his hands round the back of Jaxom's head and then down his shoulders willing the blood to flow strongly and ease the bruising away. He no longer even remembered that it was Darcy who had inflicted these wounds nor as his hands moved into the wound at Jaxom's side, that this had been inflicted by Washburn in his desperation to save Aliset. He prayed that no infection had got into the wound for though it had been dressed it was a day old and the edges were raw and weeping. The edges closed under his fingers and knitted well together leaving only a slight red line but he could not be entirely sure that the internal wounds had healed so well. He would have probed further but Jaxom had begun to move restlessly under his hands and as he himself came out of trance he found that he had no desire to prolong the contact any longer than was absolutely necessary.

((Hit points recovered "1d6" : 2.   2t9lvfl5jp. Probably full healing given the nature of the injury but leaving open the possibility of complications in the future ;-) ))

"You should have sought healing for this earlier." Columcil chided him, as he helped him to sit up and swing his feet around to the ground. "There is no virtue in unnecessary suffering."

To his surprise rather than take offence at the sharpness of his tone Jaxom went white and the usually proud set of his shoulders slumped as he looked at the ground. Tonelessly he replied,

"I was forbidden to do so by his Majesty, until he bade me do so, that the pain might serve as a penance for me." He looked up, though he would not meet Columcil's gaze.

"He also ordered me to seek a priest for confession. Will you hear my confession, Father?" He laughed angrily. "If I am to be further degraded it might as well be in front of one who has already seen me suffer humilation."

Without waiting for a reply Jaxom slipped off the pallet onto his knees at Columcil's feet giving the priest no option. Columcil had to fight himself not to step away, but he knew he had no choice. He could hardly say,

"No. I find you dispicable and I would as soon lay you flat."

He reached into the breast of his cassock and brought out a thin strip of purple silk which he brought to his lips before slipping around his neck. Well if Jaxom had had his penance, so now did he. As Jaxom began the formulaic words, "Bless me, Father, for I have sinned," Columcil's eyes went to the crucifix and he too repeated them in his heart.

[Laurna]

((Laird Seisyll is Ritual trained, he is attempting to set a trap on the City Portal that is in the White Rose Boarding house cellar. 2d6 if a 5 or 6 is rolled then the dice are summed and that is the Portal number. The trap will be made so that it instantly ports the person back to where they came from. Results 6 + 5 = 11 Verification Number: 11rfrk69db.  Kind of a waist of a good roll. Funny how that happens. ))

Laird Seisyll felt the tingle of Power surround his hands and then a  surge over the portal stone. Even his hand fire had dimmed with the amount of power that he managed to summon to trap the stone. It was a good trap. Benign in most circumstances. Unless attuned, it would simply push the jumper back to where they came. Only if the jumper was unable to return to whence they came, then it was set to pushed the jumper on to it's sister portal, the one at riverside. That part was easy, as the two Portals were already attuned to each other as they had been for centuries. What would be tricky was jumping into the Riverside portal trap without feeling for it before hand. Until the trap there was fully dismantled and reset to something less dangerous, the jumper had best beware.  As for jumping out, unless you were attuned to it. Under most circumstances, one could not. ((Roll must be greater than an 11))

Seisyll attuned this portal to all of his blood relatives, that was easy enough. He even could attune it to Earl Brendan as his aura was still present in the stone.  Whether to attune the landlord or not was a difficult question. One that would have to be given by Royal Permission. As to the goods in the Cellar, that to would have to be decided by Royal decree as well. It would take many wagons to empty the full contents of the cellar if the King chose to confiscate all the goods. Best make a tally sheet of what was here. So that he could make full report to Kelson and then the landlord will have to present himself before Kelson's next court to determine the fate of his goods.  At least no arrests would be made, as the landlord was willing to concede to what ever the king decided.

((Oh and PS. During the last night Brendan had tried to dismantle the Riverside Portal trap, but he had failed. I rolled for this several days ago,
03:38 Brendan Brendan attempting to untrap the portal. need a sum of 11.
03:39 Brendan !roll 2d6
03:39 derynibot 5, 2 == 7))
The untrapping of the Riverside portal failed. So unless someone else can roll an 11 before the disarming wears off at midnight, and which point it will need to be disarmed again before it can be untrapped. Small silly details.  ))

[Bynw]

During the ride from Ratharkin, the Grand Duke speaks with Lord Brioc de Paor of Trurill. "Master Feyd will be arriving at our mountain fortress soon. And he will have the son of Alaric Morgan with him. Our assurance that the Haldane's will keep their distance during the campaign. The love that Kelson shows to the Morgan's is to be our advantage. See to it that Master Feyd is promtly paid for his task. There is to be no bartering with him, he is to be paid what his contract states."

Brioc de Paor, the father of the Pretender Queen of Meara listens to the great Deryni Lord, the Grand Duke Valerian, his future son-in-law. "My Lord, Master Feyd asked for nearly a King's ransom in payment. And we are getting only a knight of the realm for it. Surely we can lower the coins we must deliver."

Valerian's eyes narrow abit as they ride. "Listen to me carefully Brioc. Pay him want he wants and get him out of our castle as quickly as possible. The Portal will need to be retrapped after he leaves so he cannot return without us knowing." There is a tad bit of fear in the Grand Duke's voice that is noticed by Lord Trurill.

"We do not wish to anger the House of Baordah," the Grand Duke pauses as he remembers another Deryni that had cheated the Torenthi Order of assassins and what was found of him later. "There is no cheating the Black Order of Death without becoming a target yourself. Pay him quickly so he takes his leave quickly. There will be no more discussion of this."

The Grand Duke and his future father-in-law ride in silence the rest of the way.

[Jerusha]

The sound of the cheering from the people of Ratharkin followed the Queen's party until the gates of the city closed behind them.  Archer suspected Oswald had kept the crowd stirred up to make a good impression. 

As soon as the road turned east to follow Llyn Tywyson, the lead knight furled the royal banner of Meara.  Archer doubted they wanted to continue to advertise the presence of the pretender queen as they traveled, though a party lead by four knights would hardly go unnoticed in the local area.  The order of the riders changed as they traveled farther from Ratharkin.  Grand Duke Valerian and Brioc de Paor moved ahead to ride together, and Queen Sidana moved back to ride with her two ladies. 

The road along Llyn Tywyson was well maintained, so they set a brisk pace.  The Captain of the guard looked back at Archer, reassessing the new man in the group.  So far, he could find no fault, but time would tell.  "Keep up, Archer," was all he said before turning back around.

"Aye, Captain!" Archer said and touched the bottom edge of his cap in a soldier's salute.  He needed to appear competent enough to remain welcome within the party, but not so competent as to draw unneeded attention.

In general, conversation was minimal; the group were concentrating on reaching whatever destination they were bound for.  Archer did notice an intense conversation between Valerian and Brioc.  The noise of the horses and harness prevented any chance of overhearing what was said, and Archer could not see their lips, but he noted that Brioc seemed annoyed.  Momentarily, Valerian's noble posture did not look quite as confident.  It passed almost immediately, and Archer could not be sure he had seen it. 

Archer was surprised they continued at the current pace without slowing for the ladies to rest.  If he judged their position correctly, they were almost at the spot where the Tharkane River flowed into Llyn Tywyson.  He soon saw that his reckoning was correct.  They continued to follow the road along the river for a short distance until the lead knight signalled for them to slow.  He turned them onto a rutted path that lead to an old gatehouse.  Years before, there had been a small barge here to take travelers across the river.  In summer, when the river was no longer swollen from the spring rains, it was shallow enough to ford easily.  The barge had become unprofitable, and the wood salvaged for other uses long ago. The gatehouse remained, though the walls were sagging, and most of the thatched roof was gone.  A weathered shed behind the gatehouse appeared to be in better condition.  The men began to dismount.  Brioc helped his daughter down from her horse, and two of the knights assisted the other women.  The soldiers dismounted as well; Archer was glad for a chance to stretch his legs.

"Archer! Elwyn!" the Captain called. Archer and another of the soldiers secured their horses to a substantial, nearby bush and came forward.  "Take her Majesty's horse and the others," he indicated the Grand Duke' horse and the others of the royal party, "and water them at the river."

"Aye, Captain," responded Archer.  Two of the knights removed the saddle bags from the horses before the reins were handed to Archer and Elwyn.  The knights moved toward the shed as Archer and Elwyn led the horses to the river.  Archer turned as subtly as he could to watch as the queen, her father, Valerian and the two ladies followed the knights to the shed.  The two horses he was leading were eager for water and now demanded his full attention; he could not watch longer. 

The horses drank thirstily, and Archer casually looked back toward the shed.  There was no sign of movement.  Stopping the horses before they could drink more than was good for them, he and Elwyn guided the horses back to the others.  The two knights returned empty handed from the shed, and there was no sign of Sidana, Brioc, Valerian or the two ladies.  Surely, they were not having a private lunch inside the shed!  Could there be a Portal here?  That would explain much.

The Captain gave the soldiers leave to look to personal matters and partake of the rations that were provided from one of the bags on the pack horse.  Archer sauntered toward the shed, but his senses told him he was being watched closely.  He went no further than the nearby brush and relieved himself.  Any opportunity to edge closer was forestalled by the Captain calling for them to mount up.  Archer hastened back to the others.  No one seemed perturbed that the rest of their party did not rejoin them, and Archer asked no questions. 

The four knights again took the lead, followed by the Captain and the soldiers.  Now each soldier led a second horse, Archer's the same dependable pack horse as before.  They forded the river and followed a path that led toward the Rathark Mountains. 

Elwyn looked over at Archer.  "You're not afraid of heights, are you?" he asked.

"Not so far," Archer answered. 

"Good thing, and best hope it stays that way.  It gets steep where we are going."  He laid his hand across his brow and leaned over as if looking a long way down.

Sir Iain Cameron urged is mount forward.  He hoped it was as sure-footed as the pack horse seemed to be.  The sheer cliffs below Isles' Castle had never bothered him; narrow mountain tracks might be another matter.  Perhaps he was being teased.  Either way, he would soon find out.  The goal was Valerian; he would focus on that above all else.

[Laurna]

For the ladies of Rhemuth Court, the morning was not proving to be any less stressful than the day before. Quite the opposite; eminent war was seen at every instance, including the pendant for His Royal Highness, which several women rushed to finish the last of the edge embroidery. The one moment of reprieve had been that knock-out of a blow from the Heir of Isles, who fiercely defended the Lady de Mariot's reputation from that loot of a worm, even at the wrath of the King. Now that had been solid proof that Chivalry was not dead. Duchess Grania wanted to hug the seaman in thanks, but sadly, it had occurred in the presence of the king in his castle where laws reign. If it had been anywhere else, in a less regal venue, say a smaller castle's great hall or a lively pub room or some other place where lords need not maintain an air of calm and decorum befitting their ranks before the king of the land. Well than, Lord Darcy would have been honored for what he had done. Just now, that young lord was contained in his brother's apartments, not knowing his future. Leaving the poor Lady Aliset to brood over what possible future she might have. If others heard of Lord Jaxom's accusal, whether they believed him or not, the the young maiden's reputation  was in ruins. Her lands stolen her reputation sullied, what did the girl have left? Grania told her for the fifth time, she had the backing of the royal ladies at court. With the support of the Duchess of Southmarch, the Duchess of Corwyn, and the Queen of Gwynedd this small setback would be corrected and her reputation improved upon. Grania gave Aliset her word.

All too quickly, there after, it became known throughout the castle that the Haldane lancers with the collective armsmen called forth from the duchies of Haldane and Cathmoor under Prince Albin would be ready to march at noon. Those two armies  were seen to be camped beyond the north walls of Rhemuth. Even now the camps were seen to be coming down as men prepared to march North.

Aliset's hands had been too shaky to handle a thread and needle with any accuracy. Grania had pulled her to the window bench and returned to her the book of poetry from her chivalrous defender. The words on the opened pages seemed to ease the lady's distress.  There beside her, the duchess found her own needlework in the token she intended to bestow upon her husband at his leaving.

Nerves seemed under control until the moment Grania's eldest brother appeared in the Queen's tower. He requested their mother come apart from the ladies, to join him in another window alcove. Earl Brendan's face was far more tense than Grania had seen him be in decades. He held his mother's hands between his with a firm grasp. Their words were few, their rapport was long. Then his arms surrounded his mother in a tender embrace, his check leaned against her hair as the older Dowager Duchess crumpled into his chest. Brendan held his maman, comforting her with words that he knew were not enough. Giving up, he pulled his mother to her feet and walked her over to his sister. His eyes beseeching that Grania find a way to ease their mother's pain.

"Lil sis, I know you have much on you plate. But know that you, second only to the queen are what the men of this realm go to war for and stand for. With all three of your brothers and your husband in Meara, I need you above all others to believe that our cause is right and just. We will see that this rebellion is squashed and that our kingdom and our family is not compromised. You need to hold our home in your stong heart so that we have what we need to come home to."  Brendan came forward, hugged his youngest sister, sat his mother down in the settee beside her, and bowed deeply to both ladies as he gave his farewell. "I will find Washburn, I will see Kelric and Javan safe and victorious; both our families will be well and whole again. This I do swear!"

After he had turned and left, only then did the Dowager Duchess of Corwin turn to her daughter and lay her head upon her daughter's shoulder. "All my boys," she sobbed. "He took my husband, my love, my happiness. Now he will take my sons, the very men I boor from my own loins. I've tried to be strong. I can't do it anymore, I can't do it!" And with those words the matriarch of their family cried a torrent of tears.

Grania wanted to cry too, for they were her brothers and her husband who were marching to Meara. "Brendan, Kelric and Javan are all strong men, loyal to family and king. They will prevail, maman, you must believe that they will." She said the words not just to convince her mother, but to convince herself, too.

"My youngest, he was loyal and strong too. But now..., his soul blinded... that is what the note said. What does that mean? Is it possible that he could be turned from all that he loved? No one would ever have accused him of disloyalty, not ever. What if brother has turned on brother. What do i do?!  What do I do....?" Her voice faded into the folds of Grania's sleeve.

Queen Araxia came then to sit beside her eldest friend. She gathered Richenda's clinging arms and brought them to surround her own shoulders. In her weeping  Richenda barely noted the change from daughter to friend. "Grania, the love of my son," the queen said in quiet tones. "Go. Go to your husband. Tell him, no show him the love you have for him. Show him what is in your heart. There is precious little time. Know that it is often the man who has love to sustain him, is the man who finds his way home. Show him that there is more than just children between you. He is yours and you are his, that with faith and prayers we will help to guide him. Now go child, go to Javan. I have your mother in my care."

Grania stood, her knees weak as she curtsied. Then finding hidden strength, she rose up, kissed the check of her mother and the check of her mother-in-law and ran for the door. A guard followed as she hurried down the hall to her own apartments.

Araxia guided Richenda away, back to her own rooms. 

Lady Aliset sat silently in the morning sun, which streamed through the latticed window. She consider the fate and expectations of women in hard times like these. There was so little that they were allowed to do, other than give their support and their love to their men. Hold the home front and give the men reason to come home. Certainly there must be something more that women could do. She may not have realized it then, even a week ago, when she was merely trying to escape a woman's fate, but she did realize it now that a woman could hold her own in a group of men if given the chance to do so. She had been one of them, and they had respected her for it. What could she do if she was given that chance to be a man again?