“Where is Brenin?” she asked in her powerful
rumbling voice.
Kailron seemed uncomfortable, he struggled to
answer. “He is away on business, your highness.”
A look of disapproval met him. “That is how you
refer to this war? it is not business, his work is vital, his
efforts to end this war far outweigh yours –”
“Your majesty, please,” interrupted Kailron as he
held a forced smile.
“Do not try, councillor!” she warned, “now, I wish
to see the girl.”
Kailron showed compassion towards Librye. His
eyes narrowed. “Librye?”
“If that is her name,” said Harelda, her voice
softened, she could see that Kailron held some
affection for the girl, “perhaps you can take me?”
Kailron guided her and Grendel up the stairs and
towards Librye’s room. Even Kailron was not aware of
Librye’s current condition.
“Mord?” said Kailron as he entered, his face held
a look of fearful concern, “what happened?”
Mord sheepishly replied, “I found her on the lane
to the meadow, like this. She has an ailment, my lord.”
Kailron stepped inside. By Librye’s bedside sat
Godfrey. As Kailron came to the foot of Librye’s bed
his mouth was gaping with utter grief, his brows were
pulled in. Harelda stepped inside. “Out, all of you,”
she commanded.
Godfrey stood and began to leave, followed by
Kailron, Grendel remained outside. There was a
sombre mood in the room, as Mord stood to leave,
Harelda turned. “Wait.” Mord turned to face her, she
remained bent into a bow. “Stand, my dear.” Mord
stood, her hands shook as she looked to Harelda.
“You are Mord?” Mord quickly nodded, she was not
scared of Harelda, she was terrified. “Good, then you
shall remain, close the door.”
Mord ran to the door and closed it. She watched
as Harelda walked to the side of Librye’s bed, her eyes
remained fixed on Librye, as Harelda slowly sat. Her
power and grace followed everywhere she went.
“I found her like this, your majesty,” she walked to
the other side of the bed and began to sit.
Harelda looked to the door, silently. She looked
back to Mord; her eyes narrowed to almost a wink.
“Please, call me Harelda, only in the company of
ourselves though,” her power did not wither, she
simply seemed kinder to Mord, “you found her, didn’t
you?” She looked to the face of the defenceless child.
“You found her in Farhope.”
“I believe I did,” replied Mord, “she was perfect.”
She smiled as she too gazed to Librye’s sleeping face,
a flood of memories returned to Mord, it seemed like
a lifetime ago that she had found hope. “I would’ve
taken her there and then, but I was a soldier, I
couldn’t care for her then, without even knowing it,
she changed my life.”
Harelda broke her stare with Librye and looked
towards Mord. “You do now,” her tender side was
seldom shown, but children always brought out a soft
side in Harelda, “tell me about her state, recently and
when she was found.”
The perfection of Harelda’s accent always seemed
to startle people, Mord remained fixed on Librye,
Harelda was just a woman to Mord, just like her, she
simply cared for Librye. Her voice was a soft and
tender whisper of memories as she allowed them to
flood back.
“When I found her, it was strange. The village was
ruined, nothing was left alive. I remember the smell of
burning,” Mord softly stroked Librye’s face, “and then
I heard her cry. The blanket she was wrapped in was
perfect, as if she had been placed there, just for us to
find. She was a gift from the gods, she brought so
much hope to us all. I took her to the medic, that was
when we saw the lumps.”
Harelda’s head tilted as she asked, “Lumps?”
Mord stood, she unfastened the front of Librye’s dress
and pulled the shoulders down, slowly she turned her
for Harelda to see. Harelda slowly stood, her eyes
widened towards the lumps on Librye’s back. She
took her slender finger and softly ran it over the
lumps. “And there are the torbs, Grendel was right,”
she softly said to herself. She looked to Mord. “Tell
me when she wakes, care for her, Mord.” Harelda
began to leave the room, before she placed her hand
on the door she again turned. “The child is vital to this
world, as are you now, she cannot be replaced, care
for her.” Mord nodded, she had done all she could to
care for Librye since before being appointed as her
attendant.
The morning in Marrion brought great loss and
sorrow for the fighting army, most had gone to battle
another day. The air was filled with the scent of stale
ale, celebrations had been held but they now realised
they had no reason to celebrate. Svend was ready in
the courtyard. A few supplies would be enough to last
Harris to the next tavern or stop.
“I can’t help but worry,” said Branwen as she
packed the few remaining items into Harris’s bags for
him.
Harris was still going through the papers on his
desk, he turned with raised brows and asked, “Worry,
about what?”
She dropped his clothes into his bag. “Taverns,”
she replied shaking her head.
Harris laughed, he slowly walked towards her. “I
promise I’ll behave,” he held her shoulders; he looked
deep into her eyes, “I will see you in Sonnin,” he gave
a heavy sigh, “I can promise myself to you, until you’re
ready to accept this,” looking down, Harris shook his
head, “I can be loyal, Branwen, but I can’t be
expected to live a life of celibacy, I will give you as
much time as you need, just remember, we both have
needs, Bran.”
She did not seem convinced. “This is ridiculous,”
she huffed as she turned and sat on the bed. Holding
one of Harris’s tunics she held her head in her hands.
“Surely we can just be together. My mother, does not
matter.” She lifted her head and raised a brow to
Harris.
Her insistence was slowly wearing Harris down.
“No, but you do, she will make you miserable!” he
raised his voice to her, “come on, Bran!” He knelt in
front of her, his voice calmed. “You need to spend the
rest of your time here, accepting, we cannot be
together, I will never feel about anyone the way I feel
about you. It crushes me to know that we can never be
one, but that is the way of this world, royals are for
royals, commoner for commoner, that is the law,” he
enforced. His words hurt, but they were true. “I beg
that you will one day become the woman you are
supposed to be, the powerful fey, just like your
mother.”
Harris stood in front of Branwen, who
remained broken on the bed. “I will always be your
friend, Bran, but that is all we can be.” His soft voice
seemed to grate at her, she no longer wanted to be
friends, but she knew the risk that Harris had already
taken.
Branwen stood, her voice was deep. “We have
options, Harris, many options, in a world so broken
by war.”
Harris sharply turned; he knew what she was
speaking of was madness. “I am needed, Bran!” he
snapped at her, “this world, will remain torn, if this
does not end, I have sacrificed myself daily to get this
war to the place it is now!” He seemed cruel, her
needs no longer mattered to him, the needs of the
world did. His voice calmed; compassion began to
show. “I never intended to bring you into my world, of
sacrifice, but now you are here, you must understand
something, get out now, there is nothing left for you
here.”
He took his bag, gave one last kiss, and left. There
were no cheers as he left from the castle and towards
the barbican, a powerful clap from the fighters who
were left behind was heard. They appreciated Harris,
and as they each watched him leave, they felt a
blackened unsurety fill the air. Marrion would not be
the same without the brutal, cruel, calculating
berserker.
Atop the plateau, Anna stood, she could hear the
broken claps as she stood, wanting to be there to see
Harris leave, she was now needed at battle. His
machines would remain, and Anna would now power
them.
“Your orders, commander?” asked Dominic as he
stood beside her.
Anna broke her glare towards the Castle Marrion.
She turned to Dominic. “I have a final order from
Harris,” she spoke softly, her lips remained parted.
The task she had taken on was a gargantuan one, to fill
the boots of Harris Bearwood, was daunting. “A
farewell to us all here.” Her voice raised as she came
towards the one hundred atop the plateau. “He has
ordered we have one last reminder of Harris
Bearwood in this waste of a land!” she screamed.
Several buckets were placed along the top of the cliff.
“Harris left this for me,” she handed a note to
Dominic.
Dominic read the letter. He lowered his brows.
“Who begins a letter with Fucker?”
Anna laughed. “Read on,” she said to him.
“The buckets are one final chance to see a true
Harris send off, dip your arrows and enjoy!” he was
confused. “Is it fire?”
“It is not fire,” replied Anna, “people often
underestimate Harris.” She walked towards the
ballistae. “His time in Xencliff taught him much, his
fascination with nature far outweighs ours, if Kairne
thinks he has won, because he has named himself as
the new necromancer, he is yet to meet Harris’s spider
bite.” She raised her brows towards him. “Just watch.”
She turned to the archers and called, “Dip your
arrows, let them fly hard towards the enemy, do not let
the arrow touch your skin or wounds,” she warned.
“Fore they are tainted.”
The arrows fired, each arrow which struck but did
not kill, was sure to leave its victim with an
uncomfortable feeling within their nether regions
before becoming a part of the carpet of death which
now covered the grounds of the battle. Spiders were a
favourite of Harris, his pets provided him much
knowledge on the natural world of killers. His
favourite being a spider’s venom, potent enough to
kill, but to set a man off course with an uncomfortable
erection before their inevitable death, mixed with a
concoction of oils, a single drop of the venom could
take out an entire army.
A slow ride would take him a few days to get to
Cronnin, but Harris had work to do. Svend was a
strong horse, he was well trained for endurance. The
rest stops were small stone huts, usually a small hearth
for a fire and a stone staircase leading to the roof was
enough for any lone traveller. The taverns would
provide Harris a decent meal and rest but also,
temptation. His promise to Branwen was out of
character for Harris. The bears arms, in Nortroma was
a small tavern where Harris would be able to have a
decent meal before he made his way to the Grenhilda
valley.
As a small community the people of Nortroma
would often rely on passing trade for their livelihoods.
Paying the stable hand, Harris made his way into the
tavern, a few people muttered quietly in the tavern as
Harris stepped in, his eyes drifted through, the clean
rafters and flagstone floor was very well kempt by the
landlords, even the tables were clean. Harris gave a
quick impressed huff as he walked to the clean bar.
“Afternoon, Harris,” called the barkeep. The
heavyset gent knew exactly who had just walked into
his tavern.
Harris’s mouth began to form a twisted smile as he
thumped his arms onto the bar. “Afternoon,” he
greeted, “apologies, but is Salonius here?” he asked,
knowing the landlord well.
“Retired,” said the barkeep as he slowly walked
from the shadows at the back of the bar, where most
of the tankards were stacked, “he told me about you
though.” He raised his brow and lowered his head.
“Said that I should receive good trade from you,” he
said with a curved smile, “Darnus, Sir.” He gave a
Xencliff welcome to Harris, holding his left palm flat
vertically, he made a fist with his right hand, and
placed it to the palm with a slight nod. “Although,”
said Darnus, “I believed you were in Marrion, battling
the dark army?”
Harris leant over the bar, he took a tankard from
the counter and proceeded to pull his own pint from
the tap at the bar. His eyes remained fixed on Darnus
as he explained, “I was, injury had Brenin panicked,
so I’ve been forced to return.” He reached to his side
and took his coin purse; he placed a coin on the bar.
“Return?” asked Darnus. He asked with a high,
surprised tone, “You’re appointed to the palace?”
“You sound shocked, it was only a matter of time,”
he seemed to seep with pride, “I’m not the man
people assume I am, Darnus, you’ve heard of me, but
you’ve not actually met me before, assumption is your
enemy as a tavern owner,” he warned with his brows
raised.
“Apologies.” Darnus was surprised with Harris,
having heard of an angry commander, thirsty for the
pleasures of the flesh, he soon realised that Harris was
quite the opposite. “And what are your plans with
Cronnin?”
Harris lifted his eyes towards him, a menacing look
held in his eyes. “I have three to end, the dark army
/>
will soon fall, but following that I doubt the Atlanti will
settle, they will rise again, and when they do, I intend
to ensure I have everything in place to see them bow
to the power of Cronnin.” He took a large drink from
his tankard. “Is Harlenna still here?”
Darnus gave a quick nod. “She is, I can call her if
you wish?” he offered as he began to walk towards the
stairs behind the bar.
“No!” called Harris as he shot from the bar, “I
would rather keep my stay as quiet as possible; I don’t
intend on staying for more than a few hours anyway,
she would see me here all night,” he said as he
laughed.
“Very well,” replied Darnus, “a quiet corner
perhaps, I’ll bring you something to eat, we have a
wonderful meat pie my wife makes,” he said with a
wide smile.
“That would be very agreeable,” Harris said with a
widening smile. Harris stood and walked towards a
small table beside the window, he took the hood of his
leather cloak and pulled it over his head, almost
covering his eyes, he remained in the corner, well into
the night Harris sat and listened, for any interesting
information which may pass through.
“I hear it’s killed over two hundred in less than a
turn,” said a ragged looking man as he walked into the
bar with his acquaintance. His curly hair showed signs
that he once had dark hair, age had taken its colour,
they both showed small red blotches on their faces, as
their nights of drinking took its toll on them. “Rumour
has it, they only put the flag up yesterday.”
“The black flag has been up for the whole turn,”
said his friend as they stood at the bar to the side
where Harris had sat for the day.
“I just know that it’s killed a lot, seems to be the
men affected the most though,” he replied.
Harris had been searching for just such a
conversation; he slowly stood and made his way
towards the bar, his thundering boots startled them as
they both turned to see Harris barge between the two,
he leant on the bar in the middle of them. “And where
exactly may this place be?” he asked as he looked to
them both with a tight smile.
“You’re Harris!” said one of the men, utterly
startled. “Commander!” he stuttered.
Harris held a satirical tone as he replied, “Well
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