Morlekai's awful laugh left Verona shaking in her chair. “I assure you, Agent of the Crown, any mere mortal soldier who thinks himself a match for my blade shall know the bitterest folly, though the duration of his terrible regret shall be blindingly brief, before he once again finds his soul adrift, cleaved from his mortal corpse before he can draw his blade, or utter a sound. For I too have glimpsed the Fount of power and madness that is darkest Shadow, far more a land of darkest nightmare than a realm of fables and dreams.” His stare pinned Verona to her chair, even as he flashed a terrible smile. “And I, like dear Jessica, have drunk deep of the potent chaos within.”
The Delver then turned his brilliant gaze upon the baron and his wife, both stepping back despite themselves, his madness burning bright like an unquenchable flame. “So let me ask you, lord and lady of this realm, what boon is worth the opportunity to assure the safety of your clan, and clear your daughter's name?”
44
And sooner than she would have thought it possible, Verona found herself making surprisingly good time, riding an exceedingly well bred rouncey towards the Trolos Estates. Morlekai laughed in the chill drizzle, dressed as he now was in bizarre armaments; what looked at first glance to be cobalt blue lamellar comprised of oddly shaped plates of iron turned out to have far more exotic origins, scales torn directly from beasts native to the darkest pits of nightmare allowed for armor stronger than any forged steel, Morlekai had grimly assured her, calmly stating that both his wicked looking falchion and the parrying gauntlet he wore were themselves ancient artifacts used in dueling arenas predating Erovering itself.
Verona couldn't deny feeling a certain slight pressure on the edges of her own warped gift even now, so she did not doubt that his armaments had been used in horrific battles in ages past. She was almost willing to believe as well that perhaps the duelists in question hadn’t been human.
Morlekai's bard was dressed in far more mundane if exquisitely crafted attire, the multilayered linen gambeson lined with cotton for comfort, and carefully constructed for ease of motion, served as perfect attire for the cooler weather that seemed to overtake them as soon as they had left the baron's personal estates. The smile the man had flashed Verona's way once they were off had been at once inclusive and bemused, as if hoping she'd forgive his companion his eccentricities, and just enjoy the adventure before them. He had introduced himself with such charming eloquence; Alexo the Bard, he had called himself, and was utterly fascinated to hear the tale thus far, and Verona had no doubt he was already thinking up verse to raise Jessica upon a righteous pedestal, and cast Kipu in the dark role of a most foul villain.
Her greatest concern was, of course, being captured and very likely killed by Lord Trolos's men, and it was only Lady Agda's solemn and heartfelt promise that should anything happen to Verona, the baroness would personally do all she could to assure that Verona's child would want for nothing that finally won her over to this mad scheme.
Verona was all too painfully aware that besides herself, her child had no one. Even her own extended family who would only see her child as easy prey to strip bare before leaving him to fend for himself in the cruel dark world she knew they lived in. The baroness radiated an integrity that left Verona with the unshakable belief that should the worst befall, her son would be well cared for; and the safety and well-being of her son was all that had kept her going since the death of her husband, just a few short years ago.
Verona took a deep shuddering breath, accepting that she was now firmly committed to the Calenbry camp, as much as she dreaded what they would face once they made their way within the Trolos estates, just ahead.
Morlekai glanced at Verona, nodding approvingly at the shirt of mail over light gambeson that she too was wearing, her cloak of muted brown serving both to protect against the weather, and to better blend in to darkness and foliage, all of serving as parting gifts from the Calenbrys. “We are here, my lady.”
Verona nodded as she pulled out some of her specially prepared parchment. As much as she had reservations about revealing any more of her capabilities than she had to, particularly to the Guild, the tides of fate and circumstance had led her here, so she did what she knew she must.
With a few harsh, guttural words that she felt resonate through her very bones, she pricked her finger and placed the tiniest drop of blood on each of the three points of the parchment she had carefully folded into thirds after writing her prepared message, one of several, earlier this evening. With a final whisper, she gave a well-practiced snap of her wrist, sending the piece of blood tipped paper spinning. Yet it did not slow down and flutter to the ground after a few feet. Rather, it spun faster and faster and gained altitude, soon flying off out of sight, destined to land in the palm of her royal contingent's captain, presently at ease, yet trained to come at her calling with all due haste, should a blood summons be received.
For all that bloodmagics often involved physical connections as well as the arcane, she needed no prepared samples from the rather handsome captain, for she had a certain bond with him already. A link of lust and a bloody kiss having sealed a connection between them some months ago, she needed only to write his name upon the sheet, fixing his face and their night of passion firmly in her mind.
"Very impressive, my lady!" Alexo flashed an admiring smile after Verona had finished the words to that tight little spellweb she had with infinite patience, care, and no small amount of trial and error, designed in her final days of training at Highrock. She grinned despite herself, pleased at the compliment. Limited as her magics were, no other college mage that she knew of could make use of those crimson strands of power she could just sense, entwining them within her own spellwebs.
That source of power colloquially known as bloodmagic. She knew she only skimmed the barest sliver of its potential, yet had her gift run any deeper into the red, she would be unable to cast elementalist spellwebs at all, the weight of her own power making manipulating magics via modern techniques extremely difficult. Or so her onetime professor Rens had theorized, complementing her unique hybridization of arts, such as they were, always with a kind word and yet another copied treatise as a parting gift after their infrequent unions in her later years at Highrock. For though the first blush of passion had left them, their relationship had mellowed into the tender friendship they still shared, which had pleased Verona no end, never having been jealous of the other girls the man had taken to his bed. She was just grateful that he, of all her professors, had seen her warped talent as a marvel. A gift to be nurtured into full bloom, not simply writing her off as a failure, as she knew more than one professor had done.
Verona smiled, pleased despite herself, for her arcane gifts to be recognized and appreciated once more, though no doubt the admiring bard was well used to the oddest of talents manifesting before him, assuming that the legends regarding Delvers were true, and not simply the work of artifice and dreamspice. And increasingly, after her witnessing what she had of Jessica and Morlekai both, Verona was forced to consider the chilling possibility that Delvers did indeed possess fearsome talents, and were just as bloodthirsty and dangerous a group of men and women as the legends made them out to be.
"Reinforcements are heading our way even as we speak," she assured. "Unless Lord Trolos fields a dozen knights on armored chargers, they'd be fools to attempt to intervene."
Morlekai nodded in approval. For the royal armsmen alone had license to carry crossbows or longbows. Any nobles found training squads of such specialized units in secret could well find themselves accused of treason. Thus only knights or infantry kitted in full armor, or possessing heavy shields they could hide behind, would be able to successfully endure a fast mobile squad of mounted bowmen, and even then, a royal squadron would be far more nimble than heavy infantry or cavalry, taking few if any casualties as long as they avoided getting surrounded or pinned, and be able to quickly retreat and send for overwhelming backup, if needed.
Officially, the Crown and the n
oble clans each had specific delineated tasks each fulfilled for the defense of the country in honor of long standing tradition. The noble Houses were expected to supply knights and infantry when needed during times of war, the Crown was responsible for mounted and infantry bowmen. Thus royal archers, noble knights, and jointly funded infantry, both professional and levied, formed the core of Erovering's extremely effective military force, the Crown also responsible for engineers, sappers, and siege weaponry, as such resources were forbidden to the noble houses, for obvious reasons.
When not united with foot soldiers and mounted knights during times of war, the mounted royal bowmen served as patrollers of the major roads, and as a check on the noble Houses. Their fast maneuverability and superior range gave them the edge they needed to deter insurrection, or to at least be mobile enough to escape and give warning, should some significant threat surface.
Only Squires of War, the elite commanders training at Highrock under General Eloquin himself, had been given dispensation to train with and lead heavy cavalry, battlemages, and mounted archers in unison, part of the king's offensive strategy for the war everyone knew was coming. It was only a matter of time. That was the true purpose of Highrock, its other academic studies but window dressing, as all the savvier students, Verona included, had eventually deduced. Forging the deadliest Knight Aspirants and battlemages to be seen in centuries, unified by Squires of War versed in all elements of strategy and battle, was the real reason for so much royal funding being sent Highrock's way, allowing them to sponsor the most talented youths in the kingdom, whatever the size of their parents' coffers.
“Now it is but for us to make our reconnaissance.” Morlekai grinned in anticipation, jolting Verona once more back into the present, and on the grim task at hand. “If we discover anything significant, you are well within your rights to authorize a seizure, your search justified after the fact. If we wait for your reinforcements to arrive, Lord Trolos is well within his rights to refuse entrance without a formal order, and I have no doubt your captain would not want to risk an incident unnecessarily.”
"That is correct, Del Morlekai," Verona acknowledged. Nobles were a prickly bunch, as she knew firsthand, and complaints of royal archers overstepping their bounds could cause headaches the Crown would not want to deal with, and Verona certainly didn't want to be caught in the middle of any such incident. Should she have found evidence indicating that a predator was in their midst, however, one that had even begun to prey on his own kind, that would instantly quell any opposition.
Sad as it was to admit, she herself knew that more than a few of the jaded lords in Council had killed or seriously maimed a wench, serving girl, or other hapless female of the lower classes in a fit of drunken rage or excess. It was, after all, one of the sources of Sir Gray’s influence and connections. He was adept at ferreting out a clan’s darkest secrets, at times even offering to help resolve any embarrassing circumstances that arose. For a price. He had earned many favors taking such a path. Sir Gray was what some would call a very mission focused inquisitor. He cared nothing for noble excess. His only concerns were national security, stability, and eliminating any perceived threats to the Royal House.
Most of said individuals Sir Gray had assisted at least had the decency to wish to forget about such past shameful indiscretions, very few taking a sick sort of pride in such vileness, though Verona did not doubt that there were a few, particularly in a court as jaded as Erovering's. That being said, the unspoken, unbreakable rule, was that one never preys upon one's own class. Nobles were strictly off limits. No noble wanted to worry about his beloved daughter falling victim to such a predator, however callous their attitude might be to those of lower station.
If Kipu truly was a habitual killer and was responsible for Elebry e'Cantu's death, for all that her family barely made the rank of lesser lords, the outcry would be…significant. And should evidence be found implying that he truly had been seeking even richer prey, the daughter of a named lord at that, a girl who was, in fact, the undeclared offspring of the king himself, Verona shuddered to think of the depths of pain the Trolos Clan would be subjected to then.
45
“My lady, we are here.” The bard’s voice could barely contain his excitement, reveling in their close call as they found themselves carefully skulking by a patrol of grumbling guardsmen who were alternating between complaining about the food and comparing notes on their favorite whores at the town brothel. For all that she knew she was in highly trained company, it was some minutes before Verona’s heart stopped galloping in her chest.
And then had come the hidden threat, which would have taken her completely by surprise and quite possibly killed her, had the wickedly dangerous man at her side, a man she hungered for even as she feared him, not come to her rescue.
Attack hounds. Very different from smaller breeds or sheep dogs that may bark to warn off intruders, these were patrolling hounds, silent and deadly. Trained not to alert their prey when they caught a scent they didn’t recognize, particularly at night, and away from people whose scents they did know. They were trained to sneak behind such intruders and launch themselves at their prey’s throat, wrists, ankles, whatever they could get ahold of to maim and cripple, the guards being either alerted to the intruders panicked cries, or finding a dead body the next morning.
And just such an attack hound had been launching himself at Verona's throat when, quicker than she could blink, Morlekai had gone from calm and relaxed to instantly alert, eyes flashing with a golden fire Verona could swear wasn't just a trick of the moonlight, and in that split second it was over, Morlekai having darted past her literally faster than she could track with her blink, his deadly dueling gauntlet having smashed aside a massive hound as effortlessly as she would have swatted a bird, his deadly falchion then severing the creature's head so fast and cleanly that the beasts eyes still blinked in surprise before they eased into death's clammy grip. For but a second blood poured from the fatal wound before trickling to a stop, and the air suddenly stank of rust and offal.
Verona shuddered. So relaxed, so at ease, yet his speed had been…inhuman. No other word for it. Morlekai actually had the gall to flash her a wink as he cleaned his blade with but a single flick, wiping away any final traces with a belt cloth before sheathing it, all in a well-practiced move taking little more than a second. Gently, he took her arm.
“Come, my sweet. I smell no more of those beasts about, though soon enough they will be attracted to the blood of their fallen brother.” Verona shook even as he raised his hand. An utterly graceful movement, he was completely at ease as he pointed off in the distance, though Verona could still feel herself trembling from death, hot and fierce, unleashed but seconds ago.
"You see that ahead? I suspect we have found the old lumber mill Jessica had mentioned, long since converted into that oh so cozy home our dear Kipu has enjoyed for so long. And you'll notice it is quite conveniently placed away from any other buildings of note, barely on the outskirts of Lord Trolos' demesne."
Verona nodded, taking a deep, calming breath. Indeed, it seemed that Kipu’s mother had wanted her home to be as far away from Lord Trolos as possible, and to the extent that it could be, her wish had been granted. Also convenient if Kipu really was performing acts of horror, Verona couldn't help noting. Any victim's struggles would be completely undetectable from the main keep and surrounding buildings some distance away, any cries or sounds easily explained by an indulgent Kipu the next day, and what father would wish to inquire too closely? What servant would even dare?
Though Verona still had her doubts, the fact that this lumber mill was even present, just as Lady Jessica had asserted, gave the girl’s wild claims a certain terrible veracity such that Verona found herself strangely hesitant to proceed. True, she had almost been hoping the girl was right. It would make things so much easier in terms of avoiding accusations of insanity, instability, or having to make a report that would likely become a death sentence for that fami
ly who, from what she had seen, saw their daughter’s gifts as a troubling burden they dealt with as best they could, not as a clever deception to maneuver themselves into Royal favor.
But to actually confront the horror of a madman's den, if Jessica's claims were more than simple mad delusion... the very thought of it froze Verona to the spot. She gazed down at suddenly trembling hands, unable to proceed, unable to face the nightmares that repurposed log shed might well contain, deep within its bowels.
Verona grimaced, shaking away her sudden hesitation. She was an Agent of the Crown. Facing horrors such as this was part of her job. Had she not felt so exhausted from such a tumultuous evening and traveling through the damp chilly night to this location, heart still racing from several close calls and near discoveries, she knew she wouldn’t even be entertaining such thoughts. She understood the reasons why she must proceed with this course of action as well as anyone. The conversation she had had with Agda de Calenbry had been filled with nuanced understanding, and her solemn nod had made it clear that Verona had understood what was being asked, and promised, beneath the words.
“Oh come now, no second thoughts now, dear Agent Verona! We have arrived at the climactic final of this chapter of the play. Let us proceed forthwith, and see what there is to be seen. And you’re welcome, by the way.” Morlekai flashed her a mad little grin, even as his hand gently led her forward, though with such underlying power that there was absolutely no way she could have resisted his pull.
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