"Your spies give favorable reports, your majesty," Urien Baska stated as he knelt before the throne of Dagoth. Darius Steelbreeze watched the man with bright green eyes and a face that garnered no emotion. The rest of Darius's council was spread out behind the throne, four more of them in all, hands folded at his or her waist, eyes staring straight ahead, hearing all that passed by their ears but having presence of mind enough not to speak unless spoken to. The fate of Raza, the king's former chief advisor, still hung like a pall in their minds. He had schemed where he should not have. Even if it had been for the king's benefit, he had been sent to the dungeons to rot as if her were no more than a common criminal. Staring down at his knee, Urien waited for his lord to give word to continue with his report. A strong silence hung in the air. Darius had excused his guardsmen from the throne chamber when Urien had come to report his findings. The way his lord had looked at the guards, it seemed that Darius no longer trusted them to be near if pertinent information passed his advisor's lips. Urien wondered how long it would be before the king no longer allowed the entire council to come together. He suddenly felt far too old to be caught in such happenings.
"You may proceed, Urien," Darius's voice rang flat in the broad walled room. There were no windows in the throne chamber, making the voice carry over and again. Urien swallowed before continuing.
"Commander Jaist has taken your army to Cromley Tower where even now he sieges it. He has issued standing orders to his captains to take Avernus Cromley alive. Also has Jael Foxlund of the Honor Guard been sent north, first to gather your retainers from Aball and Fahl, then to set garrisons along the Crossing? Orders remain to slay any that fit the description of the vagabond children, sire."
"When the retainers gather, have them march for Rehl Amon, where they shall wait the autumn for further orders. Send out couriers this day to relay that message, Urien."
"Of course sire."
"Majesty?" came the voice of a woman behind the throne. That voice belonged to a tall, dark haired woman named Omalda Tonse. She had a sharp voice that carried throughout the chamber, full of passion. Omalda was second in line of the council that catered to the king of Dagoth. Should Urien have fallen from his good graces, she would take his place as the chief advisor. Urien would have willingly back down and allow Omalda to take his place if she were not so young. There was too much passion in that voice, and passion could lead to mistakes. The heart was not so clear a thinker as the mind in most matters.
"Stand before me, advisor Tonse, and be heard," Darius raised a hand to beckon her, his gold embroidered sleeve rolling down his forearm. Omalda was quick to step forward as Urien stood straight, wincing at a crick that formed in his back, and took a step away, nodding to her as she spun around in front of the king. Gowns trailed at her ankles, colors of dark blue and bright silver shimmering in the lamp light of the chamber. Her nearly black hair was kept off her brow by a plain silver circlet, making her look older then a woman that was perhaps in her late thirties. She curtsied before Darius before she began to speak.
"My lord," she began, "Is it truly wise for us to allow an active garrison to patrol the Crossing? News may already have reached Avalon and the northern cities of Southcross's downfall. Rimerez Eaglesbane and the other noble houses of Diez and Goran may decide to strike back at you for so brazen a movement. The Eagle rarely breaks a vow, and he had vowed to stand with the decision that King Stonethrow has chosen. A war against the Eagle may not be the most prudent choice right now, when our numbers are low from weeks of battle. A recruiting campaign might be in order, my lord. There should be no harm in strengthening our numbers before taunting Avalon."
"I taunt no one," Darius spat back at her, "I have no grievance with the king of Avalon. Southcross has fallen to me, and Cromley Tower will as well. But I did this only because they defied my goal and the will of the High Father. I will travel to Dynasty and claim what they have offered me, even if the High Father chose to publicly snatch it back like a jealous child. If Avalon stands against me, then King Eaglesbane will fall as well, so I swear."
"My liege, Counselor Tonse's advice is sound, and I think you may do well to ponder it," Urien said from where he stood behind the woman. He didn't raise his voice as Omalda did, but it carried with just as much weight and more authority. Darius frowned, brow wrinkling, running a hand along his smooth chin.
"Very well, counselors. Only a fool would deny your logic. The courier will tell Honor Guardsman Foxlund to create a border patrol south of Bordertown, staying clear of the Crossing for one month's time. In that time I want a recruiting drive begun, in all of the major cities from here to Cantam. In a month's passing I expect to see the army doubling in size, nothing less than that. I leave this matter in your capable hands, councilor Tonse."
Omalda curtsied stiffly, lips pursed together as she lowered her gaze to the carpeted floor. Her eyes fell briefly on Urien, bright with a touch of fear in them. Urien felt for her. It was well known in the courts of Dagoth what happened to those that failed to appease their king.
"As your majesty wishes, so shall I do," she told him meekly, making one last curtsy before returning to her place with the rest of the councilors behind the giant throne. Darius paid her of little mind, staring plainly at his chief advisor. Urien swallowed hard before stepping forth and kneeling once more before his king.
"Majesty, there is no further word of the prisoner that had escaped from the dungeons. It has been months since he managed to breach its walls, majesty. The captain of our trackers would like to know the name of the man, so that he may have better chance finding him."
"No!" Darius Steelbreeze bellowed, standing at the foot of his throne and letting his hand fall to the great ornamented blade the rested at his side. His face was red with livid rage, "I never had the pleasure of his name, no matter how it was attempted to pull it from his lips. He was strong, at least in that respect. I no longer wish to her of this. The trackers know this man's face, I know. Tell them that it should be all the information men of their caliber should need. And make sure that such a question is never presented to me again, Urien! Are we clear on this matter?"
"As glass, my liege," Urien stated dryly, trying once more to swallow. His throat felt like sanding paper inside with Darius' cold eyes on him. After making a formal withdrawal, Urien stood straight and pivoted on his heel, listening only to the soft drag of his robes trailing on the carpet of the throne chamber. Darius Steelbreeze's eyes never left his back. Perhaps standing down and allowing Omalda to have the position of chief advisor wouldn't be so bad an idea after all. Not that bad indeed.
"Away! Leave me to my thoughts." Darius snarled, waving off the counselors that stood behind the throne. In single file they left, each making a deep bow or curtsy to their king as they passed on his right, leaving through a shadowed door near the back of the chamber. When the door closed behind the last of them Darius leaned forward in his throne, putting his head in his hands. Curls of red trailed around his fingers, damp with a touch of perspiration. Darius thought ahead, to a month's time, when he would gather the Honor Guard and his armies and march in a straight swath for Rehd Amon. Dynasty would be his after that, located on a small island three days from the eastern shores of Umbriel; it had only the great cathedral of the Chosen. For two millennia the island that harbored the cathedral and that sacred sect of priests was considered separate and distinct from the rest of Umbriel, being joined to the country only when a man was put upon the High Throne.
Bryan Stormfyre was the last man to that, a warrior king that possessed a noble heart. Had it really been three hundred years since another was ready to take the throne? Just thinking that he was chosen by the High Father and not that pompous snob Rimerez Eaglesbane made him glow with pride.
"Time passes, my lord," came a shadowed voice from the corner of the throne hall. Darius spun about on the throne, hand gripping the hilt of his sword as he rose to face the shadows, "Even now there are those who would move against you, who seek to bring others that would stop your goal. Do you truly believe that you can stand against the united might of Avalon's armies?"
"Moondark," Darius spat out, watching the black cowled saevant step out from the shadows, pale eyes shining like diamonds in the lamplight. The wizard smiled, the flesh pulling at the corners of his mouth. The smile was knowing; gloating, as it was nearly every time that Darius spoke with the man. But the king knew better then to think Moondark would simply appear in the middle of his throne room if he didn't have something important to tell him.
"What have you come here to say, Moondark?"
"I have news, majesty," Moondark drew closer, robes trailing around him, concealing legs that didn't appear to move. Darius gathered that it must be a simple matter for a saevant to move with their magic, "The centiant that you were using as a lap dog, guiding Drawn Faleem toward the wayward children, has broken free of the binding that you ordered me to enthrall him with. The binding was split with power derived from the One God." That last part was pushed through a twisted snarl, as close a thing to anger on Moondark's face as Darius had ever seen. Clearly it bothered the saevant to be outdone. Even by a God.
"If he has performed what he was supposed to do then it is of no concern to me."
"Verion has allied himself with the wayward children, my lord. And Drawn Faleem is dead, killed at the hands of a traitor."
"Traitor?" It was Darius turn to flare anger, teeth gnashing and a line of spittle flailing from his lips, "Who would dare turn from the Rook? Who has signed their death warrant by siding with my enemies?"
"He is known as Cameron Reol, majesty," Moondark told him coolly, any hint that he may have been angry all but gone.
"Cameron...? I know this name. So, he is still a player in this fight, is he? He is only one man, nothing for an army to concern themselves with. If he has slain Sub commander Faleem then so be it. Faleem was too confident of his abilities anyhow. What you have told me is of little concern. You will find those children, Moondark. Lead my men to them so that I might end this farce and take my place as ruler of this land. When you came to me as my brother Mikal lay dying from his illness you swore that you would do all in your power to make me a greater ruler then my brother, or my father Kalimon. Hold true to that word, wizard! Find them! Even if you must trail them to the gates of Hell!"
"As you command, my lord, so I have sworn to obey you. Just take care to watch those that would call themselves your ally. Recall the Baron Cromley and his treachery when another noble would offer to wave his families banner under your own."
"What would you have me do with them, Moondark? Turn potential military strength away from my gates? When you yourself tell me that Avalon may march against me? I know that I haven't men enough to resist the Eagle in pitched combat."
"I would have you hang them. Even if they are true in their offer, you will name them as traitors and leave them to rot on the castle wall, a testament to others of the price paid for defying the will of their king. As for Avalon and the infamous king Rimerez Eaglesbane, I would ask of you to leave that matter in my capable hands."
"Do as you will. And I shall take your council under advisement."
Moondark smirked darkly, bright eyes meeting the king's before he made a deep bow, sweeping one arm out before him, nails nearly scraping the stone floor, "I take leave of you then." The saevant stepped back into the shadow, becoming one with it, and then he faded from sight until only his silhouette remained. Then that too was gone. Darius pulled his cloak closer to him as a chill swept over him. He would retire to his room and call upon Urien in the morning to ensure that his messages had been sent. There could be no delays now. Time seemed to be ebbing to its end, and he wanted with all his heart to stay ahead of it. And if he had to hang noble necks to show would be turncoats that he mustn’t be trifled with, then so be it. Grinning at his own boldness, Darius Steelbreeze left his throne chamber, head filled to brimming with thoughts of the future.
A powerful northern wind caught hold of the Dagoth flag and tore at it from where it sat mounted on the battlement of Cromley Tower. The siege had begun at dusk of the day previous. Now, as the sun once more set on the land, spreading shades of gold and red along the countryside, it was over. Few prisoners were taken, while only a handful of others had drown or escaped by pitching themselves into the ocean, seeking to avoid the army that rage through their tower.
Emeron Jaist stalked the halls of Cromley Tower, armor stained crimson from the blood that he spilled in the battle earlier that day. Anifall Darinshire walked on his right side, dark hair just now graying with age the old man stood nearly four inches taller than Emeron. To Emeron's left was another of Dagoth's Honor Guard, Dag Alwood.
Dag had lived long in Jodal, a large farming and fishing village near the eastern coast, better than three weeks travel from the kingdom of Avalon. He grew up watching both family and friend alike flock to the flying Eagle's banner, only to hear word of them dead on the fore front of the Canvese Mountains. They had died in honor, Dag was told by his mother each time another courier came to Jodal bearing a scroll with a royal emblem on it. There was honor in defending the land against the savage might of the ageless. Dag never understood this, finding honor in a war that was nearly four decades old then, with casualties on both sides that would make the hardest heart weep if they dwelt on it for too long. Dag stole away on a fishing vessel shortly after his sixteenth birthday, looking for honor in other places, believing with all his heart that he couldn't, he wouldn't, die like he had seen so many others die. The army of Dagoth took him in, gave him a purpose, with King Mikal as its ruler. Dag had risen to the position of Honor Guardsman when Mikal fell to the fever that ate at his body until there was nearly nothing left of him. He now believed that it was his obligation to safeguard Darius Steelbreeze no matter the cost. He had found his honor.
Emeron Jaist stopped in an audience chamber where better than a dozen soldiers stood with spears at the ready, keeping five men on their knees, armor stripped from them, hands behind their heads. None of the five men had been allowed to dress wounds they had received in battle, some still trickled blood, drawing color from their faces with every beat of their heart.
"Allow these men to see to their wounds, fools!" Emeron's tone grated through the helmet that he still donned, "They will make poor prisoners if they bleed to death. Now send someone to fetch bandaging and clean water. Hot, if you can find it."
"Aye sir," one of the spear wielding men raised his hand in salute, then rushed out of the room, giving a respectful birth to the trio of Honor Guard that stood before him. The prisoners watched the soldier leaving the room with as much scorn as they cast in Emeron's direction. Eyes blazed with fury and a tinge of confusion, betrayal. Emeron could hardly blame them. When he had succeeded in taking the tower his first orders were to find and recover Baron Cromley. Still there was no sign of him. It seemed that the Baron had fled before the battle had even reached his guardhouses. That might be part of the reason that the tower fell as swiftly as it did. He could go, as far as Emeron was concerned. The Baron was no threat without land or an army behind him.
"Dagothian scum!" one of the men kneeling before him spat out, "Your king is not fit to sit upon the High Throne! He is mad to attempt to take it by way of war! Never has there been such an effrontery to the One God! Never!"
Emeron met the soldier's rage with a plain gaze. The man was young, barely twenty, if that even, with short blond hair and a narrow chin. Emeron found it slightly disturbing that the youth spoke so plainly about things that were prone to enter his mind should he not busy himself with other things. It was not his place to question the word of his king, only to obey. He pushed the thoughts out of his head.
Anifall, however, didn't take such an insult so easily. Snarling, the old Honor Guardsman leaned forward and took the youth across the face with a backhand that sent him sprawling onto his back. Anifall towered over him, swiping off rivulets of red from the mailed gauntlet that he wore. Two soldiers bent knee quick enough to right the man, slumping him back to his knees, where his head lolled on his neck, mouth working through fresh blood.
"Anifall! You will not do that again, unless you hear word from me! Is that understood, soldier?" Emeron barked at him.
"As you say, commander," Anifall replied quietly, averting his gaze.
"Where is your Baron? Where is Avernus Cromley?" Emeron demanded in a voice that filled the room with his presence. One of the soldiers flinched as if those words were a blow, wincing but recovering swiftly. The others only glared at him, jaws clenched and eyes defiant. Emeron gathered that those men knew nothing, and that bothered them. The last one, a man with a thick moustaches and little hair, knew something. And that bothered him more than not knowing might have. Emeron smoothed his face, removing his helmet and placing it under one arm.
"Anifall, Dag. You will take these men to the infirmary. Save this one on the end. I will have words with him. Is this understood?"
"Understood, commander," Dag saluted him proudly.
"Aye commander," Anifall saluted with less enthusiasm, bidding the soldiers to take up their prisoners. The guardsmen did as they were told; lacing arms under their charges and half dragged them out the door, Dag at the lead of them. Only the thick mustached man was left in the room with Emeron as the commander stalked around the side of the room and set his helmet on a table in the corner. The door closed with a click behind Anifall, and the older guardsman was shouting orders for two of the soldiers to stand watch at the door, which they hastily obeyed.
"What's your name, soldier?" Emeron asked the man as he turned to face him. The older man only stared defiance at him, biting his lip to keep hot words from spilling out, "Look, there is no reason that we must do this the hard way. I simply asked your name. You can tell me what your name is, or I can bring Anifall back in here, who cares much less about beating on men that who are half dead. The choice is yours, I suppose, but I really would be surprised if you chose the simple way."
"Roan Faschis, second class infantry, sir," the older man stated after a moment's pause. Emeron tried not to sigh in relief when the man spoke. He really hadn't relished fetching Anifall from the infirmary.
"Thank you, Roan, for taking the easy road. I gather that you are a smart man. I would wager that a smart man such as you would know more than the rest of these soldiers. I'm thinking that you might even know where Baron Cromley is. Might you know where he is, Roan?"
"I would not tell you even if I did! Even if you tortured me in the dungeons! The king of Dagoth can rot before I tell him anything!"
"But you aren't telling him anything, Roan. It's me that you're speaking with. I am Commander Emeron Jaist of the Dagothian Honor Guard and my allegiance is to the kingdom of Dagoth and not to the king himself. He is second to my loyalties. What you tell me will not pass to the king, Roan, so I swear to you."
"Your words fail to move me, Commander Jaist. I see you for what you are. A conqueror. The flag of Dagoth waves over the tower. There is no question where your loyalties lie, or mine."
"You may be loyal, Roan," Emeron continued, his tone smooth and even, "But is your Baron? Where is Avernus now, soldier? If my eyes don't deceive me, he abandoned you to save his own life. That isn't much of a leader to hold loyalty to, Roan. Not much of one at all."
"The Baron did what was necessary to keep his honor in the face of a lost venture. That is all," Roal's face darkened as he spoke and his voice became husky, filled with bound emotion.
"A lost venture?" Emeron questioned. Did this man mean the duplicity he attempted with Darius? The Baron did take quite a gamble by holding the bastard children in his tower, baiting the king with them. Cromley had gambled and that the king had called that bluff. Now Cromley Tower was another conquest in Darius path to the High Throne. Emeron had the sinking feeling that there would be more before the battle was through.
"Roal, is the Baron dead?"
"I have heard from a guardsman that brought word to the Baron atop his battlement. News of tactics that his captains were going to employ. The courier caught sight of the Baron..." Roal's voice had that huskiness again, the sound of a man strained by what he knew.
"He kept his honor, Commander Jaist."
"I see," Emeron retorted. So the Baron was dead, flung himself off the top of the battlement, from the sound of it. There would be no finding his body then. Roal had told him all that he needed to know.
"Thank you, Roal. I will send a man in to tend to any wounds that you might have."
"Good-bye, Commander," Roal spoke without raising his head, eyes closed. Emeron stopped to take up his helmet and left the room, closing the door behind him. He was barely out the door when Dag Alwood found him, a noble woman in tow. She was well kept in her flowing dress and silk gloves that trailed all the way to her elbows. Her hair was kept off of her neck with a bright silver band that wove in and out of her curls. She was very fair, but scared. Her skin was pale, and she bit at her upper lip in an attempt to keep her fear from showing. Brave girl, Emeron mused.
"Commander," Dag saluted before continuing, "This is Diela Shar of the House Shar from the city of Diez. It seems that the lady was here, visiting the Baron in a show of northern alliance. With the fall of Cromley Tower this young woman wishes to be sent back to her family at the nearest possible convenience."
"Diela Shar, you say?" Emeron stepped closer to her and the woman flinched, swallowing hard and placing a hand to her mouth. Emeron smile at her in a way that he hoped would be disarming, "I do not see why her request might be denied. She is no soldier, for sure. Corporal Alwood. I will charge you with bringing Ms. Shar to the main highway in Twin Port and giving her enough coin in gold to buy passage to the city of Diez. Does that suit you, lady?"
"It pleases me greatly that you are so generous, Commander," Diela stated in a courtly manner, curtsying to him before being led off by soldiers to her room. Dag watched them leave before turning once more to Emeron.
"There is more, sir."
"What would that be, Corporal?"
"There was another woman. Servants place her as the lady Tandy Misma of Aball in the valley region. Lady Misma was killed in the heat of the siege, commander. She was found in the third floor hall, near servant's quarters. It is unknown why she was here."
"Damn," Emeron breathed out. Killing men was one thing, but no man of any standing would ever wish harm on a woman were there chance to avoid it, "Dag, I want you to find who may responsible for this action. Inquire of everyone, ally and enemy alike. When and if the perpetrator of this crime is found I want them hung near the soldier’s barracks at the start of the peninsula. I will have my men know that there is a difference between battle and butchery."
"As you would, commander," Dag saluted and went off in the direction of Diela Shar, ordering three of the soldiers standing about to follow him. Emeron sighed deeply as he watched Dag go. The loss of the young woman was unfortunate, but he knew there were always uncertainties in battle. Shaking his head, Emeron watched the soldier that he had sent off return, hands filled with bandaging, and another man following him, holding a porcelain tray that was steaming with hot water. Emeron stepped aside to allow them entry but no sooner had they entered then they were calling for him to follow.
Inside the room Roan Faschis hung from the heavy wooden rafters of the room by his own shirt, tied tightly about his throat, making his face go shades of blue and his tongue hang out an open mouth obscenely. Averting his eyes out of decency, Emeron forced a snarling gesture from his face before addressing his men.
"Cut him down. Now."
They were quick to obey, one of the men taking hold of his legs and dragging the body out and up, letting weight off the shirt that he had used to hang himself. The other produced a flat edged dagger that he wore always on his back and slashed the length of cloth in one clean stroke. Roan Faschis crumpled to the floor, his bulged eyes lolling in his head.
Emeron knelt before the man, using an open hand to smooth the eyes closed, holding it there as he stared at the man's features, "I hope you found your own honor, Roan," Emeron mouthed softly, so that no one else heard him, "I hope that you found peace with your Baron."
They were still hunting for him, he knew. He had brought together men that tended fields all their lives and merchants too fat to raise their dinner forks, much less a sword, but he had made something of an army, and he had defied the tyranny that Darius Steelbreeze had brought with his rule. That was all that kept him alive and fighting in the dungeons of Dagoth all those months Darius allowed him to languish there, nearly bereft of food or water. He promised the king that he would stop him, and that was what he meant to do. But it had taken him precious time to recover from the dungeons. He had his, for a long time, moving between the villages of Felcon and Endrin, deep in the plains, using hay carts to ride in and old friends that were more than ready to hide him should he need it.
Plans were to be made. He had an army to gather to him. Southcross was no more, hard as that was to believe. He even received word from a wandering minstrel that the tower of Cromley was under siege by the army of Dagoth. It was over, he could only guess. That left Avalon, steeped far to the north where the air was cold and the land colder still. The Eagle was hard pressed as it was and he guessed that gathering those men into combat would be akin to raising the demorn to rally against Dagoth. Hard chance there. He left the door where he stood; looking out at a large, broad plained farm that he was only across the highway from. The sun was near its high point, with not a cloud in the sky. A strong autumn wind was blowing across the fields, making the weather vane on the peak of the pole barn dance in a jerky, spiraling pattern. If he wasn't mistaken it wasn't more than a fortnight until the Day of Fellows. But he couldn't imagine anything to be very grateful for this year. Nothing for him to voice praise and thanks to the One God.
Walking back across the floor of the kitchen, he took a seat in a rickety old rocker' listening to the jingling of his ring mail armor as it bent to fit his body. There was scarcely a day that passed that he didn't don the armor, and the axe he had looped at his belt on his side. They simply made him feel better. Through the open window at the side of the kitchen he could hear faint laughter, children at play, and smiled a rare smile. The war was far from Fahl, thus far, and it had little reason to move this far north unless Avalon made a move in defense of Dynasty.
The High Throne! When he had heard Darius utter those words he knew that the king had gone mad, that the seeds were taking plant in his mind. He shuddered thinking how much farther it had gone in this much time. And then there was the rumor of three children, bastards born from the king's lust when he was little more than the errant son of the king. A prince that found more sport in a sultry maid then he did in hunting stag in the deep of the woodland. That would have been Mikal's place, faithful at his father's side.
"Curse the black fever," he muttered to himself, "And curse Darius Steelbreeze."
"You still talking to yourself, old friend? I thought you had stopped doing that when you were freed from Dagoth's prison."
He turned to look at the old man dressed in overalls, shoulders scorched from many days under the hot sun. A broad brimmed hat made of soft cloth hung past his eyes, covering his ears as well. The man had a kindly face, with an open grin and bright eyes. The old man took a seat opposite a round table on the side of the room and rested bare feet on its edge.
"Did you decide what it is that you're doing here, this far west of the Torvana Mountains? I suppose that you can't do much against the king if you sit on this old farm and lament about civil wars."
"Listen old man," he began with a wry grin, "I'm not lamenting. I feel for the men that followed my path. I pray the One God granted them mercy in the end. It's no more than I can pray for myself when it's my time to die. The One knows I prayed that same prayer every night when I was captive there."
"You never said how it came to pass that you were freed, Jared. Did one of the soldiers finally take pity on you? Or did Darius ban that as well. Pity, I mean."
"I was freed by a wizard. We'll leave it at that."
"Sure," the old man shrugged, standing up to move over to the wooden counter running nearly the entire left side of the kitchen, "Want some tea?" he asked.
"No, thank you," Jared replied.
"How 'bout some Meldian spirits then? I only have some left, so this is the only offer that you get."
"You have a deal," Jared nodded to him, "Meldian Spirits it is."
The old man walked back from the counter with two glasses and a bottle in tow, amber liquid splashing around inside it. He poured first for himself, and then slid the other glass over to Jared.
The liquid was strong and bitter, but warm when it slid down the throat, making him feel relaxed, soothing hurts that never seemed to leave him. He drained the entire glass on the second drought and slammed it empty back on the table top. The old man blinked at him as he held his own glass aloft.
"It was good, Brone. Thank you for the offer."
"You're not drinkin' till you're in a stupor, mind you Jared."
"The thought never passed my mind, old man," Jared replied with a heartfelt grin, pushing the glass back over to Brone, brows rising hopefully. The old man swore under his breath and refilled the glass with more of the alcohol before nursing his own drink.
"And to tell the truth, I'm not sure what I'm doing here. I thought there were trackers after me. Darius would rage until the heavens failed to be if he couldn't find me. Perhaps I'm hoping to bait him into doing something foolish. Even more foolish then what he already intends to do."
"And do you think the trackers will find you?"
"If I thought that your family was in danger for even one moment I wouldn't be here now, Brone. I swear to you that I wasn't followed. I only need a place to stay for another night. Perhaps two," Jared paused long enough to drain the second glass of Meldian spirits, wiped his mouth with a hand, and continued, "I think that I might head north, to the borderlands. There are men there that owe me favors. That' and there are mercenaries in Bordertown that are only waiting for someone to put coin in their purse."
"When did you come upon a mountain of gold, Jared?"
"I don't, but the king of Avalon does."
Brone nearly choked on the spirits, gagging them down before goggling at Jared, "What, have you gone mad, boy? Do you intend to steal enough coin from the king of Avalon to hire a mercenary army? Then what? March right into Dagoth and kill the king I suppose?"
"I have plans, old man," Jared laced his fingers, licking his lips as the plan became clearer in his mind. It was bold, almost foolish in itself, but it might just work where peasants heated by strong words failed, "I have plans that will take me to Avalon." Jared cast the amber bottle a questioning look, "Were we meaning to finish that bottle tonight, old man? I am feeling a little thirsty."
Brone snorted.
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