Version 13

Version 13 

 

By

 

The Gray Man

 

Part III

 

      Lady Cora Golwyn, the Countess of Sharford, known to her enemies as ‘the Scorpion’, was stunningly beautiful as she dismounted her horse and approached the gathering.  Her long hair was combed, oiled and braided into an intricate design.  She wore leather boots, buff colored linen riding breeches so tight they seemed molded to her skin, and a short, waist length tunic.  Her dress, as always, was designed to compliment her figure and distract those men whom she chose to speak with on anything close to equal terms.  She could feel the attention on her and she did not mind.  Her appearance placed so many people off balance.  And being off balance around a scorpion could be deadly. 

       With her audience assembled Lady Cora gave a nod to Varisa.  She, in turn, motioned for the guards to bring the prisoner forward.  Four of her black armored guards brought forth a naked man between them.  He was middle-aged, of medium height and heavy with arms and legs powerfully built.  His head and face was covered in dark hair and his green eyes were fixed on the woman who had ordered him brought there.  Lady Cora was not shy as she stared back at his hatred.  When she moved out of his way it was because she was standing on the site where she wanted him placed, not because of any fear of or deference to the condemned.    The man stumbled and nearly fell but the guards held him firm.  The Countess stood at his feet as the guards forced the man down onto the ground and tied him spread eagled to the stakes already pounded into the dense earth.  The man tried to fight back at that point but there was very little fight left in him.  Varisa had already used many of her considerable talents on him and his body showed the evidence of her treatment.  Soon enough the guards finished their task and stepped away.  Lady Cora pondered the man one more time.  He was fairly handsome in a rugged sort of way and his long, flaccid member and hefty set of balls were impressive.  He had a decent body as well...or at least before Varisa had taken a set of branding irons and hot pincers to his chest, abdomen and thighs.  The man winced in pain as he struggled to pull up the stakes but Lady Cora knew they were too well placed, too deep for that. 

      She faced the group of officers and smiled icily as she motioned to the man on the ground. “I imagine,” She began. “That many of you know Sir Bryndin Bayne quite well.”

      No one dared say a word lest they end in his position.

      The countess continued on wistfully. “I should think so because Sir Bryndin has served me and even my late husband with distinction.”  She turned sharply on her booted heels and stepped around the bound man until she stopped at his head.   “On many raids Sir Bryndin rode forth and killed my enemies, stole their treasures, and brought me back those who would make the choicest slaves and for his service I rewarded him well with lands and servants and anything a good and loyal vassal would want.  But was it enough for Sir Bryndin?”

      She shook her head slowly.  Sir Bryndin remained silent.  His jaw was set and his breathing was heavy.  The cordlike muscles in his body flexed to the limit his bonds would allow despite his injuries.  He was preparing himself for what was to come. 

      “Once, Sir Bryndin was one of my most loyal officers, worthy of my highest trust.  He was even close to becoming Lord Commander of my army instead of Sir Ansyl.”  She spit the last words as if they were a curse.  “But now look upon him.  He lays before you a trait......”

      “Lies!”  The man screamed.  He had heard enough. “All lies!  I am no traitor!”  His eyes focused on the band of men in front of him, many he had once called friends.  They stood silently watching.  “Do not listen to her!  I withdrew!  Any of you would have done the same!  She li...auuuugggppphhhh!”

      Two of the guards grabbed a handful of hair and lifted Sir Bryndin’s head into position as Varisa fitted a heavy leather gag into the man’s mouth and strapped it on.  When they moved away Lady Cora placed a foot on the man’s shoulder and dug a heel into one of his fresh burn wounds.  The man’s eyes became wide with the pain and a grunting scream emerged from his throat.  “I shall thank you not to interrupt me again.” She told him with a sneer and a final twist to her boot. 

      Once she was done she stepped back glaring at all those around her.  “Did you not hear him?  He dares to call me a liar when he has uttered so many lies to us all....such as the lie about Nordale.  Sir Bryndin was in command there.  He was supposed to hold the town but was forced to withdraw...or so he said.” 

       With an angry jerk of her head she commanded a scribe to step forward.  The scribe did so.  He unraveled a scroll and cleared his throat as he began to speak.  “Sir Bryndin Bayne, Knight and Officer, formerly in the service of Her Ladyship, the Countess of Sharford, you have been charged with treason against your Lady and Mistress, for purposely having subverted and disobeyed her direct orders to hold the village of Nordale and the surrounding area from enemy hands.    Having been accused and arrested you were put to the question and confessed to abandoning the village without a fight and attempting to flee back to your home.  After being given a fair trial in all manners of the law you have been found guilty.”

       Sir Bryndin shook his head violently, claiming his innocence from behind his gag.  The scribe continued reading, oblivious to the outburst.

      “And so, as is the law of the land, the sentence for treason is death.  The sentence shall be carried out at Her Ladyship, the Countess of Sharford’s discretion and in the manner of her choosing.”

      The scribe bowed gracefully and was gone.   

      Lady Cora stood at Sir Bryndin’s head and purposely stood on his hair so he could not lift his head from the ground.  She looked down at him, her eyes filled with evil intent.  “And so how does one best kill a traitor?”  She asked him.  His only answer was a wild grunt of anger and frustration.  She quickly lifted her gaze to the others. “Hmmm?  Sir Olric?  Do you know?”  That worthy shook his head in silence.  “No?  How about you, Sir Marin?  Do you know?”  Again no answer came.

      Lady Cora sighed.  “Well, if no one knows, I shall tell you.” Her eyes turned to glaciers as they watched. “You kill them as slowly as you can......Varisa?”

      Varisa came forward and Lady Cora turned her attention to Sir Bryndin.  “I have contemplated your fate ever since Nordale fell.  I ordered you to stay and fight but you ran instead, saving your own skin.  Your actions have eaten away at me for some time but soon the tables will turn.  It is you who will be eaten.  Let me tell you of your predicament.  You have been staked out near a fire mite mound.  I shall have your wounds and...oh yes...your privates covered in sweet oil.”  Sir Bryndin’s eyes widened and the first traces of fear wear apparent.  It was like a fresh breeze to the countess.  “Ah, yes.  You understand, don’t you?  You must have seen fire mites when stimulated with sweet oil.  The bite of one or two is horrid.”  She paused then for ultimate effect. “But shortly you will be covered with hundreds.”  Servants with jars of oil knelt at the condemned man’s side and began to rub handfuls of the sticky fluid onto his body at Varisa’s direction. 

       “You shall die here, Sir Bryndin.  You shall die in agony as you are de-fleshed one layer at a time.  And what’s more, you shall remain here as a lesson to others who doubt if they should obey my commands.  But have no fear.  I would have you know that your wife and son, who you were so desperate to get back to, are safely in my care, awaiting my pleasure in the dungeon of Sharford Castle.  Perhaps I shall pay the soon-to-be widow and that strapping young bastard of yours a visit to offer my condolences on your demise.” 

      Sir Bryndin’s eyes bulged in horror.  He screamed into his gag and struggled in vain against his bonds.  The servants soon moved away leaving tendrils of oil on the sandy soil as paths for the fire mites to follow. 

      Lady Cora went over to where the group of officers stood in hushed silence.  “Remember what has happened here today.” She told them.  “Tell your men to remember as well.  Such will be the end for any who fail me.  You may go....all accept you, Sir Olric.  I shall have a word with my new Lord Commander.”

      The group of officers, some with faces as pale as death, scattered as quickly as they could.  Sir Olric Dunsan waited patiently, showing no sign of his feelings and paying no attention to Sir Bryndin writhing and screaming into his gag.  

      Lady Cora grabbed him gently by the arm and guided him away from the horrible scene.  “Sir Olric, I must return to the castle soon but I wanted to speak with you about how matters are progressing.”

      Sir Olric dropped his voice so no one else could hear.  “You ladyship, I feel I must tell you in all honesty we are in a bad way.”

      “Really?  How bad?”

      Sir Olric came on guard as soon as she spoke.  It was sometimes dangerous to tell the countess the truth.  In her best mood she could be accepting.  But after the past few weeks, Sir Olric just didn’t know.  However, he surmised, if she found out he had lied or not told her the complete truth....he could end up next to Sir Bryndin.  It sent a shiver down his spine to think of it.

      “Ladyship, the enemy has taken near half of your lands and is twenty leagues away from Sharford as we speak.  Only three day’s hard march.”

       “What of the army?” She asked with a hint of a cold smile. 

       Sir Olric nodded.  “We have managed to put together a small force.  But those we have are little more than boys in plate and mail.  Too many good men were lost in the Western Wood.  They were the hardened veterans of countless raids and other actions.”

       “Do you have any plans?”

       “My first thought would have been to fall back on the castle and wait the enemy out from behind the safety of its stone walls.” He commented hopefully but she shook her head.

       “You know well I have forbidden such a course.” She told him sourly. “I will not be trapped behind Sharford’s walls while this fat toad roams freely throughout my lands.  I demand you offer open battle.”

       “Then, your ladyship, we find ourselves in a position,” He expressed himself with brutal honesty. “, where we cannot maneuver without opening up the castle to assault and we cannot attack for we do not have enough men and it would surely fail.  Lord Dullman will strike soon.  He has moved fast so far and there is no reason to think he will stop.  I fear our only hope is to fight him to a standstill.  If we can keep him at bay then this could well last into the summer.  By then the vast resources of Sharford will begin to show.  Our numbers will grow while his will decline.  He will tire of this war and could very well take an offering of peace.  But above all, no matter what happens, we must keep the army together.”

       Lady Cora’s dark mood eased a bit as she ran a hand down the front of his breastplate. “If that is what you think is the wisest course.  For years you have served me well as the captain of my guard.  I trust your judgment to be sound.”

       Sir Olric bowed. “I shall do my best, your ladyship.”  What else could he say?

       “Of that I have no doubt.” The countess said. “But even so I have some plans of my own.  I should think they will work quite well.”

       Lady Cora looked over her shoulder where Varisa stood sullenly in plain dark breaches, tunic and breastplate.  She motioned for her to come over.

       “I am sure you know of my dear Varisa.” Lady Cora purred as the woman approached, her sword swinging at her hip, her long golden ponytail bobbing. 

      “Of course, ladyship.”  He did not mention he had not been able to stomach her presence ever since her and that other woman, Ayla, had come to the castle.  At least the other one was gone.

      “She carries with her a set of orders, Sir Olric.  She will accompany you on campaign to make sure they are followed to the letter.”

      The lord commander nodded with barely concealed apprehension. “As you wish, your ladyship.”

      Lady Cora reached up to run the back of her hand gently across his cheek.  “I must leave now but my prayers go with you.  Be sure you do not fail me as others have done.” 

      The black haired beauty bit her lower lip softly and left, giving one final glance at Sir Bryndin Bayne.

      He screamed and thrashed about as the first tiny insects swarmed over his oil covered skin.  Not far from where he lay a post had been set.  A plaque covered in large white letters was nailed to the top.

      It had a simple message.  

      HERE LIES A TRAITOR

     

 

 

      Sharford village had never been the happiest of places.  In the best of times it was a dreary, overcrowded warren within the shadow of Sharford Castle, the seat of power for the region.  With an invading force so near, the town was a ghostly ruin.  The sun bleached wood and plaster homes were empty or shuttered.  The markets and shops closed.  Many were gone, pressed into service or fled.  Those who stayed remained locked in their homes.  There were few who milled about.  Only the dregs who begged any passersby for whatever handout they could get.  Lady Cora paid them no mind as they cantered down the eerily desolate cobblestone street toward the castle’s central gate.  The trip back from the camp had been quiet.  Sir Aiden Thorne, her new captain of the guard, did not wish to speak or draw attention to himself.  He rode silently beside her, never once looking in her direction.  Her mood could change so quickly and he had yet to find any rhyme or reason to the shifts.  If she had needed him she could have called...which she didn’t.  So much the better.  He did not want to end up like Sir Bryndin after only a few days on the job.

      They ran along in column through the raised gate and into the bailey.  In the days of not so long ago Sharford Castle had been an armed camp.  A place where no one in their right mind would have dared to attack.  But there were so few defenders left.  So many had died at Raven’s Forge, and despite the training groups being full of recruits, there weren’t enough to even man the walls in case of a sudden assault.

      At the entrance to the main tower stood a greeting party headed by Sir Jaylin Foster, the Steward of Sharford.  He was a healthy looking man, clean shaven with solid white hair and the flashing smile of an obedient lackey.  He bowed with a flourish as a black collared slave ran forward and dropped down on his hands and knees.  Lady Cora slipped down from the horse using the slave’s back as a stepping stool. 

      “Ladyship, I trust your vis....”

      Sir Jaylin stuttered to a stop as the countess brushed past him headed into the tower without so much as a word.  He stood up straight and ran behind her, struggling to catch up.

      “Your Ladyship!” He called out as she walked away. “Wait please!”

      She whirled on him at the door to her apartments, stopping him cold with a backhand across his face.  “Why am I surrounded by fools?”

      “Your Ladyship?” Sir Jaylin was aghast as he skittered to a stop.

      “Ansyl Wellock was a brute but he was no fool.” Lady Cora told him.  “He was one of the few Sharford men I have ever met that was worthy of being called a man.”

      “But, your ladyship, Sir Ansyl is dead.”

      She struck him again, this time with the other hand. “You state the obvious to me as if I did not know.”

      Sir Jaylin’s eyes widened, then he dropped to his knees. “Your Ladyship, I did not wish to imply....”

      Lady Cora waved him off angrily.  “Stop whimpering, you spineless pig!”

      “My apologies, your ladyship.  I did not mean to anger you.”

      “Is it any wonder that I am angry?  This was supposed to be over.  The lord of Hargate should be long dead and I should have received my reward as I was promised.  But instead that fat worm is now threatening to overwhelm me.  Do you hear, Jaylin?”

      “Surely not, your ladyship.  The lord commander has an army well placed to stop the enemy.”

      “The Lord Commander is a fool with an army of farmers and street sweeps.” Lady Cora huffed.  “His only plan is to wait and see what ‘the pigeon’ does and then try to block him until he tires himself out.  He will never hold.  The enemy will be besieging this castle within the week unless I miss my guess.”

      She turned and proceeded into her apartments, shedding her riding gloves while Lorri brought forth a glass of wine on a silver tray.  Lady Cora downed it all in a few gulps.  She motioned for the beautiful young slave to return and demanded another.  Sir Jaylin regained himself and stepped inside the door.

      “If your ladyship believes there is no hope, then perhaps arrangements should be made to leave Sharford Castle and go elsewhere.”

      “I did not say there was no hope.  I said Sir Olric is a fool who will never hold.  But I have other plans.  I trust they will soon come to a successful conclusion.”

      “I pray to the Goddess that they will, your ladyship.”

      “Do not speak to me of prayer.” Lady Cora chided after she downed half of the wine Lorri brought to her. “I have prayed to the Goddess for guidance for weeks to no avail.  The Goddess used to talk to me.  Now when I pray I hear only silence in return.  So be gone.  Leave me to rest.”

      “But your ladyship, there is a matter I must discuss with you.”

      “I’m listening.”

      “Lady Trista Bayne begs you to give her an audience.”

      Lady Cora’s eyes glinted with a malevolent playfulness.  “Does she beg?  Really?”

      “Most pitifully, your ladyship.”

      “Good.  Is she unharmed?”

      “Physically?  Yes, your ladyship.  I had her placed in a cell next to her son, as you ordered.”

      “Can she here what is happening to him?”

      “She can, your ladyship.  And she is most distraught.”

      The countess tossed her head back and laughed heartily.  It was the first time she had done so in a long while.

       “Lorri, you must remind me to visit the poor widow when I have a chance.” She told her personal servant after regaining her composure.

      “Sir Bryndin is dead?” The steward asked.

      “No, but he will be soon.  Where is Sir Lanart?”

      “He is resting in his apartment, your ladyship.”

       “Good.” She replied. “Send him my compliments and bid him dine with me on the evening.  We have much to discuss.”

 

 

     

 

       Jack Dullman, former janitor, now Lord of Hargate, threw back another cup of honey ale and looked to his friend across the campfire.

      “I gotta tell ya’, Axel.  This honey ale is some good shit.  If I ever get back I wonder if I could sell the recipe to this stuff?”

      “As with every program, it is most likely a simulation of a real beverage used in your world.” Axel replied matter-of-factly. “I don’t think it would be legal or ethical for you to try to sell a recipe to something someone else owns.”

      “Well shit.” Jack said with a frown. “You know, big guy, I miss the real world.”

      “I’m sure you do.”

      “Now don’t get me wrong.” He quickly added, mainly for the benefit of the others who were also by the fire as the sun sank below the horizon. “There are a lot of things about this world that I really love.” His eyes locked onto Lady Lynette Hunter for a long moment. “Like peace and quiet.  My old apartment was near a railroad track and there were freight trains going through my back yard every couple of hours every damn night.  Oh yeah, and there’s the air.  No smog or pollution.  Just crisp and clean.  And the food?  It’s all awesome.  The roasted chickens and the beefsteaks are great....but there are a few things I really, really miss.”

      Axel smiled thinly.  “And pray tell us what they would be?”

      “Yes, my lord.  Tell us so perhaps we may provide them for you.” Lady Lynette added earnestly.

      “Well,” Jack continued. “I haven’t found anybody who has figured out the concept of pizza and cheeseburgers yet.”

      “I tried, my lord.” Ktari said as she refilled his cup. “You had one of those cheese-things only last night.”

      “Yeah, I know you did, sweetie.  But somehow I think whoever fixed it didn’t understand what I meant by ground beef.  It was a little too...chunky for me.  Sorry, nibblet.  So anyway....oh toilet paper.  I almost forgot toilet paper.” Everyone stared at him as if he were speaking in a foreign language.  And in a certain way, he was.

      “Television, radio, ranch dressing and hot wings, but I think we might be able to fix that, and, last but not least, air conditioning.  It’s getting hotter than a motherfucker around here.”

      “Yes.” Sir Alwyn agreed in his typical short manner. “It has been a hot spring.”

      “And it will get hotter still.” Axel added seriously.

      Jack knew his friend had a point and he was not talking about the temperature.  Earlier in the day Sir Jeremy’s scouts had confirmed the rumors they had been hearing about another Golwyn army gathering to the south to stand in their way.

      “It’s the last gasp of a defeated enemy.” Sir Jeremy Ross offered his opinion when the subject changed. “The Scorpion is all but beaten and she knows it.  They’ve barely a thousand men left.  Her lands are taken.  Her people are broken.  Mark my words, my lord.  They will try to parley.”  He leaned in a little closer over the fire as if to impart some special secret. “We should take advantage.  Move ahead and attack as soon as possible.  Hit them now before they can prepare.”

      “The Scorpion may be wounded.” Sir Alwyn Kessel countered. “But a wounded animal is often times the most dangerous.  Perhaps we should hold here, my lord.  Even send out envoys of our own.  What we have done is most unusual among the great houses.”

      Axel nodded vigorously. “Sir Alwyn is right.  Most of the warfare on this scale is conducted by raids and counter raids.  A burned village here or there is the worst thing done.  We are on uncharted ground.  If we continue on as we are we may well anger the other local houses into joining forces against us.”

       “If this is my lesson in Medieval World politics, it’s coming at a bad time.  We’re asshole deep in enemy territory with an army big enough to pull down the ‘Bitch in Black’ before the week is out and NOW you are worried about what the neighbors might think?”

       Axel shrugged. “It is a consideration.”

      Jack threw up a hand as if swatting a fly away. “Fuck considerations.  She started it.  I wonder how many of these other nobles were almost murdered in their own castles by the woman next door?”

      There was silence to answer because he had a point.  Everyone knew it.

      Finally Axel cleared his throat. “It’s whatever you decide to do, Jack.  We’re all with you.”

      “Do you even remember why we are here, Axel?”

      He chuckled. “Of course I do.  Do you?”

      Jack snorted and rolled his eyes.  “Yeah.  I remember.  And I think somewhere down the line we lost focus.”

      “This is not a game, Jack.” Axel warned. “There will be serious consequences to whatever we do.  We must be cautious.”

      “What if this is a game?” Jack countered as the others around the fire squirmed uncomfortably. “This certainly isn’t the medieval fuck-fest I was promised when I signed up for this shit.”

      “Nor is it any gaming program I ever recall.”

      “Well, what if we ain’t in the known database anymore, Toto?”

      “Jack, I think it highly unlikely...”

      “Unlikely?” Jack interrupted. “Everything that’s happened to us for the past three months has been unlikely!  You really wanna know what I think?  I think somewhere along the lines we got stuck, somehow, someway, in a bastard version of Medieval World.  One that wasn’t listed.  Like...hell...let’s call it Version 13.  How we got into Version 13 I don’t know.  Maybe it’s some sorta’ lost program running on its own.  Maybe it’s a failsafe where the users get sent if the mainframe goes down.  I don’t pretend to understand it.  But whatever it is, it’s all fucked up.  So now we have to find our way out.  And the only way I know of doing that is to go forward and see where it leads us.  Do you have a better idea?”

      Axel studied his companion for a long moment. “You have thought about this for a long time, haven’t you?”

      “What else did I have to do?”

      The Personal Program Assistant started counting off on his fingers. “Plan a campaign.  Fight for your life.  Drink massive amounts of honey ale....”

      Jack laughed dryly. “Very funny, Axel.  You’re getting pretty good with the jokes.”

      “....eat too much.  Get your arse knackered by Lady Hunter every afternoon.....”

      “Okay!  Okay!  You made your point.”

      Axel smiled briefly but stopped teasing his companion. “Truly I had not considered it in such terms.  Version 13, you say?  I suppose it’s as good an explanation as any...for now.”

      “Yeah.  It’s an idea we can build on.  But the only way to find out for sure might be to get a hold of this crazy, psycho-bitch countess and ask her ourselves.”

      “Then to do so we must take the castle.” Axel reasoned.

      “My thinking exactly.” Jack said. “We’ve come too far to slow down or stop, dude.”

      “Yet caution may still be in order.”

      Jack raised his hands in resignation. “I’ll tell ya what, we advance as quick as possible and try to catch this bitch.  But if we are called to a truce.....and you all think it’s a good idea.....I’ll agree to talks.  But that’s it.  That’s as far as I’m goin.  No promises.  If the other lords and ladies get pissed at me for what we’re about to do then so be it.  I’ll fight them too.”

      There was iron in his last words and he saw the spines of those who served him straighten ever so slightly with pride.

      “Then it’s agreed.  We continue the march on Sharford Castle on the ‘morrow.” Axel announced.

      There was a chorus of affirmation from around the fire.  The course was settled.

 

 

 

 

      Lady Cora placed the guest’s hand on top her own and walked with him down the long corridor.  She looked into his eyes with a smile.  “I trust dinner was to your satisfaction, Sir Lanart?”

      “As always, your ladyship.” The man replied.  “All of your dinners are so well done.  I should think I will not see a meal of their like until I reach home.”

      Sir Lanart Brassey was a huge man, over twenty five stone; almost as big around the waist as he was tall.  His hands were fat with large, sausage-like fingers, his beard was greasy and his breath smelled of garlic.  The countess knew him to have but two loves.  Food was one of them.  The man had eaten like the cow he was and nearly drank her cellar dry during his extended stay.

      “I must compliment you on setting a most satisfactory table for someone so far from civilization.”

      She bowed her head, ignoring the insult. “At such times as these one does the best one can.”

      “I’m sure it must be horrid.  No theater.  No court.  Only poor wines to sample.” He said with a cultured sniff. “I will be sure to tell my brother of how you suffer out here.  Such a lovely creature as yourself deserves better.”

      Lady Cora’s smiled deepened despite her revulsion at being so close to him. “You are too kind, Sir.”

      “Nonsense.” Sir Lanart told her. “Silvan shall know of what is going on here.”

       “Do you mean the fighting?”

       The big man nodded. “He shall know of the heinous acts this Lord Dullman is committing against your people and he shall be put down and brought to justice.  I give you my word.”

      Lady Cora stopped and turned to him.  She placed a hand on her cleavage to steady her heart, suddenly fawning with emotion. “Oh, may the goddess bless you, Sir Lanart.  I’ve hoped for someone to answer my plea for aid.  This Lord Dullman is evil incarnate.  The things he has done.....”

      The countess paused and tried to catch her breath.

      “Do not fret, your ladyship.” Sir Lanart told her, openly concerned. “We shall see this man destroyed soon enough.”

      “This very night would not be soon enough, Sir.” She said, sounding as if she were ready to faint.

      Lanart’s confidence vanished and he stammered apologetically. “Un...unfortunately it is a long journey back to Knightsbridge.  It would be still longer to consult with my brother and return.”

      “Then there is no hope for me.  Am I to be abandoned to fight alone?” She asked, a tear forming in her soft blue eyes.

      “Nay, your ladyship, but there is scant help I can offer you for now.  Have matters truly come to such a sorry state?”

      Lady Cora started to walk again amid a swish of skirts.  For the months Sir Lanart had been a guest at the castle he had been in the dark about almost every aspect of the conflict between Hargate and Sharford.  Fortunately he was a blind fool and keeping him miss-informed had not been too difficult.  But it was now time to come clean. 

      “I had thought not to worry you, Sir Lanart, but the situation is desperate at best.  Lord Dullman is within three days march of the castle and, unless the Goddess grants us a miracle, we will not be able to stop him.”

      Sir Lanart was dumbfounded by the confession. “My dear, I had no idea!  This is a most grave situation indeed!”

      “I do not mean to be an unkind host,” She continued on hesitantly. “, but as it stands, it may be best if you were to leave the castle and return home as swiftly as possible.  My men still control the roads east...some of them, at any rate.  But I do not know for how much longer.  It would seem I cannot guarantee your safety anymore.”

      The envoy bristled. “Your ladyship, I would be remiss if I did not stay and see to your well being.”

      “No, Sir Lanart.  Please.  It is so brave of you but I would not have you fall into the hands of such a fiend as he.” Lady Cora begged. “He would do things, unspeakable things which...” She stopped to calm herself, again a hand went to her ample chest.

      Sir Lanart made a poor attempt to hide his nervousness beneath a blanket of bravado. “I shall not leave you to such a horrible fate.  Perhaps you will come with me.  The roads are long and I am poor company but I believe my brother would be most taken with you.”

      The countess tuned up to cry, pulling out a silk cloth to dab at her eyes. “And leave Sharford behind?”

      “Only for now.” Sir Lanart added quickly. “My brother is a powerful man.  Once he hears of how you went to this villain in peace and barely escaped with your life he will be enraged.  You could petition him in person.”

      “I don’t know if I could.  I feel responsible for Ayla’s death.  She was one of His Grace’s favorites, was she not?”

      “Indeed she was.  Both Varisa and Ayla have served my family well.”

      “Just as Varisa continues to serve me at your bequest.” Lady Cora said with forced gratitude. “For which I thank you.”

      “Pity about the girl.” Sir Lanart sniffed. “Are you sure of her death?”

      “One can only hope poor Ayla has found some final release.” She remarked sadly. “I shudder to think what could be happening to her if she were still alive.”

      Sir Lanart sighed. “My brother will be most inconsolable.”

      “That is why I think it best if you were to speak for me.  He may focus upon me as the reason for the girl’s loss.”

      “Very well.” He answered. “But you should still come with me.  Events here sound dreadfully dangerous.  There is much life and culture to partake at Knightsbridge.  You would be my guest, under my protection until I have shown my brother what is happening out here and we can decide on a course of action which will correct this little problem once and for all.”

      She turned to him and shuddered with released emotion. “Truly?  The favor of the Goddess be upon you, sir.  I have prayed for weeks to find someone who would help. You have answered those prayers.  But...but perhaps I should stay to await the coming battle.  It would be unseemly of me to flee the castle while my brave men are still fighting in the field.”  

      He smiled yet deep down in his belly there was a queasiness growing as his own safety hung in the balance. “We shall wait for word of your coming battle.  If matters should turn then we will go.”

      She curtsied to him, a sign of far more respect than she felt.  But it was something she had to do.  “You are too kind by far.”

      They continued to walk until they reached the guest rooms set aside for Sir Lanart.

      “I must rest now, your ladyship,” He told her before going in. “, but it has been a delightful evening.  I thank you for your hospitality.”

      Lady Cora nodded with a slight twinkle in her eye.  “I wish you a good night, Sir Lanart.  I hope you do not mind but I have provided you with some entertainment I am sure you will enjoy.”

      Sir Lanart’s smile grew ever wider.  He opened the door and found a dark haired youth face down on his bed, bound hand and foot to the four corner posts, wearing only a golden collar around his neck.  “Oh my dear.” He muttered, barely able to control himself.

      “He is yours.  Consider him a gift.” She supplied though she didn’t even know if he was listening.

      “Is he broken?” He asked.  His skin appeared smooth except where he had struggled against his bonds and rubbed his wrists and ankles raw.  And there were several pinkish lines crossing the two fleshy orbs of his ass, the sign of a caning.

      “Nothing that won’t heal.  He has been handled roughly but remains untouched.” She assured him. “You will find him most pliable.”

      “Pliable?  Are you sure?  There can be such fire and tenacity in one so young.” He told her, salivating.

      “His slave training was, of a necessity, short and brutal....but it was complete.  He will give you no trouble.  You have my word.”

      “Thank you, your ladyship.” He bowed his head to her. “I shall not forget you for this.”

      Lady Cora began to back out of the room.  When she got to the door she stopped and gave the son of Sir Bryndin one final glance. “His name is Nicholus.  Have joy of him.” 

      “Thank you.  I will.”

      She closed the door when Sir Lanart began to remove his cloths.

 

 

 

 

      With the towers of Sharford Castle barely visible off in the distant haze the two armies met in a large clearing.  A two story wood framed structure loosely called an inn and a set of crossroads were on the edge of that clearing.  White Tavern was the name of the place.  The Golwyn army, a ragtag force of only eight hundred infantry and a handful of cavalry, sat over the intersection guarding the route to Sharford with their lives.  On the other end of the field, with Axel and Lynette at his side, Jack watched his own men deploy from a nearby hill. 

       He was burning up in his armor.  He had put his helmet aside, so he wore the wide brimmed beige hat he usually preferred.  The breastplate was heating up and the greaves and shoulder pauldrons were like ovens.  But even if he was roasting in the scorching heat he was awestruck by the sight before him.  Sunlight glinted off countless pikes and spears.  The steel helmets and breastplates of cavalrymen shown with the brilliance of tiny stars beneath flapping banners of blue and gold.  A low but continuous rumble filled the air as his men moved forward; seven hundred cavalrymen to the left and right of a massive line of heavy infantry.  He had never seen such a display.

      He had been in the thick of the fighting at Raven’s Forge but that had been different.  He could remember only snippets here and there.  People screaming and being hacked to pieces or shot with crossbows.  He had only seen a small section of the field amidst the fog.  Here he could witness everything.

      “Those guys over there are so screwed.” He muttered.

      “Aptly put.” Axel agreed dryly. “We’ve have over a two to one numerical superiority with the initiative, training and experience to boot.”

      The rumbling stopped.  The army reached its set lines.  Only an eerie quiet hung in the air, accompanied by the flutter of his banners snapping over his head and the occasional courier riding back and forth.

      Lady Lynette observed the lines for a time.  “I believe we are ready, my lord.  Sir Alwyn awaits your signal.”

       Someone on the field yelled out.  It sounded strange as it was carried by the wind.  A half dozen riders struck out from the Golwyn army for the center of the field.  Jack noticed each one wore black armor from head to toe, with one carrying a rectangle of stark white cloth on a pole.  A pair of riders rode out from his own lines and met them there.

      “Okay, what’s happening?” Jack asked and Lady Lynette nodded.

       “It is as we suspected. They wish to talk.”

      “About what?”

      “Remember what you said, Jack.” Axel chided.  He was in full armor as he had been at Raven’s Forge and the heat didn’t appear to bother him at all.

      Jack suddenly felt cornered. “What is that supposed to mean?  What did I promise?”

      Lady Hunter refreshed his memory. “I believe you said you would talk if a truce were called and we all agreed it was for the best.”

      Jack shook his head, giving her a disgusted glance. “Thanks, Lyn.  How could I forget.”

      The Hargate men broke off from the group and returned to their lines while the black clad Sharford men waited.  It wasn’t long before a messenger came up the hill and informed him of what was going on.

      “Sir Alwyn Kessel’s compliments, my lord, but the enemy wishes to parley a truce.”

      Jack tilted his head over to Axel who nodded. “At least see what they have to say, Jack.  They may be ready to surrender.”

      “I agree it is for the best but you must go well protected.” Lady Lynette added. “Take the Eagle Guards with you, my lord.”

      “The Eagle Guards?” Jack asked with consternation.  “Who the hell are they?”

       Axel chuckled deep within the recesses of his helmet and Lynette grinned.  “The same men who have been guarding you ever since you were rescued...oh sorry, my lord.  I did not wish to bring back bad memories.”

      “No, no, it’s okay.”  The Eagle Guards?”  They were the same annoying bastards who had followed him around at Hargate Castle like a group of wayward geese and been at his side during the attack at Raven’s Forge.

       “If they’ve been protectin’ my fat ass since I got here they deserve a nickname if it’s what they want.”  He sighed heavily.  He had a really weird feeling about this.  A sudden thought flashed through his mind.  Maybe he could order the advance anyway.  Maybe he should order it.  Crush the enemy before they would even have a chance to react.  But, no.  Just as quickly he dismissed the idea.  They were under a flag of truce.  The white banner.  It was sacred even in his own world.

       “Okay.  Let’s do this.  Get ‘em ready to ride, Lyn.”

       “As you command, my lord.”

      Jack and Axel, accompanied by eight guards wearing gold chains with pendants of a rampant eagle around their necks trotted out to meet those who waited under the flag of truce.  They were joined by Sir Alwyn as they went out into the empty field.  Jack pulled back on the reigns and Midnight pranced to a halt fifteen feet away from them.  The Eagle Guards fanned out behind him and Axel and the Master-of-Foot came up to his sides.

      A lone knight walked his horse forward.  His armor was dinged and dented, the breastplate embossed with the emblem of a silver scorpion.  A single plumed feather, dyed crimson, protruded from the back of his helmet.  He stopped, raised his visor.  Inside was a face which at one time may have been young, but responsibility had taken its toll.  Yet his back was straight and his voice strong. 

      “I am Sir Olric Dunsan, Lord Commander of the Golwyn army.” He said to them. “I am here at the order of Her Ladyship, the Countess of Sharford.  I demand parley by the rights of warfare as sanctioned by all the great houses of the land.”

      Jack nodded stiffly. “I’m Jack Dullman, the Lord of Hargate.  If you wanna talk, then talk.  Don’t waste my time.”

      “My lord,” He began, removing his helmet, revealing a head covered by a silver chain mail hood.  “, it is the wish of the Countess that a message be delivered to you.”

      Jack humphed. “And what would she want to tell me?”

      “She says that everything which has happened so far has been a grave mistake.”

      “I’ll say.” Jack snorted.

      “A misunderstanding, if you will.”

      “I’m listening.”

      “She says that in many respects Her Ladyship and you are much alike.  More alike than you know.  She says she has merely been a pawn in a much larger game.  A game you know nothing about.”

      Jack smiled coldly. “It might surprise her what I know.”

      “Did you know it is no accident you are here?”

      “Really?  How did I get here then?” Jack asked, more than a bit curious but trying to sound as sarcastic as he could.

       “Perhaps we could arrange another meeting.  You could discuss it with her personally.  She knows many of the answers to which you seek.”

       Jack chuckled. “I don’t think so.  The last meeting we had together didn’t go too well.”

       “Yes.  She told me what happened.  Yet she still offers you a hand in friendship.” Sir Olric said. “You would refuse it?  We could end this conflict here and now.”

      “What the hell are you talking about?  What did she tell you?” 

       “This is not the time or place for recriminations.  Despite all the offenses you have given her she is willing to set them aside and offer you peace.”

       “The offenses I’ve given her?” Jack snapped. “That bitch tried to kill me!”

       Axel’s hand on his arm came too late.  It was already said.  Sir Olric gritted his teeth and his eyes narrowed in anger.

      “My lord, we came to you in good faith under a flag of truce.” The lord commander exclaimed.  “There was no need to give insult.”

      “You wanna talk about insult?” Jack retorted angrily, his blood was starting to boil. “Bite my ass, you prick!  How’s that for a insult?”

      “Jack!” Axel leaned into him and groaned underneath his breath. “What are you doing?”

       Sir Alwyn rode up between the two sides, his hands raised. “Perhaps we should calm ourselves, my lords.”

      “I am calm, Al.” Jack snarled. “Now get your ass back into line!”

      Sensing the rising tensions, Sir Olric’s warhorse began to jostle about, whinnying.

      “Very well, then!” Sir Olric rumbled icily as he tried to maintain control of the horse and his temper. “If you do not wish to take the hand of the Countess in friendship then she gives these demands!  You will disband your army and leave the lands to the south of the River Nyder!  You will pay the Countess of Sharford the sum of one hundred thousand crowns for damages done to her holdings and lives lost!  You will submit yourself to the justice of a tribunal council formed from lords and ladies of neutral houses who will determine fault for this war!   And finally, if found to be guilty by the council you shall renounce all rights and claims to be lord and master of Hargate!”

      Jack raised a hand, extended his middle finger and yelled back at him. “FUCK...YOU!”

      THUNK!

      Something hit Jack square in the breastplate.  He looked down and his eyes widened.  A crossbow bolt was protruding from his chest.  He looked around, surprised.  They were supposed to be under a flag of truce!  You didn’t shoot people under a flag of truce!  There was a scream.  Sir Olric was yelling something, he couldn’t tell what.  His ears were ringing and everything was moving in slow motion.  One of the black armored knights was throwing down a crossbow.  It wasn’t one of the smaller, one handed types.  This was a heavy, double handed crossbow with a wooden shoulder stock.  He picked up another and shot Sir Alwyn in the neck while he fought with a rearing horse.  He fell backward in a heap, a fountain of blood spurting from his wound.  Jack saw several other bolts fly by.  One of his Eagle Guards fell from his saddle but the others were drawing their own weapons.  People on both sides began to tumble to the ground.  The black knight drew his sword and charged at him.  One of the Eagle Guards placed himself between Jack and the knight.  Steel rang on steel and the Eagle Guard screamed as the black knight sliced downward into his shoulder shredding armor, bone and muscle alike.  Jack slumped forward holding onto Midnight’s neck as a hand came from nowhere and grabbed the reigns. 

      Jack shut his eyes.  He didn’t know what happened next.  He must have blacked out but when he came to he was staring up at the sky.  He was lying down but could feel the strange sensation of motion.  Soon he realized he was being carried.  He tried to clutch the bolt in his chest.  There wasn’t much pain.  More pressure than anything.  He felt if he could just get it out he would feel better.  Not so tingly.

      Axel appeared over him as he was put down on the ground.  Someone was holding his head.  It was Lady Lynette.  There were tears in her eyes as her hands ran a cool, damp cloth across his forehead.  There was a sudden sense of urgency.  Something they had left undone.  Then he remembered.

      “Axel!” He sputtered. “Axel, the battle.”

      He couldn’t hear what he was saying but he saw his mouth form the words. “Don’t worry, Jack.”

      But there was an expression on his companion’s face he had rarely seen before.  It was concern, but for what.  Jack suddenly had the feeling this was not going to be good.  Damn but he wished he was back home.

      Someone reached in and pulled the bolt out of his chest and a wave of white hot pain seared across his torso.  Jack screamed and coughed which sent even more agony into him.  The cough was wet and a sticky liquid filled his mouth.  Be brought a hand up to wipe at his lips.  It came away bloody.  He was coughing up blood.  People hovered over him.  Some screaming and yelling, others took off his armor and tried to hold him.  His head started to swim and he could feel his body jerk.  A dark haze filled the air and the last thing he saw was lovely Lynette crying, calling his name.

 

     

 

 

 

      Lady Cora decided she did not like having her fate in the hands of others.  It was a helpless feeling, one she did not much care for.  The two armies had met, she knew.  Reports had already reached the castle.  But what was happening was still a mystery.  She had tried to concentrate on other things unsuccessfully.  She tried to read but failed.  She paced the rooms of her apartments and tried to eat but found she had little appetite.  Even sex with Noran, her favorite slave, had not taken the edge off her anxiety. 

      Finally she gave up and decided it would be best to burn off her frustrations.  She dressed in black boots, a black pleated kilt, and a dark gray corset decorated with intricate gold embroidery.  Then she went down to the dungeon.

      Once there she quickly found the person she wanted to torment.  She picked up a whip and examined the braided cord leading from the wood and leather handle.  It was thick yet supple.  Just the thing she had been looking for.  She spun back to her victim, striking at mid air and was rewarded with the satisfying crack of the steel headed tip.  Lady Trista sobbed behind her teeth but there was little she could do.  She was tied to a short stake, only about three feet tall, her elbows were hooked behind iron pegs on the back side of the square post, her wrists bolted to the sides at her waist.  Her ankles had been pulled up and bolted just below her wrists, forcing all of her body weight down onto her throbbing kneecaps.  Her head had been wrenched back over the top of the post and leather straps across her chin and forehead kept it secure, forcing her mouth closed and her eyes to the ceiling.  There were two iron spikes on the front side of the post, the first sharpened point pressing between her shoulder blades, the second, and longer of the two, driving into the small of her back.  Her breasts were exposed, her throat bare.  A thin sheen of sweat covered her from head to toe.  Her breathing was slow and shallow.  In such a position every rise and fall of her chest was agony.

      The countess layed the cord of the whip across her breasts and heard her groan in response.  Her skin was smooth and unblemished.  Her perfectly shaped breasts still firm and perky.  Lady Trista was a beautiful young woman.  Bryndin Bayne’s second wife.

      “You poor thing,” Lady Cora said, enticing a shiver from her victim. “You look positively miserable.  How long have you been bound to the post like this?  Two days?”

      She brushed a hand over her forehead gently.  Trista followed her with pleading eyes.  They were swollen and red rimmed, blood shot from lack of sleep.  The suffering in them was apparent.  She groaned plaintively and tried to whisper something back.

      Surprised by the effort, Lady Cora bent down to her. “Yes, dear.  Is there something I can get for you?”

      Through dry, cracked lips she mouthed. “Wa....water.”

      Then it dawned on her. “Water?  You haven’t had any water since you were placed here.  Have you, dear?”

      Lady Trista’s grunted. “Water, pleeeese.”

      The countess nodded to one of the guards at the cell door.  The guard left but shortly came back with a ladle full of fresh water.  She took the ladle, had a gulp for herself then held it above Lady Trista’s head so she could see it clearly.

      “Is this what you want?” Lady Cora gestured toward the water bringing it closer and closer to her mouth.

      The young brunette squirmed.  Her eyes became desperate.  The water was so close to her lips she could taste it.

      “Pleeeese!” She begged weakly through clenched teeth.

      At the last minute, when the ladle was only an inch from her, Lady Cora laughed mockingly and pulled it away, pouring the cool liquid out onto the stone floor.

      “Stupid girl.” She gloated. “I’m the same woman who left your husband to be eaten alive and had your stepson turned into a boy lover’s sex slave.  Why would you think I would give you any water?”

      She bent down to speak directly into her ear. “You are going to die here.  Didn’t you know that?  But first I’m going to whip you raw.”

      Lady Trista sobbed openly, her eyes pinched shut.  Lady Cora stepped back to give herself plenty of room.  She cracked the whip once more in promise of what was to come.

      From behind, at the entrance, someone called with urgency. “Your ladyship!...Your ladyship!”

      The Countess of Sharford whirled about and caught sight of Sir Jaylin Foster entering into the chamber, pushing the guards at the door aside.

      “Your ladyship, word has arrived from the lord commander!”  He caught sight of Lady Trista’s body, naked and twisted, and quickly dropped his gaze to the ground.

      “What is it?” Lady Cora demanded hotly, Lady Trista was all but forgotten.

      “He sent word by courier.” Sir Jaylin stammered, barely able to keep his composure.  “There has been a battle at the White Tavern.  The fighting was said to be fierce.”

      “Yes, yes.  Go on, imbecile.” The countess pressed eagerly.

      “There was a truce called, your ladyship.  Lord Dullman was there...and...and things were said.  The truce was broken and Lord Dullman was killed.”

      Lady Cora’s eyes flashed and a smile etched itself across her face. “Are you sure, Jaylin?  Is Sir Olric positive?”

      “The lord commander witnessed the strike himself.”  Sir Jaylin’s hands shook as he spoke.  “A bolt hit him in the chest which went in four fingers deep.”

      The Countess’s smile slowly began to recede. “He was not beheaded?”

      “No, your ladyship.  He was led off of the field before he could be finished.  But the Lord Commander said there is very little chance of his survival.”

      Lady Cora’s face darkened. “The lord commander is a fool.  As long as there is life in him, the worm is a threat.  What of the battle?”

      The steward was taken aback by his liege’s abrupt mood swing.  “Your...your ladyship, perhaps the courier would be the best to ask.  He was a witness to the day.”

      She handed her whip to one of the guards and moved into the central chamber.  There she waited as Sir Jaylin had the courier brought forward.  He was a man lightly armored and covered in dust.  On his head was a blood soaked white bandage.

       He went to one knee before her.

      “What did you see happen after the truce?”

      “Your ladyship, there was much confusion.” The man drawled amidst heavy breaths.  “Men began ta’ fall from their horses as we watched.  Sir Marin Canmore thought to take advantage and ordered the line ta’ advance.  We took the enemy unawares and drove ‘em back.  The fighting was hard, your ladyship.  Very hard.  Sir Marin held the line together until the Lord Commander returned....but there were too many of ‘em and we were out in the open.  Their cavalry scattered ours ta’ the four winds and turned on our flanks.  But even so we managed to hold ‘em off an’ withdraw from the field.”

      Lady Cora observed the courier with a callous eye. “So you were defeated.”

      Her words seemed to confuse the soldier. “Nay, your ladyship.  Twas’ a draw, I’d say.  The lord commander is retreatin’ in good order t’ward the castle an’ the Eagle o’ Hargate is all but dead.”

      She paused, giving the man an evil glance, then reached out a hand to one of her guards.  She gestured wordlessly to his crossbow which he handed over in due course.  “Why do you presume to lecture me on what a defeat is?  Are you one of my commanders?”

       “Nay, your ladyship.” He answered nervously watching as she drew back the string and set it.

       “Are you one of my advisors?”

       “Nay, your ladyship.” He tried to stand as Lady Cora took a razor tipped bolt from the guard and loaded the weapon.

       “Good,” She said. “, then you won’t be missed.” She raised the crossbow to her shoulder and pulled the trigger.  The bolt struck him in the middle of his forehead.  The courier went backward with a grunt to sprawl across the floor.  His body twitched then was still.

       She stood overtop the soldier for a moment amid the quiet of the chamber.  Then she calmly handed back the weapon and focused on Sir Jaylin. “Inform Sir Lanart I will accept his offer of travel to Knightsbridge as his companion but if we are to leave we must leave within the hour.”

      The steward was shocked to silence but he nodded.

      “Find Sir Aiden and have him assemble my guards in the courtyard.” She continued on, resignedly.  “And ready the coaches.  Lorri should have already made certain they were packed.”

      “What about this one” One of the guards asked, pointing into the cell at the helpless Lady Trista.

      “Leave her as she is.” She replied. “Bar and seal the door.  Let her cell become her tomb.”

      There was one final, whimpering cry as the door clanged shut but the Countess of Sharford was too troubled to enjoy it.

 

 

 

 

     

      Jack woke up covered in sweat.

      “Okay,” He exclaimed drowsily as he threw off the blankets. “Which genius decided to wrap me up in wool during a heat wave?”

      There was a laugh.  It was full and genuine, tinged with a great deal of relief.

      “I think that was Ktari, my lord.” A familiar voice answered. “How do you feel?”

      “Like shit.  How do I look?”

      “You have regained much of your color.  With any luck you shall be ready for another lesson with the sword in a few days.” Lady Lynette leaned over him, dabbing a fresh cloth on his forehead.

      Jack opened his eyes and looked at his surroundings.

      “Where the hell are we?”

      “The White Tavern, my lord.” She explained.

      “Oh yeah?  I hope we didn’t pay too much for it.”  The walls were filthy, the sparse furniture barely usable.  The floor was covered in grime.

      “This is one of the better rooms, my lord.”

       His hand reached up to his chest where the bolt had struck him.  He rubbed it gently.  It was very sore but much better than he had expected.  The quick healing the program provided him was hard to get used to but he was not about to complain.  By all rights, if he had been in the real world he would probably be dead.

      “How long was I out this time?”

      “The better part of two days.”

      His eyes widened. “Huh?”

       Jack tried to get up but the guard captain stood and pressed down gently on his shoulders. “Wait, my lord, you’ve not yet fully healed!  You could re-injure yourself.”

       She called to one of the men at the door. “Go find Sir Axel.  Tell him his lordship has regained consciousness.” 

       “Right away, my lady.” The man said excitedly and was gone.

       Jack grabbed on to Lynette’s arms.  “What’s happened?  Is everything okay?”

       She nodded her head and a few strands of dark red hair spilled out to dangle above his face.  It smelled of jasmine.

       “All is well.  There was a battle but that is all I will say.  I shall let Sir Axel explain the details to you.”

       Jack fell back on the feather bed.  He rested a little easier then...until he realized had an erection fighting to free itself from the sleeping shirt he was wearing.  Despite the pool of sweat he was laying in, Jack quickly pulled the covers back up hoping Lynette hadn’t noticed.  If there had ever been any doubt of his survival, it was now at an end.

       Jack and Lynette talked for a few moments.  Then she left him alone.  Not long after she walked out the door there was a shimmer in the air and Axel appeared out of nowhere.  He was dressed in full armor, his helmet under his arm looking almost exactly like the day they had first met.

       Jack nearly jumped out of his own skin. “Fuck! I forgot you could do that shit!”

       “Hello, Jack.” He greeted with a broad smile, extending a hand to his friend. “How do you feel?”

       Jack took it. “Like I got run over by an ox cart.  What the fuck happened out there?”

       The blond man chuckled, pulling up a stool and sitting by the bed. “One of Lady Golwyn’s knights shot you while under a flag of truce.  Don’t you remember?”

       “Yeah.  Kinda.”

       “Do you recall me pulling you to safety?”

       Jack’s eyes grew wide. “Oh, man.  That was you?”

       Axel grinned.

       Jack quickly became solemn. “So you saved me again.  I guess I owe you another one, don’t I?”

       “You owe me nothing, Jack.  I did exactly as I am supposed to.  Protecting you is, after all, one of my primary purposes.”

       “How’s Midnight?  Is he okay?”

       “He’s in better shape than you.” Axel teased.

       There was a flashing image, something he had seen during the fight right after being hit.  Jack frowned.

       “What about Sir Alwyn?”

       Axel’s grin faded. “Sir Alwyn Kessel is dead.”

       Jack cursed. 

       “You very nearly died yourself.” He added. “We were all worried.”

       “I thought you told me I was nearly invincible.” Jack demanded, unable to understand.  “Lyn said I’ve been out for two days and my chest still hurts.  I haven’t healed nearly as quick as I did before.”

       “Up to now your worst injury was a severe burn.” Axel patiently tried to explain.  “This was different.  You were shot at point blank range by a heavy crossbow.”

        “A heavy crossbow?  One of those big ones with the winch on the end?”

       “Yes.  They were most serious about ending your life with this attempt.”

       “Can you tell me when they haven’t been serious?”

        Axel chuckled. “At any rate, this wound was very deep with a large amount of tissue damage and blood loss.  You may be nearly invincible, but you are not immortal.”

       “So now you tell me?”

       “The choice program is designed to heal almost all injuries, even purge your system of poisons.  However, there are some wounds which, if incurred, will default the user back to a preset area.”

       “Such as?”

       “Catastrophic injuries to the brain and heart.” Axel told him. “The bolt you were shot with punctured one of your lungs.  If it had pierced your heart, which it very nearly did, you would have automatically been sent to the Program Start-gate.”

       “And with no program start-gate....” Jack had finally caught on.

       “Precisely.”

       Jack thought about that for a while.  It didn’t take long before he was ready to switch subjects. “So after I got shot, what happened?”

       “A battle happened.”

       “How’d we do?”

       “Not as well as you might think although the situation now is most agreeable.  The men were disheartened to see you and Sir Alwyn fall, Jack.  It nearly took the fight from them but myself and Sir Jeremy were able to rally and drive what was left of the Golwyn army back to Sharford Castle.”

       Jack nodded proudly. “Good job, big guy.  You won your first battle.”

       Axel bowed his head. “Thank you.  It was not easy but we did it.  At any rate, Sharford Castle has been invested since yesterday and we are laying siege.”

       “Yessssss!” Jack whispered, pumping his fist in the air in triumph. 

       Axel cleared his throat.

      “What?”

      A strange smirk came across his bearded face. “There is one thing I have yet to tell you....and I hesitate to even mention it because I know the reaction I am going to get but....”

      Jack was resigned. “Go ahead.  You may as well say it.”

       “Well....” He continued shyly. “It would seem that since this morning the red and black banner flying above the castle has been supplanted.”

       “Huh?”

       “...by a flag of truce.”

       Jack nearly jumped up from the bed. “Oh no fucking way!”

       Axel raised his hands to soothe is anger. “Now, Jack.  Please.  Calm yourself.  Under the circumstances of what has already happened I would probably agree with you.”

       “Why do I feel a ‘but’ coming?”

       “But...I believe something has been happening behind the castle walls.  Something is not right.”

       “Do you have one of those feelings again?” Jack huffed.

       “Yes.  And do you recall the last time I had one of those?”

       “Ayla.” They both said the name in unison.

       There was a long silence.  Jack lay in the bed staring up at the ceiling.

       Finally he said. “We really need to get you and these feelings of yours checked out.  I can’t believe you actually want me to talk with that asshole again.  He killed Al and almost got me too.”

      “It was not Dunsan who shot you and Sir Alwyn.  It was one of his knights.” Axel argued.

      “That’s a shaky distinction, pal.”

      “Agreed.  However, I do not believe he is fully responsible for what happened.”

      “Why not?”

      “Because I saw his face.  He was as shocked as anyone when you were hit.  He cursed his own men and ordered them to stop.”

      “Oh yeah?  Well they didn’t listen.” Jack snipped.

      “Matters were too far gone by then.”

      Jack’s eyes narrowed. “So what?  Am I supposed to forgive him and invite him down for a second chance at killing me?”

      “There will be little risk this time.” He confided. “If Sir Olric or whoever is in command truly wishes to talk with us he can refuse no demand we place on him.  This is what I would propose as conditions....”

       Axel went on to explain his thoughts and when he was done, Jack grimaced.

       “Those are some pretty heavy conditions.  I don’t think I would go through with it if I was in his boots.”

       “You would if you were sincere and trusted the honor of those who you wished to talk with.” Axel countered.

       “So, in other words,” Jack drew it out. “If the commander doesn’t really want to talk then he’ll drop the truce flag and keep fighting.”

       “Exactly.” Axel said. “And if he wishes to talk in earnest he will have no choice.”

       “Are you sure about this?  Are you sure your feelings are leading you right?”

       “I’m certain, Jack.” His friend replied soberly. “I would not ask you to do this if I were not.”

       Jack took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.  He couldn’t believe he was actually contemplating doing this.

      “Okay.  Set it up.”

     

      

      

     

      Sir Olric Dunsan had chosen to put on his finest suit of armor.  It was polished to perfection, the shining silver emblem of a scorpion on his lacquered breastplate standing in stark contrast to the obsidian black surrounding it.  He was, after all, Lord Commander of all Golwyn forces remaining in the lands of Sharford.  He should at least look the part in front of the enemy. 

      He dismounted cautiously amid a group of soldiers wearing sashes of blue and gold and followed his escort to the entrance of the White Tavern.  The two men he had been allowed to bring with him followed but were stopped by the guards.

      “They must stay here.” The escort told him coldly and Sir Olric gave them the signal to hold.

      Sentries were at the door wearing eagle pendants around their necks, hands on the hilts of their swords.  He started up the steps to the door but was stopped.

       “Arms up, sir.” The escorting knight ordered and hesitantly he complied.  The sentries moved in to search him for weapons.  They relieved him of his sword, sword belt and a knife he had carried since he had become a member of the countess’s guard.  Finally, once satisfied, they passed him through.

       “You may go in.”

       He entered, not knowing what he would find or what type of reception he would get.

      It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dark but when they did he found himself standing in a large common room.  A place where, in better times, travelers and guests and drank and supped.  Men bearing weapons at the ready stood at every corner and nearly every window.  The floor had been cleared accept for a single table.  It had been placed in the center.  And seated at the end of the table in the only chair was......

      Sir Olric’s eyes widened in surprise.  He had seen him hit and all but killed by a crossbow bolt.  And two days later here he was again, very much alive.  The man wore a plain buff colored tunic and white shirt beneath.  His wide brimmed hat lay on the table.  By his side stood a small man with short blond hair and a beautiful young woman with thick red hair pulled back in a ponytail.

      He had always heard the countess call him names like fat pigeon and worm.  He could not say such a thing as he studied him without the bulky gear war required.  He was broad in shoulder and solid, but not as fat as he had been led to believe.  Once again the countess had lied.  He was bald with only a slight tuft of dark brown hair on the sides of his head.  On his face he bore a thick mustache curved downward at the corners of his mouth and grown long, nearly to his chin.

      Lord Dullman eyed him cautiously as he relaxed in his chair.  To his credit the lord commander recovered quickly and bowed to him feeling the powerful stare of everyone in the room.

      “We meet again, my lord.” He said, slowly moving to the area at the opposite end of the table a good distance from the Lord and Master of Hargate so as not to appear a threat. 

      “Yeah, we do.” Lord Dullman answered simply.

      “I compliment you.  You have shown great forbearance in allowing me to come here after the events of our first parley.”

      “Yes I have.” Was all he would say. 

      “I must tell you what happened was not of my sanction.”

      “I’m sure it wasn’t.” There was heavy sarcasm in his voice.  Sir Olric realized then he was standing on very dangerous ground.

      “Believe what you will.  Countess Golwyn gave me orders to make a truce with you if it were possible.  Failing that I was given instruction as to the only demands she would accept.  I had nothing to do with her plan to murder you under a flag of truce.”

      “So now it’s her fault?” Lord Dullman’s brow furrowed. “Does she know you’re blaming her for everything?  Why in the hell did she send you back out here?”

      “I am not here on the authority of the Countess of Sharford.”

      “Truly,” The blond man spoke up. “On who’s authority have you come to us?”

      He lifted his chin as a shot of pride ran through him. “My own as Lord Commander.”

      “And the Countess does not know you are here?  I find that hard to fathom.”

      “Her Ladyship fled after news reached her I was withdrawing to Sharford Castle.  She is not within its walls.” Sir Olric informed him.

      Lord Dullman and the blond man gave each other a short glance.

      “Why are you here then?”

      “To negotiate as best I may.  It is my aim to end this conflict.  Enough have already died.”

      “Then put down your arms and surrender the castle.” The blond man demanded.

      “I would gladly do so...but first we must discuss the terms of the surrender.”

      “After all that has happened, you come here and ask for terms?  You are besieged.  You are in no position to ask for anything.”

      A thin smile crossed Sir Olric’s face though there was no humor in it.  “A siege is a curious thing.  Some work.  Some do not.  There is no guarantee.  If possible, I believe it best to avoid such a long, drawn out hardship.”

      “Perhaps we will attack.  You are outnumbered near three to one.  All your men would be put to the sword.”

      “Then do so.” He fired back sharply. “You would bleed yourselves white in the attempt.”

      Lord Dullman cocked his head to one side and appraised him with a sly look. “You got a set of balls coming back, I’ll give ya’ that.”

      “Thank you.” Sir Olric replied with a nod.

      “Put down your weapons and surrender the castle and your men can go free.” Lord Dullman told him.

      “There will be no harm to them?”

      He shook his head. “They can go wherever they want.  I won’t bother them.  If any wants to stay in my service they can take an oath and join up.”

      “The officers too?”

      “Most of them can go too.  But no more black armor and no more scorpions.”

       “Most of them” Dunsan repeated.  “But not all.”

      “Some will face a trial for crimes against the people of Hargate.”

      “My lord, this has been a hard fought campaign.  Things were done on our advance north.  It is the nature of war.” Sir Olric tried to explain.

      Lord Dullman’s eyes suddenly became hard and cold. “Do you know how many bodies we buried on our way here?  How many victims we found of your ‘hard fought campaign?’”

      “All done by the order of the Countess and by the hand of Sir Ansyl Wellock.”

      The blond man spoke up. “Of those, one is dead and the other is gone.  How convenient for you.”

      “It is the truth.  I swear to it.”

      “You swear your oaths all too easily.” The red haired woman finally spoke with much bitterness in her soft voice. “Did you not also swear an oath to maintain the sacredness of the white flag when my lord was almost killed?”

      Sir Olric leveled an angry glare in her direction but held his temper. “Tis’ true, lady.  What was done was against all laws of good conduct and tradition.  That is why I offer to you, as a token to redeem my honor, the one who was responsible for the attack.”

      “You got the guy that shot me?” Lord Dullman prodded.

      “Aye, my lord.  I have the woman in my care.”

      “Woman?”  There was a note of disbelief in his tone.  He had naturally assumed the knight who had shot him had been a man.  But the more he thought on it the more he realized it could have been a woman.  A suit of armor with a visor pulled down was the perfect cover on a battlefield.

      Sir Olric nodded.  “She has been a companion of the countess ever since our little war began and was given a position of some authority.  Fortunately, such authority was lost when Her Ladyship decided to run away.”

      There was a long pause.

      “Her name wouldn’t happen to be Varisa, would it?”

      The Lord Commander tried not to show the shock he felt when the Lord of Hargate called the woman’s name.

      “You remember her?  She was one of the escorts for her ladyship during her embassy to Hargate.”

      “Let’s just say Varisa and I have a history.  You’re gonna give her to us?”

      “I also offer you myself.”

      The redhead snorted with derision. “You?  What possible use would you be?”

      “I offer my knowledge of the Countess and her schemes.”

      “Maybe I already know enough about her.” Lord Dullman bated.

      “Oh?  I should think there is much you would want to know.  The two of you are so much alike.”

      Lord Dullman pointed a finger at him, a fierce anger seeping into his voice.  “I am nothing like that bitch.”

      “My apologies, my lord.” Sir Olric said.  He dropped his blue eyes to the chest where a crossbow bolt had been. “I had thought since you both can heal wounds so quickly....and you both have, at times, spoken in the same strange manner, there could be a connection.”

      His words had the desired effect.  Lord Dullman’s mouth dropped open.  The blond man’s eyes flared beneath brows arched in surprise.  Seeing both her companions in such a state the red headed woman recovered her wits. 

      “What price would you put on such information?”

      “A parole.” He quickly stated while they were off balance. “I would become my lord’s prisoner.  I would tell him all of what I know and have discovered about the Countess over the years I was with her.  I assure you, I have the most fascinating stories.  Once I have told everything I would be allowed to take my leave and return home like my men.  It is all I ask for myself and my second in command, Sir Marin Canmore.”

      There was a brief hush over the room, then the chair scraped across the floor as Lord Dullman slowly stood.  He placed a hand on his chest as he did so while the blond man and red headed woman helped him to his feet.

      “Freedom for the men who want it....only a handful of officers put on trial for war crimes....you get paroled....I get Varisa.  Anything I forgot?”

      Sir Olric shrugged. “I think it shall do nicely.”

      “Shake on it.”

       Lord Dullman offered out an empty sword hand across the table.  Sir Olric felt the apprehension in the room.  He heard hands tighten on weapons.  He stepped forward cautiously and took the offered hand.  They shook.

       “My lord, Sharford Castle and all the lands of its domain are now yours.”  Sir Olric Dunsan took a quick step back and bowed formally to Jack Dullman. 

 

 

 

 

 

      For months, ever since Lady Cora had given the order to summon her levy in plans of moving north, Sharford Castle had been adorned with banners of crimson and black hanging from the high walls.  Those banners were now tumbling to the ground, their tethers being hacked through by Hargate axes.  The massive flag bearing the Golwyn sigil which had once flown proudly from the spire of the central tower was gone, replaced by aquamarine blue and shining gold.  A procession of men, haggard and defeated, stumbled out of the main gate headed back to their peacetime lives. 

       Axel sat on his warhorse watching them, silently contemplating whether it had all been worth it.  So many had died.  Sir Alwyn Kessel, Hargate’s Master-of-Foot, would be buried under the shade of an oak tree not far from the place where he fell and Axel had very nearly had to bury Jack too.  Sharford had been conquered.  But the Countess had gotten away despite their best efforts to stop her.  Sir Jeremy believed her to be somewhere to the south or south east, headed toward the border regions.  The Master-of-Horse had sent out scouts and detachments to search but Axel believed they had little hope of success.  The countess had a two day head start.

      Lady Hunter rode up to him, giving him a brief nod. “The last of the defenders are disarmed and my men are searching the castle room by room.”

      “Is everything in order?” He asked.

      “There has been some looting but that was expected.” Lynette replied. “Sir Olric Dunsan has been given a suite of rooms with the company of my best guards and the woman known as Varisa has been secured and remains in the dungeon to await Lord Dullman’s pleasure though she seems none too happy about her new living quarters.”

      “Excellent.”

      “There were many prisoners in the dungeon.” She continued on. “Some in rather poor shape.  What shall be done with them?”

      Axel thought for a moment. “If they were imprisoned by the countess, they may not be all bad.  Keep them where they are but see to their needs.  There will be time for them soon enough.”

      “My lord continues to recover?”

      “He does.  He should be well enough to ride on the morrow.”

      “It is hard to kill one of the Chosen.” She said with a smile of relief. “Thanks be to the Makers.”

      “Thanks be to the Makers, indeed.” Axel agreed. “But be mindful of yourself.  Such talk is fine with me but there are things which must not be said where His Lordship can hear.”

      “As you wish.”

      For a long moment Lynette sat by his side not saying a word but all the while she studied him closely.

      “Sir Axel, why do you seem unhappy?

      “What is there to be happy about.” He snorted in return.

      “We have been victorious.  Is that not enough?”

      He turned to her solemnly as a wagon laden with wounded Sharford men trundled by.  “A victory you say?  Perhaps it is.  But it is nothing to be happy about.  There are dark clouds over the horizon.  There is much danger in them.”

      “Are you certain?”

      “I can sense we are standing on the edge of a great conflict...one which will drench the land in blood.”

      “Perhaps we should tell his lordship.” Lynette pondered but Axel shook his head.

      “For now Lord Dullman should rest.  I will tell him in due time.  You see, there is an innocence about him this world has not yet destroyed.  If I were to inform him of what I suspect he would think there is something he can do about it.  He is still new to this world, Lady Hunter, and does not yet realize there is much which goes on in this place that is beyond his control.”

      The sun was setting in the west, bathing the world in its crimson glow.  Somehow it seemed fitting.