Tournament III, Morning

[Kierra Hana]

Caleb had stood with those gathered for a long time. The grisly news of the murders swept through the tourney grounds like wildfire. The discovery of a Teshwanian blade, the thought of it made his skin crawl and gave swift speed to his feet as he headed for the waterwaal where his sister gathered the days water. As he made his way through the people, the tents, a glimmer of White in the morning light gave his heart a start, though he dismissed it as one of the Swan Knights.

It was only as he neared the waterwaal did his heart all but stop. Sitting proud, heads high and as arrogant as ever, the White Knights of Cadaris were escorted through the tourney grounds. He moved faster now, careful not to run and garner any unwanted attention for the riders as they approached. He could see her, kneeling next to the stream of water.

He weaved through the few other women gathered at the waterwaal and reached Kierra ahead of the Inquisition. Caleb knelt beside her and his hand reached for the shawl draped around her shoulders. She gave a quiet start at his sudden touch and turned to him quizzically as she lifted the shawl to cover her hair. “Caleb, what-”

“My Lady, please,” He whispered harshly. “For once thou should have listened to me.” His eyes lifted toward the approaching caravan, hoping that none had witnessed his actions.

Suppressing an amused chuckle, Kierra follows his gaze. The mocking smile fell from her lips at the sight of the Knights riding past them. She lowered her head quickly to the water before her, her body beginning to tremble. “Dear god…” She closed her eyes, willing them to have been in her imagination.

“We must move, My Lady,” Caleb gently took her by the arms and helped her to her feet. He supported her as they turned their backs to the passing riders and slowly started toward the tents of the peasantry. He glanced back once before ushering her away from the waterwaal.

“Eight sais,” She hissed, the tremor of fear in her voice, “ The tales of the Inquisition’s determination are many, but eight sais and over the border into Albigan?!”

Caleb was shaking his head. “Were we alone, I would not believe they would dare enter the province, but forget not that Aina Rohana Mairi is rumoured to be here as well. Mayhaps they have come for her.”

Kierra stopped them, concealed in the shadow of a tent. “We cannot flee we wouldst be noticed.”

“Torell,” Caleb said reluctantly. “ They search for thee, a poor maid of Teshwan, but Sir Torell-”

“May conceal us long enough for our departure.” She pondered it for a moment. “But they seek thee as well, dearest Caleb. Knowest they that thou hath sheltered me all these sais.”

“Thou didst not heed me when I begged thee to depart days ago,” Caleb said sternly, “but heed me now My lady. Return now to our tent, prepare for Torell, and do not venture out until I come for thee. I follow them, to knowest whom they come for. Be it thee, or the noble Lady.”

She nodded. “If though hast not return by midday-”

“Then trust in thine own heart and the skills of Torell. Wait until nightfall, and then make thy way west. Thou wilt have enough coin to see you through the coming winter and the next. Journey always west, to the eastern steppes if you must. Even the fabled Knights of Cadaris wilt not be bold enough to venture into the lands of the Barbarians.”

Adjusting the shawl covering her head, Kierra quickly gave Caleb a kiss on the cheek. “Take great care, my brother. I’ll look for you at midday.”

[Erint Tel Set]

“ Wipe that grin off your face or you’ll be tasting the heel of my foot in your mouth!...” She said to the burly Ovkhan, Gath Ohr, as she loosened the scabbard on the beast’s mount.

Word had spread throughout their encampment about her fight with the young brash Duke of the Five Marches as fast as the murders had done. Maybe much faster since it had taken place right in broad daylight.
It seemed this day had not disappointed a few who had hoped for a third day of tourney. And great Gath Ohr had been one of them.

He had been the first of the few that arrived with her sibko sister, Aejon, and had found Erint on top of the young Duke. To everyone’s surprise, both the sibko ristar and the Duke had knocked each other out cold and were found sprawled one atop the other.
But as both came to and upon their feet… There had been a turn of events that no one expected. The young Duke respectfully saluting an Ovkhan.

This did more than two days of tourney games, which in the way of the Ovkhan was also the way of gaining respect and mutual understanding of an adversary.
What Erint and this Duke had done, was to start tying the bonds in which their Great Khan Thun, had spoken about. And it had been foretold to him by his witch-mother, Goneril…of such a fight.
But, no Ovkhan name, nor that of the Western knight had been revealed…just the means of the fight. It were told that both shall come to embrace each other in battle and neither shall draw weapons upon the other. That both shall fall in both defeat and victory. Blood spilled, shall mingle between the two warriors,… both of then rising up… One from the East and one from the West, as comrades in arms.
..So, it were told…So, many Ovkhans now believed it had happened.

This was something Gath Ohr was going to talk about over drinks, and feasts for Winters, should Berkana allow him. And it were not also without him boasting about it that it were him who put what he had witnessed and that of the witch-mother Goneril’s prophecy together.
And not without also looking upon Erint with that big grin of his, that he pieced together that it were Erint and the Duke Melegant which the story had unfolded.

But Erint, besides the massive headache which still pounded like iron on an anvil in her head, had already too much of Gath Ohr.
“ Enough!... It was just a fight! I kept my blade sheathed because that was what my Khan had ordered me to do, you stupid Oix!” She spat at him, while mounting a spare ior.

“ Don’t anger me more than this pain in my head is doing!... Now let’s get back to the Khan.
If you give yourself the ear to listen besides yourself, there are far worst men arriving than these Westerners….” She said, forcing her beast to turn about.

“ Ovkhans!…” She then shouted to the last remaining in their encampment.
“To the Khan, onto fate!”

And with that, the very last of the Ovkhans were now heading with Erint to stand by their Khan... as the approaching storm was gathering its strength to strike the children of Berkana down.
_________________

[Wallace McGreggor]

At the moan, one of Heron’s knights drew—the whetting concert around froze to swordpoints at Cadarian faces. Cathal grimaced. Lucius gave a reproachful sidelong glance at the youngest. Far up, the esgalfenn sang. When a cry of pain pulled shocked stares back to their captain: head thrown back, eyes all white, he writhed under the hand of a scowling McGreggor.

~ * ~
::Now, what is it thou cans’ not tell in front of thy men?::

My lord Cadaris be with me; now, and in the hour of…

::What dos’ thou want?:: He dug his thumb harder in Heron’s temple, gasped and screwed up his eyes against the blistering wheel that singed from the Cadarian’s mind. ::WHAT… dos’ thou WANT?::

Finally, a face formed from the white: pale, dark hair… hands meek in her lap… Aina!?

::Why?:: Wallace frowned. ::Why?:: ::WHY?::

A draught pushed salty into the smell of roast game, goblets and candlesticks cast flickering shades on the long table. Breakers, far beneath. A seabird’s yammer. A chair grated against the stone floor. Father rose and hung his shield next to the dragon and white crest of the House of Teshwan. “Henceforth , and till our lines sink into oblivion…”

Whitethorn, earthy breeze.

Bees hummed, more of them in his stomach as they passed beneath the arcade of swords. Mouth dry, palms moist, staggering on flowers that Aina strewed. Lord Uriens placed a hand on his shoulder, “Hail thee, son I awaited!” Wallace swallowed. Fiddles, boar and well wishes; she fed him a grape—that this feast ended! That he’d get beneath her veil!

On Khan Svelvik’s side, Erint rose her brows as the Western lord licked his lips, moved in and pushed a sweaty strand from the elder knight’s forehead…

The black duke shot Tristian an unsettled glance. “Errrherrherrum!” cleared his throat as though to cough up a live cicada—still his lord caressed the Inquisitor’s face; smiled… affectionately…

:: My Lord Albigan…?::

Wallace froze, glimpsed around for her; into Tristian’s worried face, the Khan’s, slightly smirking, and the steward’s, that looked as disturbed as most of the bystanders’. Boots pawed, the breeze whistled through shrivelled cistus.

:: …thou mights’ wish ask more precisely ::

A beat, his chin stuck out, lips puckered up like a rebuked boys’; ere he turned back at his befuddled prey, fingers dug into cheek and brow, eyes narrowed. :: Lord Uriens’ son-in-law… very nice! :: :: WHAT dids’ thou COME FOR?::

No face: neckline low, breasts full, fair hair flowing. She had no face, but a sword she drew at the Inquisition. Kierra. Eight sais. At the stake, blond hair caught fire…the cries…O lord! We deliver! Crashing waves. A peninsula. Black hair, naked skin, a blond youth’s smile.

Wallace took in a long breath; considered. Considered a stone at the warble; then charged. ::Who?:: ::WHO is thy SPY?:: ::WHAT dos’ thou know on last night’s MURDER?::

No face. A man’s face. A young man, leather armor, brown aihw; a falcon flapped on his forearm. Night. Chirping, tangy scent, a rock face bluish, down into a gorge…

:: Where is he? ::

Aina! I must save Aina!

:: WHERE is he? ::

Aina! Where’s lady Aina? Art thou holding her capt…

::SPEAK! WHERE IS THIS YOUNG RIDER?::

~ * ~
“Stay behind… wait by the river.” Heron gasped out; his men gaped. All gaped when the well-built Cadarian staggered backwards, collapsed into Sir Tristian; whilst Wallace scowled round about. :: What? :: His eyes seemed to snarl. :: What? Bedamned! :: “Imprison them! Comb here and the Tarna’s gorge for a Teshwan on bay aihw…”

[Aina of Teshwan]

Aina was confused. And she felt betrayed. Was this, finally, the proof that Wallace was just playing a game with her? His guards had taken her back to her tent, where she was sitting on a small stool, staring down into her lap. In front of the half-open flap stood two of the Queribus knights, absorbed in their conversation. Kara cowered on her berth and tried to concentrate on a piece of embroidery, though Aina could feel the old woman's gaze upon her every now and then. So her 'host' had shown his true face now and she was held prisoner, no? But she wouldn't let people push her around anymore. Who at this tournament should hinder her to leave this tent and go where she wanted? Some men in shiny armour with their ridiculous swords? A short, joyless laugh came over her lips which made Kara look up to her frowning. No, there was no one here who could stop her if she wanted to leave.

Karas eyes widened when the young lady all of a sudden stood up, strode forward two steps and then came to a halt as abruptly as she had started to move, just in front of the flap. Slowly, she turned to the older woman and gazed at her. "Give me your cloths”, she commanded.
"But, Lady Aina…." The old abigails eyes wandered from her charge to the guards in front of the tent.
”Don’t even think of it.” Her voice was quiet, but sharp. Kara winced and looked back at Aina. The dark blue eyes had lost their liveliness, given way to coldth, which still, in a strange way, reminded her of the boiling sea on a stormy day. Without further hesitation, Kara slipped out of her rough, unadorned dress and handed it over.

“I need to talk to Lord McGreggor, Kara, make sure everything's ready for my depart when I return”, the young heiress said as if there were no guards standing in front of her tent, as if she was still treated like any guest of the tournament. Kara stared uncomprehending at her, but Aina didn’t notice her look, as she was now pulling the abigails dress over her head and fastened the rope which was used by Kara as a belt. “No word to the guards”, now the blue eyes were upon her again, like predators eyes now, “do you understand?”
Kara nodded. She did really. Though she had no glue of all those complicated politics; and didn’t want to have, anyway; she understood why Aina had the need to do something. She only hoped she wouldn’t have to account for all this…

The young woman just returned from the flap where she had made sure that the guards were still busy with themselves, and was now approaching the back of the tent. In her hand, something caught a ray of light from outside and reflected it for a moment, before she brought it up and Kara realised what it was – with a small knife, Aina was tearing a slit into the tents fabric. A last gaze at the Albigan woman, and she was out.

Pulling the hood of Karas cape deep into her face, Aina looked around for a moment, trying to figure out if anyone had seen her little break-out. No one was near – in fact the whole camp seemed strangely deserted…

Aina had to find out what was going on. Slowly, she made her way through the maze of pavilions, always looking out for any sign of their inhabitants. Only when she reached the outskirts of the encampment, she encountered other people. But no one took notice of her – everyone seemed engulfed in conversation, or maybe rather in gossip? Aina brushed near a couple of maids to catch some of their talking, but their words didn’t make much sense to her – something about unexpected guests and Wallace. Ainas eyes followed the gesture of one of the women towards a nearby hill. She made out some figures just behind the hilltop – was this the place where she’d find Wallace?

’What is it with you?’ she thought angrily. ‘It’s not that you’re not able to find that out…’

Oh yes, of course she had her own means of finding Wallace. On the other hand, why should she make use of her ‘special powers’, when she could just walk up there and look? With a last glance around, she made sure that still no one had taken any interest in her, then she began briskly walking up the hill. Her senses on alert, she began to sense something from up there – something strangely familiar, yet there was this feeling that something wasn’t right at all…

Her steps became even longer as she strode up the hill, and when she finally reached the top and laid her eyes on the scenery before her, she was panting. At least, before her heart took a leap and nearly stopped.
White Knights. The Inquisition was here. She was as good as dead. Or…?
Her mind momentarily caught a strange… feeling?! No, that was not how it could be described. It was a little bit like catching snippets of a conversation, but then again, it was more like an emotion she was sensing through the force. And that something ‘smelt’ like her. It triggered an image in her mind, an image of herself, trapped by green-clad knights and bound… And suddenly, she knew that image came from the knight in front of Wallace – no doubt, her brother-in-law – Heron Cadraque.

Was this the reason Wallace had taken her away? The arrival of the Inquisition and of Heron? She had no time to think about it any further – she sensed even more now, pain. And just in that moment, Wallace released Heron from the grasp that had looked like a strangely intimate touch, and she saw the Lord of Lochlann stagger back and almost fall to the ground, had it not been for someone to hold him. Wallace’s harsh words sounded clearly to the place where she stood, taken by the wind.

She did not think about what could happen when she continued her way – she only knew what would happen to Cassilda’s husband if she didn’t intervene. For who else here would? She was the only one who could save the lives of the men who had most probably come to take her home – how ironic. But she was sure that Wallace wouldn’t hesitate to squeeze them for any information they could provide – with torture, if necessary – and then dispose of them. The inquisition did it the same way, so why should the midlanders be any different? She almost ran now.

”Wait!”

Her voice carried a long way, and she was surprised how calm the word sounded – Aina was feeling like every inch of her body was trembling. Just a few steps from Wallace, she stopped and drew back the hood. Without fail, she had the attention of everyone now…

[Kierra Hana]

From the distance he now stood, the words of those gathered on the hill top were indecipherable. Caleb could, however, make out the presence of the major players at the Tournament. The Knights and guards of Lord McGreggor, the Swan Knights that served the Queberius Lord, the warriors of the Ovkhan, and now the White Knights of the Inquisition. He dared not approach further, knowing that to do so would move him from beneath the shade of the large tree that served to hide him from those on the hill. It was a good spot to watch from.

Even though Caleb could not hear what was being said, by the mannerisms of those gathered the Knights of the Inquisition were not welcomed. That was of little surprise to the Teshwanian. There was no love lost between the two clans, and the presence of the Ovkhan made the tension between the neighbours all that greater. Perhaps they were the reason the Knights had made the trek across the borders? Perhaps the thought of the clan of Lord McGreggor aligning itself with that of the barbarians frightened the Lordship of Teshwan enough to send their Knights into hostile territory? Perhaps his dear Kierra was safe!

Caleb watched with rapt interest, unaware of the approach of the figure that was suddenly standing beside him. “How far thou hast fallen, brother.”

With a start, Caleb turned his attention from the gathering to the matter at hand. Dark hair and goatee, ashen armor and a few wrinkles around the dark eyes, it took him a moment to recognize the man before him. “Mikale? How-”

“Thou were my brother, Caleb,” Mikale spoke with a hint of sadness in his voice, though the anger was more prevalent. “We mingled our blood as childhood playmates and still thy loyalty was given to another. Does she bed thee? Is the promise of a firm bosom and warm crevice the price for thy servitude?”

Understanding donned on the man at the words. “By the gods! Thou art with them!”

“No, Caleb, not the gods. The only god,” Mikale hissed. “ Cadaris has charged his most loyal of servants to find the witch and return her where she can seek repentance before she is purified. They allow me to accompany them, allowing me the honour of seeing the witch that seduced and entranced my father come to justice.” A sly grin curled the corners of his mouth. “At least that is what they believe. I never held much belief in the teachings of Cadaris. Mayhaps because my Father was not of this world.”

Caleb stared at the stranger before him that had once been his dearest friend. “Thou art insane.”

“Far from, actually.” Mikale inhaled deeply, looking up at his fellows on the hill. “A brilliant distraction, aye? The most hated and reviled beings in the minds of the Midlanders, suddenly on their doorsteps hunting for a murderess. They were fools to thing the Albigan Lord would just hand her over to them. Where is she?”

“Thou honestly believes I would tell thee?” Caleb glowered at Mikale. “ Knowing how thee lusted after her-”

“I loved her!” Mikale shouted madly, quieting a moment later as his declaration still echoed around the pair. “ From the moment my father and I found her in the dale, I loved her.”

“Thou didst not love her, Mikale. Thou loved her beauty. Thou coveted her as one covets a prize stag. Thy father loved her, and she him. Their union was just and blessed by Cadaris.”

“Cadaris be damned, she was to be mine!” Mikale drew his knife from his belt. “She will be mine still. Where is she, Caleb.”

“Thou wouldst kill me, thy blood brother, for a woman?”

“Thou betrayed me, my blood brother no more. Thou serve her. Thou hast disguised her. Thou art protecting her from the Inquisition, even now. Wilt thou die for her?”

In Mikale’s eyes, Caleb saw his death coming a moment before the blade pierced his abdomen. The pair stumbled into the tree that sheltered them from the morning light. His chest burning as the dagger Caleb felt warm breath against his ear as Mikale whispered to him.

“It was the aihws. In the melee I saw it, the black beast that only she could tame. The same aihws that stands outside they tent where she now awaits thee. Thou shouldst have killed the beast sais ago.” Mikale removed the knife and plunged it into his chest. The razor edge imbedding itself into one of his ribs and sliced through his lung, silencing his cry. “I gave thee a chance to prove thyself as my brother once more, but still thou chose her before me.”

Mikale was suddenly gone, the only thing keeping him standing, and Caleb slid down the trunk of the tree to the rapidly blood staining earth. The leaves above him mocked him, blowing in the breeze as though scolding him for his inaction. He had let her down, his beloved sister in all but blood. Now, as he lay dying, he could only pray to whatever gods were listening to protect her from he who hunted her.

*****

The white horned aihws stared back at her from the breastplate that rested against the anvil. How long Kierra had been staring at it was uncertain. She had returned to the tent as instructed, but she could not bring herself to don the guise of Sir Torel again. The pain that laced through her shoulder at every movement saw to it that she had no desire to play that roll for a very long time. Still, Caleb’s reasoning, that disguised as Torel she may elude the Inquisition long enough to make their escape, was undeniable.

Outside the tent, her aihws whinnied suddenly and then was just as suddenly silent. She turned away from the armor and pushed the flaps of the tent aside. She had barely enough time to glimpse the regal animal lying on the ground with an arrow piercing his neck before a leather gloved fist drove itself into her face and sent her stumbling back inside the tent.

The ebony armour clattered to the earth as she collided with the anvil. Reeling from the blow she used the anvil to keep her from falling while she waited for her head to clear. The rustling of the tent behind her alerted her to someone else entering and, glancing over her shoulder at her assailant, her heart leaped at the site. Dark hair that greyed around the temples, the piercing hazel eyes that saw to her very soul. “Sirrus?” No sooner had she uttered his name and she knew she was mistaken. Her husband had never looked at her with such a lecherous grin, though she had seen it before. “Mikale.”

“Hello, Step-Mother.”

[Jerrid Syn Zarkan]

Amongst the bustle of commoners woken this day, to sweat and fear which were brought about by confusion , Jerrid gathered his thoughts.
What would his father have him do this day?

It took not but a few strides among these commoners, these children of Berkana to know that they were without light, assurance, and guidance.
And the question put forth by a lad, no older than 10…standing there with his younger sister, set Jerrid’s task at hand.
Jerrid looked upon the lad and seen not only fear, but hunger in his eyes.
Looking about at his kin folk, there were no smoke rising from the cold fire pits by his family’s tent.
‘… Sir Knight, are the wolfbeasts going to come for us?’ the boy had asked, eyes giving away more than the words spoken to the young knight.

For the two years he was thrust out into the wilderness of the modern pagan Galaxy, Jerrid had nearly forgotten the power which lay within these children of the Creator.
It were an awakening of sort.

Jerrid looked about him, the people, their children...men...women.
Closing his eyes for a moment, it all seemed to come back to him. These children, these people of Othala ..be they Midland, from the far west or the East, were all children of Berkana.
And he were but a servant of these commoners as he would be servant of the children back on his homeworld..to his earth which they called Shea, Kilia IV.

Jerrid then opened his eyes and a tear ran down his cheeks. But they formed not a sad face, but one of a loving smile. He stepped forward, then laid a knee to the earth. He looked into the boys eyes and he gave him a reassuring smile.
“ There shalt be no ior this day, nor the next, that thee hast to fear…” He spoke to the two, with his heart on his tongue.

Here were two before him which he was here to lay down his life for, as he would lay down his life for the children which were on his own world. These children were of the same make, of the same blood which had been spawned upon this sacred earth, Othala.
No.
No, Jerrid in his heart now knew the fear this boy and his sister had of the Ovkhans, were one of ignorance.

How was it, that this earth which had the element blood of the waters, of fire and of the wind, be so torn apart like this for a child of the Midlands to fear those of the East?...Those of the far West?
And what of the fire? What of Latinon?

Jerrid reflected a moment to his own people, on Kilia IV, upon their earth mother Sheia. And this day, they were all one, under the element of the earth.
An element, which had been driven from Othala a Millennia past…
It dawned on him then, that one element could stand alone. But here on Othala, there were only three and three were not in balance.
He took in a deep breath upon this revelation. His hands reached up to the boy’s upper forearms. It were a reassuring hold he had on the lad.

Yes, yes he knew why his father had sent him here now. It were not just to cleanse their earth of the new lords who came down in their armies of white. It were to become once more an element of these Othalan’s again. He was sent home to his ancestral world to become the forth element. To aid the oak in planting its roots firmly on this earth once more, for it had been uprooted it seemed ..when the element of earth had been uprooted ten centuries ago.

A fog in which he had been in seemed to uplift once more.

“ Dost thy hunger for food?... Thy belly tis speaketh loud, that tis empty this day...” Jerrid then said.

Yes… yes, he were here to help them and not come here for help. This he knew now. This he now felt.
The three elements of this earth were off balanced. This was why they had war. And this was why he, the last son of Tremor Jerrid Zarkan was sent out into the wilderness, out into the modern galaxy, to make his way here and become the earth upon which the oak could root and bring the earth, wind fire and water together again to make Othala whole again…

The boy’s sister’s eyes widened and she nodded her head along with her brother…yes, amid all which had taken place from this morning…among the fear, the confusion and uncertainty… no one had bothered to feed the children.

“ Cometh…” Jerrid then said as he rose to his feet.
“ Both of ye… cometh, follow me. We shalt first get thy bellies filled…”


~ The food courts ~

“ Why art thee packing good keeper?” Jerrid asked one of the vendors in the food court.

To his observation, it appeared many, if not all were packing their carts.
The old cook and his wife looked at him, his colors his age.
They then looked about..then they resumed with their packing.

“ I require for thee to feed these children...good cook.” Jerrid said in a tone not usually becoming of him, as it were one of demand.

The man knew enough not to start with a Queribus knight at such volital times. He then quickly reached in his cart and brought forth a loaf of bread and tossed it to Jerrid.
Jerrid tossed it back.

“ Unpack… set out your charcoal, light your fires and feed these children.” Jerrid now said in a tone which hit the man hard in his head.

“ But...but to lite the fire for just two, sir Knight-“

“ Two?..” Jerrid then asked.

“ ..er..three, counting you, sir Knight? The man replied, his wife now more nervous than he who did not know whether to stand next to her husband or step away from him.

“ Hahaha…Nay, for all of the children, including yourself, good cook.”
Jerrid then said as he spread out his arms..a gesture that encompassed everyone.

And as thus, the charcoal, the lard and the oils, the meats and the breads were unloded.
And to the next vendor he then went, Jerrid… and then the next.
No.
No they were not going to leave these grounds.
No.
No, this day for the children would be like the day before... There would be at least food for them to eat.
And maybe...just maybe, with their bellies full, they would not so be frightened and give faith once more to their Lord...to Lord Wallace.
For there would be no beasts from the East, nor white knights from the West that would have any of them, and their children, come to spill their blood upon this earth, this day.

And as thus, each vendor in the food courts were made to unpack.
The first had been a bit reluctant, as was the second…but by the fifth, Jerrid needed not to speak, as they were already setting their tables out once more.
Each now, were cooking…
The smell of the grease, of the hot breads and of the cooked meat…permeated the grounds.
And it drew the first few to come and eat… then the many.
And the commoners were no longer fearing as much, with bellies being filled.
And even a few Queribus and Albigan knights had come about in their charge to watch over the masses, seen what this young knight was doing. They then joined him… One, then two…then all, looked upon this young ward of Wallace as one of their true own now.
For they had not know him before. As they had only known that he were at the stay of the Lord Albigan’s castle. And they had no means to question this at all, nor challenge this Jerrid, being he under Lord Wallace himself.

And as the smoke rose from the food courts, and the commoners gathered to eat, there was less tension and uncertainty in the air, as it had been earlier on this day.
For at least this part of the tourney grounds, this day was looking like the day before.
Panic had come under control…
_________________

[Wallace McGreggor]

Aina? Dark clad guards though dragging him, Heron’s head jerked round; as did those of the Midlandish lords and all the gathered folk—Wallace turned stolidly. “In this, that is an intrusion upon our hallowed soil, thou has’ no say.” Aina felt her stride slow; herself stay, meters from the son of the oaken lord, she’d naively mistaken for a friend. “But…”

“Hold thy breath, heiress!” :: Or their’s shall wane before thine eyes. ::

She shook her head, swallowed and gazed desperately at her brother-in-law—whom the guards hauled away; who yet turned his head and looked back at her, equally stunned, desperate… and reproachful.

“Take her into custody. Whip who released her.”

No! Why? How cans’ thou? Aina opened her mouth; still staring after Heron her hand tightened around the hilt she hid under the abigail’s shirts; she tensed, sensed four approach… and spun round as a scream of pain shrilled up from behind.

~ * ~
What use to kill one? What use to kill two or more? Armoured hands dragging her, Aina threw a distressed glance back at the hilltop: there he stood, arms folded, rooted amongst men, so strange and dark and cold his scowl…

…beside Sir Tristian shuffled his feet. “My lord..,” he cleared his throat, “..my lord, as much as I agree as to the handling of the Cadarian infidels…” Wallace faced him with a scowl. “Yes, the lady Aina must be guarded and dragged off like a comman brigand.” His unspoken words growled back at him, Sir Tristian paled. “Very well, my lord.” He managed to choke out, then felt the heat rise and the droplets run down his back. Drop by drop by drop; one with every unbidden thought…

Whilst right in front the Khan of the Ovkhan stepped up, flanked by Erint, Aejon and two more of his Ristars; his scruffy blond brow risen. “Lord Wallace,” he bellowed despite a look of concern on his big-boned features, “I tried familiarize with yer customs; before we drove our beasts to here and more so while we shared in mead and brawl—but now… I may admit I am stuck: praytell, what is happening? This… would not be a part of thy feast?”

“No, my valued ally.” Wallace grimaced sourly. “The appearance of the Cadarian inquisition doth not happen to be a high spot in our tournaments. And neither is double murder. Quite the reverse: he who breaketh the sacred peace…”

“…must die before the final flame;
And void are oaths thou swore a lord;
Who failed protect, and if in game.”
It was one of the steward’s knights, whispering. Yet over a sudden still his whisper carried quite well—for some beats, the esgalfenn’s song was the only sound. Till Wallace looked back at the Ovkhan’s leader. “So… and by now Sir Bazil’s knights wilt capture the missing Teshwan… and report back on the scream we heard.”

The breeze rustled through broom, brought a waft of pungent smell…

“I see.” The Khan’s big-boned features grim he gave a terse nod. “Seyla! I wish you success, my ally!” With that he turned and strode back through the round of gathered Midlanders that surveyed their every step.

~ * ~

Only back amongst their own squad, Erint faced him with a blank frown. “My Khan, thou wished him success as in face of a name-battle! But…thou thyself shared the blood with him!” Outraged, the Ristar glimpsed at the blond knight she had competed against; still he stood and looked ready to serve the Westerner in question. “When such fighters follow—he cannot be an unproven!”

Svelvik himself looked ill at ease. “Their customs are different, Erint. They follow on the base of a rank that is awarded to men by the blood of their fathers… or that is how I understand.”

The overhearing Ovkhan started to grumble.

“A makeshift rank? Based on what another achieved?” Eventually Aejon hissed out their shared displeasure. “How could a man lead who hath not proven himself! Why would I heed his word!?”

“You would not, my warriors; for we are Ovkhan!” Svelvik gazed round about with an eery calm. “Yet even they wilt not heed his words for very much longer: if he faileth establish order until this dusk, the very night wilt grow edges.”

~ * ~

Eventually, the black duke returned with a squad of his knights. In their midst, more dragged than walking, a dark-haired in leather armor and a woman whose hair fell fair to her very waist. Gleaming under the afternoon sun, it took your eyes from her distressed face and the bruise that stretched bluey across one eye and cheek. An indignant intake of breath yet testified a Sir Tristian was gentleman enough to notice.

“My lorrd,” the tall commander stepped forth, “I prresume this is the Teshwan rrider. We found him in fight with this woman—who indeed defended herrself by the blade.” Murmurs rose, even the eyes of those who hitherto had glowered at the male shifted at once to scrutinize the upset yet rapidly blushing woman. “He accuseth herr of having murrdered his brrother…”

“But he lieth!” Her yell came shrill, eyes desperate as they flit round then rested upon the bearded she recognized as a captain of yesterday’s mêlée. “I killed no-one, my lords. But I saw my very companion lie in his blood…” Her voice broke with a sob and mutters grew louder amongst the nobles. “Hou’s she talkin’ o?” “He daesna luik like Shaun’s brither..” “Not like a sibling of the Sarthier either.” “Hou, he’s that Teshwan, bawheid—thay’re talking o yit ither deid paws an brithers. An a fear we’ll see mair…”

“Who was killed by now?” Wallace turned to snarl at Sir Bazil, whose line-like lips twisted up disparagingly. “Some Teshwan.”

The blonde looked grief-stricken. “His name was Caleb. He escorted me, faithfully!”

“He was my brother she stole from me! Alienated and abused him as a tool that brought her here, where she disposed of him—thou certainly found thyself a new, more influential ass to rope in; or dids’ thou not, Kierra?!”

Her jaw dropped. Dumbfounded she stood in face of the staring folk, women but very vastly men, the looks of whom darkened increasingly; and even the eyes of the one old lord that had twinkled so vividly while he’d granted her the special wish—now they looked hard and cold under his feathered cap.

Wallace glowered from one to the other, then back at the pithy black-haired. “And founds’ thou evidence, uncornos?”

“I would—alas thy Sirr Alexanderr insisted on rrelieving us on the searrching.” He looked round and shot a glare at the head of the raven who had arrived unnoticed beside his knights. The slim silent in turn stepped forth and flapped back the covering piece of cloth of a small, bloodied bundle. “This Teshwan…” he gave a nod towards the dark-haired captive, “was seen fleeing from the dying. On his person he wore this blood-stained blade; which is of the same making as the dagger we found with Shaun Dullatur and Gistain of the Aubrac…”

“He lieth! It is not mine! And I know nothing of those thou named!” Alexander gritted his teeth, more with his lord’s deepening frown. “Very well.” Reluctantly, he gave a nod at a lanky young squire beside him, who suddenly went as pale as the barren lime. “I… uhm..” He ducked his head, anxiously lowered his eyes as he took a tiny step forward. “…the dying wanted her saved.. uhm.. my lord.”

Alexander gave an excusing glance round about. “From the beginning, my boy.”

The squire swallowed, then took a deep breath. “I.. heard a scream, ran see…he sat there against this trunk but… blood bubbled like… all his waistcoat war drippin’ wet. Why, there was a cut like this...” He indicated with both hands across the left of his rib cage, ere his eyes darted to the blond woman and had them fall down limply. “He’ll kill her! Please… do her protect! That’s what I heard of what he choked out. And ...she knoweth…” He swallowed, gave a glimpse back at Alex; who nodded emboldening, “He said: …she knoweth of what thy lord spoke—she said she must go tell…”

As the youth squinted round, Alexander soothingly patted his shoulder. “Well yes, and the victim pointed towards towards one of the workshops; wherein this man was found attacking this woman…”

“She killed my brother!” The dark-haired blurted out. “Insidiuously drew a blade on me as I caught her red-handed!” The woman but shook her head in bewilderment. “Mikale, thou snake! I never had harmed Caleb! How canst thou think of such abject lies!”

Around, the crowd became restless. “Hang him!” One shouted. “Hang her!” Another followed, sounding somewhat like a female voice disguised. “Ay, hing the baith o’ thaim!” “Ye canna hing a wumman!” “Hou no? Gif she can claucht a swuird an murther?”

“Well, the dying wanted her saved. His breeches show the stains of fresh blood. He furtheron carried this leathern gauntlet—the type ye would use in kirvalry.” Alexander held it up for the lords to inspect. “It doth bear the marks of a kirvaly’s talons…”

“Which meaneth?”

“Especially trained, the kirvaly is also used to deliver messages—like that of a scouting spy to his following party. A spy… would also promptly kill anyone who happeneth to detect him, say… while sneaking an enemy feast eavesdropping discussions of great political relevance…”

“Misrepresen…”

“Blazes! Hold herr!” Beside Kierra one black knight shouted; the second dragged her back at once, wrested the other one’s dagger from her—still she stared bewildered to and fro between the embellished gauntlet and her fellow captive; whose face fleetingly lit with a small sneer.

“There ye see! That woman is sneaky and very dangerous!”

“Thou murdered him, too!” Held back by the knight, Kierra’s eyes brimmed with tears.

“I murdered no-one. Thou but tries’ to distract! And now, look: now she crieth! That’s how she softeneth mens’ brains! That’s how she trieth to buy her neck and make believe I war the murderer and spy!”

Eyes darted to her, mutters jumped; Alexander but stepped before him. “Why, for thou art!” He bellowed right in his face. “Thou mayes’ think thyself sly, but one of the infidels thou leds’ bought his throat witnessing against thee!”

“Who!?”

The moment Mikale bit his tongue, Wallace noticed the smirk on the slim silent…

~ * ~

Half an hour later…

Thanks to a Zarkan’s close-to-earth thinking, the air was big with the smell of roast and stew. Around the oak, that once again functioned as a gallows tree, men gathered in little groups and ate noisily; whilst two buttons of shimmering turquoise svivelled restlessly in the place of the hanged man’s eyes...

“Bludflies tae bludflies.” “Truelins.” “Ugh! Steuchs like shite.” “Hou, bawheid, ye stepped intae his lastest mess!” “Shite!” “Truelins.” Leisurely, the four carried their bowls from the dangling. “Wall, wall: leein’ knicks a man’s craig.” “Leuks me mair like a mink that did it for this ane.” “Ha.” “Yit.. believe he’s the murtherer o Shaun, an aw? That sprot?!” “Nae suir.” “Hou, a thocht he’s murthered thaim aw?” “Mebbe. Yit oor oakshot didna richt tell: hing him, that’s aw he said.” “Truelins.” “Atweel.” “Sae whit?” “Sae whit?! Sae the murtherer of Shaun’s mebbe yit leeves!” “Och!” “Och truelins!” „That ye can say lood oot. Or no raither.” Suddenly he whispered and hinted sideways, “A feel nae want for his talk in quate...”

~ * ~

“So now, one gallows bird less to tramp our grounds. Good work, my pupil.”

“Alex’ good work. And still many waiting.”

“Indeed. Like one lovely blonde morsel.” Rotiart took a deep drink from his mug and flashed a grin that seemed to stay the same through all decades. “I might sacrifice myself and relieve thee of her interrogation while thou sees’ to those infidels.”

Wallace shook his head, chortling on his part. “Thou never changes’ dos’ thou? Yet, in fact, I would not mind—shall they suspect thee in my place.”

“Of what?”

“Well, of being the one she bribeth.”

“Oh boy! Thou cares’ for folks blether!” He laid his arm around the younger ones shoulder and gave a sly smirk. “I can’t but repeat: make merry whilst thou’rt still young!” He laughed. “Why, want remaineth but not prowess.”

Saraquael’s image in mind, steady since yesternight, his wisecracks came with a sting; short-tempered, Wallace snorted and wrested from him. “I’ve more important things to worry about, Rotiart; just in case thou failed to notice.”

“Ah yes, worries and worries more. Thinks’ not worries wilt wait? Pleasuance won’t, that I tell thee.”

“Rotiart! Thou mayes’ not be able to picture, but what may come is something more than thy usual war. It won’t be but a period of strife after which thou mayes’ dramatically increase thy profits—if we fail mobilize and combine Othala’s every power there wilt be no pleasuance, any more.”

“Hopeless.” The old master sighed. “Why, thou art like thy father!” He shook his head and took another swig. “Next thou’lt tell me the inquisition’s come is part of some tricky scheme.” Wallace gave him an odd look. “Why dos’ thou mention?”

“Why for fearful babble is all over camp: Why woulds’ thou send an outnumbered squad of thine elite troops into enemy territory? Why, maybe they want us to kill them, trigger some deed outrageous enough for the Teshwanian houses to combine their forces against us…a ruse to plunge us into war…yadda, yadda.” Rotiart rolled his eyes. “All lily-livered blether! Why? Look, the Cadarians are humans, too, and pretty short-sighted ones as we have just seen—want say: they do make mistakes! And when thine enemy maketh one thou must be ready to take advantage!” He frowned, then suddenly craned his neck and glimpsed past Wallace. “But I know thou’rt busy..…so I shall not bore thee much longer.”

“Wait. Talking of inquisition—what exactly meanes’ thou about taking advantage?”

“Dear, must I spoon-feed thee everything?” Rotiart sighed. “Look, if thou killes’ them, now, thou attains’ three aims: One—thou showes’ and proves’ to our people how powerless they really are and that their god is indeed but a made up and void shell. Two—to all avid Cadarians thou showes’ and proves’ the very same; what wilt help undermine their spirit. Three—thou impresses’ our Ovkhan friends and liquidates’ seven of the enemy’s elite without risk for one of thine own.” With that he emptied his mug and smoothed out his greyed moustache.

“Now what, dos’ thou wish me bestow my favours on thy blonde poison?”

[Wallace McGreggor]

„Yes. Be gone.” Wallace grimaced, momentarily gazed after the old lord who turned round briskly and adjusted his hat with the peacocks feather as he marched off to the prison pavilions, then snorted and started out to where Alexander was to question the inquisition.

As the guards folded back the tent’s flap for him, the head of his secret service spun round and hastily went to meet him. “Ma laird, micht a hiv a wird?”

Glimpsing past the slim silent, Wallace caught a glance of the Inquisition’s leader who sat with his hands and feet shackled to a dark chair. As Heron looked up, he could see him swallow; then a little bulge in his jaw muscle told that the man’s teeth set. Silent, Wallace nodded and followed the Houston back out into the midday heat.

“Whit is it?”

“A dinna think it'd be wise tae hang thaim.”

“Why no?”

“For ane, thair captain's Lady Aina’s guid-brither. An aw, Perlesvaus coud hae sent thaim for kin o that purpose.”

Wallace frowned thinking of the Cadarians’ high priest and the white knights of his monastic isle. “Thay’re some o his maist leal—whit for shoud a maister will the daith o sic knichts?”

“Politics.” Alexander grimaced briefly. “It's for years that the Abbot o Cartannach eiks the Western houses agin ither, an hoves the church’s estates.”

“Hou do ye mean?”

“Ance he declares a hoose as uncadarian, awbody hae the richt tae prey on thaim. For ordinar, twa-three woud baund thegither tae tak ower—an Cadaris is to git ane thrid o ivery conquest.”

Wallace blinked. “His carking kirk that means, ay? Or the laird-abbot...”

“Richt.”

“Guid policy.” He snorted and pushed back a sweaty strand. “We shoud stairt the same.”

Alexander grinned but briefly. “Misfortunately, we canna spare ony.”

“Ower true. Sae ye ween Perlesvaus sends us saicrifeeceal knichts—in howpe he can clype mair on the ill-will o the haithens?”

“That a ween.”

“An ye caition me agin killing thaim—tho ma fowk claims bluid?”

The slim silent paused and sought his lord’s eyes. “Ay.”

“Interesting.” Wallace looked him over. “Juist nou, the Marquis Montauban redet me not tae gie heed tae ony sic whimper.”

“But mak uise o yer fae's mistak?” Alexander’s brow knit and he lowered his voice yet more. “If ye ordered thair daith, Perlesvaus had awthing he took tae rally the Wast agin ye!” He glimpsed round. “An thare’s yit something ense…”

In view of his anxious look, Wallace stayed. “Whit?”

“Yesternicht, the stewart’s lad observed unco blains athort oor hievens—he said it war nae starns sclatchin…”

[Wallace McGreggor]

Odd streaks across our skies, that are no shooting stars? That could either be burning up wreckage; or first signs of the Imperials’ approach. Wallace swallowed. “Find out what it was! Ask the lad where those streaks pointed and send a troop—they shall scour the area!”

With that he brushed past Alexander, back into the gloomy pavilion; Heron glimpsed, in his view but averted his eyes and frowned. “What now? Thou comes’ to steal the rest of my soul?”

“I don’t want thy soul.” He pulled over a chair and sat down opposite the sweating older. “A bit of brain would suffice me.”

Blinking against a bead of sweat, Heron backed away instinctively. Wallace watched him while the camp’s noises filtered in through the dark green canvas.

“Lord Lochlann, I imagine thou has’ knights of thy own?”

“Of course.”

“Being a good master, woulds’ thou single out a handful and send them into the heart of enemy territory—with a task that is akin to suicide?”

Heron swallowed, then took a deep breath. “If Cadaris wills.”

Wallace’s eyes narrowed. “And was it Cadaris who ordered thee penetrate into my realm?”

Afar sounded aihws’ whinny.

“Was. It. Cadaris…” Slowly, Wallace extended his hand; wrists fettered behind his back, Heron recoiled. “No!”

“No, what?”

“We were sent by the Elder of Carthannach. His locum.”

“Really.” He let his hand sink. “And thou art without issue. So… upon who devolved the lands of the House of Cadraque—thy father’s lands—if thou died? And who received a third of the lands of the House of Teshwan—lands thy father-in-law trusteth thee to protect—if Aina of Teshwan could be accused of sorcery and collaboration?”

The older looked at the canvas.

“The blunt answer was Perlesvaus in all cases, no?”

“What dos’ thou want?”

“Cooperation.”

“Never!” Heron’s head jerked back; eyes filled with revulsion. “You sorcerer talk with forked tongue! Even if thou wert right—thinks’ I am blind? Thinks’ I failed see the Barbarians thou rallied to take those same lands?”

“If I wanted yer marsh, ye’d see my legions’ rears’ from the gallows!”

The older gnashed his teeth. “Then what else…”

“There’s another foe. An outside army that befalleth worlds like a pest.” Wallace stood. “That is why I want your people, especially thy white order, to set enmity aside and fight alongside the Midlands as well as the Ovkhan—till this threat to our all home is averted.”

Heron shook his head. “There art no other worlds. He created earth and the heavens—there art no other hosts outside beside His White Legions. And should He decide to send them, anew—we must kneel and accept His judgement.”

“Holy cark!” Wallace jumped up and paced the pavilion. Suddenly he turned round. “Thou art right, Heron of Lochlann: the legions to come are indeed white! And the people of many earths did kneel—alas their general is a black-masked ogre and his master a sorcerer much more... experienced than I am!”

The older gave him a strange gaze.

“Thou thinks’ I’m insane?” Wallace snorted. “Well, thou art in good company. Yet, fact is: half of my advisers and the majority of my people want to see thee swing. Thee, all of thy men, and best even young lady Aina.”

“And thou?”

“I want thee to use thy weight to bring thy young sister-in-law to her Sir Father. Safely. If need be against Perlesvaus’ orders. And I want thee to deliver a message…”

[Heron Cadraque]

Herons heart was racing like the thoughts in his mind. The things this midlandish lord said were ringing true; especially in sight of some of Perlesvaus' latest actions – and the sudden death of the late Lord Lochlann, who had been unhesitating to speak his mind about some of those.

Heron was no idiot. Yes, he believed in Cadaris, there was no doubt, but he didn't think that his god really wanted them to do things without using their brains – what for had he given them the power of thinking? Perlesvaus, on the other hand, liked his minions brainless – if one wanted to win his favour, one just had to take his orders without question. Heron had thought many times about this, but in the end, it all came down to the fact that he had to act as an example for his men; and he couldn't account for any of them being tortured and eventually killed just because they might accidentally blurt out what he himself only dared to think. And, at last, maybe he was all wrong. Maybe it was heresy, and maybe he'd be punished with oblivion in the end.
Still, what the man before him said stirred something in his mind. He had asked himself time and again on this horrible mission, why the abbot had sent them into the lions lair, well knowing it would most probably be their last ride – honestly, Perlesvaus, as well as Heron himself, perfectly knew there were no such things like miracles. Maybe the abbot had known, somehow, about Lady Aina being here, but if that was so, why hadn't he told him?

And speaking of Aina... how come she was here? What if she really was collaborating with the enemy? The rumours about her being a witch were strong, indeed. Cassilda always refused to talk about the issue, but Heron could not help himself but think that silence meant consent. And if those facts were true, which role did the old Lord of Teshwan play in it all? Did he even know of his daughter being on enemy's grounds? Heron couldn't imagine the sly old fox not knowing about the whereabouts of one of his daughters. True, in a way they had been a disappointment for him, but still he cared for them, everybody knew it. And, in all the long years he now ruled over Donil, he had set much store by knowing about every tiny thing that was going on in his lands. Heron had known Uriens of Teshwan since he was a child, and he could not imagine that his father-in-law had changed in the last few devae since he had seen him last – too much was the old lord like his own father.

It was another bead of sweat running into his eye that made him snap out of his thoughts at last, back to those pitiless green eyes that were still fixing him, waiting for his answer. The look on the other one's face showed that he knew what was going on in Herons mind, without even using his dark and evil powers. Heron felt a sudden surge of anger washing over him. In a way, he wished he could just have been killed by those heathen bastards, saving him the embarrassment of being read like an open book.
“So... what dost thou say, Lord Lochlann?”, the green-eyed prompted him.
“What about my men?”, he asked in return, meeting the younger one's gaze now steadily. For a fleeting moment before Wallace averted his gaze, Heron thought he saw uncertainty in those eyes.

Aye, what about those damned White Knights? Wallace had to make a decision.
:: Do what thou thinks' best .::
Wallace paused. Saraquael . . .Her thought came to him so clearly, almost as though it had been his own. He was bewildered at her cheek, but more so her power: she was aware of his dilemma; she was close to him, all the time; yet only prompted now that he wished it so dearly.
“Thy men will be safe--for as long as thou dos' my bidding.“ All at once, those eyes fixed him clear and hard anew. “Take lady Aina to her Sir father; travel in secrecy, use coaxing or pull a few strings if thou cans'--if she reaches' Eilean Donil, safe and sound . . . thy men shall have safe-conduct to our borders.“

“And how wilt thou know..?”, Heron began and immediately rued the question. He didn't really want to know to what his evil magic enabled this man... to know a simple fact was, most probably, one of the lesser feats of his powers, he assumed.
Wallace seemed to read his face right, for he didn't even bother to answer. He just looked at him with a wry smile and nodded. Let the pious fool think his powers were such – he didn't need to know Wallace's means to know things.
Heron thought about the deal. It sounded fair to him, but how could he trust this man – this foe? On the other hand, he didn't really have a choice. Better to take the word of this midlander, than seeing his men hang, no? He was in no position to claim anything.
“Alright”, he sighed, looking up again and right into Wallace's eyes. “I don't know why thou wantst Lady Aina sent to her father, but I think it's the place she belongs. I'll take her home, thou le'st my men go.” - 'And if thou break'st thy word, this means war...', his grey eyes seemed to say.