The cat purrs, it's whiskers twitching happily as it rolls onto it's back, tail twitching. The reviewers gaze upon it's soft fur, giving a soft "awww" sound.
Behind the reviewer's back, LF slinks in near the back, white flag waving overhead.
They catch sight of her, and she runs.
Disclaimer: Nah, don't own. Did I mention I like hurting Will?
Chapter Dedication: To all those who have been wondering what Horace is up to...
Author's Note: A little anti-climatic, but these two POV's don't stick well. If you want my sad, pleading explanation, please see my final author's note.
A QUESTION OF HONOR
Chapter Four
"The Stirring of the South"
Pauline's message had been urgent, sent as a warning to the knight. Will's poisoning had been immediate. Both events that had caused those two things were out of Horace's control.
But this was.
Times like this alarmed the knight, when he allowed the anger to provoke fear in the helpless stranger in front of him. No- this stranger wasn't helpless, Horace reminded himself.
He was a servant of the night.
The Oakleaf Knight shifted slightly, moving his knee just enough to cause his sword hilt to become apparent to the servant's view. It was a casual gesture, one Halt had spent hours drilling into Horace. Alarm your enemy without making it look like you're trying. Be casual, and it only frightens him more.
"The other night you didn't seem willing to talk to me," Horace began, remembering words Halt had told him to speak in the past. Horace paused as he altered them slightly, his eyes not falling on the small, weasel-like man before him, but instead roving the tables around him. "Too many witnesses perhaps? Or too little?"
The weasel- Horace had difficulty thinking of him as anything else- flinched and widened his eyes. He was terrified now, but Horace realized something was amiss. The man's fear seemed to grow as Horace ignored his indecision, but then the cause of that terror became evident.
The weasel fell to the ground, gasping for breath as a stain of blood became apparent on his clothes, the gleaming metal of an iron blade still embedded in his back.
Just as casually as Horace had been acting moments before, a man, tall and dark-attired, slid into the seat across from Horace, his face twisting as he beheld the young warrior. The tables had turned.
"I heard you're looking for news on the events in the south," something about this new stranger screamed distrust. Horace narrowed his eyes slightly, and gave the smallest elevation of the head.
Game on.
Pauline rose reagally from her chair, looking down at the assembled nobles. Her eyes flickered briefly as they squabbled, then narrowed slightly as a cool smile slid onto her face. "Quiet," she ordered, her well-trained voice slipping through the room.
"You know why we are here," she stated simply, giving Crowley a reproaching look as he rested his grimy boots on the centuries old table. "We are here because rumors of Morgarath have reached our ears."
"Morgarath is dead," Baron Ergell, the Lord of Seacliff, snapped, crossing his arms as he glared first at Pauline, then at Crowley, who very obviously crossed his right boot over the left and quirked a single eyebrow at the noble, who remained silent. Wise of him, Pauline thought.
"Dead as a doornail," Crowley agreed cheerfully. "I'm not-" the Ranger glanced at Pauline and edited what he was about to say. "Refuting that. But the fact remains- rumors of Morgarath not heard in years are spreading like wildfire."
"He's dead Crowley!" One noble stood and slammed a fist on the table, his face flushing with fury. Pauline saw Baron Arald wince at the damage at the king's table. "You're stuck in the past. You can't stand the failure and shame of letting a half-bit apprentice warrior kill a feared warlord! You want to reaffirm your position as a warrior. But you can't though- you're too decrepit and senile to even let a younger Ranger, or a knight, take your place."
That was going too far, Pauline noted. Even she felt the urge to banish the noble from the room instantly. Pauline cleared her throat, drawing the table's attention as she caught her bearings and smoothed away any hint of anger.
"Gentlemen, Council," she swept through the room so that she stood before the elevated platform, looking easily down at the long table that seated the war council. "Are we children so easily turned on each other by the name of a dead man? We are not here to air old grievances, but to unite against an outside threat."
"And what threat is that?" Sir Rodney asked, right on cue.
It was Crowley's turn to preform. Pauline transferred her unwavering gray gaze onto the Ranger's face. Crowley sighed audibly, his eyes mischievous, his face grim. Pauline watched him, amused, as he swung one leg off the table then let the other dusty boot slide off, leaving clear traces of grime behind. Pauline's amusement gathered as the king winced slightly.
"Perhaps I spoke wrongly, my good friends," Let Pauline not be the one to say that Crowley smiled coldly at Baron Ergell, "I believe I should have said Morgarath's monsters, not the man himself. I'm speaking of the Kalkara, of course," Crowley sounded shocked at the flabbergasted expressions, as though the conclusion was obvious to the simplest fool. "You couldn't have thought there were only three, could you?"
Pauline switched her eyes to the King. If he wasn't on board with them, as the more nautical Araluens liked to say, they lost any chance at making a preemptive strike against the warrior who had dredged up a horror they thought they had exterminated. The King looked about to speak, but the indignant noble from earlier piped up.
"The Kalkara. Are you so desperate to remain empowered that you dreg up old legends? There were only three Kalkara, two of whom were slain by your Ranger's, Crowley."
Oh dear. Things were about to get bloody.
If there was any positive thing in the mess, it was that her dear husband wasn't here, Pauline reflected. As firmly rooted in denial as the baron was, it would not be productive to throw him into a moat. Satisfying as it may be, not at all productive.
"My Rangers, I believe you mean, Baron. The Kalkara used to be considered legends. Every legend has a grain of truth." The speaker wasn't unexpected, nor entirely unwelcome. Pauline watched wearily as the room's gazes transferred to the king. "However, Baron Ergell raises a valid inquiry. Why have the Kalkara returned?"
Crowley rose in a fluid motion, drawing an arrow from his quiver and walking around the table. On the table lay a large map of the kingdom, which Crowley examined critically. After a long pause, the head of the Ranger Corps stabbed his arrow into the mountains straddling the lower coastline. For a moment, the council was silent then questions erupted.
"Morgarath's Platau?"
"What in the King's good name would they want there?"
"Why are we just hearing about this?"
"How-"
"Silence," The King's voice cut through the chatter, causing a heavy silence to fall. "Ranger Crowley, elaborate."
Crowley stood loosely at attention, and if Pauline didn't know better, she would swear her life that he was resisting the urge to grin. He seemed successful however, so his expression resembled the face of a man drinking curdled milk before he sobered.
"Six days ago, Ranger Will Treaty was attacked," Crowley's voice echoed through the room, and a few murmurings spread through the room. Will was mostly well liked, and the nobles seemed aghast at the young Ranger's attack. "He was also poisoned." Crowley watched the room intently as a murmuring spread through the room, the assembled fief-lords whispering anxiously to one another.
"Will Treaty-"
"attacked?"
"-by poison. They don't think-"
"-the Kalkara, were they involved?" Lord Orman's voice, while not as commanding as the king's grabbed Crowley's attention. Looking as though he was slightly seething over the interruption, Crowley narrowed his eyes at the assembly until silence fell once again.
Pauline raised an eyebrow slightly. Children, the lot of them.
"We believe so," Crowley admitted heavily, and Pauline bit her lip at the admission of vulnerability. The Rangers were normally aware of almost everything going on within the country. If they were only just becoming aware of it, the kingdom was in serious trouble. "The arrow that struck the Ranger Will Treaty was poisoned with the film-like substance that coats the Kalkara's hair."
Pauline bit her lip in surprise. She wasn't the only one astounded by this bold proclamation, even if she was one of the few who concealed her reaction. The room once again began to burst into noise, but the king quickly rose, subsiding the queries and questions.
"I take it he has yet to recover?" the King looked slightly weary, but Pauline doubted any of the nobles would pick that up. Perhaps it was concern for Will, or at the very least, worries over Princess Cassandra's reaction.
"No. He has regained consciousness only twice, and is in no condition to speak to a Council," Crowley agreed, bristling somewhat as he began to speak the rest of his prepared speech. "Sir Horace- I believe called the Oakleaf Knight these days- was sent to speak with a man who may be willing to disclose information. However, his return is not expected for another week."
Perhaps 'speech' was too strong a word. Monologue, maybe.
"Anyway," Crowley gave a lopsided grin. "Our esteemed Halt, no, we're not stopping anywhere-" that was directed to a younger noble, one who looked slightly confused. "-The Ranger Halt. The one who's six feet tall and can kill a bear with a hit to the snout," the noble's expression cleared up then.
Yes, speech was far too strong a word, as was monologue. Ramble?
"-Has a plan of action, a course of resolve, if you may. Unfortunately, none of you need to know that plan, so I guess you'll have to wait like the rest of the plebeians out there. Any further questions, Your Majesty?"
"Dismissed, Ranger Head Crowley." The King inclined his head to Crowley, then to Pauline. "Lady Pauline? Kindly accompany him, and see to it that you have a Scribe record his full report."
Pauline gave a curtsy before following Crowley out, her eyes shadowed as she remained deep in thought. For a while, the only sound was the rustling of her skirts, but then she spoke a single, cutting word.
"Plan?" She asked.
Crowley flashed her a grin, one which she almost reprimanded him for. She restrained herself however, simply because she had known him long enough to be aware of how little good it would serve.
"I'm sure Halt's come up with something, but what he's thought of, I have no idea."
Liar, Pauline sighed, but didn't call him out for it.
"All I know is that he's armed, and riding for the south like a horde of demons is chasing his tail. I'm sure Gilan knows."
"Drop the act Crowley," Pauline told him sternly. She could afford to, in private like this. "What is Halt up to?"
"Officially? He's investigating the man daft enough to launch a strike at the Rangers. Unofficially? I believe he's on the warpath."
Oh dear, Pauline reflected. Hopefully Halt didn't do anything too darastic.
Her hopes weren't overly high though.
A/N: Run from the chapter that reads like the piece of shit it is! I'm looking for a pre-reader, so if you're willing to let me know what you think of my chapters ahead of time, let me know.
Erm, pardon my friends.
Explanation: Sick. Regionals. Sick. Make-up work. City Championships. Sick. State. English class. Then update. Thus the lack of update. Sorry? -runs from flowerpots being thrown- But honestly, most of this was composed with a 100+ degree + fever, so it might make no sense. Should I go back over and edit this?
SonicTeamCE thedarkscareslittlekids Pendragon P. a s s i o n Esmeralda Diana Parker RoMythe Anaduri Gord and V Herz Von Silber IsabellaLynette Moonfrost127 DeltoraQuestLover Shadowfire2397 Cheerfully Blue dolphin12145 Joyous Red Gummybear SpazyTyper fairyberry Eline
And to the gal who left an obnoxious anon review that was therefore deleted: (LaughterKills101) Fanfiction is not my life. I try to update as much as possible, however, I appreciate it if you understand the distraction of Doctor Who, as well as the demands of an all-Honors schedule. I also have work, just got through with swimming, and while I appreciate your eagerness for a new chapter, if you want to talk to me, I appreciate the use of an actual account, so I can speak with you in private instead of posting this on here.
NEXT CHAPTER:
We get to see Papa-bear Halt, distressed Gilan, and some Will-whumpage. And perhaps another cameo by Horace.
Updates will be MONTHLY: I swear on my blood. Even if I have to stay up until midnight the last night of the month.
POLL: Please vote on my profile on pairings- and no, they will NOT be mushy, if I put them in at all. It's a "Just in Case" idea.
CROWLEY BEHAVIOR EXPLANATION: I love that guy. He might seem a little OOC, but that's how I see him- balances out grim ol' Halt. I imagine him wanting to play up the drama, for a little politics. He needs the backings on this he can get. But he's also downplaying the drama, as will be revealed... besides, who said he had to tell the public everything? Dear old Crowley's acting the fool so they don't realize what's going on behind the scenes.
BARON ERGELL: He's the idiot Seacliff noble that nearly got the fief slaughtered in book 5.
PAULINE'S POV: Never again. Too much structure in her speech.
MY BLOG: Whenever I feel like an updates taking too long, I post an excerpt on my blog for y'all. The links on my profile for when you get impatient. ALSO! I post outtakes, quotes, and chapter info on there for fun.
Please review? If only so I know you either despise me/forgive me.
Whoa. That was a long A/N.
