The stablemaster trailed nervously behind Kall-Su as he drifted from stall to stall, touching a velvety nose here, scratching under a forelock there as the bolder stable denizens thrust their heads over stall doors to get a bit of attention.
"The mare you brought from Thaldiea gave foal three weeks ago." The stablemaster said and Kall wondered down the row to see the mother and foal. Chestnut mare. White foal. The sire had been his favorite. The one killed by Angelo at the western mountains. Killed because he had been too distracted by mundane battle to pay attention to what was happening on the arcane level. If he'd been paying attention, he might have erected a better shield.
He pushed away from the stall and curtly told the stablemaster to saddle a mount. He wanted out from behind the walls of castle and city. He was tired of the stares. The concern or the fear or the speculation in people's eyes when they looked at him. Like they expected him to fly into a rage, or perform some unpredictable act or --- shatter.
A stableboy led the horse out for him. He scratched a ticking muscle in a thick furred shoulder. With spring coming on, that coat would turn glossy and thin. There was shedding now, hair coming loose at his touch, coating his glove. He brushed it off on his thigh and pulled himself up into the saddle. He was at the castle gate, the gate guard throwing him strident salutes when Kiro came pelting up on foot behind him, calling for him to wait. Impatient and knowing full well what was on his captain of the guard's mind, he turned and stared blackly over his shoulder.
"My lord, let me arrange escort." Kiro was out of breath and red faced.
"No." Kall-Su said simply.
"But, my lord --you're not even armed." Plaintive, highly displeased tone in his captain's voice. As if a sword would make a difference against an enemy unimpressed by magic.
"No." He did not wait for further argument, but urged his mount forward, kicked it into a canter that distanced him from gate and guard captain in short order. Out into the city, which was bustling with people on such a bright day. The ironshod hooves of his horse created a cadence upon the cobblestone streets. No one accosted him, or stared and pointed out that their lord passed through them. He went hardly noticed at all, save for those who had to shift out of the path of his mount. He was not dressed today to impress, but rather to blend. Simple brown and tan, like any soldier or woodsman might wear. Even the guards at the outer gate did not give him much heed. No more than they would anyone riding out past their watch. They would give more scrutiny on the way back in.
The ground was muddy and slush covered. Tough, yellowed grasses starting to stretch their heads towards the sun. The rain last night had melted a good deal of the remaining snow. It clung in stubborn patches here and there, holding out more firmly against the distant horizon where the northern mountains loomed. He rode that way, veering off of the very muddy track used by wagons and sleds that led to the northern forest. He had no wish to be mud spattered from the knees down and trusted the soggy, grass more than the water filled pot holes of the road. There were sheep and the shaggy cattle that thrived in the north dotting the plain to the west. The herders were quick to take advantage of snow free grazing land to fatten up animals kept in runs during the harshest part of the winter. There were boys out there keeping watch, for no self respecting herder would trust his herd to safety when then passes to the north opened and the nomads from across the mountains drifted down into more civilized lands to see what fruit was ripe for the taking. The stablemaster would put the horses out to pasture soon enough as well. The stables had been full of agitated snorts and shifting, nervous bodies. They could smell spring in the air and wanted out. The horse under him was practically bouncing with its desire to stretch its legs. He gave it its head and the walls of the city shrank behind him.
The forest line grew. As did a cluster of moving darkness on the trail. A large party traveling towards the city. Traders down from the mountains with furs, mined treasures, hard to come by winter roots and delicate spring shoots only available in certain places in the high ranges. He thought to avoid them, to ride by off the side of the road and just let them pass, for had the whole purpose of this foray been to escape from all things human? But the practical part of his mind wondered if the northern passes were open and had these merchants seen signs of bandits or nomads from the Tundra. All things he should have been vastly interested in during the active time of spring thaw. He had to force himself to find an interest in them now. Had to force himself to guide his horse closer to the track as the distance separating him from them closed.
His eye reflexively counted twenty riders. No wagons or sleds, but their tough, small mountain ponies laden with bundles of furs and skins. They were armed. He saw that when they were within a few hundred yards. Knives and swords and the occasional ax. Trappers were a surly lot, and dangerous, but did not usually travel in packs, nor so heavily armed.
One of them hailed him. He did not lift a hand in return, merely reined in his horse off the track and let them approach. Two riders split from the group and met him. The others mulled in the road, all dark eyed and irascible.
"Are the gates to the city open for trade?" One of the men asked. Scarred badly on the right side of his face, dark skinned, a fallacious smile twisting his lips. The smell was putrid. The other one circled Kall's horse like a wolf sizing up prey. That one he ignored.
"It is." He said. The gate guard would not let them pass with such an assortment of cutlery. The gate guard might be wise not to let them pass at all. Not trappers at all, he thought. More like predators down from the heights.
"What passes are open?" he asked.
The two exchanged dark looks. "The lower Aldritch. The upper is still snowbound. The Creniin is passable for a brave man. Another few weeks and most will be open. Now answer me a question, boy. Are the rumors true?"
Kall lifted a brow. "Which?"
"That Sta-Veron lost its lord?"
"No."
"That's good, then." The scarred man laughed. His stench was beginning to become intolerable. "We've business to discuss."
Kall did not care at the moment to know what sort of business. Bandits. He was quite certain of it. And bandit politics at this time held no interest for him. He waved a hand towards the city, started to rein away. "Fine. Then you wish to be about it, then."
The one that had been circling him moved his horse into Kall's path. "He has an attitude, Dreze. And him not even armed."
Kall met that one's eyes. Dark, animal eyes filled with the purely human need to feel powerful over others. This was man who killed not for gain, but to see the brief moment of utter fear on the faces of his victims. And all he saw in Kall was the facade of youth, the lack of proper defense, an obvious distaste for him and his. Kall perceived it in a glance and held back the desire to kill the man on the spot.
"Thuron." The other, Dreze, said. "Not now."
Thuron smiled at him, revealing rotting, chipped teeth. Aside from killing him outright, Kall-Su did the thing that would most wound him. He ignored his presence entirely and rode around him, not even looking back. A few low murmurs behind him. The rattle of tack as the party gathered itself and continued on down the muddy track.
Bandits who wanted to parlay. They always wanted one thing or another. Some concession here or there that they never learned he would not give. Let Kiro deal with it. And rumors sped faster than horses if the one about his capture had managed to reach the ears of bandits hidden in the northern heights in so short a while. It was a wonder they hadn't been razing the villages in the north mountains if they thought he was gone.
He kept towards the forest at a leisurely cantor, entered the shadow and shade of age old pine and evergreen where sound was muffled and the world was less harsh than it had been on the featureless plain. There was still a good amount of snow on the ground under the cover of evergreen canopy. Birdsong trilled here and there. The winter birds sparring for territory with the first of the migrating vagrants that flew up from lands unknown to summer here. It was peaceful here. He pushed thoughts of the bandits in the thin guise of trappers out of his mind. The cloying unease of the last several days begin to fade. Don't think of anything but the motion of the horse and the smells of a forest awakening to spring and the sounds of unobtrusive nature.
There was a spring through the forest, an hour's ride into the trees that he thought to make his goal. It had flat rocks surrounding it and water that tasted so pure that folk carted barrels of it back to Sta-Veron. He dismounted when he reached the little glade and let the reins fall. The horse wondered over to the spring and stuck its nose in to nosily slurp cold water. Kall stepped onto the rocks. Found a perch near the edge and settled down. The spring was fed from water trickling down the rocks from a mountainous source to the north. It was shallow and clear, its bottom lined with small, polished rocks. He pulled one knee up and rested his chin upon it. No pressure. No disgrace existed here. No expectations to live up to, when he just couldn't anymore. That was the worst part. The fact that all of them, from the lowliest guardsman to Schneider looked at him and expected something of him. Different things, granted, but they all wanted to see something that told them he was all right. The same. And he didn't think he was and didn't know whether he ever could be. It wasn't that he believed all the things that Angelo had slipped into his mind, it wasn't that he agreed with them in the light of sanity and reason. It was that he had allowed himself to accept them at all. That he had let it all overwhelm him in the first place. Schneider wouldn't have. Schneider would have laughed in Angelo's face, regardless of the pain and the humiliation. Gara probably would have done the same. But, he, who had spent so much time working to expand his magic, to learn the secrets of the arcane, found that without it as a crutch, he crumbled. How had Schneider managed without it all the time he'd had Angelo's wards on his wrists?
He pulled the other knee up, miserable now that his thoughts had betrayed the peace of this place. He had failed so badly to live up to his own expectations -- his own standards that he held for himself -- it just didn't seem worth it to try and rebuild the impervious, imperious face he had always worn. The one reflected in the spring just looked haunted and vulnerable. He looked away from it. Another reason to hate himself.
The shadows began to shift. The afternoon slipped into evening. The light was fading and it would be full dark before he got back to Sta-Veron. Kiro would be frantic. He rode back, in no particular haste to return. The gates were closed for the night, and torches flared along the walls.
"Lord Kall-Su?" A voice called down and Kall figured that Kiro had appraised the gate guard to be on the anticipate his return. He looked up so they could see him, and heard them scrambling to open the gates. He rode past with all of their eyes on his back and through the city proper until he had to go through the same thing at the inner gates of the castle.
The stablemaster came out himself to take the horse, inspecting the muddy legs as soon as Kall had dismounted as if he had ridden it hard over treacherous ground instead of merely through mud and muck. He was spattered with it himself. He had barely started towards the castle when Kiro came pelting out, the vast look of relief on his face quickly replaced by one of discontent. Kall most strenuously did not wish to be lectured like a tardy child and was about to say as much when his captain said.
"We've bandits in the city, my lord. Emissary's of Velo Hran himself."
Kall lifted a brow, pulling off his gloves as he walked, Kiro fast at his side. "I thought he was killed two winters ago."
"As did I. But it appears he was in the Tundra playing diplomat with the nomads."
"Diplomat? That's a far stretch. What does he want?"
"He sent one of his brothers. He wouldn't say exactly, claims he will only parlay with you, but I've the impression Velo Hran has formed an alliance with some of the nomads and has set his sites on expanding his territory. There was also some reference to another of his brothers being murdered last winter by a wizard in your employ, while he was peacefully hunting." Kiro sounded rightfully scornful.
A wizard in his employ? The incident at the lake where Schneider had decided to get creative. Wonderful. His head was beginning to pound. He waved a hand negligently at Kiro and told him to arrange it, then climbed up the main steps as the captain hurried away. He pulled the door open with one hand and rubbed the bridge of his nose with the other, thinking this was a headache magic would not wish away. He was a step into the door when he looked up and found the girl hesitating before him, so close he could smell the fragrance of whatever scent she had used to wash her hair. Lavender, he thought. She was clutching a lute to her chest, very obviously on her way out the doors he had stepped in from. He was very obviously blocking her path to the outside. For a brief moment she stared up at him, sliver of face between the straight hair, all dark eyes and slightly parted lips. Then she looked down, and the hair fell to hide her features. She made a quick little curtsy, proper deference, and tried to scoot around him and escape outside. As if she were afraid of him.
He forced himself to take a step and then another because he did not know how to deal with the catch in his throat and the erratic beating of his heart. It was easier to just walk away. The door shut behind him.
The talk spread through the castle, from garrison to kitchen. The bandit Velo Hran was alive, and everyone had thought him dead two winter's past, shot through the heart by Sta-Veron soldiers. Apparently not. Apparently he'd been stirring trouble to the north and now came to Sta-Veron's doorstep demanding favors. Bandit's were an uppity lot. If they weren't trying to slit your throat in the night, they were trying to rob you under your nose while convincing you it was their god given right.
That was the talk among the servants at any rate. The talk in the garrison was considerably darker, as men contemplated a spring flood of raids among the villages and outposts to the north. Bandits weren't half as bad as nomads, who hadn't a shred of human decency among the lot of them and the thoughts of the two banding together had many a brave man shaking his head in consternation over what the future might hold.
Keitlan knew all the details -- at least the details of the gossip and she was not hesitant to share them to any willing to listen. She burst into Yoko's room with an armful of linen and a hefty burden of speculation to share and found the girl only half dressed and it being the middle of the day. Then she discovered that Yoko was not alone. That Wizard was reclining upon her bed and he wasn't dressed at all. Even a honest woman couldn't help but stare. Yoko let out a little sound and snatched a sheet across his hips, since he seemed disinclined to bother. He smiled lazily at Keitlan. Keitlan blushed. Yoko did.
"Good morning, Keitlan." Yoko finished lacing her tunic and held out her arms for the linens.
"Afternoon is more like it." Keitlan refused to be intimidated by that silver haired seducer of young woman -- and middle aged -- and old if you counted Cook's infatuation, and went to put the linens away herself.
"Oh, it's early yet. Perhaps we should stay in." He purred to Yoko, who cast him an irritated glare and motioned him to be quiet.
"The castle's bursting with speculation over the bandits come to see his lordship." One had to get a little of the gossip out, even if the wizard was making her fidgety.
"What bandits?" Yoko asked innocently.
Keitlan frowned. "Goodness gracious girl, if you left your room more often you'd hear what's going on. Does your father know what you're about with this --- debaucher?"
Yoko opened her mouth.
The Wizard cut her off. "If he doesn't and there is a god, then please let me be the one to tell him. In detail."
Yoko glared again.
"What bandits, Keitlan?"
"Oh, from Velo Hran, who was supposed to be dead, with a treaty or somesuch nonsense for lord Kall-Su. The bandits have made some sort of compact with the nomads, which is no good news, let me tell you, and they're here to demand gods know what. And supposedly they're asking for retribution for Velo Hran's brother which that one --" and she pointed a finger towards the wizard. " --- killed last winter after the bandits left the bag of heads on our doorstep."
"Well, that certainly sounds entertaining." The wizard remarked, shifting on the bed in preparation of getting up. "When is all this bargaining and retribution supposed to take place?"
"This evening." Keitlan averted her eyes when he slipped off the bed and began looking for scattered clothes. Yoko smiled at her painfully as she ushered her towards the door.
"Modesty's not his best trait." She whispered just before she shut the door in Keitlan's face. The housemistress sniffed, thinking that it wasn't a trait he possessed at all. But one had to admit -- if ever a man didn't need it . . . .
Schneider sauntered into the great hall. There were more men at arms than usually occupied it mulling about. The tables had been pulled against the walls to open a space before the lord's table with had been moved to sit parallel before the great hearth. Kall-Su was no where to be seen. Captain Kiro was in evidence, though, giving orders to a group of his men by the door. Gara was also loitering by the fire, a cup of something in his hand. They met eyes briefly, before Schneider lifted one brow and decided to ignore him.
Every one seemed on edge and merely because a overzealous bandit lord got the bright idea to unite factions. Waste of time. Bandits and nomads, by nature did not work well as a concerted force. It wouldn't last. The only reason he bothered to come down at all, was because he was curious to see how Kall would deal with it. Curious to see whether he had his poise back. And of course to see just what retribution was expected of him for the supposed death of this bandit leader's brother. He assumed it had been one of the men in the cave that had been unfortunate enough to attack him instead of cowering in supplication like rational beings.
A guard burst through the doors and spoke to Kiro, who waved his men into positions against the wall. Maybe twenty guards at attention. Schneider leaned against the wall to watch. The doors opened and another few guards escorted six rough, fur and leather clad men into the hall. The reek of them immediately drifted through the air, as if the leathers they wore had been freshly killed and improperly cleaned, or more likely, they hadn't seen fit to wash their flesh since fighting free of their mother's womb. They were unarmed, aside from the offensiveness of the odor and belligerently fearless despite that. They stood in the center of the hall and one of them loudly demanded to know where Kall-Su was. Kiro looked like he wanted to just slice them down on the spot and said between gritted teeth that Lord Kall-Su would meet them at his convenience. To which the spokesman bandit replied that they had better things to do than waste their time in this hall. There was very likely to be violence before Kall ever decided to show up.
Then he did. Came down the stairs very austerely made up. Very business like high necked black tunic, very shiny black boots, the only ornamentation the gold clasp of his cloak. You'd never know to look at him that he hadn't been born of the bluest blood on the continent. He strode past Schneider, with just a flicker of his eyes that held a warning not to interfere. Schneider shrugged and stayed where he was. Kall-Su walked around the table, the center of everyone's attention and sat down in the central, high backed chair.
The bandits were gaping at him, one of them even going so far as to take a step forward and point an accusing finger.
"You!" the loud one said.
Kall fixed him with that icy glare that came so naturally and waited for the bandit to say something more informative. The bandits collected themselves, and the spokesman straightened his shoulders and declared.
"I am Thuron Hran, brother of the great Velo Hran and I come bearing his tidings."
The bandit, Thuron Hran paused, as if waiting to see if Kall-Su would respond. He didn't. Just sat there and stared unwaveringly at the man. Silence tended to unnerve an adversary and Kall had always been so much damned better at maintaining it than Schneider ever had. This bandit was full of himself and his self importance though and refused to be intimidated.
"What? No warm welcome for your friends to the north?"
A moment more of silence, then Kall-Su said softly. "You came to me. State your business."
The bandit sneered. The men behind him shifted. Kiro did. Schneider thought Kall-Su had seen more diplomatic days.
"You thought you had killed him, but Velo Hran is blessed by the deus of the cold north. He has forged a union between the tribes of nomads that wonder the endless Tundra and the bandit clans of the north. He has become supreme chieftain among the nomads and the clans."
"I have no interest in the Tundra." Kall said. "Why gift me with this news? Does he wish to boast his accomplishments?"
"No." Thuron hissed. "He wishes to reestablish borders. The northern mountains and all within them shall be our lands."
Kiro made a little choking sound of fury. Kall didn't say anything.
"You will recognize him as lord of those lands and there shall be compensation for crimes done against us. For the murder of our beloved brother."
Thuron conveniently forgot to mention the sack of heads. Schneider began to quietly walk along the wall towards the table.
"The execution of bandits is not a crime." Kall said softly.
"He and his men were peacefully hunting when your evil sorcerer attacked and killed all but one of his party."
Kall glanced aside as Schneider casually slipped around the table and draped himself over a chair, one leg swinging idly across the chair arm.
"Would you like his head?" he inquired and motioned towards Schneider. "Feel free to try and take it."
Schneider smiled at them all. One of the bandits stumbled backwards, eyes glued to him, whispering harshly. "That's him. That's him that did it."
Schneider did not recall the face, but the fellow was missing a hand and one could assume from the expression and the tone that it was the man he had let live to take warnings back to his fellows. Thuron Hran lifted a hand and the man shut up.
"My brother is a reasonable man. He offers you this chance for peace. The northern mountains will be ours one way or the other. And who would be so fool hardy as to try and take a wizard's head? Twenty horses and a thousand pieces of gold will be due recompense."
Schneider laughed. He couldn't help it, it was so ridiculous a demand. Kall didn't blink. "It seems," he finally said. "That you've wasted your time. You may take my refusal back to Velo Hran."
Thuron's face twisted in anger. He stalked to the table and slammed his palms down. "There are villages in those mountains that will pay for your stubborn greed. They would willingly pledge to Velo given the chance. You've lost face, Ice Lord. The rumors spread even to the high north of your weakness. You were taken by an enemy and have lost honor - - "
He got that last word out on a choked breath. The ice started at his fingers and spread up his body like a quicksilver infection. Within one breath and the next a warm, breathing man had turned into an icy corpse. Kall pushed his chair back from the table with a violence. The movement caused the frozen Thuron Hran to topple backwards. He shattered on the floor. Every weapon in the room came up. The bandits were crying out in rage and fear, even as guards descended upon them to keep them in one controllable knot.
Kall-Su stabbed a finger at them, all composure fled, his eyes flashing with rage and Schneider thought, some small bit of consternation. "If one of my villages is attacked, I will personally send every bandit in those mountains to hell. You may take that back to Velo Hran."
He whirled on Kiro and ordered. "Get them out of my city. Now. Take what precautions you deem necessary."
"Well," Gara came up between Kall-Su and Schneider. "This should make for an interesting summer."
Kall glared at him, then stalked off. Schneider glanced up at him lazily. "Are you planing on staying?"
"I don't know what I'm planning. Does it matter to you?"
"Only as far as Arshes is concerned."
"I don't make her plans for her."
"Hummm." He swung his leg off the chair arm and rose. Gara stepped back a step warily, which was somewhat satisfying, but not nearly as much as finishing the fight they'd begun a few days past would have been. But of course Yoko would have fits and Arshes probably would and today he just didn't feel the need to kill Gara as badly as he had then. Bruise him a little maybe, but not see him dead. For the time being he preferred finding and cornering Kall to sparring with Gara, so he abandoned the Ninja Master to the room full of edgy guards and followed Kall-Su upstairs.