Kall, predictably enough, was pacing in his study. Looking spooked and angry and miserable all at the same time. He glared when Schneider strolled in and spat.
"I don't want to hear it."
"Hear what, prey tell?" Schneider asked innocently. "That I think their offer of twenty horses and a thousand pieces of gold was getting off cheap compared to my head. I'm worth so much more than that."
Kall stared, then hissed through his teeth and went to stand at the side of the window, pressing his forehead against the stone frame. "I handled that badly."
"Nonsense. You did fine. I was highly entertained."
"I didn't do it to entertain you." Kall snapped, then took a breath to get his emotions under control and added in a calmer voice. "He took me off guard."
"I know. Its okay. What're a few bandits on the warpath?"
"Sneaky and infiltrative and a damned nuisance. And I don't want to deal with it. I can not deal with it now."
That last was plaintive and desperate enough to make Schneider wary. He moved over to lean against the window sill, where he could see Kall's face.
"All right." He said carefully. "Then don't. Take off and let Kiro deal with them. He's competent enough. Nobody says you have to be tied down here forever. Forever is too long. Go somewhere and get your head straight. You're due."
"I can't."
"You can do whatever you want. You're the second best sorcerer in the world." He meant it to be amusing. Kall turned his cheek to the wall and stared at him mournfully.
"Am I?"
Schneider frowned. He had not thought of Angelo in a while. Did not want to think of him now, because the last week had been blissfully happy, aside from a few minor incursions. Kall still thought about him though, that was painfully clear. Maybe bandits from the north threatening Sta-Veron territories were not a bad thing. Maybe such an infraction would distract from darker, more painful things. And bandit chasing in the spring and summer had to be preferable to doing it in the dead of winter. It might even be amusing. He didn't say such a thing though. There were certain things he had the restraint to be tactful with. Outright manipulation when Kall was not at his best was one of them. Suggesting that the brutal attack of bandits and nomads might be an amusing diversion from other problems was another. Kall had too much of a sense of responsibility for Sta-Veron to take that nicely.
"It doesn't count if all your power's stolen. And even then --- I don't know."
Kall-Su shook his head, wanting away from the subject. "I passed them on the road yesterday and knew they were bad omens to something and just didn't care. I should have killed them all."
"Probably." Schneider agreed. "I would have. It would have done wonders to shore up your reputation."
"Which is badly in need of repair." Kall agreed morosely, then pushed off from the wall and took a few frustrated steps into the room. "That they would dare to come to me and make such demands! Did they think I would just docile allow it?"
"Probably not. But it was gutsy. A very obvious show of antagonism, that this Velo Hran had the balls to approach you with such an outrageous list of demands. You make a move like that to bolster the spirit of your army -- even if it's an army of bandits and nomads."
Every maid that could squeeze into the space around the kitchen door to see through the crack they dared open it, or at the very least hear what was being said, did so. The lot of them pressed up against each other in their eagerness to observe dread goings on. It was a great excitement -- bandits bringing demands to Sta-Veron. Everyone knew of course, that no demand from a conniving bandit would be agreed to, and everyone wanted to see the rebuttal. So the serving girls gathered in the kitchen and jostled for position, changing places every once and a while so they all could see what faces the bandits that dared this castle and the ire of their lord looked like.
Lily found herself caught in amidst the furor. She had to admit to a certain curiosity, though it sprang more from the desire to see the lord of Sta-Veron than the bandits that braved it. She was one of the last to press her eye against the cracked door. She saw the backs of guards, the gathered assembly of rough looking men that stood in the floor before the long table. The high backs of chairs that hid their occupants from the view of the kitchen, until one of the bandits stalked forward and slammed his palms down onto the table top, dreadful words spewing from his lips. Then he hesitated, gasped with wide eyes and in no longer than it took for him to do that he was a frozen thing poised at the edge of the table.
She wanted to see no more. She wanted away from the door, but the press of girls behind her kept her there long enough to see Kall-Su jump up, his chair pushed backwards, and make a dire promise to the remaining bandits. She twisted and turned then, pushing through complaining maids to get away from the door and the terrible thing she had witnessed. A casual killing. Like something the Master might do. Too many times had she seen someone innocently offend him and him kill them on the spot. No thought. No remorse. She ran from the heat of the kitchen cookfires. Out into the yard where the wind blew laundry on the lines. No. She could not in all honesty equate him with the Master. He would not kill in cruelty. He would not take sadistic pleasure in the act. But he would kill. And he did it in a way that mortal, mundane men could not fathom or defend against.
It was a dangerous, deadly creature that filled her dreams. She was oh so certain of that now and wanted flight badly. Wanted an escape from this place where she found herself caged with him. A cage with an open door that she could step out of at any time, but not without braving the world outside unprepared. That scared her even more. Being a free woman and failing in the simple act of supporting and protecting herself.
She walked around the side of the castle, along the garrison wall and saw the guards bustling the surviving bandit's out of the courtyard. The garrison captain was barking orders and men were scattering at his commands, a great many of them following the group that had charge of the bandits.
She wrapped her arms about herself as men hurried this way and that, weapons clanking. She remembered his eyes last night, startled out of preoccupation, wide with honest surprise as he was confronted with her unexpected presence. Ah, God, he had the most bewitching eyes, snaring a body without him even meaning to do it. But she was good at distancing herself and had slipped free with a curtsy and a headlong rush out the door. But she couldn't escape the memory of it. And she wanted to, because she was afraid.
She could not stand to stay in the castle a moment longer this afternoon. She avoided Keitlan and further chores and slipped out the gates past the watchful, wary eye of the castle guard. Into the city and past the close by tavern she had been playing at. Further into the depths of Sta-Veron to prowl the other taverns looking for sign of other minstrels. Other travelers who were free to leave when they chose. She found them finally, drinking among themselves, not yet playing for the evening crowd that had yet to begin to fill the tavern. It was still early and they did nothing more than talk among themselves and casually tune instruments. Four young men. A lutest, a flute player, one with a small harp, the other who had a collection of wooden chimes and bells arranged before him. She recalled the sweetness of the music they made. Had listened one night, before she had gotten her own lute, for the entire time they'd played. Wistful and a little jealous that they had seen so many places. They told tales of the exotic courts they had visited. They spun litanies about great events witnessed or passed from harper to harper. It was their way to carry from city to city and town to town words of all the things men might wish to remember. Recollection fell to the harper since few men bothered to record history any more.
She wanted so badly to talk with them. To ask them a thousand things. To throw herself on their mercy and beg that when they left Sta-Veron they let her come with them. But all she could do was stand against the wall and rehearse all her desperate wants in her head, because to voice them might mean they would miraculously agree and as badly as she wanted to leave the pull to stay was as strong. But crueler by far.
"Well hello?"
She blinked and found one of the harpers looking up at her. A tall, lanky redhead whose attention drew the other's eyes towards her.
"Have we another of Allun's admirers here?" A shorter, tow headed one asked with a mischievous glint in his eyes. A handsome blonde who had been tuning a lute on his lap cast a perturbed glance at the other, then looked back to her and tilted his head.
"No, I think not. She's the girl who sings at the White Hare Tavern."
"So she is." The red head agreed and repeated his original greeting. "Hello there, pretty lady with the sweet voice. Is this a professional call?"
"I --- I came to see you play." She stammered.
"It's a bit early yet." The blonde called Allun said. "Sit down in the meanwhile."
She slipped forward, took a seat on the bench beside the redhead who grinned down at her. "Sta-Veron is sorely bereft of talented players. But one can hardly be surprised, as far from the beaten track as it is."
"But the money is good." The tow head said cheerfully. "And its not so bad in the spring."
"My name is Dell." The red head said. "This abrasive one is Thizura, the quiet one is Crayl and the pretty one is Allun."
The descriptions were apt enough to have the other three looking at Dell with unappreciative, wry stares. Lily blushed, uncomfortable among the easy familiarity.
"My name is Lily."
"Ah, appropriate." Dell said. "But a night variety I think. One whose petals only open with the kiss of moonlight."
He was a poet as well as a musician. The others rolled their eyes. Lily almost did.
"So, you travel with no company, Lily?" Dell asked.
"Did you see one with her when she sang?" Thizura asked archly.
"I asked her, not you."
"No." Lily said quietly to cut off the bickering. She did not know whether to be amused or aghast. "I -- am alone. I have not traveled with a company in a very long time."
"A woman by herself on the road ---" Allun shook his head warily. "Not a safe thing in any land."
She did not comment. Not willing to come out and beg for something she was not certain she could accept even if offered. They accepted her easily into their conversation, birds of feather. And she thought she might enjoy traveling among them. They were witty and open, talented and as most good minstrels were, conceited of their skills. She liked them. Dell made good natured passes at her. Thizura made as many to Allun, often leaning across to brush against the blonde, a hand here, a graze of lips there. It was clear what relationship the two of them shared. And Crayl, who was older than the others, sat and observed, only occasionally adding a comment to the general fray. But she sensed that he led them. She saw it in the calm serenity of his lined gray eyes, in the way that even Thizura paid attention on the event when he spoke.
"What company did you travel with?" It was Crayl who finally leaned across and asked her.
She spoke the name of the master of the company who had bought her in her youth. Crayl drew his brows. "How long were you with him?"
"A few years." She said hesitantly.
"I see. He taught you little."
"She sings like an angel." Dell defended her.
"Yes." Crayl agreed. "But she has other, unexplored talents."
Lily shivered. The other three looked at her as if she had suddenly turned blue.
"I think its time to strike up a tune." Thizura said, waving an arm at the tavern which over the last hour had started to fill with men finished with their day's labors.
They went to a space cleared by the hearth and began to play. The conversation lulled, men's attentions drawn by the smooth flow of music. They started with a long song about the rites of spring, the fertility of the ground and of women. It was a favorite northern anthem. Allun sang and the others joined in on the chorus. It was beautiful, but Lily found her mind wondering. What had Crayl meant? The same thing the Master had when he'd taken her? The same thing Yoko claimed to have sensed? And why would he have expected the master of a company of musicians to have taught her more than the ways of song?
Keitlan brought him his supper in the study and he could see on her face the overwhelming desire to berate him for closeting himself within its walls. Even his servants had grown complacent enough with his presence to dare and lecture him. He gave her a cold, dangerous stare while she stood with dialogue on the tip of her tongue, until she blanched and thought better of spewing it at him and backed away. There had been unease in her eyes, even a hint of fear. There had been a time when every servant in the castle had shown him fear. Now they barely remembered to show deference. Fear or lassitude. He did not know which he preferred. There seemed to be such a lack in proper middle ground. The one had almost driven him insane. The other would likely be his downfall if every enemy of his felt the same lack of respect that Helo Vran had exhibited.
He picked at his dinner, having little appetite. He should have been thinking about bandit alliances aimed against him and his, but he couldn't keep the train of thought. He would find himself staring out the window without even recalling walking to it; or into the flame of the candle burning on his desk. Unbidden he remembered the fire of the lash biting into his skin. He flinched involuntarily and drew breath. The sweaty heat of the Prophet's body pressed against his back, the stale breath against his neck, the sordid, ripping, impact of violation. The candle went crashing against a wall and lay there rocking, its flame trying to grasp hold of the edge of carpet. He put it out with a thought and filled his glass from the bottle Keitlan had brought him with supper. He downed it and emptied the last of the liquid into his glass. Chase the memories away that way when he couldn't manage to do it from will power alone.
Schneider wanted him to go away and heal. With Schneider things were black and white. He didn't understand the gray areas. Healing was such a insidious little word. How did one escape the baggage in one's own head? If it had been as easy as erasing a slave tattoo he would have. If it was as easy as hunting the girl down and making her sing one of those haunting melodies of hers to make the pain go away, he would have. Except it would have only lasted a little while. And he couldn't abide the fear in her eyes.
He was weary, sleep having been elusive of late. He finished the wine and walked towards his rooms. Caught a serving girl on the way and told her to fetch another bottle of wine. The night promised to be aswarm with bad dreams. He flopped down upon the bed fully dressed, lay across it sideways and stared at the shadows of the ceiling. They hinted at hidden demon faces in the depths. Things waiting to come out when sleep left him defenseless. He used to see them all the time as a child. So very long ago. But they hadn't all been imagination. Unearthly, fey things that other children only imagined they saw, had been clear to him with his half human blood. He had known that some of the things that went bump in the night were real. They tormented children because they were powerless. They never bothered him once he had the ability to destroy them or harness them for his own use. He dared one to test the shadows of this castle now.
What he got was the timid knock of the servant returning with his wine. She sat the tray with bottle and goblet on the table by the fire and scurried out. There was proper respect there. Or perhaps merely fear of his black mood. He slumped into the chair beside the table, taking bottle and goblet in hand. She'd brought him a heady western red. It looked like blood in the goblet. He imagined it so, swirling it in the cup -- thick, crimson blood, let fresh from a vein. Trailing down lacerated flesh.
"Stop." He hissed, dizzy from wine and lack of sleep and all the morose gyrations of his mind. He frightened himself with such dark musings. In the corners the shadows gathered, expectant, scenting some brief insinuation of weakness. He shot up out of the chair. Grabbed the bottle and stalked out of his rooms. Down to the main hall where two maids worked late into the night by the low burning fire.
"Out." He snapped even as they looked up in surprise. They hastily gathered sewing, curtseyed nervously and vacated the hall. It was great and empty and dark now, light only by the weak light of the great hearth. With warm weather coming on its fires were not banked so high.
He sat in his high backed chair. It was comfortably cushioned now, thanks to Yoko. All the chairs at the high table were. He put the wine on the table and sat like a predator in the dark, waiting for something that might not even come. He'd killed a man at this table today. Men had died in this hall before and by his hand. Men had died aplenty at his direction and he'd never blinked an eye. He should have killed every bandit that dared his hall and yet killing just the one had sent him upstairs in a fit of unease. How many deaths before there was no chance at redemption?
Redemption? No. That wasn't his word. It was the Prophets. How could what the Prophet spewed get so tangled up with his own thoughts? He didn't know how to unravel the knots of convolution.
One of the main doors cracked open and he sank deeper into the chair, watching. The girl slipped in, softly pushing the doors shut behind her. She had a natural quiet grace about her. She kept to the shadows, as if she were afraid to be caught unawares in the light. She did not have her lute with her. She moved towards the stairwell leading up, ignorant of any other presence in the hall. He would have let her pass by, still ignorant if the burning question of fear had not still plagued him.
"Are you afraid of me?"
He voiced the question. Not loud, but enough to carry through a hall as silent as death. She froze at the bottom of the stairs, her head swinging around in shock to scan the room. She saw him and her shoulders tensed. Her head went down to let the hair fall across her face. She stood silently for a moment and he thought she wouldn't answer at all. Then her head came back up and she said. "No."
Almost he didn't hear her, it was so quietly spoken. He didn't believe her.
"Why not?" There was malice in the question. She lied to him and surprisingly enough it hurt.
She shook her head, looked about the shadows of the hall as if she too was wary of the demons that lurked in them, then back to him. "Why are you down here all alone, my lord?"
He hadn't expected that. Not a question to his question. He thought he would gift her with the truth. It was colder than any fabrication. "Because when I sleep the nightmares come."
Her mouth opened. She took a hesitant step towards him. Another.
"Of him?" She whispered, as if she were broaching a dread secret. He looked away, not willing to go that far in his confession, even though, of all the people here, of all the people in the world, she knew best what he had endured.
"I dream about him too, sometimes." She said, sounding frightened. "I wake up and think I'm back there."
Kindred souls then. He dreamed that all the time, even when he was awake. "How long -- were you there?"
She made a little helpless sound. "I -- don't know, my lord. Six, seven months. Maybe more. Time looses meaning in a place like that. No night. No day." She shuddered. His own was hidden in the shadows. Seven months or more and she was still sane. He was amazed at her resiliency. He had lost his own after a mere month.
He had asked her before why she had bothered to try and help him and she had given him useless answers. He asked her again.
"Why bother, Lily? Why did you bother with me?"
With her head back her saw her eyes widen. Her breath quickened in her chest, one slender hand seemed to flutter as if she did not know what to do with it. She looked terrified, which only confirmed her earlier lie.
"Because I was alone." She whispered, sounding stricken. "Because no one would talk to me and I abhorred silence. Because you were the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen blood and all and I thought you might talk to me. Because I was selfish."
Then she fled. Just whirled and ran up the stairs as if the hounds of hell were on her heels. He sat staring at the place she had been, nonplused. She had come to him as a means to escape the torture of silence Angelo had placed upon her and he had spared her few words, so wrapped up had he been in his own misery. And yet she had come again and again, to gift him with her presence when he had offered nothing in return. Selfish. That was no more her word than Redemption was his own.