Zornhut: Chapter 12
Author's note: Zornhut, or Guard of Wrath, is one of the main guard positions in medieval sword techniques. Also, I've opted for the game's default name for the tactician, Mark.
His friend was the first to break the silence. "It's starting to rain."
He caught hold of the hood of his cloak and dragged it over his head. "Lucius?" he asked, turning slightly in his saddle to look at his travelling companion.
"I'm fine, Lord Raymond. No need to worry about me."
"We could stop and find shelter somewhere. I'm worried this rain might set off one of your fits."
Lucius smiled and shook his head. "Thank you for your concern, but I'm all right. The manor's not far off, so we might as well press on. A little bit of rain never hurt anyone."
"All right."
The two young men resumed their ride towards the small manor where the former lord and lady of Cornwell now resided, after the League of Lycia's decision to strip them of their title and seize most of their assets as the penalty for their crime of appropriating council funds.
Just weeks ago, both men were in Caelin where Raymond had spent his time in the guest quarters of Caelin's royal summer estate, with guards at the door under orders not to let him leave. His parents had sent him off there telling him that he was to be Cornwell's representative for the negotiations on a piece of land his father was interested in. He had no idea that he was on a false errand until he had arrived at the manor and was escorted into Lord Hausen's presence.
The first thing Lord Hausen had said to him was an apology for the deception; when he could only stare at the old man, not understanding, Lord Hausen smiled sadly and explained to him the real reason he was here. He had no idea what while he was on his way to Caelin, his parents were on their way to Ostia, to stand before Lord Uther and the rest of the members of the League of Lycia in trial.
"Then why am I here, and not at the hearing?"
"Your parents wished it. They did not want their son to share the shame of being put to trial before the council and to undergo the humiliation he does not deserve, as this was their crime. Not yours, Raymond."
"But I should be there!" He turned and headed for the door, but the guards moved to block the exit.
"Please, Raymond. I gave my word to your father that I would keep you safe here."
He had tried to argue, but Lord Hausen was adamant on him obeying his father's wishes and overrode all his objections. He had contemplated fighting his way out, but thought better of it; he was heavily out-numbered. As much as he hated to admit it, he had no choice but to stay.
After two weeks of worrying about the fate of his parents (and one failed attempt to escape), a rider arrived from Cornwell with a message from Hans, his old arms-master, stating that he and Lucius were to rejoin the now former lord and lady of Cornwell at one of their old manors as soon as possible.
He could not get out of the place fast enough. He did not even remember thanking Lord Hausen for his hospitality, but he was sure that Lucius took care of it. While on their journey to the manor, Lucius had asked him what he thought of the decision at the hearing.
"It's only peerage and property, Lucius. I don't care about those, I just want to go home."
His new 'home' was now close by, and he urged his horse into a faster pace the moment the manor came into view. Lucius followed not far behind; it was not long before they reached the building. A groom ran from the stables to open the gate for them, while a heavy-set man emerged from the main door, ready to greet them.
"Hans!" he greeted cheerfully, waving one hand as he dismounted and handed the reins to the waiting groom.
The arms-master nodded in return. "Welcome back, young master. And you too, Lucius."
The groom and another servant rushed to get his packs and to lead his horse and Lucius' to the stables. What he really did not understand was why most--no, all of them avoided looking at him. "Hans? Is something the matter?" he asked.
His old arms-master gave him a strange, almost sad look. "I think you'd better come with me, young master."
"Why? Where are my father and mother?"
"Please, young master. This way." Hans turned and walked away.
Confused, Raymond threw a glance at Lucius, but it was obvious from the puzzled expression on the other man's face that he was in the dark as well. Seeing no choice but to follow, Raymond trailed his arms-master as the older man led the way, with Lucius close behind.
The small group moved through the hallways and out of the manor via the back entrance, and headed for a grove of trees some distance away. Raymond grew even more puzzled. Why would Hans want him to go there? He tried to recall if there was anything important at the grove, but his only memory of the place was of him and Priscilla playing hide and seek there as children. There was nothing there but aspen trees, each carefully tended by groundkeepers, and--
Raymond froze.
He remembered that one day he could not find Priscilla; having spent almost an hour searching for her, he was almost in tears, worried that something might have happened to her. He had felt so relieved when she rushed out from where she hid and hugged him, a smile on her face, when he shouted that he had given up, please come out, this was not funny any more. And when he asked her where she was hiding all the time, she led him deeper into the aspen grove and showed him where, right behind a statue of an angel.
A statue, he recalled, that stood at the entrance to the family burial grounds.
"Hans?"
The man did not answer him, but merely walked on. Raymond stared after him for one long moment, then ran swiftly past the man and into the grove, following the small paved path that led to the burial grounds.
The first thing he saw when he reached the entrance were the two fresh gravestones in the very middle of the grounds. He walked slowly towards them, clinging to what he knew was a slim hope, but hope nonetheless, that those gravestones were not the ones he dreaded to find.
He came to a dead halt when he saw the names carved on the white marble. He heard footsteps behind him, Lucius' gasp of shock, and then Hans' voice.
"I'm sorry, young master."
He clenched his fists, struggling to keep his emotions under control. "Leave us," he commanded; his voice sounded strained to his own ears, but he no longer cared.
"Lord Raymond--" Lucius began.
"I said leave us!"
From the corner of his eye, he saw that Hans had caught hold of Lucius' arm; the arms-master was shaking his head. "I say we do as he wants for now, lad," the man said softly. Lucius looked as if he was about to protest, but that earned a sharp look from Hans, and the younger man gave in. Both of them walked away to leave him alone.
He waited for the sound of their footsteps to fade away before he dropped to his knees and stared blankly at the two white gravestones before him; one was carved with his father's name while the other, his mother's. He remained there for a long moment, unmoving, unable to accept the painful reality presented out before him. And when both his heart and mind finally accepted the truth, he did the only thing he could in his grief-stricken state.
Lucius and Hans had not gone far when they heard the scream of anguish and loss, shattering away the silence that had loomed over them all.
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Wil scurried away from the cooking fire as fast as he could, once he was done with his task of gathering firewood. He looked around for any other errands to run, desperate for any excuse to avoid yet another one of Wallace's insane training sessions. He walked briskly to the healers' tents, hoping that one of them would have a simple task for him to perform.
"Lucius, Lady Priscilla," he greeted when he arrived and found his two comrades sitting around a smaller fire; a pot of tea was placed near it, in order to keep the tea warm.
"Oh, hello there, Wil," Priscilla said in return. "Have you seen my--I mean, Sir Raven?"
"Raven? I think I saw him leaving Mark's tent just a while ago. Why?"
"Oh, nothing really. I was just wondering, that's all."
"I think he's probably nearby. Want me to go look for him?" Wil offered, knowing that this particular task would let him escape Wallace's attention for at least an hour or two.
"He probably wants to be alone," Lucius said. "After all, today's the day--" The monk stopped, as if he had said too much. His cheeks flushed slightly as he reached for the pot of tea, avoiding the questioning looks from both Wil and Priscilla. Lucius poured the tea into two mugs and handed one to Wil. "Here. Now I'll take this one to Lord Raven--"
"Oh, I'll do it!" Wil said, and reached for the other mug before Lucius could protest. "Besides, I think you have someone to attend to!" he added, looking pointedly at Bartre not far away; the man was limping slightly as he walked towards the trio. "He probably wants you to take a look at his leg again. He's been complaining about it ever since he got the wound from that nasty wyvern knight."
"But I'm sure Lord Raven wants to be left alone--"
"It's all right, Lucius! It's not like he would hurt me! Well, not much anyway!" he said cheekily before he hurried away to where he last saw the mercenary, near Mark's tent. The tactician pointed him in the general direction Raven walked off to, and it was not long before he found the mercenary.
The man in question was in a small clearing not far away from the camp, sitting on a dead log with his sword in his lap, his right hand idly tracing the crude patterns on the hilt. To Wil's surprise, Raven was not wearing the usual scowl on his face, nor that impassive expression, but the mercenary now looked distant and perhaps somewhat sad, Wil thought.
His first impulse was to rush there and ask what on earth was the man thinking about, but fortunately he managed to curb that foolish impulse immediately. Raven had a temper and Wil had been on the receiving end of that far too many times; by now the archer knew that if he were to just run up to the man and start asking questions, it would earn him nothing but a sharp retort at the very least, or perhaps even a bloodied nose, what with the mercenary's rather hostile behaviour lately.
He circled around as quietly as he could, choosing to approach the man from behind. Once that was done, he walked towards the mercenary, treading on dry twigs and making lots of noise on purpose to announce his arrival.
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"Here."
Raven stared blankly at Wil, and then at the steaming mug of tea offered to him before he accepted it. He took a quick sip, grimacing slightly at the heat.
"Lucius thought you needed it," Wil added as he sat down next to Raven, nursing his own mug of tea in his hands. "He's tending some of our friends' old injuries at the moment, or else he would have given this to you himself."
"And you came all the way here just to give me some tea?"
"Why not?"
Raven gave Wil a sharp look; the archer grinned nervously. "Hiding from Wallace and his training sessions again?" the mercenary guessed.
Wil's grin grew wider in an affirmative. "He'll never find me here!" he announced. The archer then downed a huge gulp of tea--or at least, he tried to. He ended up choking slightly, spraying a few drops of hot liquid in the air; the tea was still too hot.
"Idiot."
Wil wiped his mouth and managed a small laugh. "Well, you're pretty much back to your usual self."
Raven grunted in reply.
Wil cocked his head slightly to one side as he looked at the mercenary. "Yes, definitely. Everyone was worried about you for a while." The young man grinned again. "Well, not as much as 'worried about you' as 'scared of you' though," he admitted. "You were glaring daggers at everyone, including me--and everyone in the company knows that we're good friends!"
"Good friends?" Raven snorted. "I don't remember saying I even liked you."
"You haven't tried to kill me yet, so that must count for something, right?"
Raven grunted again, but this time, Wil thought that there was a slight tinge of amusement to the mercenary's wordless reply.
"See? And Sain insisted that I have no charm."
"Charm, no. Fool's luck, great quantities of it."
Wil laughed and absently scratched the back of his head. "Maybe. Jokes aside, I meant it when I said that a lot of people were worried about you. They're just afraid to ask." The archer drank from his mug again, and this time, the tea had cooled down enough for him to finish half of it in one long draught. "You know," he said, "you looked as if you were somewhere miles away earlier."
"Actually, I was," Raven admitted. He waited for Wil to ask more questions, or at least launch into a long one-sided conversation, but the archer kept silent and merely sipped his drink. Apparently Wil had been in the mercenary's company long enough to recognise there were times when he would tolerate the archer's mindless rambling, and times when he would not.
This evening was definitely the latter.
"When do you think we'll reach this shrine Lord Eliwood keeps talking about?" Raven asked, changing the subject of the conversation.
"What, the Shrine of Seals? Mark said that if we make good time, we'll probably reach there tomorrow afternoon. Say, do you know why we're going there in the first place? I asked Lord Hector this morning, but he ignored me." The archer pouted. "No one ever tells me anything."
"No one ever tells you anything because you never stop talking long enough for them to actually tell you something."
"Raven? Are you telling me to shut up?"
"What do you think?"
"I'll take that as a 'yes'."
