The Ambition of the Dreadlord Raveres
Part II: Allies, Foes, and Bargains
Episode Ten
"You are early returned brother?"
The Emir Hashan Al Daouk sat atop a pillowed throne in the centre of the palace's high ceilinged audience chamber. He was the eldest brother of Sadalsuud, and the leadership of the Al Daouk family had by right fallen to him. Though he had been struck with an affliction and grew ill shortly after ascending to his father's title.
Now he rarely left the palace or his solar and left most matters of the city and the Al Daouk demesne to his brothers and his Vizier. Sadalsuud had been away for only a few months yet in that time his brother had grown weaker and sicklier. And now the Emir was so sick he barely recognised him at first. The throne was less of a chair and more of a couch; it was wide enough to lounge on, but the Emir was not alone on his seat.
On both sides of the weakened and diminished man sat two disinterested women of his harem; they were wearing identical outfits of thin see through Arabyan-cotton; one was coloured turquoise and the other was draped in light rose.
The turquoise woman had leaned back in the throne and fallen asleep with her head nestled in the crook of the throne's arm, while the rose wearing one was currently adjusting the see-through veil which fell across her mouth.
Both women were quite beautiful, but Sadalsuud had no idea who they were; they didn't look familiar to him. The turquoise one had short black hair cut jaggedly at chin height, while the one in rose had long locks of auburn which fell over her bare shoulders down to her belly. The uniform colour of her hair was broken by an asymmetrical streak of blonde on the right side of her head.
Standing beside the throne and appearing just as weary as the two women was Hashan's Grand Vizier, a long bearded and ancient man. Sadalsuud met eyes with him and shared a nod of awkward acknowledgement.
After bowing upon entering the room Sadalsuud raised a brow and began gesticulating with his hands as he approached the raised throne's steps, raising his voice to stir his otherwise oblivious elder brother.
"I'm sure it has felt like only a short time! But my beloved brother I am returned to you after a long while of sailing the great sand-sea! I have seen many things, and have secured many beautiful…"
The Emir raised a small gaunt hand and Sadalsuud silenced, "Please brother, the hall is too loud…"
Sadalsuud nodded and lowered his voice somewhat, but as he began to continue his brother looked away from him towards one of the windows carved into the base of the room's great domed ceiling. Sadalsuud stopped mid word and his brother continued to stare out the small arched window.
The rose dressed member of his harem looked up from her fingernails and placed a hand on her 'husbands' thin arm. He looked away from the blue window and towards his concubine confused. She whispered quietly in his ear and Sadalsuud looked on in concern. After she finished Hashan looked back down at his brother and cleared his throat, his pitch and voice changing oddly several times as he spoke.
"Oh! Yes, yes… well done my… my great brother. I… Vizier Wick'tus will see to everything else…"
Sadalsuud bowed his head as his brother slowly rose from the throne but he couldn't feel anything but shock at his behaviour. The two women sat up from the throne as well and watched as Hashan waved them away from his sides and descend the throne's dais alone.
Shuffling languidly towards one of the doors on the side of the audience chamber the Emir coughed an order to the attending door guards and one man opened the portal while the other took up the Emir's arm and helped him to walk through the doorway.
Once the door locked loudly behind his brother Sadalsuud looked up at the Grand Vizier.
"Everyone out!" the merchant prince shouted.
The Vizier nodded knowingly and began descending the steps from the side of the throne as the guards in the room departed and the two women slunk away from the throne.
"Out, out!" the elderly man repeated.
A pair of eunuchs from behind the dais escorted the women back to the safety and seclusion of the palace's harem chambers while the door guards at each entrance turned from their posts and stepped through their doors.
In a hush the Vizier's voice came out as he came closer to Sadalsuud and the bottom of the throne's steps, "It is good of you to have returned so soon my lord."
Waiting tensely as the footfalls exited the room Sadalsuud stepped towards the Vizier and began speaking as soon as he felt comfortable. "What foulness has afflicted my brother?!"
"It is the same sickness that was present before you left my lord."
Sadalsuud shook his head, "He looks like he's aged a thousand days since I last saw him!"
Wick'tus nodded, "My scholars and healers have been pouring over their scrolls and I have sent letters to apothecaries far and wide… None have heard of his condition."
Sadalsuud's features hardened and he drew a painful breath.
"All of them seem to agree though… It must be dark magic."
Sadalsuud shook his head and waved his hand upwards.
"Please! You and I are far too educated to believe in such superstitions, poisons? Sure. Parlour tricks? Sure. But genuine bewitchment?"
He shook his head again.
"Who would even wish to harm my brother in this sordid way? We are at peace! Father saw to that…"
The Vizier stroked his thin bony fingers through his long wild beard and nodded along.
"It's not so much a superstition my lord… Some foulness has definitely taken your brother hostage."
The elder's voice faltered and he cleared his raspy throat, "In any case our Emir's state is most distressing… I must avow he's delegated far more to me in these last weeks."
Sadalsuud raised an eyebrow, "Something I'm sure you don't mind?"
The Vizier shook his head, "I served your father till the end, and I helped Hashan during his ascension, but my dear Sadalsuud… I am tired…"
The elder man coughed and waved Sadalsuud to follow him.
"I am finished with politics… The court… all this state business…"
The two men began down a hall from the throne room towards the Vizier's chamber and quarters.
"So, on the contrary my young Sadalsuud… I am finished with this position."
The merchant prince furrowed his brow, "Why continue then? Why hang on?"
The two walked through the open doorway of the Vizier's chamber and set towards more intimate seating accommodations.
"I was set to resign shortly after you left on your trading mission. But then Hashan's illness became worse still."
As they entered into the plush and curtained quarters of the Vizier they made their way towards pillowed reclining couches. As the Vizier waved encouragement Sadalsuud sat and narrowed his eyes.
The Vizier paused, "He was always sickly… I… I mean, the responsibilities have always weighed heavily on your pious brother, and He's always strived to fulfill the duties ascribed to him by your noble father but…"
Sadalsuud waved him on, "Please, enough. Speak your mind."
The Vizier tensed as he slowly sat down. He nodded as he collected his thoughts, "Today was a better day for your brother."
"How do you mean?"
The Vizier smiled painfully, "I mean… after you left he couldn't recall the date. He began ranting and raving."
Sadalsuud leaned forwards from his seat.
"He demanded all the servants of the court be executed and then he drew a blade and cut down the first man to speak against it. I calmed him down, but then he forgot completely what he had done."
"On some days he's as innocent and absent minded as a child; pleasant and eager to speak. On others he's wrathful and full of a rage I've never seen in him before, then…"
The elderly man paused and brought a hand wearily to his mouth, "Some days he's even worse."
Sadalsuud sat back in silence. 'How could he be worse?'
A light wind came through the chamber from a large balcony to their side as the men began a conversation with one another through their eyes. Eventually they both exhaled large sighs. The Vizier nodded and then pointed towards a slave standing against the wall.
"Would you like some tea my lord? I'm sure you are wearied from travel…"
Sadalsuud nodded and began unclipping his belt and scabbard. "That would be welcome…"
…
"My lady?"
Lady Naguii's eyes refused to open and all she saw was a deep blackness, but her hearing was slowly returning to her. Her head screamed with echoes and there was a persistent ringing as if she'd been concussed, but she recognised the voice and tried to follow it. She was hazy and things were so cloudy in her mind but she somehow knew that the voice would be leading her back to the land of the living.
"My Lady Naguii?"
She tried to move but her arms felt like they had been flayed and then resewn on.
"Please… My lady, show me some sign that you live! My lady!"
Starting lowly the noble she-elf began a groan from her mouth. It was deep and guttural and rose in volume.
"My- My Lady! Oh gods be good! You live, you live!"
The groan stopped and she coughed dryly, trying to clear her airway.
"She lives my lord!"
There was the sound of movement and Lady Naguii tried to move or take a full breath but her body still felt the iron grip of the demon from the ritual. Her skin felt hot, and her teeth felt like they were coming free from her jaws. But her eyes refused to open.
Her senses were beginning to return and the ringing in her mind was beginning to dissipate. Sounds were becoming clearer.
"She lives?" a male voice asked.
It was familiar but just like the female voice Lady Naguii couldn't place it yet.
"Aye my lord… she lives…"
A cool cloth touched her forehead and she tried to make a sound at the sudden and shocking feeling against her flesh.
"My lady? Can you hear me?"
Weakly she tried to move her head but her body refused. Her muscles felt as if they had atrophied and nothing responded to any motion. She tried to cough again but nothing happened.
Then a wearied panic began to set in; she had been trapped in her own body.
"What's wrong with her eyes?" the man's voice asked.
A third person responded, "She saw the infinite… She saw things that she was not trained to see… heard things not meant to be heard… I did warn her about the possibilities of the ritual…"
Lady Naguii tried to move again but her muscles rebuffed her.
'Ritual…' she thought, 'what ritual? Who is this person? I know the others, but.' Her thoughts trailed off and were then soundly interrupted by the loud and agitated voice of the man.
"And yet you let her do it anyway?!"
The third voice hissed, "She paid! She demanded it! Khaine has blessed you! You should be grateful."
'Khaine? A ritual? What happened? Is that why I am like this?!' Lady Naguii began thinking.
The man snarled, "I will be grateful when my wife lives you insolent witch."
'Wife? Oh Titos! My husband…? Right! Gods… what has happened?!'
There was commotion and loud grunting as Lady Naguii's senses began to dampen and leave her again.
Elianna the slave had been at her mistress' side since regaining consciousness in the depths of the temple of Khaine. And that was a sight she was not about to forget any time soon. The noise was the first thing she heard…
Rolling around the gore drenched floor the high elf slave first reached a hand to the back of her head; her blood had soaked through her blonde hair from a split gash along the back of her scalp. Then she remembered where she was and looked in front of her. The noise echoing loudly in the chamber was the ululating and scream-chanting of the Death Hags.
They circled Lady Naguii who was floating above the pile of slave corpses, held aloft by a purple and black cloud of smoke. Then the smoke dissipated and the hags helped lower Lady Naguii's naked body to the floor. From where she was Elianna saw that her mistress' pale skin was drenched, absolutely soaked, in blood.
But from her mouth, like shed drank from a cup filled with ink was the remnants of black bile. Elianna was so scared of the death hags, so terrified of what she'd already seen, what she was currently seeing that she didn't move and she didn't make a sound.
As the ritual finished the Death Hags began chatting and laughing amongst one another, regarding the motionless body of their 'customer'.
"Is she dead?" one Hag asked.
Another Hag laughed, "If she is then I get her sweet-meat slave!"
The Hag turned to see Elianna awake and laughed, "Oh? You live cousin?"
Elianna began shaking and hyperventilating as she struggled to stand.
"I-if my la-lady has died it is o-on your-"
The lead Death Hag was lowered closely over Lady Naguii and held up a hand, "Silence. She lives."
Elianna felt relief rush down her body. Snapping her fingers, the lead hag pointed past Elianna down towards the entrance hall. "Bring in her guardsmen… They will need to carry her home."
Two blood smeared Death Hags nodded and left the chamber down the hall, whispering to one another and madly giggling. Elianna looked at the remaining Death Hags hesitantly and fearfully. Eventually her eyes landed on the lead Hag who waved her forwards with a soft voice.
"Come hither cousin, your mistress; she needs you."
Despite her fear the she-elf felt compelled to move by the order, and Elianna took a few careful steps forwards. Walking towards the centre of the horrifying abattoir of a room the Death Hag pointed down with her open palm at the unconscious and motionless Lady Naguii.
"Listen to me slave; she will need your constant company. Though you were unconscious through the majority of the ceremony you still caught a glimpse of him… You are connected to your mistress, understand? Until she is recovered you must remain with her."
Elianna fearfully nodded as she looked down at her mistress' blood covered and nude body, "I…is s-she… I mean…"
"She is alive, now silence. You will need to care for her-"
"Will she awake?!" Elianna, possessed by an alien burst of courage interrupted the Hag.
The Hag nodded but raised a lip in barely contained anger.
"Interrupt me again and you will not…"
Elianna bit her tongue and remained quiet as her bottom lip quivered and tears formed at the corners of her eyes. Behind her she heard the quick sound of boots on stone and the scraping of metal armour. 'Back-up!' she thought excitedly.
"My lady!" the two Naguii guardsmen exclaimed in unison.
The Hag nodded and waved the men forwards, "Wrap her and take her home… we have done as we were asked."
As the men stepped towards Elianna the hag rose and turned around. Elianna sank to Lady Naguii's side and began weeping, covering her mouth with one hand while extending and touching her mistress' bloody cheek with the other.
The two shocked guards stood behind the high-elf motionless as they merely looked on. Darting her head around Elianna roared at them through tears, "W-well come on you fools! Help me!"
Through her sobs and the horror around her Elianna began taking off her cloak. "W-we must… we must g-get her bathed… we must get her home. My lady…"
A low chuckle began sounding into the darkness of the temple, and it took the Asur a moment to realise that it was coming from her mistress. Though she remained limp and her eyes closed, Lady Naguii let loose a chuckle.
"Oh… Elianna…" she whispered.
The she-elf stared at her mistress.
"If only you could have seen what I saw…"
Furrowing her brow in concern the Asur held her mistress' limp hand as the guardsmen hoisted her up and began leading out of the temple. Lady Naguii's laugh began rising higher and higher as they got closer to the exit of the blood-stained temple depths.
…
Running her hands through her hair Raveres tightly pulled back her locks and readjusted how her pony tail sat along the back of her head. She sighed and looked around the quaint room.
They were in a mess hall of some kind, and everything about it spelled barracks to her. The tables were carved into by knife and dagger tips and the benches were worn by years of armoured asses polishing them.
'Gods below… I hope that blasted knight hurries.' She groaned.
Finishing off the knot in her hair she relaxed her arms and looked towards the squire, he sat to the corner of the room beside a small iron-barred window, his nose buried into his book. Raveres had half a mind to ask him what it was that he seemed so interested in, but she eventually shook her head and abandoned it, mentally scolding herself;
'The fool still won't understand you! What, he's magically going to have learned Druhir? Come on Raveres…'
Before Sir Jean had left them he had warned that his countrymen may not be so appreciative of her presence, and indeed Sir Jean had to tell the man who had greeted them, a knight or noble of some sort, several lies to allow her entry to the guarded blockhouse.
She thought about the man's expression when he realised what she was. It was as if someone had told him his castle was on fire. She smiled.
Though Sir Jean spoke with the man in their tongue she could tell from the body language, from everything about his demeanour that he feared her and despised her.
'He's a handsome creature though…'
Raveres began daydreaming and smirked, 'Seems almost unfair that as soon as he greeted us he left with the old knight to some dusty corner of this strange keep.'
The nobleman who'd greeted them had shoulder length flowing brown hair, his face was full and he had a moustache which was carefully groomed. His eyes were a dark blue and lively, and when he first appeared he seemed friendly enough.
But as Sir Jean spoke, Raveres recalled how he had recoiled. His kind eyes hardened, and his face barely restrained his contempt.
'Ugh' she groaned.
Throwing her arms above her head the Druchii began stretching and yawning. 'I certainly hope that not every interaction I have on this bloody journey has the same beginning…'
Her thoughts and the quiet of the room were interrupted by the loud unlatching of the building's main door. As soon as the reinforced wood parted Raveres turned her ears to listen closely as what sounded like four men entered; their footfalls were heavy and sounded metallic.
'Armour?' she immediately thought. 'Though it wouldn't be the knights from outside… nothing was about to make them abandon their posts yet without a relief. Then they must be returned Bretonnians, quartered here as part of the embassy mission?'
Her thinking was interrupted as three tense and angry looking Humans entered into the hall. She took in a breath and straightened her back as she looked at the men. Each of them had a stern and unforgiving expression. At their appearance Jacque put his book down and stood from his seat and began eyeing his fellow Bretonnians uneasily.
Raveres hadn't wanted to linger more than was absolutely necessary but by now it seemed like Sir Jean's meeting was taking an age, and the situation had just become far more precarious.
Eventually the three Bretonnian warriors stepped into the room, their mail loudly clinking and their boots drawing across the stone floor with shrill scrapes. Each man was armed and they kept their left hands held at their hilts. The angle made drawing their blades easier but at the moment their right hands were folded into fists or at rest on their belts.
They still had said nothing but as they sat down opposite Raveres she knew that they wanted trouble; they smelt of a fight and the way their eyes looked at her… Now that they were closer she saw that it was nothing but pure hatred.
One of the men stared unblinkingly at Raveres and eventually she began staring at him back. 'He's the leader; he's the balls of the three.' She deduced.
She hid a sadistic smirk, 'Let's see if he's got the gall to test me…'
…
Jacque picked up on the tension but knew not what he could do to alleviate it. His young mind whirled with awkwardness and anxiety, but before he could think of anything the room became filled with the deep voice of one of the knights. It was a question and it seemed to be directed at him,
"What is a dark-elf whore doing in our quarters?"
Jacque looked up and immediately narrowed his eyes, emotion more than sense came out, and he involuntarily spat; "How dare you Sir!"
The two men on either side of the lead soldier looked at Jacque and immediately laughed. "Look at the squire! I think the little bastard's in love!"
Jacque ignored the jab and felt compelled to reference chivalry; "You know damned well it is ill fitting of a knight to insult another! And further, it is doubly so to do it to one who doesn't speak in his tongue…"
The two men jeered and sniggered as their leader turned away from staring Raveres down to eye the boy.
"All I know…" he began coldly, "Is that I spent more time than you've been alive killing these pale knife-eared cunts; men, women…" he chuckled hollowly, "the only good Druchii…" he looked back at Raveres, "Is a dead Druchii."
Jacque swallowed tensely as the man slowly rose up from the table's bench. The two other knights followed their leader and stood up from their seat. Raveres remained quietly watching as the men walked over and set towards the squire.
"My name is Sir Tormande Gilayne and home in Bretonnia they called me 'elf-bane'. Perhaps you could take a guess why?"
Jacque found himself involuntarily pressed against the wall behind him and he quickly began to lose his earlier courage. One of the men sniggered loudly and escalated the situation as he pushed the young man.
"Aye maybe we ought to take him to the yard and thrash him, eh Tormande? Then we deal with his cunny over there?"
Raveres hadn't moved but her face had tensed and she had narrowed her eyes slightly at the men. Jacque's face was struggling to remain composed,
"I-I am squire and ward to Sir Jean Le Tours, we are charged by Duke Meroux with a sensitive mission…"
The men stepped from Jacque and eyed him oddly.
"You men are also sworn to serve the Duke are you naught?"
The men remained quiet and Jacque continued, "Then step the damn hells away from me!"
They actually moved somewhat at his raised voice, and as Jacque continued speaking his chest filled with confidence once more, "We are following the Duke's orders and if you impede or accost myself, Sir Jean, or even our companion… you are directly spitting on your liege lord!"
The two other knights stepped away uneasily as they looked at the squire their brows furrowed in concern and confusion. But Sir Tormande remained stoically composed.
As soon as the youth finished telling them off Tormande said two low words: "You lie."
Jacque pursed his lips and swallowed "I warn you sir-"
"You?" The brutish knight spat a dry chuckle, "You, warn me?" Sir Tormande shook his head, "No… No you little shit, I warn you. I will beat you till you piss blood, understand me?"
The knight reached forwards and grabbed Jacque by his thin throat with his gauntleted hand. The sudden brusque movement made the boy reach for his sword's hilt and Raveres stood loudly from the bench at the commotion.
The two other men drew their swords and darted their eyes from Sir Tormande to Raveres.
Squeezing Jacque's neck and throwing him to the floor Sir Tormande placed his hand on his hilt and roared at the elf in Druhir, "Sa'an'ishar!"
Raveres furrowed her brow at the familiar words as she drew her sword with the snap of a viper. The dark steel of her blade shone in the candle-light of the hall and she quietly eyed each of the men.
'So, the knight knows my tongue?' Raveres thought, 'or just that one phrase?'
Testing the bilingualism of her foe she quickly asked the men a question; "Do you really want to die?" her voice was raised but slightly amused.
Sir Tormande smiled and huffed responding in poorly pronounced Druhir, "Finally now, you found your tongue."
Raveres raised a lip and stepped away from the bench as she took up a dueling stance, "I will forgive your handling of the boy; so I only intend to cut off your shield-hand."
Sir Tormande growled and stepped forwards, hesitantly his fellows followed and the three lightly armoured knights pointed their blades at Raveres. She smirked and raised an eyebrow as she lowered her centre of mass, 'Three on one?'
Then she bared her teeth and taunted sarcastically, "Three knights to one girl? Why it's almost a fair fight!"
Sir Tormande cleared his mouth and spat a glob of mucous towards Raveres before speaking in broken Druhir; "We do not fight with sea-scum, we kill it."
Raveres couldn't help but feel amusement at the man's brutish voice and his butchering of her language. Looking past the knight's feet she saw Jacque coughing on the floor. Though now the boy had finally pushed himself up.
Coughing and sputtering he began calling, "Sir Jean!"
Raveres turned back at the three men and eyed each of them tensely.
'Can we even take them you idiot?' she began thinking. 'I once sparred with several opponents, but I've never actually trained for this!'
She maintained her calm expression and felt her heartbeat begin to increase.
'Stay level, be on the defence here, they started it, let them come to you.'
Raveres mentally agreed with herself and relaxed her leg muscles. She was still tired from her fight with the 'Red-Riders' and neither her arms nor her legs were ready for this kind of activity yet. 'But you've no choice…'
"Sir Jean!" Jacque skirted around the edge of the room towards Raveres' side.
She ignored him and the sound of his yelling, but the head knight bellowed a remark to the boy and she saw in the corner of her eyes the youth's face grow beat-red as he stopped. Jacque then looked at her and then the lead attacker.
The other knights had completely oppositional expressions; one was amused and had a smile across his stubbled features, while the other was showing his lack of resolve and had visibly cooled.
Jacque swore quietly and then raised his voice to answer the knight's challenge. The two exchanged a series of words and Raveres felt cowardice and spite flow off of the youth.
She wanted to roll her eyes as she thought, 'I hope that the old bloody knight can tell these men to piss off before I have to open them.'
As she thought Jacque stopped talking and then drew his sword. Raveres' brow rose in surprise but before she could think or say anything Tormande lunged at her, mistaking her reaction for some kind of a signal. Immediately springing into a reactive action, the room became filled with the scraping of steel and the grunting of a fight.
Raveres hopped to the side and parried as the two other men followed forwards. The unsure warrior set towards Jacque half-heartedly while Sir Tormande and his enthusiastic companion began an uncoordinated barrage towards her.
She easily beat Sir Tormande's blade away several times, buying her enough respite to riposte and keep his fellow at bay.
'Go for their faces!' She thought, 'That's a lot of mail and leather they're wearing and if my blade gets stuck in them, then I'm fucking carrion!'
She leapt on top of the table for the high ground advantage and kicked several empty flagons at the men, stifling their advance.
"Gah!" Sir Tormande growled, "Come here you knife-eared whore!"
Remnant ale from one of the flagons stung his eye and he doubled down on his assault, pushing his companion out of the way. Raveres couldn't help but thank him for it; the other knight seemed far more competent at fighting than him. Disengaging and taking several steps back Raveres reached upwards to the small, low hanging, chandelier, and took one of the still burning wax candles in her left hand.
"You know," she began, "I'd be worried right now if I weren't so bloody bored!"
Throwing the candle at Sir Tormande he brought his blade up furiously and hit the long wax cylinder knocking it across the room. Hot wax went flying from its end and landed across his companion's cheek. The sudden heat and shock of the liquid so close to his eyes made the man growl and lower his guard.
Opening her eyes wide Raveres saw a perfect opportunity to strike. Easily leaping over Sir Tormande's blade she swung her own sword with a light grace towards the distracted knight. By the time he regained himself and looked at her he couldn't raise his blade to defend himself.
She slashed her sword across his brow and it slit along his left eye and gouged a deep fissure through the skin of his forehead all the way to the bone. He reeled backwards and tripped over the table's bench as blood began to pour down his face, blinding him.
At the injury he screamed a most un-knightly wail, clutching at his ruined eye with his left gauntlet while wildly lunging his sword with his right. Sir Tormande ignored his injured fellow and roared as he mounted the table after the Druchii with a jump.
Raveres caught a brief sight of Jacque and held back a laugh at the strange duel he was embroiled in. Stomping down the stairs outside the hall and turning into its entrance Sir Jean and the handsome Bretonnian who greeted them appeared, accompanied by another man.
…
"What in the Lady's name!" Sir Jean exclaimed.
A knight sat on the floor marred in blood, his face completely obstructed by red, screaming as Raveres and another knight fought on top of the hall's long table, and behind them Jacque was tightly pressing his sword against a third knight's.
Luc Dupris the Duke's envoy, and the moustached man from earlier, stood beside Sir Jean.
"Stop this folly now!" Dupris bellowed.
Raveres, Sir Tormande, Jacque, and the uninjured knight each looked towards the doorway as Dupris, Sir Jean, and the moustached man entered. The Druchii leapt backwards and kept her blade ready as Sir Tormande began boiling with rage.
"Sir Tormande, Sir Cratoun, Sir Finise, I demand in the Lady's name you explain to me what on earth you're doing?!"
Dupris' voice nearly shook as he spoke; his shoulders twitched and his breaths were heavy. He was unarmed and Sir Tormande had the look of madness in his eye. Sir Cratoun was the one screaming on the ground and he was hysterically repeating the same thing over and over;
"She's blinded me! The whore blinded me! I, I can't see!"
Sir Finise looked like he wanted to be anywhere but there and Jacque was panting as he kept his sword pointed at his opponent.
"Jacque? Explain!" Sir Jean yelled.
Luc Dupris held up his hand to Sir Jean, "Your boy may speak after; I am asking the questions here."
Sir Tormande pointed his sword towards Raveres and spat his words out angrily, "They call me the elf-bane… Near twenty years I spent along the coast sending this raiding scum to the after-world. I've hacked and slain whole crews' worth."
Luc and Sir Jean stood motionless, listening. Sir Jean hid a pain across his features, he knew that Raveres might draw some ire among his fellow Bretonnians but, he didn't think any would dare disrespect guest-law so flagrantly.
"Now you expect me to what, break bread with one? Druchii are for killing! That is all!"
Luc seemingly ignored Tormande's words, "If you're quite done Sir Tormande, then get off my goddamn table!"
Sir Jean looked at Dupris hesitantly as the man stepped forwards and his voice continued to rise, "You will stay your blade, you will get down, and you will wait outside in the street until I summon you is that clear?"
The whole room quieted except for Cratoun's writhing on the ground and Sir Jean as well as the mustached man looked at Dupris with wide eyes. Sir Jean's hand gripped his sword and he made eye-contact with Jacque, the boy readied himself and slowly changed his stance. Raveres had never left her own stance and instead eyed Tormande intensely.
The man's heavy breaths made his chainmail rattle with every exhale and eventually he shot a look at her of malice.
Luc's voice returned, "What shall I say unto the Duke? That his men are rash? His men are stupid? They brazenly attacked a woman and a youth and only managed to get one injury and a stalemate?"
Tormande stared Raveres down until he jumped from the table; lowly he grunted his response through gritted teeth; "You will say nothing."
The three men parted and let Sir Tormande pass; he made for the barracks' door and pushed the heavy oak portal open with a kick.
"Sir Finise? Was the woman not an enticing enough challenge for you? You opted for the boy?"
The knight lowered his weapon and opened his mouth to respond, Sir Jean interrupted him and stepped forwards "Silence you fool!"
With a swift backhand Sir Jean struck Finise across the cheek and made him hobble backwards.
"Attacking my squire is akin to attacking me. Perhaps then I may finish this bout in my boy's stead?"
Sir Finise clutched at his face with one hand and kept his blade lowered with the other, blood came down his lip from a crack in the flesh caused by Sir Jean's gauntlet,
"My lord…" he began, "I speak not to defend Sir Tormande's folly, but… the youth drew steel, Cratoun and Tormande set upon the Druchii and I meant only to keep your squire at bay and from their backs."
Cratoun was holding his face with both hands and he made a loud cry, "He lies! The two vicious creatures set upon us! The witch has obviously been spelling words and hexes into his ears!"
Sir Jean narrowed his brow, "She doesn't speak our tongue you bloodied fool!"
Dupris stepped towards Cratoun and smacked him across the back of the head with his open palm, "Stand and depart my hall or I swear by the Lady and the King I will write to the Duke and have you all stripped of your titles and thrown into the sand sea!"
Cratoun issued a pained wail and began a high pitched complaint, "What? I am blinded! The she-elf bitch took my eyes!"
"Sir Cratoun." The moustached man finally spoke, "I will send for an apothecary-"
Jacque walked towards the blinded Cratoun and despite everything took the knight by the back of his head, pulling his hair and yelling;
"What kind of knight are you?!"
The men observing stepped forwards with a chorus of shouts and hands, Sir Jean put his arms under his squire's and tried to pull Jacque away from the hobbled man.
"What foul coward you are! We were doing no wrong, and you set forward with insult, then blades, and now you lie!"
Cratoun tried crawling away as Dupris forced himself between Jacque's kicks and the injured man's back. The moustached man tensely helped direct Cratoun away from Jacque's reach but the boy continued with his anger fueled words;
"Each of you is a fake knight!"
His voice climbed as he fought against his master's grip, "Sir Jean each of them ought to be disrobed and thrown down! None are worthy of the title Sir."
"Enough boy!" he tried interjecting, but Jacque was having none of it; fighting as hard as he could with both his limbs and his words.
"No! I have been made humbled by insult far too long! These are false knights and they demean the colours they wear and the nobility of our Duke! Each breath they take is an, an insult to the Lady of the Lake!"
Raveres finally stowed her weapon and stepped down from the table, a wry smile across her lips as she looked on.
…
Sadalsuud groaned, "Please Wick'tus, enough of this!"
The two bounced from topic to topic but eventually they settled on Sadalsuud's travelling companions.
"Please my lord! You cannot depart from the city again! As the next eldest Al Daouk you must remain here, we must declare your brother unfit to rule and make you regent."
The rotund Arabyan shook his head, "No! I am the third born, I am content without a title, I have made a life, a kingdom of my own."
Wick'tus lowered his head and cleared his throat, "With the death of-"
Sadalsuud pointed at the Vizier, "Don't say his name… Don't." his voice faltered, "If I hear it, it is as if I am being tortured with my failure to avenge him, his wife, and my nephews…"
The Vizier bowed penitently and kept his tone quiet, "I know my lord, but Hashan has failed to sire an heir, you are the next Emir whether you like it or not. And you tell me that you plan to ride alongside this, this shipwrecked and penniless Druchii?"
Sadalsuud took a sip of his tea and emptied the glass cup.
"More than that we're to finance this woman? Outfit her? Assign some men, a ship even! She doesn't even speak our tongue! M-my lord…" He quieted again. "Please, you must remain here."
Sadalsuud looked at the Vizier with pained eyes, "And continue to let the man who slew my brother sail free? No!" he shook his head, "If you want me to supplant my brother in practise if not in name then I will have this vengeance!"
The Vizier leaned backwards wearily, "We're bargaining now?"
The merchant-prince nodded, "At least I'm not begging."
The elderly man pursed his lips and remained quiet for a long time.
"You were always a child more content to write your own stories, did you know that?
Sadalsuud furrowed his brow.
"I remember your father, may he rest in peace, telling a guard to beat you once. And I dissuaded him; I said to him 'your son has been blessed by the poet's brush' I always told him that you were a silver-tongued prince."
Sadalsuud groaned, "Please, I'm far too old for lectures."
Wick'tus sat up straight and flicked his beard off his lap, "I still breathe and you will remain that boy I saved from a whipping if you don't listen!"
The merchant-prince raised a brow and sharply took a breath.
"The truth of the matter is, we don't get to write our own life stories, they are written and weaved for us by the gods. And right now, your story demands that you listen to an old man just a while longer."
Sadalsuud bit his tongue.
"I dare say your brother didn't wish to be made mad. Your other brother, may he rest in peace, didn't wish his blade to break as it had… Sadalsuud, you must follow this and you must help me, help your brother, your people."
For a long time Sadalsuud sat in silence, staring at the carpeted floor. The geometric pattern of the weaver's skill rippled and glowed with vibrant colours. He traced the lines with his eyes until finally he took a long breath.
"I shall do as you bid…"
The Vizier nodded in gratitude.
"But Wick'tus, I must see justice delivered to this pirate. I will not assume the regency until I hold the head of Annio-Luis De Bilbali in my hands and my family's honour is avenged."
The elderly man grunted in agreement, "If that is what you will, then it shall be done my lord…"
Sadalsuud sighed, "Now, I was hoping to introduce the Druchii and her companions to Hashan but-"
Wick'tus shook his head, "That would be most unwise… But we may invite them to the palace all the same. Hashan spends the majority of his time in his tower so there's no fear of them meeting."
The rotund merchant nodded, "We shall show them hospitality and then I will send them out to find Bilbali."
The Vizier clutched at the Emir's seal which hung from a golden chain around his neck, "I will draft a decree now if you would like?"
With a smirk Sadalsuud stood and extended his hand to assist the aged statesman, "I'll send for them and be back to read it with you."
Wick'tus made a curt nod and his voice betrayed his relief with a comical tone, "I wasn't begging you know…"
Sadalsuud laughed as he walked towards the doorway, "Sure old man, sure."
…
Luc Dupris bowed his head slightly as he spoke to Raveres, his Druhir was stilted and irritating but she could understand him well enough.
"If you were a noble elf of the Phoenix court then I would kiss your feet and beg forgiveness for the folly of the men who serve my lord but-"
"I am not." She interjected.
He smirked as he agreed, "Aye, you are not. So I will merely express my condolences that you've been rudely treated."
Raveres straightened her neck as she took a breath. Dupris indicated her Bretonnian travelling companions and continued,
"But I hear that Sir Jean has rescued you? Apparently you've sworn your life to him for the time being."
She ignored the words and he took her silence as confirmation all the same. Dupris continued "He has asked me to give him leave." The ambassador chuckled, "He intends to accompany you on the payment of your debt."
He shifted his weight as he considered his words, "I was… shocked to say the least that such a thing had happened. But, the Duke told me many times before leaving Bretonnia that the wide-world would contain many a thing to shock and throw me off guard."
Raveres watched the man, keeping a steady pattern in her breathing.
"A reasonable Druchii…" he mused.
Turning back towards Sir Jean he switched into their language and the men spoke a few words. Sir Jean's face lightened and he bowed his head to the man. Jacque gritted his teeth and avoided the man's eyes; quietly the boy seethed at his impotence and earlier outburst.
Dupris nodded to the moustached man and he eyed Raveres with a shot of disdain before leaving the room. Turning back to face the elf Luc bowed his head again,
"I have a feeling that we'll never meet one another again milady. Yet if we were to, I would prefer to know your name?"
Raveres raised one of her dirty eyebrows and let out an involuntary scoff, "Perhaps you might identify yourself first?"
Dupris opened his mouth and then smiled, "Of course my lady." He cleared his throat, "I am lord Lucian Gilles Dupris, ambassador of Duke Meroux and nephew of the same."
The Druchii made a curt 'hmph'. Wordlessly the handsome lord raised an eyebrow and egged her on.
'Very well' she sighed, "I am Lady Raveres Morthai Naguii."
She made a small curtsey and quickly straightened.
"Well Lady Naguii." Luc began, but Raveres immediately cringed, thinking; 'Only my mother is called that.'
"I'll say it now, and in Druhir for your convenience." He turned to Sir Jean, "I see no reason to stand in the way of your honour Sir Jean. In our lord's name I hereby grant you assent and the leave to accompany your elvish charge here."
Raveres felt a wave of encouragement and she saw Sir Jean bow his head quickly, "Thank you my lord…"
"See her quest finished, satisfy your chivalric duty, and return as soon as you may."
He looked at Raveres again, "However I forbid any further…" he paused and searched for the proper translated word. He smiled to himself before continuing, "'Friendly' interaction with you. Your people and mine are not allies."
Raveres smiled and nodded once in agreement, looking over his shoulder at the elder knight he continued, "Jean? See the debt paid." Curtly nodding his head Luc finished with a dry; "My lady." Before he turned and left the room swiftly.
The lord's boots loudly clunked along the stone tiles of the floor. Sir Jean exhaled tensely and turned to Jacque and Raveres, first he spoke in his tongue to Jacque and the boy huffed petulantly, then he set to scolding the Druchii.
"What did you two do to provoke them?"
Raveres opened her mouth widely and was about to respond just as petulantly as the boy, but she quickly held her tongue and cooled her words, "I did nothing, save for breathing."
Sir Jean furrowed his brow and then tried to make sense of what had happened.
"Nothing?" He repeated.
With a disappointed smile Raveres clarified; "I sat in silence as you had bid and waited your return. Your countrymen entered stinking of grit, anger, and a desire for blood."
"They struck your boy first before trying me. I told the tall one, their leader, I'd take only his hand for the insult, I thought of you and imagined you'd approve of my restraint."
Sir Jean failed to see her humour and instead grumbled as Raveres unwittingly corroborated what Jacque had said earlier in his tongue. Shaking his head, the knight exhaled wearily. Then moustached man returned to the room and quietly spoke to Sir Jean.
…
Outside, four elaborately dressed guards were sitting on horseback in front of the Bretonnian embassy, the fifth of their number; a herald, sat atop the choicest steed; its colours were bright and the gilded barding of its armour bore a grand headdress of feathers and the seal of the city's Emir.
The herald bowed elaborately as he greeted Sir Jean, Raveres, Jacque, and the Moustached Breton. Sir Jean stood uneasily at the succession of so much activity in one day.
The Herald spoke in slightly accented Bretonnian, "I have been sent by my lord Emir; the great lion who watches over all who live in the loving arms of the river's basin: Hashan. He bids me extend his most gracious and pious invitation to dine and receive his hospitality in the blue palace."
Sir Jean nodded and bowed his head politely, "I am humbled that his highness has sent such a host to greet us."
The Herald smiled genuinely, "We shall escort you all to the palace, noble Bretonnian."
Sir Jean whispered a summarised translation to Raveres and she relaxed her brow while sighing somewhat excitedly. Then the three remounted their horses which were lashed to a wooden post just a few yards from the Bretonnian embassy's doors. As the three travelling companions followed their Arabyan escort Sir Tormande watched from an alley on the opposite side of the wide street, his mouth turned in spiteful rage.
…
The road to the palace began widening and at first Raveres felt a flutter of childish excitement as she looked around the awe inspiring lane.
Both sides of the stone road were lined with cultivated trees, arranged flowerbeds of exotic colours, and there were fountains at regular intervals between the garden beds, and each one was larger than the previous until finally her eyes came to the end of the street:
The gate to the palace grounds was made of dark lapis stone and soared high into the sky; there were fountains built into the gate and they had intricate plumbing which shot water up in a wide arc from the one side to the other. The visual effect created a moving tunnel of water under which they were expected to pass.
The palace's gates were open wide and there was a stream of foot traffic walking in and out of the blue gate. Raveres saw that the men and women were obviously the nobles of the city, and they were all dressed in such finery as to put the richest of her family's relations to shame.
At first her innocent awe and wonder at the sights around her gave a pleasant feeling in her chest, but the closer that they got to the gate the more that Raveres' emotion began to sour. The innocence, the awe and childish glee at the sights around her were replaced and she began to feel embarrassed and ashamed.
Her thoughts turning inward as she began to take a negative stock; Her hair was matted, greasy, and had spots of dried blood still in it. She had cleaned her face, but even that was simply water without soap, her cheeks remained dark and reddish from the road and her pores were clogged and full of dirt.
Her hands and forearms were grimy and her sweat was making sand cling to her. The white of the riding cloak she wore was splattered with spots of blood and the back and edges of the garment were stained with trail dust. Even the gold of her earrings was dirty and no longer held a shine.
She became conscious of every single thing about her appearance, and the closer that they got to the palace gates the more she saw the looks of awkwardness and apprehension directed towards her. Before now she honestly hadn't thought about how she looked, since Sir Jean, and even Jacque, was just as dishevelled as her. So the grime coating her hadn't been a bother until now.
Since falling from her ship Raveres was still wearing her 'casual' rough spun and ill-fitting drab dark trousers. They were unflatteringly stained from the salt of the sea water, and her sweat created dark patches along the back of her legs and knees.
Under her dirty and scuffed cuirass, she had a simple light-coloured blouse, the arms of which had to be rolled up for comfort and the quality of its thread was no better than any of the other sailors she originally journeyed with. She felt insulted by the indignity of her dress and continued to steep in insecurity.
'These apish fools…' she thought, 'If I were in my real armour or even if I were dressed in my family's colours, I would demand dread respect just by the sight of me!'
Every snicker, each gasp, and all the whispers of the 'beautiful' nobles she felt was directed at her. And so, her shame quickly rotted into anger. She gritted her teeth and began staring ahead with spite as her eyes became deep, dark, and her brow narrowed.
Strange birds loudly called from the trees above them and she shot them a look too; 'Even the fauna insults me.' She thought.
Sir Jean looked behind to see her expression and he whistled to get her attention; "My lady, why are you so dour?"
She rolled her eyes, "See how they look at me? I look like a commoner!"
The knight shook his head, careful with his tone as he corrected her. "No, Lady Raveres. You look like you were just in battle."
She wasn't expecting that kind of response and her features softened as she visibly expressed her shock.
"Most of these people have never seen an elf before, let alone a Druchii. So to see you in armour, a sword at your side, accompanied by warriors, as well as being a woman? You must appreciate," he laughed, "It's most unusual to say the least."
'Is that… is that so?' she thought.
"But I've only my gauntlet and cuirass for armour? And a single sword?"
Sir Jean smiled and brought his horse closer to her side, "You're covered in sand and beside an equally marred knight."
She looked to their side at the whispering and watching nobles.
"See the swords the men have?"
Not every nobleman was armed, but the few that were had small ornate blades at their sides.
"I can guarantee you that none of them have seen battle this decade, if at all."
She hid a smile, "Is that so…"
Sir Jean nodded, "These nobles are merchant-princes and the like; they are not fighters. They avoid war if they can, or they see how they can profit from one."
He lowered his voice as they passed through the azure gate and under the water arch. As soon as they entered the inner wall of the palace's courtyard the first colour she saw was green. A vast manufactured jungle of terraced gardens and flowing artificial rivers went from side to side in front of the palace's grand steps.
The stone path up to the palace's three arched entryways was flanked by a row of equestrian statues, though rather than horses the men were mounted on lions. In front of the steps were six slaves and they immediately stepped forwards to tend to Sir Jean, Jacque, and Raveres' horses.
"You are an elf, and a woman, they are more interested in you than you could possibly know."
Raveres furrowed her brow, "Surely not!"
As the slaves stepped closer and helped direct them towards the palace steps she saw the familiar face of Sadalsuud at the top of the staircase. He was flanked by a robed and ancient looking man on his right, and a bald, muscled, and darkly skinned man on his left. Sir Jean nodded as the procession halted.
"You are going to be an item of curiosity in the Emir's court like you wouldn't believe…"
Before she could speak with the Breton again the herald turned and bowed, speaking a few words to the knight before saluting Sadalsuud and trotting towards a smaller gate on the side of the courtyard, the mounted guardsmen following him as he left.
Sadalsuud loudly bellowed greetings as the three visitors were assisted down from their mounts by the slaves. Raveres pursed her lips as her thoughts and assumptions began to race, she adjusted her sword and pushed a stray strand of her silver hair from her eye. 'An item of curiosity?' she repeated. 'I certainly hope this Arabyan… humph no…'
She shook her head and patted the horse's neck as she stepped away from the steed and towards the stairs. Sadalsuud walked down a few of the steps as Sir Jean spoke to him and he smiled as he bowed in Raveres' direction. She made a slight motion of her head to acknowledge him, but left it at that.
Jacque remained in the courtyard even as the horses were led away by the slaves. He looked around the gardens and seemed to enjoy the attention they were getting from the supplicants and nobles. The youth had a strange smile across his features and he held the hilt of his sword with his left hand his right planted firmly on his hip.
Sir Jean called his name and he quickly nodded and followed towards the stairs. Raveres began slowly walking up the steps as well. But with each step she began to feel more uneasy. Sadalsuud introduced the two men he was standing with and then began gesticulating in the air as he raised his voice.
Reaching the top of the stairs Raveres looked to the ancient man and then the tall dark man each made a bow of their head quietly. When Sadalsuud finished his short speech Sir Jean nodded and expressed a few words in the Arabyan tongue. When he was finished the bearded sage beside Sadalsuud spoke.
Raveres felt pleasantly surprised; his words were in Druhir. It was antiquated and stilted, '…but better than Tormande's speech that's for sure!'
His accent and pronunciation made him sound like he came from the Black Court, but… she smiled again, there wasn't the stereotypical sarcasm and venom behind his words.
"Blessings upon thee, and thine house, we regret that our knowledge of the Druchii speech is limited thus, but we are most certain that a slave of foreign tongues may be found for you."
The man then stepped forwards and presented a Druchii styled bow. His arms and hands moved exactly right, and his crooked back tilted perfectly. Raveres was impressed to see such a display from a Human, but then she felt oddly unworthy of it. She was the seventh born, and even so only her father and mother would have the rank to demand and enjoy such an address.
As she thought about the bow a voice of pride in the back of her mind began speaking, 'But… you're the only Druchii here! Who's to notice? I'm surprised he even knew how to do such a bow in the first place! Savour it! You deserve recognition.'
Raveres made a modified curtsey and responded to the elderly man as Sadalsuud watched, a smile hidden in his dark beard.
"The Naguii thank you for your blessings, and I extend mine to you and your master. Though I wonder-"
She stopped herself from saying anything caustic and looked at Sir Jean. The Breton seemingly read her mind and waited as she chose more polite words.
"I ask who I am addressing."
The long bearded sage responded quickly, "My apologies, we are Wick'tus, advisor to the Al Daouk and keeper of the Emir's seal. And you my dread-lady?"
Raveres smirked at the title she had yet to earn, "I am Raveres, fifth born daughter of Lord Titos Naguii. I am not a Dreadlord yet my Lord Wick'tus, and regardless of one's gender the title is the same. There are no dread-ladies."
He closed his eyes and nodded in apology, "Forgive mine ignorance." He chuckled, "Perhaps you might be the first then?"
Raveres raised a brow at the joke. Sadalsuud grinned and then waved for them to follow him as he began towards the great arched entrances to the palace. The round Arabyan spoke and Sir Jean translated for Raveres as they followed their host out of the sun and into the shade of the cool stone building.
"Sadalsuud says that we are to be well-treated guests of his and spend the rest of the day here should we wish. Rooms have been made for us and he has vowed that 'every need may be satisfied'."
Raveres raised a brow, "This is… o-overwhelming."
She looked at Sadalsuud and the Vizier, both smiled as she spoke to Sir Jean. Now she had to be mindful of her words, the Vizier knew Druhir too, and while he seemed old and decrepit, she had to be wary: 'sights are deceiving' she thought, especially now that she was in a palace.
Court intrigue, politic, and all manner of foulness would soon surround her and Raveres was cursing her secluded upbringing more and more. She didn't really know how to deal with courtiers; she had no idea how to disarm the daggers which surely made up these men's smiles.
"I wonder, these rooms, how well attended are they? I have no interest in rest… but a bath." She exhaled a sigh, "I daresay that would be almost as nice a gift as this sword."
She slapped her hand to her blade as the Vizier whispered his translation to Sadalsuud. Sir Jean appeared almost relieved that he wasn't the translator or diplomat for once. Sadalsuud chuckled and spoke quickly as they stepped into the grand ceilinged entrance-hall.
The Vizier translated and indicated two female servants which stood with their heads bowed at the side of the hall. They stood in front of a grand doorway and when the Vizier pointed at them, as if on cue, they looked up and bowed to the visitors.
"These servants are Lord Sadalsuud's personal gifts to you during your stay in the palace; they shall lead you to your chambers and ensure that you are taken care of before this evening."
Sadalsuud laughed and twirled his beard, as he spoke again.
Wick'tus then continued his translation, "After you are accommodated you may join Lord Sadalsuud in the Emir's court. Afterwards lord Sadalsuud intends to host a small banquet. He hopes that you all will do him the honour of dining with him?"
Sir Jean nodded and bowed as he responded in Arabyan. Raveres bowed her head and wordlessly agreed.
"Splendid!" The Vizier announced and Sadalsuud smiled widely.
Raveres felt a lump begin to grow in her gut, 'Gods below… I'm not appearing in court dressed like this…'
She groaned mentally as she prayed: 'Dark Mother, watch over me.'
…