5 – Brett Hornsby
"Wake up, Sauren! Your training starts today."
The half-elf shaded his eyes as the drapes in his room were abruptly opened. Sunlight streamed into his bedchamber giving everything it touched a warm golden glow.
Brett eyed the boy as he approached the end of his bed through the haze of morning brightness. Sauren sat up, rubbing his eyes then he focused on the figure that closed in.
Sa'themar's right hand man stood, hands on hips half grinning at him. "A little fragile this morning, are we?" He could not keep the humour from his voice.
The boy looked a tad nauseous still and it appeared that his delicate condition made him keep conversation light and pleasant. "I will find out shortly, Brett," Sauren replied. "Would you be good enough to pass me my robe, please?" He indicated the dark blue dressing gown draped over the back of a chair near the window.
Brett eyed the young man. His mouth twitched a little at the corners. Generally speaking the boy was indeed mannerly, but he often forgot such basics around Brett, favouring instead a show of self-importance. Nevertheless, it was a little amusing to see the usually composed half-elf on the verge of turning the sickly shade of death-warmed-up.
He strode over and gathered up the robe then threw it lightly onto the bed. "Get up and dress in basic combat attire. Do keep it simple Sauren, your starting from scratch and I doubt you will like the foundation course."
The mahogany eyes fixed on him through wayward platinum strands.
The older rogue expected a prototypic response from the boy but was taken aback by what tumbled from Sauren's lips. "I am well aware of the beginnings, Brett. If I am to lead this guild in future years, I will do so with experience and not simply the knowledge of such training."
Brett was actually impressed by what he heard but he could not bring himself to award the boy heartfelt praise. He opted for a more tentative form of credit. "That is encouraging, Sauren. I'm sure your father would be most pleased with your approach."
Sauren laughed softly. "This morning, however," the boy continued, clutching his stomach. "I am sorely having difficulty believing that, Brett."
It was one of the rare occasions the boy displayed a mote of humour. That plus the fact he was clearly suffering from an over-indulgence of wine from the night before, made it even more amusing.
Brett watched Sauren shifting gingerly in his bed. He moved as if he had underwent a wrestling match with an ogre. His perfect teeth flashed in small grimaces as he swung his legs over the side of the mattress. He reached for his robe. He slid his arms into the sleeves then fastened the tie-belt around his waist. "Explain to me if you please, how it is I feel so much worse now than I did a few hours ago when Que.." He stopped suddenly, his posture rigid.
Brett's laughter was low and measured. He knew the boy would try keep the Queen's visit quiet. Pointless really, considering it was Brett who escorted her to the Sauren's room. "The Queen was most concerned for you - and Don, I hasten to add. The two of you were passed out in the library. I think perhaps her maternal nature was at the fore."
Sauren nodded carefully, concealing his smirk. "Yes. She told me my father was not best pleased."
"I can assure you he was only concerned too. He seemed suitably impressed by how you conducted yourself during the earlier part of the evening."
"That is a relief at least. I would not wish to embarrass nor offend him."
Brett believed him without question. He knew the bond between father and son was strong and for all he himself has some misgivings about the boy, he did not doubt that Sauren loved and respected his father unconditionally.
The seasoned rogue ran his fingers through his floppy brown hair pulling it back into a ponytail and securing it with a small leather thong. He then turned to leave the room with the hint of a smile. "Alright lad, freshen up then and make haste. I will be in the courtyard at the stables."
Descending the spiral staircase to the ground level of the tower, voices drifted towards him. Brett smiled. This was officially the first day for the Guild to be operational – it was coming alive.
As he entered the large hallway which encompassed the grounds, connecting all towers and rooms, he greeted chambermaids, pageboys, administrators and other rogues. He grinned. One or two of them, mainly the rogues, looked almost as sickly as his ward in the main tower had mere moments ago.
Just as well today would be occupied with the checking of inventories, discussing the intake of students, determining the tutors. The Gods be thanked it was not a day for missions. He laughed to himself.
He had worked alongside Sa'themar for nigh on eighteen years now and they had become close friends over that time as well as excellent, covert operatives.
Unlike his high-elf colleague, however, Brett was starting to feel and show signs of his age. Although only in his mid-forties, the lifestyle of the rogue, and in particular due to the high calibre of his work, his joints and muscles ached more in recent days than they used to. There was no doubt there was still a good many years left in him yet, but his genes were not like those of his elven friend.
The elves were undeniably built for longevity with their boundless energy and adaptability. Not so the humans. For all they were relatively hardy and capable of achieving much, their main gifts came from leading nations, armies and developing strategies to designing and engaging in construction, commerce and farming.
There were, of course, a select few who excelled in the art of war and fighting, but generally speaking, their minds were their strength, moreso than their bodies. It was pointless trying to keep up with the elven nations which time itself seemed to have embraced and endowed with immutability.
He was not an envious, nor a resentful man. He knew his limitations as well as his capabilities and had in fact, lived life well - sometimes too well in his youth.
Mary Hallewell pulled him into line though. Brett smiled warmly as he thought of his wife. She had been the best thing to have ever happened to him and he loved her dearly.
They had met a number of years earlier when he had just completed a mission for one of the noble families in Stratholme. She had been working as a nurse in one of the infirmaries. Brett had been unfortunate to take an injury to his right side and was told to attend the infirmary. He did as instructed.
The building was a dark, cold place. Consisting of one very large room for the patients and two smaller rooms off to one side, the hospital was basic to say the least. Of the two smaller rooms, one seemed to be a store room, most likely containing medicines, bandages and instruments for treating the sick. The second one perhaps was a room for the nurses to record cases or maybe even have a few moments to take a break from their hard work, he could only hazard a guess, but that one seemed feasible.
The smell of alcohol mixed with the coppery scent of blood and other unmentionable bodily fluids permeated the air. It was not by any stretch of the imagination one of the better infirmaries Brett had had reason to visit over the years but it served its purpose adequately enough.
Bunks were lined in three rows, some of which were occupied, others made up ready for any new patients. The bedding at least appeared clean.
Dirty windows, however, affording little light into the building made it necessary for candelabras to be dotted throughout along with small oil lamps carried by nursing staff as they checked on the poorly.
The soft click of tiny heels sounded on the stone floor as nurses moved between bunks and low murmurings were infiltrated by moans and groans of patients being tended to or waiting to be seen.
And that was when he saw her. A young nurse with raven hair pulled up tight into a bun. She was not overly pretty, but she was striking, her face almost heart-shaped, tapering into a little point. Her smile was warm, friendly and although he could not make out the colour of her eyes, he could tell there was a kindness and sincerity held within.
Her voluptuous figure was clad in a light blue gown. Its skirts swept back and forth as she busied herself between occupied bunks, tending to the occupants. He saw her smile as she spoke whatever reassuring words she needed to utter to the sick and the frail.
He watched as she administered various embrocations and compounds to the people. She plumped up pillows, mopped brows and sorted the bedding around those who were under her care.
Other nurses had tried to help him but he shooed them away, saying he would wait until the lady in the blue dress could see to his wounds.
"Nurse Hallewell is too busy at the moment," one said to him.
"I can wait," he'd replied, smug he had her name now.
"You will slip into delirium if you leave this untended much longer," she argued.
"Then Nurse Hallewell will have to see to me won't she?"
The young nurse huffed and turned abruptly to leave. Brett grinned and winced at the same time. He knew the nurse had a point. The wound was becoming uncomfortable to say the least and he could feel the spreading warmth of blood as it seeped through the make-shift field bandage.
Yet, he was fixated on the nurse in the blue dress. Her voice wafted over to him. The sound was like a lullaby. He closed his eyes for a moment, enjoying the soothing timbre of her voice as she comforted a young child with a broken leg.
"Right! Sit up young man."
Brett's eyes sprang open, his indulgence rudely interrupted. A stern looking woman was standing over him, her facial features like that of a crone. Dressed in the customary grey with a white starched apron and bonnet she was quite possibly the scariest thing Brett had seen in years. Even the harpies in Hyjal were less scary than this nurse.
"Erm... I'm fine, thank you," he stuttered.
"Then why are you taking up bed space?" came the shrill reply. "Out with you. Go to an inn if you wish to sleep off your ale."
"Oh no, I am ..." Brett started to protest.
"Come on now! Up with you!" She started hauling him up by the arm. He was amazed that for such an old woman she was surprisingly strong.
The bandage around Brett's chest gave way causing the wound to gape once more. He cried out.
"Oh stop the dramatics!" the crone chastised.
"Let me be, woman!" Brett hissed between clenched teeth.
The fracas had drawn attention, not least, that of the pretty young nurse in the blue dress. The old woman was not for giving up trying to evict Brett from the bunk and with another hard jerk, his bandage came undone altogether. His left hand came round to clasp the now fully opened wound, blood spreading rapidly under his shirt, soaking the material.
"Lilith, stop!" A voice came from behind the crazed old woman. The face of Nurse Hallewell appeared at the woman's side. "Lilith!" She said, placing a reassuring hand on the old woman's arm. "He is injured. Now return to your bunk immediately."
"Bunk?" Brett gasped. He stared at the two women.
The young nurse merely nodded to him and moving round she clasped the old woman's upper arms. "Lilith, you must go back to your bed. Holly will be with you in a moment."
The crone stopped pulling on Brett's arm, allowing him to settle back once more. She looked into the young nurse's eyes. Her demeanour changed entirely; she calmed down almost instantly. "She will?" she asked the nurse.
"Yes. I promise. Now go lie down. Try and rest."
With that the old woman turned, almost trancelike and moved over to the other side of the room where she lay down on an empty, unmade bunk. The nurse nodded to another young woman nearby; Brett assumed this was the Holly she had referred to. The other nurse then hurried over to the old woman.
Turning her attention back to Brett, Nurse Hallewell signalled to an assistant. "Bring fresh bandages, needles and twine and some alcohol." The assistant glanced at the bloody patch on Brett's side and took off at a run.
Brett gazed up at the nurse as she busied herself cutting away his shirt with a small blade she had extracted from a hidden pocket in her apron. "I thought she was a nurse," he said lamely.
The raven-haired nurse smiled. "So does she," she replied affording him a quick glance before focusing on the ruined bandage around his chest.
"Well, I'm glad she's not, she is a bit rough handling the patients."
A small laugh tripped from Nurse Hallewell's lips. "Bless her, she had a malady of the mind. We can only offer her sedatives until the priests arrive to banish her illness."
"Oh." Brett glanced down at his chest as she gently peeled away the soiled linen.
He had to admit he had taken quite a blow. He had underestimated his opponent and it nearly cost him his life. Quick thinking, however, saved the day and the enemy axe-wielding warrior now lay at the bottom of a well, broken, with a slit throat. Lifting his eyes back to the nurse he saw the hint of a grimace, but it was fleeting. "Am I going to live?" he joked.
The assistant arrived with the items Nurse Hallewell had ordered. They were placed on a table beside the bunk. The assistant stood wide-eyed staring at the open laceration across Brett's ribs.
"You will, yes," the nurse replied, smiling. "However, you were foolish not to accept help from the other nurses."
"I wanted you to tend me." Brett said with a grin.
Nurse Hallewell eyed him before she nodded to the assistant again and together they gently raised Brett's back enough to allow her to remove the old bandage completely. He winced slightly. The manoeuvre caused fresh blood to trickle down his side from the gash, widening it slightly before it settled once he was rested back against the pillows.
Her lack of response to his comment made him follow it up. "What's your name?"
"Nurse Hallewell."
"No, your first name."
"Why?"
Brett hoped humour might work. "Why? Now that's a strange name. I haven't come across that one before."
It worked. Nurse Hallewell laughed. The sound was soft, delightfully feminine. "I am Mary," she said, still smiling. "And what is yours?" She gently bathed around the wound with the warm water and a soft cloth.
"Brett. Brett Hornsby."
"Well, then Brett Hornsby, by the looks of things I am pleased to report your wound is not infected, however, I am going cause you some more pain before it heals."
"Oh I don't feel...aargh!" The sudden burn of alcohol as it swept into the open wound took him by surprise. His hands clenched the sheet under him and his back arched slightly.
Mary grinned. "You were saying?"
"Nothing," he replied hoarsely. He felt momentarily embarrassed.
"Uh huh. So what is it you do, Brett Hornsby, that would merit you such an injury?" She poured more alcohol over a large needle.
His eyes fixed on the implement only too aware of what followed. He had many a wound sewn before, but it still wasn't an experience he enjoyed. "I –uh – I do whatever my employer requires of me," he replied.
She pinched the edges of the wound together then quickly inserted the needle. He had tensed, ready for the jab and corresponding discomfort, but was somewhat bewildered by how little he felt the needle puncture his skin.
"Ah, you are a nobleman's mercenary then?" she asked glancing at him before concentrating on her work again. She tied off the twine, then made a second incision.
"That is a rather diplomatic way of putting it," Brett replied. "But, yes, that is what I am." The third break of his skin wasn't quite so painless.
Her eyes flitted back to his again. "Are you alright?" she enquired.
"I'll be fine."
"I know you will."
The soft curve of her lips made him catch his breath. She poured a little more alcohol on the wound, this time the burn was not so intense but it helped with the remainder of the sutures.
Brett found himself becoming drowsy. He did not want to sleep but it was calling to him. Distantly, he heard her voice. "Lost a lot of blood... need time... rest now..."
Before he sank into the velvet comfort of slumber he managed a few words. "Mary. Thank you. Sweet lady."
As he reached the stables, his face bore a huge grin. Mary always made him smile. She was his strength, his conscience, his purpose. His life.
His work still managed to bring him home with an occasional scar to heal, though the frequency had lessened with experience gained in the field. Now though, perhaps his advancing years may start the process over again. He laughed lightly. He doubted Mary would allow him to continue in a position that put his life at serious risk. If things were to become too much, he was sure he could adjust to a ... less demanding role within the guild.
Reluctantly pulling himself from his reverie, he inspected the stalls of the stables. It seemed Sauren would get off lightly today after all. There was little in the way of equine deposits, having only had a few horses in the previous night. All the horse tack was untarnished and still pristine. Brett reckoned it would perhaps take the boy a couple of hours at least to clean what filth there was.
A groan came from above, followed by a thud. Another long drawn out moan. Brett moved towards the ladder that led to the roof space. Blades of hay showered down to the cobbled floor. Quietly he ascended. When he peered over the ledge of the roof space floor he rolled his eyes.
Don lay spread-eagled over some bales of hay, his clothing all rumpled with his shirt halfway up his belly and his britches untied. Most undignified, his manhood poked out from the loosened lacings. He snorted and draped a lazy misguided arm over his face. It seemed Don's father Jeff, had banished him for the night, due to his drunkeness no doubt, and he had found his way back to the headquarters, opting for the nearest place to bunk down.
Brett heaved himself up over the top rung and crossed to the dishevelled lad. He nudged his legs. Don groaned. He nudged again, harder this time. Another grunt. Brett huffed then kicked one of the bales out from under the boy.
Don grumbled again but this time he was wakened. His eyelids struggled to part, never the twain quite managing to open at the same time.
"Come on, you," Brett boomed. "You have chores to see to."
"Wha-?" The hung-over youth clapped a grubby hand over his mouth; a fistful of dried grasses making him spit out blades of hay. He pushed himself up to a sitting position before abruptly turning to the side and emptying his stomach. The liquid content steamed a little in the cool morning air before the wisps vanished and the yellowed gloop sank into the strewn hay.
"Nice!" Brett muttered.
Don dragged his sleeve over his mouth, but he had not finished trying to evict the previous night's intake. Unfortunately for the lad, it was just the burn of bile which hurtled up over his throat.
"Go freshen up, lad." Brett said dismissively as he started down the ladder. "Perhaps some ham and eggs might be in order." He grinned as he heard Don retch again. Won't get any easier the older they get, he mused.
Back at ground level, Brett meandered outside and took in all that was happening around him. The headquarters were off to their first day and as The Crimson Blade opened its gates to new trainees, the rogue smiled to himself.
This had been Sa'themar's dream for many years. His friend was now a Guildmaster and the founder of what was going to be the most prestigious rogue's guild in the Eastern Kingdoms. The best of the best had come forward to work with him, such was his reputation. And Brett was going to be part of it all.
"Oof! Sorry!" Don bumped into him as he emerged from the stables tucking in his shirt. "I – I'll just get cleaned up now. Sorry."
Brett laughed softly. He remembered his own first hang-over quite vividly and truth be told, he was in no better condition then, than Don was now. He watched as the boy staggered past him towards the dormitories. As Don veered to the left, Sauren exited the tower that housed his chambers and that of his father.
He had followed Brett's instructions to the letter, having dressed in plain tan-coloured britches tucked into knee-length boots with a plain shirt and tunic. He was busy tying back his hair as Don tripped over the entrance to the boys' dormitories. The smirk on the half-elf's face did not go unnoticed by the right-hand man. It seemed the founder's son had fared better than his friend had from their over-indulgence of the previous evening.
The mahogany eyes found Brett's steady gaze. Just as the older rogue had surmised, the earlier pleasantries induced by his fragility would be short-lived. The calculating look behind the brown eyes was back. No doubt the war of wits would now continue.