The Warrior
Applewatch broods in wreathing mist. The farmhouse is very still, very silent now that its late owner lies in her grave, in death reunited with all of her adored children. Their untimely demises pleased the Dread Father greatly, of this Lucien is sure. All credit to his Silencer – his friend, his dark sister, his most trusted child.
He waits. Standing still in contemplation with his hands folded before him, only occasionally breaking stance to pace the rough stone floor as the hours wear on. He is tense, but not yet fearful. Not yet.
He chose her well - and ah, to have one of his own again, after all this time - and he has no doubt that she will unmask the real deceiver. And when she returns to him victorious, he will take her hand and raise it to his lips, tell her again of his trust and pride, before they set out together to take the traitor's head. So he waits.
The door creaks open, swings inward. He turns eagerly, but his greeting to his Silencer dies on his lips as his eyes light on the four figures - four! - in the doorway, all black-robed and black-hooded like himself. On their faces, half-obscured by their drooping cowls, is nothing but cold, immutable condemnation.
"Lachance," says Arius cordially. He is already eyeing the other man's form - torso, neck, limbs - with anticipation. It's been so long since he was in at a kill. There are certain longstanding, prescribed methods for dealing with traitors; they are neither quick, nor clean, and as far as Arius is concerned, so much the better.
Lucien stands at bay, his hand going to the hilt of his shortsword. "I am not the betrayer," he says harshly.
"That's exactly what the betrayer would say." This from Alor, and all four chuckle low, a rank unholy sound. And Lucien Lachance's blood thrills to a sensation he had forgotten long ago, or had never felt; jagged, freezing terror.
Silencer...where are you?
"This is madness!" he says urgently. "Do you not see? The traitor intercepted my dead drops, he-"
"Enough!" exclaims Arquen, drawing her dagger, and the others follow suit.
"Justice at last, Lachance," says Bellamont softly, his eyes alive with a mad, vengeful fire, and not one of those present catches his true meaning. And the Black Hand, inexorable as the night itself, closes in.
Lucien fights them until his blade is blunted and useless, and he is blinded with his own blood. And that's just the beginning.
x x x
The ground under Shadowmere's flying hooves gradually changes from green to brown, dust and rocks, and then at long last to white as you reach the Jerall Mountains. Her breath comes in long rattling gusts, harsh with fatigue.
The darkness and fog is all-enveloping, and if it weren't for the lit lamp, a beacon in the night, you might have missed the small farmhouse altogether. As it is, the mare almost stumbles over the crumbling dry stone wall. You tug her to a halt, barely waiting for her to stop before flinging yourself from her back. Spent, she falls to her knees, but you don't see it.
You open the door.
Lucien is there, just as he said he'd be…but he doesn't look like himself at all. He was only half right, you think as you struggle to comprehend the scene before you. Bonds may be forged in blood, but they are also broken in it.