Diego looks up from the papers scattered across the battered table which is serving as the only desk in the office. On seeing Nerita, Sefu, and Felicity in the doorway, he stands, nearly knocking over the equally battered chair. He has to move around the boxes of papers, uniforms, and other assorted supplies and gear stacked around the room. Nerita surveys the chaos with a rapidly deepening scowl.
“Still no furniture?” Diego sighs, “No furniture, no cleaning or laundry service... we're only getting meals because Joey and Ivy spoke to the head cook directly. Much as we're used to doing all that sh*t ourselves, it's f***ing ridiculous.” “Beyond,” Nerita is more than willing to agree with the sentiment, “Come with us, please.” Diego ensures the office door is locked before accompanying Nerita, Sefu, and Felicity up to the throne room. Court isn't in session, but the monarch is seated on his throne. Crown Prince Derian is standing nearby, his expression hard to read. Facing the monarch is the captain of the palace guard, who looks upset and defensive. The monarch looks past him as Nerita leads those with her over to the group. He indicates for Nerita to be seated on the other throne, which she is very relieved to do. As Felicity moves to stand just behind Nerita's seat, the door opens again, this time to admit Ford. Diego can't quite conceal a wince on seeing Ford's expression. “Now,” Monarch Reginald's eyes pass over the men standing before him, “This situation is becoming utterly ridiculous. My orders are to be obeyed, regardless of what they are or on whose behalf they're issued.” Han's expression grows stormy. The monarch turns to Diego, “Has anything been done as requested?” “No, your majesty.” “Have you been able to get any of what you need?” “Some things.” The monarch returns his attention to Han, “Is there a particular reason for this continued subversion of my orders? I presume if you aren't doing it yourself, you know who is.” Han's eyes go to the floor. “You gain nothing by this,” Monarch Reginald continues, “But I don't think you understand just what you have to lose.” “You think it possible to replace me?” Han's expression turns skeptical. “The Sword certainly does,” Ford speaks before anyone else can, “It also considers Her Majesty's Guard a necessity, whether you agree or not.” “Her Majesty's guard hasn't been necessary in centuries,” Han's scowl returns, “And the Sword hasn't either. Why anyone would listen to some fancy piece of metal that's been out for reality for so long...” He breaks off as Ford's expression turns dangerous. Even as Ford starts towards Han, Diego, recognizing the potential for trouble, moves to intercept and ends up having to block a blow which nearly knocks him down. When Ford tries to move around him, Diego applies the quickest, dirtiest take down he knows. As he does, he turns to catch his wife's eye. Felicity nods, clearly understanding the silent communication, and comes over to help Diego pick Ford up and remove him from the room. Out in the corridor, Ford slumps against the wall, still scowling, but not attempting to fight either of the other two. Finally, he straightens up, turning to Diego. “Thanks.” “Let me guess,” Diego grimaces, “He's been pissing off you and the Sword?” Ford nods, “Fairly consistently for months now. Unfortunately, he's right about being hard to replace at the moment.” “Well,” Diego takes a deep breath, “Much as I know the Sword wants to see this taken care of, let me deal with it.” Ford nods again, “You two should get back in there. I'm going home for a bit.” He walks away while Diego and Felicity return to the throne room. She returns to her position behind Nerita while her husband addresses Han. “Do you know what the term berserk means?” Han frowns, “What...?” “You're real lucky I know Ford an' his history as well as I do,” Diego continues, “Have you ever been in a serious fight in your life?” Han looks away, making no attempt to answer. “Certainly not in many years,” Derian speaks up, “Is Ford still here?” Diego shakes his head, “Better for everyone involved if he's away from here for a while. You really don't want to know what he's capable of when he loses it.” Nerita chuckles grimly, “I can take a guess.” “Anyway,” Diego returns his attention to Han, “I don't think you quite understand the situation. I can't save your *ss if there's a real attack on anyone here 'cause I have my own job to do.” “Very true,” Monarch Reginald sounds stern, “And you need the resources and equipment you're supposed to have in order to do that job. How long until your people begin to arrive?” “Two days, your majesty.” “Do you have enough of anything to feed, clothe, or shelter as many people as you're expecting?” “Not even close.” The monarch nods to himself, “That needs to change now. I will be reissuing all orders for the cleaning and furnishing of your wing, to be completed today and tomorrow. If there is any interference, I want to know immediately. I also want to be sent a message once the work is completed to your satisfaction.” “Yes, your majesty.” Diego bows his head. At a sharp inhale, all eyes go to Nerita. Derian moves to her side immediately. “Still...” Nerita is only breathing shallowly, “False labour.” Derian frowns, even as he nods. Monarch Reginald returns his gaze to Diego, “I suspect your time to prepare will be limited.” Diego just nods.
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Derian speaks up, “So what more is going on?”
“Increased anti-monarchy activity all across the continent,” Ford scowls, “The monarchs in Ouestlun and Midkingsen won't even acknowledge the Sword right now. Their heirs are somewhat more willing, but also currently restricted in what they can authorize. That will change in time, but here in Norsecount, something needs to be done.” “The MSS?” Derian queries. “The director claims he has neither the manpower nor the resources necessary,” The monarch looks grim, “The situation is such I can justify increasing his resources, but how to do that in such a way as to ensure the funds go where they ought. Too often MSS 'special projects' cause as many issues as they resolve.” Ford snorts, “Norsecount's been at relative peace too long.” “What about adding a new branch specifically to tackle the issue?” Derian suggests, “If it could be headed up by someone with experience dealing with these people, such as a grad of Experiment Redemption...” “Be best,” Ford nods to himself, “Natalia might have some thoughts on who would be available to take the position.” “Oh, undoubtedly,” Monarch Reginald grimaces, “Still, it's the best suggestion made yet. Probably best if said branch employs Experiment Redemption grads from the top position on down. Save on some training.” Again, Ford nods, “An' that will help with information gathering an' a few other things, but the Norsecount Militia Reserve needs additional training... before you start seriously losin' people.” The monarch nods, “While I know the commander isn't a fan of yours, it might be best if you're in on that discussion. I have no idea what more they could be taught which would actual serve to help. Is there anything else?” “Her Majesty's Guard needs reviving.” Ford looks serious, what of his face can be seen around his dark glasses. Monarch Reginald nods to himself, “Protection specific to the monarch's consort and her children. I have a feeling that won't go over well in certain quarters.” Nerita adds, “If you think I'm gonna trust the general run of those from Arawn with that kind of training...” Ford snorts laughter, “I'll have a word with Natalia regarding who might be available to serve as captain or captains. But how about carefully screened Experiment Redemption grads?” “Would be better.” “So you see, ladies and gentlemen, until the ownership of this knife is confirmed...” The overseer of Cold Pass Castle pauses mid-sentence as a knock is heard on the chamber door. “Come in.” He calls.
The solid, wooden door opens just wide enough to admit a bland, rail thin aide, who bows deeply, clearly nervous. “Honored Chancellor, your majesties, Mr. President, sir, if you will excuse my intrusion...” “Get on with it.” The overseer interrupts impatiently. “Sir, there’s a woman here demanding to speak on behalf of the guard.” Surprise crosses the faces of the six world leaders seated at the round conference table. “Who is she?” The aide swallows; “She says her name is Mrs. William Hawklan, sir.” The red haired chancellor of the Pleasure Society glances across the table at the young monarch of Midkingsen. Both women nod briefly, then Chancellor Amanda Burren speaks. “I motion we hear what Mrs. Hawklan has to say.” “I second the motion.” Her majesty, Kallia, of Midkingsen quickly adds. “Any objections, your majesties, Mr. President?” The overseer addresses the other four seated at the table. Each shakes his head in turn. “Show Mrs. Hawklan in.” He commands the aide. A couple minutes later, an elderly woman enters, assisted by a cane. The castle overseer steps away from the table, allowing her to take his place. She rests one hand on the edge of the table as she inclines her head to those watching her. “My greetings and thanks to your majesties, Honored Chancellor, Mr. President,” Her words are pronounced in an unmistakable west continent accent, “I request you hear me out before rendering your judgement in this case.” “A few questions first.” West Continent President Evans requests, “Were you acquainted with the guard or the prisoner?” “The prisoner, sir.” “For how long?” His majesty, Robero, of Ouestlun asks. “Eighty-six years.” The strong clear voice does not hesitate. “Then you are aware that the prisoner was an old woman?” His majesty, Darius, of Norsecount queries. “Old in that she was passed her century birthday,” The woman pauses a moment, “The guard was young then?” “Between twenty-five and thirty.” The overseer offers. Mrs. Hawklan nods to herself. “Whose weapon was that?” She indicates a knife covered in dried blood on the table. “That has not yet been determined,” President Evans states, “There is insufficient evidence...” “What Mr. President means is...” Monarch Kallia cuts in. “What that means is clear enough,” The elderly woman looks around the table at the six world leaders seated there, “That is why I came. I believe that what I have to tell you will clear up a great many aspects of this case.” “Then you believe,” Begins his majesty, Ferdinand, of Estorika, “That the prisoner, whom you claim to have known, may be the guilty party?” “I do,” Mrs. Hawklan raises her hand to quell murmurs, “I do believe so in the light of what she has previously proven herself capable of.” “What exactly do you know of the prisoner then?” Monarch Robero inquires. “Her life story: From the circumstances surrounding her birth to the reasons for her imprisonment in Cold Pass Castle.” “Perhaps you might simply give us the conclusion to that story.” President Evans requests. “If you wish,” The woman inclines her head to the west continent president, “Whatever your verdict, justice has already been served.” “Perhaps,” Chancellor Burren observes, “We should allow the lady to tell her story from the beginning.” “Indeed,” Monarch Ferdinand agrees, “Such a conclusion requires the most complete explanation possible.” “A seat for the lady then,” Monarch Darius commands, “One hundred years makes for a long tale.” “More than that.” Mrs. Hawklan corrects gently as the overseer positions a chair for her, “My history begins with four people whose paths crossed time and time again.”
Helaine Ducot looks up from the paperwork cluttering her desk when someone knocks on her office door.
“Yes?” Her irritation at the interruption is clear in her voice. Her assistant, Duncan Wrout, opens the door enough to stick his head in. “Doctor Neil McAlsie is here for his two thirty appointment.” “McAlsie?” Helaine frowns, trying to place the name. “The archaeologist,” Duncan prompts, “The one researching the towers.” “Oh,” Helaine groans, “Him. Might as well send him in.” Duncan’s head vanishes. A moment later, the door opens wider to admit a sixty something man and two young women. The man, although slow moving and nearly bald, is respectably dressed in a new suit and dress shoes. The young women cause Helaine to suppress another groan. The first is petite with long white blonde hair braided after the east continent fashion. A single streak of black starts in the center of her forehead and disappears into the braid. She is wearing a sleeveless, fitted, black leather vest which reveals the tattoos on either shoulder, black jeans belted with what appears to be a martial arts black belt, and old slip on shoes. The second is taller with long, wavy blonde hair worn loose and long, crimson fingernails. Her outfit consists of a grey sweatshirt with the sleeves cut off, shredded blue jeans, and biker boots. She also has a richly ornamented sword in a battle harness across her back. Both young women have an unusual, intricately designed earring dangling from their left ears. Helaine forces herself not to stare, but has trouble thinking of what to say. The man saves her the trouble. “Good afternoon, Ms Ducot. My name is Neil McAlsie. I appreciate your agreeing to see me so quickly.” “Good afternoon, Doctor McAlsie,” Helaine stands and extends her hand, “Are these your... assistants?” Neil shakes her hand firmly. “After a fashion. May I introduce Amy and Stacie.” Helaine manages a polite nod to each, but is slightly unnerved by the two sets of cold, hard, blue eyes fixed on her. She drops back into her chair, indicating for her guests to sit as well. The man does, but the young women remain standing. * * * The clock in the dashboard reads seven fifty-seven when Helaine parks outside the massive stone structure known as Gemstone Palace. She gets out of her car and approaches the main door to find four people waiting. Three, she identifies as Doctor McAlsie, Amy, and Stacie. The fourth is another young woman. This one is a little taller than the other two, although wearing an identical earring, and has shoulder length black hair. She is wearing a short, tight, blue t-shirt, black track pants, and worn running shoes. As Helaine gets closer, she discovers her to also have cold, hard, blue eyes. “Good morning,” Doctor McAlsie calls, “I’d like you to meet Lexa.” Helaine manages a polite nod before fumbling for the proper key. She notices Stacie is still wearing the sword and Amy is carrying a beat up backpack. Finally, she comes up with the key she needs and unlocks the door. After ushering them inside, she closes and locks the door carefully. There's a kingdom many days travel from here which is constantly warring with all three of its neighbours. The fighting stops for snow season, with promises and rumours of peace negotiations come blossom season, but the fighting always resumes instead. This constant state of war leads the nobility to keep their women and children confined to estates well away from the borders. It's these estates, with their carefully managed farmlands which keep the kingdom self-sufficient and without need of trade partners instead of enemies. But to be born a child of the nobility there is to be sentenced to life in a gilded cage. Perhaps the cage extends to the next nearest estates, but it's still a cage. There is no travel beyond these central estates. There is no word of life beyond them either. The whole world is the estates which keep the kingdom running well enough to perpetuate the war.
Curiosity is a curse in a child so born. The curious are silenced and punished until they fall into line with the demands of their elders. Well, in most cases. The few who persist in their curiosity eventually find some means of escape and the tales told of their fates, true or not, provide material for crushing the spirits of the next generation. I was a curious child, but in the care of a wise woman who recognized it early and took care to channel my energy into seemingly appropriate pastimes. To all others, I appeared to be a complacent, dutiful young girl. The means by which my curiosity was kept hidden were as secret as the trait itself. I didn't know then, who the allies of my nurse were. Who kept her supplied with the books which introduced me to a world beyond both the estates and the eternal fighting on the borders. I was taught, in secret, real world history and geography, natural sciences, self defence and wildland survival skills. I learned to recognize accents, weapons, and plants. To properly identify animals and their tracks. To count and name all the kingdoms of the known world. It seems it very suddenly occurred to my father that his daughter had grown into a woman. For one day I was treated as a child and the very next my marriage to the son of the nearest neighbour was announced. I knew the young man in question well enough to know marriage to him would be torture of the highest order. He was as ignorant as a pupil of his tutors could remain and viciously cruel to every living being around him. These traits were concealed, if poorly, from his elders, but all too obvious to those his own age. Our wedding was to be held early in the next blossom season, although arrangements began the day of the announcement, which was made in the midst of the elder season. Before the first elder moon phase had passed, my nurse procured for me the clothes of a common boy. My woman's shape was concealed by means of tight, body altering garments which could be concealed beneath the shirt and trousers. There was an old all-purpose knife such as a common boy would own and a pack which held a second set of clothes and some food and water. My hair was cut after the fashion of a common boy and I was instructed in the proper accent of the local common folk. In this disguise, I was smuggled from the estate in the back of a cooper's wagon. I was aware both my parents and my intended would seek me out. The cooper's cart carried me across three estates, but nowhere near far enough from my home. I had to walk cross country, across freshly harvested fields to reach the outer edge of those central estates. Even then, my parents had guards who were capable of seeking me out so long as I remained inside the kingdom's borders. My nurse suggested I seek employment at an inn for a time until I could find a traveller I could convince to smuggle me out of the country. Being less convinced of my own powers of persuasion, I changed my disguise for the garments of a poor county undertaker's daughter and enlisted in the army in a shield maid corps.
In the very deep south, beyond the majority of human held cities, there is a vast jungle. In the depths of the jungle are the ruins of a city greater than anyone now could imagine. From the air, it looks like an entire country of crumbled buildings and sunken brick roads. I don't know much about whoever built it in the first place, but I do know the jungle is slowly taking it back.
Before I met Gor, I always travelled alone. And I was very much alone when I first encountered the ancient city. On first sight, it seemed completely abandoned. However, I hadn't gone far when I encountered a wizened old man sitting on a broken wall, his nose buried in a huge ancient tome. He seemed completely oblivious to anything around him. Or at least until I got close. “I've no use for fay. Buzz off.” His nose never left the tome. I don't know how he knew I was there. He never looked at me. He never looked up either. “I've no use for grumpy old humans.” I retorted before turning back the way I had come. “Human?” He sounded outraged at the idea, “What makes you think I'm human?” “Well,” I turned back, “If you aren't, then I've never seen a race like yours. But you're definitely grumpy and old.” He hmmphed at that, still without looking up. I glanced around before picking a direction to fly off in. The only time I glanced back at him, he was still sitting there, nose still buried in the huge book. I wandered the city for a while, poking my nose into buildings and digging around to see if whoever had lived there had left anything of interest behind. There really wasn't much left to see, but I kept going for lack of anything better to do. When night came, I flew up to a stable looking rooftop and rolled up in a blanket. The night sounds in a jungle are always strange, so nothing I heard that night sounded odd to me. I just slept and woke with the sun. Then I went back to poking around until I came across the wizened old man again. And again, he was sitting with his nose in a huge book. “I told you yesterday to buzz off.” As before, he never so much as glanced at me. “I left you alone yesterday,” I shake my head, “And I'll do the same today.” And I flew off in a random direction. Once he was out of sight, I went back to my exploring. The same thing happened the next two days. On the fifth day since I had entered the ruins, he actually looked up from his tome and glared at me. “You're not welcome here, you addled fay. Go home!” I returned his glare, “You can't share a ruin the size of five holdings with one creature half your size? You're the addled one!” I turned to fly off. “Just how big do you think this place is?” He sounded grumpier than ever. “I can fly, remember? It looks far bigger from the air than it does from ground level.” His thick bushy eyebrows rose right into his hairline, “What kind of fay are you?” “A sprite.” His eyebrows rose even higher. Then he shook his head, returned his nose to the huge book, and didn't say another word. I flew off and left him to his reading. By this time I had established there was really nothing overly interesting about the ruins and was ready to move on. So I headed for what I believed to be the edge of the ruin. I had no idea how deep into it I was, so it didn't bother me when I didn't reach the edge before nightfall. I simply slept, woke with the sun and continued on. Until I encountered the wizened old man. This time he was seated at a slab of rock, writing on a scroll. As usual, he didn't bother to look up at me. “Go home, foolish fay.” “I'm trying.” I flew straight up into the air in an attempt to get my bearings, so I didn't hear anything else he said. From a vantage point above the tallest of the crumbling towers, I could see I was still somewhere in the middle of the ruins. There one only one direction in which I could see jungle. I headed for the green, remaining high in the air, and kept going well after dark. Only once I was thoroughly exhausted did I drop down, nearly landing on the wizened old man because I was too tired to pay proper attention to what I was doing. I barely managed to avoid him, but ended up blacking out almost as soon as I hit the ground. When I woke, I was in a bed inside a run down building. There was a bowl of food and a mug of water a a low table beside the bed. Feeling starved, I helped myself before venturing outside. The old man was again reading a huge tome. “I've never met a fay... a sprite no less... who could be trapped by magic.” His nose never left the book. “I'm trapped here?” “Apparently.” I groaned, “Are you trapped here too?” “I don't know,” He shrugged his shoulders carelessly, “I suppose I'll find out when I'm ready to leave.” “Well, if I'm trapped for certain, you'll be stuck with me 'til you're ready to find us a way out of here.” I plopped down on a rock, crossing my arms. I lost track of how many days I spent sitting around while the wizened old man worked. I still don't know what he was doing, beyond a lot of reading and writing. I do know I was bored and a bored fay can become a nuisance very quickly. I soon discovered, for as grumpy as he seemed, the old man actually had a lot of patience. Once it was established we were stuck with each other, he never complained, no matter what I did to keep myself amused. Then, finally, one day he packed all his tomes and scrolls and other belongings into a large trunk. When he was done, the trunk sprouted wheels and followed him through the ruins. I stayed close as we walked and, the next thing I knew, we were out of the ruins and into the thick jungle. But even the tangled vines and huge trees didn't slow him down. I don't know how he did it, but it seemed as if the trees moved themselves out of his way. Within two days, we were out of the jungle and into pasture land. “Well, foolish fay,” He actually looked at me, “Here we part ways. Try not to entrap yourself again.” “I'll try.” I grimaced. After that, he went one way, vanishing quickly across the grass. I flew off towards the nearest city in search of fresh supplies and news of a less hazardous place to poke my nose. |
AuthorAlexandra A. 'Lexa' Cheshire is the author of numerous novels and short stories published through Howling Wolf Books. Lexa is a wife, mother, cat owner, and music lover. Archives
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