"Pride: Tomb de Lau'Dai (Castle Faye)" by Ktpoetry

1. PRIDE

2. Tomb de Lau’Dai

3. Bryson Barristan was a man of patience. For twelve long years he had been covertly scavenging his army from the castle-towns and villages of Tryslyn and the Western Kingdoms. His recruits were hand selected by an elite group of personally trained officers. Each must be young and disenfranchised enough that their nubile minds and belief systems were pliable to his cause. Most had been born mere peasants or craftsman’s sons.

4. And now they are warriors, Bryson thought with some satisfaction as he strode down the lists inspecting his armored men. He was most pleased with his cavalry, a band of boys most of whom had never sat astride a horse in their lives and who’s greatest aspiration in life had likely been to bed the innkeeper’s daughter. Now they were a band of pious, fearless, zealous fighters, Bryson thought as he inspected the lot of them.

5. Bryson heard a soft wet hacking cough from behind his back and knew that Tylon Avonguille had fallen into step with him. No one would think Avonguille a warrior to look at him. He was a frail man with an even frailer constitution. He was also, self-admittedly, a craven who would as soon charge for a library as charge even a squire on a steed. What Tylon Avonguille was, however, was a man with a tongue sharp enough to sway a babe from a new mother’s arms and a mind inherently brilliant with tactics of all sorts; especially military tactics. Bryson valued this more than he valued the prowess of a dozen swordsmen. Warriors, or children to be groomed into such, were plentiful. Tylon Avonguille’s skills were priceless and difficult to come by in a land that valued brave and brawn far more than it did brilliance.

6. "They are coming along quite nicely," Tylon declared, twirling his thin black moustache idly between two fingers. Bryson nodded then bent to lift a horse’s foot, examining its shoe.

7. "They’ll do," Bryson replied curtly. He waved a hand at one of the knights at the head of the list, apparently satisfied with his inspection. As if they were one entity, and not some hundreds of men grouped together, the men lowered their pennants and banners and moved in a remarkably orderly fashion down the hill to the camps and pavilions below.

8. "Have you given any thought to our first strike," Avonguille inquired, licking his cracked lips. Bryson’s eyebrows shot up and a mocking smile came to his lips.

9. "I thought that’s what you were here for." His lip curled into a derisive smirk. Tylon laughed a gurgling sound full of mucous. Bryson Bannister could only hope the man did not succumb to some ill-timed flux before his plans were in order.

10. "I’ve a few ideas," Avonguille replied.

11. His smile is as slippery as his mind, Bryson thought. He was happy to have Tylon on his side yet he was concerned. The man was not like the brainwashed boys Barristan would lead into battle. Tylon Avonguille had little love for Bryson’s cause and he feared for the man’s loyalty should the tides of this war shift. Barristan could abide a few setbacks. All is fair in love and war, they said. Beyond that neither oft went strictly according to plan. But if Tylon were to abandon him, worse yet to switch his allegiance to the side of Tryslyn and their slovenly ***** Queen…No. I will not think on that just now. That is a bridge that hopefully will not need be crossed, Bryson chided himself.

12. "I think I shall retire. Have some wench make a poulstice for those lungs. I care not for that wheeze," Bryson gruffly informed Tylon. Tylon agreed to do so then waddled off, headed for his own pavilion.

13. Bryson Barristan actually had no intention of taking to his quarters. He simply wanted to be alone. This land beyond the mountains was barren indeed, a rough and rocky patch of the world cut between great walls of sandstone. Still, the feel of the hot sun was like the touch of the God Kilshandre, bringer of life himself, upon Bryson’s skin. He found the grand tombs of the long dead ancient Lau’Dai, which loomed high on the horizons on all sides heartening. It had been, after all, Kilshandre and Alaya’s people who had built the giant stone tombs and carvings. What better place for himself and his people to rest out the calm before the storm than seeking the Gods’ protection and guidance beneath the shadows of their very own tombs.

14. Getting as low on his kneed as he could to honor the Twin Gods with humility, Bryson folded his hands and began the intricate chants that were his prayers.

15. "Speak to me, Kilshandre and Alaya. Give me guidance in this that I endeavor in your name," Bryson finished.

16. And then, perhaps for the first time in history, the Twin Gods replied.

17.  

18. Dalion, whom everyone had taken to calling Dally much to his chagrin, frowned irritably at the two boys. As a True Knight of the Twin Gods he was charged with ensuring that all matters of pavilion life were run in accordance with the laws. These two boys’ were kneeling with hands clasped in proper reverence but they were facing South. Dally walked behind the boys cuffing them each gruffly by the ear.

19. "What God is it you pray to in the south, some patron God of foolish irreverent little boys? I hope he will protect you should Lord Barristan catch sight of such foolishness," Dally snarled. The boys squealed, pleading for release, which Dally ultimately granted. He did not move away though. Instead he stood waiting patiently for the boys to offer some explanation of themselves.

20. "Ow we s’posed to know North o’ South ‘n East o’ West," the smaller of the two boys whined plaintively.

21. "Aye, ‘ow we’s s’posed to know," the second boy mimicked.

22. Southlanders, Dally thought grumpily. He wondered if all Southlanders were so much stupider than other men as they seemed, or if it was just their damnable slow drawling tongues that seemed such.

23. Dally spat between their feet.

24. "Try looking at the moon next time, you fools," Dally suggested pointing to the High Tower of Lau’Dai where the crescent moon hovered brightly just above its pinnacle. The boys gasped as if this were some great revelation. Dally was already stalking away. He’d had enough idiocy for one night and wanted nothing more than a long rest and a few moments of peace to praise the great Kilshandre and his moon lady Alaya. Grumpily he trudged to his Knight’s pavilion, set away from the shared fighter’s tent.

25. Dally was not quite asleep but was very nearly so when he felt the brush of flesh against his shoulder. His motions were more long-practiced instinct than considered thought when he spun, wrapping his bare hand around the throat of the creature that dared invade his pavilion.

26. "Please!" The voice that cried out was plainly female but Dallion’s brain didn’t make this connection until after he shoved her off him, sending her sprawling to the back of his pavilion. He strained his eyes into the darkness, suddenly vaguely horrified. The invader was a girl, and from the size of her barely more than a child at that.

27. Dallion cursed. He had warned Barristan that the field camps were no place for peasant girls, but the man had insisted that any who wished to learn the Great Mysteries of the Twin Gods was welcomed in his ranks. Well. This was further proof that even Barristan was capable of flawed thought.

28. "What are you doing here," Dallion demanded of the girl, stalking over to where she lay curled in a ball. The girl did not reply, instead commenced to sobbing softly, face buried in her hands. "Are you hurt," Dallion asked, concerned now more than angry. Anger was quick to abate, this he knew. He had not meant to hurt the girl… Seven hells, he’d had no idea it even was a girl. He’d only done what he’d been trained to do.

29. "Are you hurt child," he asked once more. This time the girl pulled her hands away from her face and gazed up at him with huge luminous moss-swirled-amber eyes. She nodded her head ever so slightly.

30. "Where," Dallion asked. The girl placed a hand just below her newly budded breasts; still silent still with tears streaking down her dirty cheeks. "May I look?" The girl nodded once more. Dallion crawled closer to her and moved to examine her ribs. At first she shrank from his touch but once she recognized that there was no malice in it she relaxed a little. Dallion found no sign of anything broken, though he was sure the contusions were more than a little painful and would be grossly unpleasant bruises by the morning.

31. He smiled down at the girl.

32. "Well, nothing seems to be broken. Your likely more scared then you are hurt, am I right?"

33. "Yes," the girl whispered, barely audible. Dallion chuckled softly.

34. "Ah, so you do have a tongue in your mouth after all," he exclaimed. The child was beginning to calm, and he was glad. "Tell me then, what brought you crawling around my pavilion at this later hour, child." The girl suddenly blushed, pulling her shirt down over her belly and displacing Dallion’s hand, which still rested on her injured ribs.

35. "The boys in the pavilion, the one closest to yours… They said you were in need of a woman. They said you liked them young and you would pay a pretty pouch of drakons were I to…." The girl dropped off, looking into her lap.

36. Dallion swore and the girl recoiled away from him. At first he wanted to chide her for being fool enough to think any man, pious or not, would pay a drakon for the likes of her. Then he thought better of it.

37. "Its not you I’m angry with, girl," he said with a sigh. "Though, you do know how the Twin Gods feel about whores, do you not," he added. The waifish girl's jaw-dropped and tears sprang to her eyes anew.

38. "I’m not a *****! I’ve never even…" she paused to reconsider. "Its just that I’ve seen you. On your horse, in your lovely silver armor and well…" she dropped off again. Dallion nearly burst out laughing.

39. She has a crush on me, he realized, appalled. She would sacrifice her soul because I look gallant in my chain mail astride my charger. Dallion groaned. Oh what a world this was. Then he suddenly thought of something to which he’d paid little heed earlier. He studied the girl fully realizing, now that his eyes were adjusted to the dark, what he had barely considered earlier. She was half-starved and filthy, covered in bruises new and old from head to toe.

40. She was not selling her soul just for lust. She was selling it for food and perhaps shelter from whomever had abused her so. Dallion sighed.

41. "Stay here child. I must have a word with some boys in the warriors’ camp. When I return I shall make amends for the harm I have done you," Dallion explained. The girl moved to protest that no amends were necessary but Dallion only shook his head and placed a finger softly to her lips to silence her.

42. He left the pavilion with the girl gazing after him with her haunting hazel eyes.

43. "Who was it that sent the girl to me," Dallion demanded. No one responded so he repeated the question, this time more emphatically. Still he gleaned no audible response, but this time more eyes than not came to rest on the face of a brawny pockmarked boy named Lance when he made the inquiry.

44. "Was it you," Dallion glowered blackly at Lance.

45. "No! It wasn’t I," the boy protested, squirming beneath the Knight’s glare. Dallion moved his gaze from Lance, letting his eyes flit around the room until they stopped at last to rest upon the face of a boy he knew to be named Orland. He was a small boy but quick with a sword. He had always shown the utmost of respect and honor on the training field.

46. "Orland, who sent the girl to me pavilion," Dallion repeated. The boy uttered not a word but nodded his head in the direction of the pockmarked Lance. Dallion turned to this boy once more. The smile he wore on his face was more terrifying than any scowl he could ever have born.

47. "Well then. You, sir, are now an infantryman. Your horse is forfeit to me. Get out of my pavilion. May you repent or die with the rest of the unworthy," Dallion declared loftily. The boy gaped at Dallion as if he could not believe what he was hearing. "Get out of my pavilion," Dallion reiterated. With a trembling lip the boy fled. When he was well gone Dallion bowed wordlessly to his company and left them to consider what happened to fools under his command.

48.

49. He headed for the provision tent where he procured several loaves of bread, a wheel of cheese, a bar of soap that reeked of lye so that it made his eyes burn, and a small cauldron of hot water. On his way back to his pavilion, where hopefully the girl still lingered, a certain line from one of the Twin God’s prayers began repeating in his mind.

50. Mercy is oft found in the most unlikely of places, he thought, turning the prayer about in his head.

51. How true it was.

52. At first he thought the girl was gone. He even lit his braziers to be sure she wasn’t cowering in some corner or curled beneath a pile of blankets. Still there was no sign of her. Dallion supposed it made sense. After being throttled and hurled across a room he doubted he would stick around for another bought.

53. But I was kind to her, in the end. She ought to have stayed, he thought, frowning as he poured the hot water into his wash basin. He could use a bath himself; at least that would not go to waste. He was already stripping his tunic and lavishing in the thought of the warm steam caressing his skin when the faint sound of a twig snapping caught his attention. He watched as a thin battered arm slink through the flap of his pavilion, reaching toward the loaf of bread set nearby on the ground. The scrawny fingers were already wrapped around their prize when Dallion burst out laughing. The hand froze, dropping the bread and retracting quickly out of sight.

54. "So you’re a thief as well," Dallion queried. He’d heard no footsteps drawing away so likely the child lingered, waiting for his attention to be otherwise occupied that she might make another attempt at the bread. "I know your there, come inside child," Dallion added gently. The girl did not quite come inside, but poked her wan face between the flaps of the tent. Her eyes, strange eyes bright yet somehow translucent and unlike any Dallion had ever seen before, were round with fear and uncertainty.

55. "The bread was for you… Though I’d wished to give it to you rather than have it taken." The seemingly disembodied face pursed its lips into a frown.

56. "Why would you give it to me," the girl wondered aloud, her tone suspicious and uncertain. Dallion gave a blasé shrug of his shoulders, as if he could care less whether the girl came in to take his gifts or not. In truth, he very much wished she would.

57. Teach Light to those who know only Darkness, Truth to those who are living Lies, and the beauty of Faith to those who have fallen by the wayside of Despair. More words from Alaya’s prayer ran through his mind.

58. "I promised you ammends," Dallion said simply. The girl bit her lip and furrowed her brow, seeming to consider this response.

59. This is not one who has oft received kindness, Dallion decided.

60. "There is hot water if you wish a bath," he added noticing once more the smudges of dirt on her cheeks and the caked mud matting her sand hued hair. The girl ogled the cauldron ponderously.

61. "I’ve never had a hot bath," she mused scooting farther into the entry. Dallion smiled.

62. "It needs to cool a bit," he warned, though he rather thought a bath of boiling oil could not scour the grime from this creature. "Have your fill of the bread while you wait, unless you are not hungry."

63. The girl licked her cracked lips, all but drooling at the prospect of fresh bread and cheese. She finally seemed to decide that Dallion was sincere in his offers. Or perhaps hunger merely won out over her fear. Either way, she crawled into the pavilion and took a seat. She remained close enough to the flap that she might make an easy get away should she need to, then took the loaf of bread in her hands. She looked cautiously up at Dallion as she did so. He nodded his approval.

64. "Tell me child, what is your name, where have you come from," Dallion implored, folding his sinuously muscled arms over his bare chest.

65. The girl took the time to swallow her bread before she spoke. At least she has had some manners taught to her, Dallion thought. Or more than likely beaten into her, he reassessed glumly.

66. "They call me Elle. I come from Faye castle town."

67. She was bred in the very seat of the Queen who Barristan had plans to overthrow, Dallion chuckled at this. It was said to be a land of plenty, of indulgence, waste and insolence. To look upon this child one would never believe that the truth. But then, the claims of men, particularly those who claimed kinship with the Gods, need always be taken with a grain of salt. And there were exceptions to every rule and commonly held belief.

68. "And your mother, your father, is it one of them who beats you so," Dallion asked. The girl looked startled at this question. She glanced fervidly over her shoulder, as if the blow of the whip might come at any time. But no blow came, only Dallion’s steely inquisitive gaze.

69. "My mother and father are dead. I’m in service with one of the Lord Barristan’s blacksmiths," Elle said, her voice barely more than a whisper. Dallion clucked his tongue softly against the roof of his mouth. Firstly, Barristan was no Lord, not by birth at least. He founded his claim to the throne on some supernatural kinship with the Twin Gods.

70. "What need has a blacksmith for a young girl in his service," Dallion queried. Certainly she was not an apprentice. Though it was not unheard of for a girl to be pledged to a craftsman as ward, this one was far too frail to be such. There were none of the muscles the anvil was wont to build in her skinny little arms.

71. "I make his broth."

72. And bear his beatings, and likely one day when you are older will warm his bed whether you care to or not,Dallion realized, disgusted.

73. "Well. You are no longer in his service. Now you are in mine. You will make my broth instead. In the morning I’ll escort you to recover your belongings. If your master has quarrel with this, he may have it with me." Dallion had not even considered the wisdom in this decision before his mouth so noble was spouting it. What need had he of a serving girl? What would she do while he was away on the field and she left alone? Were he to die in battle, which was certainly a possibility, men died in battle every day, what then would become of her? And, perhaps most importantly, what would his men think of him sharing his pavilion with a girl who had been sent to him as a *****? All these questions bombarded Dallion’s mind well after he had voiced his decree.

74. It was too late now. He had spoken the words and hence they were a promise. Frowning slightly he nodded to the washbasin, indicating Ella should bathe, then strode from the room, his hands clenched in worried fists.

75.

76.

77.