By the time the Ser Edmund returned to his manor the night was blacker than his mood. He felt gray and numb, all colour drained from him and those around him. The warmth of life had been snuffed out. It felt pointless to be returning to this place.
Inside Ser Lothryn takes Willam aside as Ser Fossett shows the surviving mercenary captains and their men into the great hall. They find a trough has been brought in to sit along a wall filled with icy cold water from the well. Steaming hot food lines the central table, wine skins and a keg of small beer sit to the side. Horn drinking cups are aplenty. A kindness indeed on such a day. The fire is lit in the hearth too. One of the captains, Gregor, makes an appreciative appraisal, "Your fine hospitality does you proud Ser."
The lord of the manor can do little more than a glassy-eyed nod, "A pleasure." comes the flat reply as he walks past the hall and up the stairs to his quarters.
Outside Willam's toothless face winces then scowls at the news. "That'll be that then." he says nodding a little and looking at his own worn hand. He hands the torch to Lothryn and trudges back towards his hut. Back hunched more so than usual in the dimness. Nothing more can be said to a man who now has no son and no grandson, the only family he'd had. A man whose master has lost his own family too. Dark days for the coming winter.
Upstairs the priest finishes his administrations and announces that all the Lady requires is some rest and a light meal. He will be back in the morn to check on her progress but will leave some salves for use during the eve. Making his way downstairs he stops to tend to wounds of any great gravity that means the experienced fighters can not tend to them on their own. Men who fight for a living quickly learn the tricks of the trade in how to tend to minor wounds on themselves and greater ones on their friends.
Ser Fossett finds himself fortunately suffering from nothing more than a severe requirement for food and rest. Plate in hand he takes his leave of Ser Lothryn and heads upstairs with a taper in the other. His brothers do not begrudge him his rest and wave him on to their sleeping quarters. Myrtle arrives with a bowl of water and a cloth to allow him to cleanse, with instructions to leave his soiled goods on the other side of the door for her to deal with.
With nothing more to do than guard his lady and partake of sustenance, Ser Shelby makes his way to the feasting in order to grab a plate each for Garrett and himself before all of the food is but bones to pick over or bowls to sop. "An army marches on it's stomach indeed.", he observes to himself quietly with a small smile.
Just as he turns to make his way back upstairs a voice catches his attention. He looks up cautiously and scans the men sitting in the firelight. Stories are being told now and some are gambling. Why does the voice sound strike a chord?
The faces are as you would expect. Mottled with various scars of varying ages and severities. Some are nothing more than youths like himself but most are worn old dogs with grizzled features and weatherbeaten skin. One in particular strikes him as familiar.
His stomach knots and he grips the plate he carrying to control his anger.
He continues looking casually and bids a good night to Ser Lothryn who waves him on his way.
"M'lady?" Shelby says as he comes through the door, after handing a plate to his brother. Laria doesn't reply.
"My Lady?" Shelby says again, walking a little closer. Not wishing to disturb her as she sits gazing into the hearth.
At that Laria stirs and looks up with a sleepy smile. "Ser Shelby, I do wish you would call me Laria for I am no lady. What is it? Have they eaten all the meat already? My father used to speak of the legendary appetite of his fellow soldiers.", she grins to herself but stops when she sees the look in his face. "What is it?"
"I am unsure what to make of what I have seen. Please do not be alarmed but I believe downstairs sits at least one of the men who were once loyal to the Black Brigand."
Laria is unsure what to make of it also but agrees to take a cursory look while collecting a plate of food for her own supper.
In the hall she finds the table of food has been ravaged, unsurprisingly. Though she is used to men of war from growing up her father's daughter, she isn't so comfortable in the sole company of men and their drunken ways. Especially given the news that some may have already made her acquaintance. Nerves flicker in her as she growls inwardly trying to steady her hands. A woman of the sword should fear no one! She admonishes herself while darting her gaze this way and that, picking at what is left and picking out faces. Waiting for one or another to become familiar or for her plate to become full. Just as she is pulling a hunk of bread from a cold hard loaf, she hears a laugh that stops her dead. A voice too. A memory of stinking breath and warm unwelcome hands comes to mind. An image of the Black Brigand and his 'men'. The Brecilian forest.
She glances up quickly in order to locate the voice and take in it's owner before quickly leaving. Not wishing to stay to be reacquainted with its owner.
~ o0o ~
The sun returns for its daily journey to find the land is much as it was before the dark came down. The sky is still cold and grey. The clouds are like old wet lace forgotten on the line overnight and dripping with the dew. Not even the local cock wishes to crow this morning.
Ser Lothryn wakes to find Myrtle bustling about in the great hall with a local boy she had brought in to help the cook last night. They are busying themselves with clearing up after the feast. Only a few stray bodies still lay snoring deeply in the hay.
Outside the captains have their men preparing and mending their equipment and belongings from yesterday. He notes such care is a good sign.
He unsure what to make of the news he received before bed. Mercenaries are mercenaries are mercenaries. They are men with a skill and a weapon's use to sell. They will fight for whoever holds the purse. What be it that one or two of these men last fought for an enemies friend? Their past actions matter less than their current. He would keep an eye on all.
~ o0o ~
The priests return is as good as his word.
Lady Iah woke with the watery light of dawn. She felt weak but her head was clear and her stomach calm. She could not recall all of what had taken place since last leaving the manor. She remembered that she was in the manor of Lastford, one of her vassals. She had come here to find why he had not paid his tribute this year and to officially introduce herself as the Bann of Restenford.
Laria was sleeping in the chair by the window. The shutters had not been drawn hence the light had come in and the air was now frigid as the fire had gone out. She remembered there had been a fire. Odd the things that come through illness.
A strong knock came at the door in the far corner, quickly followed by the entrance of a man in priestly vestments.
"Ah, my child. You are a awake I see!", the wizened old man shuffled at quite a speed to her bedside as Laria woke with a start. "Forgive me gentle-ladies. I wish not to cause alarm. I am only here to enquire on the health of our Bannora. Please sit back my Lady." The Father went about his duties swiftly and gently. He was well pleased at her progress and insisted she spend the next day or so at rest especially as it was so damp and cold outside this season.
He left as quickly as he had came when Myrtle arrived with some steaming broth for her lady's morning meal. Something thin and full of goodness to ease her gently back into health.
She fussed and minded over her. Iah enjoyed the attention.
~ o0o ~
Not moments after the gate is closed behind the priest it is opened again for an incoming messenger on horseback. The boy's message is short and simple. "Return to Restenford. Your help is needed." The boy was out of breath. The rat of the story came slowly in gasps.
Ser Lothryn took up the call. He split the mercenaries into two groups; one to travel to Restenford and one to stand with Ser Edmund to provide protection against whatever may come his way. Restenford would not be able to provide winter barracks for all the men and it was also an easy way of separating the wheat from the chaff.
Those being left behind were not entirely agreeable as they were due their payment on the return of Lady Iah to her home in Restenford. Their concerns were eased with a down payment from Ser Lothryn's own purse. He would need to speak with his Lady on return to the castle to ensure all dues were paid and expenses recouped.
Back in the manor he found Ser Edmund awake and sullen. "At least he is alive.", he thought to himself while explaining what was underway. He also explained fully the situation of the new Bannora and that the new Lady of Restenford would need her official introductions. He nodded and waved in agreement, looking drawn and aged. "Of course."
The proper introductions were made. Lady Iah walked from her sick bed unaided but quite shaky of foot. Her head swam a little but she was careful to take her time. This is her title and role now, she did not wish to be seen unfit.
Ser Edmund knelt before the new Bann of Restenford without pause and kissed the ring of office on her slender fingers. All previous suspicion against him is lifted in that act; a loyal subject.
Talk of regrets at his great loss are given before moving on to the shortage of food for the coming winter, the imminent danger and the mercenaries Ser Lothryn wishes stationed at the manor.
By midday, and against Ser Lothryn's protesting better judgement, they are on the road back to Restenford castle. All of them. Lady Iah is swaddled in a heavy travelling cloak, riding along with Laria to keep her steady. The knights Unuthstill; Fossett, Shelby and Garrett flank and bring up the rear of the retinue. The mercenaries walk behind the cart and mule acquired from the town for supplies.
As they head toward the hills they try to find the lower road that will take them homeward bound.
Something does was not right. The horses were nervy. The road too quiet, even for a wet autumn.
A high keening cry broke from the sky above from a large bird of prey. Looking up they find it begins to circle; once, twice, three times; before breaking off into the forest nearby that cloaks the hill side.
Lothryn advises for precaution. All are set on edge for what is to come.
