'Caesar, the Adjutant to Wetull's Monarch, is a human. Everyone else with him though isn't.'

-

Intelligence report that reached Luciopolis and King Lucius III, who was at the time present in the under construction desert city.

Spring of 196 NC

Attributed to a person named Cipher.

(Probably a code name for an unknown LID agent)

Sir Alan Kirk

Ereg Arn

The Monarch's Envoy

Part III

-The truths of Sonny Lindberg-

-

ACT I

-Crimson Band-

"Asmus stand back and help them!" A scrawny and weathered-faced Issir with a week's old white beard barked standing near a group of twenty brigands, then turned and waved to the rest of them to charge at the waking up caravan guards. "Toft, move yer feet afore they wake up, my good man!"

Asmus pushed the man standing next to him towards the advancing Alan while the third of his friends turned to intercept the Rokae taking an oblique route that would eventually bring him against Elmaer.

Good.

Alan stopped and put two hands on the long handle, then swung the glowing blade at the advancing Issir brigand. His opponent raised his shield angling his left shoulder forward and pulled back his own arming sword to attack. The whooshing Hubris caught the shield above the bronze boss and bit through metal sheet and wood before Alan yanked the sword back. The heavy blow broke the upper part of the shield and a rugged chunk —about a third of it— tumbled up his numb shoulder and smacked the side of the brigand's helm with a loud clang.

With a pained groan coupled with a look of utter shock, the man staggered to the side as Alan swiftly pulled the longsword back halfway, before swinging it again, this time holding it with one hand and aiming low. The snarling brigand attempted to retract his leading leg instead of lowering the remnants of his shield, but the blade moved faster and split his kneecap, sending him spiraling to the ground.

Alan planted a foot down and tried to pivot, but it slipped in the muddy terrain, messing up his stance. Still, the knight reacted fast enough to parry the fully-charging him Asmus' sword-thrust away, but then got bodied by the shield and pushed back violently.

"Well-armoured fiend!" Asmus cursed Alan not happy his sneak attack had failed and gathered his courage to try again. To their right the third brigand was stopped by Elmaer's axe, losing a hand, half-a-leg and his head in quick succession and to his right the watching the scrap scrawny leader of the brigands pulled some of the men from their charge at the wagons. Then led everyone against Alan and to Asmus' assistance.

"SER KIRK!" The arriving Fred Garner yelled behind his back and Alan pointed to the onrushing brigands without turning his head. Fred went past him hefting a warspear with his boots drumming in the mud, about three meters to the knight's left and Asmus came at him again.

Alan stepped forward to open up his engagement area and slashed wide against Asmus' shorter sword intercepting it as it came at him. The blades clanged with bright red sparks erupting at the impact point and a large piece of the brigand's blade broke off, the mangled sword itself forced aside. Alan changed grip and thrust the longsword forward on the return, breaking through the shield's edge. His sword's tip stopped on the studded leather momentarily, but the knight parried Asmus' chipped sword with his left vambrace away and then heaved hard against the armour that yielded gradually.

Asmus tried to pull away from the penetrating blade but Alan caught him with a closed-knuckle fist on the jaw and stunned him. A moment later Hubris broke through the brigand's sternum with the hissing sound of expelled gore and the dull crack of broken bones, before it ravaged the whining from watching himself die in real time, deathly scared, brigand's lungs and heart.

The butchered Asmus went down vomiting blood on the snow and Alan found himself assaulted by the furious scrawny man wearing the chainmail robe and another also mail-wearing spearman. In the meantime Fred killed the brigand that stood to block his path, bulldozing into him, with the squire's extended spear punching though the shield and then stabbing his opponent through the nose distorting the center of his face initially, before savagely slashing most of it away when the brigand spastically recoiled.

"Ah, ye knaves!" The scrawny man decried seeing the brutality and managed to strike at the preoccupied with the spearman Alan, between left shoulder and arm joint. The steel plate reverberated and the knight staggered from the blow, but managed to catch the thrusting spear shaft with his sword right below the triangular blade, chopping it away.

Alan took a step back, the neutered spear shaft banging on his mask as his opponent had taken the chance to pluck out an eye and almost got lucky.

"Get him!" The scrawny man hissed an order to the group of red sash wearing brigands and hacked at the knight who now had a cut on his cheek behind the dented mask that bled down his neck.

Alan twisted aside to get away from the bastard sword the Issir wielded, but the sword turned with him, found his ribs obliquely and slid with sparks flying on the fine Zilan armour until he stopped it grabbing at the guard with his free hand. With the other Alan slashed outwards at the advancing whilst wielding the awkwardly broken spear and a shortsword other brigand, managing to score a semi-calculated, but also semi-chancy, devastating hit in the upper chest area.

Alan heard the ring shirt tearing abreast, inner garbs and flesh splitting like a broken fastener with vapory blood spraying out of the gaping wound. Heard, because he'd kept his eyes on the other gnarling Issir who made several attempts to break his grip turning the guard this way and that. The scrawny brigand managed it at last, just as the knight's sword returned for him, its glowing blade giving a reddish hue as it was now covered with plenty of gore.

"Ah," the scrawny brigand gasped and nimbly sidestepped out of the longsword's reach, showcasing a pretty decent level of experience in close-quarters combat, assisted by the fact that Alan wasn't fresh now. Even so, the Issir's hack was blocked by the Knight, and when he attempted to return the favor, his own sword splintered at its midpoint. "Fucking gasser!" He cursed and retreated a couple of steps to unsheathe a shortsword.

Behind him and to Alan's left, the scrap against the waking up guards had turned into a slaughter, with the brigands of Toft killing anyone popping out in front of them in the semi-darkness. But more and more of the initially twenty Issir brigands had paused in alarm, with some even spilling back towards Alan in order to help their friends. They needed help, as while Alan was busy fighting the scrawny Issir and Asmus before him, Fred and Elmaer had killed one, then pushed back the remaining two initial brigands of the second group.

"Darn it, Sonny!" Toft yelled abandoning the attack on the wagons to turn around, with half-a-dozen brigands doing the same. "Badly-knit Muppet! Who is that fer crying out loud?"

Sonny opened his bleeding mouth to answer him —a splinter from his broken sword had cut his lips— but a small lighting crackled out of nowhere, further illuminating the semi-darkness. It didn't fall from the mauve skies, but travelled parallel to the ground on a stirring straight trajectory for about twenty meters and narrowly missed Fred Garner, before striking the brigand running for him ahead of Toft. The Issir's body violently ceased up right away, sparks exploding out of his helm and sword, then started dancing about seemingly, every part of his body ravaged by heavy spasms.

A heavy odor of well-cooked human flesh flooded the area, Alan had smelled something similar inside Nesande's Garden and reached everyone watching the surreal spectacle with ogled eyes. Poor Fred Garner had stopped with his mouth hanging open and his panicked eyes traced the thin lighting back to its source, the up until then unseen, emaciated and even ghoulish-looking, but also very determined figure of Berthas.

"Big Butcher's circus arrives without any fucking warning," Sonny mumbled, equally shocked at the gurgling sounds the boiling in his own juices brigand produced.

Alan, who had seen some pretty gnarly stuff in his travels with Lord Reeves, ranging from otherworldly to utterly ridiculous —the most recent had been a well over seven feet werewolf leaping out of a thick bush, whilst lit up alike a Valimae Lilt torch— marched against the presumed leader of the outlaws.

Sonny made a bloody grimace and then faked attacking Alan one way, only to twist and slide nimbly in the mud to launch at him from a different angle. The knight followed the scrawny man's moves with patient eyes —training with Delmuth or even the King himself made Sonny's sneaky moves appear to come in slow motion for him, despite feeling drained from all the intense fighting whilst wearing heavier armour— and so he easily blocked the shortsword, pushed the smaller blade back with the longer Hubris —the latter's light had dimmed— and sliced open Sonny's hand up to the wrist. Then leaped forward to touch the sharp end of his blade under the howling Issir's chin, piercing the soft skin.

"Argh. That's too much to overcome. I'm done," a groaning and very pale Sonny cursed stumbling backwards, with the heavy-breathing Alan following after him in order to keep the sword's sharpened tip under the brigand's bleeding chin. "Abort, got damn it! Get the men out of here Bakema!" Sonny barked at Toft, risking another cut, who glanced his way incredulously in turn and then at the unlikely, but deadly pair of sober Elmaer and the manic Fred Garner, before his exasperated gaze settled on his colleague's half-melted and fused in its armour corpse, and finally the two unassuming, but equally destructive mages that hobbled out of the shadows. The appearing on the verge of collapse Berthas, had switched to fire spells and Keya had mimicked him, chanting in her pleasant voice, with only her rosy lips visible under a heavy woolen blanket.

The Zilan's muffled prayers mixed in with the sounds of the fading battle and the cold night's echoes, but also the noise coming from the nearby wagons many burning torches. The several small balls of fire now dancing irregularly, whilst spinning over Berthas' ancient-looking head, turning the macabre spectacle into something much weirder —even downright ridiculous.

Yeah.

It's on par with them two, the tired Alan thought and ten meters from them Toft raised his left arm to signal a retreat for the surviving brigands.

"What are we to do next, Sonny?" Toft asked with a shout directed to his boss and the resigned brigand leader retorted scornfully.

"Save yourself, inform the others of what happened here. I want naught else on my conscience. When the butcher's circus comes to town, ye better escape the blood tax," an emotional Sonny grunted staring intently in Alan's gleaming, though now dented, sober metal mask, "See you in Tyeus' Halls brother!"

"Tend to that hand," Alan advised his defeated opponent, his eyes on the retreating towards the woods surviving brigands. The badly hit caravan's survivors slowly regained some of their courage after the shock of the brutal attack. "Fred, find either Mister Sondergaard or Thijs," Alan ordered his squire. "Help the wounded and tell him to have the wagons ready to move out as quickly as possible!"

"Ah," the injured brigand grunted and stumbled to a broken shield to sit down shaking. "What are you? Where did you people come from? You are no caravan guards. Why bother getting involved?"

"I'm Sir Alan Kirk," the knight informed the miserable-looking scrawny brigand in an austere manner. "A knight of Goras. There is no realm in existence, where I would have allowed you jackals to butcher these innocent people and steal their wares!"

Sonny let out a pained laugh. "A knight of Goras? Good grief. Oh, this realm is fucked alright fer sure," he grimaced wrapping a torn piece of fabric from his undershirt over his hand. "Name's Sonny Lindberg, Ser Knight. We're no thieves. These good slain brothers were in the Crimson Band."

"Crimson Band of thugs," Elmaer commented, whilst Keya stooped over the blackened and still covered in vapors dead brigand to poke at his boiled face with a stick.

"Very effective, Master," Keya told the shivering from the cold and watching her ashen-faced Berthas in Imperial. Alan feared for the mage's health.

"No thugs. Rebels sire," Sonny argued, watching the young female Zilan's actions disturbed. "You are not human. Gods help us."

Alan slowly removed his helm revealing his sweaty face. He run a thumb over the dented left metal cheek with a frown and then raised it to touch the same bleeding cut on his face.

"You are a pretty good fighter for a brigand," he told the surprised at the reveal Sonny Lindberg and the man shook his head bitterly.

"I fight for Kaltha, Sir Alan."

"By attacking caravans supplying the army," Alan argued with a hard stare. "Trying to liberate your capital? That's a strange way of helping, Mister Lindberg."

"Time didn't start yesterday," Sonny countered. "I did what I was ordered by men of similar concerns, but that doesn't mean I found any pleasure in the deed."

"Easy to show remorse after you lost the scrap," Alan retorted. "Would you have spared anyone?"

"Sondergaard is a bloodsucking ghoul," Sonny fired back with a grimace. "Journeys from one disaster to the other, in order to take advantage of the people. Profits in their despair. Strips them of any valuables for pennies and then funnels everything of worth to callous rulers, leaving those of misfortune to perish. A vicious circle. Why help a vile man like that? He hasn't helped a single person his whole life!"

Alan didn't really like Claus' character and it disturbed him that the outlaw's words had rung true to his ears. He stood back to watch Fred conversing with the disheveled but unhurt merchant himself near his wagons and grimaced in frustration.

"He holds back the truth," Elmaer noted in Imperial standing near them, a couple of discarded weapons under his armpit.

"It doesn't mean he's lying," Alan replied and glanced at the injured brigand watching them speak bewildered.

"Who are these men of similar concerns?" He asked Sonny Lindberg. "Speak the truth and you'll be spared an outlaw's fate."

"There is no truth that could save my head. I have been condemned to death thrice. Two times I came close and another time I got spared for services rendered. Came face to face with the royal headsman himself, the famed Andrew Baker and gave him the finger. But it's over. You work for the mad Queen," Sonny retorted hoarsely. "I'm done."

Alan pursed his mouth. "We serve the King of Wetull," he said.

"Um. What manner of species is he?" Sonny asked. "What about them other two?"

"They are Zilan. Of the Silivren variant."

"Eh," Elmaer grunted in protest behind him.

"She brought you here," the brigand leader rustled. "Insane, egotistical bitch. Ruthless alike her mad father!"

"Calm down Mister Lindberg," Alan cautioned him. "Lord Garth likes your Queen."

"She's no Queen of mine!" Lindberg snapped before catching himself.

"Her claim is true," Alan pointed out. "If you favor Lord Anker's heir, then you have been deceived."

"Who cares about her claim? What good does it do to the common folk? I ain't supporting the Black Duke. Gods curse him the unforgiving bastard, but even he caused less harm to the country than the Queen of Veer's Gulf. Plunged the realm into a civil war whilst the heathens were at the gates. Stabbed her abhorrent brother in the back but it was for the worst! Brought her heathen husband here to rape the land and when that failed bedded the Crows and went at it again. Look at what she's done. All she'll rule over will be ashes, in the company of crows," Sonny grunted his face turning red. "She won't stop and you lads being here, is the proof of it."

"Who gave the order, Mister Lindberg?" Alan asked hoarsely, a little overwhelmed by the Issir's passionate tirade, but determined to do his job as best as he could. "You appear truthful. Get it out and it shall help you."

"It won't," Sonny puffed out and glanced towards the wagons.

"I'll take care of Claus and his concerns," Alan assured him.

"It was Charles Van Durren," Sonny finally said.

"Which Van Durren is he?" Elmaer asked in Common. Alan thought the 'marine' seemed much attuned to gathering information and glanced in the Zilan's cool face annoyed.

"The Duke of Riverdor," Sonny replied. "After the battle of the turncoats, or small plains, whichever way you want to call it, the Crimson Band needed to befriend someone else since the queen's brother rescinded the pardons he'd issued. The Legion had crashed us."

"The Duke supports Lord Anker?" Alan asked, trying to fill in the gaps they had about the current state of Jelin's affairs.

"Folk only have one chance with the Lord of Midlanor. He'll never forgive ingratitude," Lindberg told them. "Charles won't find any support from Lord Anker because he has failed to act when called upon. When the time of reckoning comes, Anker shall deal with Charles' previous actions accordingly. With that in mind, the young Duke promised to speak on our behalf to the queen, even secure a new pardon and also offer safe haven to the brothers' families. The latter it was important for us, because due to our actions, our own families have suffered the worst of fates. It's the best offer we could get even if she refused, which she will."

"If Charles stands with Elsanne, why did he order your warband to attack the caravans?" Alan queried, trying to figure out what was the unknown Duke's motive.

"This I don't know," Sonny admitted, "but I reckon, it makes his future contribution even more crucial, whenever it comes eventually. Charles looks to elevate himself in the Queen's future court."

"You'll tell this part to the Queen," Alan decided and gestured for Elmaer to secure the injured brigand leader. "Remain truthful and you'll save your skin."

Sonny Lindberg shook his white head. Alan guessed he was between forty and fifty years old, but had the rough, weathered face of a man living on the road.

"You don't know the Eikenaar spawn," Sonny told the frowned Alan Kirk. "Speaking the truth shall have me killed."

"Claus wants the brigand delivered to him," Fred informed them while they prepared their animals to follow after the departing caravan. Three wagons had been laden with corpses, with six of the guards slain, plus the three of the lost patrol and another four civilians, with seven more wounded. Claus and Thijs, staying in the leading two wagons hadn't suffered at all from the ambush. "There's a reward for his head. It shall alleviate the cost of paying the men, he said."

"He didn't capture him," Alan retorted. "Will he fight us for him?"

"The four remaining caravan guards won't even entertain the thought," Elmaer said, coming to stand next to Fred Garner. "They talk of magic and demons feasting in the night. I assure you, no feasting was done yet."

"And we'll have none," Alan grunted. "Let us move on early as well and we'll follow after them, whilst keeping our eyes open."

Elmaer glanced at the tied up Sonny Lindberg, now loaded on one of their mules and nodded once.

"Berthas," Alan started but paused seeing the pitiful condition of the mage and sighed. He turned to the shivering under her blanket Keya to order her instead. "Apprentice Keya of Hfial Depths—"

The Zilan witch stopped him raising her arm in protest. "Yes?" Alan asked patiently.

"I go by Keya O' Goras now. I graduated on account of my tutor running out of things to teach me," she explained deictically and then added seeing the knight's serious expression. "Or Keya O' Berthas, although I'm not happy with him at this moment as I tried to make clear."

Alan didn't care at all about their problems.

"Are you finished?" Alan grunted.

"Aye. Go ahead, Ser Alan."

"You'll journey ahead of us towards Stag's Bridge," he continued glaring at the female Zilan. "Stay out of sight and keep to the woods. It'll help you warm up and give us in turn an understanding about the city's east gates."

"Wait! Why pick me?" Keya objected again. "Fred can go. He's your squire and very strong."

"Fred can't sleep on a plaguing tree and forage like you, is why!" Alan snapped at her, not in the mood to placate her denials. She wasn't that important. Berthas on the other hand was and he was supposed to bring Aelinole's son back.

"It needs to be stated clearly that I feel extremely oppressed during the whole journey. Not to mention the optics of sending a female into the beast's mouth!" Keya warned them pushing her chest out, the ire of her glare directed mainly at the grimacing Berthas for not standing up for her, but also and to a lesser extend towards the slyly smirking Elmaer, who seemed like the kind of dude who revels in other folk's suffering. Fred Garner on the other hand was just about to volunteer himself, so Alan placed a heavy hand on the squire's shoulder and Fred didn't.

"No beasts in them woods, not the way you mean it," Alan rustled pursing his mouth displeased. "Only people. So you have to be extra careful."

-

ACT II

-The Queen's quandary-

17th Lunde (moon) Ninui (Cyd. Nenneth –watery season) 3402 IC

17th of Alter (Secundus) 196 NC

17th of 2nd month of the year, 3rd of winter.

Uxrid River

The Queen's Camp

Alan Kirk, long coat covered in mud, stood up on the stirrups of his horse to check beyond the rough-looking thugs gathered before the camp's gates. Two Issir soldiers, wearing dark-metal and mail armour talked under a simple watchtower and behind them a better-armored man-at-arms, his chest plate depicting a hunter scouting the terrain with a bird on his shoulder.

"A crow," Elmaer said, the Zilan could see the figure better, and Alan nodded, spotting several of the black birds present around the camp or just flying back and forth.

"Missive carriers," he murmured and clicked his tongue to get the horse going through the gathered colorful crowd, some not even Issirs. Their camp probably the mess of tents and huts they had just come past by the side of the lousy road. The cobblestone ruined, mud and soil spilled over the upturned rocks by the many wheels that kept digging through it each day.

"Where are ye Lorians be going?" One of the 'guards' queried, his teeth evenly arranged inside his mouth, one gold followed by a normal tooth and so forth.

"We come from Goras," Alan explained and the man pursed his mouth and then looked at his severely inebriated colleague. After some silent contemplation, they turned around to look at the two normal-looking guards by the watchtower.

"What did he say?" One of the two asked, but Alan kept his eyes on the much older looking man-at-arms. The Issir appeared to be well over the age of retirement and about sixty years old. Another much younger man-at-arms (in his forties) came out from a barracks-looking cabin tent and hurried near him, the tent itself setup near a much-more stable Khanate-looking yurt cabin adorned with the queen's deep-purple eagle banners. This man's cuirass had only a crow engraved on his chest.

"Says they are from Goras, senior Ido."

"All of them?" The sergeant inside the gates asked, a white goatee covering his dark chin. "What about the Issir fellow on the mule? He looks rather restrained. Is he sick perchance? Carrying the White Fever or any other malady?"

The pirate turned around to face Alan Kirk. "Sergeant Ido Lulofs asks," he started, then paused looking troubled and turned back towards the unbothered sergeant. "Eh, can you repeat your queries Ido?"

"He is a prisoner," Alan rustled stooping forward on the saddle. "I'm an envoy from Lord Garth. We seek an audience with her grace, Queen Elsanne."

"All of you?" Ido asked maintaining the same unruffled expression.

"My squire can wait outside with one of my associates," Alan replied patiently.

"Uhm," Ido nodded, then turned to stare at the older of the two talking amongst themselves men-at-arms. "Ward? Mister Neve?" the sergeant queried and with a glance at the other man-at-arms, the older man replied with a hoarse rumble.

"Let him though."

"On whose authority?" Ido Lulofs asked, dotting his i's and crossing his t's just in case.

"The Queen's," Ward Neve replied.

Sondergaard has brought the news already, Alan thought and signed for Berthas to stay with Fred Garner and Sonny Lindberg, probably at the stables which were on the other side of the queen's quarters.

The Issir Queen was dressed in black cashmere wool riding pants, with a dark-blue frock with soft white-fox fur around the lapel and collar, four silver buttons on each side, kept open at the front in order to showcase a satin gold chemise with sharp folds and a daring cut on her bust. The petite Issir female's intense stare followed Alan Kirk and Elmaer who had followed two meters after him. A pair of jade-colored eyes, elegant facial features and unblemished chocolate skin framed by rich white curls touching her shoulders, vindicated those calling the young Issir former princess a rare beauty, indeed.

The well-known legend been that in order to secure her hand, a number of very famous knights from both continents had clashed seven years earlier, in the famed 'Princess Tourney', with some of them losing their lives in the attempt. It sounded like a fantasy tale but it wasn't. What had happened next was also discussed ad nauseam even as far away as the Zilan lands. Alan had missed her in Eikenport for some months in 189, but a lot of his friends —part of the Gallant Dogs— like late Captain Ignatius Ottis, had perished trying to protect her. With many more sharing the same fate, after Lord Reeves had decided to allow the mercenary company to bolster her army's ranks.

Years later, Elsanne was still trying to secure her claim on the throne, fighting against her former husband's people and perhaps, very soon, against her own subjects once more.

"Representing the King beyond the Pale Mountains, Wetull Monarch's Envoy and Adjutant, Sir Alan Kirk O' Goras, a sacred Royal Rokae," a herald announced inside the elongated and spacious yurt cabin, reading the scribbled scrolls they had given him. "And Imperial Marine First Class, Elmaer O' Mekelos."

It had come as a shock to Alan that the Blessed Devil's captain Mekelos and the marine soldier were related, then again he suspected Elmaer wasn't just another sailor or just placed in his entourage by chance.

The gasp heard from some of those present inside queen's headquarters reached Alan's ears as he came to a stop before Elsanne, who sat on an elevated wooden throne covered in gold and purple lustrous satin sheets decorated with small white eagles, while a small stool before the throne's steps was used to rest her feet. On the Queen's left side, a bald heavy-set man stood, dressed in rich gold and green satin Cofol robes, his emotionless effeminate face and light-brown eyes covered with more makeup than what Elsanne, or a couple of her female assistants had on. On the Queen's right side, already on his feet before Alan could approach, stood an elder Issir in knight's armour. He had a lined gaunt face, full of blemishes and a hardened stare. He was fully armed with sword and dagger, the only man carrying visible weapons inside the hall, other than the Queen's bodyguards.

Knowing he had missed a lot of details, as he couldn't avert his gaze from the Queen and insult her, Alan bowed his head sharply and Elsanne stood up in response.

"The Monarch bids the Issir Queen his warm regards, and offers as gifts a box of therapeutic herbs and ten vials of potions for different maladies to help nurse her husband back to strength. Also a shirt of Mithril for the young prince to light up his quarters, but also offer protection until he comes of age. And finally twelve lightstone gems, one for each month of the year," Alan finished with a sign for Elmaer, who carried the two small boxes, to put them down. The Zilan did, placing both on a rectangular side table, one of two on each side of the field headquarters hall.

"We appreciate, Lord Arguen Garth's gifts," Elsanne replied after a pause, as if she had considered coming down from her small platform but decided against it at the last moment, given Alan's much larger frame. "Now and in the past. For we always valued his continued support and friendship in these troubled times," the Queen continued in elegant Common. "It's comforting we each managed to help one another at the start of our adventure."

She was referring to the transport ships she had provided as gifts to Goras after the battle of Eikenport.

"They have been of great use indeed, your grace," Alan assured her maintaining the decorum. Elsanne nodded seemingly pleased and turned to glance towards the Cofol —perhaps a half-breed given his angular face— who stood up in turn and addressed those present.

"Noblemen, the Queen shall receive Sir Alan in a closed session," the man said, probably the eunuch Jasi, Alan thought, one of Elsanne's closest advisors. "Other than Lord De Braal, everyone else should step outside and we'll release a statement at a later time."

The old Issir took two steps forward and tended his arm to Alan. "Stephan De Braal, Baron of Hunter's Cot. I apologize for the state of the camps. We are a bit crowded on account of the Cholera epidemic," De Braal said brusquely clasping his hand and then stood back with a glance at the silent Elmaer. The Zilan marine had gathered a lot of attention from those present, even more than the frowned at the Baron's revelation Alan.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

"Your armour is quite exquisite, Ser Alan. Not going to lie in your presence," Elsanne commented with a small friendly smile, as if reading his troubled mind. It was hard to resist the comely woman's charms. To Alan's eyes all Issir females were always exotic, ever since he had first gazed upon them growing up in Rida. Visiting the distant duchy with armoured ships carrying the Eagle banners. In fact they appeared almost as exotic to the knight as the Zilan or the Gish. "Never seen these strange motifs before. Like why do they cover only a portion of it?" The Queen asked as if fully invested in knowing more.

"They are just words and phrases. Dates written in Imperial Zilan. Each Rokae has his own story carved on the steel, your grace, since this armour is the only possession he'll take with him upon entering the soil. Hence he'll remember what he did, and people finding his body would know. All our deeds worth of mention," Alan replied respectfully and finished returning the rapt Queen's smile. "And mine, hopefully, is only half-written."

If she had faked her interest, Elsanne was a darn good actress and a fine diplomat. So Alan decided to not immediately believe her words. Elmaer had helped keeping him grounded, as the distrustful Zilan marine was dead certain the Issirs were about to murder them and then toss their cold bodies inside the flooded Uxrid River's waters.

"This is Jasi," Elsanne made the introductions after a servant brought them a platter with cake and liquor. "Baron De Braal of course, you've already spoken to," the queen continued raising the thin glass containing black whiskey. "To your health, Sir Alan. Is there a special way to toast a guest in Goras?"

"To the heavens above, our songs and prayers," Alan said in Common. "Or just the expression 'ever be well'."

"Um. That sounds… lovely, a little vague, but lovely… I must confess, I have heard it afore," Elsanne replied with an apologetic pout and then shook the contents of her glass. "Ah. We don't have any good wine. The transports have trouble reaching us, so my Blood Raiders brought us this whiskey."

Alan hadn't touched it other than raising the glass to get the ritual out of the way. Not that it mattered, it was a well-known fact official meetings in Jelin, be it marriages or funerals, could always turn nasty.

"Ahm, your… husband is better?" Alan asked changing the subject. He took the time while the Queen answered to glance towards the serious De Braal, who appeared to work the liquor in his mouth deep in thought and the blank-faced eunuch, who offered an inviting crayoned smile noticing his stare.

Well, damn.

You made them nervous Alan.

Alan's eyes wandered inside the well-ventilated by three open windows, but still heavy with the aroma of burning incense hall of the Queen's headquarters. The incense sticks bunched up into several hot braziers. He finally looked at Elsanne who had retreated to a chair near the second table.

"He's slow to recover," the Queen was saying. "Doesn't speak yet, though…" she smiled at that and returned the knight's stare with a cute blush, "… Gust never was the talking type."

"Zilan healers can perform miracles almost," Alan said.

"Almost?"

"Not every sickness has a remedy," Elmaer intervened and Elsanne turned her eyes on the Zilan marine. Elmaer had refilled his glass with whiskey and was in his second piece of lemon cake.

"I have seen a Zilan before," the Queen explained. "A merchant named Samblar. He tried to talk me into wearing a leather bustier top instead of a shirt. Some found the suggestion scandalous."

"Standard outfit for female rangers during summer months," Elmaer replied matter-of-factly. De Braal's face got distorted by a spasm of anger, the Baron managed to rein in with difficulty.

"I'm a queen, Mister Elmaer," Elsanne teased.

"Queens can be rangers," Elmaer replied with a shrug and the Baron let out a hiss of frustration.

"Zilan Queens," Alan cut in. "I understand you've made an attempt against the city," he yet again changed the topic and Elsanne sobered up.

"It wasn't our plan, but the Duke was adamant an effort should be made to make Pourem's situation even more difficult," she explained.

"The Duke of Scaldingport," Jasi elucidated.

"What about the prisoners? I understand the attack was partially to secure their escape," Alan probed and the queen frowned.

"We have discussed the matter of the prisoners with Pourem," she told him.

"And because no progress was made," Alan insisted. "This attempt was made yesterday as I understand, am I correct?"

"You spoke with Martell," Jasi pointed out.

"Not yet, I haven't," Alan retorted and took a breath in, he slowly let out. "But the Gallant Dogs are in contact with the Monarch. Captain Jinx is a permanent fixture in Goras' court."

"The Gish," Jasi told the thoughtful Elsanne.

"The mercenaries plan wasn't known to Duke De Weer," the old Baron grunted. "We try to keep it a secret."

"Any news?" Alan asked, not wanting to comment on the absurdity of running a covert operation within a larger one, with the one undermining the other.

"We'll know more this afternoon," Jasi replied with the Baron adding.

"We have reports smoke is rising behind the walls of the capital."

"I meant, any word about the prisoners?" Alan insisted trying to remain polite.

"Nothing yet, Sir Alan," Elsanne said. "But we may know more later this afternoon. Will you join us for dinner?"

"I still have to travel beyond the bridge to speak with Martell," Alan replied. "I understand he's not in the Dogs camp or the hospital. So I shall accept the invitation, your grace. Provided I can make it back in time."

"Please do," Elsanne said pleasantly. "I wish to learn more about Lord Garth."

And we'd like to see our people returned.

"So brave Knight, are there any more members in your entourage? As colorful?" Jasi asked in a casual manner sometime later, just as Alan contemplated to ask for permission to leave the queen's presence.

It was anything but a casual query. But to deny it could possibly doom Keya, who was on her own beyond Stag's Bridge.

"There are, as a matter of fact. Just not in the camp right now," Alan replied. "Are we not free to visit the capital's grounds?"

"Of course, Sir Knight. But this is still an ongoing siege, the situation volatile," the eunuch explained standing back. "Beyond the bridge lurks disease and one has to deal with tired soldiers, while on this side, there is always the danger of brigands and outlaws, as I came to understand."

As if you didn't know.

Alan pressed his lips together. This was a chance to bring up the Sonny Lindberg issue, but the knight chose to hold off until he understood the situation more clearly.

Thus, he gave a slight nod of agreement and exited the Queen's field quarters, with Elmaer trailing behind.

"They gave us a tent next to the Queen's quarters," Fred Garner told Alan when they walked to the stable area, the wooden structure packed with animals and smelling of wet hay. "Asked for an hour to set it up and whether we need supplies and water."

"You'll stay in the stables, bunch up the horses next to the mules and empty those two stalls," Alan ordered. "We are not here to sleep comfortably. Berthas, you'll come with me across the bridge. Elmaer will stay here to guard Sonny with you Fred."

"They seemed discomforted with our presence," Elmaer noted and walked past Alan to check on the stalls. He dropped hay on the ground and then stood up to examine the long rows of cubicles. "The old dude was just about ready to forbid us to speak with Martell."

"This is a court on campaign," Alan said dragging his horse out by the reins. "Everyone is tensed up...aye."

"What's the other reason?" Elmaer asked and eyed the open doors of the stable. Alan looked that way as well and noticed the fit man wearing a thick tunic, adorned with a simple grey belt out of cloth and muddy sandals. He carried a leather satchel with the help of a strap that crossed his right shoulder.

"I have a mule parked next to your stall," the Lorian-looking man explained. He'd a square face, short-cut blond hair and a prominent mustache on his upper lip. "Let me take it and I'll be out of your legs in an instant, gentlemen."

"Go ahead," Alan said and the Lorian walked to a nearby occupied stall, opened the latch and entered.

"Is your friend alright?" He asked while saddling the mule.

"He's fine," Alan grunted.

"He appears injured is all," the stranger added and exited with the saddled mule. "Rather familiar. Praise to Tyeus, I'm good his faces."

"Maybe, you are not that good," Sonny snapped from his spot.

"Name's Potis Canus," the Lorian introduced himself. "A fellow Lorian?"

"From Raoz," Alan replied guardedly. "The name is Alan Kirk."

"Old Lorian for Kyrie, another name for lord," Potis noted.

"You are a man of letters, mister Canus?" Alan queried, a little suspicious of the friendly stranger.

"A papyrus trader," Potis revealed. "Scrolls and velums. It made me familiar with letters."

"I see. Not to keep you, from yer business," Alan said politely.

"And I shouldn't keep you from yours," Potis replied with the same politeness. "Good day, gentlemen," the merchant told them and with another glance at Sonny Lindberg, dragged his mule out of the stable.

"Well that was weird," Berthas commented.

"What do you mean?" Alan asked the young mage.

"The mule sort of said it wasn't his, but didn't care either way," Berthas explained all serious.

Alan eyed the prematurely aged mage and then the open doors where Potis had exited.

It was this kind of shit that made living with Zilan so interesting.

"We are not here to hunt down animal thieves. The mule could have been lying. They are peculiar animals," Elmaer cautioned repeating Alan's own words from before and the knight grunted, but yielded to the Zilan marine's reasoning.

-

An hour later

North river side camps market area

The lousy tavern was packed with patrons. Petra, a flirty Issir waitress, rushed near them, drawn by Alan's healthy face and partially visible armour mostly, as Berthas had kept his face and Zilan ears hidden under a hood. There was a dangerous spell to mold his face into something different existing and a whole school of illusion hexes one could use, but Alan had stopped the mage from explaining the matter further to him on their way towards the big army camps.

The walls of the capital could be seen if one followed the main road. Alan spotted army units in the field before them and at least two finished trebuchets.

"I can get a corner table for you," Petra offered. "Or anything else."

"Is that so? Well, I need chamomile. I'm freshly out," Berthas said and the waitress frowned.

"We got valerian root tea for that time of the month," Petra offered biting her lip. "You have trouble sleeping, old man?"

"We were told Captain Martell is here," Alan intervened to prevent Berthas from overreacting, but then he spotted the stout figure of the former Rida officer, turned mercenary, and pointed towards him. "That man, speaking with the Issir wearing the apron."

"This is Mister Slager, the owner," Petra explained with a smile and seeing Alan's unamused expression added quickly. "I'll just get him for you."

"Not him, the other guy," Alan grunted. "Martell."

Rollon Martell had always had a wide frame, and while he wasn't as heavy now as Alan remembered him, the mercenary captain was still big and broad-shouldered. He also sported a series of scars on his face and sat in the table poring over a stash of scrolls, whilst listening to the words of a Northman with fiercely red hair. Their table adjoined with another, where two Cofol girls ate a soup in the company of a young man that resembled Rollon a lot. Alan realized the young man was none other than Demetrius, the commandant's smart-mouthed little brother, now all grown up.

"Rollon," Alan said walking up to their far corner sitting group and the mercenary raised his head.

"Yes?" Martell blinked both eyes slowly, returning Alan's stare. "Who the fuck… oh shit. No way." The Northman turned on the chair to look at the knight curious. "What the hell are you doing here, Kirk?" Rollon asked with a grimace and dropped the scrolls on the table. "Slager, if I'm hallucinating because of the mushrooms, you'll get yer arse belted boy!"

"The mushrooms were fine! Ha-ha!" Slager protested with a fierce smile, eyeing his patrons nervously. "Good beer, fresh mushrooms off the fields. Cheap!"

"There are soldiers with diarrhea shitting all over them fields!" Someone protested and Slager glared his way.

"The girls gather them in the early wee hours, Tomlinson!" He barked an assurance, not well received.

"Oh, fuck off wit that bullshit Slager!" Another yelled not agreeing and louder protests erupted about the food quality and the price of beer.

"I'm flesh and blood, Rollon," Alan said blocking out the noise and the commandant stood pushing the table forward in order to shake his hand over it.

"Good gods! It's true," Martel rustled. "Give it here, my lad. Haven't seen ye in a while! Ha! Is this a social visit then? A vacation tour?" He added hopefully.

"Garth send me. I'm the Monarch's envoy," Alan told him and Martell clenched his teeth fiercely in the attempt to smile, face distorted in an anxious grimace.

"Well, you have the timing of the plague," Rollon grunted and then puffed out tensely.

"Thanks," Alan taunted and set his eyes on the Northman watching their exchange.

"Johnny give us a moment," Rollon ordered and the man stood up. Tall and lean, he looked dangerous even dressed in good robes and wearing makeup, which apparently was a thing. "This is Sir Alan Kirk, Lord Garth's envoy."

"Is he telling the truth?" Johnny asked and the two Cofol girls examined Alan's face with interest.

"Kirk has always been a straight shooter," Martel retorted. "One of them honest motherfuckers, gods damn him," the commandant added with a reassuring smile for the scowled Alan.

"Demetrius grab another chair," Johnny rustled and got up from his. "Sati can stand. Take hers."

"Well, then… this was the fresh turd on top of a surprise shit-cake nobody ordered! What a day, heh?" Rollon said when the Northman left them. He paused to stare at Berthas who had taken the other chair across from them.

"This is Berthas O' Aelinole," Alan made the introductions and the Zilan pursed his lips annoyed with the noise inside the tavern.

"Um," Rollon nodded. "Nice touch keeping the hood on, mate. Couldn't Garth give ye a younger escort?"

"Beer?" Slager offered popping up next to their table. "Had to offer a round for everyone present in order to douse the trouble you caused me, Martell!"

"I asked—" a miffed Berthas started, but Slager cut him off rudely.

"A tea is coming up, paps. Take care of your blood-pressure," he cautioned and returned his interest on the commandant's new friend.

"Buzz off, Slager," Martell grunted. "Your face annoys me and you might have gotten a lot of my boys killed."

"We don't know that for sure, sir," Johnny intervened from the adjoining table.

"It wasn't me, commandant," Slager protested civilly. "Blame Pourem's spies."

"Just go serve the cloth merchants over there," Martell grunted and poured some foamy beer in a large bronze goblet. "You want a drink? It tastes like shit, but it is free shit," he asked Alan and the knight shook his head that he didn't. "Of course, you don't."

"Rollon, Garth is worried about the prisoners. Lady Lussiel as well," Alan told him and the commandant puffed out then had a large glug from the frothy beer. "I heard the Duke made an attempt to sabotage Pourem's supplies. Talked with the Queen and she's waiting for more news."

"Pourem either knew, or managed to move his units very fast during the night. I hate knowledgeable enemy generals, operating a 'system' because it gets my people killed," Martell replied sucking at the inside of his lower lip. The noise died down as two men entered the tavern, both clad in wide-brim black leather hats and same-material overcoats. The older man carried a custom greatsword on his back, and the younger man looked to be his son. They looked-Lorian, but brown-haired and darker skinned like Lord Garth. Perhaps Free-Islanders, Alan thought. Martell shrugged his shoulders upon noticing Alan's gaze wander in the newcomers' direction. "Blasted Knackers. You'll find them gathering corpses and animals as a side job."

"What's their real job?" Alan queried.

"Headsmen. Mercifully, there's less demand for that!" Martell replied, crooking his mouth. "Anyways," he continued. "Lord Crow was warned early this morning to take measures in order to evacuate the assault force, but has his hands full with that persistent fucker Lord Osahar, always trying to sneak his cursed boats by the ruined bridge. It's a vicious circle. Eh, so I heard De Moss was ordered to get the Desert Crows out. Where to, is another matter altogether, as the Viscount, the older De Moss that is, found the walls manned this morning and had to pull the soldiers back. Pourem has built a lot of machines and isn't afraid to move them about."

"So the night attack failed?" Alan asked.

"We'll know more when the men return. It depends on what you mean by failure? Did we damage Pourem's warehouses? Probably. Surely some damage was done. Will it be enough or make a difference? Well, had I known that, I'll be a Legatus, sipping good wine and in command of a fucking Legion!"

"You were never that good an officer to begin with," Alan reminded him. "So the query here is, what about your 'Dogs', Rollon?"

"Ah, Lu Duc-Re is retreating from the docks towards the beaches," Martell replied with a sigh. "But the lads we sent to hit the dungeon keep are still missing. I'll head back there to learn more, but the bigger need is to organize the medics because we are about to have a lot of injured folk coming in soon. It's a guess, but I'm quite confident about this fact."

Alan pushed back on his chair. "What does this mean for the prisoners? Garth wants Liko freed and I'd like the boys that followed you and Ottis from Rida returned."

"Are you deaf?" Martell grunted angry. "Just told you, I may have lost a ton more soldiers! Yes they are Issirs, but they are folk as well!" The commandant grimaced, glared at the stunned local patrons, but for the stern and unbothered pair of 'Knackers', and turned to address the grim-faced Alan Kirk. "Listen, it was a dice roll."

"That's not what Bert told Garth," Alan grunted now angry with the mercenary commander.

"Bert told the truth. We tried, god damn it, Kirk."

"Why not negotiate with Pourem?" Alan probed, pursing his mouth.

"Pourem expects reinforcements come summer," Martell puffed out. "If the Viscount dares to move the siege engines forward, he retaliates tossing people from the battlements."

Good grief, Alan thought. "What does the Queen wait for? She needs to press on the attack now."

"You can't send men up the walls, while their countrymen drop to their death right next to their feet. Morale ain't exactly at an all-time high," Martell grunted. "The walls are too strong and the engines are needed, it's a call that needs to be made, but the climate ain't favorable. We moved too soon, but then again at least we stopped the Khanate from reinforcing Pourem freely."

"Is Lord Anker's army beyond Chinos River?" Alan asked, trying to remember the geography of the terrain.

"Not all units. They probably pulled back during the winter months," Rollon replied. "Anker needs to shorten his supply lines and it's a long march to Quarterport over the Red Bridge at Balworth River. He's facing worse weather too. The word is the Black Duke suffered a great number of casualties during the battle. They fought elephants among other shite."

"Right." Alan grimaced, not pleased with the situation. "What other shite?"

Martell grimaced. "Crazy stuff. About Alchemists and Uher's fiery Light burning infidels and righteous folk alike. And that nasty rumor circulating about the Khanate having the assistance of the Aken. Heh. You are a learned man, it's the story of Sally's husband. We are at this point it seems, believing all manner of shit."

The old tale went that Sally's husband had died before winter and the young widow in her despair sought an Aken Necromancer's —or Bonemancer's— assistance to bring him back. The strange, reclusive creature lived in the nearby woods, very close to her remote farm. Long story short, the unnamed Aken fulfilled her wishes after asking for the corpse's fourth rib, two bowls of honey, and a bottle of strong absinthe. But of course it didn't end up well for Sally. A very old, weird and scary fairytale, known around ports that had contact with the Empire.

"I know of the Aken," Alan retorted and pointed at the slurping his hot tea Berthas. "He's a Zilan," he told Rollon lowering his voice. "Damn it, your own company has been founded by a willowy Gish, I now see almost every day. The rumor might be true, Rollon."

"Blackwood founded the company," Martell argued civilly. "With the help of the Gish," he added and then breathing out, the commandant yielded to Alan's point. "But the rumor could be true."

"What would change come summer? Would another siege engine finished, even lessen her casualties? The Queen either takes the capital or she must retreat. What if Anker's army crosses Chinos River?" Alan paused for the pressured Martell to answer.

"The Queen expects reinforcements from the east as well," the commandant finally said.

Duke Charles, Alan thought and remembered Sonny Lindberg's claims.

"We could weaken the walls," the up to then silent Berthas commented. "Keya shall tell us more, but it can be done from the base of the slope."

Rollon eyed the Zilan intently. "Can you do that really? How?"

"Stay out of it, Berthas," Alan warned the Zilan. "I want to know what you learned from the returning troops," he told the engrossed Gallant Dogs commandant and then stood up. "We're heading back," Alan grunted to get the lazy Zilan mage going and Berthas reluctantly pushed his own chair back, after finishing off his tea, with a smack of his lips.

"Poor yield, not that tasteful. I suspect it's probably reused at least twice," the Zilan told the smiling Petra. The Issir tavern girl's face fell with his next words. "You deserve no compensation vile service girl, nor praise. Only shame."

And with that small piece of exotic Zilan wisdom delivered and laced with a heavy dose of rebuke, they both left Slager's tavern in order to return to the Queen's camp, beyond Uxrid River.

Almost an hour later

Afternoon

"You are speaking to the Queen," Alan informed Sonny Lindberg when they entered the stables, back in the Queen's camp. "So she'll know and plan accordingly her ensuing actions."

"She won't believe me," Sonny told him and tried to stand up from the bottom of the stall pushing with his legs. "Won't matter if she did, because the Queen can't overcome what she perceives as proper strategy."

"What do you mean?"

"The queen makes deals, but wars are won by generals and she never cared for nor understood them. Marching against the capital with winter looming and no preparations is sheer lunacy. This isn't a trade deal to force your opponent to lower his price with a bluff or a palace dinner to impress your guests with fancy gestures. She wanted Charles' help so much, it forced Robert to break away from her. Without Robert she'd have lost at Even Fork or in Eplas. The realm is watching, Ser Alan."

"Even if this is true, it is not why I was sent to Jelin," Alan insisted. "What I know is the Monarch's allies have made a mess here and they need something to nudge things fast in the proper direction. Waiting for this Charles to act won't help her cause, and might find herself in big trouble come summer. In the meantime, Pourem might harm my friends if he hasn't yet and since we can't talk to him, then forcing the Khanate general to listen is the next logical course of action."

"Harm your friends?" Sonny rustled. "Dozens of people are killed every day! Thousands have perished already in these conflicts! Cities destroyed, livelihoods ruined, where is the compassion for them, knight of Goras? Have you seen Colle? Heard about Deadmen's Watch? Fatherless families have reached as far as Riverdor and most of these folk might not survive winter! Help the Queen? How about you ask this Monarch of yours to help these people instead?"

Alan clenched his jaw. "Don't speak to me about tragedy! I watched Rida burn! My compatriots forced into exile to the realm's edges! Damn it man, I don't make the rules. The Monarch can only care about those he knows about. This isn't his problem, Mister Lindberg. You don't want to make it his problem, because what you'll get might not be to your liking. Another realm, different reactions."

"You are involved. Hells, you are already here, and been helping the Eikenaar spawn since the start," Sonny countered sounding bitter. "She wouldn't have made this far, but for all these lords in high places giving her helping hand. You expect all others to accept her, but they won't. They'll look to do what your Monarch does from the shadows and more people will perish!"

"You don't know that," the knight grunted.

"She can't survive. You expect her to best Anker in an all-out fight? The Lord of Midlanor just crashed the Khan's best and didn't even brag about it! It's not a court session for her to play with, but proper war and we don't know whether she has the stomach for it or not! The Black Duke's allies won't hesitate for he won't allow it and Anker will look to befriend more lords without prejudice, but around common sense. Like in the North. He'll succeed, because people know he'll honor a deal. Now look at her own subjects. Without the Old Vulture to scare them in line who would offer her assistance? Sooner or later the Legions shall march from the east. How is she ever going to stop them? In order to secure Charles' assistance, she allowed Lorians to occupy Eagles Nest for half a year. Generals respect strength, else diplomacy is just fancy words. The Bloody Tiger wants the Canlita Sea returned, the old border restored. You know what drives his actions? Better yet, what people think drives him?"

"Pride?" Alan guessed. "Great ambition?"

"Justice for his ancestors and a return to legitimacy. A better future for his people. Change 'his people' wit 'all peoples' and you'll get yourself a far better mantra to recite!" Sonny retorted crooking his mouth. "I fought his late father in the field, but Alistair wasn't half as beloved as the current Regia Caesar is. You can't fake nor buy this kind of fondness. Do I trust it fully? No, but it is way more enticing than a decade of misery! People shall help him without invitation and not just Lorians mark my words, Ser Alan."

"Are you a brigand or a politician?"

"I've been branded a rebel for two decades and lived with it," Sonny Lindberg retorted. "But I was never a brigand, whether I die as one or not."

"You do you realize Elsanne isn't your problem at this point?" Alan asked him warningly. "The only man's mood that matters here, is that distant Monarch living in Goras."

"As I said. You are involved," Sonny rustled stubbornly.

"You don't know what involvement really means where I'm from. You'll inform the Queen of Charles' actions," Alan repeated sternly. "Speak the truth and save yourself."

The brigand leader shook his head and then stared in Elmaer's alien face.

"You could still make a run for it," the Marine taunted with a gnarly smile.

"King Arguen Garth's Adjutant. Wetull's envoy. The honorable, Sir Alan Kirk O' Goras," the herald announced and the Lords gathered around the queen paused to stare towards Alan and Fred Garner walk inside. Fred led Sonny Lindberg by the shoulder, as the brigand had his hands tied in front of him with a rope.

"Sir Alan," Elsanne said from the chair at the top of the conference table. "You know Baron De Braal. This is Viscount Ard De Moss of Rusted. Sir Adrian Hakker, Duke Rik's Adjutant. Of course, Lord Jasi is present. Alas, we fear the dinner promised will be delayed, as there has been a development in the field that needs our attention."

Yeah, your raid wasn't a success.

The Eunuch bowed his head, but Alan's entrance got no other reaction from the rest of the men present.

"Your Grace, I have something of import to discuss," Alan started and noticed De Braal's sneer. He paused to wait for the queen's response, but quickly realized one wasn't coming. "I have a man here—"

"You had him wit you for a while," the scowling De Braal cut him off.

"He was restrained," Alan grunted.

"We'll take yer word for it! Kept him in the blasted stables. Not even fifty meters from the queen's tent!" The Baron growled grinding his teeth.

"Baron, please don't insult our guest," Elsanne cautioned the old Lord and turned to smile apologetically at the Rokae. "Do continue, Sir Alan."

"Can I be afforded a private audience, your Grace?" Alan rustled pursing his mouth.

"You brought a criminal in my quarters. My father's enemy," Elsanne noted. "I see him with my own eyes. The Lords are worried, Sir Alan."

"For the record, this man is Sonny Lindberg," Alan said, but this time the round-faced Viscount was the one stopping him.

"The leader of the Crimson Band," De Moss spat and glared at the restrained brigand.

"Viscount, please allow Sir Alan to express himself freely," Elsanne yet again intervened.

"Your grace," De Moss protested turning red in the face. "Lindberg has attacked men in my lands! Hanged their lifeless bodies on trees! Incited rebellion! We are all in agreement that he stands a criminal!"

"Not as big as you, Ard." Sonny grunted. "As for yer lands, most them you've stolen from people you had executed with trumped up charges! Matter of fact you've grabbed enough land to turn a shitty village into a blasted county!"

"You vile bastard!" De Moss exploded. "How dare you spread your poison in here? Remove this fiend from the queen's presence!" He ordered the guards at the entrance, but the Baron stopped them with a wave of his hand.

"Sir Alan," Elsanne said after the commotion had died down. "We are aware of Lindberg's past violent actions and criminal history. Where are you going with this, our good Sir?"

"The Crimson Band works for Charles Van Durren, tasked with harassing your supply lines," Alan told her and Elsanne paled.

"Duke Charles is the queen's ally. This is preposterous," Jasi noted and Alan watched the reactions of the other lords present. "Not to mention, an Issir lord employing a known rebel sounds unlikely, my lord knight."

"Nonsense! Her own brother did aplenty," Sonny argued from behind Alan's back. "What's this cheap charade? As it would be the first time! I rose up against King Theun for good reason, but gave his son a period of grace after that. King Antoon eventually signed a pardon for my men and me. Lord Sigurd was present and Lord Albert Van Durren."

"Conveniently, two of them are dead and the other absent, Lindberg!" De Braal barked at him.

"Even so, is it true?" Jasi asked the lords present.

"It is, but it was rescinded, because we lost the battle," Sonny answered him. "Antoon was an untrustworthy bastard."

His words caused another wave of anger from the Issir lords, until Elsanne stopped them standing up from her chair. She stared at Sir Alan Kirk intently for a moment and then turned to look at Sonny Lindberg.

"You claim Charles is unfaithful, even treasonous," the Queen said. "Why? Why, should I believe a word you say?"

Alan turned to stare at the animated Sonny Lindberg. He appeared elated but not scared which was curious. The standing next to him Fred Garner looked very worried in contrast.

"Your brother asked us to stop Prince Radin from escaping Jelin in the summer of 188. It was right after the tourney. By any means necessary," Sonny said and Alan frowned as he wasn't aware Elsanne had personal contact with the Crimson Band. "Antoon was willing to risk plunging the realm into a war not to lose face."

Elsanne's face had hardened, another side of the queen emerging before Alan's eyes. He turned his gaze on Sonny Lindberg again, this time curious on where he was going with this revelation.

"The men he sent tried to have me killed," the queen hissed narrowing her eyes.

"He didn't sent them. I did. Knew Kobus Bakema's mind was set on avenging his wife and kids. I immediately realized that killing the foreign prince would be catastrophic politically and inexcusable to the eyes of all other rulers, but the king's sister… not so much. It was actually the right thing to do," Sonny elucidated, his voice cracking a little. What are you doing? Alan's eyes asked the Crimson Band leader. "So I allowed him the opportunity to rid the realm of your presence. It wasn't cruelty, but I saw the kingdom's future in the event things took a turn for the worse. Only lunatics and vain rulers would wager with the lives of thousands. Had poor Kobus succeeded, all this carnage would have been avoided. But he didn't, so here we are, still trying to fix your brother's stupid decision."

A deathly silence had fallen inside the queen's chambers.

"You'll admit on wishing death upon my person?" Elsanne queried in a serene voice.

"It's the truth. Out in the open. Here's another truth, Theun's precious daughter. Charles doesn't trust you as he should, but needs someone stupid enough to fight against the Legions or even Lord Anker if it comes to that. You are naught but a useful pawn to him, and in a sense you've always been one."

Alan gulped down and kept his eyes on the sweating Sonny Lindberg, who looked quite relieved to be able to get everything out of his chest. The truth shall have me killed, Sonny's stare conveyed to the stunned Rokae.

"Remove Mister Lindberg from my presence," Elsanne's angry voice ordered. "His vile words sealed his fate. Baron, see to have him executed at dawn. Do it in the open so the people and troops know he was responsible for the food crisis and orchestrated the attacks on the supply wagons."

"Your grace," De Braal argued with a grimace of discomfort. "The man has history and a big following. If we do it in public then he must be afforded a final word. What if he asks for his case to be heard by a judge, or claims he acted under orders? The rumors could spread and cause division. Not to mention, we have to post a judgement on a board to justify it and have specialists called in."

"You heard him clearly, Baron!" Elsanne snapped angrily and the older man stood back with a frown.

"I can have Evert Mossman do it on the quick behind the tent," De Braal grunted after recovering his wits. "None shall be the wiser, your grace."

"Duke Rik would have to be apprised of these troubling developments," Sir Adrian Hakker declared, speaking for the first time.

"The man just confessed, Hakker!" De Braal admonished the Issir knight. "You want to give him a podium to spread his poison even further? Troubling developments my arse, he's lying!"

"He either does, or he doesn't. Pick your poison Baron. I just want the Duke informed," Adrian Hakker retorted. "If Charles is betraying us, then there must be a reckoning. We have soldiers fighting their way out of the capital and they might get trapped on the wrong side of the blasted river given the current situation!"

"Is there not an outstanding bounty on Mister Lindberg's head?" the eunuch inquired maintaining a calm demeanor, and his words prompted everyone to look his way with curiosity. "In that case, could an execution take place based on the old warrant? For instance, if Lindberg happened to be captured by someone acting on it?"

"He wasn't," Alan noted with a grunt, and Jasi offered a condescending smile in response.

"No great fanfare is needed, but it could be public enough in a moment's notice," the cunning eunuch continued. "Perhaps with a promise from Mister Lindberg not to speak about the Duke of Riverdor, we could afford him some considerations?"

"You'll let Charles off the hook?" Adrian Hakker growled afore he could control himself.

"You are in the queen's presence, Sir Hakker!" Elsanne cautioned him austerely and the knight bowed his head chastised.

"Your grace, my sincere apologies. This is a serious matter though—"

"We are aware, Sir Hakker," the queen cut him off. "Lord Jasi is trying to give us a solution."

"Toft Bakema commands two hundred men inside North Greenforest," Sonny Lindberg remarked, causing Elsanne's expressive eyes to briefly light up at the mention. "I'll accept the offer in return for a pardon for them."

Alan stepped back, left speechless by the courageous proposal. He suddenly felt a deep sense of admiration for the rebel leader.

"We cannot grant clemency to a bunch of rebel scum! Is this what the world has devolved into?" A sickened Viscount De Moss spat, shuddering at the idea, but the Queen had a different opinion. She cast a quick look at the eunuch's now serious expression and responded firmly.

"We heard your words, Mister Lindberg. So be it."

"How did you know?" Alan asked Sonny Lindberg as the camp guards came to drag him away.

"Charles potential assistance appears too-valuable in her eyes," the tensed Sonny replied with a nervous shrug. "But he's not a friend and her reign will end afore the siege is over."

"Darn brave fool. You misjudge her flexibility for weakness, when it's a strength," Alan grunted and shook his head. "She wanted to make a deal today, but she might opt to make a different deal on the morrow."

"Eh, whatever she might try shall fail. Either way, I can live with the outcome, knight of Goras," Sonny Lindberg retorted as they shoved him towards the yurt's exit.

No you won't, a concerned Alan thought with a glance at the nervous face of Fred Garner. And if the Monarch's friends perish because of it, the outcome might be beyond your narrow comprehension.

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