Category Archives: Herongarde

25 Days of Writing – Day 18

Day 18: Your character has a conversation with an influential person in their life. It can be a parent, a teacher, a mentor, anyone your character looks up to. Why are they having the conversation? Write the scene.

——

“Markus! You—,” cried Trey.

“Why suddenly concern yourself so with that woman, aye?” returned Markus. “What in God’s name was she doing on the battlefield?”

“Markus, please.”

“What fool are you for this? Think you that she is a proper warrior?”

“Her orders—.”

“Orders, aye? In what fevered delusion did you deliver such an order?”

“I made not the order, Markus.”

“No woman has business on the battlefield! Your bodily desires are best served in your chambers!”

“I never!”

“I truly pray that her presence did not result in the unnecessary death of our own men, aye.”

“Uncle! Surely I would be dead were it not for her actions!” cried Trey.

“Iain could have shielded you.”

“Hanna is a better swordsman.”

“How can she be better, aye? A woman?!”

“Uncle, please! Hear me! Her orders.”

“What orders!” yelled Markus.

“You know,” said Trey. “Don’t you?”

The men stared at each other, breathing hard from the angry exchange, trying hopelessly to read each other’s thoughts.

“What order?” asked Markus more calmly.

Trey looked around, checking for curious bystanders.

“We must talk, Uncle,” Trey said trying to regain his composure. “We must speak privately.” Trey put a hand to Markus’ shoulder and pointing down the hall toward the King’s Hall.

They entered, and Trey shut the door behind them. Markus turned abruptly.

“Now you’ll explain? Why was she with you?” Markus carefully pronounced each word of the last sentence.

“Uncle,” said Trey, making great effort to remain calm. “You recall the order given her by His Majesty?”

“Of course! She was to attend to your injuries, then serve with the other Ladies.”

“Is that all you know?”

“What more is there to know, Trey?”

“Surely, His Majesty told you.”

“Told me what?” Markus was growing impatient.

Trey drew a breath and straightened up. He didn’t know how to say what needed to be said, so he decided to just spit it out. He looked Markus in the eyes. “Neither His Majesty, nor I, nor Lord Gilbert was confident that Balayn would adequately protect me.”

Markus sighed. “Yes, I felt the same,” Markus replied, feeling shame that his own son would be considered untrustworthy. “But you were fit, aye?”

“No.”

Markus frowned and regarded his nephew. “No?”

Trey shook his head. “Though I may be fit now, it took many weeks to recover well enough.”

Markus looked away, examining the tapestries that hung in the hall.

“I am surprised that His Majesty did not share this with you,” said Trey softly.

“What order was she given?”

“She was tested for skill with the sword,” said Trey. Markus looked back at him shocked. “It was decided that she should remain close to me, and defend me — with sword, if need be.”

“Her?!”

“She has a talent, but had no training. I—.” Trey hesitated. “I have provided her some training since. She’s a fair fighter.”

“Training?!”

“By order, Uncle. Only by order of the King himself.”

Markus looked away. He began to walk around the room.

“Uncle, please. The decision was difficult to make, but seemed the best in the interest of our nation. That, and we did not wish to insult the honor of Lord Balayn, nor your own. Perhaps this is why my father has not told you.”

“So she is your protector?”

“Yes.”

“Then why do you act as though you love her?”

Trey was stymied, momentarily. “Wha—, I do love her.”

Markus turned to Trey, raising an eyebrow.

“These are unrelated things, Uncle.”

“Unrelated?”

“I have grown to love her, these months. But her duty has been to protect me, and that is what she has done.”

“Jason told me of the attack near Maldok.”

“Yes, and she killed many last night. In my defense, of course. I owe her my life!”

“And how do you know you love her?”

Trey paused. He drew a breath and closed his eyes. “I love her,” he stated. “I wept when I thought her dead. I wept when I thought I’d not see her again.” He sighed. “And when I found she had survived, I thought I could fly.”

Markus smiled.

“I fear for her now, Uncle. Where could she be? She was with me. Right beside me! But she was injured.” Trey looked around the room. “And now she’s disappeared and no one cares!”

“Jason has expressed concern,” remarked Markus. “Does he know of this order?”

“No, Uncle. Jason knows not. Of course, he is aware that Hanna is not helpless with a sword.”

Markus nodded. “Your father would not approve of this – er — relationship.”

“I would be dead without her, Uncle. I assure you.”

“Aye, Trey. Your loss would be terrible. Then I pray she is found. But you must not forget your duties to Herongarde, Trey.”

“Yes, Uncle. I know.” Trey looked at the banner of Herongarde hanging over the head table. “I swore to her I would ever remember my duty and my place in Herongarde. She would refuse my love otherwise.”

“You have professed your love to her?”

“Aye, Uncle. And I will honor her convictions. But, please God, let her live!” Trey’s eyes were moist with tears.

Markus smiled warmly at Trey, approaching him then embracing him. “Here is the man I knew once. Our future King.” He gripped Treys shoulders and looked him in the eye. “I will pray for her safety, and will advocate for you to your father. But you must be strong and remember your duties, aye?”

Trey smiled and nodded wearily. The men embraced again. Then with a heavy slap on the back, Markus reminded Trey that they had duties yet this day. They left the King’s Hall, both happier, returning to a world of war and chaos.

100-Word Story (more or less)

April 9, 2012 was the 100th day of 2012. To celebrate, April 9 was National 100-word story day. I wrote one, and posted it on the 100-Word Story Facebook page.

Here’s my entry – a vignette from that one book I’m working on:

He looked out over the tournament grounds. All was silent. No evidence remained of what had taken place there. Her cries of frustration still rang in his ears, though she no longer was there. The only part of her remaining was the bit of lace he held between his fingers. He looked back at the castle walls. This was his home. It should be her home, too. Instead, it was her prison. He looked at the fabric in his hand. No, this had to be her home, and he was intent to make it so.

Dermont’s Writing Challenge

OK, so this started with a tweet from Rainn Wilson:

Well, I like writing challenges – even if they take me a long time to accomplish. Here’s the challenge:

Write the beginning of a story from the point of view of a first person narrator who refuses to do what he/she is told to do. What will your character do instead? What lengths will your character go to in order to avoid completing a direct order? Why/How does your character make things hard on his/herself?

Begin with one of the following phrases:

  •  I was supposed to. . . .
  • My father insisted I . . . .
  • Don’t tell me what to do. . . .
  • Everyone always wants something from me. . . . .

Here’s my entry. This is written from the perspective of Hanna from “Knights of Herongarde.” Let’s see if I have the nerve to actually post it on the website, like I’m supposed to…

—–

I was supposed to be the one doing the defending here. I was the one with the order from the King.

“Hide woman! No place for you,” cried Donnel’s guard.

This was getting old. Typical male egos telling me to run and hide like the pretty girl. What? Did these idiots think I carried around this sword just for show?

“But I—,” I tried to argue, but the guard blew me off again.

“Hide!” he demanded, and gave me a shove toward the wagon.

I stumbled a bit in the direction of the wagon but stopped. Donnel’s guards were running around, trying to insure the security of the wagon, in which Lord Donnel himself hid.

Lord Dean still sat atop his horse, glancing around, barking orders. He had a legitimate right to be bossing these other guards around. He was a Mark-Bearer of Herongarde – a special defender for the King. I should have that same authority. But I don’t bear the Mark. And I’m a woman.

I looked back at the wagon. There was no way I was going to hide in there. I was charged by the King to act as if were a Mark-Bearer. Plus it was my job to ensure that Lord Trey was kept safe.

“Hide! Woman!” I heard a call from behind me. I rolled my eyes and without looking back jogged around the wagon to the front of the short caravan, to where the main problem seemed to be.

Trey was standing on the front wagon. “Release him at once!” he cried at the people who had stopped our travel. The road was blocked by what seemed to be about ten men. They all looked road weary. Then I noticed that they wore the crest of Falgarth on their clothing. These weren’t ordinary mercenaries. They were the enemy of Herongarde.

And here everyone thought the war was over.

Our own men were lined up facing the Falgarth insurgents. Four were Donnel’s guards, and among them was Lord Balayn. For a moment I wondered where Lord Orrin was, then I saw him.

One of the men of Falgarth held him captive, a sword to his throat. Orrin feigned strength and indifference in his predicament, but I saw fear in his eyes. His neck was bleeding already. He was in trouble.

This simply would not do.

“Hanna! Get back!” shouted Trey. I looked up at him as he glared furiously at me. “Back, woman!” I didn’t move.

“My Lord, I feel that you should accept defeat!” called out the man who held Orrin. Trey returned his attention to the battle line drawn before him.

“We’ll not submit. These lands are of Herongarde!” Trey returned.

“Hah!” shouted back the captor.

This was a stalemate, I realized. It was going to get ugly before it got better. I wondered if I could do anything. A distraction, maybe. I started walking toward the lines of men.

“Hanna,” I heard Trey say. I ignored him. He should know better.

As I walked toward the men, I unbuckled and slipped off my sword, carrying it behind me, so that maybe it would not be obvious that I carried such a weapon.

I walked up beside Balayn. He looked at me, startled to see me. “Hanna, get back. Tis dangerous,” Balayn said.

Really? I thought. I rolled my eyes at him. “Hanna,” he growled.

“Hold this,” I said, pressing my sword belt into his left hand. “I’ve got an idea.”

I wondered if I was lying. It wasn’t much of an idea, but it seemed that these men of Falgarth had been away from civilization for a while, and well, if it had been so long, maybe the appearance of a woman would be sufficient to shake their attention. It had worked before.

I ran my hand across my thigh. That dagger that Trey had given me was still there, though hidden in the folds of my dress. At least I had some weapon, though I did feel a little vulnerable without the sword.

“Hanna,” hissed Balayn, “What are you doing?”

“Not sure,” I said as I stepped forward. I leapt a little, as if I had been shoved out of the crowd. I stopped and put on the most surprised expression I could come up with.

“Hanna!” shouted Trey from atop the wagon. “Get back!”

The man holding Orrin looked over at me. I had his attention. Now what? I thought.

I took a hesitant step toward him.

“HANNA!” cried Trey again.

Orrin’s captor began to grin. I looked around at the other men a Falgarth. They all were looking at me, several of them wearing similar, lusty, grins.

I looked back at Orrin’s captor. I took another step toward him.

“Aye, woman,” the man sneered. “Come closer.”

“Hanna! Go no further!” cried Trey.

I skulked toward the man. I had his complete attention. I hoped that the defenders of Herongarde would have the sense to take advantage of this. I was worried about what would happen if they didn’t.

Suddenly, I found myself standing right beside Orrin’s captor. I could hear Orrin struggling to breath calmly, his captor’s blade cutting slowly into his neck. This was not good.

But I still had the captor’s attention. He was looking at me as if I were something delicious to eat. Every time Trey called out to me, the captor’s grin and lustful expression grew deeper.

I looked the man in the eye and gave him the most sultry smile I could manage. “You’re a bold man,” I whispered to him.

“Aye,” he replied.

“Man all the way down, I’d bet.”

“Oh, aye, woman.”

“More than him?” I asked, nodding toward Orrin.

“Easily, woman.”

“Or him?” I nodded toward Trey.

“He is a child.”

“Perhaps you can show me, aye?”

“I would love to,” he smiled. His teeth were rotten. I tried not to be repulsed by them. “But I might tear you asunder!”

I leaned close to him and whispered directly in his ear. “Sounds wonderful!”

“Mmm,” he responded.

Orrin gasped, and I realized that the time to act was now. I slipped my hand down my leg and withdrew my dagger. I stuck it into the small of the captor’s back.

“And now you’ll let him go,” I hissed.

The smirk disappeared from the captor’s face, but he didn’t release Orrin.

“Hm,” the captor grunted.

“Now,” I growled.

I probably should have just stabbed him in the back and dropped him then, but I kept thinking that maybe there was some hope that this conflict could be resolved with no more blood shed.

I was wrong.

25 Days of Writing – Day 17

Day 17: Your character has fallen in love. With who? Is it serious? Are they in a relationship with this person? How did they meet? Write a scene of your character either contemplating this significant other or directly interacting with them.

——

Trey was overwhelmed. Each of his arms was gripped by at least two men. His sword was wrenched from his fingers. A blow came from behind and he dropped to his knees. His arms were pulled back painfully. He bent forward, trying to fold over and protect his exposed belly. The mail coif covering his head was torn off. It caught his ear and he felt his flesh tearing. A huge fist then gripped his hair and yanked him backward. He was forced onto his back, with his legs still bent beneath him. He felt his thigh muscles stretching. Firey agony radiated from the older stabbing wound to his leg.

He cried out, as he continued to struggle. He managed to twist his legs out from under his body, but was immediately restrained once he tried to push up with them. The weight of at least one man crashed down across his knees.

Trey cried out again. He heard the men laughing. He tried to pull his arms free and felt the sole of heavy boots crush his hands. Bones broke. He stopped fighting. Stillness surrounded him.

From afar, he heard the sounds of a sword fight, and the grunts of the opponents grappling in mortal battle. One of the fighters was a woman. It was Hanna. He could tell from her voice that she was struggling. He heard her cry out. Her opponent’s sword had met its mark. A couple more clangs of steel on steel and she screamed. There was a distant thud of a body falling. There was silence.

She was dead. Trey screamed for her. “Hanna!—” He was cut off by a sharp kick to the neck. He remained still for a moment, regaining his senses.

“And good riddance,” commented one of his attackers.

“His sword, my Lord,” another voice.

“A man of the Mark, aye? Is this true?”

Trey felt his hands being crushed further by heavy boots. The sleeve of his right arm was pushed up and his flesh twisted to expose the tattooed Mark on his forearm.

“Aye, indeed.”

Trey felt a boot stomping down on his hair. It pulled painfully. A slap came across his cheek. His eyes snapped open. A filthy grizzled old warrior bent over him, sneering. “Mark-bearer, aye? See? You are nothing.”

Trey renewed his efforts to escape the grasp of these men, but it was futile. He couldn’t move. Trey cried out in frustration and shut his eyes once more. He listened as the men moved around him, discussing his fate. His mind wandered to Hanna. He realized he was crying.

Hanna was gone. Really gone. She didn’t believe in the afterlife, so she was gone forever. Trey found himself praying. He prayed to God; he prayed to Rosaline. Please, take her in and keep her safe.

A kick in the ribs brought him back to his situation. The men stood over him and laughed. Trey’s eyes rolled. He would be dead soon as well. He must pray for his own deliverance.

But his mind traveled to Hanna again. He realized that he had wronged her. He treated her so badly. She had never done anything but care for him and he treated her like a dog. He had forced this situation upon her, and she had died. It was his fault. That was two women he had killed. Another cry escaped his lips.

Oh, to have the chance to make it right! She had trusted him. He had killed her. His tears flowed freely. He knew now that he had loved her for a while – maybe since the moment they had met. It all made sense to him now. He had held her that whole night after she killed the man of Falgarth and had discovered the plans for this battle. Of course! Why else would he have held her so? He had ignored his feelings, though. He blatantly refused to love her. He lied to himself and he treated her like garbage. He was worse to her than ever after that. Maybe.

He did give her that necklace, and the coins she needed for a new dress. His desire to do those things had surprised him. The clues were all there, but he denied them.

And now she was gone. He wanted her safe. He regretted dragging her into this war. But she served her duty. Valiantly. And she was dead. He killed her.

He prayed again. He prayed that he would see her in the afterlife. That she and Rose would know each other and be friends.

Suddenly, he could not breathe. A great weight was upon his chest. His eyes snapped open. The old warrior stood over him, with one foot firmly in the middle of Trey’s chest. The man held Trey’s own weapon, dangling it over Trey’s face.

“Too fine a weapon for the likes of you, boy,” grumbled the man. Then he laughed. The others around him laughed as well.

“Tis fitting that your own weapon shall be the one to kill you, aye?” laughed the man further.

Trey groaned and tried once again to pull away. It was to no avail.

“Let’s see here,” growled the man. He pressed the tip of Trey’s sword to Trey’s cheek. “Who do you belong to?” The man cut into Trey’s flesh, starting to carve out the letter ‘F.’ Trey jerked his head to the side. The blade cut his cheek to his ear.

“Damn!” exclaimed the man. “Hold him!”

Trey’s head was turned and held in place by a younger, brutish warrior. The old warrior began to carve into Trey’s other cheek. Trey lurched, and the blade slipped again, this time not just cutting into his own flesh, but into that of the man holding his head. A minor victory.

The old warrior pressed more of his weight onto Trey’s chest. Trey found he couldn’t breathe. The tip of the blade was pressed against Trey’s throat, just under his chin. “You die anyway boy,” the man growled.

Trey squeezed his eyes shut. He felt the blade digging into his neck. He knew that it was sharp enough that if the man simply let the weight of the sword press on his neck it would pierce his throat. He was dead.

His head swam. He searched for prayers but thought of Hanna. Please God!

“Please, don’t,” an angelic voice said. Trey cried loudly. In his mind he begged for swift passage into the next life.

“Please don’t kill him. I love him,” said the angel.

Those words echoed in his ears. He recognized the voice. It was Hanna. He was relieved. The weight on his chest lifted. He knew he was dead. But she was with him, and he was happy.

25 Days of Writing – Day 16

Day 16: Your character is going on a trip. Where to? Who with, if anyone? Why are they going on a trip? Write a scene of them either getting ready or departing on their journey.

——

Trey walked into Hanna’s chamber. Lord Dean sat with her, staring confused at the needle and thread he held in his hand. Hanna wore a weary smile. Trey felt his heart warm. It was good to see her smile. She looked up, noticing him in the doorway. She continued to smile, but behind her expression was pain. Trey smiled back, softly.

“Aye! Lord Trey!” exclaimed Dean. “Come you to relieve me of this struggle?” Dean held up the sewing he was attempting to do.

Hanna glanced over at Dean. “Real men can sew,” she muttered with a slight smile, then turned her attention to her own hands.

“Aye?!” roared Dean. “Then I am not a man!” He laughed loudly and was joined by Trey.

“We are only men by your graces, my darling,” said Trey. His smile faded. He bored heavy news.

“Aye Dean, I do bring you respite from your stitching,” Trey said. “His Majesty sends us to Taryn. We depart in the morning.”

“Taryn, my Lord?” asked Dean.

“Aye, Dean. Lady Marta has passed. Lord Donnal retires his seat to his eldest son and requests to spend his remaining days here in Herongarde serving his King. We travel to Taryn to deliver Donnal safely to his new home.”

Trey turned his gaze to Hanna. She was looking up at him, gaping in shock. “You must leave?” she whimpered.

Trey sighed. “His Majesty’s order is that I, Dean, Orrin, and Balayn travel to Taryn on the morrow and return as quickly as possible.”

Hanna looked away, tears filling her eyes.

Trey sat beside Hanna. “His Majesty also instructs,” Trey spoke softly into her ear, “that you should travel with us.”

Hanna turned and looked at him. “He does not make an order. It is your choice,” continued Trey. “However, should you travel with us, His Majesty does order that you carry your weapon, and serve Herongarde as you have in the past – with steel if needed.”

Hanna looked at Trey in silence. She was uncertain how to respond.

Dean moved awkwardly. He realized that he should probably leave. Hanna and Trey seemed quite oblivious to his presence. He stood and set the sewing he was holding onto the table. “My Lord. Hanna,” he said politely as he prepared to leave.

Trey looked up. “Aye Dean. Prepare for the journey.”

Dean bowed and left.

Trey turned his attention back to Hanna. She sat hunched over, with her face buried in her hands. “My darling?” he said to her. “It is with heavy heart that His Majesty gives this order.”

Hanna nodded.

“Lord Donnal is Rose’s Father, Hanna. We are kin.”

“I know, my Lord,” Hanna muttered.

“I would have you with me.”

Hanna sighed, and nodded again, turning to look at him. “Then I will travel with you, my Lord.”

Trey smiled faintly. “Please, my love. Call me Trey.”

“It has been a trial.”

“I know, love.” Trey paused. “You— You will travel with us?”

“Aye,” said Hanna “I will.”

Trey smiled, more broadly this time.

“My love,” whispered Hanna as Trey wrapped her in his arms. They sat in that embrace for a long time, sitting in silence, breathing in the scent of the other.

Shuffling in the hallway broke the silence. Their embrace broke and they straightened up to look at each other. Trey kissed Hanna softly on the lips.

Balayn cleared his throat. He was standing in the doorway. Trey looked up. “My Lord Balayn,” Trey greeted.

“Lord Trey. Hanna,” greeted Balayn in return. There was silence as the men looked at each other.

“Balayn,” said Trey, “Hanna will travel with us to Taryn.”

Balayn, bowed slightly and smiled. “Excellent, my Lord. We will enjoy her company.”

Trey nodded.

“I come to ask for how long of a journey I shall collect provisions? Also, I suppose, I might as how we might arrange camp?” asked Balayn.

“Ah, aye,” said Trey, still sitting with one arm around Hanna. “We will make haste on our travel there. I believe we can make the journey with only one night spent camping – though it would be wise to bring provision for two nights.” Trey turned and looked upon Hanna. “For sleeping, well I know not. Perhaps it best to conserve heat and all share a single tent.”

Hanna shrugged. She had spent many nights camped out, sharing bedding with Trey and Jason or Karrick, and most recently with the King himself. It didn’t bother her too much – as long as the men weren’t bothered.

Balayn nodded. “Aye. T’would seem most reasonable. I have spoken with Lord Orrin, but not Lord Dean.”

“I have informed Lord Dean of his duties myself,” said Trey.

“Excellent. Then we leave at first light, my Lord?”

“As soon as we can, Balayn.”

“Then I shall attend to the preparations, my Lord.”

“As should I,” said Trey. “And you, too,” Trey said to Hanna.

Balayn bowed. “My Lord,” he said, then he left.

Once again Trey turned his attention to Hanna. “Then gather your things, my dear.”

“I fear I may be ill prepared for cold weather,” Hanna said softly.

“Speak of this to my mother,” Trey said. “Surely, she can offer help.”

Hanna rose, then squatted beside the bed, reaching beneath it. “I guess I’ll need this,” she muttered as she withdrew her sword, in its scabbard attached to its belt, from under the bed.

“Aye, Hanna, you will need that,” said Trey. “I would that you would hang it proudly, rather than hide it shamefully.”

Hanna looked at the sword, drawing it partially from the scabbard. “I despise this thing,” she muttered. “And yet, I continue to bear it. It is like a sad addiction.” She sighed.

Trey stood up beside her. “You are a swordsman – er, swords-woman, I guess – but you are good and should bear this weapon proudly.”

Hanna shrugged. “Maybe one day.” Hanna set the sword on the table beside her sewing and scratched her head, looking at the disarray in her chamber. “What a mess,” she grumbled.

Trey came up behind her and put his hands on her shoulders, leaning forward to speak into her ear. “Gather your things. Speak to Mother about preparations for the cold. Provisions will be gathered by Lord Balayn. You need not worry about that, aye?”

Hanna looked up at him over her shoulder, smiling slightly. “OK.”

“And polish that sword,” Trey said. “We will meet to ensure all is in order this night before we rest, aye?”

“Aye, my Lord.”

Trey frowned. Hanna smiled. “My love,” she said. “My Trey.”

Trey smiled. “My darling.” He kissed her then bowed deeply. He turned smartly and left, with a smile on his face and a bounce in his step. She would come with them. He was happy.

25 Days of Writing – Day 15

Day 15: Your character is upset. What about? How does it affect them? Does anyone come to comfort them? Write a scene where your character is distraught.

——

“Where is she?” Trey asked wearily.

“My Lord?” asked Kevin.

“Hanna. Where is Hanna?”

“I know not, Lord Trey.”

“She was with me, Kevin. Where is she?”

“I know not. My concern is for you, not for her.”

“My concern is for her. I told you to care for her. Where is she?” Trey’s voice was getting louder.

“My Lord. Trey. I’m sure she is fine. We’ll find her,” assured Kevin.

Trey collapsed back onto the pillow. “You had best.”
Kevin stepped back and looked at Markus who stood beside him. The two men exchanged glances expressing their shared wonderment at Trey’s deep concern for this woman.

Jason stepped close to the two Lords of Herongarde. “I will seek her. Where was she last?”

“I found him on the north side, under an enemy trebuchet. He says she was with him, but injured,” muttered Kevin in a low voice.

“Aye, I will find her,” said Jason as he turned and quickly ran off. Jason knew that neither Markus nor Kevin were aware of the love that had been growing between Hanna and Trey. Jason had become aware of it two weeks past when Hanna’s nose was crushed by that warlord of Falgarth. Trey had been deeply concerned for her, though he tried to mask it. Jason could tell something was brewing in the tired heart of Lord Trey. Trey was a changed man, much more like the man Jason idolized as a boy. Trey seemed happy and interested in life, not so dark as he had been in recent years. Apparently, Trey himself was now aware of his feelings toward Hanna. Trey was urgently fearful for her.

Jason also cared for Hanna. She was a good woman by his estimation – thrust into an unfortunate circumstance, in which she was actually performing quite well. Jason had worried for both Trey and Hanna when to battle seemed to be gathering toward the tower where they had hidden themselves. It seemed that the battle found them. Jason prayed that Hanna was not lost. Not only would it be a loss of a friend, but he feared that it would be a fatal blow to Trey’s new-found inner peace.

As Jason rushed from the room, Trey’s mother, Queen Tessa, entered. She regarded the scene in front of her. Trey lay with his hand over his eyes. She could tell he was near tears. His mouth was stretched into an uncomfortable grimace. Markus and Kevin stared as him, arms folded defensively. Kevin was annoyed and Markus looked perturbed. Something was happening.

Markus looked up at the Queen as she entered. “Your Highness,” he greeted.

Kevin bowed to her, but said nothing. He was clearly troubled by Trey’s behavior.

“What happens here?” asked the Queen.

“What is this concern he has for this woman Hanna?” demanded Markus. “I worry that his priority is not with Herongarde.”

A small sound escaped Trey’s mouth. The Queen could tell he was very upset. “Well, where is she?” she asked.

Kevin straightened up, exasperated. “I know not!”

The Queen shot Kevin an angry look for his outburst.

Markus spoke. “Jason seeks her now. Apparently she was with Trey when Kevin found him. Kevin’s priority was with Trey and got him safely here. Others were left to deal with the remaining survivors.”

“Ugh!” cried Trey. “She’s not just some… ordinary—!”

“Was she injured?” asked the Queen calmly, cutting off Trey.

Trey uncovered his eyes and looked at his mother. “Aye, Mother. She was hurt. Badly.” He turned away again and shut his eyes. A tear dripped down his face. “I fear for her!”

“Then we will find her,” said the Queen calmly, pointedly making eye contact with both Markus and Kevin. She bent over Trey, stroking his cheek. “Do not condemn Kevin for his actions, Trey,” she said soothingly. “He acts only in the best interest of Herongarde. He knows not of you affection for her.”

Trey drew a deep breath. “Aye, Mother.”

“Jason seeks her,” the Queen continued. “I shall send others to look for her. She will be found and cared for, aye?”

“Thank you, Mother,” whispered Trey. He put his hand back over his eyes as fresh tears dripped from them.

“Now, my son, you must turn your focus to Herongarde, though it be difficult,” the Queen said softly. “Your countrymen need you.”

Trey nodded. “Aye, Mother. I know.”

“Rest for a moment and gather yourself,” she murmured. She rose slowly and turned to Markus and Kevin who looked at her in disbelief. “Do not mock his affection for Hanna. He has a great fondness for her.”

Markus screwed his face up, about to argue with her. She cut him off. “Now is not the time, Markus,” she hissed. “Trey loves his country, and will do his duties. But do not mock his affection!” She pointed her finger first at Markus, then at Kevin. “Just do not do it, aye?”

Markus and Kevin exchanged glances. “Aye, your Highness,” agreed Kevin.

Markus gazed sadly at his nephew, without speaking. He wondered what had happened in the months since the war had started. He returned his gaze to the Queen. “Aye, your majesty. We have much to do.”

The Queen smiled. “Thank you Markus.”

“I do pray I will get an explanation at some point before returning to the battle front, aye?” said Markus.

“That is a fair request, Markus. At a better moment, we will speak of it,” replied the Queen. “Now, my son must rest for a few moments, if you can afford him this?”

“Of course, your Highness,” replied Markus. “I will gather reports then return.”

“Thank you, Markus.”

He bowed and left the chamber. Kevin followed suit, leaving the Queen with her son.

She bent over Trey and stroked his hair. “They are gone, Trey. Talk to me.”

Trey’s hand still covered his eyes. He opened his mouth to speak but his lips shook. His face contorted and he burst into sobs. The Queen took her son in her arms and held him as he wept. As he calmed, he spoke. “I love her, Mother. I love her. Please God, let her live.” He repeated these words over and over.

“God willing, she will be found safe, Son,” she whispered in his ear. “I know you love her. I pray for her as well.”

25 Days of Writing – Day 14

Day 14: FREE DAY! Write any scene you want!

——

Trey looked back over his shoulder. Hanna was following along quietly. He smiled at her, a gesture that she warmly returned.

“This way,” he said, turning his attention back to the path that twisted through the dense forest.

“Where are you taking me?” Hanna asked.

“A special place,” he said.

Hanna rolled her eyes. That seemed to be his preferred response. It didn’t tell her anything useful.

Soon the sound of flowing water came to her ears. A stream was nearby. The sound grew louder, and she realized they were approaching a small waterfall.

They stepped into a clearing. In front of them was the waterfall that Hanna heard. It stood perhaps ten feet tall. At its base was a deep clear pond. The area was open around the pond. The sun shown in between the trees, lighting up a luxuriant patch of grass.

It seemed that this special place had been shared by many people over the years. At the moment, however, Trey and Hanna were the only ones there. Trey guided Hanna to the sunlit spot. He spread out a blanket upon which they both sat down. He smiled at her broadly.

“This is a lovely place, my Lord,” said Hanna, also smiling.

“Oh, Hanna. Call me Trey,” he murmured.

Hanna blushed. “I forget.”

Trey leaned close to her. “My love,” he whispered.

“Love,” she echoed.

He kissed her softly. “Love,” he said again, as he settled back. He reached out and took her hand. “Aye, I came here often as a boy, ever hoping I could get Rose out here too.” He rolled his eyes flirtatiously.

Hanna clicked her tongue. “Bad boy,” she teased.

“Aye, but I kept her honest, you know.”

“I know.”

“Something about this place is just so calming,” he said, leaning back on his elbows. He shifted again and leaned his head against her arm. He shut his eyes and savored her scent. This felt so good to him.

Hanna stroked his hair. He was, in the end, a good man. He had a good heart, though he did have a tendency to be overly aggressive and oftentimes came off as brooding and angry. Somehow, she had found a path past his darkness and met this deeply loving man.

She sighed. It was difficult for her. She had a husband – somewhere – and felt that to love another would be unfaithful. However, she was quite certain that Davin was lost to her. If he lived, he was out of reach. She didn’t think she’d ever see him again. She was torn. Should she love Trey and abandon Davin? Or should she be faithful to Davin and keep Trey at bay.

Trey knew of her dilemma. It saddened him. He had finally begged her to simply let him love her. If she would let him love her, he would help her seek her husband. Trey would never force her to break faith with Davin. He would accept that she would never be fully his. This he agreed to because he loved her that much. To be able to take comfort in her arms when he needed it was worth the lack of complete monogamy. He knew that what he needed was her – the woman, the friend, the companion – not her – the body, the fornication, the sin. It wasn’t to say he didn’t want that, but only that it was not what he truly needed.

He reveled in her touch. Her fingers in his hair swept the stress of leadership out of him. Her hands on his cheek pressed life into him. At this moment, he felt complete. He sighed. He felt whole and safe, a way he hadn’t felt since before Rosaline was lost. At this moment, he felt as if he could handle his future as King of Herongarde – so long as Hanna was at his side.

They sat for a long time saying nothing. Hanna enjoyed watching the water flow over the stones. Trey alternately watched the water, then watched her. He pulled a bladder of wine and a couple of cups from his satchel and poured them each a drink. He her a cup as he held up his own. “To everlasting peace and love.”

“Peace and love,” Hanna echoed as she tapped her cup against his. They drank together. He leaned close to her again, pressing his lips against hers. She returned his kiss, enjoying the texture of his mouth against hers. After a few moments, they separated. Trey gazed upon her, his eyes full of adoration.

“One day,” he whispered.

Hanna smiled. “Yeah.”

They sat together the better part of the afternoon, occasionally chatting, kissing, and wrestling a bit. They drained the entire bladder of wine and completely enjoyed each other’s company.

A distant bell rang out. The evening meal was prepared. They would be late to the table. They exchanged knowing glances.

“Oops,” said Hanna.

Trey grinned. “We should hurry.”

“Aye,” Hanna agreed.

Hastily, they collected the items they had brought and stuffed them back into the satchel that Trey carried. He slung it over his shoulder and looked at Hanna.

“Shall we go?” said Hanna.

Trey stood close to her, taking each of her hands in his own. He bent and kissed her hard. Passion filled him for a fleeting moment, which she returned with an equal fury. All too soon, they stepped apart again, knowing that they could not continue though they both wanted to.

Trey looked on her with a smile. “I love you, Hanna.”

“And I love you Trey,” she replied reaching up and stroking his cheek.

Trey drew a deep breath. “We must return.”

“Yes, I know.”

Trey stepped back from her, looking rather sad. Then a grin spread across his face. “I’ll race you!”

“Wha—?”

Trey turned and starting running back along the path. Hanna took up pursuit, and they both laughed as they jogged back toward the Castle keep. For a moment, the world’s pressures were lifted from their bodies. They both felt terrific.

Knights of Herongarde: Chapter Seven – Hanna Awakes

Hanna rose to her knees. It was fortunate that she had fallen into a soft patch of leaves and moss. The air was crisp, and she saw her own breath in front of her face. She was in the woods. It was early spring, where some trees had already started showing a flush of new leaves, while others still remained apparently dormant. Tiny rays of sunshine cut through the trees. It was morning.

She ran her hand over her face. Wait. Where am I? she wondered. Where were Davin and the car? Or her phone? She stood quickly, and whirled around trying to orient herself. A wave of panic began to build in her belly, followed immediately by a strong sense of woosiness. She dropped to her knees again, grasping the ground in an effort to stop the world from spinning. Nothing here looked familiar to her. Maybe she had hit her head. She looked at herself and saw that, despite being dirty, she still wore what she last remembered wearing: The long spring dress that Davin liked so much, and those marginally comfortable flats that she wore with everything that wasn’t jeans. Her hands were still adorned with the rings that Davin had given her over the years. She felt her neck and discovered her favorite necklace still hung there.

She attempted again to look around. None other of her personal articles were around. No purse or car keys. Of course they were probably still in the car. But where was the car? Where was Davin?

“Davin?” she tried to call for her husband, but her voice seemed weak and distant. She tried again, “Davin!”

Where is he?

She stood again, this time moving more slowly. She scanned the terrain for any familiar features, but found that everything seemed wrong. There were far too many trees here, and none of them seemed familiar. Last she remembered, the trees were fully leafed out for the summer, so why were so many of these trees still in bud? It was much colder than she expected. And damp. Everywhere there was moss.

She circled around the small clearing where she had awakened, trying to find any evidence that might explain how she got there. Her body ached as if she had fallen from a great distance. Or had been in a car accident. Where was the car?

“DAVIN!”

She limped another circle around the perimeter of the clearing. The road – a road – surely must lie nearby. She could discern a slightly clearer path though the dense forest in one direction, and decided to walk that way.

She felt as if she had been walking for hours. The day had warmed a bit, and the walking had loosened her stiff joints. She was moving pretty comfortably now, but she was growing thirsty. All the while, there had been no sign of a road of any kind. She’d spotted a few game trails, but definitely nothing man-made.

The terrain had remained relatively flat as well. This bothered her. At last she recalled, she had been in the foothills of some significant mountains. Here, there was no evidence of any mountains nearby. Everything was relatively flat. What had happened?

She had stopped calling for Davin more than an hour ago. But the silence of this place frightened her, so she sang quietly to herself, as she often did when she was hiking alone. She wondered if there were bears in this forest, and opted to make noise to frighten the would-be predator off. But she worried of attracting the attention of others who may be less intimidated by the human presence.

She stopped suddenly. She thought she heard something. A voice. Maybe not. But then, a shout. A woman’s voice. And a man’s. He sounded angry. The gentle breeze carried the voices away and silence returned. Hanna strained her ears. Voices again wafted on the wind into her ears, and she began to move in the direction of the sound.

Hanna walked on, carefully tracking the voices for about a half mile. As she got closer, she could tell that there were more than one woman and more than one man shouting and carrying on. At least one of the women was crying and begging, so far as Hanna could tell. The men seemed to be taunting the women.

Hanna dreaded what manner of scene she was approaching. Every bad horror movie she’d ever seen came into her mind. All she could imagine was a scene of rape and butchery, and she didn’t know if she wanted to see that. However, so long as the women continued to cry out, she felt obliged to move closer and see if there was anything she could do. She nearly turned back a dozen times, when renewed cries drew her forward. Hanna wasn’t sure where she was, but she knew that something was amiss. She felt she should do something.

And she could not convince herself that she was not simply dreaming. Maybe this was all just a dream and she would awake soon next to Davin. Maybe the men’s shouts were simply her brain’s interpretation of Davin’s snoring. She would wake soon to force him to roll over. Yes, that had to be it.

It sounded as if the tussling parties were directly in front of her, just below the little rise she was climbing up. She squatted down to approach more carefully. If there was some wickedness going on, she did not want to march into the middle of it. It would be best to sneak up and assess the situation before moving forward with any plan of action.

What she saw when she crested the hill caused her to shake her head in wonderment. This must be a dream. She observed two women being prodded by four men. The women – girls actually, teenagers at best – were crying out and begging the men for mercy. They wore what looked like frilly nightgowns of some ancient age. The girls were bare footed, and bloodied, from the blows and prods of the men.

The men wore outfits straight from Arthurian legends, so far as Hanna could tell. Or maybe crusaders, with chain mail and helmets and swords slung on their hips. They wore cloth coverings over their mail which bore an eagle-looking insignia. Four horses stood nearby, wearing rigid saddles that reminded her of the knights she’d seen jousting at renaissance festivals. The horses were also decorated with this eagle insignia.

Hanna listened carefully to the men’s jeers. She thought that they were speaking English, but they had a very thick accent. Irish, maybe? She could only pick out a few words, but what she heard did not bode well for the girls. As close as she could gather, these men meant to rape then possibly kill the frightened girls. Hanna wondered what she could do to prevent this.

The men spoke among themselves, clearly planning a coordinated attack. At once, they lunged forward, two men grappling each woman, forcing them to the ground and attempting to bind their hands. The girls cried out in terror, and Hanna took this as a call to action. She gripped a straight and green tree branch which lay nearby and pulled it from the ground. It was rooted firmly, but she was able to pull it from the soft soil. She hoped it would suffice.

She leapt up and ran toward the group, planning loosely to bash each man on the head, so that the girls could escape. Her first swing did meet its mark, but did not knock the consciousness from the man. It did, however, alert the men to her presence. Quickly, the men shifted their attention from the girls on the ground in front of them, to this woman attacker behind them. One man, the man she had struck, drew his sword.

The girls, perhaps too frightened to see this as an opportunity to escape, barely moved. They gawked at Hanna, crying in their terror.

“Run!” shouted Hanna. “Get out of here!”

The girls were frozen. The men circled Hanna, jeering at her. Hanna positioned herself between the men and the girls. “Run, you idiots!” she shouted at the girls.

The injured man swung his sword and Hanna blocked it with her stick. He swung again and she blocked. The other men taunted and goaded. This man was furious.

Hanna suddenly realized that this was not likely to end well.

Writing a book…

So in November I signed on to do the NaNoWriMo competition: to write a 50,000 word novel in one month. I chose to write the complete tale of Trey of Herongarde, who is featured in the 25 Days of Writing challenge (which I will someday actually finish). I wrote my 50k words and found out I wasn’t even close to finishing the book, but I’m still working on it. I’m thinking that, in addition to maybe finishing the Writing Challenge, I will post a few of the completed scenes from the book, Knights of Herongarde, on this blog. I dunno, maybe someone will read it and be interested in motivating me to finish it.

For fun, I also plan to join Script Frenzy in April, to write a 100 page screenplay for Knights of Herongarde. I took a screenwriting class a while ago. Maybe I’ll apply my screenwriting skillz? Or maybe it’ll just be easier to complete the story in screenplay format. Or maybe I’m just nuts!

25 Days of Writing – Day 13

Day 13: Your character has a whole day off to do whatever they want. Write a scene of them enjoying this free day.

—

Trey walked down the steps leading into the courtyard. It had been his intention to ride out for another patrol this morning, however his Uncle, Lord Markus, had warned him that the King was likely to call Council that evening. It would be poor form for the heir to the throne to be absent during council, especially during peacetime, so Trey found himself trapped at Herongarde Castle for the day. He wondered what he might do to amuse himself.

He walked slowly around the stone-bordered pond that formed the centerpiece of the courtyard. A sculpture of Mary stood at the center, overlooking any activity that occurred there. Trey knelt and said a silent prayer, that he might be calm this day and be at peace. He doubted that his prayer would work – he already felt the anxiety building in him. He longed for the open road and silence. He rose again and made the Sign of the Cross before the statue.

He gazed upon Mary and his mind began to drift. He thought about Rose – the times they had spent in this very courtyard. He shut his eyes, trying to banish the images, yet only making them stronger.

The sound of women’s voices jarred him back to reality. The Ladies of the court were walking out to the courtyard to take in some fresh air. This was the first truly warm day of the spring, and everyone was eager to get out from the castle walls. Trey looked up as the Ladies noticed him there. There were three in this group. Trey new them all: Margeth, the head Lady, Anise, and Katherine. They turned to each other and giggled with glee.

All the Ladies of the court were aware that Lord Trey was unmarried. All three of these Ladies fancied themselves as Trey’s next wife. It didn’t seem to matter to them at all that the only reason why Trey was alone was that his first wife, Rose, had died. They also seemed indifferent to his disinterest in ever wedding again. They only knew that one day, Trey would be King, and his wife would be Queen.

Trey looked away, glancing about the courtyard quickly. It had suddenly lost its charm with the presence of the Ladies. Trey stomped on a remnant lump of snow then strode away from the pond and the statue of Mary. He nodded at the Ladies as he rushed past them back into the security of the castle chambers. The women bowed reverently as he passed, then commenced to giggle and titter as he marched away down the hallway, toward the King’s Hall.

The King’s Hall was empty. Trey was disappointed, as he had hoped to find his father there. He turned to leave, beginning to walk out the door while still looking at the large tapestry that hung over the desk at the head of the room. The tapestry depicted the herald of Herongarde, the mark of Trey’s home and family, and the mark that he bore on the forearm of his right arm. He would rule Herongarde one day. The thought depressed him.

“My Lord!” cried Gilbert as Trey crashed into him in the doorway. Gilbert had been on his way in with various parchments to review with His Majesty, and had been paying as little attention to where he was going as was Trey. Trey snapped his attention onto the man in front of him, trying to keep hold of the rolled papers in his arms. Trey grabbed a few as they fell, as others bounced and rolled to the floor.

“Aye, Gilbert!” said Trey, embarassed. “So sorry, my Lord. My mind is on other things.”

“Aye, Trey,” said Gilbert, wrestling with the disordered pile of parchments in his arms. “Could you spare a moment to help me?”

“Of course, my Lord,” said Trey as he was already picking up the rolled papers that had fallen. “What business is this today?”

“We review our trade agreements, Trey. You should join us.”

Trey rolled his eyes. This would certainly be dull. “I would rather be riding Garnog beyond the walls of this castle, my Lord.”

“It will one day be your duty to endure these meetings, Trey.”

“Aye, but not now, Gilbert,” said Trey, with a forced smile.

“Aye, first you must learn to read, Lord Trey,” boomed a voice from the doorway. The King – Trey’s father – stood there smirking. “You need to turn your focus to your learning, and less to your riding and patrols.”

Trey frowned and looked away. “Rather not,” he grumbled.

“I am surprised, actually, that you remain here, Trey,” said the King. “Are you ill?”

“Lord Markus advises me that you may call council this day. Is this true, your Highness?” asked Trey.

“Aye, it is. I am glad that you take that duty seriously.”

“Of course, your Highness. Nevertheless, I request leave to ride patrol. There are questions near Quilgar that I wish answered.”

The King frowned deeply. “No, Trey. You will not indulge such foolishness this day.”

“But–,” began Trey.

“No, Trey. You will remain here this day and attend to your duties as a proper bearer of that Mark on your arm.” The King’s voice grew louder with each word. “I’ll not have you off chasing fantasies!” He ended with a great wave of his arm.

Trey knew he could not win such an argument with his father. He would spend the day in or near Herongarde Castle. He was disappointed.

The King’s expression lightened. “I suggest a day of rest for you, Trey. Rest and pleasure.

“This castle is a prison to me,” muttered Trey.

“Then go you to the market this day. To Artyl to enjoy a tankard of mead with your brothers at arms, aye?” suggested the King.

“Or to Gastin to repair your shield?” added Gilbert.

Trey frowned deeply. None of these things interested him.

“Ride out and pay your respects to Rosaline, perhaps Trey?” said the King with a much softer demeanor. “It is ten years since her passing. Is this why your mood is so dark?”

This angered Trey. Rage welled within him, but he knew better than to express it – not to the King. He clinched his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut, drawing a deep breath. Exhaling slowly, he opened his eyes again. “I will find something useful to do, your Highness, Lord Gilbert.” Trey turned smartly and marched from the room.

***

Trey eased Garnog into an easy trot. He was on his way to the village of Artyl, an easy one hour ride from Herongarde Castle. He would avoid the market. He thought of shopping as women’s work, and certainly below a man of his status. Instead, he rode toward the shop of Gastin.

Gastin was a well-respected blacksmith within Herongarde. He has been entrusted with making many of the swords and shields borne by the Mark-bearers of Herongarde. His son, Jason, was himself soon to earn the Mark. Gastin was as much family to the brothers of the Mark as could be any man.

Trey’s shield had been damaged over a year earlier in an ugly match at tournament. The function of the shield was not harmed, but it seemed unsightly for the heir of Herongarde to bear such arms. Trey had put off repairing the shield as he had more important things to do. Besides, he did not care that he was heir. He didn’t want to be heir, and he didn’t care what others thought either. Today was a good day to get it fixed, as it was an appropriate excuse to get him away from Herongarde Castle for the greater part of the day.

As always, Gastin was in his shop busily working. Today he seemed to be working on making a set of horse shoes. Trey had seldom ever seen the man not coated with sweat and wielding his hammer. Trey wondered if Gastin ever slept. Trey dropped his bent shield onto a table in Gastin’s shop, making sufficient noise to call attention to himself.

Gastin looked up, and smiled broadly upon recognizing Trey. “My Lord!” he said, setting his work aside. “My Lord Trey! It is great to see you.” Gastin bowed. “How may I serve you this day, my Lord?”

“Aye, Gastin, Tis good to see you too,” smiled Trey. “My shield here is damaged. I wonder if you might repair it?”

Gastin eyed the shield, picking it up and turning it over in his hands. “Aye My Lord. It must have been quite a battle to cause this.”

“Aye, but I still defeated my opponent. Of course, this still functions fine, Gastin, but it is ugly and unbefitting me.”

“Truly, my Lord, this this true,” agreed Gastin. Gastin continued to inspect the damage. He looked up from the shield. “I can certainly straighten the damage this day, my Lord, and before you must return to Herongarde Castle. However, I cannot correct the herald. I am out of cobalt paint, and the merchant has not brought me any for months.”

Trey smiled. “I shall be pleased to have it the correct shape again this day, Gastin. Encourage your merchant to get proper cobalt quickly, however, as soon your own son will need properly marked equipment, aye?”

Gastin smiled broadly, exuding the pride he felt for his son. “Aye, my Lord. I shall remind the merchant that he serves his King, not just me.”

“I shall ride on to the tavern and have some mead, I think,” said Trey. “It is not often I have time to enjoy some leisure.”

“Of course, my Lord. I shall attend to this at once.”

“Thank you Gastin,” said Trey with a short bow. Gastin bowed deeply as Trey turned and left the shop.

***

He was already into his third cup of mead when two young men from Artyl came in, boasting of their success in a fight with some rival fellows over some woman. Trey tried to ignore them. He recalled when such ‘conquests’ were the fabric of life when he was younger. Trey knew now that such victories seldom lasted and these fights were wasteful of energy. He hoped they would just get drunk and shut up.

The young men’s boasting and bragging grew louder as they consumed their drinks. Trey was starting to feel annoyance. He was seated in a dark corner of the tavern, hoping for some peace. These men, little more than boys, really – were disrupting everything. Trey noticed that they were starting to act belligerent toward the tavern keep and other occupants as well.

A barmaid approached Trey’s table, offering him another drink. Trey glanced at her with a sour expression. “Those boys ought not to be here,” he commented.

She smiled. “Aye, my Lord. Yet they frequent this place. Always difficult, they are.”

“Whose are they?”

“They are local, my Lord. Their father has died; their mother is ill. The keeper tolerates them for pity.”

“I’ll not,” grumbled Trey. “Tis no excuse to act so vile.”

The barmaid smiled uncomfortably. “Another mead, my Lord?”

“Aye, woman. I would like that,” Trey said as he rose from the table. “But first, I shall have my peace.”

The barmaid stepped aside as Trey walked past her toward the pair of boasting men. She worried that this would not end well.

“Gentlemen!” said Trey with a malicious smile and open arms, “I hear you have had great success this day!”

One of the men, a blonde, smiled in return. “We have conquered some fools this day,” he slurred.

“Fools, aye?” said Trey. “What fools?”

“Aye, my Lord,” responded the other man who had darker hair, “the fools that thought they were greater men than us!”

Trey’s smile turned to a frown and he nodded. “There are none greater than you, aye?”

The blonde chimed in again. “Not in Artyl! We shall have whatever we want.” The other man grunted his agreement and raised his glass. The men tapped glasses and drank deeply.

“More mead, Keep!” shouted the dark-haired one. The Keeper looked up with a frown and began to move as if to obey the order.

“Nay, gentlemen,” said Trey in a low voice. “I believe you have had enough.”

Both men turned and glared at Trey. “We shall have what we wish!” said the blonde.

“No. We shall have what I wish. And that is silence,” growled Trey. The Keeper froze, and all eyes in the tavern turned to the conflict building before them. “You have had enough.”

“I don’t think you know who you’re dealing with,” muttered the blonde, too drunk not to slur slightly.

“Oh really?!,” boomed Trey. “I believe you know not who you are dealing with!”

“There are two of us,” added the dark-haired man.

Trey turned to the dark-haired man. “And I am ten times the man you are. I say silence. Harass this place no longer.”

“Hah!” laughed the blonde. “You know nothing.”

Trey’s lip twisted. “Nothing aye? Then why bear I this mark on my arm?” He pushed his sleeve up, exposing the symbol of Herongarde tattooed on his forearm.

The cocky expressions faded from the faces of both young men.

“Aye, boys,” continued Trey, “I believe you are finished here today.”

The blonde straightened. “I could –,” he started to speak, but the other man smacked him across the chest. The blonde glared at his brother.

“We will leave, of course, my Lord,” said the dark-haired man.

“Good,” replied Trey with a contemptuous smile.

The dark-haired man grabbed his bother by the tunic and pulled him out of the tavern, leaving Trey standing in the middle of the room. Trey nodded to the keeper and returned to his seat. A fresh up of mead was brought to him, which he drank slowly, savoring the new silence of the tavern. This was much better.

When his fourth cup of mead was drained, Trey glanced toward a window. Judging by the quality of the light, he knew it was time for him to return to Gastin’s shop and then on to the castle. He dropped a few coins on the table, and walked out of the tavern in silence. His time of leisure was over, and it was time to get back to his duties.

Finally.