The Heartwood Between Dusk and Dawn, the Town of Cragside Marketday The Twenty-Fourth Day of the Month of Raven, 2623
"Well your lordship ..." Jake answers Conrad as he slowly pours out a row of ales, which are then immediately taken up by one of the barmaid. Tunics swirling she distributes them across the room, taking up a few pennies here and there as she does.
" ... I think I have some wine I can tap back here; it'll not be as nice as up in the Rock and a wooden mug will have to do we as don't keep crystal here; I'll have Beth get you and yours a nice hot bowl of stew. As for the rest I'm sure I can find you a bed to rest in tonight, even if it means the missus and I take our rest in the kitchen; and thats no trouble, its warm on a stormy night and its where we have to be first thing come morning anyhows."
There were some benefit, of course, being of the Family Shannon, not to mention those that came with being a Squire.
" ... the second would be for her Ladyship?"
The barkeep's brow furrowed, consternation and worry as his glance slipped over just how crowded his tavern was this evening. All about it looked, tarrying upon small knots of conversations before returning to one in particular; in fact the small one occurring right there with the Lady Comfrey.
" ... Missus Kadri, you and her Ladyship seem to be getting along; if its all right with her could she share your room this evening? That'd be all right and proper, I suspect and I'd be beholding you and Ma'am Kelleni for the favor."
For Mikal and the small group at the western hearth, the Horde mercenaries do move aside to allow them space at the table, enough for bowls of stew to be set out, a place where the barmaids can put down their drink; and enough room to be siting if one chose - though there is also space on the warm stones directly in front of the fire. Longtooth actually had it best; stretching out underneath one of the long tables kept him close to Darian, close to the fire, and out of the way of accidental footfalls.
There was a nod of welcome, a respect for their own conversation; as if being in a crowded commons was nothing new to them and there was a cultivated manner to not overly eavesdrop on the nearby conversation.
"Mind if I 'ave ah piece of tha' bread?"
"Mind ... give the pot a good stirring, lest you really want a hot soup instead of a thick stew."
Is the manner of unsolicited conversation; simple, pragmatic and not at all unfriendly.
All in all the very last thing one would expect, a respectful camaraderie for the lone New Jvrillian so vastly out numbered within an infamous freelance troop.
On the warm hearthstones of the other fire, the Horde's captain continued her conversations, weaving two, then three, conversations into a single interlocked skein.
"Mother certainly had a skill of hiding things in plain sight."
For a breath she was quiet, eyes closing as if trying to remember back beyond many years.
"Deynnekko would be my first guess, calling on the bindings between her and the House heir; even if their marriage was more fire than festival. Otherwise, I'd suspect a cadet house of Harhmekhan; they'd never stand up directly against House Veilikki, but probably be convinced to hold a secret against them. If you see a familiar looking face with a guitar, that's Keil's youngest brother; he rides with us."
Taking her mulled cider she looked at it for a long set of heartbeats, raised it, held it for a moment before slowly draining it.
It is Cesare, however, that she gives a careful look to first, as she replies to Daxia.
"I suspect that's the very last thing we need now; that there be so very few of us and now to be losing our very best against the Dark Patch."
Her gaze then returned to the flame-maned Dayalan.
"Its our blessing and our curse; the consequences of Her rising and falling.
"Which may make it right, but it doesn't make it pleasant or wanted. But that's just the way the bricks get stacked."
Looking down into her now empty mug, she turned the wooden goblet in her hands.
"Center of the town; just turn right when you step out on the street, don't leave the street and you can't miss it. It's right in front of the Merchanter Guild's market-barn; just if you get there at dawn expect to share it with half the town's goodwives and their daughters. The water is cold and clear and good and folks know it. But it is ours; it bears runes so old I suspect the town grew up around it rather than the other way around.
"As for your gift ... I suspect it should stay beneath your cloak and in your scabbard, lest you attract the attention of those who would covet rather than respect. Marrennen has a large following in this town - and while Lord Shannon holds these lands in the name of Khorall Kierkegaard and the Imperial Court watches over folks souls, for all practical purposes the merchant princes runs this town ... which means his distaff brother is but the fall of night away."
Her gaze did not rise from her goblet.
"I don't believe he was really our uncle; but he was close, and he Father's bext friend. Jazzy was Mother's. I do remember a young lad who slept with his head on his Mother's lap when they'd talk deep into the night; but he was so small I doubt he'd remember that."
She then finally turned her head, looking back with eyes still.
"But you were there?
"Mother never spoke of the why or the how or the wherefore; just that it was important, that it had to be done. After all these years the only thing that I can figure out is that Veilikki was - and still is - playing a dangerous game of brinksmanship for his own fel reasons.
"But a little white haired girl?
"Father was a rascal, infamously so. He had a certain Lady's favor, I suspect. Uncle Yoska's tales were taller that the Black Mountains. But he and Yoska? But Mother and Jazzy?
"I find it hard to believe that they were kidnappers.
She smiled at the barkeep masking her thoughts on the topic of the barkeep, his wife, and their bedroom and the rest. Wine, crystal, mug, ale, oh well, she thought in a brief blur.
"Any small spot would be fine, please." She laughed and her plain features became just a little bit less that way as her eyes sparkled with inner mirth. "You're crowded and sleep is a comfort where ever it is. If you'd not mind, Kadri, I'd be grateful. Else, anywhere there's space."
She shrugged the smallest amount as she looked back at the innkeeper, "Not easy finding more space when you're filled to bursting. And it's just Comfrey, please/"
He nodded at he arrangement for Comfrey to stay with their dinner companion.
"Then if you would not mind. I will provide the room to my other charge, Cameila, for her rest this night. I shall find a corner in which to rest myself." he said, nodding and taking out his heavy purse.
"What is your rate good innkeeper for the rooms and meals, now and in the morrow?"
Celi took the opportunity to relocate to the warm spot in front of the hearth, so that her clothes could dry for once and all. All she had to do was sit tailor-fashion and rotate every few minutes, and she would dried nicely. She thought she smelled a little musty, but then, so did everyone else in the room, and some a lot worse. SHe found the conversation among the Horde near Mikal oddly calming, restoring a certain everyday normalcy to things. She didn't know why she needed restoring, but slowly the tension was drawing out of her shoulders and neck.
Earlier, Mikal had seen to his weapons, so she judged that such activities were not considered rude within the confines of the inn; especially since his weapons were considerably more numerous and more lethal-looking than were hers. So she drew out her kukri, one at a time, and began to clean, oil and hone them. Hers were absolutely ordinary, about eighteen inches long, with age-yellowed horn hilts wrapped in the non-slip pebbled surface of stingray hide. The blades were traditional single-edged forward-hooked, with no fancy weight-reducing fullers and a single blood-notch on the cutting edge near the hilt. The notch served a variety of purposes, some of them apochryphal, but Celi used it to provide edge demarcation for sharpening purposes. Theoretically it prevented blood running onto the hand of the wielder in combat, but she couldn't testify to that. They were solidly crafted and of a style somewhat old, so she had probably purchased or inherited them rather than made them. The sheaths were oiled leather, crafted to fit the weapon, and each had two smaller outside pockets containing a whetstone and a tiny "knife", in actuality a pointed tool for the care and maintenance of the kukri and its sheath.
Celi retrieved a pair of rags from her kit, and assiduously cleaned and dried the hilts, then the blades, then oiled them both lightly; one of the rags was an oilcloth. Then she stoned the blades with a steady and expert wheet, wheet, wheet until she was satisfied, wiped them once more with the oilcloth, and put them away.
Throughout she had been alert and attentive to what happened around her, most particularly any exchanges between Mikal and the Horde, Darian and Mikal, and of course, Longtooth. She was fascinated by the canine, but had no idea how to get to know him better without stepping on Darian's toes. So she simply admired from afar, and reminded herself to call him "a ruff" if asked.
"Deynekko," was all she said and left it at that. She was capable and competent at being a part of the tapestry of activity. This was not her court to hold and despite the alleged bonds of kinship, be it birth to disenfranchised Imperial families, or the familial ways of the Rhoni travelers, Camelia was unaccustomed to being so open with her words, attentions, and intentions. She was raised as an only child, friend to another only child, isolated in a place of families playing games of intrigue. She was solitary by nature in many respects. Not incapable of a more gregarious demeanor, not by any stretch, but given to a need to be reflective. Hers was a world of thoughts and dreams, avenues for her creativity. Places where she could imagine a life of great valor, awe inspiring deeds and far away places like those of the old ballads and tales. She was a romantic at heart, in a world where the cold and hard pragmatism and choleric leadership qualities had to be worn as a mask. And yet, she longed to find a storybook enchantment and become a part of great tales of love and enduring companionship.
She slipped from the Reverie though as she was reminded of a familiar but enigmatic saying of her mother's that Camelia had taken up and given her own sense of meaning. The mention of the passing of some elder that was important to these people whom she knew where hers and yet didn't know at all, she found herself muttering it softly but not looking at anyone save for the table before her with a melancholic expression.
He listens, containing his impatience whilst the Captain also deals with other ongoing conversations, aware that he is butting in but this is so important to him that it cannot be denied.
Although he is most focused on the conversation emanating from the two sisters, he is also aware of Daxia beside him - probably always will be as he finds her so very attractive - and realises that there is a lot more to her than maybe he first thought. The captain mentions the Dark Patch, his interest piqued, he mentally files that away for perhaps a later conversation with Daxia, a brief smile in her direction before his attention is diverted back to the Captain and other information she imparts about the town.
But then she comes to the part that holds his attention completely. He assumes the Jazzy she refers to is his mother Jasmine, hence her earlier question. More pieces to the puzzle that has haunted his growing years. And a poignant reminder that tugs at his grief, always there deep down.
"I have this vision. In truth I don't know if it is mine or one imparted from my mother but it is clear in my mind. I don't understand what it was all about either. You seem to know more than I. I was thinking that the white-haied child might have been your sister?"
He looks again at Cami, this time with sympathy uppermost. This is all of a shock to him but much more so to her he feels, especially as she seems to know least and has come from a sheltered environment by her account. For a second or two he wonders how much different her life has been compared with his.
As he continues, he shakes his head.
"And kidnappers no. They would not have given up each other for profit or gain.. only to aid one of ours."
Of this he is certain and that certainty is in his voice. Then there is a slight waver before he goes on.
"Jasmine died. We had always hoped.. waited.. for my father to rejoin us. He never did. My mother's last wish was that I should find him. Do you know if he is alive..?"
He almost adds the words 'or not' but really doesn't want to hear that answer..
Darian with Mikal, Longtooth, Celi, unnamed Horde members
Her meal finished she looks to see that Longtooth is finished as well and collects his bowls from under the table. After a soft, brief conversation with the ruff, she rights herself and orders more mead for the both of them.
As she waits for the maid's return, she pulls out two scraps of cloth, one large, one small, and a small tin of wax. As she began to first dry and then wax both bow and string, she inquired of their table companions the type of game that could be found nearby.
It would be nice to be on the move only for the Hunt and no other reason. She and Longtooth could both use the time with their Lord.
"Well, unless you know someone who lives here with whom you can room, most find long-term lodging in an inn like this. They are used to providing such during the winter so will have rates reflecting a stay of a month or more." He replies to Darian.
He doesn't mention the other option he has available, as he'd prefer not to take advantage of it, and Darian and Celi would not be welcome there. He'll visit the Guildhouse while here, mostly to see if any Contracts are posted, but he'd rather not stay there. It's too insulated. If he feels like getting some training, which is always a good thing, it can be done during daylight hours. However, unless prices here are discounted or he finds some odd work here and there, he isn't completely sure his coin will last the winter.
When the waitress passes by he asks her what the long-term room rates are here, as even if he, Darian, and Celi spend tonight by the fire, it will not be the most comfortable place to spend weeks of time. He asks her if there are two rooms, glancing between Darian and Celi, wondering if they're OK to share. Or if he can share with one of the men, as long as there's two beds.
"Thank you." He says to the mercenary who advises him on the stew, passing a piece of bread when asked. "I must say your Troop's reputation precedes you, yet I'd have expected a somewhat different reception based on that. Or do you cultivate it to keep away bothersome questions like I am asking?" He smiles as he asks the man this, in case he is indeed pushing where it is not welcome.
"I didn't mean....., I meant for you and Celi to share", he says, a visible blush creeping up his neck. "Umm, unless that is what you mean as well? It'd not be proper else." He takes a large swig of his ale to give him something to do with his hands.
She shook her head, but met his eyes to show no insult was taken or offered.
No, she was not inviting him to be intimate, but she was also trying to not use phrases that were not so blatantly Khannish.
"Where I am from, we had a common winter night lodging for all the ...extended family for both warmth and protection. Even at the leanest there were a couple handfulls of us all together."
"Only since I was sent away has it been only two."
A glance towards the ruff at her feet underscored her meaning.
He nods, a bit relieved, though also a bit disappointed. "I see. Yes. Not too different from me and my Uncle. Our home only had two bedrooms. Mom and Dad slept in one bed, of course, and Uncle and I shared another. My sister slept on a bed in the kitchen, alone, but near the hearth. Still, we'd not ever let a man and woman share a bed who were not married."
Married. The farmers and other outliers did that. It was different among the pack itself. Darian was anomaly, being a woman and one of the Hunters as opposed to a lay member of the pack. But still, marriage was not a requirement for two to lay together in that manner. It was, in fact, highly unusual.
"Another place where our ways are differ."
She meant one thing but qualified it in order to mean another.
"The winter lodging was of a single room for all."
"I lived with my Grandmother alone until she died. Since then I have traveled ..." not always alone, but that is a different story ... "... never in the company of other people. I will stay where you tell me it is permitted. I have no religious sensibilities or moral qualms about non-intimate cohabitation, but I swear I would never disgrace any of you, so if I appear to be doing something that compromises you, just say and I will adjust what I am doing to meet your needs."
"I've asked about a room for you and Darian to share, with Longtooth of course", he replies to Celi. "I don't know about any of the other women we arrived with, but depending on the size of the beds, the more that stay together the lighter it will be on the purse. Price is typically by the room, not by the person."
"I will find accommodations for myself, here, somewhere."
Her amber gaze drifted around the room before returning to Mikal. Pitched only for his ears, she told him, "Sharing a room does not require sharing a bed."
Celi in the common room with Mikal, Darian and Longtooth
WHatever arrangement was made would suffice for Celi, though for a fact, her innate penuriousness made the idea of multiple tenants for a single room much more appealing. Plus, she might get a chance to visit with Longtooth.
"I am happy to abide by your decision," she told Mikal. "But spend no funds on my account; here in the common room is perfectly fine."
He grins at Darian. "You've not spent much time at inns then. Most have a single bed in their rooms that is intended to sleep anywhere from 2 to up to 4. Not roomy, but then as you noted it adds warmth. I have spent several nights in such, only to wake in the morning black and blue from over-restless fellows. It's why I asked the serving girl whether there were separate beds here. If not, with this crowd, I'd expect to be in with 2-3 other men, and it's fairly debatable whether I'd sleep better on the floor down here."
"I must admit, I am most used to the ground and solitude," Celi said. "Ne'er more than straw for a pallet and no company save occasionally some livestock. So for me, such a room as you suggest would be ... umm, softer but a little too populous."
She shrugged, embarrassed because she no doubt sounded like some rube. Which she was, but that was beside the point. She was trying to learn.
She could do little but shrug and incline her head at the other woman's words. Dayala rose each day and Her children lit the night-time sky; seasons followed one upon another; people were born and they died. It was... well, it simply was.
"Ta," she said, thanking Dandelion both for the directions to the well and the information about who truly controlled the town.
It was when Camelia spoke again... spoke her last four words... that Daxia's intense gaze fell upon the younger of the two sisters; studying her, trying to find more than just a tiny snippet of a pattern. "How you know these words? You say, 'always just buying time'. Where you learn this?"
The Heartwood Between Dusk and Dawn, the Town of Cragside Marketday The Twenty-Fourth Day of the Month of Raven, 2623
Everybody
"Well let's see ... you haven't started foaming at the mouth, tried to pick a fight or offered us snide comments about who is a real swordsman. That either shows a great deal of common sense seeing that we outnumber you ..."
The Horde mecenary laughed, taking a deep draught of his ale.
" ... or you are a decent bloke. Both of which put you in good stead."
He ducks his head towards the small group at the far fire.
"Besides, what we do reflects upon the Captain, and for that you won't find a sword here to put a mark upon her. Respect begets respect ... stone and stars lad, don't you recognize the short barrel of a man there next to Rafe Dynnekko? That's Barris Ironhand; the man who put together what's now Mohlkavin's Heavy Horse and perhaps the best battlefield tactician that Jvrill ever had.
"The idiot Merchant Guild in Bordertown somehow got them to come after us; something neither if us wanted - its like they had forgotten both the riders of the Greenlands Path and the fact that the Fey come riding in with the spring mists."
The mercenary looked down into his mug, frowning.
"Some folks say it was Korie and Montague coin that bought the merchants that bought the Heavy Horse's contract.
"The problem, well, our Captain knew if she got into a face to face battle with Barris' cavalry we'd lose ... the Merchant princes knew that too.
"But they didn't figure that she wouldn't let him get us there.
"You see, our Captain's a strategist. A killer one."
There was a smile at that as the swordsman continued.
"To make a long story short, Barris was smart enough to figure out that no way we would let ourselves get into a set piece fight and we were slowly tearing his Heavy Horse to pieces in a death of a thousand nibbles.
"Someone wanted blood.
"And when they couldn't get Captain Dandy's, they went after Ironhand."
Shaking his head the Horde mercenary gave Mikal a serious and stern look.
"Merchant coin is good, but never, never trust. They'll turn that punched penny around quicker than a merebeast on a bloodscent."
He took another sip of his drink.
"Now Koromov isn't stupid. The minute she caught wind of this ...
"... she offered him a place here as her second. Harry Mohlkavin bought in; he took over the Horse and his best friend got one straight good contract with us.
"So lad ... we got good respect for you and yours. We just expect to get it in return, sha?"
He raised a hand and summoned a barmaid.
"Hey Nessa! A refill for the Jvrillian here and his friends ... my coin."
At another knot of conversation, the innkeeper nodded to Comfrey, head ducked respectfully.
"Yes, your Ladyship."
His attention is then snared by Conra, head ducking again respectfully.
"The lass talking to the Captain?"
He turned, looking to the far Hearth, a mite speculatively. As Daxia begins to question Camelia he snares Dandelion's attention for a heartbeat. The elder Dayallan points to Camelia, then to herself ... she then taps her collarbone and pats the hearth.
"Oh.
"Looks like she's got the Captain's room tonight. It won't be the first time she's fallen asleep at her spot by the hearth.
"And a handful of pennies for the morning ... but the lass has claimed the Horde's hospitality for you tonight and the Captain, she never even blinked, so I'd not be worried for it."
At the hearth, Dandelion Koromov simply leaned back against the rough worn stones.
"I don't know lad. The four of them left us in Tal's and Kathena's care; a fullhand of days later, as if it were the most natural thing in the world Kathena took us in as if we were hers.
"That's when we knew Father was dead. Mother, Uncle Yoska and Jazzy, we never saw again.
"All for a little girl you say?"
She canted her head, however, as Camelia whispered her final words.
The intensity of their attention was daunting, but Camelia could and would hold her own. It was that same self-sure strength that she carried when she met the Captain's challenge to 'stand straight'. Camelia knew she didn't understand the meaning of the phrase, not for the gravity for which it carried, both in her Mother's eyes, and now in the the expressions of her sister and the redheaded woman.
Camelia looked to the cup before her. The liquid below the rim, placid and serene, rippling only when the forces of it's environment changed and then settling again. Was it part of her people's nature to have an inherent melancholia, knowing a fate awaited them and yet still having to live each day with dignity and purpose? How doubly-so then must it have been for Camelia to know that there was something dark and terrible ahead in her future and to not know what it was... was that better?
"I never knew my father. Not even his name. Save for a story or two, nothing. But I could see that my mother loved him, still does... every day. To grow up knowing that your only kin does not share with you things you deparately want to know, think you should know, believe is your right to know... and yet, no child's argument can sway her. For there are darker things in the shadows of the Imperial Palace then what a child's imagination can dream."
She shrugged.
"That didn't answer your questions, I realize. It is what it is. I grew up and one day realized that there was a deep pain and a sadness in my mother and I resolved to be the light that made each day bearable for her and I absorbed the sadness as best I could. I found ways to deal with the belief I lived two halves of a life that didn't belong with each other. But I learned everything I could from her, everything she would teach me. And I coped with the understanding that I would learn things and not understand why I was learning them. After all, I had a good home. I had more than many did... And as I got older I even understood that somehow it wasn't mine to have... But I took it anyway because somone paid a price for me to have it. Not just my mother, but each day,a little part of her faded just a little bit more. So strong, but she too lived two lives and were I anything but less than what she expected of me, demanded of me, needed of me... then I knew I was betraying a part of me I knew nothing about. She protected me to keep me alive, and only now do I understand how closely she nestled us to our enemy. No child could have known what I am hearing now and not risked themselves in carelessness."
She drew in breath deeply, pursing her lips tightly. Her own sadness at the lingering homesickness weighed upon her. She missed her Mother so much. But this was how it had to be. She had a duty and had to see it through, even if she didn't know where it might end.
"Again, I know I haven't answered your question. But, in truth I have... I have no idea what that saying means, not in any way I haven't conjured in my imagination. My mother told me that... We are the ones always buying time... my father did this, a friend of his as well, and that soon she would have to do the same, and then... so would I."
Camelia shrugged absently and took up the cup before her.
"I needed meaning for that, because it was my fate, and it had to mean something that a 12 year old could understand."
There was more that her mother had said that day. It made no more sense than the part she shared, but it was hard to give up the bits and pieces of what little she knew because she treasured them so much.
"I could never bring myself to ask again. But I memorized her words, and I gave it my own meaning... to buy time, to know that ultimately you would run out of it, and that whatever you were trying to stop would catch you all the same, and then maybe worse for the effort to stave it off... But in the effort, maybe you do some good and help some other who can't make the sacrifice you can."
Camelia put the cup back without ever drinking from it.
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