R. Salvatore - The Bear

He remembered Jameston Sequin.

He left them for the vultures.

Using the powers of levitation, the Highwayman went up the cliff facing, back to the field. He found his sword easily enough, but when he bent to pick it up, he stopped fast. For there, too, was the lodestone, set into the weapon's hilt, locking a crushed and torn finger in place. Bransen found a stick and managed to pry both gemstone and finger loose. He held the sword up before his eyes, staring at the marvelous hilt, an intricate design of ivory and silver fashioned into the likeness of a hooded serpent.

It was marred now by the impact of the lodestone, a deep blemish on one side of the serpent's tapering neck. Pangs of loss flooded Bransen, to think that he had damaged his mother's perfect sword, this devoted and loving work of art.

He grasped the blade as he would in battle and moved it through a series of thrusts and defensive parries, blowing a great sigh of relief to realize that the balance remained perfect. He could feel the indentation, but it was a smooth dent, one that cradled his middle finger perfectly as he swung the blade about.

He had put his mark on his mother's sword.

Bransen looked back toward the city of Ethelbert dos Entel. Now it was time to put his mark on Dame Gwydre's budding kingdom. Thank you for seeing me, but I would speak with Laird Ethelbert directly," Bransen said as he stood before the general, two younger commanders flanking him and a phalanx of sentries ready to swarm on his word.

"You claim to have knowledge of the war's events and to speak for Dame Gwydre," Kirren Howen replied. "Why would we not entertain you?"

"I left your fair city under less than perfect circumstances."

"You were chased out," said Myrick, one of the younger generals, and Kirren Howen and the other general, Tyne, flashed scowls his way, pointedly reminding him to remember his place here.

"And now I have returned to you," Bransen replied, staring at Myrick through every word. He turned back to Kirren Howen. "To Laird Ethelbert. You have heard of Dame Gwydre's many victories in the north?"

"I have heard that she manages to stay one stride ahead of Milwellis of Palmaristown. I have heard of no decisive victories other than her defeat of Laird Panlamaris."

"A series of minor wins, since then," Bransen admitted, "but accumulating into something more profound. The name of Dame Gwydre is whispered from the lips of every villager in the north of Honce now and always with joy and reverence. Milwellis of Palmaristown grows more frustrated every day, his army more weary and homesick. But not so for Dame Gwydre's army, for they believe in their cause, in her cause."

The generals absorbed the information, but all three seemed strangely detached to Bransen.

"She will win," he said confidently.

"Laird Bannagran refused our offer of alliance," said Kirren Howen. "You were there, as I recall, among his ranks."

Myrick and Tyne crossed their arms over their chests at that remark, and for a brief moment, Bransen almost expected the three to charge at him.

"And so I was surprised to hear that you had returned to our city, speaking for Dame Gwydre," said Kirren Howen. "Do you fight for both sides, then?"

"I am Gwydre's man, fully," Bransen asserted. He didn't know it then, of course, but that proclamation had just saved his life that dark day in Ethelbert dos Entel. "The situation with Laird Bannagran remains unclear," Bransen went on.

"Yet you marched with him, coming toward our city." There was no missing the accusatory tone.

"I marched for reasons personal and surely not for King Yeslnik, whom I despise."

"And we are to trust you?"

Bransen smiled and bowed. "The situation in Honce has changed. I came to inform you of those changes, for know that Dame Gwydre will win this war. Where will Laird Ethelbert and your city fit in when that occurs, I wonder? But of course, that is for him to decide."

"Where is Bannagran?"

"In Pryd Town with his thousands. He does not march forth."

"Where is Gwydre?"

Bransen had to hide his grin, for he almost blurted out (simply to see the looks on the faces of the younger generals) that she, too, was in Pryd at that time. "Laird Milwellis would ask that same question, for she is everywhere and nowhere all at once."

"You will answer his question!" Myrick demanded.

"I have delivered my message to you, though I wished to speak directly with Laird Ethelbert," Bransen said.

"That we cannot allow," Kirren Howen insisted.

"Then relay my message, and, with your permission, I would take my leave."

"Your message?" the general echoed skeptically. "You came to tell us that Milwellis was chasing Gwydre all about the northland, and that we already knew."

"I came to tell you that the war is turning in Dame Gwydre's favor. You should know and understand that. She offered you friendship and alliance, and you accepted. Such a bargain demands reciprocity."

"What? She would have us come forth while Bannagran sits in Pryd Town with a force thrice our garrison?"

Bransen shrugged. "I have delivered my message. I will go." Before anyone could respond, the Highwayman bowed and quickly took his leave, and though a couple of the sentries near to the door bristled as if to impede him, Kirren Howen waved them to stillness.

Bransen was glad to be out of there, and very glad that he had left the sword and brooch hidden beyond Ethelbert dos Entel's walls. All he had wanted to do was to put a whisper into Laird Ethelbert's ear to entice him to look more closely at the war, perhaps even to entice him forth that he could bring more pressure on King Yeslnik's forces.

That's what Bransen tried to tell himself as he crossed through the city. He couldn't help but grin, for the cryptic reference to personal reasons for his march with Bannagran was not by accident.

He wanted Laird Ethelbert to know. Surely the man was wondering even then where his assassins might be, given that Bransen was back in town, and surely the man had heard some tales of the pursuit by Affwin Wi and Merwal Yahna that had driven a strange man from town earlier that same day. No doubt Ethelbert had realized him to be the fugitive in question when he had so unexpectedly appeared at the man's court.

Ethelbert's generals had done well not to tip their hand. They hadn't mentioned the rumors of a chase, nor had Kirren Howen brought his assassins into the conversation at all, but surely they all were wondering.

Yes, Bransen could say with a good measure of honesty, he had gone to Ethelbert dos Entel for the good of Dame Gwydre's cause, but he wouldn't hide from the personal pleasures the visit had offered to him. When they found the bodies of Affwin Wi and Merwal Yahna, not so far from the city walls, he wanted Laird Ethelbert to know that he, the Highwayman, had slain them both.

He retrieved his items and purposely moved again near to Ethelbert dos Entel's western gate, even saluting one guard with the fabulous, famous sword, tipping it to his forehead where he had replaced the brooch.

Bransen smiled when the guard rushed back into the city, no doubt to shout the news.

He wanted Laird Ethelbert to know. By the old ones, it is a dark day," Tyne said when Bransen had gone. "He did it, along with the woman," Myrick asserted. "We should catch him and flay the skin from his bones! Such treachery should not-"

"Enough, Myrick," Kirren Howen said. "Affwin Wi slew the woman even as she murdered Laird Ethelbert. The Highwayman was not there. Do you believe that he could have eluded Affwin Wi so completely?"

"And where are Affwin Wi and Yahna?" Myrick demanded. "Chasing someone from our walls, yes? The Highwayman?"

"If it was the Highwayman, then Affwin Wi would have dragged him back to the city at the end of her sword," Tyne insisted.