R. Salvatore - The Dame

“My father was of Honce, a monk of a Honce church, who went to Behr and the Walk of Clouds, where he learned from the… from your masters.”

“And they taught you?”

“I never knew my father. My mother died the day I was born.”

“But you know!” There was no missing the accusation in her tone.

“From the Book of Jhest. My father penned a copy of the Book of Jhest.”

“You taught yourself?” the bald-headed warrior called out incredulously from across the way.

From the corner of his eye, Bransen saw Affwin Wi thrust her hand to silence him. She stormed around to stand before Bransen.

“I did,” he answered. “From the book.”

Affwin Wi stared at him for a moment then laughed.

“Merwal Yahna”-she indicated the bald-headed man-“says you are worthy of the sword.”

Bransen gave a slight bow, which he knew to be the proper acceptance of such a compliment.

“Why are you here?” Affwin Wi asked.

“I came to find the warrior who broke a sword in the chest of King Delaval,” Bransen admitted, and the woman stiffened at the apparent threat.

“I came to find the Jhesta Tu to honor my mother and to learn,” Bransen quickly explained.

“You were friends with this Delaval?”

Bransen snorted. “Hardly. His successor wants me dead.”

Affwin Wi waited a few moments, even glancing back at Merwal Yahna, who offered a slight nod in reply. “You came to learn?” she asked.

“To confirm that I am correct in how I follow the Book of Jhest,” said Bransen. “And to learn, yes. To learn more about this philosophy that has so guided my life. I have seen the broken end of your sword, and I knew it to be Jhesta Tu. So I came to find you.”

Affwin Wi began to pace back and forth before him, occasionally glancing at him, deep in contemplation. “You are worthy,” she decided. “You may join with me.”

Bransen felt as if his heart would pound right through the front of his chest as he considered the implications, the great step forward he had just taken.

“Your friend will leave now,” Affwin Wi stated.

The shock of that jolted Bransen from his whirling thoughts. Despite the orders placed upon him, he glanced back to the far edge of the clearing, where Jameston stood between the pair who had captured him.

“Begone,” Affwin Wi ordered.

Jameston eyed Bransen.

“I care not where, but far from us,” Affwin Wi said. “Now. Begone.”

“I am supposed to watch over the boy,” said Jameston.

“He is not a boy, he is a man,” said Affwin Wi. “He follows Jhesta Tu. How are you, who are not Jhesta Tu, to watch over him?”

“I was-”

“You are not,” Affwin Wi barked. “Only one more time I tell you, begone.”

The threat in her voice clear to hear, Jameston looked in question at Bransen again. The young warrior took a deep breath and nodded.

Jameston met Bransen’s eyes for a long moment before returning that nod in farewell and slipping off into the forest.

Leaving Bransen nervous and very alone and very naked indeed under the withering gaze of Affwin Wi.

He is powerful with your stones. Are you not interested in protecting your Laird Ethelbert?” Affwin Wi asked succinctly and directly when Father Destros of Chapel Entel balked at arming his monks with sunstones in Laird Ethelbert’s hall for the meeting with the strange Highwayman.

Father Destros swallowed hard. “Are you not confident of your abilities to protect my laird?” he asked. As soon as the words left his mouth he knew that calling out Affwin Wi on such a matter might be unwise.

The woman’s hand snapped up quicker than Destros could react, her poking finger right before his eye, meaning that she could have jabbed that finger right through his eye had she chosen to do so.

“He uses your stones, priest,” she warned. “And he fights as Jhesta Tu. You will protect your leader, and my people will protect him.” She backed away but didn’t take her eyes off the man until she was out in the hallway.

Father Destros had to remind himself to breathe. She was right, of course. This wasn’t about their growing personal rivalry but about the safety of Laird Ethelbert. He went to his desk and retrieved a sunstone, pocketing several others as well. When he entered Laird Ethelbert’s audience chamber a short while later, he had the sunstone firmly in his grasp. Not only would the gem allow him to counter any use of magic, it would allow for detection of magic as well. Destros figured that he might learn more than a bit about this mysterious Highwayman; he only wished that Affwin Wi hadn’t been the one to deliver the suggestion.

And certainly not the command.

Jameston Sequin picked up his pace. He knew that he had already been seen and was being followed, so moving stealthily really didn’t help him much.

Perhaps they were just ensuring that he continued far from Ethelbert’s holding.

Jameston wasn’t one to leave things to chance, however, so instead of trying to find a way to hide or outrun them, which he almost certainly could not do, he sought instead a place to face them.

These were fine warriors, he knew from bitter experience, fast and deceptive. Unlike his usual confrontations, Jameston didn’t believe that the chaos of a forest favored him. He needed something solid to narrow the field of battle.

He had passed this way the previous night, knew the lay of the area. So he moved quickly to a cluster of abandoned, mostly ruined cottages. Jameston picked a fairly concealed course and stealthily gained the door and slipped inside. He went fast to the far corner and put his back against the solid wooden wall, watching the door.

He hadn’t long to wait. Within moments a black-clothed figure entered the dimly illuminated, one-room cottage.

Jameston smiled, thinking it the same woman he had battled earlier that day.

“You should relax and tell me why you’re following me,” the scout said.

Caught by surprise, the woman froze in place, slowly swiveling her head to regard the man and his leveled and ready bow.

She stood straight and turned to face Jameston squarely.

“Don’t even think about trying to get back out that door,” Jameston said. “You’re leaving in front of me, in case your friends are about and curious. Now, tell me why you’re following me.”

The woman narrowed her eyes and took a deep breath as if contemplating her options.

“You won’t get to me, and you won’t get out that door,” Jameston promised. “And you won’t get a dagger or some other bolt into the air before I let fly. I don’t miss. So start explaining why you followed me.”

“You are to be gone,” she said in a halting command of the language.

“I was going. Do better.”

The woman lifted her chin defiantly.

Jameston pulled back on his bowstring just a bit more. He hated the thought of killing a woman, or anyone for that matter. But he had done so before and would do so again if he had to. Saving his skin was an acceptable reason.

And saving Bransen’s, he realized. If this woman had come out to kill him, what did that portend for Bransen?

Jameston’s face tightened, and he drew back his bowstring further. “I’m going to ask you just one more time,” he said grimly.

B

ransen was not wearing his mask across his eyes as he paced into Laird Ethelbert’s audience hall beside Affwin Wi, instead letting it hang loosely about his neck. They strode right up to the large chair on which sat the aging laird, a disarming smile on his face.

“So this is the Highwayman,” Ethelbert began. “Yes, young warrior, I have heard of you even here. I was quite sorry to learn of the death of Laird Prydae.”

Bransen took the jab calmly. “He was killed of his own actions by his own champion.”