Page 8

The bed had been soft, and the sheets softer still. The guest room Talac had been assigned whilst not lavish was in no way lacking. It was light despite the narrow windows, as there was an abundance of them. And it was warm, but not so warm that Talac couldn’t sleep. Waking not long after the sun left the horizon as the sounds of the Lair around him impinged. People laughing, chatting, going about their business sounding… happy on the whole.

It was a far cry from the shadowy - chill you to your bones - atmosphere that clung pervasively to the Keep.

Even the great hall here at the Lair was a direct contrast Talac discovered, as he entered the sun filled room in search of breakfast. Joining a wide variety of others doing the same. He recognised several hunters, plus a stable hand, though there were people dressed for work at the blacksmiths and the distillery as well.

Two tables were set up at one end of the hall, laden with food. Talac observing several others approaching the tables, picking up a plate and serving themselves, before finding a seemingly random place at one of the long oak dining tables that took up space in the centre of the room, where others already sat eating.

Conversations were hurried but seemed friendly enough. No one was malingering. When their meal was finished the individual would carry their dirty plates to a table located near the doors leading to the kitchen. Where, Talac observed, several flushed faced individuals scooped up used plates, utensils and glasses and spirited them away to be cleaned.

Joining the queue for food. When it was Talac’s turn he chose two cheese and vegetable filled pastries, a piece of fruit and a goblet of water. There seemed to be no rules as to where to sit so he chose an empty space next to two women and a man that smelt faintly of the tannery. They nodded in welcome but remained focused upon their own meals.

Given the numbers present and the hum of congenial activity, he shouldn’t have been able to sense the moment Alia entered the hall, yet he did. Talac’s gaze clashing with hers as Alia halted just inside the hall, her attention likewise immediately settling upon him. Her golden mane of hair plaited back from her face, the thick rope dangling down her back. Already wisps of hair had escaped. Whilst her dark green high necked tunic had a slightly rumpled look about it, signifying she’d already been hard at work this morning before deciding to break her fast.

Alia’s height made her stand out, but she seemed unperturbed that she towered over everyone present, including the majority of men, as she strode over to join the queue for food, just like everyone else. Casually greeting several people along the way, before speaking briefly with three others that raced over to discuss some matter of business.

Talac deliberately slowed his eating pace, taking smaller, slower bites of food so his plate was still half full by the time Alia had filled hers and was looking for a place to sit. He boldly waved her over to a seat now vacant across the table from his own. He’d made such a production of the invite, Alia had little choice but to take Talac up on the invitation.

“You seem… hungry. And you look tired.”

He couldn’t refrain from commenting as Alia made fast work of a wedge of potato pie, faint dark circles evident beneath her eyes.

“A difficult foaling, but we got there in the end.”

“They are magnificent bea… animals. Do you sell or trade them?”

“No. We’ve discovered their size diminishes markedly with each generation if their diet requirements are not met. And one of the main ingredients can only be sourced here at Gloomenthrall and it’s not limitless.”

“Pity. They appear to have the temperament for battle.”

“They can hold their own, but I would be loath to think of them as nothing but fodder in a campaign.”

Talac allowed the conversation to taper off, matching his food consumption to Alia’s so when she stood up to gather her empty plate and utensils, he mirrored her action, enjoying the disconcerted look she sent his way.

“Do you have time for that tour now? Or should I just follow you, observing your activities this morning and wait until your schedule clears up later?”

Hah, no way was Talac going to let her shake him, he intended to cling to Alia just as tenaciously as her shadow.

“I could have one of my lieutenants show you around?”

“I wouldn’t want to put them to any trouble. Besides-”

His words interrupted by the sound of crockery breaking and the clatter of cutlery hitting the floor, followed immediately by an outraged bellow mixed in with a feminine cry of sheer anger.

Alia moved like a strike of lightning. Producing a knife and flinging it across the hall, the tip slicing through the sleeve of the one armed man who had it raised in the air. Effectively pinning him to the wooden doorframe directly behind him.

Closing in fast on his position, Talac noted the man was burly and red-faced, still struggling to free his arm, whilst at his feet lay a woman, barely out of her teens, glaring up at him. A furious expression on her face, a red mark blazing on her cheek. Broken plates and strewn cutlery surrounding her.

A hush had fallen over the crowd. Only the harsh breathing of the pinned one armed man could be heard as he struggled to free himself, muttering curse words under his breath. Finally, thanks to an extra hard yank, the sleeve of his tunic tore, sending him stumbling back two steps, kicking fallen debris aside before he could recover his balance. Chest heaving, brushing back lank dark hair from his face he looked around, noting the sudden silence and that he was the centre of attention.

“That clumsy bitch bumped me. It was her fault.”

His words directed at Talac, perhaps assuming he was in charge.

“And… and she kicked me!”

“What say you, Kayleigh?”

Alia directed her words at the young woman who’d now gotten to her feet. She was slight of build, dressed in dark pants and a matching tunic. Her brown hair pulled back from her pale face, the clear outline of a handprint blazing a dark pink colour on her left cheek.

“Hey!”

The man bellowed.

“I told you what happened.”

“And you think I should take your word, Master…?”

“Wilton.”

He announced in a surly tone, his gaze flicking to Talac once more, ignoring Alia.

“I ain’t no scullery maid, your Lordship. I served in Mountlaid’s Fifth battalion. A sergeant. I could be of real use to you.”

Wilton’s gaze flicked to a man standing off to the side, his right hand missing, a silver hook catching the light.

“If you’d just give me one of them, and train me up. I’d be a right asset to you.”

“I am no Lord, and you appear to be under a misapprehension as to who is in charge here, Wilton.”

Talac looked to Alia, giving her a slight bow of respect.

“Hah, right. A woman! Next you’ll be trying to tell me she’s the Beast… that’s who I want to speak to, the man in charge.”

Alia stalked over to Wilton, and despite all his bluster he cringed back a little as she swept past, effortlessly retrieving her knife from the arched wooden frame of the doorway leading through to the kitchens. Still no one else spoke, or moved for that matter. And finally, Wilton, looking around to gauge the level of support from the other men in the hall, began to look a little unsure.

Pausing next to Kayleigh, Alia studied the hand imprint on her cheek. The girl lifting her chin defiantly, letting the room know without words that she was fine.

“You believe you’re too good to work in the kitchens?”

Alia queried, turning her attention once more to Wilton.

“Damn right, I do.”

“Who here has spent time working in the kitchens?”

Every hand, including Alia’s rose up, excluding only Talac and a few very small children that were watching the proceedings with serious eyes from the shelter of their parent’s arms.

“You’ve been here six days Master Wilton, and though it was thoroughly explained to you upon your arrival, you appear unable to grasp what is expected from you in exchange for being fed, sheltered… and perhaps one day trained by our instructors in how to overcome your recently acquired limitation.”

“I have no limitation! Give me a sword and I’ll prove how good I am, one arm down or not.”

“A challenge? And just whom would you fight to prove this lavish claim of expertise? Master Belms?”

Alia gestured to the man with the hook, who remained stoically still, though his eyes glittered with anticipation.

“I could take him.”

Sneered Wilton.

“Ah, but your grievance isn’t with Master Belms, is it? Your grievance is with Kayleigh. What say you, Kayleigh?”

“Hey. I ain’t fighting no kitchen wench.”

“Funny, you were happy to lay a hand on her when her back was turned… perhaps more disturbing is that you thought you, a newcomer, still unproven, could grandly and loudly cast aspersions on a long time loyal and industrious Lair resident without any consequences. Kayleigh?”

“Yes. I would gladly match steel against Wilton. I owe him more than a swift kick. And I believe it’s long past time that a woman teach him that we do not like to be slapped, cursed at, or have to work twice as hard because he’s a lazy crud bucket.”

“Why you little-”

The rest of Wilton’s words were lost, as Alia clapped her hands together twice and instantly everyone was moving. The mess of crockery and dropped cutlery was swept to one side. The long dining tables were lifted and stacked against the wall. The bench seats tucked away beneath them out of the way. The space in the centre of the large hall cleared away in an appreciatively quick and speedy manner. The occupants now standing in a ring, their backs to walls or stacked furniture, silence falling once more, all waiting patiently. Talac got the distinct impression they’d done this several times in the past.

“Now we have our challenge space. Combatants, choose a weapon.”

Alia gestured to the swords and blades that hung on the wall at the rear of the hall on either side of the large unlit fireplace. The crowd shuffling out of the way to allow Wilton to stomp past them to make his selection. Kayleigh moving at a more leisurely but no less confident manner followed.

Talac mentally queried Wilton’s claim to have been an army sergeant when he pulled down a broadsword with a four inch wide blade. That type of weapon looked impressive but it was more suitable for cavalry, when you needed to cleave a man’s head from his shoulders, or make a killing thrust to the heart of the horse he was riding.

He deemed Kayleigh’s choice a more sensible one, a rapier. Good for thrusting and light, making it easier to take advantage if her opponent dropped their defensive guard. Her casual grip on the handle proving that she had experience with the weapon.

Wilton all but strutted to the centre of the cleared space. The one armed man acting like he’d already won. Grinning broadly. Winking at a pretty woman wearing a pale pink gown standing in the surrounding crowd. She responded, issuing a loud disgusted tsking sound whilst rolling her eyes. Wilton’s grin dropped abruptly, his face flushing red. Whirling around, the sneer once more settling on his blunt features as he eyed Kayleigh coming to a halt several feet away, her weapon held up and ready as she took up the challenge position. Wilton’s hand tensing, as if he might make a quick strike at her, subsiding temporarily as Alia spoke.

“Challenge rules. At any time, a participant may cry surrender. Three draws of blood is customary in order to be deemed the victor. No biting. No cursing… there are children present. On my mark, the challenge will commence.”

Alia paused for five heartbeats. “Begin!”

Talac had to bite back laughter. In the time it took for Wilton to lift his broadsword back in order to take an arching swing, Kayleigh dashed forward, tapping the tip of her rapier against Wilton’s exposed left upper arm. The tear in the material gaping slightly. First blood had been drawn.

No one in the crowd made a sound. Kayleigh giving no indication that she had scored the first point, her expression bland yet focused as she ducked under Wilton’s wild follow through swing, which sent him stumbling forward a few steps as he overcompensated. His mind slow to realise Kayleigh had already zipped past him, long gone.

Glancing down at his torn sleeve, noting the sting of the flesh wound inflicted, Wilton released a harsh guttural growl, his face once more flushed, his eyes glittering with promised retribution.

Almost like a dancer, on light, balanced feet, Kayleigh faced her opponent once more, patiently waiting on Wilton. Talac wondered if she’d live to regret allowing the man a chance to regain his ready fighting stance. There was murder in Wilton’s eyes, and the way he swung that broadsword, if the edge had caught Kayleigh, she’d have lost a limb or her head. That look, it reminded Talac of a rabid dog. Wilton may not have wanted to fight a woman, but suddenly the idea that he might actually lose to one had struck home, and he was frantic to save face.

This time Wilton was smarter, he thrust with the broadsword, but Kayleigh slid to the side, twirled, lashing out with her rapier as she spun past the man. The edge of her sword slicing through Wilton’s tunic this time, leaving a long but very shallow cut along the man’s flank. Howling, enraged, Wilton attempted to kick out, but Kayleigh was too fast and had already retreated several steps away, turning to face him, her weight balanced on the balls of her feet, her expression nothing but intent. No signs of smugness creeping in at how quickly and easily she had scored two marks over her opponent.

Talac was impressed, the young woman in charge of clearing away the dirty breakfast plates was showing more poise, more talent, than men he knew who had trained for decades with master blade instructors.

Breathing like a bull, issuing harsh chuffing puffs of air, Wilton glared at his younger, much smaller… female opponent. His face bright red with anger more than exertion. Talac noted that Kayleigh refrained from meeting the man’s gaze, not because she was scared but like all extremely well trained swords… women, she knew her opponent’s shoulders would signal his next move.

But clearly Wilton had decided to ignore skill and try and overwhelm her with brute strength, as he charged, releasing a roar. A sheer bullish frenzied approach, with no finesse. Sword, and amputated stump at the wrist pinwheeling. Kayleigh waited for two breaths, not moving, as if she intended to meet Wilton’s wild attack. Then abruptly dropping to the floor, rolling forward in a somersault, slashing out with her sword as Wilton stomped by.

“Challenge winner, Kayleigh!”

Alia’s declaration echoed off the walls and ceiling.

“No!”

Wilton stormed, confusion warring with anger in his eyes.

“We ain’t finished yet.”

A cool expression on her face, Alia pointed at Wilton’s right thigh just above the edge of his worn black knee high boots. Through a tear in his breeches a small cut bled freely.

“Third strike.”

Several people moved at once. Surrounding and crowding Wilton. Unwillingly he was forced to hand over his sword, frowning darkly as a hand belonging to a man who carried burn scars from the forge came to rest on his shoulder, holding Wilton securely in place.

Kayleigh stood silently by, watching the proceedings, her expression still intent and focused. Her eyes sparkled though, pleased with her victory. Despite Alia’s announcement, there were no congratulations or cheers from the crowd. It seems that the business of dealing with Wilton wasn’t quite over yet.

“What justice would you seek, Kayleigh?”

Alia enquired.

“Banishment.”

“Agreed.”

Alia looked at Wilton.

“At midnight tonight the portcullis will be lifted Master Wilton, and you will leave the Lair, and Gloomenthrall.”

She ignored his wordless defiant growl.

“You will take only what you arrived carrying, plus a small measure of water and a day’s worth of food. I suggest you don’t dawdle on the long walk through the woods, especially at night.”

“You bitch! I’ll severe your head from that bovine frame of yours.”

The edges of her lips lifting slightly, Alia moved to stand beside Kayleigh, the difference in their heights and frames a startling contrast.

“You’re welcome to try. But I fear I would not be as gentle with you as your previous opponent. I tend to hack and have trouble stopping… hacking that is. Well?”

All the blood left Wilton’s face as he stared up at Alia. The man might be angry but he wasn’t foolish. Making inaudible grumbling sounds of protest as he allowed himself to be led away by the blacksmith and several others.

The crowd broke into smiles, relaxing as soon as Wilton exited the hall. A few congratulatory compliments were directed at Kayleigh but Talac could tell that Alia’s pat on her shoulder was the most welcome. The smaller woman all but glowing now, desperately trying to emulate the Beast’s smile not smile.

As Alia walked away a flock of children, mostly female, gathered around Kayleigh, all talking at once. Talac watching on as Kayleigh absently corrected the stance of a girl about eight years of age wearing bright purple breeches as she re-enacted one of Kayleigh’s moves, waving a dull edged small sword about.

“Just what is Kayleigh’s role here at the Lair?”

Talac enquired curiously as Alia joined him.

“This morning she was taking a shift in the kitchen as one of the clean-up crew was called away on an emergency.”

“And her regular duties?”

“She’s blade master for our under tens classes.”

“You set Wilton up.”

Talac accused, though there was slight amusement edging his tone.

“I did no such thing. Wilton’s choices are all on him.”

“You guided and walked him into a trap of his own making.”

“I wouldn’t be much of a hunter if I didn’t know how to build a trap, would I?”

“Will he die out there, in the woods? Why not just make it quick and clean now?”

“He’s a brute and a lazy idiot, but I don’t think that is deserving of a death sentence. If he sticks to the marked roads, he should be fine. We hang acrid balls of damp rags along the roads created by our tanners. The smell keeps the majority of animals away from the main throughfares unless they are injured or old. And Wilton will have his sword.”

“Ah, clever, I was wondering how you kept all those pilgrims making the trek on foot through the woods safe. Although they don’t know that at the time.”

“No, of course not. Those that commit to the walk through the wild woods to seek out the Lair, they’re not looking for easy, or handouts. They’re willing to risk everything… their very lives to find the answers they seek.”

“Do you get many of Wilton’s ilk?”

“Surprisingly, no. Those that incur such a grievance injury usually cannot imagine ever picking up a blade, spear or a crossbow again. They think they will be content with a new trade such as blacksmithing, baking or tanning. But once they have settled in and we start their defence training, specific to their new limitations, the knowledge that they can defend themselves goes a long way to helping heal their… souls. And once more they discover they have options, to move on, or to go back if they so wish to some semblance of their old life.”

Alia gestured towards the exit.

“Let’s get this tour over with that you have been harping on about so that I can return you to your injured friend’s bedside speedily.”

“Oh, I have faith Brandth is fine. He has a talent for making friends where ever he goes. Especially the ladies… no doubt there’s a flock of them entertaining him right now, plumping his pillows and fetching him warmed mead.”

“So, your exact opposite in nature then?”

Alia observed, a slight acerbic edge to her words.

“Just so. Now, to this tour, I have many, many questions…”

“I’m sure you do.”

Talac bit back a smile as Alia huffed out a small exasperated sigh, but dutifully led the way outside. The prospect of spending the day with this woman had brought out Talac’s rare playful side. He couldn’t help himself, there was just something about Alia that made him want to poke and prod at her. Her every reaction; frowns, fleeting smiles, sarcasm… he found himself fascinated.

His strange response, it had him recalling her words, about what an excellent hunter she was. Was he walking into a carefully laid trap? Perhaps. Yet, Talac found himself unable to dredge up any real concern. Instead, his curiosity was aroused, because if this was a trap, he couldn’t help but be intrigued by what exactly Alia would do with him once she had him ensnared.