The young scout was busy purchasing arrows from a merchant in Fortress Sauvage and barely noted the messenger’s approach. Only when the lad cleared his throat and bowed politely did the rogue turn to see the folded parchment in his outstretched had. He recognized the seal of the Lions upon its closure and his eyes grew wide as the delivery boy chimed up.
“Tis an urgent summons for thee, Enos, and from none other than Lord High General Arguyle MacFadden himself. Your bloody in for it now, I should think,†he said with great satisfaction. The messenger disliked his job immensely and always imagined himself at least as skilled as many of the fools he saw called to battle.
The scout gave him a look that would have pierced armor plate from a hundred yards, and then passed by him to take a quick pony to Camelot. And in his mind he wondered, what manner of salutation this might be. He was fighting as bravely as he could on the battlefield of Thidranki, and found great satisfaction in his duty to slay the enemy.
His work had become almost pleasurable with the arrival of a fellow Lion rogue on the field, the lady assassin Kheslyn. As a shadowed pair they had wandered the hills and woodlands of the battleground for several days. They quickly came to sense each other’s strengths and skills and soon more than a few norse, trolls, and Hibernians had perished at their hands. They spoke only rarely, and then only in whispers, but few words were needed for each to know.
But what now of this summons? Had something of his efforts displeased the Lord High General himself? The scout stayed to his own most of the time and rarely spoke much of guild matters and such things. Politics, with their many entanglements, were not to his liking. Perhaps someone had reported a recent bout of drinking or disorderly conduct on his part. Yet the scout knew many within the Lions, most notably Macivor, who drank much more than he.
By the time Enos reached the Lion’s Guildhall he had worked himself into a near frenzy on the matter. He fully expected to be summoned before the Lion’s Council and have his guild cloak snatched from his back. But then, as he rounded into the corridor that fronted MacFadden’s office a familiar shape slipped from a near corner. She too, held a message like his.
“Khes, you too?†he stammered.
She nodded, and somewhat to his surprise, she reached out and took his hand for a moment. Then the both of them knocked on the General’s door. They rapped, not softly nor loudly, but in such a way as to say they had arrived, and would face what may wait together.
-----signature-----
It smells like the left wing of the day of judgment.
- Herman Melville
No need to keep killing him.
ou have all heard of Carrington Whitethorn I presume. He was once a Councillor within the Order and he betrayed us to the Hibernians. He returned and claimed that he did it for noble reasons and after listening to him I believed him and welcomed him back among us. This time as a Squire to Lord Kilaitz.