The Bringer of War

“Tell me, boy,” said Bruno, crossing his arms over his chest. He peered down at the squire, seated at the table in their dining room.

“I cannot,” said Hector, not able to meet the knight’s gaze. He idly played with his dinner fork, twisting it over in his hands. “I never saw their faces-”

“You are a poor liar, master Brandywine,” said Bruno, rubbing a palm through his curly dark hair. “If you were not two days from your deathbed, I would cuff you about until your tongue was loosened.”

“I...” said Hector “I am sorry, my lord...but tell me, what would you do if you knew who was responsible?”

Bruno’s wide nostrils flared, his eyes narrowing.

“Why, I’d kill-” he began, but cut himself off. His hand went to his chin as his face grew troubled.

“Yes,” said Hector with a nod “you begin to see the problem. It will be my word against my assailant’s, and the kind folk of Ravensford would see your actions as murder. Already they seek a reason to drive us from their midst...”

“I draw the line,” said Bruno “at beating someone half to death. Hector, someone must pay, there must be justice-”

“Then let the Allfather handle it,” said Hector slowly “either in this world or the next, justice will be done, Sir Bruno.”

The knight grumbled, walking out of the dining room and into their common area. He shoved the front door open and stepped out into the sun. He watched as a laborer walked by, bent low under a burden of firewood. All about him the folk of Ravensford went about their daily lives, none of them seeming to know that a murder was nearly committed in their midst.

He looked over his shoulder, at the residence bearing his squire. Deciding that he might not be able to restrain himself from cuffing the boy across the mouth, he willed his boots to take him away. With no particular destination in mind, he crossed the bridge spanning the muddy creek and ended up at the Hammer’s Head.

Brutus looked up from the broken stool he was trying to repair and smiled at Bruno as he entered. The barmaid Allison glanced his way but then studiously ignored him. Scowling at her coldness, he ignored her as well and instead walked towards the bar.

“Well met, Sir Cromwell,” said Brutus, setting down a battered piece of hickory he was attempting to turn into a new leg for the stool. “You are a bit early for dinner, but I do have some fine porridge still hot over the fire.”

“No need, man,” said Bruno as he sat a few feet away “I could use a cold drink, perhaps some companionship from an old campaigner such as yourself.”

“The drink is yours, Templar,” said Brutus, tapping the keg for more of the amber ale Bruno seemed to fancy. “As to the company, I regret that I must head to the blacksmith’s for nails. Allison has proven to be quite witty, perhaps she could bend her ear for your perusal?”

Aven winced, shooting Brutus a dark look. She wiped it off her face when Bruno turned to regard her with a baleful eye.

“I do not think,” he said “that your serving girl much cares for me.”

“Bah,” said Brutus as he doffed his stained apron and headed for the street. “It is your imagination, and nothing more. Allison, do be a dear and keep our guest company until I return?”

“Of course, Brutus,” she said stiffly, slapping her palms to remove the dust. She and Bruno watched as the innkeeper sauntered out the door, giving them both a sly grin. Once he was out of sight, their eyes met for a lingering gaze. Bruno abruptly turned back to his drink as Aven busied herself with putting away her corn bristled broom behind the bar. She walked slowly back around to his side, dress swishing. Aven almost sat upon a stool several spaces away, realized that might seem rude, and finally plopped her round bottom in the spot next to his.

“You don’t have to suffer, woman,” said Bruno with a smirk at her visible tension “there’s no need to nod and giggle at my words when I know you’d just as soon hear glass breaking.”

“My thanks,” said Aven “but I owe each and every person who walks through the Hammer’s door my ear and my attention.”

“Ah, I see,” said Bruno with a grin “so Sir Bruno is but another drunken sot who you have to endure.”

Aven’s eyes narrowed.

“Seek you to take offense at everything I say?” she said harshly.

“Seek you to take offense at every word I say?” he said, smile fading. “My lady, what have I ever done to harm you?”

“To me?” she said “Nothing. To the folk of this town, you have been naught but trouble!”

“I see,” said Bruno with a mirthless laugh “I assure you, if I could change the color of my flesh I-”

“I speak not of your skin,” she said quickly “truth be told, it is lovely to behold! It is your boorish behavior, your lashing of our appointed mayor, that draws my ire.”

Bruno raised his mug as if to concede the point. He took a long pull on the amber fluid, letting it spill down his throat. When he turned to regard her again, his gaze and his tone had softened.

“Better to flog one man,” he said “than to slay a dozen. This is not the first place I have come that my heritage has drawn suspicion.”

Aven chewed her lip, sympathizing more with the man that he could know.

“Tell me something,” he said, forging forward in her momentary silence “if another Templar had come, if your mayor had spoken to him as he spoke to me, what would have befallen him?”

“He’d have been whipped,” she said with a sigh “or more likely, put to the sword.”

“Exactly,” said Bruno “it must be impressed upon the folk of this village that, despite my dark skin, I am to be treated as any other knight. No better, and certainly no worse.”

Aven stared hard at the knight, eyes clouded with conflict. She was angry with him for making so much sense, and she did not know why. She closed her green eyes for a moment to banish such thoughts as best she could.

“How fares your squire?” she said, as much to fill in the silence as anything. “I have heard that he...had some trouble getting home the other night.”

“He is well enough,” said Bruno stiffly, eyes narrowing. “I don’t suppose that you know who made his journey so troublesome?”

“No,” said Aven, grateful she did not have to lie “I only know of it by hearsay.”

Bruno deflated a bit, eyes downcast. He ran his fingernail through a deep rut in the bar, as if he were trying to smooth it out.

“I never intended that he be the lightning rod for everyone’s anger,” he said.

“You really do care for him,” she said, her tone softening.

Bruno’s eyes flashed up to her, a mixture of hurt and fear in them.

“Of course I care,” he said slowly “You think I treat him harshly, and perhaps you are right, but I do so with the best of intentions for the lad.”

“Do you have to brutalize him just to make him a man?” said Aven, shaking her head.

“To make him a man? No.” said Bruno with a prideful grin. “To make him into a Templar. A man worthy to lead others into battle, stout enough of limb and heart to slay dragons, stalwart enough to see through faerie...trickery...”

Bruno’s voice trailed off as he recalled his own recent encounter with fey folk. Aven swallowed hard, stared out one of the windows flanking the front door, believing he had worked out her identity. When she dared to glance back, she found his face lined with worry.

“What’s the matter?” she dared to ask.

“I’ve been taught from an early age,” he said in a low monotone “that fey folk are drinkers of blood, stealers of children. Perhaps I have been mistaken about that...”

He suddenly looked at Aven, light dawning in his eyes. She shrank back as much as she could without rising from her stool. Her mind began to call up different words of power she might use to aid in her hasty escape.

“They say that you dwell deep in the forest with your father,” he said.

“Yes,” she said, her voice breaking slightly.

“Tell me,” he said “have you ever seen the one they call the Lady of the Forest?”

“She is...known to me,” said Aven carefully.

“I should like to find her,” he said “do you think you can guide me to her realm?”

“I...” said Aven, laughing nervously “I think you have the wrong idea about me! I am not a woodsman, Templar. I would make a poor guide indeed, and besides, catching a faerie is like catching the wind. How would you ever know if you had it?”

Bruno looked down at the bar in irritation.

“What would you do if you did chance upon the Lady?” said Aven slowly.

“The Templar creed demands she be put to the sword,” he said bitterly. “She is an abomination in the eyes of the Allfather...”

“You don’t sound convinced of that,” she said with a chuckle.

“Do not mock my faith, barmaid,” said Bruno, hand clenching into a fist “and do not doubt it! The Allfather is known to give such tests of one’s mettle. I do not know why this Lady of the Forest chose to help my squire, but I am certain it was in pursuit of mischief.”

“Certain, are you?” said Aven, standing up from the bar. “The Lady has dwelt within these woods for many years, Templar. She has given succor to the sick and hungry, found foolish children who wandered too far from the trodden paths. The Lady is more boon than curse, but if you are enough of an imbecile to go into her woods, looking for trouble...”

“What?” said Bruno, arching an eyebrow at her outburst.

“Well, I will weep for you, for you will surely end up dead,” she said.

Bruno started an angry retort, then suddenly grinned.

“You would weep for me, would you?” he said.

“It’s an expression,” said Aven, color flashing to her cheeks. “Should you really be getting drunk when your apprentice still in a bad way? What if he has collapsed, or-”

“Father Cornelius said he will look in on the boy,” said Bruno “and I am hardly getting drunk.”

“The priest?” said Aven, her eyes going wide. “You trust that man with him?”

“Why should I not?” said Bruno, shrugging. “I will grant you, something about that man seems a bit off, but those who are called to serve the Allfather are often a bit, well-”

“Daft?” said Aven, causing Bruno to erupt in spontaneous laughter.

“Allfather forgive me,” he said, wiping a tear from his eye “but I have often thought the same!”

Aven sat back down, refilled Bruno’s glass. Her eyes held a new found respect for the man, but she strove to keep it out of her voice.

“Are not Templars holy men as well?” she said.

“Priests live largely isolated from the world,” he said “they do not labor for their own meals, nor do they...nor are they supposed to indulge in pleasures of the flesh.”

“It seems you don’t much care for them,” she said.

“I do not,” said Bruno, chuckling “but I am told that they need to be isolated from mortal concerns, that their minds be empty and open to receive the Allfather’s grace.”

“You got the empty part right,” she said with a chuckle. She looked worriedly out the front door as a cluster of children dashed past. “Are you certain your apprentice is well?”

“You may go and call on him, if you wish,” said Bruno.

“It’s not my place,” she said in a stammer. Bruno laughed again, his voice filling the inn.

“He is a bit smitten with you, is he not?” said the knight.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said, flushing “he is but a child.”

“Not for much longer,” said Bruno.

“Besides, what would a noble born man see in a country serving girl anyway?” she said.

“Are you speaking in jest?” he said with a gentle laugh “You are beautiful, witty, and kind-”

“You shame me, lord,” she said shyly, looking at her hands folded on the bar.

“-if a bit strong willed,” finished Bruno. Aven’s green eyes darted up to him, her expression between amusement and anger.

“Strong willed?” she said “How is that a fault?”

“Were you a man it would not be,” said Bruno casually, as if he were saying that summer was hot “but in a woman, it’s rather unbecoming. Your role is to support the men in your life as humbly as possible.”

“My role,” she said, standing up “you know, Templar, I think I will go call upon your squire. I find his conversation more palatable. Excuse me.”

Bruno’s jaw went slack as the maid swept out of the inn. He looked up towards the ceiling and spoke as if he were trying to reach the Allfather.

“Did I say something wrong?” he said incredulously. A moment later he found himself rising to his feet and pursuing her.

Aven stalked away from the Hammer, ignoring several salutations from the townsfolk. She was uncertain why what he said made her so angry; It was hardly different from what she heard from most of the men, and many of the women as well. She had wanted him to be different, but perhaps he only appeared that way. On the inside, he was the same as any other Templar.

She found herself outside the Templar residence. Approaching the door, she was prepared to clap when it abruptly opened. Crown’s eyes widened at her arrival, his expression studiously blank.

“Why, hello, my dear,” he said warmly enough.

“Hello, Father Cornelius,” she said, trying to smile through her anger and fear “I have heard that Master Brandywine had a bit of a tumble on his way home the other day...”

“You could say that,” he said with a smirk. “Tell me, how did you hear of it?”

“It is hardly easy to keep a secret in a small village such as this,” she said with a nervous smile.

“Indeed,” said Crown, nodding sagely. “Secrets can be so dreadfully hard to keep, can’t they? And when they get uprooted, well, much like with weeds someone is going to get dirty...”

“There are many secrets in Ravensford,” said Aven crossly, her green eyes narrowing. “Many weeds that need uprooting.”

Crown smiled, took a step off the wooden porch to stand next to Aven. It took considerable effort on her part not to shrink away from him. He leaned his head towards her ear, seeming to take pleasure in her discomfort.

“No one will believe you, faerie,” he said, causing her heart to skip a beat. “Call on me this night, near the midnight hour. We have much to discuss.”

Aven’s mouth went slack, her mind a jumble at the man’s bold declaration. Crown moved his lips away from her ear, brushing her cheek with a light kiss as he did so.

“What goes on here?” said Bruno, striding up to the pair. His brown eyes darted between them, most of the anger directed at Crown. Aven felt panic rising in her breast, fearing that the priest would expose her then and there.

“Just a bit of Fatherly advice for the maid,” said Crown, addressing the knight. As he passed by Aven, he added “see you soon, my dear.”

Aven stared after the man, eyes full of fear. Bruno crossed his arms and glared at her.

“What transpires between you and the good Father?” he said.

“Nothing, my lord,” she said, turning to walk away.

“Do not walk away from me, barmaid,” said Bruno, seizing her forearm in an iron grip. She halted, turned a withering glance towards the knight. Her fierce emerald eyes stared into his own umbra ones, and for a moment it appeared their contest of wills would be a stalemate. However, Bruno slowly relented, staring at the hand gripping her as if it were another man’s. He released her, a bit of shame crossing his face. Aven spun on her heel and stalked away from the knight, rubbing her sore arm.

Bruno winced as he saw the indentations of his fingers upon her fair skin, realizing they were likely to bruise. He slumped to his rear on the porch, unmindful of the splintery surface.

“You are an ass, Sir Cromwell,” he said to himself.

** *

Lady Katherine sat in her garden, less lovely on that overcast day. Her servants had brought a square table from the manor and placed it on the cobblestone near one of the stone benches flanking the fountain. She laid cards upon the smooth surface, attempting to portend more of the future.

A bead of sweat dripped into her eyes, and she rapidly blinked it away. Despite the yellow orb being hidden behind a swath of gray clouds, the day was hot. Remembering what her father had said the other evening, she was wearing a long sleeved gown, and suffering for it. She forced herself to ignore the discomfort and set about reading the ambiguous prophesies spread out before her.

There was the Horned One, a heathen god whom the church claimed was another name for the Adversary. His presence was neither inherently good or evil, but always meant great change. She stared hard at the image depicted, an artful rendition that seemed to capture the creature’s enigma.

She turned her attention to another small stack of cards. The knight, which she believed to represent Bruno, was laid upon the Wailing Tree, which could mean he was soon to face a trial of some sort. The next card she drew was the one she truly dreaded, but felt compelled to see anyway. It would be a portent of what destiny lie in store for Bruno’s heart. Hesitating for a long moment, she at last laid her finger on the card and flipped it over.

“Oh, Bruno,” she said, seeing a card depicting a Sylvan. The maid appeared to have some tree like features, such as rough bark like skin and leaves for hair, but she was still beautiful in a primal way. The Sylvan could represent a rural maid, the uncompromising forces of nature, or even an actual faerie. There was one thing that was certain; The Sylvan could in no way be twisted to interpret it as herself.

She hastily stacked up the cards and stowed them in her bodice at the sound of approaching feet. Lord Mannix arrived, flanked by two servants. He glared down at the table, then to her.

“Hello, father,” she said sweetly.

“Why is one of the good tables out here in the garden?” he said crossly.

“I’m sorry, father,” she said demurely “I thought is was a lovely day out, and wished to take my lunch here.”

“Lovely?” said her father, squinting up at the overcast sky “looks miserable to me.”

“Ah, yes,” said Kate, stammering a bit “but the sun does not sting my eyes on such a day.”

“An excellent point,” he said, nodding “perhaps I shall take my meal out here as well.”

“I could have a larger table brought out-” she said.

“No,” said her father, eyes going momentarily wide at the thought “no need to scrape the finish off another. I merely came to remind you we are entertaining Seneschal Roland this evening.”

“Of course,” she said “I have not forgotten.”

“He is often called the King’s right hand,” said Lord Mannix somberly “no doubt if he notices anything amiss about you Drakken will hear of it.”

“Then he had best not notice anything amiss,” said Kate with a curt nod.

“My dear,” he said with a sigh, slipping onto the bench next to her. He took her hand in one of his, gently stroking her fingers. “If you truly, truly do not wish to marry the king, you do not have to.”

“Father?” she said incredulously.

“It is true,” he said “that those in the monarchy find themselves more closely guarded and confined than any criminal. Power can be a prison, my dear, and you may find that you do not have the time to linger in your garden, or read your musty tomes. I am sure that some nice lord would find you just as appealing as his majesty...”

“A lord already did,” she muttered “you made me break his heart and drive him away.”

“What’s that, my dear?” said Lord Mannix, twisting a finger in his ear. “Age has stolen a bit of my hearing, I’m afraid.”

“I said I will do my duty, father,” she said. “After all, marriage among nobility is not about pleasing yourself, but doing what is best for the family.”

“And the kingdom,” said Lord Mannix, looking worried. “Katherine, I must confess, there are many among the nobility who are a bit....unnerved by King Drakken’s sudden need for so much coin. He meets our inquiries with smiles and veiled threats, tells us it is for the good of the kingdom. It is our hope that you might...mitigate the man’s excesses somewhat.”

“Father,” said Kate with a laugh “you invest too much hope in me! Why would the King listen to his queen’s counsel?”

“Marriage,” said her father “can temper a man’s fiery soul. Before I wed your mother, I was given to haring off for days on end, drinking and carousing...”

“And dueling,” said Kate with a giggle.

“And dueling,” said Lord Mannix, raising his sleeve to display a criss cross pattern of white scars on his wrist and forearm. “But your mother made me, well, she made me into a better man.”

Kate kissed him gently on the cheek, taking his arm in hers.

“You miss her,” she said.

“Of course,” said Lord Mannix, blinking rapidly “not a day goes by that I do not.”

“I miss her too,” said Kate, leaning her head against his shoulder.

“Let us sit for a time,” he said “not as two nobles plotting, but as a father and daughter with nothing more to worry about than getting rained on.”

“That sounds wonderful,” she said, sighing.