A Tale of Blades & Blood-Chapter 21: Daylight

[Ryene's Point of View...]

A Ravenman vows to serve House Ravenhan and all the noble lords under the raven sigil's wings... I now serve an angry butcher of the owl's house. For a moment, I could only think of the young boy.... Lord Orevian, and our meeting at the courtyard. I still remembered what went on in my head as I discussed much with him. This young lord has a mind of a scholar, I told myself at the time, curious and lost, but finding his way to the right path.

I never wanted to serve the house of Lord Folius, nor the house of Lord Loreys. So many impurities, I thought to myself, men sleep with whores and lords plan to murder. I only ever submitted meekly to the green men for the safety of my scholars. I still remember that moment...

One of our men came rushing into the library, where the scholars held their meeting. He panted like a dog, leaning on the white wall with one arm when I saw him there. "What bothers you, child?" I asked, my hands together as I approached him, bending ever so slightly to see his face.

"The city... is under... siege!" he exclaimed, his breathing out of control.

A siege? I asked in my head, of what ridiculous evidence does he base this on? "A siege?" I asked, my brows knit. "Where did you hear such news from? Tell me!" I ordered, demanding an answer as the scholars behind me began to murmur and whisper.

"The city gate is breached..." he began, his breathing now more controlled, "...and green men are pouring into the city at large-"

"Green men?" I asked, cutting him off. "House Strix invades us?" I asked. It was the first house to enter my head, with the green color and all. "You talk of non-sense- let me see for myself!" I remarked, making my way outside the large wooden gates of the library that were open. Soon, the houses that were in front of it were crushed by the weight of four boulders that fell from the sky like comets from the night's view. WHAT ON THE THREE MEN!? I yelled aloud in my head, my brain rattled.

"See, teacher?" he asked aloud. "There is a siege!" he remarked aloud. Immediately, he went inside, flailing his arms about and screaming at the top of his lungs- "Brothers! Arm yourselves! Father your armor and weapons and prepare to defend the Hall of Ravens-"

"No!" I commanded aloud. We cannot have men dying, I realized, we must have a peaceful fate. "All of you! Hide in the dining hall! Tell those men- if they enter -that we were eating our supper, do you all understand?" I asked aloud.

"You ought for us to hide, teacher?" the man asked. "We are Ravenmen! We are filled with honor and we will defend this place-"

"Not another word!" I snapped, making my way towards the ten doors, gesturing scholars to follow. Most did, others hesitated. "We may be honorable but we are wise- not stupid enough to fight fully armored men!" I told them. "I do this for your safety!" I exclaimed, "Not mine!" I finished.

He nodded, and went on ahead, gathering men of his own to the dining hall. I rushed to close the gates, while five other scholars came to my aid. The doors were closed, but locked loosely. We could not stay there any further. "Go to the dining hall!" I yelled at them, and they made their way whilst two carried me by the arms to the place where we hid.

Many men said prayers inside. I could hear them, men of the faith of The Three men and those of The Winged God said their prayers in whispers. The only time the prayers stopped was when the men had found us. Then, they chained us all, and brought us out for our fate to be decided by their bannerman lord, a youthful man that smirked and cursed. I did not know who he was, but now I recall his name vividly. Mareste, I remembered.

My dear scholars were freed from their chains when they were seen as no threats, but I was brought to their encampment to serve as advisor for their commanding figure, Lord Loreys of Tiberrun, an angry man who always gave those around him fear. For my scholars, I began in my head, I will do anything for their safety. I could only hope they understand that I was forced into such... impure work. Then again, what if I had refused? I wouldn't have a head now if that were the case.

...the lords and sers made their plans at Lord Loreys' tent. I was invited by some of their men, one with a golden mask, and the other one was quite nearing an old age. I had refused to attend, stating I only served advice that concerned political knowledge and advice that concerned wisdom on ruling and such- never wars.

For the time being, I was left prisoner inside a tent, free from shackles but trapped inside a tent guarded by two guards. For almost an hour or so I stayed inside, often contemplating the state of my dear students- if they lived or not -and seldom letting one of my eyes close to have a taste of sleep. How can I sleep? I asked myself, my scholars do not have a teacher to be their guide!

Sooner than I expected, the tent opens, with Lord Loreys entering the tent. His expression was grim, and he wore a red and blue coat, with a layer of fluffy leather to keep him warm. I stand up ever so slowly. "My lord..." I say, bowing down as a greeting. Deep down, I hated calling the old man that. He did not deserve such titles with his deeds. "What use can I be to you?" I asked, trailing behind him as he poured himself wine.

He paused before opening the cork. "Tell me, advisor..." he began, setting the bottle of wine down on his table, "...what must a king do- what is his duty?" he asked as he went to a corner and fetched himself paper and ink. A philosophical question, I thought.

"To serve the people, my lord." I answered, still standing. "A king's duty is to serve his people for the better good-"

"And what if this lord..." he began, pouring himself wine, "...sits on thrones and lets his men do his work while he enjoys his spoils?" he asked, setting the bottle down and taking his wine glass to his mouth. Drink wine all you want, my lord, I wished to say, and let me answer your thoughts.

"He is not fit for a king, then, my lord..." I replied, my hands together. "Perhaps, someone else ought to take his place. Someone of-"

"Someone of better capability." Lord Loreys remarked. "Someone that rules for the people, yes?" he asked, carrying his wine glass towards his small desk, taking small but strong steps. "This... king ought to give his crown to someone of better cunning and competence..." he began, sitting down and writing his thoughts... or at least I thought they were. "And if he refuses?" he asked, writing swiftly on the parchment.

I gave it a moment of thought. "Tell me, my lord..." I began, taking steps forward, making my way to his side. "What gives a king his power?" I asked, squinting my eyes and looking down on the old lord.

"What do you want me to say?" he asked, his voice deep and raspy, and his eyes aimed at me. "Armies. What say you?" he asked, his head aimed back to the parchment where he wrote. A letter, I realized, but to who?

"Perhaps the support of the common folk, my lord." I replied, looking down on him. "A king with no support is a man waiting to be dethroned. He will fall, and it shall be a grand one." I remarked, my face bearing a serious look.

"The common folk?" he asked as he stopped writing. "You mean to say the common folk are more powerful than kings?" he asked, waiting for an answer. The atmosphere was cold, even while the lanterns were lit.

"The Great Rampage says so." I reminded him. "The night those peasants rose up and barged into the gates of Ororer's Keep? Do you not think that supports my claim, my lord?" I asked, setting my right hand on his chair.

His voice paused, yet his hand kept on writing. "The Great Rampage was led by who, Ryene? Tell me, go on." he taunted, signing the letter and lighting a red candle.

"My lord-"

"The lords and men of House Strix!" he exclaimed, not waiting for my reply. "Without lords, peasants fight amongst themselves. Without lords, men lack discipline..." he went on, listing each reason of the importance of nobles until he finally sealed the parchment. "...without lords, the realm crumbles to civil war." he finished, stamping a hound's head on the red wax.

I gave it all a pause. "What about the war caused by lords?" I asked curiously.

"You move out of topic..." he replied as he stood up. He was taller than me, and he looked down with his eyes red. "A lord's power comes from armies, not the support of the common folk who can be killed by the swords of armored men-"

"Anyone can be put the sword." I remarked, standing strong. "Anyone can die. Anyone can be stabbed. Nobody is protected by an impenetrable armor." I finished, finally taking a step back to give way to the old man. I was older, though.

He took the paper and made his way on towards the tent's opening, where two soldiers stood, armored with steel and blade. I could not hear any word he said, but I saw what I saw. The letter was sealed by a hound's head on melted wax, but on its cover was drawn another head- a stag's.

House Berros, I realized, the house of the stag. The soldier went away, and he was soon replaced by another soldier, armed with steel and a spear rather than a mere blade. The old lord went inside once more, and he sat on his chair, his elbow on his desk and his head resting on his fist in thought. "Give me peace." he ordered, gesturing his hand for me to leave.

"You think it wise to let me leave alone?" I asked, making my way slowly towards the opening of the tent.

"You're old!" he exclaimed with a laugh. "And you're too smart to even try and escape the tent city." he remarked, turning his hips to look at me. "Now, go. Advise the king's son if you want to, but don't go to his father. That cunt's got too much pride on him-"

"You speak ill of the king of all people?" I asked, my face confused, and so was my mind.

"You really think a crown gives you power?" he asked, a smirk on his face. No, I realized. You are right, my lord, I wished to say. The common folk are pawns in a king's game, I thought to myself. Only a few of them become queens at the end of the match.

"No..." I admitted, my face serious yet relieved. "I believe armies give you power."

Along the road west, a group makes their journey... [Norien's Point of View...]

"Get back!" Orevian exclaimed as he aimed his sword to the armed bandits. Loran stood on the carriage with a dagger, while I took arms and got myself a crossbow and a skinning knife. Cunts, I thought as we faced them. Three of them wore simple tunics, while the tallest of them all wore a simple bronze breastplate. Two were armed with short swords, while the other held an ax. The tall freak hold nothing but a mace.

"Give us gold, traveler!" the tall man yelled, "and I shan't take your young maiden's spoils for myself!" he remarked, looking at me with an evil gaze. Disgusting, I thought. I'd rather die than have any of you in bed.

"Do not insult my lady! That is, if you wish to still live." Orevian snapped back, taking his stance. He faced two men, one a giant and the other a swordsman. I faced an ax-wielding man while Loran faced the last swordsman of the bunch. The giant laughed and pointed at Orevian, taunting him.

"You think you can take your stand against me?" he asked, his mace gripped tighter by his hand. "Try! What can a boy of mere... seventeen is it? What can you do?" he asked aloud, challenging him.

"Go tell him, Jack!" one of them exclaimed, a smirk on his face as he held his sword.

The ax man charged first.

With a quick pull of my finger, I fire the crossbow, making a deep hole into the eye of the bandit. As he fell on his knees, screaming while holding the arrow, the rest of them charged towards the carriage. The tall man let down his club, almost crushing Lord Orevian's head if he had not dashed forward, slicing through the man's legs.

With a loud groan, the giant staggered as Loran fought blade to blade with the swordsman. I jumped quickly off of the carriage and pick up an ax, now covered in blood as the arrow-pierced eye of the ax man oozed out blood.

I could feel the thud as the giant fell on the grass dead, and I could see the blood that watered the green grass. A loud shriek of "JACK!" followed, quickly cut off by the young lord's blade that sliced his throat.

The swordsman was tougher than the rest of them.

Loran struggled as the bandit pressed on his small blade. Even for a stable boy, he had the strength of knights. "A little help, my lord!" he exclaimed for help, struggling and kicking as the blade came ever closer to him. Too late, I thought to myself. We're too far away.

Lord Orevian was far from the carriage, and I ran too slow, even for a maiden. I ran as fast as I could, leaving the ax behind and swiftly making my way to the carriage, but nobody could have expected what happened next. With a loud cry, a rider who wore armor covered by a cloak rode a southern horse towards us. All it took was a clean slice on the man's back to get him off of our stable boy friend.

And with a quick move, the bandit was slain by the dagger of Loran Aelond, that slit against his throat, showering Loran with a pool of blood and gore as the bandit staggered backward, grasping his throat until he fell down to the grass, no longer living. The rider turned his horse towards us, revealing his face- old yet stern, with a short, growing beard of brown and white.

"Are you all right, my brother?" he asked, a smile on his face.

"Thank you..." Loran replied, standing up, covered with the red liquid. "Might I ask who may you be?" he asked, looking at the knight whose house was covered by his cloak.

"I am nobody..." he replied, "...a man who exiled himself after a loss." he admitted painfully while still maintaining a light smile. "I am no knight. Be not mistaken. My honor's as shit as shit can be." he told us, a smile slowly fading.

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"Who goes there?" Orevian asked aloud.

As if by magic, the knight stopped in his words. "Lord Orevian! Is that you?" he asked aloud, quickly getting off his stallion and making his way around the carriage where our horse still stood. Me and Loran towed behind him. "My lord..." he managed to get out in his shock and confusion.

When the two set their eyes on each other, it was as if meeting after a long age. Lord Orevian's eyes glimmered as tears began to form, and his eyes were large, as if shocked. The knight, on the other hand, was even more impacted that the young lord, practically trembling as his eyes watered, and his mouth smiling as if relieved. Only one word came out of Lord Orevian's mouth: A name, A title, A call.

"Ser Merill Abbister..." he began, "...how long has it been?"