The Bringer of War

The candle had burned low, merely the span of two fingers from the silver candelabra sitting on the kitchen table. The smoke trailed silently towards the thatched roof, slipping away from the wick as sand slips through an hourglass. Bruno rubbed a hand over his tired eyes, trying to will them to stay open.

To his left was Hector, who leaned up against the pantry with his arms crossed. The lad looked tired, but there was an undertone of eagerness in his expressions. Apparently, the squire found the events of the prior day stimulating.

Sitting next to him was Aven, occupying one of the two stools in the kitchen. She had reassumed her guise as Allison, though Bruno found himself looking for signs of her true form at the edges. It did not seem right, despite his earlier cavalier attitude, that one should be able to change so completely the form that the Allfather had given them. The faerie woman did not appear immune to fatigue, blinking her eyes tiredly in the feeble light of the candle.

To her right was the old man Duncan. After seeing that his men, as well as the slain villagers had a proper last rites, he had returned to the residence despite Hector’s fears that he would simply flee back into the countryside. He looked tired, but then he always did.

“I’ll just come out and say it,” said Davros “the assassin has to die.”

“Sounds excellent to me,” said Aven “but I fear that he has contingencies...”

“The ‘followers’ he boasted of?” said Bruno. “Likely, it was a fabrication designed to keep you in line, All-Aven.”

“Perhaps,” she said, her gaze softening a bit as it fell upon the knight. “But I am unwilling to risk Brutus’s life on your conjecture, with all respect.”

“We cannot kill him,” said Hector.

“Squire,” said Bruno “your presence at this summit is at my pleasure. Your tender mercies have to place-”

“It’s not about mercy,” said the lad, giving a rare scowl to Bruno “rather, it seems to me that he has considerable more information than we do. Also, he was merely following orders. Condemning him would be like casting blame upon the knife and allowing the man who wielded it to roam free.”

“Bah,” said Bruno “he is no victim of circumstance.”

“Indeed,” said Davros “I have known him for over a year, in his guise as One Eye Bruce. Cold calculation is needed for his profession, and years of plying it have left little of his soul behind.”

“He is resourceful and dangerous,” said Aven with narrowed eyes.

“We cannot just bring him with us,” said Bruno “he would likely find a way to escape, or-”

“Or finish his duty,” said Davros grimly. “He must be killed.”

“There might be a way,” said Aven, her green eyes gleaming in the candlelight “to bring the assassin with us safely.”

All eyes were drawn to her. She was secretly thrilled, as Allison the barmaid had never so commanded the attention of men....at least not the type of attention she craved. When she was done basking in the glow of their gazes, she spoke once more.

“Faerie have a way,” she said “of guaranteeing loyalty. I can cast a charm upon this Crown, causing him to sicken and faint should he decide to be disloyal.”

“Faerie magic,” said Davros ruefully, spitting a fat gob onto the wooden floor.

“It cannot be all bad,” said Hector “after all, it healed me.”

Bruno stroked his stubbly chin, fixing Aven with a somber gaze. He realized that his own feelings were clouding his judgment, but it still seemed like the only viable solution, short of killing the assassin. Still...

“The church tells us,” he said “that Faerie are creatures that serve the Adversary, and their magic, like all magic, is an affront to the Allfather’s vision.”

“Oh?” said Aven hotly, rising to her feet to stare hard at Bruno. “Then perhaps you should slay me now, oh Templar, ere I tempt you back into my bed.”

Davros took a long drink from his glass of ale, eyes going wide at the casual mention of Bruno’s erotic escapades. The knight looked flustered and a bit abashed, stammering over his words.

“Now,” he said “I-I did not mean to...that is, I never wanted-”

“Do you know why the Church of the Allfather strove so hard to cut all ties to the fey folk?” said Aven, brazenly cutting the knight off. “Because the faerie are a threat to them. After all, how can they promise miracles when the fey can work real magic? Likely, they drove out all sorcerers from the land for the same reason, but that ended up being a serendipitously wise decision by-”

“Sorcerer?” said Hector, his curiosity spurring his rudeness.

“You probably call them Wizards or Witches,” said Aven, wrinkling her pretty freckled nose “but sorcerer is what my folk call them. But that is beside the point.”

She walked around the table and laid her hand on Bruno’s shoulder. It was strange to him, how right her touch felt, despite her unusual heritage. Her eyes were warm, but the set of her jaw spoke of her still smoldering anger.

“Bruno,” she said softly “you are a man wise beyond his years. Do you truly believe everything the church has told you? That if you sail too far across the Vast Water, you will fall off the edge of the world? Do you really think the stars are but the tears of the Allfather shed whenever the Adversary betrayed him?”

“I always thought they were pinpricks in the curtain of night,” said Hector, but no one paid any attention to his jibe.

“I...” said Bruno “I have believed a great many things that have turned out to be false, or at least more complicated than they appear. It is...difficult to simply divest myself of these feelings just because the woman I...became involved with is a faerie.”

“Became involved?” said Aven, her anger boiling up again. “Is that what you humans call it? Because I do remember you saying that you loved me out on the road.”

“I said no such thing,” said Bruno darkly.

“Actually,” said Hector “you did refer to her as ‘my love’...”

The knight’s harsh gaze made the squire swallow nervously. Davros rose from his feet, clearing his throat.

“Too much of the spirits,” he said “I need to piss. Hector, be a good lad and guide me to the outhouse, as my old eyes are not much use in the darkness.”

“Of course, master Davros,” said Hector, his smile saying he knew of the old soldier’s intentions. The two of them excused themselves from the kitchen and headed out the rear door.

Once they had left, Bruno tried to put a hand on Aven’s shoulder, which she jerked away from.

“My lady,” he said “I never meant to cause you offense...”

“You are embarrassed by me,” she said bluntly “ashamed of your feelings.”

Bruno closed his mouth, gritting his teeth like a stubborn mule. Her words had struck near the mark, killing his rebuttal in his throat.

“Hector tells me that you had a...lady once,” she said, causing Bruno’s gaze to snap up. “Did you not?”

“Aye,” he said grimly “though she is my lady no longer.”

“And did you speak to her of your heart?” she said.

“Only when she had cast me aside,” said Bruno, his voice tight with the painful memory. “There are certain...protocols to observe when attempting to woo a noble woman. You must hide your intentions, as a fencer hides his strikes behind flourishes and ripostes.”

“Ridiculous,” said Aven “the faerie are not ashamed of our feelings, or of expressing them with our bodies. Surely, you don’t expect me to believe that you had never been with a woman before me.”

Bruno looked a bit guilty, staring at his feet.

“I see,” she said cooly “with your lady?”

“Once,” said Bruno “when we were caught in a rain shower while out for a ride. She was not my first however...”

“Did you lay with a prostitute?” said Aven with a chuckle.

“No,” said Bruno. “Well, perhaps she was....it was shortly before my Confirmation, when I was to receive the Heartfire. A few of the other squires took it upon themselves to ensure I would not die without becoming a man, so to speak.”

Aven giggled, the tension flowing from her body. Bruno looked into her smiling face, and wondered when she had crawled into his chest and built a nest, because her approval meant the world to him.

“It is of little consequence,” said Aven “however, I am no noble, and would very much like to hear what is in your heart.”

“I will try, my lady,” said Bruno “but a Templar is expected to buckle down and shovel shit, his feelings be damned. I may not have the weapons to fight this battle.”

Aven smiled softly, stood on her toes so her lips could reach his. It was their first kiss since he had discovered her true nature, and something about their masks being off made it more passionate than ever. His hand slid down her spine to cup her buttocks, crushing her to him. Her own grip was no less sound, as she kneaded his curly hair firmly with her long nailed fingers. With nary a grunt of exertion, he lifted Aven off her feet and placed her sitting on the table. Their gropings became more intimate, their breathing faster, as he leaned over her sinuous form.

They broke their contact, Aven slipping to the floor and Bruno attempting to re-lace the side of his trousers. Footsteps were the harbinger of Hector’s and Davros’s return, and the embarrassed look that the squire gave them said that there was no mystery about what business they had been engaged in. Davros, however, was very somber when he entered the tidy kitchen.

“We have a problem,” he said, even as a fist sized stone crashed into the kitchen, shattering the window in its wake.

“The villagers?” said Bruno, his brow knit with worry.

“The villagers,” said Hector.

A loud raucous began to penetrate the walls of the residence. Bruno dashed to the broken window and peered out into the night. He had to duck when another missile, this one a broken piece of crockery, was on a trajectory for his head. Nearly every living soul in Ravensford was surrounding the residence’s four sides. Many carried torches, as the moon was hidden behind a thick blanket of clouds. Bruno noted that many had armed themselves with more than stones and rubbish.

“This is bad,” said Bruno “very bad. I see our good friend mayor Thurston amid the rabble. No doubt he has whipped them into a frenzy.”

“Bastard,” said Hector, his eyes narrowed. “I should have pursued, finished him off.”

“Perhaps,” said Bruno “but the blame lies on my shoulders, squire. It was I who had him flogged, even if you were the one to do it.”

“You regret it?” said Aven, scowling as the house was peppered with projectiles.

“Yes,” said Bruno, his eyes full of meaning as he turned to face her. “I do.”

“We’ll have to cut our way out,” said Davros, drawing his sword.

“Cut down simple peasant folk?” said Hector in horror.

“What choice do we have?” said Davros. “I could perhaps persuade them into sparing myself, and the barmaid, but...”

“There could be another way,” said Bruno, eying Aven with a sly grin.

“What do you propose?” said Aven, cocking an eyebrow.

“The folk of Ravensford care a great deal for their shadowy Lady of the Forest, yes?” he said.

** *

Outside, the angry mob became more aggressive, but still no one was willing to approach the Templar residence more closely. Thurston, figuring he had faced enough sharp steel for a lifetime, was no more eager. It had been easy to stoke the fires in the bellies of the villagers. The dozen who had been slain, including his cousins, had families. The pain of loss was quite easily turned to rage, he noted. Something a great leader should keep in mind...

“What are we waiting for?” shouted a man whose son numbered among the dead. “Let us rush them and finish it! My boy will not rest until the black skinned Templar is beneath the dust!”

“No!” shouted another. “I saw the battle on the road, we would fall like wheat before the scythe! I say we burn the house down with him inside of it!”

“Yes!” shouted Thurston, stoking the fires further. “Yes, burn him! Burn him and all who stand with him!”

Thurston gripped his torch high overhead and bent his torso backwards. He was proud of the way it spun in the air on its way to the thatched roof. It sailed in an arc, spitting embers and smoke in its wake. A second before it was to impact, something flashed through the air, moving in a blur. Thurston blinked in confusion, glancing around himself to see if anyone else had seen the phenomenon.

“Look!” shouted a woman. Thurston followed her pointing finger to spot a strange creature on the residence. It gripped the shaft of the torch in one hand, the other being used to brace itself on the sloping roof. Light, downy hair covered its shoulders and legs beneath the knee. Ram like horns curled off of its head, and the feminine lumps on its chest did little to diminish the ferocity of its gaze. Its green eyes peered out at the throng, which gradually grew silent at the spectacle.

“It’s the Lady of the Forest,” whispered a man to Thurston’s left.

“What are you fools doing?” said Aven, her voice easily carrying over the field of humanity. “Seek you to end the life of the one man who has protected you from treachery?”

“She speaks!” cried a man.

“The Lady is a faerie,” said another “they are affronts to the Allfather!”

“No!” shouted a man, the hunter who had fallen into his own trap. “She is kind, and just!”

Thurston gnashed his teeth. The crowd seemed to be split down the middle, half for himself and half for the green eyed faerie woman.

His eyes narrowed. Green eyes...

“Allison,” he breathed, though no one took note.

“Go home, mourn your dead and carry on with your lives,” said Aven, her tone softening a bit though her volume was undiminished. “There had been enough death, enough violence this day.”

“Die, monster!” shouted the man who had lost his son. He heaved a simple but deadly homemade spear through the air. The air hummed with its passage, the point heading straight for Aven’s heart. The torch she had been holding became a shield, batting the missile harmlessly to the side. An awed murmur rolled through the throng, for Aven had knocked the heavy spear aside with little apparent effort.

“There are no monsters here,” she said coldly. “Just scared, sad people. Go home, good folk of Ravensford. The Templar’s blood will not lessen your pain.”

“What are you doing?” said Thurston as his neighbors began to turn and shuffle away from the residence. “Justice must be done!”

“Bah,” said a man “those who lie dead rebelled. We are fortunate the Templar has not begun an Inquisition to torture confessions out of the rest of us.”

“Aye,” said another “send word to the capital, that we may have an Arbiter dispensed! The Templars have gold, and may be made to part with it!”

“No,” said Thurston as his people began to desert him. “NO!”

Blinded by rage, the mayor drew his own blade. It was a piece he had bought at a fair many years ago, and was more decorative than utilitarian. A pair of gold dragons with their mouths open and breathing flame formed the cross hilt. The blade itself had been engraved with a fire motif, and the pommel dangled a bit of gold twine that served no function. The mayor dashed for the residence, staring up at Aven with hatred in his eyes.

“Get down here, barmaid,” he hissed “and be penetrated by something other than the black man’s cock!”

Aven’s eyes narrowed, and her teeth were bared in a fierce snarl. With a prodigal leap that mystified Thurston’s eyes, the faerie dropped down to the dirt beside him. Her strange, animalesque legs bent low to absorb the impact before she rose smoothly to tower over the rural leader.

“I am not bereft of chivalry,” he said with a sneer “you may arm yourself with more than a burning twig.”

“You sully the term chivalry, to speak it with your wicked tongue,” said Aven “and I need no better weapon, fool.”

Thurston snarled, swinging the blade in a two handed arc for the woman’s face. Aven took a half step back and battered the blade away, causing Thurston to stumble in the dirt. Undeterred, he picked himself up and pointed his sword at her chest. Giving a shout that could make a Templar proud, he charged in behind it. Aven pivoted on her hoof, avoiding the steel, and brought the burning end of the torch down hard on the man’s hands. The sword slipped from his numb, useless fingers as his scream of pain caused many to turn about and watch the spectacle.

“Stinking whore,” said the mayor as Aven approached. The faerie lifted her leg and kicked him in the mouth. Blood and teeth flew from the orifice as he fell hard to the packed dirt.

“You’ll have no more use for whores,” she said icily. With a sneer that curdled the blood of all who witnessed it, Aven put a cloven hoof atop Thurston’s chest to pin him down. Barely clinging to consciousness, he stared up at her, trying to form words with his ruined mouth.

Instead of the expected death blow, Aven suddenly thrust the torch into his crotch. Thurston screamed, his struggles growing more frantic as his manhood was scorched. The homespun trousers he wore were no protection from the hungry flames, and the sweet smell of burning flesh was soon wafting out into the night.

“ALLISON!” shouted Bruno, daring to come out of the residence. “Enough! Leave the man with his life, at least.”

Aven glanced up at the knight, her dark expression saying that she hardly agreed with the knight. She continued to jam the burning brand into Thurston’s groin, even as his throat became raw from screaming.

“Allison,” said Bruno calmly, his eyes deeply disappointed. It was the calmness, the disapproval that at last made Aven give way. She removed the brand and stepped off of the mayor, who crumpled into a fetal ball and made whimpering noises.

“We need to leave,” said Davros, poking his head out the shattered window. “Now.”

Bruno cast his gaze at the remaining villagers. Aven’s display had shocked them into silence, but already he could see the embers of rage glowing in their eyes. It would not do to be present when they at last grew into a flame.

“What of the assassin?” said Bruno, ignoring the predatory look Aven was giving to the flame castrated mayor.

“We must kill him,” said Davros “or bring him with us. Hopefully, whatever the faerie woman wishes to do can be done on the road.”

“Squire!” shouted Bruno “get our mounts ready, and rustle up two more from those abandoned by Davros’s men. We leave Ravensford tonight.”