Untitled: Chapter 1 - The Message and the Mission (Part 1)

They rode on short stocky horses, numbering in the hundreds. Torches were beacons, set four men apart, in a sea of shifting shadows as the dark skinned, black clad hoard lurched forward. Four horsemen were several horselengths in front of the rest. They spoke softly. One then peeled away from the rest, taking some of the following horsemen with him. As the departing group dissolved into the darkness, the remaining three called a halt and grinned at each other.

...

Grey rolled a missive up, sighing to himself. “Another attack is coming,” he murmured, so the ones in the back had to whisper to those in front of them in an attempt to know what he said. He looked up only when the door banged closed behind the trailing skirts of a girl and rubbed his temple in an attempt to alleviate a headache that had started behind his eyes. “Cat…” He waved at the door. “Help her.”

The woman sitting beside him frowned. “…Don’t you want to?”

I don’t have time.” He looked away, trying to ignore her concerned eyes that seemed to reflect his own. “Just… Help me this time.”

She shook her head and stood slowly. “She’s growing up, Grey. She won’t be around much longer.”

His head snapped back to her, his eyes cold. “Don’t.”

She leaned forward and hissed, so none of the people around her could hear, “You’ll have to take her in hand someday, or she’ll slip through your fingers.”

“I,” he growled, “do not need a lecture from the likes of you.”

Whirling away, she lifted her chin and left, the door slamming much as it had behind his daughter.

He dug the heels of his hands into his eyes, rubbing hard. Probably should have found a better ambassador to calm his daughter down. Lowering his hands, he looked around the full council room at the grim knights and stricken women. "A tribe of Bordans is approaching again," he said, louder this time, so there could be no question as to what he said. "We'll do as we've done in the past, and we will return victorious. From the reports I've received, it's a small tribe. I'll only be taking half of our forces with me." He stood as if he were ten years older than he was. "I only want the elite on this trip. These... barbarians will be wiped out. There will be no prisoners, and I want to come back with minimal casualties. You know who the elite are. We will be leaving for the west in five hours." He started to walk off the dais and glanced around when no one else moved. "Dismissed," he said firmly, not waiting for questions. He would only get complaints. He stood, feet apart, arms crossed, and watched as everyone filed out.

He would have left too, to find his squires or find someone else who could find his squires if they proved too elusive, but he was hit by the sudden silence. It wasn't often in his keep that he was able to exist in this deep, profound quiet. Either the cook needed more hands, or the grooms needed better stables, or the villagers were going hungry because of a drought, blight, raid, whatever, or his twins wanted to play, or Bev, his daughter, was going through the weekly meltdown, or Cat was carrying out her next stupid charade, or somewhere someone just wasn't damn happy enough for themselves and thought he should care enough to know. He sat on one of the stairs, stretching his legs out so their heels rested on the floor three steps below.

It had been one of years where he had thought there would be peace, lasting peace. The Bordans had finally lost interest in a decades long war, but no. That would be too easy, and he couldn't have a break. No. Not possible. He pressed his fingers into his closed eyes as the throbbing continued and didn't move when he heard the door creak open.

"Ah... Lord Dallon?"

“Yes?" He didn't move his hands, so the word was muffled by the palms in front of them, but he knew he was heard.

Nothing got past Igs. Even when Grey wanted it to. He took himself, his job, and his friendship rather seriously, as much of a pain as that could be for others at times.

"You will want your brothers?"

"Of course. Ry is needed on the battle field, and... gods forbid-"

"Don't say it, my Lord."

He dropped his hands to glare at his advisor. "And Kayn as well, because something may happen to Ry and me." He leaned back, his elbows resting on the top of the dais. "And we don't need Cat in charge or the keep will burn." Chuckling to counter the insult, he studied the floor and tapped his index finger against the dais as Igs let silence fall. His advisor would never risk a reply to such a statement. "Ry is at Blackthorn. Did you hear Uncle was dying again?" He waved it off quickly.

Uncle Casiv seemed to send for Ry to attend his death bed every other month.

I'll send a messenger then, and I'll send one to Kayn..."

His eyebrows coming together in a deep frown, Grey looked up. "He's not here?"

“No. He left early this morning."

Grey scrambled to his feet, demanding, "How long have you known?"

Igs raised a brow, seemingly unaffected by Grey prowling towards him. "I saw him off. He showed me your seal, and it was yours. I was very careful after his last disappearing act, my Lord."

Closing his eyes, Grey tried to think of the instances his youngest brother had come to him in the last week. Damn. He had told him he had needed Grey to sign off on a letter of alliance to Mekloclan Keep. Obviously, if it had gotten by Igs' scrutiny it had been more, much more. "Forget him then. He'll wander home soon enough. In time to take any role that may or may not need taking." He began toward the door. "Send my fastest horse to Blackthorn." He was opening the door before he remembered. "And where the hell are my squires?" he bellowed before striding out, leaving Igs to calmly push his gold rimmed glasses up his nose and scurry out the door to carry through with his assignments.

...

Cat ran after Bevlyn, skidding to a stop when she came to the stairs. Either Bev went up, or she went straight on and out of the keep. Her rooms were up, but outside seemed a rather good place to storm around. After wasting a few seconds shifting her gaze from the huge open doors to the winding staircase, she bounded up, talking as she did. Such conversations with irate girls needed planning, and it had all been thrust upon Cat rather suddenly which made her think about how it really was none of her concern anyways which then made her start muttering about that instead of muttering to the imaginary Bevlyn.

She was winded by the time she got to the top. How she hated stairs. She then hurried down the hall, past the lively, colorful tapestries she had always found rather frightening as a child of a hunting party after a seemingly enchanted fox. She would have nightmares where she was the fox. Past the tapestries and to the fourth door on the left. She knocked and listened. There was no reply, no shuffle, no cry, no weeping. It was all rather quiet, really, too quiet for a fifteen year old girl.

Cat nudged the door open and frowned into the empty room. It seemed she'd climbed all those dratted stairs for nothing. She closed the door, perhaps a bit harder than necessary, and began her way back. She then heard a thump. It was a rather sound thump as if someone had thrown something against a wall. This thump was followed by a river of angry muttering. Cat followed it. It was three rooms over to the right. She knew it was Bev then and suddenly became quite somber.

It was a nice room, pink and gold with a nice bed and pretty, fluffy pillows. There were dried flowers on the bedside table, but it was dusty with disuse. The closet was empty. The jewelry boxes untouched.

She tapped on the door softly. "Bev?" she called.

All went silent. "...What?"

"Can I talk to you?"

"...About what?" Her voice was closer to the door, not a waver, not a crack.

"You and I both know what."

"He should stop going out!" The door opened and closed behind Cat quickly.

She looked around the room, assessing the damage. There wasn't any, really. One pillow on the floor, the couch a bit misplaced. She studied Bev then. She seemed alright. Her cheeks were blazing red as they tended to do when her emotions were high. Her knuckles were scraped, and Cat realized her fist is what she had heard hit the wall.

"None of the other lords do. They send second sons and knights."

Cat nodded. "Grey's second son, if he was to choose one of the boys, would be six. Do you want one of them to go fight in his place?"

She crossed her arms. Cat could place some of Grey's features she hadn't quite seen before very clearly in Bev's face. "He has brothers."

“You would rather send your uncles to their death?”

The poor girl looked horrified and trapped. “No.” Turning to look out the window, she hunched her shoulders, her arms crossed in defiance suddenly looking more like a hug to keep herself warm against the cold. It made no difference that the scenery outside was the bright green that only belongs to spring. “Mother used to say that hard choices had to be made for the ones we love.”

“What do you think your father is trying to do?” Standing by the door, Cat watched her pityingly. Since Evy’s death four years ago, Bev had been a little wild, too easily whipped into an impassioned state. She didn’t approach her though. Bev wouldn’t take kindly to pity.

“He’s not doing it for us. You know that.”

Walking over to the bed on silent feet, Cat sat heavily. “I was younger than you when your mother married Grey.” She had been so hateful towards that shy, quiet woman who seemed to be taking Grey away from her. “But, I came to love her as a sister, and she recognized something in Grey that is very hard to accept, but for herself, for you, for the twins, for Grey, she did.” She smiled encouragingly as Bev faced her.

“What was it?” Her arms came to her sides, and she straightened up again, making Cat relax with relief. A calm Bevlyn was much easier to manage.

“Our family has been one of the first responders to Bordan attacks since my grandfather’s grandfather. Each Lord of Conyan Keep has gone with his men. This tradition died in most other keeps, but it has survived here. Grey feels it’s his duty to continue the Dallon legacy. He believes he is serving his family by protecting us on the battle field, and if you strip that from him, he is nothing. He is duty bound. He doesn’t know how to serve us otherwise.”

Tears shimmered in the girl’s eyes, tears that Cat knew would not fall. “His duty will get him killed one day, and he won’t return. How will he serve us then?” she choked out.

Cat smoothed her skirts, the thought of that day which would surely come as it had come for her own father making her throat tight, and said in a husky whisper, “Then the torch is passed to the new generation.”

Stiffening, Bev looked through the window again. “And then I watch as Kor and Lyne go to give their lives to the same duty?”

“That won’t happen for several years. Perhaps the Bordans will even be vanquished by then.” Cat stood, sensing the end to the conversation and feeling as though she had done the best she could.

“And if he doesn’t come back today?” Her voice could barely be heard, and the silence crashing after it was thunderous.

Cat was on her before she could think, whirling her niece around and slapping her hard across the mouth. “Your mother would be ashamed of you,” she breathed, pulling the girl close. “Your duty is to always have faith in him, to believe with all your heart that he’s coming back. It is a hard duty to bear, and it breaks many backs, many minds, many spirits, but it is ours to carry, just as he must carry the sword. If we are not waiting for him to return than who is?” She felt a pang of guilt at the wide green eyes and the trembling lip as a tear wandered down a red cheek, but she shook Bev again. “How dare you wish that on him?”

Voice trembling, Bevlyn swallowed around tears and managed between shaky breaths, “I didn’t mean it, Aunt Cat. I didn’t mean it. He’s coming home.”

“Of course he is.” She pushed her away, so Bev stumbled against the window. “Now get out.”

Her eyes hardened again, allowing the knot of guilt in Cat’s stomach to loosen again. “But I was here first!” she protested hotly, “You came in here and...” She put a hand to her cheek as if it had just occurred to her. “You hit me.”

“And you’ll survive. Leave.”

“No!” Tears were still falling though they could have been of anger at that point.

“Bevlyn Mai Dal-“

“Fine,” she screamed, “I didn’t want to be in this stupid musty room anyways.” She stormed out, unaware of how close Cat was to hitting her again.

Fists clenched and shaking at her sides, Cat sank to the floor, eyes burning. “I’m so sorry, Evy. I’m trying, but I can’t do it.” Bowing her head, she closed her eyes.