@SubRosa: Thank you for your endorsement of my decision to linger over this aspect of life at Cardonaccum. I wanted to show how involved in day-to-day management our Lady Cora is, and how seriously she takes her responsibility to her people in the wake of Wallace's passing and the drama of the previous fall. Also thanks for the additional horse names! I have them saved to my hard drive somewhere!

@Grits: I didn't even plan the timing of the scene you mentioned and the line you quoted, but now that you pointed it out, I'll have to make a note of that myself! As I'm sure you have seen with my previous writing, I prefer to show how relationships develop over time through little vignettes like this rather than just tell it.

@Acadian: Looks like I'm suffering badly from secondary character syndrome! First Servius, now Rory! I've always pictured him as a smallish, wiry, dark Welshman -- the kind that gave the Saxons grief when they came to England, the kind that hung on to their independence through the succession of English kings that followed. This is the Welsh flavor that shines here -- in the description of the people of Cardonaccum. When I think of the Bretons of 450 years later, this is the model I draw upon - the tough no-nonsense Welshmen and Welshwomen. I'm glad you enjoyed the little insight into his character that I've put here.

@Colonel Mustard: I've not read much of Terry Pratchett, but I do know he is a genius of a fantasy writer. I read one of his stories a long time ago (I can't even remember which one it was) and laughed myself silly. I'm glad you were reminded of his work in reading mine!

@BamBam: I don't think we will be rushing off into summer anytime soon! I think you will have your answer concerning Sir Broc's winter activities in today's episode. That little section you quoted? Well, I wanted to highlight how fascinated people are by the exotic. Women seem to be strongly attracted to that unknown stranger from outside their village, and I'm sure men are the same way whenever a female outsider rides into town. Oh, and stallions don't provide brood services, they provide stud services! After all, we have broodmares but not broodstallions! Interesting thought of yours about any possible link between Nightshade and Blanco. TBH, it was not something that crossed my mind, as Nightshade is purely a mortal horse, while Blanco is a Witchhorse from the Western Reaches. But it wouldn't surprise me to see a descendant of this black stallion among Julian's white stallion's ancestors. Many breeds are the result of mixtures of older breeds. The Lippizaner that Blanco is based on is the result of several other breeds, including the older Neapolitano, the Iberian horse (which also formed the basis of the Andalusian and the Lustitano breeds and is itself the product of Berber and Arab horses on local Spanish horses), and the local Karst horses in what is now Yugoslavia.

The story so far: It is now early in the spring, and the snow is melting away. Cora has taken two thistlemen and a Legion healer, Servius Terentius, out into the hills to check on crofters and look for early blooms.

******************
Chapter Twenty-four

It was late afternoon by the time Servius finally worked himself free of Mona and her husband Tael. They had taken us around all the lambing pens, showing Servius how they treated the most common ewe ailments. As he listened to them, Servius became more animated, and I realized that he was becoming used rather quickly to their highland burr. He will have much to tell his comrades when we get back home.

As we started down the trail back to Cardonaccum, Servius turned to me. “Thank you for inviting me along, Lady. I learned much today.”

“Including the h- highland dialect?” I teased him. He laughed heartily and agreed. As we walked along, we began discussing the variety of tidbits he had picked up from the crofters.

“Lady,” Servius paused on the boulder strewn slope above the bramble thicket separating the hills from the moor. “Just how long do Bretons live?”

I glanced at him in some surprise. “Sixty, seventy years in th- these parts,” I answered. “That’s a good, full life for most.” My eyes narrowed at him. “Just how long do C- Colovians live?”

“One hundred years is not unusual,” he navigated a particularly rough patch, offering me his hand over the rockier parts. “I wonder, though -“

A shout from Mungo, in the lead this time, alerted us to potential danger. Rory leaped down beside us and pushed me down beside a high boulder.

Servius transformed from an easy-going healer to a professional soldier in an instant, drawing his gladius and glancing at Rory for information. Signals I failed to grasp passed between the two, then I heard the twanging from lower down the slope.

Rory scrambled up onto the rock above my head as Servius crouched beside me. “Outlaws in the clearing, Lady,” the legionary said to me. “Stay here.” Then he scooted out of sight around the curve of the boulder.

Soon I could hear the clattering of arrows as Rory landed beside me. “Don’t move, milady,” he said before running up hill, crouched low to take advantage of the cover from the rocks. More shouting, some far away, others nearer, none belonging to my escort, told me that we were outnumbered. My heart in my mouth, I plunged my hands through the cold snow onto the thawing ground beneath.

Arkay, Kyne, give me strength. Don’t let harm come to these men protecting me. See us all home safely. I could feel the power of Nirn oozing between my fingers, a slow pulsing that calmed my own heartbeat.

Servius reappeared, his blade bloodied. “Mungo’s down, Lady,” he gasped as he reached down for me. “Let’s go, we need to fall back.” His tone was clipped, quiet, but I could sense the urgency in his manner. His hand on my elbow steadied me as I scrambled to my feet and ran after him.

Somehow I managed to keep up with his longer strides. Rory fell in behind us from out of nowhere, pausing long enough to send several arrows whizzing into the brambles at the foot of the slope. I glanced back in time to see him toss his bow into the brush, his quiver now empty. He spun on his heel and bolted after us, his gladius drawn. “Run, milady!”

I gathered my skirts to my knees and darted after Servius, skipping between the boulders. We had nearly reached the crest of the first ridge beyond the clearing when shouting stopped me in my tracks. I whirled back in time to see Rory’s flashing gladius drive back three attackers. They wore leathers, much like Rory and Servius. Unlike Servius’s red cloak, and Rory’s forest green, these men’s tattered cloaks were a nondescript grey.

Another flurry and clashing of blades, and Rory dropped from sight beneath descending weapons. “Rory!” I shouted in horror at the swiftness of the attack. Servius seized my arm and hauled me over the top after him. We ran down the opposite slope into the hawthorn woods, their gnarled branches snagging my full skirts and Servius’s cloak.

The frenetic pace began to burn in my lungs, and I gasped desperately for air and speed. Though the rocks were more sparse here, the jutting roots of the trees threatened to trip me if I let my attention wander.

Servius stopped so suddenly that I slammed into his back. My hands on his left arm, I looked past him to see two forms blocking the faint path between the trees ahead. Their long blades shimmered dully in the striped shadows cast by the bare branches overhead.

I cast a desperate glance around. Behind us, I could hear Rory’s killers crashing through the woods. To the right, the ground sloped down, and I could see a glimmer of water through the black trunks. Suddenly I knew where we were.

“Servius, this way!” I managed to gasp, tugging him in that direction. He turned and followed me without hesitation as I bolted down the tumbled slope. Thunkings warned me that our pursuers were now shooting arrows after us. Fortunately the hawthorn trees got in the way and blocked them.

Most of them. Something slammed into my right shoulder hard, sending me reeling over a jutting root. The rough bark caught my left foot and wrenched me off balance. The adjacent trunk slammed hard into the left side of my face, sending stars swimming through my vision. Dizziness drove me to my knees. Hot fluid surged down my neck, sending trickles onto my ribs and onto my left cheek.

The trees spun around me as Servius reached down for me, but I knocked him away. “I can’t run anymore!” I gasped. “You have to go back to C- Cardonaccum! Keep running down hill until you find the brook th- then follow it west! Go!”

“No!” Servius hauled me back to my feet. “I will not leave you!” Before I could protest, he was running again, his left hand holding my elbow in a hard grip. My legs managed to move just well enough to keep me upright.

I could feel the ground beginning to level out as we approached the watercourse. Arrows still smacked around and behind us, as Servius wove his way between the trunks. I bit back my pain and dizziness until I tasted blood, but it still overwhelmed me at intervals as I reeled against his side.

One of the thudding noises hit with a different, duller pitch from the others, and Servius staggered. As I lurched away from him, my spinning vision caught sight of a shaft sticking out from between his ribs. He turned toward me, and another arrow appeared in his right biceps. The gladius clattered to the ground beside me as he fell.

Desperately I dropped to my knees and reached for the leather-wrapped hilt, but a pair of long blades touched my throat. I froze in place, the gladius just past my fingertips.

“Don’t move, Witch,” a growl drew my eyes upwards. I stared at the bearded face above me, unrecognizable in the gloom. “Try for that sword,” he shifted his blade to hover above Servius’s chest, “and this man dies.”

“H- how do I know you’re not going to k- kill him anyway?” I shot back breathlessly, but I drew my hand back.

“Tie him up,” the outlaw ordered one of the other men beside him. He grinned maliciously at me. “Because he may be of some value alive,” he answered. “As are you.” His gaze flickered, and hands seized my arms and drew them back. I cried out as the arrowhead grated in my shoulder. “Get up, Witch!” He seized the front of my kirtle and hauled me upright. I nearly collapsed when the rough handling set my vertigo into mad activity again.

“Boss, I think her head’s broke,” one of the men holding me volunteered. The outlaw’s grin widened.

“Good.” He remarked. “Then she can’t run away.”

Someone hoisted me roughly over a broad shoulder, stirring up the pain in my shoulder yet again. I caught whirling glimpses of Servius being hauled to his feet before blackness filled my vision.

Arkay, Kyne - - I never completed my prayer.

Once again I stood in that eerie passageway beneath corbeled arches. Once again the old fear surged beneath my breastbone at the sound of slow footsteps. Once again I sought the power of Nirn and failed.

As I did every time, I ran down the corridor toward the stairs at the far end. I glanced back once to see the dark figure following me. The winding stairway drew me down further into the maze. I managed to duck the swinging pendulums of the blade trap and reach the far side. As I fled deeper into the maze, I listened to the rhythmic swinging of those heavy bronze blades. They didn’t stop, nor did the sound of footsteps that followed me.

I kept running, further into the maze and deeper into the nightmare than I had ever gone. Suddenly the corridor opened into a small room, with a descending stair ahead of me and two more passageways, one on each side, leading away into immense darkness.

Pain in my shoulder roused me from the terrifying indecision. I opened my eyes to a campfire just past my curled knees. Biting back a whimper and tasting fresh blood, I lifted my head. It was then I realized that I lay on my injured shoulder.

A moan escaped my lips as I shifted onto my back, momentarily forgetting about the arrowhead still embedded in my flesh. I cried out as the steel ground against my shoulder blade and struggled to rise from that agony.

“Lady?” Servius’s pained voice cut through the red haze over my mind. “Don’t try to get up, it will only hurt worse.”

I lay still, fighting for breath against the pain. Finally I managed to open my eyes and look in the direction of his voice. He half-lay, half-sat beside me, bent protectively over me. His arms were still bound behind him, and I could see the blood coating the right sleeve of his leather jerkin.

“Where are we?” I whispered.

“Looks like a camp of theirs,” he whispered back. “It’s north of where the General had his headquarters last fall.” His head turned away from me for a moment, then back. “I overheard them talking. Sounds like we’re hostages - they were speaking of contacting someone for payment.”

“Did th- they mention a name?” I struggled to make sense of his words. At least I’m laying on bare ground. They may think it’s being cruel, but it’s a blessing for me. I could feel Nirn’s cold strength beneath my bruised cheek. Already the pain in my shoulder and head were subsiding beneath her comforting touch.

“No, I don’t think so,” Servius answered. I fought my bonds a moment before I realized that I couldn’t lift my hand to touch his skin. He sounds terrible. Shocky. Like Sir Rodric before Siné got to him.

“How are you h- holding up, Servius?”

“I’ll be fine,” he muttered. “Just flesh wounds.”

I didn’t believe him. Not that first arrow. That went between his ribs. It’s got to be in his lung.

“And you, Lady?” he would not dwell on himself. Typical healer. “Are you feeling much pain?”

“It’s better th- than it was,” I murmured.

“Be quiet!” A rough voice stopped Servius’s response. Bulky forms loomed over us and grasped Servius. He groaned as they dropped him a like a sack of potatoes a few steps away. “No talking!”

The outlaw who had spoken to me earlier knelt beside me, so close his lack of bathing stopped the breath in my throat. “Ye may charm that Colovian fetcher, Witch, but ye’ll never escape the fate that awaits ye.”

What fate is that? I gasped when his grubby hand closed around my throat. He applied just enough pressure to constrict my breathing and brought his hairy face down to mine. He took a long sniff of my hair, now sprung loose from its bindings. No! Not that!

“Don’t worry, Witch,” he whispered into my ear, sending shivers down my spine. “A better man than me awaits ye!” He flung me back so I landed on the arrowhead still embedded in my shoulder, causing me to writhe in pain. He rose to his feet and moved away.

“You sent for me?” A new voice, with none of the rough accent of these outlaws, drew my attention back to the fire. My tormentor strode to stand before him, feet braced apart and hands gripping his belt.

I blinked away the panic and tried to focus on the newcomer. Who is that? I didn’t recognize the fair-haired soldier, but I recognized the emblem fastening his blue cloak to his shoulder. One of Broc’s men? So he’s plotted this?

How easily a nice highland stroll can turn deadly! There seem to be an awful lot of bandits, and their accuracy with those bows, and their swords, seems a bit too good for mere outlaws. They are a match for the veteran soldiers guarding Cora, which tells me that they are no mere criminals. They strike me as being professional mercenaries sent out to ambush her. The only question is who sent them? Broc, or Onchu, or both?

“Don’t move, Witch,”
And how did they know that? Their boss obviously told them.

Ahh, and it was Broc after all.

BROOOOOOOC!! *Shakes fist at sky*

So Cora's been kidnapped (LordCardonaccumnapped?) and all she has on her side is a wounded healer/scout. She's a resourceful lady, mind, so I'll be interested to see what she thinks up to get out of this situation.

P.S. You haven't read much Terry Pratchett?! Egads, H.E.R., you have not lived!

So a pastorally pleasant day turns on a Septim into an ambush, then a frantic and heart pounding chase! And finally, captivity for Lady Cora.

I liked the subtle energy of her direct contact with the ground easing her pain somewhat.

Although his plans are not exactly clear, it seems Broc did indeed spend his winter plotting.


Nit? ‘Unlike Servius’s red cloak, and Rory’s forest green, these men’s tattered cloaks were an nondescript grey.’ - - I expect you wanted 'a' instead of 'an' preceding 'nondescript'. Heh, I imagine an earlier draft had an adjective that began with a vowel or vowel sound (like indistinct) before you perhaps changed it and overlooked the a/an.

Broc has of course abducted a legion man along with Cora, so he's got them to deal with regardless of his main target.

They're racking up a good list of paybacks when the chance comes, too.

Oh noooo!!

I loved this bit:

Servius transformed from an easy-going healer to a professional soldier in an instant, drawing his gladius and glancing at Rory for information. Signals I failed to grasp passed between the two, then I heard the twanging from lower down the slope.

At least Lady Cora still has Servius with her, though it sounds like he’s in bad shape. If nothing else I hope he complicates things for Sir Broc.

That was a very exciting chase and capture!

Okay, okay, I fixed the brood-or-stud nomenclature.

Have I mentioned that my knowledge of matters equine has come to total only the information previously detailed in your various posts?

And on a related note, the matter of fascination that people will have with exotic individuals is probably a manifestation of evolutionary behaviors designed to increase our chances at producing stronger offspring: Heterosis (Hybrid Vigor), which coincidentally relates to the chances of producing better horses at Cardonaccum with the stud (see, I can learn) services of a certain red, Cyrod-warhorse.

But enough about that. On to the post!

The first thing that struck me was the discrepancy in life-spans you put between Bretons and Imperials. I must admit that I work through the games on a similar basis, albeit I switch the two: the elven blood in Bretons makes them likely to live closer to the 100-year mark, and in my work I've already statted Hannibal Traven to be a spry 95!

The chase scene was very well put together. The urgency of the Thistlemen's actions, the attempt to use the terrain to elude the pursuit, and then the capture was well-executed.

Then you have to go and run through all the actual fears Cora would be having at realizing the threats facing her in her current predicament.

And we learn that Broc is involved. You did answer my questions. Now I have more.

@SubRosa: Yes, how suddenly things turn from one to the other, indeed! Obviously those men were hired by another. Yes, you guessed right!

@Officer Condiment: Terry Pratchett is on my bucket list. So someday . . . Yes, Lady Cora is resourceful, but not quite in the way you think! You'll see!

@Acadian: Thanks for catching the nit! Your eagle eye is, as always, much appreciated! Yes, I think this chapter is where we really begin to see the source of Lady Cora's strength--and her weakness.

@ghastley: Payback will come very soon! Just not from the Legion or the thistlemen, at least not for these outlaws.

@Grits: I'm glad you picked out one of my favorite lines in this chapter -- the transformation of Servius from healer to soldier. I really wanted to show how fully integrated Titus's Legion and Lady Cora's thistlemen have become, that they can work together so seamlessly as a team.

@BamBam: You're right, the attraction to the exotic (or merely the strange) has its roots in evolution. I agree, the Elven blood in the Bretons should make them the longer-lived race of the two, but something in the Lore caught my eye and I figured, what the heck? It would explain more than a few things later in the story. I hope to answer your new questions and raise even more with this chapter!

The story so far: Lady Cora and legion healer Servius has been captured by a band of outlaws as they return to Cardonaccum after a day spent with hill crofters. Both of them have been injured in the mad chase through rough hill terrain. We have just learned that Sir Broc is behind the men's actions.

*********************
Chapter Twenty-five

Servius struggled to sit up as I watched the conversation near the fire. Broc! This is what he plotted after I kicked him out last fall? What does he plan for me? Kill me? Then how can he claim Cardonaccum? With no heir, Rodric would stand next in line. Unless he plans to oust Rodric, too. I gasped at a sudden realization. Would he dare kill Rodric too? Yes, he would.

“Servius,” I whispered. The healer’s head turned toward me. “That’s one of S- Sir Broc’s men.”

“I thought I recognized that blue cloak,” he muttered over his shoulder. “Lie still.”

“We h- have to get away,” I rolled onto my left shoulder and curled myself into a sitting position beside him. “Once we arrive at Northside Manor -“ my voice trailed off in despair at the thought of the stone keep. Like Cardonaccum, it was built to withstand siege. The last thing I wanted to see was that place brought to ruin in any attempt at rescue.

“I know,” Servius growled softly, his wrists working in frustration. I saw fresh blood glimmer down his leather sleeve.

“Stop,” I urged him. “Rest. C- conserve your strength for wh- when we get a chance.”

The blue-cloaked man clasped wrists with the outlaw leader in agreement. Then he strode over to us. His blond mustache barely hid his grin as he gazed down at us.

“Well, Witch, looks like you’re coming with me,” he reached down and grasped my shoulder. I managed to twist away and scooted backwards from him.

“What about him?” I jerked my chin at Servius.

“The outlaws can have him,” the Northsider shrugged his shoulders. “I’m here only for you, Witch.” He moved swiftly and caught my right shoulder, sending a fresh wave of pain coursing through my body.

I screamed.

Servius threw himself at the other man’s legs, toppling him away from me. I fell back, breathless from the pain and fighting a new wave of dizziness and nausea. One of the scruffy outlaws ran up and kicked Servius savagely in his back, over the arrow wound I knew was there. The legionary groaned and collapsed, his body becoming deathly still.

The Northsider regained his feet and caught my left arm. He pulled me up to my feet, and kept lifting me until I fell over his shoulder like a sack of grain. As he turned and marched away, I caught a last glimpse of Servius laying unconscious before outlaws ringed him and began kicking. My vision blackened to the sound of hard blows landing in rapid succession.

Arkay, Kyne - They hadn’t answered my pleas. I recalled my mother’s prayer to one older than these two, one so old no name could be remembered. Goddess, help Servius. Save Cardonaccum. Save me!

I heard snorting of a nervous horse, and the Northsider’s grumbling command to his mount to stand. Then I was thrown across the skittish animal’s rump. I sensed the horse’s pain as the man yanked hard on its rein. Then his leg brushed across my back as he mounted up and settled into the saddle.

“Damn ye, fetcher!” he growled again as the horse sidestepped and tossed its head. “Settle down!” Again the animal skittered, and bucked. I slid off and fell to the ground. Something hard came down on me, and ribs cracked below my left breast. Agony escalated to an unbearable point, stealing the very breath out of my throat.

Nirn surrounded me in its cool embrace as the Northsider landed beside me beneath the horse’s kicking heels. His face had disappeared in a mass of blood and gore, and I saw blood splattered halfway up one of the steed’s hind legs as the horse bolted into the woods.

My pain subsided enough for me to take a stabbing breath. The world around me trembled, the branches above me shaking. That’s odd. There’s no wind. Black spots danced like a swarm of bats between me and the campfire, which shook itself apart in a shower of sparks. A grinding sound emanated from everywhere beneath me. Nirnquake? Goddess! Not Servius! Don’t take him!

The outlaws fell back from their savage onslaught in terror and consternation. They exchanged glances with each other, then seized their scattered weapons and faded back into the woods. The trees above and the ground beneath grew still. Only collapsed tents and a bloodied pile of leather and fabric remained.

“Servius!” I tried to call but my voice could only come out as a slightly louder whisper. I stifled a moan at the pain in my side. That heap did not stir. I couldn’t even tell if he still breathed. By Oblivion, I can’t even breathe myself!

I glanced at the Northsider, still crumpled up beside me. He was most certainly dead. My gaze fell on the steel dagger at his belt.

Shifting my body to place my bound hands onto the hilt of that dagger took an eternity. Pain squeezed my chest and kept me from pulling a full breath. My vertigo worsened, as did the swarm of bats in my vision. I must cut these bonds away. I can’t help Servius until I do. I must get them off!

Somehow I managed to sever the ropes around my wrists with only a minor cut on my left forearm. The strength gone from my legs, I managed to crawl through the snow-covered mud toward the legionary.

It took all my remaining strength to free his arms and roll his slumped form onto his back. Blood gleamed blackly against the dark leather of his jerkin, in stark contrast to the whiteness of his face. For a moment the image of Wallace’s face in death swam into my vision, but I shook it away. No. Enough. This isn’t Wallace, though he risked everything to protect me.

As I wadded up his tattered cloak against the wound in his back, I prayed again to the Ancient One. Goddess, return this man to life. Let him recover. You have Mungo, you have Rory. Please don’t take Servius too. Haven’t you taken enough? But I knew her will was implacable.

The brush beyond the shattered fire rustled softly. I reached for the dagger and turned my head to look, still fighting for breath.

A feline face emerged from the thorn thicket, tawny gold with black stripes and glowing green eyes. Damn! A saber tooth? But that face was high above the ground, higher than my own height. I frowned at it as it moved forward. No, wait. I blinked at the bipedal form that now drifted slowly around the edge of the clearing toward me. It was dressed in leathers, much like the outlaws, much like my own escort, but its hands were covered in fur. A long tail trailed behind the creature.

The apparition crouched a short distance from me, and I spotted a bow mounted at its back. Sudden realization hit me. A Khajiit! But what is one doing here? They live on the opposite side of the Colovian Estates from here!

“Is the Lady hurrt?” The hissing voice brought me back to the present. I locked eyes with the Khajiit, who looked away first, scanning the surrounding forest. Its pointed ears twitched and swiveled, then those green eyes returned to me.

“Who are you?”

“This one is Do’saka,” it - no, he, drew out a handful of small vials from his belt pouch. “This one has healing potions to give the Lady.”

At first his form of address confused me. Finally I realized he was addressing me, not some invisible noblewoman, and I shook my head. “No, give them to S- Servius.” I indicated the legionary.

“That one’s wounds are grrievous,” Do’saka’s voice turned soft and his ears turned back. “That one will not live.”

“He must!” I took the potions from him and uncorked the first one. My hands shaking with the effort to breathe, I dribbled the violet fluid between Servius’s lips.

“It is morre important that the Lady live,” Do’saka insisted, gently retrieving the rest of the bottles from my shaking hands.

“They won’t work on me,” I gasped. “I - I have no magicka for th- them to draw on.”

His eyes widened and his ears twisted upright. “No magicka? How can the Lady be a Witch?”

“Give them to S- Servius!” I pleaded. “Please!”

Do’saka moved to the fallen legionary’s other side and cradled his head gently in one furry hand. With a dexterity surprising for one with claws, he administered the remaining potions carefully. After an eternity, Servius's breathing deepened, and Do'saka sat back.

"The Lady is hurrt as well," he purred. "Let this one cast a healing spell on herr."

Again I shook my head. "If you try to c- cast a spell on me," I whispered, "you will only end up losing your magicka. It will drain away like water on th- the desert sand."

Do’saka stared at me, his pupils dilating. “Then how can the Lady heal?” He reached out and touched my right shoulder with a gentle claw. As I flinched away from the contact, his gaze caught the stub of the arrow shaft protruding from the mangled flesh. “That wound is serrious,” he continued, “as arre the Lady’s otherr injurries.” He drew a line across his right brow, mirroring the gash above my own left one.

“I am a ch- child of Nirn,” I placed my palms flat on the cold ground before my knees. “My strength c- comes from her.”

Comprehension gleamed emerald in Do’saka’s gaze. “Ah, this one sees,” he purred. “Then this one shall ensure the Lady continues to drraw herr strrength from Nirrn.” He reached down to Servius’s face. “And the man wakens soon. This one will get the Lady and herr champion away from this place.”

“Do you know the way to C- Cardonaccum, Do’saka?” I asked as the cat-man sprang upright. I accepted his proffered hands and rose to my feet.

“This one has spent the winterr learrning the countrry,” he purred in satisfaction. “The way to the big castle is well known.”

“The winter!” I exclaimed. “But I heard no r- reports of K- Khajiit in the area!”

His formidable teeth showed in a feral grin. “This one knows how to live in the shadow.” He reached down and pulled Servius into a seated position. The legionary groaned, and his eyes fluttered awake. “Can the man stand up?” Do’saka asked, tugging on Servius’s left arm.

His right arm as useless as mine, Servius managed to stand with Do’saka’s support. He wavered, his left arm over Do’saka’s shoulders, his head hanging down, his breath wheezing hard and fast between clenched teeth.

“Therre is a place to stay the night, to rrest,” Do’saka said to us. “Neitherr the Lady norr herr champion will make it to the big castle tonight. This one has found a safe place to keep warrm and drry. Follow Do’saka.”

I thought Servius was a goner once the kicking started and Broc’s minion started carting Lady Sack-o-Grain away.

Cora’s prayer worked! You did a great job letting that gradually dawn on us. In retrospect, it is clear that the imminent disturbance telegraphed warnings to the horse before things really began to manifest. Critters are neat the way they sometimes. . . just know stuff.

And Do’saka the Khajiit to the rescue. Whew, what a relief to see Servius recovering. Cora’s manner of healing gives whole new meaning to ‘hug the ground’!

The attempted escape went no better than I expected. At least until Cora dispensed with her prayers to the Nine and got down with her Witchy roots. Her ability to feel the horse's pain from the bit in its mouth was the first hint that her prayers to the (Nirn?) goddess were answered. It may have cost her a few broken ribs, but that is certainly far better than Broc's man fared!

But I knew her will was implacable.
Speaking as a Witch I found this to be very apt. The sort of Earth Deity you are describing is indeed as relentless as you describe. She gives birth to all life, and she takes it all back in the end. Because nature is voracious, all-consuming. I have always liked these kinds of deities, because they symbolize not only the natural world's power to both create and destroy, but also humanity's ability to do the same.

This one is Do’saka
Now I see what you meant about the name! Thank goodness for that one making an appearance.

@Acadian: As I am telling this story from Lady Cora's POV, and she is a mere mortal Breton, I figured it was logical that the realization of the Nirnquake will dawn on the readers at the same time and in the same way it dawns on our intrepid Lady. And yes, the horse knew the Nirnquake was coming before the two-legged ones did.

@SageRose: I am departing from the Lore a bit in this exploration of religion. As I see it, there are many layers of religion in High Rock -- ranging from the ancient, near-forgotten worship of the fundamental elements such as the Nirn Goddess, to the self-deification of the High Elves, to the worship of the Divines now prevalent among the mortals. We will see more theological bits as we go along, but for now, let us accept that there is something more fundamental and ultimately more powerful than the Eight Divines led by Akatosh. You are right in that the Goddess is implacable, and that mere prayers can't really change the course of events. I knew you would like seeing my own Do'saka. Perhaps he and Doh'sakar are cousins?

@all: As we enter the official Northern Hemisphere winter, Julian, Lady Cora and I wish to take a moment and wish all of our readers a very merry Winter Solstice (Summer Solstice Down Under!) and happy Holidays! Not only do we celebrate the birth of Jesus, but also the turning of the year and the beginning of awakening and renewal inherent in the lengthening of the days now beginning.

The story so far: Lady Cora and Legion Healer Servius have been captured by outlaws in the pay of Sir Broc, but have now escaped thanks to a timely Nirnquake. A mysterious Khajiit has provided them with first aid and shelter. Now they make their painful way back to Cardonaccum.

*******************
Chapter Twenty-six

“This is as farr as this one goes,” Do’saka stopped. Servius and I glanced at him, the wind bringing tears to our eyes.

“You are welcome in C- Cardonaccum, Do’saka,” I protested. “No one will harm you.”

He shook his head. “This one has orrders,” he hissed softly. “Stay invisible.”

“Orders?” I repeated. “From whom?”

Do’saka bowed elegantly. “From one who holds the Lady’s safety close to one’s hearrt.”

I reached out with my good arm and touched his elbow. “And who is that?”

He only smiled, and tossed something into the air. Invisible flakes showered around him, obscuring his form, until even that feral grin disappeared. “That is not forr this one to say,” his disembodied voice drew away from us. I saw the shaggy heather parting from his passage, tracing a curving line toward the rising sun.

“Come on,” Servius said to me. He was somewhat stronger today, though I still didn’t like his breathing. However, his healing progressed faster than mine.

Last night Do’saka had brought us to a small cave high in the foothills south of the outlaw camp. He had cleaned and bound Servius’s wounds, and found more healing plants to give the legionary every possible advantage in his recovery. The blood loss had ceased, and by morning his arrow wounds showed signs of advanced healing. However, the talented Khajiit was unable to provide me much relief from the constant pain in my shoulder and ribs.

“This one is sorrry he can not help the Lady,” his purr drifted over my shoulder. He sat behind me, examining the arrow wound in my shoulder. “The arrrowhead is deeply embedded, and much of the surrrounding tissue is torrn. Yet the wound is alrready closing over the steel. It is beyond this one’s meagerr skills to rremove.”

Gently his hands sponged away the dried blood. In spite of his care, I gasped from the agony stirred up by his ministrations. “There is nothing you c- can do, Do’saka,” I murmured. “Unless you are a t- trained chirurgeon?”

“This one is not,” Do’saka’s purring accents held genuine regret. “This one knows the pain is grreat and wishes he could at least take some of it away.”

“You have been a t- tremendous help, Do’saka,” I gestured toward Servius, resting on the opposite side of the fire. “I want no more deaths for my s- sake.”

Do’saka’s hands fell away. I glanced over my shoulder at his green gaze. Though I had never met Khajiit before, I could read his expression, thanks to my experience with Cinnie, the moggy who slept on my sleeping furs. He possessed the same thoughtful look she had when debating whether to chase a mouse or remain curled up on the bed.

“This one knows therre are those who would betrray the Lady,” he said finally. “Though this one has no prroof of such conspirracies. The Lady must show no merrcy toward those who would betrray herr.”

“Let such people sh- show themselves to me,” I heard the obsidian edge in my voice. “I hold Thistlethorn for s- such purposes.”

Do’saka withdrew to crouch next to the fire, tossing the bloodied rags into its flames. As hissing smoke and steam wreathed his form in grey clouds, his emerald gaze met mine. “The Lady would do well to be prrepared to use the long knife on herr rreturn to the big castle.”

I considered his words with some alarm. “Do you know s- something I don’t?”

“Only that those who would betrray the Lady are alrready on the move tonight.” Do’saka ignored the glances Servius and I exchanged while he put another log on the fire. “Rrest tonight. This one will see to it that the Lady and herr champion will rreturn in time.”

“Well,” Servius’s voice brought me back to the chilly morning. “We’d best continue on,” he turned his face back southward. The high walls of Cardonaccum rose out of the moor ahead of us. To our left the stream burbled its way toward the wide moat of the castle, dry once more. Only the small postern gate relieved the sheer expanse of stone that comprised the bailey walls.

Though Servius’s condition was much improved, he still moved slowly. I was grateful for his careful pace, since any movement aggravated the pain in my shoulder and side. My right hand supported the broken ribs in my left side, while I cupped my right elbow in my left hand to ease some of the pressure from my torn shoulder. The vertigo I had suffered since striking my head on that tree had eased somewhat, but every now and then I would lurch against Servius’s side.

The sun stood several degrees higher by the time we reached the far bank of the moat. Here the stream had carved itself a deep bed. We stopped beside it and looked across the ditch toward the palisades atop the bailey walls. I could see thistlemen clustering above the postern gate, though they were too far away for me to recognize any of them.

“Do we simply walk across the moat here?” Servius asked uncertainly. Silently I nodded, filled with dread at the thought of clambering down then up the steep slopes. Snow still lay along the bottom, and the sides remained damp with dew and snowmelt.

The postern gate opened when we reached the bottom of the moat. I looked up to see six men sally forth. Four of them fanned out, their eyes scanning the moor behind us. Two slipped and slid their way down the near bank to meet us.

“Say nothing of the Khajiit,” Servius whispered to me as the two men approached. Startled, I glanced at him, but his eyes remained on the others.

It wasn’t Robert who led the little contingent, as I had expected, but Captain Enrick and Lieutenant Alorius. They stopped before us, trying and failing to hide the dismay in their expressions as they took in our injured condition.

“Lady,” Enrick spoke first. “We are glad to see you again! But what happened?”

“We were attacked by outlaws,” I answered, short of breath. “Mungo and R- Rory are dead. Both S- Servius and I have been injured - we spent the night h- hiding in a cave.”

“Where are those outlaws?” Titus showed less consternation than Enrick.

“I - I don’t know,” I shook my head. It was a mistake. I managed to catch Servius’s left arm when the vertigo threatened to subdue my balance. Enrick and Titus reached for me, but I flinched away.

Enrick turned to glance up at his men. “Tarn, go find Siné!” The one nearest the gate whirled and disappeared into the bailey. The captain stepped to my left side and touched my elbow hesitantly.

“Where is R- Robert?” I asked. “Why isn’t he here?” Dread moved through me at the grim glances between Enrick and Titus. I drew myself as straight as my broken ribs would allow. “T- tell me.”

“Sir Broc has called an Enclave,” Titus ignored Enrick’s quelling glare. “Sir Rodric and Dame Edine are also here. Sir Broc claims that you are too weak to defend Cardonaccum, Lady, and that he should take the Thistle Seat.”

I closed my eyes against the bats again swarming in my vision. He would never dare as long as Wallace is alive. But after Sir Laird and Onchu rebelled against Wallace’s wishes to support me, he now has the courage to unseat me? Wallace, what is the best way to answer this? General Talos’s words from last fall echoed in my memory. “If anyone challenges your right to hold the seat of Cardonaccum, my men will augment yours and defend your position.”

“If I may, Lady,” Titus interrupted my whirling thoughts, “I would like to remind you of the terms of your truce.”

“I was just th- thinking of that,” I replied, opening my eyes to meet his steady gaze. So tempting to let him step up. But if the Legion were to put down Broc’s rebellion, how would the folk of Cardonaccum see it? Would they see me as a mere puppet lord, in complete thrall to Talos and his Legions? “But I must d- deal with this on my own.” As he nodded his acquiescence, the answer emerged with sudden clarity. I turned to Enrick waiting at my left shoulder.

“Captain, please get five of your fastest t- troopers and have them ride to Northside Manor. I want them to find young T- Tywin and bring him here as quickly as possible. S- safely and respectfully, Enrick.”

“Yes, milady!” Enrick turned and ran up the near bank toward one of his men.

I turned to Servius. “I thank you for your assistance, sir,” I said to him. “Please let S- Siné tend your wounds and ensure your continuing r- recovery.”

“But I don’t think Captain Enrick sent for Siné on my behalf,” Servius protested weakly. I shook my head firmly at him.

“She lacks the power to h- help me,” I said quietly. “And Lieutenant Alorius needs you back on your feet as soon as possible. I need you back on your feet as quickly as possible, for what I am about to do may stir the h- hornets’ nest.”

“I will be happy to tend Servius,” Siné’s cool voice interrupted Servius’s protests. “But afterwards, you need to let me examine you, milady.” Without waiting for a response from me, she stepped past Titus and took Servius’s left arm to coax him toward the postern gate.

“And I, Lady?” Titus brought my attention back to him. “What can my century do for you?”

“Two things,” I replied. “First, h- help me up this hill. I’m not certain I can manage by myself.”

“Of course,” Titus moved to my left side and offered me his arm. Gratefully I accepted his support and moved after Servius.

The near bank was more of a struggle for me than it was for Servius, but we made it safely up the slope without too much loss of dignity. As Titus and I drew near the open postern gate, I stopped and turned to him.

“And the second th- thing is, if you would please s- send a squad of your men to the outlaw camp and see if they c- can recover the body of Broc’s man.”

Titus called up one of the nearby legionaries waiting beside the postern gate. I recognized the senior pilus, Quintius Fannius. “Tell him where to go, Lady.”

Quintius listened intently as I described the location of the camp and the condition of the Northsider’s body. When he repeated everything back to me, I found myself impressed by his attention to detail. He glanced once at Titus, then turned and disappeared through the gate.

Titus met my gaze. “General Talos warned me that you may not want to be seen as leaning on the Legion for your support. So I will rely on your judgment concerning how our aid may best help you, Lady.”

“I shall c- count on you to support Robert and C- Captain Enrick,” I said. Again I fought for breath, in an attempt to calm my racing heart. But the pain of my broken ribs constricted my chest and gave me a claustrophobic feeling. The bat swarm returned with a vengeance. I managed to reach a stone mounting block and sit down before my vision was once again obscured.

“Milady!” Jannet’s voice hissed before me. I opened my eyes and looked up into her concerned face. “Just how badly are you hurt?”

“Never mind th- that,” I shook her away. “I just need to r- rest a minute.”

“You need to rest more than a minute!” Jannet scolded me. “Let’s get you to bed, milady!”

“No!” Somehow I managed to put the edge of command into my voice. “I must c- confront Sir Broc first!” I met her gaze with all the will I could muster. “I can not rest in peace so long as h- he is agitating for my seat.”

“Milady!” Jannet’s tone turned despairing.

“Get me some of Machara’s strong t- tea,” I whispered. “Bergamot. Now.”

Jannet gave me one last desperate look, then gathered her skirts and disappeared as fast as her old legs could run. I closed my eyes and fought to still the pain. Beneath my feet Nirn pressed against my soles, cold and wet with snowmelt. I welcomed the sensation, for it numbed my agony somewhat. My fingers twitched in an innate desire to bury themselves in the mud. I resisted it, and instead dug my toes deeper.

The slow surge that I recognized as the energy of Nirn thrummed up my shins. My heartbeat soon followed its pace, and the constriction around my chest eased a little. Each slow, careful breath pushed the limits of the pain an infinitesimal bit.

After several such breaths, I heard Jannet’s panting return. She handed me a cup full of steaming brown liquid. I inhaled the fragrant steam gratefully, then drank the tea down in a single draught. The strong taste beat back the bat swarm, and I felt strong enough to stand once more. My right arm moved a little of its own volition, but could not take the weight of my body as I pushed myself up from the mounting block.

Jannet reached for my right hand, but Titus stopped her with an outstretched arm. “Wait, ma’am,” he said to her. “Lady Cora hurts everywhere.” He nodded at me. “Best let her decide whether or not to lean on you.”

Jannet rounded on him, her arms akimbo. “In case you haven’t noticed, Mister Legion, milady is not in the habit of asking for help, even when she needs it!”

“I’ve noticed,” Titus’s quiet tone was dry, and I glanced sharply at him. “I’ve also noticed that milady will accept help that is offered if she so chooses.”

“Enough, you t- two,” I muttered. I waved Jannet to my left side. “Come here, let me have your arm, Jannet.” I turned my gaze away from Titus’s slight smile as we made our way through the stable yards toward the front of the donjon.

Do’saka disappeared grin-last, like the Cheshire cat! His appearance after the dramatic Nirnquake was just captivating. I loved his confident and mysterious air.

The slow surge that I recognized as the energy of Nirn thrummed up my shins. My heartbeat soon followed its pace, and the constriction around my chest eased a little. Each slow, careful breath pushed the limits of the pain an infinitesimal bit.

This was the highlight for me in a marvelous chapter.

I was a little worried about who would come out the postern gate, guessing that Sir Broc was moving forward with his plan. Then Lady Cora made one of her own before they made it through the stable yard! No, Lord Wallace did not choose her just for her sewing. Titus and Jannet jockeying for position made me smile.

“And who is that?”
I wonder now too. General Talos perhaps? But if so, why the mystery? Or does Lady Cora have a secret admirer?

Like Grits, I too appreciated the Cheshire Cat-like grin at the end of Do'Sakha's disappearing act. I also liked your invention of the 'vanishing dust' that he used. It is more interesting than simply drinking a potion.

I am going to guess that Sir Robert might be out looking for Lady Cora, and that is why he was not the first man out the postern gate? I see Lt. Alorius there. That is a good thing. The irony of him being an Imperial is that being an outsider, he is completely free of High Rock politics, and thus someone Cora can trust. Oh now I see Broc is inside stirring up trouble. I bet Robert is not letting that naga in the grass out of his sight.

Would they see me as a mere puppet lord, in complete thrall to Talos and his Legions?
This is what I was thinking too.

for what I am about to do may stir the h- hornets’ nest.
Of that I have no doubt. Now that Sir Broc has thrown the dice and come up dragoneyes, I get the feeling he is not long for this world.

A Merry Christmas to you and warm wishes for a Joyous Saturalia and New Year!

As has been mentioned, a purrrfectly fantastical departure by Do’saka. And quite the mysterious one! I too, am wondering under whose orders the Khajiit is conducting his fairy godcat operations.

So Broc is making his move. Off with his head! Seriously, between her physical condition and concerns about being a Legion puppet, she has a bit of a complicated pickle to deal with. I see she is going for physical proof of Broc's treason.

‘Titus met my gaze. “General Talos warned me that you may not want to be seen as leaning on the Legion for your support. So I will rely on your judgment concerning how our aid may best help you, Lady.” - - I love this guy.

“In case you haven’t noticed, Mister. Legion, milady is not in the habit of asking for help, even when she needs it!” - - This made me smile for its simple truth. Is the period after Mister an oversight? Heh, I can see myself drafting Mr. Legion, then deciding to spell out the title while overlooking the period.

Interesting few chapters here, and I enjoyed them a great deal, especially Do'Sakha; he was an interesting character, and I suspect his presence may be something to do with a certain general.

It was quite a cool idea to have Cora call on what I take was Padomay itself when making her way out of there, bypassing the middlegods of the Nine to go right to the core/source of their power. Nice angle on the established lore.

@Grits: You did guess right indeed - Broc was moving forward with his plan. As of yet he did not know that the attempt to kidnap Lady Cora has failed. I'm glad you liked Do'saka. His Cheshire Cat disappearance came naturally, and it did not occur to me until the second or third read-through after writing that passage how much like the infamous Wonderland feline Do'saka was.

@SubRosa: That vanishing dust was actually the spell he used to disappear. I spent a fair amount of time wondering how casting an Invisibility spell would appear to an onlooker, and that is how I figured to describe it. As for who is Do'saka's boss, we will have to wait and see.

@Acadian: Oh, Do'saka will be a relatively easy mystery to unravel. But there is another, deeper one that has not yet begun to reveal its existence. We will see as the story unfolds. Off with Broc's head, huh? You are not the only one to think that! Thanks so much for catching that nit!

@Colonel Mustard: I enjoyed writing Do'saka too. He has his own entire backstory, I do not yet know if it will be revealed later in the story.

The story so far: Lady Cora and Legion Healer Servius have returned to Cardonaccum after their ordeal. However Lady Cora does not have time to rest--she has to address the issue of Sir Broc first.

*******************
Chapter Twenty-seven

Agony accompanied each step up to the doors of the donjon. I fought for breath every footfall of the way. Only Jannet’s silent concern and the fate of Cardonaccum awaiting me within kept me from collapsing after the first few risers.

Finally we reached the top of the steps, and I leaned hard on the old woman, fighting off the bat swarm that threatened to obscure my vision. Abruptly the darkness coalesced into a well-remembered face, shrouded by shadows. “Mother?” I whispered.

“Remember, child, what I have taught you about finding your strength.” Her familiar voice echoed unfamiliarly through my mind, and the bats fell apart, revealing an ancient stone plinth on a windswept moor, snow swirling around it. I gasped as I recalled the lesson she had taught me at the old menhir so many years ago.

“Milady?” Jannet’s voice brought me back to the present. I found myself leaning on the stone jamb of the double doors, as if drawing strength from the standing stone of my childhood. I straightened my spine and drew away from her. The old power of Nirn surged up through my soles like a slow heartbeat within the rough-hewn stones themselves.

The pain and agony still persisted, but they no longer dominated my consciousness. Instead the immense mass of energy that comprised Nirn cradled me as I stepped back to face the portal. How could I have forgotten? I met Titus’s bemused gaze and nodded at him. At a gesture, two of his legionaries swung the heavy wooden panels open.

Within, I found a mass of sky-blue surcoats on the main floor of the great hall. Several of the Northsiders nearest us turned to glance back at the open doors. Over their heads I could see Rodric, fists clenched, standing beside Robert, both men facing an insouciant Broc. Edine stood between the younger knight and the two older men, her right hand braced on Rodric’s left shoulder. Her stance was that of separating two fighting roosters.

“So he brought all of his men, did he?” I whispered in an aside to Titus.

“Aye, most of them,” Titus answered. “But Castellan Robert and Captain Enrick have put their men on full alert. As are mine.”

“Jannet, find Niall,” I rationed my breath carefully. “Go to the study.” The shorter sentences helped eliminate my stutter. “Bring me Thistlethorn.”

She regarded me warily. Titus touched her thin shoulder gently. “I’m with the Lady. Go on.”

By this time several of the blue-surcoated soldiers had recognized me and began whispering among themselves. Two of them began shouldering their way through the mass toward the confrontation before the Thistle Seat. Jannet, Niall, hurry!

Enrick slipped through the doors behind us and took his place at my right shoulder. Bracketed by two military commanders, I took a step forward. Somehow I managed to keep my spine straight against the twisting pain in my body. Just as the two Northsiders reached Broc, I stopped at the edge of the top step. The men whispered urgently into the young knight’s ear, pointing in my direction. His eyes moved from Rodric’s angry glare to meet mine across the hall. Even at that distance I could see the faint waver in his gaze, then he turned away from the older knight.

“Milady!” Heads turned toward me as his voice, dripping sugary concern, greeted me. “I am so glad you are - alive!”

Rodric stepped past Broc. “Milady!” His own gruff tone carried more honest feeling. “You’ve been hurt! Who did this to you?”

“That is the question,” I answered, stepping carefully down the stone stairs. “Who indeed?” With Titus and Enrick at my shoulders like dark wings, I moved forward into the gathered Northsiders who stood between me and the Thistle Seat. At first they stared at me, accustomed to cowing lesser folk with those hard eyes.

My own gaze met theirs squarely, and I lifted my chin. “Shall I remind you?” I said to the two burly men-at-arms nearest me. “Whose castle this is?” Their expressions faltered, and their eyes shifted slightly. “Mine? Or Sir Broc’s?”

“This castle belongs to the Lady Cora!” Robert stepped to the edge of the dais, his roar stirring the rafters high overhead. “Does anyone dare to deny it?” His sword whispered as he drew it, echoed by the Cardonaccum thistlemen posted around the large chamber.

The Northsiders shifted uneasily, their hands wavering tensely over their hilts. Blades reached slowly toward them on either side of me, held by Titus and Enrick. They stepped up so that the bulk of their bodies sheltered me from any attack in front.

“There will be blood today,” I made my voice hard and pitched to carry. “Question is, whose shall it be?”

“Milady,” a quiet voice sounded behind me. “Thistlethorn.” My eyes still straight forward, I reached back with my left hand. Niall recognized my signal and set the leather-wrapped hilt of Wallace’s weapon firmly into my palm. The metal sang softly as I drew it from its sheath, still gripped by my loyal steward. Carefully I rested the tip of the long blade on the stones at my feet, its pommel before my chin.

“Shall I begin,” I addressed the uneasy Northsiders, “using this now?” Mutterings passed from man to man, and a passage opened before me. “Thank you, gentlemen,” I lifted the greatsword from the floor to float before me, its blade nearly horizontal. The wound in my right shoulder screamed as I set my right hand above the left on the grip to help steady it.

Fortunately for me, the traditional weapon of Cardonaccum’s lords was well-crafted, the long hilt and heavy pommel offsetting the weight of the mighty blade. Still, it took considerable effort to keep the blade steady before me as I walked through the parting mass of blue toward the dais and the Thistle Seat. The image of the menhir kept the swarming bats at bay and gave me the strength I needed to keep my injured self as straight as the blade I carried. I knew the blood and mud on my face, my dress and tattered cloak, betrayed the trauma I had suffered through yesterday. Yet I refused to let Broc and his people see just how much pain tore through me with each step.

Think I’m weak, eh? Still think so? My father’s sole legacy stirred within me and surged up my throat like boiling acid. His black rage, the rage that had destroyed my mother, that had cast me out onto the careless mercy of my uncle, propelled my bare feet across the stone floor of the hall.

I had fought for years to kill that rage, that inheritance of my father’s. He had given me his worst quality, not his immense magicka. Terrified of the power of that rage to transform the father I had once loved, I had always suppressed even the slightest flicker of offense. But in this instant, I welcomed it. I needed it, the energy it gave me. I knew it would cost me in the end. But I had had enough from this insolent knight who thought he could wheedle, cajole, seduce and even frighten me into giving in to him. Time to end this.

As I reached the dais, another of the blue-surcoated men leaped to Broc’s side, his hand on the hilt of his own greatsword. I turned to him and met his gaze. “Who are you?”

“This is Captain Sholto of my Guard,” Broc set a calming hand on the other’s right elbow. Sholto’s stance didn’t ease, and he continued to stare me down.

“Captain Sholto,” I returned that gaze coldly. “How many men under your command?”

“Eighty-seven,” the captain responded stiffly.

“And how many,” I paused to take a slow breath, “of your men are here today?” Sholto’s jaw clenched at the question, but he remained silent.

“We count eighty-two, milady,” Robert had now moved to stand beside the blue-coated captain, his own hand ready on his weapon.

“Step back, Robert,” I said. “There is no need for your weapon here.” I tipped my head at Sholto. “Seems to me,” I addressed his glare again, “you’re short a few? Where are they?” Again he did not answer. “I know for certain,” I continued, my voice still pitched to carry, “one of them,” now I smiled, though I felt no warmth toward this man, “never returned last night. Correct?”

The flicker in his gaze told me he had known of the outlaws’ plan to attack me. He’s not the sort of man to act on his own. Broc wouldn’t tolerate any ambition around him. “No need to answer that, C- Captain.” Thistlethorn wavered slightly in my hand. “But answer this-” the long blade grew steady again, “Do you serve Sir Broc,” I shrugged my right elbow toward the knight standing at the captain’s left shoulder, “because you feel he is the best man?” I paused as a flicker of bemusement crossed Sholto’s features. “Or because you are honoring your oath to the Knight of Northside?” He frowned at my question. “Think carefully,” I managed to keep my left arm from trembling from the weight of the greatsword. “Before you answer.”

The puzzled frown turned to a obstinate scowl. “I serve Sir Broc,” he growled at me. “Not some pipsqueak of a girl -“

Thistlethorn leaped faster than anyone could follow. Wallace’s family weapon dragged my left arm across my body as it swept to my right, upwards and out in a deadly arc. Sholto’s defiance ended in a gurgle as hot crimson sprayed across my face, my hair. Thistlethorn’s point stopped in the hollow of Broc’s throat as Sholto fell backwards off the dais. The spraying blood subsided to a bubbling foam, then a silent oozing across the stone tiles.

Shocked gasps and murmurs echoed around the hall as people backed away from Sholto’s corpse. On the dais, only Titus stepped to my side, his own gladius paralleling the long blade I held. I fought for my breath, as stunned as the others at the speed of my action. Gods! I never knew I had this in me! Slow as Nirn? Somehow I managed to keep Thistlethorn steady at Broc’s throat, a tiny red drop appearing beneath its keen tip.

Broc’s empty hands rose slowly as he stepped back. I matched him pace for pace, keeping Thistlethorn steady at his throat. His heel caught on the sturdy leg of the Thistle Seat behind him, and he fell clumsily into its hard embrace. I stopped short of slicing his throat, too. No. Not now. He has to declare himself against me as clearly as Sholto did. I need evidence. Then I shall execute him right and proper, before the eyes of all of Cardonaccum. I blinked, startled at my silent decision, as cold-hearted as anything my father did in his rages.

And his rage still burned, still carried me straight against the resurgence of the pain in my left side. But I knew it wouldn’t last much longer. “Enrick,” I grated between clenched teeth. “Arrest all of the Northside men.”

“Yes, milady!” Enrick recovered quickly. “Where shall we hold them?”

“Lock them in the guest barracks,” I described the quarters where the knights’ men had quartered last fall.

Robert stepped to fill his place as Enrick turned and stepped off the dais, shouting orders to his men. I stared at Broc’s face, barely aware of Rodric and Edine standing off to one side, as frozen in place as I felt. The young knight gaped up at me, his eyes wide in a pasty-white face. “Milady!” he gasped. “I - I have done you n- no harm!”

“We’ll see.” I said shortly, my own breaths coming hard with the effort of holding Thistlethorn steady. “Robert.”

“Yes, milady,” the big castellan echoed Enrick’s response.

I took a step back from the chair, still holding Thistlethorn toward Broc’s throat. “Escort Sir Broc to his guest quarters.” I gulped for air. “Make him c- comfortable - in the salt cellar.” I stepped back again to give Robert room. He called up some of the castle thistlemen and hauled the younger man out of the chair. As Sir Broc was roughly manhandled away, shouting protestations over his shoulder, the rage left me as suddenly as it had surged.

I nearly dropped the blade when the pain twisted me to my left. I managed to keep hold of the hilt as the tip sparked against the stone floor and leaned my elbows on its wide cross guards. Thistlethorn wavered under this unaccustomed use, then steadied when Titus grasped the pommel in his left hand. With his gladius he waved the others back and turned to block them from my vision. “Lady Cora?” He bent down to whisper into my ear. “Tell me what you need.”

“C- courage,” I gasped. “To finish this.”

“You already have it, Lady,” his voice assured me. “What else?”

“Your arm, Lieutenant,” I managed to spit the words.

“Here,” Titus offered me his shield arm. I straightened up with an effort and looked around at the frightened faces around me. My hand through the Legion officer’s elbow, I met the others’ gazes.

“Robert,” I met his concerned gaze. “T- take this,” I stretched my left arm, tipping the pommel of Thistlethorn toward him. “To the study.” Again I looked around at everyone. “Niall, I sh- shall need -“ I gasped as bats swarmed between me and his lean visage. “- wine in th- the study.” My head spun when I tried to shake the bats away. “Sir Rodric, Dame Edine, R- Robert,” I swallowed moisture back into my mouth. “Let’s go there.” Now I met Titus’s gaze. Though his face remained impassive, I could see the dark flicker in his gaze. “Lieutenant, if I c- could have your man Servius meet us th- there as soon as h- he is able.”

Damn. Broc yet lives. Hopefully, Lady Cora will soon remedy that.

She had a lot going on inside her during this captivating showdown. Once again, we see the power of Nirn herself rising through the stones to aid Cora. I just wish she could coax a bit more healing power from the ground beneath her.

It nice to see Cora remembering the lessons of her childhood, and reconnecting with her Witch self.

I like how Broc's men are Northsiders. It has both a nice ring to it, and it also clearly differentiates them from the rest of the Thistlemen.

I have to confess that whenever I see Jannet's name, I keep thinking of Janette from Forever Knight

Sholto’s defiance ended in a gurgle as hot crimson sprayed across my face, my hair.
W00T! Lady Cora has stepped up to the plate!

That entire scene was riveting. On one hand we knew the pain of Cora's injuries, that threatened to overwhelm her, and on the other her righteous fury driving her onward. She really shows her quality here, standing on her own as the ruler of Cardonaccum.

And it looks like Cora's ready to come down on top of Broc like a ton of bricks as soon as he makes a false move. Good thing, too; didn't think she should have ever kept that misogynistic little arsewipe around.

I found some of the stuff you were doing with Cora's dialogue when she was passing judgement on Broc and his cronies really interesting; the way her stammer abated when she was in proper full-on angry mode, and when she gets Broc locked up how he starts stammering when she's not doing it at that time. Interesting touch, and a great way to show just how angry she is.


I really liked this segment; a really good, poetic description of one of the effects of extreme fatigue.

I liked the implication that Thistlethorn is doing some of its work itself.

Thistlethorn leaped faster than anyone could follow. Wallace’s family weapon dragged my left arm across my body as it swept to my right, upwards and out in a deadly arc.

Any relation to Umbra? Is Umbra its evil twin?

I’m intrigued by the way Lady Cora’s rage seemed to feed Thistlethorn, and her thoughts about the blade made it sound to me like an entity more than an object. What a showdown!

“There will be blood today,” I made my voice hard and pitched to carry. “Question is, whose shall it be?”

That’s a line that will stick with me. What a captivating scene!

@Acadian: I'm sure Lady Cora wishes the healing powers of Nirn would work just a little faster, too!

@SubRosa: I've always written strong, self-reliant, confident women like a certain Redguard pilus. Lady Cora was a bit of a departure for me, as her strength comes not from her physical abilities but rather from sheer willpower. So it was a relief for me to finally show that she, too, can be physical when the situation calls for it. It was a delight for me to show her strength in this installment. It's funny that you should point out the Northsiders. I kept thinking of the traditional crosstown rivalry that takes place in Chicago every spring (Cubs vs. Sox). As Cubs fans, my family are strict Northsiders. I suppose I'm the lone non-fan in this situation - I couldn't care less!

@Colonel Mustard: So you noticed what happened with her stutter? I'm glad someone pointed it out. I have spent considerable time monitoring that stutter and making sure it reflects her emotional state. Yes, we have seen it disappear before, when she was angry at Broc and Laird for leaving Wallace's horse and gear behind for Talos to claim.

@ghastley: No, Thistlethorn is not magical at all. It is merely a well-crafted weapon. What you are referring to is actually Nirn giving Lady Cora the physical strength she needs to wield it so effectively.

@Grits: Thistlethorn means much to Lady Cora. It is the symbol of Wallace's rule as Lord of Cardonaccum, and her grief and memories of him still imbue the weapon with his spirit. We will see just how much so in upcoming chapters. I do hope you will feel better, and that the MRI will finally give you the answers to your spinal woes!

The story so far: Lady Cora has returned to Cardonaccum to find Broc in the midst of an attempted coup. She has nipped it in the bud and arrested him and his men. Now it is time to decide on the next step.

******************
Chapter Twenty-eight

I sat down carefully in the high-backed chair behind the desk. The toasty cushion felt good on my bottom. Out of the corner of one eye I spotted Cinnie's striped tail as she disappeared behind one of the bookcases behind me. Thank you for warming my seat for me, I thought silently at her. Wonder how Do'saka is doing?

Niall appeared with the silver flagon as I settled back, mindful of the arrowhead still buried against my shoulder blade. Leaning my left elbow on the carved arm of the chair gave my broken ribs some relief, but it still hurt to breathe.

Silently Niall filled the pewter goblet I favored with the wine and brought it to me. I recognized the question in his eyes and nodded silently. He carried the flagon to the sideboard and began filling several of the goblets sitting there.

Titus and Enrick refused the proffered wine, but Robert, Rodric and Edine accepted the cups. Edine seated herself in one of the two chairs beside the fire. After a moment's consideration, Rodric did the same. The fighting men remained standing.

"If you were trying to make the point that you are indeed strong enough to lead Cardonaccum," the big knight began, slowly twirling the wine in his goblet, "there was no need for that demonstration. Not with us."

"It wasn't for your benefit, S- Sir Rodric," I drank deeply of the wine. "Th- those men in blue do not know me as you do, or even as Dame Edine does." I tipped my head toward the older woman, and received a slight nod of agreement from her.

"Do you hope to convince them to choose you over Sir Broc?" she asked softly. "As you did with Laird's men?"

"I c- convinced them of nothing," I replied. "Only asked them th- their motive for following Sir Laird.”

"I remember," Edine nodded again. "You asked them if they followed my husband because they felt he was right, or because they were sworn to."

"And they were happy enough to t- transfer their fealty to you, Dame Edine." I held her steady gaze as she sipped her wine. "Most of th- them in any case. I hope for a s- similar result with Sir Broc's men."

"So you will depose Sir Broc?" Rodric pounced, though his big frame remained motionless in his seat.

"Depose h- him?" I could hear the irony in my voice. "After he just made a blatant attempt t- to depose me?" Rodric nodded to himself as if I had just confirmed something in his mind. "I think it's t- time for young Tywin to take over that manor. I will need to s- send a trustworthy man to mentor him, as he is still so young." Only nine years old. Fifteen years younger than Sir Broc. But hopefully without the vain ambition and arrogance of his older brother.

"Do you have someone in mind?" Rodric drank half of his wine.

Before I could answer, Servius entered the room, Siné in tow. As the legionary paused in the doorway, Siné slipped past him and moved to my side. I waved her away. "Later."

"I'll give you a few minutes, milady," Siné's voice held firm command. "But your wounds need tending."

I ignored her admonition and eyed Servius. He had changed to clean clothes, and his complexion no longer possessed the paleness that had so scared me last night. His posture was straighter, no longer hunched by pain. He caught my gaze and bowed slightly to me in respect. I pointed him toward the window seat. After a moment’s pause, he made his way over to the indicated place.

“Servius, h- how do you feel now?” I asked the Legion healer when he had settled himself against the tall panes.

“Much better, thanks to the excellent ministrations of Siné,” he nodded in her direction. “And I wish you would let her see your own injuries, Lady.” He refused Niall’s offer of wine with grace.

“Jannet, Niall, Siné,” I said as the three castle folk moved to the door. “You need to s- stay, too.” I turned back to Servius. “You are in much better s-shape than I am. Please tell th- these good people of our adventures.”

The Legion healer threw me a startled look, then drew a deep breath. His gaze moved to Titus, his commanding officer, and he moved to rise to his feet.

“No, stay there,” Titus shook his head. “The Lord commands it.”

After a moment’s pause, Servius began his - our - tale. As I listened, I realized that he had adopted the manner of an officer reporting to his superior. His words were brisk, neutral, and professional. Of course, he is giving a report to his superior - Titus. The rest of us don't matter. But I had to reconsider my assessment of our importance to the man when he faltered in his description of the rough handling I had received at the hands of the outlaw leader. Somehow I managed to keep my face impassive as everyone except Titus glanced at me.

Finally Servius finished, his voice showing the exhaustion from the past twenty-four hours. He slumped back, his eyes on the floor. Edine sipped thoughtfully at her goblet, while Rodric drained the last of his wine. Niall topped their cups and met my gaze. At my nod, he moved to the desk and refilled my own receptacle as well.

Siné broke the silence first. “Servius,” she said quietly, “does milady still have that arrowhead in her shoulder?”

He nodded, his lips drawn tight. Siné turned back to me. “It has to be removed,” she continued. “It will only cause pain if it stays.”

“I do not have t- time for that now,” I tossed back the wine, desperately seeking to numb the pain with its effects. “There is much that needs t- to be done before I can rest.” I gestured with the goblet toward Thistlethorn, its blade wiped clean, now resting on my desk. “That blade will s-see more use before I am finished.”

Edine set her goblet down carefully on the small table beside her. “Do you mean to see more people executed with it, milady?”

“If I must,” I answered. “Sir Broc claims I am t- too weak to hold this seat. He has s- sown doubt in the minds of many. Many of you c- consider me kind and merciful, which is well and good in times of peace.” I drew breath against the stabbing pain in my side and curled my toes against the cold stone floor. Again I felt the power of Nirn surge through me, and the pain eased an infinitesimal bit more.

Edine and Rodric exchanged glances, but remained silent. The fighting men - Robert, Enrick, and Titus, stood still, their eyes unwavering on me. Siné stood quietly at my shoulder, a comforting presence. Jannet and Niall watched me from the shadows across the room, their expressions unreadable. Servius lifted his gaze to meet mine, and gave me a small smile of encouragement.

“But we are not at peace,” I continued. “Wallace h- has been betrayed in his grave by his own people, people whom he t- trusted deeply.” I set the goblet on the desk beside the hilt of Wallace’s family weapon. “Betrayal has cost C- Cardonaccum two knights and a priest. We h- have lost fighting men because of it. Women and children are being forced to t- take on responsibilities they are better off without.” I met Edine’s gaze, and she closed her eyes. “Especially the children.” She nodded in silent agreement.

“It is for th- that reason I executed Sir Broc’s right hand man in front of everyone,” I drew breath against that persistent pain. “I must make it c- clear - beyond a doubt - that I am strong enough to hold this seat!” Now I met the eyes of each person present. “Each of you,” I took my time working around the room, “is a person I t- trust. But if one of you were t- to betray me,” somehow I managed to harden my voice against the agony in my ribs and shoulder, “be c- certain that you will pay the price as well!”

Only Titus remained silent in the eruption of assurances that followed. As I listened to each earnest vow of loyalty, I met his unwavering gaze. It is as it should be. He is loyal to General Talos first and foremost. As far as I can trust the General, I can trust Titus. But just how far is that? As long as I am of value to the General, he would not betray me, and thus Titus wouldn’t betray me without betraying Talos.

“As I h- have already said,” my quiet voice stilled the hubbub, “I have s- sent for young Tywin. It is my intention to knight him, then place a more experienced man at h- his side to help him manage his new r- responsibilities.” I turned to Edine. “Do you feel that your son T- Tevan is ready to take over, or do you wish him to h- have more time?”

Edine sighed. “I’m certain you recall that he is much like his father - hot-headed and opinionated at times.” She paused, her eyes thoughtful. “Yet I feel he is now loyal to you, and will take his place at your side. Still, I’d prefer to see him married off to a sensible girl who can keep him in check. The manor does not need another firebrand, nor do you, milady.”

“True,” I nodded my agreement. “Then I will c- concede to your judgment.” I stifled a sigh. “If I meet a s- sensible young woman, I will be certain to s- send her to you, Dame Edine.” Now I turned to Rodric.

“Sir Rodric.” He drew himself up in the chair, his chest puffing out. “I thank you for your unwavering s- support these last few months.”

The older man harrumphed in overt modesty. Then he grew somber. “I have t’admit,” he murmured. “When Lord Wallace passed, I supported you in order to honor our lord’s memory. But over time, you’ve shown yourself to be quite capable in your own right.” His full mustache curved over his grin. “Now I support the Lord of Cardonaccum, not the Lord’s widow!” Now he gave me a sly glance. “But I suppose you’d want to replace me with younger blood, no?”

I found myself smiling back at him. “Only th- the fighting man you were,” I answered. “But you r- remain my knight, in charge of Three Rowans Manor.” I sighed. “If only for your expertise in estate management. I may c- continue to seek your advice.”

“If there is any way I can assist milady,” Rodric lifted his empty goblet in salute, “you have but to ask!”

“I regret that Sir Broc has c- called both of you all the way here for his overreaching ambition,” I continued. “But now that you are here, I ask th- that you stay a little while longer, until I decide what t- to do with him, and have T- Tywin knighted in his stead.” Both knight and widow nodded their acquiescence.

A clattering of steel in the corridor alerted us to the approach of another person. I fought the urge to reach for Thistlethorn as Robert, Titus, and Enrick laid their hands on their sword hilts and turned for the doorway.

One of the castle thistlemen dashed into the room, his face pale. “Milady, Lieutenant,” he saluted me and Titus in turn. “Your men have returned from the outlaw camp. They have the body of the traitor.”

“Good,” I moved to rise, but Siné clamped her hand onto my left shoulder, firmly pressing me back down. “I need to see him, sh- show him to Sir Rodric and Edine. Perhaps one of us knows h- his face.”

“I know him,” the thistleman shook his head. “One of Broc’s most trusted men - Fingal.”

“Fingal?” Sir Rodric rose to his feet. “I know him, too.” He turned to me with a bow. “Stay here and rest, milady, I will go see for myself.” He left the room, trailed by Edine and the fighting men. Servius turned to me and considered me a moment longer.

“If he is indeed Broc’s man, what does that mean for you, Lady?”

“It means I now h- have the grounds I need to exile S- Sir Broc from Northside.” I nodded toward the doorway. “And it will make it easier for Sir R- Rodric and Edine to support my decision.”

Loved the kitty seat warmer!

So much for Lady Cora to sort through. At least she now has some blue-clad proof of the extent of Broc’s treachery that all can see. Good move to have Servius relay the tale of their captivity, and I’m glad he’s doing better.

Gee, what is Sine going to have to do? Sneak some 'keep her still long enough so I can remove that arrowhead’ drops into the stubborn Lady’s wine?

So is it to be exile for Broc instead of execution?


Nits?
"I c convinced them of nothing," I replied.’ - - Since it has been your convention to incorporate hyphens/dashes into Cora’s stuttering, this stood out as lacking that.

'The rest of us doesn’t matter.' - - Is the subject of this sentence singular (requiring ‘doesn’t’), or is it plural (requiring ‘don’t’)? Although my gut tells me to view it as plural (several individuals), perhaps you’ve chosen to view it as singular (a collective group as a single entity). Honestly, I’m not completely sure.

Let me see if my analysis holds: Cora can't execute Broc, as she doesn't (yet?) have the evidence that he personally ordered the events. She has enough evidence that he didn't prevent it, so she has a case for incompetence, and replacing him. He needs just a little more rope to hang himself.

Cinnie stars in her absence! (well, apart from her tail.)

I expect a constant now/not yet battle between Cora and Sine for a few chapters. Some third party needs to engineer sufficient delay for Sine to succeed. Drops in the wine would make Cora think she's on Broc's side!

Siné broke the silence first. “Servius,” she said quietly, “does milady still have that arrowhead in her shoulder?”

It’s evidence! CSI: Cardonaccum. No, I think the dead Fingal makes more sense.

“It means I now h- have the grounds I need to exile S- Sir Broc from Northside.” I nodded toward the doorway. “And it will make it easier for Sir R- Rodric and Edine to support my decision.”

I particularly like the second part of Lady Cora’s remark. Though now I feel I should call her Lord Cora.

Exile for Sir Broc makes me wonder why Lady Cora wouldn’t keep him imprisoned. Or perhaps she will, and by ‘exile’ she means she has the grounds to replace him with his younger brother. Either way, I doubt he’s finished yet.

Like the others, I adored Cinnie's helpful seatwarming, and the way one feline made Cora jump to thinking about another, large cousin.

I wonder if Twyin will work out as the new knight of the Northsiders. Not so much his competence, but how loyal he might be in the future, given that Lady Cora is going to get rid of his older brother? But we don't really know anything of his character, whether he is a chip off his brother's block, or a completely different kind of person. I am guessing that the older mentor Lady Cora has in mind for the lad, will not only have the job of figuring out which, but also of steering the lad down the better path.

Three Rowans Manor
Rowan Atkinson, Grit's character Rowan,... but who is the third Rowan?

And the dead evidence was just carried in. I wonder what exile means in High Rock? Is it just being sent away on pain of death to never return? Or is it exile in the Norse sense, where it made your life forfeit of anyone who wanted to take it (basically a death sentence, as anyone could murder you without it being a crime)?

@Acadian: Kitty seat warmer indeed? How many times have I sat down on my dining room chair to discover that a cat is still warming it for me! At least Cinnie had the decency to vacate it for Lady Cora! Thanks for the nits: I had meant the rest of us in terms of this part of the group, i.e. singular, but your concerns are equally valid. After some consideration, I decided that it is more common to view us as a collection of individuals, much like we. So I will go back and fix it. And thanks for catching that missing stutter/dash! As for slipping a heavy-duty potion into the Lady's tea, it may not work, as she is so resistant to magicka.

@ghastley: Don't worry, ghastley. Our Sir Broc will have plenty of rope soon! And yes, there will be a battle of wills between Siné and Lady Cora, and yes, a third party will bring about a *ahem* rather surprising resolution. I will say no more.

@Grits: Lady Cora doesn't want to keep Sir Broc around, and so imprisonment is not an alternative for her. Do you know how much it costs to feed and shelter prisoners? As far as Lady Cora is concerned, imprisonment is a temporary situation, suitable for minor offenses such as theft or fraud. She is looking for something more permanent, and exile is the punishment of choice. For now.

@SubRosa: It would be a challenge for a nine-year-old boy, and a junior son at that, to take over a rather prosperous, good-sized manor. We will soon see what sort of person Tywin is. It's interesting that you should ask what exile means in High Rock. I was thinking more along the lines of "Get out of here and don't ever come back again, or I'll kill you." Perhaps I will use the Norse version later in the story, when we are dealing with exile from another location. Thanks for refreshing my memory about that one.

The story so far: Lady Cora, Lord of Cardonaccum, now has the grounds she needs to exile Sir Broc. Yet more evidence of his nefarious plotting will appear, however, and cause Lady Cora to reconsider her decision.

********************
Chapter Twenty-nine

“The flesh has already healed over that arrowhead.” Siné’s fingers were gentle on the shoulder wound, but I still gasped into the pillow from the agony that flared in response. “I will have to cut it out.”

“No time,” I panted. “Later.”

“Milady,” Siné remained patiently insistent. “It will only prolong your pain.”

I struggled to sit up on the bed, turning to face the chapel healer. “Siné,” I breathed against my broken ribs, “it’s going t- to hurt to cut it out. I’d r- rather wait until our guests are gone. I won’t be able to withstand th- the pain when you do remove it. And you know there are no potions or s- spells that can numb it for me. Not even wine.”

Siné’s gaze remained obstinate, but finally she sighed and nodded. “As soon as they’re gone, then,” her voice brooked no further argument.

“As s- soon as they’re gone,” I promised. Siné picked up a clean kirtle and eased my arms into the long sleeves, then settled it over my head and onto my shoulders. She repeated the same with my green cotehardie. Grateful for her help, I caught her hand as she moved away. “Th- thank you for understanding.”

She smiled and squeezed my hand in return. “You and Lord Wallace are the same,” she murmured. “You will not show your weakness to the folk who look to you for leadership. But it is difficult to see you in so much pain, milady.”

Jannet entered the bedroom, her lined face anxious. “Captain Enrick’s party returns,” she reported. “But they are not moving fast on the road.”

“It’s late,” I murmured, glancing out the window. Already the sky had turned dark, with only the faintest glow in the west trailing the sun. Beside me, Cinnie rose to her toes and stretched in an arch that echoed the shape of the window frame. I ran my hand from her ears to her tail, then stood. “Let’s go s- see why.”

“Best you stay here, milady,” Jannet protested. “Captain Padriac and Robert are watching from the walls.”

“No,” I shook my head. “I’ve a sudden urge to sink my t- toes into some cold mud.”

For once, Siné took my side. “I think that is a good idea, milady,” she held her hand out to stifle Jannet’s protest. “Though it’s not ladylike, it’s best for your recovery.”

Jannet subsided into irritated muttering. As I approached her and the doorway, I caught a sliver of her complaint - “- though what’s the point of a bath if she’s only going to get muddy again?” She closed her mouth with a snap when I paused before her. Her gaze met mine with an obstinate set to her pointed chin.

I leaned in and kissed her on her weathered cheek. “I’m s- sorry, Jannet, for not being as ladylike as you’d prefer. But I do appreciate everything you do for me.” She flushed at my affectionate display and ducked her head, speechless for once.

As I moved into the passage, I heard a soft thump on the wood floor behind me. I glanced back to see Cinnie ghost through the doorway after me. She ran ahead of me toward the stairs and disappeared.

Siné accompanied me to the great hall, then departed to see to her other patients. Jannet caught up to me in time to throw a warm cloak over my shoulders before the thistlemen opened the doors.

Outside the soft glow of Masser and Secunda kissed my face as I stepped down to the courtyard. I made my way to the herb garden near the kitchens and stepped among the young plants, just making their appearance after the long winter. Careful not to damage their tender shoots with my trailing skirts, I paused to dig my toes into the dirt between the rows.

Once again I felt the cold, slow power of Nirn well up into my feet. I shivered beneath the cloak, and winced again at the pain in my shoulder and side. Goddess, give me the strength I need to deal with Broc. I can’t have healing until this crisis is done.

Where were you, Arkay, Kyne, when I called on you? I wondered why I had sensed no response from the Divines that had guided my life these past twenty years. I have tried to be faithful to your teachings. Arkay, haven’t I always sought balance in all I do? And Kyne, have I not always celebrated the rain and the life it brings our harvests?

But I have no magicka of my own. Does that mean the Eight will never answer my prayers? Is that why I remain barren? Is that why my mother taught me about the Goddess? Because she knew the Eight would never protect me?

My thoughts returned to the nirnquake that had saved Servius and me. That was the Goddess. I felt Nirn’s power very strongly in that moment. Does that mean I should abandon my faith in the Eight? They seem to protect other mortals, I alone stand outside their protection. But the Goddess is older, much older than the Eight. Nirn is only her most recent manifestation, if I remember Mother’s teachings aright.

So then how should I live my life? How do I know what is right and what is wrong? Is there even a right and a wrong?

“Milady?” Calum’s voice interrupted my thoughts. He stood beside a seated Cinnie at the edge of the planting bed, his head bare in the cold night, her tail wrapped around her feet. “Castellan Robert sent me to let you know that Captain Enrick is on the drawbridge.” The groaning of the main gates beyond underscored his message.

“Th- thank you, Calum,” I picked my way out of the herb garden. He fell into step beside me as we headed for the front of the bailey. I felt something brush against my skirts and watched Cinnie dart ahead. She’s following me? Why?

All thoughts of the mystery wrapped in enigma personified by the moggy disappeared at the sight of the burdened pony trailing after Captain Enrick’s horse through the gates. Unable to take a deep breath, I drew my skirts higher and ran forward.

Captain Enrick halted his mount and swung off into a pool of torchlight from the walls. Shadows cast a grim set to his lips as he turned to face me. “Milady,” he bowed. “Robert,” he greeted the castellan as the big Nord joined us. “We bring grave news.” He nodded at the pony, being relieved of its burden by two thistlemen. “Young Tywin is dead.”

“Dead?” I repeated, my broken ribs stealing my voice. “H- how?”

“The manor’s steward told us it was a accident,” Enrick nodded toward the rear of the party, where soldiers surrounded two figures on horseback. “He was practicing swordplay with one of the men-at-arms when the blades slipped.” He shook his head. “Boy’s too young to be playing with sharpened blades, if you ask me.”

“Bring h- his body to the ch- chapel,” I spoke between agonized breaths. If Tywin is dead, who will manage Northside for Cardonaccum? “I must examine h- him.” I turned toward the two Northsiders. “Who are th- they?”

“Steward Mercutio,” Enrick motioned for the men to dismount. “The other is the younger brother of the man named by Mercutio.”

“The man who killed Tywin?” Robert rumbled. “Where is that one?”

“He was executed,” Enrick’s answer held grim disapproval. “But the brother tells a different tale.”

“Bring th- them to the h- hall,” I drew my cloak closer around myself and turned for the donjon. Behind them, I heard the steward grumbling threats at the younger boy until one of our thistlemen cuffed him into silence.

Gavin met us within the keep. I instructed him to fetch Rodric and Edine, then made my way to the Thistle Seat. The effort to keep my spine straight against the broken ribs in my left side left me struggling for breath as I sat down.

Siné appeared from the hallway leading to the infirmary in time to see Tywin’s body carried toward the chapel. Her gaze moved from the burdened thistlemen to me with a question. When I gave her a nod, she turned and followed after the men. Good, Siné will examine the boy. I’ll do the same. First I want to hear these men tell their tales.

Lady Cora's green cotehardie makes me think of the Alison on this page. I just love Ren Faire clothes!

“I’ve a sudden urge to sink my t- toes into some cold mud.”
This sounds so strange. Or it would if it were anyone else. But from Cora, it sounds even better than chicken soup.

As someone who has changed their religious beliefs from what they were taught as a child to something radically different, I appreciated Cora's religious quandary. Have the Nine turned their backs upon her? Or is she just not seeing their influence in her life? The Nirn Goddess OTOH, seems like such an overt force in her life. Aela would tell Cora to follow her Bliss, wherever that took her.

I was noticing Cinnie's shadowy presence around Cora from the start. Now I see Cora herself has noticed it. I wonder if this presages another meeting with Do'Sakha? Hmmm, looks like not.

Mercutio? Was the man who accidentally killed Tywin named Tybalt I wonder?

My, this plot does thicken. There is just no rest for poor Cora. Like her, I wonder if young Tywin was truly slain by accident or if it was murder. A nobody man-at-arms is easy to blame, especially when he is conveniently killed himself immediately afterward. The latter really screams 'patsy' to me.

Cinnie’s actions clearly foreshadow significance, although her role is tantalizingly unclear at this point.

And now a suspicious death! This is feeling like a rich gothic murder mystery!

Ladylord Cora has so much going on, between her wounds, Broc, deaths and wrestling with questions about her own beliefs. I’ll hope no Daedric Princes emerge to further cloud the mud between her toes.

Since I was away for five months, I have just read Chapter 6. I am now 23 chapters behind in this one, so I will be posting comments in The Big Commentasaurus Thread until I get caught up. After reading the chapter this morning, I don't think it will take very long because this is a real page turner!

@Sage Rose: As Lady Cora's grief over the loss of her beloved Lord Wallace subsides, other things emerge to preoccupy her mind. Beyond the day-to-day management of the holding, she is beginning to question things she has always taken for granted. She is now learning to look at things from different perspectives. The Eight (remember Talos is still very much a flesh-and-blood man at this point) is not immune to her questions.

@Acadian: Gothic murder mystery! I used to read those when I was in third grade! After the tenth or eleventh one, though, I began to get bored. I hope this is more interesting than the Victoria Holt stories I read so long ago! As for Cinnie, well, does she even have a role? Or is she just being a typical mysterious cat? I mean, who knows why cats do the things they do?

@TSG: Welcome back! You've been missed here in this remote corner of High Rock tucked between the Eltheric Ocean and the Wrothgarians. I do rather like SubRosa's suggestion of posting here and updating your comments until the next update. That is what Treydog has done sometimes.

The story so far: Sir Broc is facing a sentence of exile, only now Lady Cora has learned that Sir Broc's younger half-brother has died under rather suspicious circumstances.

***************
Chapter Thirty

Rodric and Edine appeared together just as the thistlemen brought Mercutio and the boy before the Thistle Seat. As soon as the two nobles took their seats, Captain Enrick gave us a brief summary of how he had discovered Tywin’s death.

“The body was still laid out in the manor chapel,” he finished. “I thought it best to bring it to you, Milady, for examination.” He nodded in the direction of our own place of worship. “Under the circumstances, and given the nature of the boy’s death.”

“Thank you, Captain,” I turned to Rodric and Edine, seated at my left. “Do you have any further questions for Captain Enrick?”

Rodric cleared his throat. “Did you bring any of the witnesses you spoke to?”

“Yes, sir,” Enrick nodded at the two Northsiders standing back from the firelight. “Steward Mercutio, and the younger brother of the man who was named as Tywin’s killer.”

Edine shook her head when Rodric and I glanced at her. “Let’s hear what they have to say.”

I nodded at Robert. “S- steward Mercutio, please.” The man glowered sullenly at me. So he is Broc’s loyal man. Let’s hear what tale he has to tell. “Please t- tell us what happened, Steward.”

The older man tossed his grey hair back defiantly and lifted his chin in unspoken challenge. “‘Tis simple, Witch -” The thistleman at his left shoulder slapped him on the back of the head, effectively cutting off the next words.

“You may h- have noticed,” I inhaled carefully, “th- that my men don’t like folk t- to speak t- to me disrespectfully.” I folded my hands in my lap and kept my spine painfully straight. “Ch- choose your words with c- care.”

Mercutio lifted his gaze to mine and spat blood onto the rushes. “As I said,” his tone held a little less insolence and a little more pain, “‘tis simple. The boy was practicing swordplay with one of our men-at-arms. Nevin slipped, and his blade pierced the boy’s chest. The young’un died between one breath and the next. Happened yesterday.”

“Nevin?” I repeated the name. “Was that the man-at-arms practicing with Tywin?” Mercutio nodded. “I thought swordplay was done with wooden swords?”

“Young master Tywin wanted to make it more - real,” Mercutio responded.

“Nonsense!” Rodric exploded. “Even among experienced men, swords are dulled, if not blunted outright! Can’t afford to slip and lose a finger, a limb or a life!”

I met Robert’s gaze. He nodded grimly. So this accident shouldn’t have happened. Was the boy set up? I wouldn’t put it past Broc to eliminate all potential threats from behind. He was never fond of Tywin.

“Th- thank you, Steward Mercutio,” I turned back to the Northsider in front of me. “Please make yourself c- comfortable in th- the accommodations we provide for you.” I nodded at the thistlemen. “Th- the dungeon, please.”

While the recalcitrant Northsider was hauled away, I waved the young boy up. As he moved uncertainly into the firelight from the hearth, I eyed him thoughtfully. “Who are you, young man?”

“Hamish, milady,” he bowed awkwardly, his bright red hair obscuring the freckles covering his nose and cheeks.

“How old are you, H- Hamish?” I kept my voice gentle, recognizing his skittishness.

“Fourteen, milady,” he answered, straightening up and meeting my gaze from beneath that fiery thatch. I could see the beginnings of a bruise forming across one cheek, and the traces of blood at the corner of his mouth.

“Who did that t- to you?” I brushed my fingers along my own cheek.

“Th’ steward, milady,” Hamish replied. “He was angry at me.”

“Why?”

“B’cause I tried to tell yon Captain -” he nodded at Enrick, “th’ truth.”

“The t- truth?” I repeated. “I’d like to h- hear it very much, Hamish.”

The boy’s blue eyes shifted from me to Enrick, then Robert. Enrick nodded curtly when Hamish’s gaze drifted back to him. “Milady doesn’t like being lied to, boy,” Enrick spoke gruffly. “Tell her like it is.”

Hamish took a deep breath and met my eyes. “Th’ young master nae liked swordplay, milady,” he said. “Preferred books and figures. But he would practice with wooden swords b’cause old Sir Duncan always said a knight should have a full eddication.”

I nodded encouragingly. I remembered the old knight well. Like Sir Rodric, he was kind enough to me when I first came to Cardonaccum. I had grown to appreciate his experience and wisdom before he died six years previously.

“Yester morn Sir Broc told Steward Mercutio to have Nevin - that’s m’ brother - use th’ longswords from th’ armory for th’ young master’s daily lesson.” Hamish swallowed audibly. I could see a telltale glimmer in his eyes and waited silently. “Nevin tried to tell him that th’ young master was nae ready for real swords, but th’ steward told him to shut up and follow Sir Broc’s order.” He looked down at the hearth between us and I knew he relived that moment in his memory.

“C- clearly,” I said after a moment’s silence, “your brother was a man of h- honor. We will not forget.”

Hamish looked up from the hearth, firelight obscuring the blue of his eyes. “Th- thank you, milady.” He took a deep breath and straightened his shoulders. “Nevin was very careful yesterday. He dinna push th’ young master at all.” I felt my brows rise at the words. Nevin tried everything he could to avoid harm? “He even took a few blows from th’ young master - got cut on his right hand and arm.”

Again Hamish paused, obviously struggling with grief. He blinked liquid firelight out of his eyes and cleared his throat. “That’s when th’ steward took th’ sword from Nevin. He said ‘Train th’ boy properly! Don’t go easy on him!’ Then he struck at th’ young master and pushed him across th’ courtyard. Nevin tried to stop him but th’ steward would have nae of it.”

Now Hamish met my gaze. “You’ll nae believe me, milady, but I saw Steward Mercutio run th’ sword into th’ young master’s heart. Then he turned on m’brother and killed him on the spot. M’brother was unarmed!” The last held outrage at the memory.

“Why did S- Steward Mercutio not kill you t- too?” I asked gently.

Hamish shook his head. “B’cause he dinna ken I was there,” he answered. “I ran and hid as soon as I realized m’brother was dead.” His head drooped. “I should’ve have stayed, should’ve -”

“He would have k-killed you too, Hamish,” I stopped his self-recrimination. “Then we would never know the t- truth. Your brother would h- have died in vain.” I looked at Captain Enrick. “Did you see th- the guardsman’s body?”

Enrick nodded, his lips set in the hearth’s twilight. “Yes, milady. They tossed him outside the walls of the manor. He had a direct blow to the heart. Dagger was still in its sheath. Never had a chance.”

“We will s- see Nevin buried in the chapel yard, as is proper,” I turned to Edine and Rodric. “Do you h- have any questions for young H- Hamish?”

“Aye, I do,” Rodric’s voice held gruff gentleness. “Young Hamish, do you normally watch the practice sessions?”

“Nae, sir, I dinna,” Hamish shook his head. “But yester morn was strange. Sir Broc leaves with all of the men-at-arms except for Nevin and Aulay. Then th’ steward tells Nevin to use the sharp swords. Nevin told me something was up and to be careful.”

Such a shame. A good man wasted, young potential lost, and now a manor leaderless. Sir Broc cannot be allowed to live. “What is your function at Northside, H- Hamish?”

“I work in the kitchens, milady,” he answered. “Mostly with the meat.”

“You will need t- to stay here a wh- while,” I rose to my feet. “Until we decide what t- to do about Northside.” I glanced at Gavin. “Please s- see that Hamish is s- settled with Machara’s assistants.” My right hand sought the ache in my left side against the protest from my shoulder. “T- tell Machara Hamish will be c- called on to t- testify.”

As Hamish was escorted away by Gavin and one of the thistlemen, I turned to Rodric and Edine. “It grows late,” I stifled the sigh at the weariness I felt. “I must examine th- the boy’s body. I hate t- to ask this of you, but I must c- continue the Enclave and put Sir Broc on trial t- tomorrow morning.”

Rodric nodded. “If milady is agreeable, I would like to see Tywin for myself as well. I propose that we keep our conclusions to ourselves until tomorrow. Did I not see Siné go to the chapel earlier?”

“Yes.” I glanced at Edine, her face pale in the firelight. “She will t- tell us her own determinations in th- the morn. We will question S- Steward Mercutio and young Hamish again in S- Sir Broc’s presence.”

“Aye,” Rodric gruffed through his mustache. “And I have more questions of my own to ask that young upstart!”

“As do I,” Edine rose to her feet. “I will appreciate the time to prepare. If it is acceptable to Lord Cardonaccum, I would like to send my captain to evaluate the wounds on Tywin’s body. He has far more experience with combat injuries than I do. You remember him - Tomsen.”

I nodded. “H- he is more than welcome to t- take a look. I will have the th- thistlemen admit him.”

It turns out Do'Sakhar and Do'Sakha were not the only ones in the litter, there is Do'Shakir as well!

It looks like we are in for an episode of Murder, She Bled. I hope Lady Cora has the chance to take a break soon! It is too bad she doesn't have a nice old monk like Brother Cadfael handy for this...

"Even among experienced men, swords are dulled, if not blunted outright! Can’t afford to slip and lose a finger, a limb or a life!”
Indeed. Either someone ends up getting killed or maimed by accident, or you wind up teaching yourself to hold back and not hurt the people you are fighting.

Hamish? I wonder if his last name might be Macbeth? If so, I suspect he might grow up to the Northside's town constable...

So it looks like Broc was behind it all. Given his other machinations, it is not too surprising.

“You may h- have noticed,” I inhaled carefully, “th- that my men don’t like folk t- to speak t- to me disrespectfully.” I folded my hands in my lap and kept my spine painfully straight. “Ch- choose your words with c- care.” - - This was the epitome of ladylike self-defense. The truth behind her words is quite the testimony to her leadership. Cora has grown so much!

’Hamish took a deep breath and met my eyes. “Th’ young master nae liked swordplay, milady,” he said. “Preferred books and figures. But he would practice with wooden swords b’cause old Sir Duncan always said a knight should have a full eddication.” - - I loved this, as well as Cora tailoring her manner to encourage earnestness from the frightened boy.

Cora is wise to put young Hamish into her ‘witness protection program’ for the time being. I suspect examination of the bodies will support the lad’s account. I wonder how Broc and his minions will try to discredit the damning testimony.

Broc of course gets his minions to do his dirty work, but this time Cora has the killer in her custody. Somehow I suspect the blame will land where it should once the evidence is all presented.

The only thing I found a little confusing is how Mercutio was less than murderous with Hamish when he tried to tell what had happened. Presumably he'd already been disarmed, and could only hit out with his fist?

I wonder what Tomsen will be revealing?

@SubRosa: Yes, I enjoyed meeting Do'Shakir the other day! I had to laugh. Too many warriors and not enough wizards in Elsweyr, perhaps? I agree that we are definitely looking at the same page on the UESP wiki! I agree, Brother Cadfael and his world-weary ways would be so welcome right about now! But I think you'll agree that Lady Cora has plenty of help in that area . . .

@Acadian: I'm glad that you liked Lady Cora's approach with both resentful Mercutio and skittish Hamish. I actually had two certain police investigators very much in my mind as I wrote this scene, and they were the biggest influence on Lady Cora's interrogation techniques. Detective Frank Pembleton and Deputy Chief Brenda Johnson are high on my list of effective interrogators. No torture for them, mind you!

@ghastley: Why didn't Mercutio not kill Hamish? He didn't know what Hamish knew until both were already under Captain Enrick's custody. By that point all Mercutio could pull off was that blow to Hamish's face. I may have to go back and rewrite Hamish's testimony to make that a little clearer.

The story so far: Lady Cora has learned that Sir Broc's younger brother Tywin has died under highly suspicious circumstances. Another charge to add to those already brought against the recalcitrant knight. The Enclave continues this morning . . .

******************
Chapter Thirty-one

“I wish you would let Siné heal you, Lady,” Titus’s gaze on me turned assessing. “You look terrible this morn.”

“I feel quite ghastly,” I agreed. Fear of those recurrent nightmares, worry over the fate of Northside, and the pain of my injuries had kept me up much of the night. “But I do not have the t- time for h- healing.” I looked down at the soil beneath my bare feet.

“Is standing in the garden helping?” Titus waved his hand at the herb seedlings.

“It eases th- the pain,” I sighed. “And I feel less dizzy when I s- stand up now.”

“You seem more stable on your feet,” Titus agreed. “Less need of my arm.”

“Thank you for th- that, Lieutenant,” I met his gaze. “And for your s- support yesterday.”

“‘Tis my duty,” Titus shrugged. “You have more value to my General as Lord of Cardonaccum.”

I hid my flinch at the reminder of Titus’s true loyalties. “I still don’t understand th- that,” I muttered. “Why me?”

“Why not?” Titus tipped his head back at the clear morning sky above us. The shadows from the eastern walls fell across halfway across the bailey, sheltering us from the sun. “That is for the General to know, and for us to wonder.”

“So h- he never explains himself to you?” I wondered.

“A soldier does not require explanations of his commanders,” Titus answered. “General Talos does not require my understanding, only my loyalty.” He smiled. “I have played chatrang with him, and have only begun to plumb the depths of his mastery of strategy and tactics.”

“So we are mere pawns in h- his game?” I didn’t like that idea. Not Cardonaccum. Not if I can help it!

“Who knows?” Titus shrugged. “I don’t question him of his strategy.”

“Do you t- trust General Talos?” I stepped out of the garden to stand before Titus. He looked down at me, his expression neutral.

“Trust?” he repeated. “I’m not certain what you mean by that, Lady.”

I considered his response. “Do you trust him to k- keep your best interests to heart, the way a friend would?”

“We are not friends,” Titus answered. “I trust General Talos to use me as he sees fit. If I am no longer useful, I hope he puts me out to pasture like an old warhorse, rather than ending my life the way we slaughter worn-out milk kine.”

My unsuccessful attempt to stifle my snicker at his unexpected turn of phrase brought an answering glint in Titus’s dark eyes. “I h- have a difficult time picturing you as a milk c- cow, Lieutenant,” I apologized. “R- rather, a bull would be more appropriate.”

His brows rose. “A bull?” He shook his head. “That is more your castellan’s style than mine.”

“No, R-Robert is a bear.” I smiled up at him. “One of the big Wrothgarian ones that are so c- cranky in the spring.”

“And dangerous,” Titus nodded his agreement. “You have a good man at your side there, Lady.”

“He’s not th- the only one,” I drew my cloak closer around me as my toes curled on the hard cobblestones and considered Titus’s words. My ribs stabbed as I inhaled cautiously, and I watched my breath sough into the morning air. Titus remained silent, and I realized that he was waiting for me to speak again. Instead, I walked toward the front of the donjon. The Colovian fell into step beside me, matching his longer strides to my slow steps.

“Do you t- trust General Talos to always do the r- right thing?” I did not pause in my plodding.

“The right thing?” Titus’s voice held only neutrality. “What is the right thing? What’s right for you may not be right for the General. So who has the - forgive me - right to judge what is - right?”

“There’s a morality, isn’t th- there?” I thought back over my Chapel teachings. “Arkay is about balance - for every life th- there must be a death, and vice versa. Mara is about love and k- kindness toward all. But soldiers don’t always live by Mara’s t- teachings.”

“No, you’re quite right, Lady,” Titus responded. “So when you ask me do I trust the General to always do the right thing, whose standards are you referring to?”

Whose standards, indeed? Right for whom? “Your own, Lieutenant. I s- suppose it’s as good as mine.”

I sensed Titus’s sharp glance at me. “I’ve seen enough of you, Lady, to take that as a compliment.” He was silent again, but only for a breath or two. “To answer your question, Lady, yes, I trust Talos in that sense.”

The sun met us fully as we rounded the corner of the donjon and approached the great double doors at the top of the steps. Titus may trust Talos to do what is right for him, but what about for me? For Cardonaccum? Is there a higher morality? Or only what is imposed by those in power? What was right for my father was not right for my mother. Or for me.

“Do you have need of my presence, Lady?” Titus’s voice interrupted my musings. I glanced up at him, the sun warming my cheek.

“Do you have plans for t- today, Lieutenant?” I countered softly. “S- something you must attend to?”

He shook his head. “Nothing that cannot be handled by my men. I ask only if I can be of assistance to you today. I sense that this will be a momentous time for you, Lady.”

I sighed. “T- today we finish the Enclave. I must h- have Broc answer for his actions. This ends t- today.”

“It will not be easy,” Titus spoke softly “You are in great pain, and must not show it.”

“Aye,” I found myself agreeing with the Colovian. “To s- show it is to show weakness, at a t- time when I can least afford it.” I started up the steps, but Titus remained at the lowest stair. He met my gaze when I paused and turned back to him. “Lieutenant, this is s- something I imagine you must report to General T-Talos. It would be best t- to give him a first-hand account, no?”

“Yes, Lady, it would be best,” Titus moved to my side. “For General Talos. But would it be best for you?”

“As much as I may h- hate to admit it,” I spoke slowly to minimize my stutter, “it may not be amiss to r- remind people that I have General T- Talos’s support as Lord of Cardonaccum.”

“Then I shall be as unobtrusive as possible,” Titus promised me. “But if there is anything I or my legionaries can do for you, Lady, don’t hesitate to call on me.”

I considered him thoughtfully. If people didn’t take the point you made with the point of your sword yesterday, then you need to be less unobtrusive. “Thank you, Lieutenant.”

Titus pushed the left-hand portal open and waved me through. I stepped into the warmth of the hall and looked toward the Thistle Seat. Niall has been busy. On either side of the Thistle Seat two of the ornate chairs normally found in the dining room rested before the circular hearth. In place of the normal crackling fire, magelight burned argent, splashing light as bright as day across the center of the great room. Simple wooden chairs were arranged in a row opposite the grand seats. A lectern stood on a podium halfway between the two groupings, to one side of the hearth.

Against the east wall several men stood silently, stripped of armor, weapons and surcoats. I cast my gaze over them and considered their mood. They have had fairly comfortable lodgings overnight. I’m certain Machara fed them well enough. How many will choose fealty to Cardonaccum and me as Lord after Broc is deposed? Once again I wrestled with the question of Northside Manor. Once Broc is gone, who will lead Northside? Lord Duncan left no more get that I know of.

Siné appeared from the corridor leading to the chapel. She met my gaze as I stepped to the Thistle Seat and nodded. We had not spoken since before Enrick’s return. In accordance with the rules set by Wallace’s wise father years ago, evidence was examined independently by Siné in her role as Arkay’s representative, myself as Lord of Cardonaccum, and Rodric and Edine in their roles as vassals. We would not share our findings until the formal hearing now about to begin.

Siné’s gaze on me held the typical healer’s concern as I seated myself carefully on the cushion. Only her thinned lips belied her awareness of my pain. We still did not speak to each other as she moved to the podium.

Niall approached, Thistlethorn in his hands. He set the tip of the sheathed sword on the floor at my feet and extended the hilt to me. With a nod of gratitude I took the weapon with both hands and cradled the pommel against my left shoulder.

I cast my gaze around the hall again, seeing Titus with his optio seated against the western wall, and Enrick with his men ringing the Northsiders. Where is Robert? He should be here. Rodric and Edine are coming.

Just as the two knights appeared from upstairs and took their seats with courteous nods in my direction, Sir Rodric on my left and Dame Edine on my right, Robert appeared from the kitchen wing with a group of thistlemen. In the midst of this armed group walked three prisoners - Sir Broc, Mercutio, and young Hamish. Robert led them to the three chairs opposite the hearth and motioned for them to sit. The kitchen boy hastened to obey, but Broc and Mercutio paused.

Broc cast his gaze around and met my eyes. “So I’m to be put on trial? Do I not get a defense?”

“There is no prosecution, S- Sir Broc,” I answered. “Merely a h- hearing to establish the facts. You will have your s- say.”

The knight’s jawline rippled, but Broc remained silent and took his seat with a glare at Rodric and Edine. Mercutio remained on his feet, his eyes full of disrespect and defiance. Robert stepped behind the older man, clamped a great hand on his thin shoulder, and shoved him down into the chair so hard the wooden legs grated on the stone floor. The steward flinched as if to leap back up, but Robert’s strong grip kept him pinned to the wooden seat.

“Everyone is present and accounted for, milady!” his growl reverberated around the hall.

“You have more value to my General as Lord of Cardonaccum.”
Spoken bluntly, but honestly.

“General Talos does not require my understanding, only my loyalty.”
Now he sounds like a Minbari! Check his head, does it have a bone?

I also liked the discussion about "retirement". The Cyrodills are civilized enough that one doubts he'd go the way of the milk cow. But then again, Talos did try to use the Numidium to kill every member of every ruling family in Tamriel as well...

Even more I enjoyed Cora's thoughts about morality, and whose morality was right, and who has the right to decide whose right was right? Those are questions that still dog people today, with no clear answers.

And now the hearing begins. I am looking forward to a fair trial followed by a first class hanging...

Catching up:

I love the descriptions of Lady Cora’s clothes.

But the Goddess is older, much older than the Eight. Nirn is only her most recent manifestation, if I remember Mother’s teachings aright.

Now I understand! This went a long way to get me back into the story after scratching my head over what Lady Cora meant in her musings.

Oh dear, young Tywin is dead and so is his accidental (or not) killer. Hmm…

Lady Cora’s scene with Hamish was a quiet delight.

Siné appeared from the corridor leading to the chapel. She met my gaze as I stepped to the Thistle Seat and nodded. We had not spoken since before Enrick’s return. In accordance with the rules set by Wallace’s wise father years ago, evidence was examined independently by Siné in her role as Arkay’s representative, myself as Lord of Cardonaccum, and Rodric and Edine in their roles as vassals. We would not share our findings until the formal hearing now about to begin.

OK, now I’m ready for the hearing.

Interesting musings about Talos, loyalties and morality.

You were right when you forecast that I would like Titus. He is not perfect, but he is a good piece of gear. Like Lady Cora, I’m glad he’s there.

Speaking of being glad someone is there, I loved Robert the Bear near the end. 'Have a seat, prisoners . . . or I’ll break your legs!’

And now we have everything in place. I join SubRosa in my confidence that the hearing will be fair. . . and hopefully followed by a swift execution.

“There is no prosecution, S- Sir Broc,” I answered. “Merely a h- hearing to establish the facts. You will have your s- say.”

This is the inquest. Once the inquest determines there was a murder, then there may be a trial. Do I take your unease to suggest that you already know the proper outcome of the inquest?

BROC!

I knew that leaving him unsupervised during the winter was a bad idea, but dang. Looks like his plan has become bigger than his pants for a change.


It is also worth mentioning that if the true lord of Cardonaccum had taken along the escort her retainers wanted, this might not have happened. Bandits, games aside, are probably not going to attack a large number of well-armed and well-trained men without a very good assurance they'll win. And pyrrhic victories don't count.


Fortunately Cora had a dashing escape. (which also gave further proof of something protecting her. She calls it Nirn or the goddess which is fine for now)


Back at the castle, it appears that Broc has devised a backup plan for when plan kidnap the lady and forcefully marry/impregnate her doesn't work. Given the number of troops he'd brought along I assume that one of these backup plans (Z?) is takeover by force. I still think he is outnumbered with the Thistlemen and the Legionnaires, but with the Broccolis in the right place he could do a lot of damage and decapitate the chain of command.


Cora's insistent refusal of all healing on the grounds that she can still function and has a mission to fulfill amuses me. As did her sudden flipout into murdermode. Yes, I can see what she is trying to accomplish with it, but it was surprising nonetheless. And the surprise may have been what made it so effective. No one expects the friend of all living things and weak woman without a man to brutally kill someone. Especially not without an arrow stuck in her and who knows what other injuries.


And I've only read up till the murder of Tywin. The plan to kill him was a bit bad what with relying on a friend of the victim to run him through, but I suppose it wouldn't have mattered anyway if it wasn't for the sneaky brother in the bushes. It would have been a he said she said sort of thing and Mercutio probably thought he could pre-emptively deal with all known witnesses if the witch (seriously man, why did you just call her that to her face?) had asked for them. As for the lad, he was probably brought along not as a witness, but to represent the accused and maybe face punishment in his stead. I dunno how feudalism might look on relatives of someone who perpetrated such a serious crime.

@SubRosa: Now he sounds like a Minbari! Check his head, does it have a bone? Sage Rose, we all have bones in our heads! It's called a skull. Granted, some of us have thicker ones than others. The questions about right versus wrong are things I wrestle with frequently, as part of my own faith process. Taking the ethics courses I have taken, I've learned to question accepted dogma and to search for my own truth. Lady Cora is going through the same process here. I'm glad it came through for you as it did.

@Grits: Between you and me, the clothes of the twelfth century are some of the most flattering, feminine and lovely clothes ever designed. And they were based on practical considerations, too! Never mind the corsets, stomachers, and bustles of later fashions, these were the best! As for the theology, I 'm glad Lady Cora was able to clarify some head-scratchers for you!

@Acadian: To be honest, I keep our friend McB very much in mind as I write Robert. McB's stick avatar is actually the inspiration for our bearish castellan. Perhaps instead of Robert White-arm, he should be Robert the Bear-armed!

@ghastley: In the modern legal system, yes, this would be an inquest, the main purpose of which is to determine if there is grounds for a trial. But in the Second Era High Rock, the legal system is very different, if it even exists at all. I came across something in the Lore about Tiber Septim's biggest contribution to the Empire was not as a warrior, conqueror or emperor, but rather as a legal tactician who created the legal system that is still used in the Empire during the time of the Oblivion Crisis. Before then, there was no real legal system, though attempts have been made to establish one, as evidenced by Wallace's father's efforts.

@cloudy: I had to chuckle at your comments and summary of what has transpired so far. Looks like you accomplished a lot of catching up! I doubt that Mercutio was counting on Hamish's brother to do the actual deed. He was likely hoping for an accident, or planning to do the evil act himself and blame the good guardsman.

The story so far: With the evidence of Broc's misdeeds now gathered, the Enclave has been called to hear the roll call of his crimes and to pass judgement. I'm sorry to disappoint, but I just could not write a courtroom scene to fit this setting, leastaways not to the caliber of Destri Melarg's nail-biting version in Interregnum.

***************
Chapter Thirty-two

“. . . the wound is consistent with a keen, two-edged blade typical of a longsword,” Siné finished summing up her examination of Tywin’s body. “Death was nearly instantaneous.”

I looked at the knights. “Do you agree, S- Sir Rodric, Dame Edine?”

“Aye!” Rodric’s affirmation held unshakable confidence.

“It concurs with my captain’s assessment,” Edine nodded at Tomsen, standing at her shoulder.

“I agree that Tywin was k- killed by a sharp blade, not by a dulled sword as S- Steward Mercutio testifies,” I shifted restlessly in the Thistle Seat. Pain flared up again and disrupted my breathing. Closing my eyes dispelled the bats that swirled in my vision. When I could see again, Broc’s gaze had turned defiant. “S- Sir Broc, it would s- s- seem that the evidence does not support your t- testimony.” I held his eyes for a few agonized breaths. “What say you?”

“You claim to have no magicka, Cora ap Askey,” Broc drew himself up in his chair. “Yet I see here ample evidence of your power to manipulate good folk to your own evil ends. It began with your seduction of Lord Wallace into marriage so you could gain entry to Cardonaccum. You have lured Sir Rodric and Dame Edine to your side. Somehow even that Colovian general has been ensnared in your honey trap. Where will it end?”

“Enough!” Robert roared. “This is a court of facts, not slander and libel!”

“Castellan,” I murmured. “Let S- Sir Broc speak. Every word he utters reveals his true c- colors.” My eyes locked with Broc’s own. “After all, one can only see what his own mind is c- capable of seeing.”

“I am done speaking, Cora ap Askey!” Broc sat down abruptly. I raised my brows at him. Giving up so easily? What else do you have planned for us? For me?

“Very well,” I said finally. “Sir R- Rodric, Dame Edine, Healer Siné, do we h- have any further questions?”

“No!” Rodric’s emphatic reply was echoed by Edine’s and Siné’s softer voices.

“In the case of T- Tywin’s death, what say you?”

“Guilty!” “Guilty.” “Guilty.”

“In the c- case of conspiracy of assault on Servius T- Terentius and myself, what say you?”

Once again the verdict was unanimous. I closed my eyes and inhaled slowly against the pain in my ribs.

“In the case of t- treason against C- Cardonaccum, what say you?”

Rodric slammed his greatsword against the stone floor and rose to his feet. “Guilty, I say!” His tone held barely repressed anger. I sent him a warning glance, then turned to Edine.

“Guilty,” her whisper matched the paleness of her face. She knows what will happen next and it brings back shame and unhappy memories of her husband’s betrayal.

Siné lifted her chin as she met my gaze from her place at the podium. She twirled the quill in her hand and regarded me somberly. She is a healer. Her calling is to preserve life, not take it. How will she vote on this? “Guilty.” Her soft voice fell clearly in the silence of the great hall.

Broc’s face paled as apparently the gravity of his situation sank in. His eyes glared at me across the magelight as I set Thistlethorn upright before me and rose to my feet. With both hands wrapped around its hilt, I straightened against the agony filling my body.

“Th- the vote is final,” I pitched my voice to carry around the hall. “The s- sentence for murder is death. The s- sentence for assault is exile. The sentence for t- treason is death.” Behind Broc appeared the castellan’s bulk, bracketed by two of his most reliable thistlemen. “Castellan, the execution s- shall take place at sunset tonight. See that the courtyard is ready.”

“Milady!” Robert’s affirmative set off murmurings among the gathered folk. As the thistlemen escorted a stunned Broc away, I turned my gaze to Steward Mercutio. “For your role in T- Tywin of Northside’s death, you are also sentenced to death. As s- soon as the gallows is completed, you will h- hang by the neck until dead.”

“Damn you, Witch!” the thin man shouted as he was dragged away. “You will burn at the stake for this! Arkay set his hand on you and curse you!”

I am already cursed, I kept my face blank and turned to Hamish. “Young Hamish, th- thank you for your testimony. You are welcome to st- stay here, or return to your place at Northside.”

The boy straightened his shoulders. “I’ll go back, milady. ‘Tis my home.”

“Then wait until the morn, H- Hamish,” I managed to smile at him. “You can accompany the new lord of the manor when h- he departs tomorrow.” His eyes flew wide, and I sensed other gazes snap toward me. “Yes, I h- have decided who will run Northside for C- Cardonaccum. But first,” I turned to the gathered men-at-arms still waiting behind their guards. I motioned for Enrick to bring them forward.

“You may have heard of the c- conditions I offered Sir Laird’s men last winter,” I addressed them. “I give you the same t- terms. If you followed S- Sir Broc because you shared his convictions, you will be exiled from C- Cardonaccum forever. But if you followed h- him because of the oath you swore to him as h- his father’s heir,” I paused to catch my breath. Damn this stutter! “And if you are now willing to s- swear that same oath to Northside’s new lord, you may return with Hamish t- tomorrow.” Now I met each man’s gaze in turn. “But be warned, th- the new lord will run things differently. You may need to ch- change your behavior accordingly.”

One of the men stepped forward, away from the rest. “Milady,” he addressed me with inclined head. “I served Sir Duncan for many years. Those were good days. If the new lord milady has chosen is as honest and wise as Sir Duncan, he would not ask for a more loyal man-at-arms than myself!”

Several of the men echoed the soldier’s sentiments, moving to stand behind him. They’re all older - past their prime fighting years. But they have experience that can be valuable. I will be certain to send plenty of younger men with them to fill those numbers back up. I looked at the remaining men, about half of Broc’s contingent. Most of them, as young as Broc or younger, it seems, returned my gaze with overt hostility.

“We will not tolerate a Witch as Lord of Cardonaccum!” one of them shouted in defiance. I sighed.

“You will not need t- to,” I answered. “You are t- to go into exile immediately. Lieutenant Alorius’s legionaries will escort you to the Bluestone T- Tower and see you off my lands. If you r- return, you will be s- slain with extreme prejudice.”

“As you wish, Lady,” Titus moved from the shadows with his officers to take the forty-odd rebels in hand.

“One more th- thing,” I held up my right hand, wincing at the stabbing pain in my shoulder. “C- Captain Enrick?”

He stepped past the Northsiders to stop beside the hearth, its magelight casting his shadow high onto the walls above our heads. “Milady?”

“Come closer, C- Captain,” I picked up Thistlethorn. “Kneel.”

His eyes widened as I moved to the edge of the dais. Slowly he obeyed, taking one knee before the shallow step. “As you command, milady.”

“Captain Enrick has s- served Lord Wallace as his field c- commander for several years,” I addressed the gathered castle folk and thistlemen. “He h- has shown naught but loyalty to my husband. Since Lord Wallace’s passing, he has s- shown me naught but the same loyalty. I can th- think of no man more deserving of the knight’s r- rank.” Slowly I lifted the tip of the massive blade and rested it on his left shoulder, then his right. “From this moment forward, you are now known as Sir Enrick Dougal, th- the new lord of Northside!” Carefully I lowered Thistlethorn to the floor and met Enrick’s stunned gaze. “It is what Wallace wanted for you, C- Captain,” I whispered for his ears only as the hall erupted into cheers. I noticed that Titus’s legionaries added their voices to the accolades.

“Milady!” Enrick could only gasp. “I know nothing -!”

I nodded at the older Northsiders. “You h- have a group of men-at-arms who once served Lord Duncan gladly. You will have th- their support. Also I would suggest you take some of th- the younger thistlemen from your own field c- command to fill out their ranks.” I held my hand out to him. “Stand up, Sir Enrick!”

And so is ordered a pair of sunset executions. Although the sentence brings Cora no joy, it is swift, appropriate and necessary justice.

I’m betting the newly dubbed Sir Enrick will make a fine knight and lord of Northside.

Lady Cora done good here. Perhaps she will now stop holding Sine at bay, so can the two can work on some much needed witch-mending.

I was wondering if Lady Cora would let Thistlethorn handle the executions, but she put it to happier use knighting Sir Enrick. As Acadian said, perhaps Sine will finally get a chance to work on Lady Cora before the evening’s festivities.

How did I miss this? I am sorry for replying so late. Somehow your post slipped through the (many) cracks in my brain.

Now that is the fair trial (hopefully) followed by a first-class hanging that I was looking forward to. Now I am wondering if Sir Broc will be decapitated, or hanged? Hanging was usually an execution for commoners, where lopping off the head with a sword was reserved for nobles. I noticed that Cora specifically said "hanging" in reference to Romeo's friend Mecrutio, but she only said execution in the case of Broc, and did not make any mention of building a gallows before doing him in.

I appreciated that it was not Cora who pronounced sentence upon Broc. Rather it was the others. A trial by a jury of his peers. That is very enlightened, very Viking if I dare say. It is an excellent way of Cora directly showing that Broc's execution was not the personal whim of a tyrant, but rather a lawful act conducted by The State, as all true executions are.

And we see Cora offering the same amnesty that she did to Sir Lard's men. I am not surprised the older men would go with her. They go back to the days of Sir Duncan, so likely their real loyalties were with him, and not personally to his no-account son. The younger ones, brought on by Broc himself, will probably be a different matter though...

And welcome Sir Enrick! Well done on both Cora's and En's parts!

@Acadian: Overdue witch-mending, indeed! And Sir Enrick will be awesome as the new leader of Northside. I think Lady Cora was extremely wise to reward this young man for his unswerving service to her cause, and as she is in no hurry to replace her trusted castellan, the vacancy at Northside is an excellent choice.

@Grits: Don't worry, Thistlethorn's work isn't done yet. We will see what Lady Cora plans to do with it.

@SageRose: I'm glad that you picked up on how fair and balanced this trial/hearing was, compared to the standard of medieval justice. I wrote this segment almost a year ago, and wanted to show how much the legal system in Cyrodiil had progressed since the Second Era. I can see "enlightened" nobles seeking to improve the administration of justice to be more fair and balanced to all involved, and not be partial to those with power and rank. As for your musings concerning the method of Sir Broc's execution, you will see how right you are.

The story so far: Sir Broc and his henchman Mercutio have been sentenced to death for their actions, and the Northsiders who have chosen not to swear fealty to Lady Cora and her chosen knight of the manor have been sent into exile. Captain Enrick is now Sir Enrick, Knight of Northside -- a suitable reward for his continued loyalty to Lady Cora as Lord Wallace's successor.

****************************
Chapter Thirty-three

“Don’t feel so flabbergasted, young man!” Rodric’s voice reached me as I paused outside the study. Niall opened the door for me. Within I saw the beaming knight gripping Enrick’s shoulder. “If you ever need advice, just send to me or Dame Edine. We’ll help you, not to worry!”

Enrick’s head turned as I entered the room, and the others bowed to me. The three knights stood before the warm fire, its heat welcome even at noon on this cold spring day. The former captain clapped his fist to his breast in the soldier’s salute, then remembered his new place and hastily echoed the others’ greeting. “Milady, I’m very honored that you think I’m capable -.”

“S- Sir Enrick,” I stopped him with a hand on his left forearm. “I don’t think you’re c- capable at all. I know it. In th- the absence of any more get of Lord Duncan’s, I cannot think of anyone better s- suited to run this holding than you.”

A flush bloomed across Enrick’s lean visage, and his gaze wavered from me to the knights. His eyes finally settled on Robert, standing near the window.

The big Nord grinned at Enrick’s obvious discomfiture and clanged his own mailed fist to his breast. “Hail, Sir Enrick!” His blue eyes twinkled with good humor. “You’ve done well, and rightly deserve your promotion!” His gaze shifted to Niall as the steward laid Thistlethorn carefully on the desk. “Let me see that yon sword’s as sharp as can be, milady.”

“Yes, it must be very s- sharp indeed.” I nodded. “R- Robert, please see to it, and bring it back t- to me before sunset.”

My final words halted Robert in the act of reaching for the sword. His eyes narrowed at me. “Bring it back to you?” he repeated. “Do I hear aright?”

“Milady!” Rodric exclaimed, stepping forward. “Surely you are not thinking of -!” his voice trailed off at the look I gave him.

“I must perform th- the execution myself,” I kept my voice steady. “As Lord of C- Cardonaccum I can do naught else.”

“Milady,” Siné’s voice reached me from the doorway. “Your shoulder is not healed. You will only cause more damage because of the arrowhead.”

“Yes,” Edine reached a hand out to me, a plea on her careworn face. “You are not well, milady.”

“I will not s- shirk my r- responsibilities as Lord because I am a woman!” I could not keep the frustration out of my voice. “When Wallace was injured in th- that bandit raid, remember R- Robert?” I locked gazes with him. “Remember what h- he did?”

“He executed the traitors himself,” Robert nodded. “But he was - “ He stopped himself just in time, his eyes darkening. “Milady, you are only so strong. We do not want to see you harmed any further.”

“You c- cannot protect me from my duties,” I moved my gaze to Rodric. “Because S- Sir Broc is a knight, only the Lord of C- Cardonaccum can honorably execute him. His rank entitles h- him to this much, at least.” Now I looked at Edine. “And I must s- show everyone that though I am a woman, I am s- still Lord of Cardonaccum!”

“Then at least let me remove that arrowhead immediately, milady,” Siné moved to stand beside Edine.

“Yes, let Siné do that much,” the older woman echoed.

For a moment I considered the thought. Can I really endure this? Will I be able to pick up Thistlethorn with that piece of sharp steel in my shoulder? But I can’t let them hear me screaming, for nothing will stop me from doing so. Even if we went into Siné’s alchemy lab deep below the donjon they will still hear me. And the wound won’t heal in time - my shoulder will still be too weak. No, I lifted Thistlethorn once, I can do so again. I closed my eyes. Goddess, give me strength!

“Milady, please!” Rodric’s tone held a plea. “I will do it for you!” Yes, let Sir Rodric do this. But he is the same rank as Sir Broc. That is unacceptable by High Rock standards. No, the treasonous act was directed against the Lord of Cardonaccum. As the aggrieved party, I must be the one to mete out the sentence.

I saw the anxiety in his gaze, the worry in Robert’s. Enrick’s face remained carefully neutral, but his eyes held uncertainty.

“No.” I shook my head. “I must be the one to c- carry it out. I must s- see it through.” I turned back to Robert. “That is why Thistlethorn must be as k- keen as you can possibly make it. Do not t- try to put an enchantment on it. You know what will h- happen the moment I pick it up.”

“Aye,” Robert nodded gruffly. “Any magicka will bleed right out into the ground!”

I turned back to the knights. “The sword will be k- keen, I know Robert will see to it himself. And a keen s- sword will do all the work, as both of you fighters well know. All I ask of the th- three of you is that you be present t- to witness the just punishment of the t- traitor Sir Broc.”

Edine stepped forward first. “Of course,” she said quietly, her own face as ghastly as I felt. “You can rely on me, Lord Cora.”

“And I, milady,” Enrick bowed to me, his left hand on his hilt.

I shifted my gaze to Rodric. His mustache puffed in exasperation, then he nodded curtly. “Aye, I will be there, milady!”

Of the three of them, only Edine has called me Lord. I still have a great deal of work ahead of me. That is why I must carry out the execution myself. If that is what it will take to get men to think of me as Lord of Cardonaccum -!

“I will go to my son,” Edine gathered her skirts around her. “I must speak to Tevan of the verdict.” She shook her head sadly. “This has not been easy for him.”

“Nor for you, Dame Edine,” I murmured softly. If Laird had survived Talos’s ambush last fall, would his head be on my block too? “I will s- see you in a few hours.”

Edine curtseyed gracefully and left the study. Enrick straightened his shoulders. “If I have your permission, milady,” he met my gaze, “I would like to go meet those Northsiders who will be accompanying me tomorrow, get their measure.”

“I think it is an excellent idea, S- Sir Enrick,” I smiled at him. “You will do well, I’ve no doubt.”

As Enrick departed after Edine, Rodric moved to the desk and ran his fingertips thoughtfully along the sheathed blade. Cinnie leaped onto the desk from behind the chair and paced along the sword, her whiskers brushing the back of the aged knight’s hand. Absently he cupped his hand over her head, then turned back to me.

“My apologies, milady,” he rumbled softly. “You are right, of course. As Lord of Cardonaccum you must do what you must. But ‘tis difficult for me --” his voice trailed off.

“It is difficult at t- times for me, too, Sir Rodric,” I assured him. “But I think of Lord Wallace and how he h- handled such issues. Would he let one of you perform the deed? No. So h- how can I?”

“There’s no shame in having a champion serve on your behalf in these matters,” Sir Rodric mused. “Yet that would suggest weakness on your part.” He shook his head. “Rest, milady, for that sword is a heavy burden to bear!” He spun away and limped out of the room.

Only Siné and Robert remained. The healer moved to stand before me, her large eyes expressive. “Milady, I will stand at your back. I am ready whenever you are.”

“Th- thank you, Siné,” I whispered. “I will come to you in t- time. Trust me that much, healer.”

She inclined her head gracefully before leaving.

“Sir Rodric has a point,” Robert picked up the greatsword easily in one large hand. He met my gaze as Cinnie seated herself primly on the spot where the pommel had rested. “And I know full well how stubborn you can be! I pray to Shor that this stubbornness of yours will give you the strength you will need for tonight.” He touched the hilt of the sword to his lips in salute. “I will make this keen enough to shave Shor’s beard!” Then he was gone in a swirl of his brown cloak, the door closing behind him.

Alone in the study, I turned back to look at the moggy. She sat upright in the proper way of cats, her long tail wrapped around her feet. Her golden eyes gleamed at me as she regarded me intently.

“You have s- something to say, too, Cinnie?” I asked her. In response, she picked up a front paw and began licking it. “That’s it?” I sighed, feeling the weariness in my bones beneath the constant pain.

I see it will be Thistlethorn that Sir Broc will be getting a neckfull of indeed!

This entire episode is filled with Cora's greater battle. That of earning not simply the loyalty of her retainers, but their respect as a leader first, and a woman second. The entire story is filled with that, but here Cora's struggle against High Rock's gender roles is made very stark. As is her determination to bear any sacrifice.

That is one troublesome arrowhead! It’s taking on more of a life of its own than a Destri sweet roll!

“I will make this keen enough to shave Shor’s beard!” - - You’ve built a nice scenario where the justice, it’s manner of delivery and choice of executioner all make perfect sense.

Loved the reappearance of Cinnie and her insightful advice.

One is almost tempted to suggest that Broc deserves a blunter blade, but let's not be cruel.

Liked the slight indecision about healing before or after the execution. Cora already knows that Thistlethorn can do the job, but will the arrowhead allow her to do her part? Cinnie appears to think so.

@SubRosa: Yes, Lady Cora is determined to have others fully accept her as Lord of Cardonaccum. Without their unwavering support, she knows she is nothing. What she doesn't yet realize is the power of her own personality on others.

@Acadian: I'm not sure that arrowhead compares so well against Destri's Sweet Roll! But thanks for the reminder! I knew one of you would notice Cinnie's role in this little scene.

@ghastley Lady Cora can be cold-hearted when she has to be, but she is not cruel. So, no blunt blade for the dastardly plotter. As for the healing, I'm glad you like the back and forth in Lady Cora's mind about having it done before or after her grisly task is completed.

The story so far: Sir Broc and his cronies have been sentenced to death and exile. Lady Cora has made it clear to her knights that she is the one, in spite of her injury, that must perform Sir Broc's execution. Now there is someone else she must convince . . .

***********************
Chapter Thirty-four

Silence fell over the study as I moved to the desk and stroked Cinnie’s ears. She stretched into my palm and purred, her eyes closed in hedonistic pleasure. The pain returned with a vengeance, and I leaned my hands onto the desk.

A soft sound behind me drew my head around. I glanced back over my right shoulder toward the shadows beyond the fireplace. A hooded figure moved into the firelight.

The agony racked my body and stole my breath as I startled at the apparition’s sudden appearance. “Wh- who are you?” I managed to gasp, groping for the letter knife resting near the candle. A soft paw firmly pinned my skittering hand to the desktop, and a quiet rumble reminded me of Cinnie’s presence.

“Only I, Lady Cora,” the voice I had not heard since last fall unsettled me further as the stranger lowered his hood from his face. General Talos’s hazel gaze caught the firelight as he stopped a few steps away from me.

“H- how did you get h- here?” I shot a panicked glance toward the closed door that led out to the passageway and the rest of the castle. For a gasping breath I thought of calling out for the thistlemen, but the pain in my side stole my voice. Cinnie’s head swiped against my arm.

“I came as soon as I heard of your attack,” Talos held his hands up in a manner clearly intended to reassure me. “I wanted to see for myself that you are all right. I see that you are not, however.”

Carefully I turned to face him, bracing my hands on the edge of the desk behind me. Cinnie’s odd behavior didn’t help to ease my terror at confronting the man of my nightmares alone in my own study. I struggled to gather the scattered threads of my wits into some flimsy sort of fabric. “Th- that happened not even two days ago! H- how did you get h- here from Wayrest so q- quickly?” The road to Phrygia isn’t even open yet!

“Your people have a point, Lady Cora,” Talos apparently chose to ignore my questions. “You are too weak to even lift that sword, let alone control its drop. The slightest waver from you will only lead to failure. You need a champion, as Sir Rodric said.”

I shook my head. “Who?” I managed to put a note of challenge into my voice. “You?” Through sheer will I forced the tremors in my body down into my pounding heartbeat. “Th- that will only make me appear all th- the weaker!”

“Why not Lieutenant Alorius?” Talos countered, his voice infuriatingly calm. “When he returns from the task you have set him, he will be glad to do it. He’s outside the ranks of High Rock.”

“Th- that is precisely why he c- can’t do it!” I shot back. “None of you c- can do it. Cardonaccum is not c- conquered!”

“Lady Cora,” Talos took on the tone of a patient father with a wayward child. “I heard what your healer said. That greatsword of Wallace’s is nearly as long as you are tall. You can barely carry the thing, let alone lift it.”

“That s- sword of Wallace’s is now mine, as Lord of C- Cardonaccum!” I barely managed to keep my voice just above a pained whisper. His condescension is so infuriating!

“To even try will cause that arrowhead to shred your shoulder to pieces.” Talos took a step closer. “The damage it could cause may be permanent.”

I lifted my chin and tipped my head back to keep my gaze on his. “It will be worth the price if it gains the r- respect of my knights.”

A hint of exasperation crept into Talos’s eyes as he inhaled slowly. “You have their respect, Lady Cora, as you have mine. If you push yourself too hard at this time . . .”

Of its own volition, my right hand cracked across his cheek, hard. The sound of the slap echoed into the crackling emanating from the hearth while my injured shoulder tortured an involuntary cry from my throat. Talos rocked back on his heels as I clutched at my shoulder with my left hand. Numbness followed fire down my right arm, and something hot trickled down my back.

Though my heart pounded in terror of his reaction, I looked up at him as he slowly returned his gaze to me. His brows drew together and nearly vanquished what little courage I had left. Yet my father’s temper would not allow retreat. “I’ll be the one to decide when t- too much is t-. . .”

Talos moved swifter than my vision could follow. His hands caught the two centers of my pain and drew me against him. Before I could raise my hands in protest, his lips stopped my stammer. Hard and hot, the kiss breathed golden fire into my mouth and down my throat. Similar energy coursed from the broken ribs in my left side, the wound in my right shoulder and met beneath my breastbone in a swirling conflagration that stopped my heartbeat.

I couldn’t breathe against that terrifying sensation. I had been exposed to magicka before, but this was something more - fundamental - than mere magic. Where ordinary spells merely crackled through my body into the ground with little more than a psychic lightning burn, this power filled my very being and threatened to split my skin. In the face of such heat, the pain that had been my constant torture burned away into nothingness.

Then cold darkness surged upward from the stones beneath my bare feet. For a breathless eternity that lasted barely longer than a breath night and day danced together between us. Quicker than a blink of an eye the elemental symphony disappeared.

Only his hands on my wounds held me up, only his lips met mine. For a stunned moment I tasted cloves and ginger, felt the warmth of mortal passion on my mouth. It was only a moment, but it was more than enough for my body to begin singing the way it had beneath Wallace’s loving hands. Then he broke away before I could think of an appropriate response.

I realized that both of us were breathing hard, as if we had raced each other to some undefined prize. His hot breath tickled my right ear, the side of my neck. I closed my eyes at the sudden memory of how Wallace had always touched me there so gently. For a moment I dared to imagine my husband during our moments of intimacy. But my scrambled thoughts reassembled themselves, and I recalled who held me so closely.

His fingers pressed hard into my right shoulder. I gasped at the absence of pain from either wound. Then Talos eased me back against the desk and his grip lightened. He did not meet my gaze when I looked up into his face. A deep breath came without agony, and I realized that my ribs did not hurt anymore. His hands fell away as I straightened up.

“I’m sorry, Lady Cora,” his whisper brushed my right ear as something clattered to the desk behind me. I looked down to see a broken arrowhead resting on a stained dressing, steel glinting through blood. Cinnie padded over and sniffed at it, then met my gaze and chirped. I looked back up to find myself alone in the study.

“What in Oblivion?” I muttered, leaning against the desk. Sorry for what? I reached over my right shoulder with my left hand. The ridges of a healed scar instead of the pain of a festering wound greeted my fingertips. I breathed deeply, and felt no stabbing in my left side. Air moved freely through my lungs, making me nearly giddy with relief. Why would he apologize for healing me? Why would he even bother to heal me? I am only his ally, nothing more. Does my alliance truly hold so much value to this man?

My heartbeat slowed as my body gradually ceased its thrumming. And why do I feel like this? Talos is nothing like Wallace! How could he make my body sing like this with the merest touch? But that was more than a mere touch. And I permitted it! Me, a loyal wife to a man not dead a year! Sick guilt curdled my stomach and made me groan softly. Wallace, how can you forgive me?

I sighed and moved to sit beside the fire. Do I tell the others that I have been healed? How do I explain this to them? I can’t tell them of this. How can I explain it? I, who have no magicka of my own, who have always been one to drain magicka from others, how can I be healed like this? I recalled the intensity of the fire I had felt, and the answering response from Nirn. This can’t be ordinary magicka. Only a Divine can answer the Goddess with a dance. Just who - no, what - is this man?

A/N I started a new thread in my sub forum. Fans of OHDH may enjoy this little tale.

Talos? How did he get there indeed? Did he ride a dragon perhaps?

Whoa, his presence was not the only surprise! Looks like that dragon blood in his veins runs hot enough for both of them! It also looks like some dragon magic (perhaps not so much as shout as a whisper), works on Cora after all.

I liked Cora's brief thought of how magic normally ran through her like a lightning rod, grounding out impotently in the earth below.

I also liked Cora's very natural guilt over feeling passion again.