VI. The Path Forward

Rains stretched across the Great Sea, drenching the southern coast of my lands. The war against Lord Gemini’s mercenary armies have dwindled, and travelers from the west have begun their trek from the mountains, across the valley toward the Imperium, stopping in our villages for rest and warm meals. Merchants from the north have their wool, their timber, and their autumn harvest to our ports to trade with the packets, their colorful silk, their peppered spices and their peetish coffee. Our rangers still ride the borders in heavy patrol, but their spirits have lightened enough to trade laughter and jokes of matters other than death and battle.

My second daughter, Stella, Steward of my lands, sits at her desca in the study off the Great Hall. Since my death, she reluctantly moved her family into the Steward Estate. Her transition was not easy, and while most of the elders offer her their support, there were two, Jessine and Abrile, who kept silent. They were the main dissenters of offering our lands in the northeast to our neighbors Lady Glendora and Judgment in the hopes that the people their would remain secure from harm.

“Due respect, Steward, those lands hold the a third of our vineyards,” Jessine had protested. “Our trade decreases significantly with their loss.” A murmur had permeated the Elder’s council.

“Our enemies win when they see us relinquish our riches, our source for commerce,” Abrile echoed.

Ghita, lead of the elders spoke up, “If we cannot adequately protect them all of our people, many will surely perish under the treat of mercenaries. We risk too much for the sake of open trade.”

Jessine looked to Stella. “Your father dedicated his live to the prosperity of his people.”

Stella had looked around the table to each of the elders and thought for a moment. “My father put the safety of his lands above all endeavors first, as would I.”

For the first time consensus had not been reached among the elders, and Stella had been obligated to settle for a recommendation for the majority. After recalling the proceedings of the council for a time, She finally stood up and stretched her body from sitting for too long. Her neck cracked, and walked to the fireplace warm herself as she gazed into the burning embers.  She felt a nudge at her feet, and she looked down to see a waddling puppy sniffing her leather slippers.

“Hello,” she said and knelt down to pet the youth. “Are you lost?” The puppy looked up and began to sniff her hand, then jumped to lick her face with new delight.

“She’s in need of a home.”

Stella turned around to see Ghita standing at the doorway to the study. “I thought you might want the company,” she said joining her at the fire.

“A puppy?” Stella asked.

“A shepherd,” Ghita said, “mine just had babes, and this one seemed to have an old soul about him.”

“I’m not sure my husband would appreciate another mouth to feed.”

Ghita smiled, “You’d be surprised how much food this young one can find among the staff at the estate. Besides, you’re father always said, Trace was the only one who trusted his instincts. I suspect you could use that right now.”

Stella looked at Ghita, “Last week, I sent Delfia to search for Lord Gemini. I don’t trust the loss of his whereabouts.”

Ghita stared into the fire for a moment. “How have our defenses holding?”

“The attacks have waned, but I’m in doubt whether this is the calm before the storm.”

Ghita was quiet, her concern showing more than usual. “Is she in danger?”

“She can take care of herself. In any case, I must know our enemy’s intentions, and even rumors are scarce.”

“It is a good move,” she said finally.

Stella sighed, then looked to the pup, lying on his back grateful for his bellyrub. “Well, sir,” she said, “what shall we call you?”

As if on cue, the pup rolled to his feet, and gave pitched bark and happily panted.

“Perhaps, you deserve my father’s nickname.”

Ghita laughed, “Wouldn’t that be appropriate.”

“Indeed,” Stella smiled. “Then it’s settled. It’s time for our first meal together. Come along, Brave.”

—

The rain was relentless. Delfia rode atop her horse, Kaynequus on the path heading into dusk. She was dressed in light leather armor and traveling clothes, shrouded in a warm hooded cape. She was on the other side of the Great Sea, and she had been traveling from village to village, taking her meals in the taverns, and striking up conversations with others for information on the whereabouts of Lord Gemini.

“Lord Gemini,” last night’s barkeep had remarked, scratching is chin. “He’s a slippery one, that one is. I wouldn’t say his reign was bright in these parts, but it was good for business.”

He handed Delfia a tankard of ale across the bar, then pointed behind her, “If you’re looking for Gemini, perhaps, she’s the one you’ll want to ask.”

Delfia, turned to see a woman walk through the front door of the tavern, catching her eye as well. The woman’s eyebrows arched with knowing surprise, then a smile appeared, with a hint of cleverness or mockery, Delfia couldn’t tell. It was Renata. She wore easy traveling clothes with leather riding gauntlets and boots, and she carried a long sheath long dagger at her side.

“Grabel,” she called to the barkeep, “You see before you a parched woman.”

She took the pot from him as she stood next to Delfia and held it to her. “You’re a long way from home, Captain.”

Delfia returned the toast, “and you’re a long way from the sea, Rogue.”

“I’ve moved on from those pirates. There’s only so much entertainment begotten from boys on on boats.”

“Those boys put up quite a fight,” Delfia said recalling the mercenary sieges on her lands’ ports. “I don’t recall seeing you with them.”

Renata smiled. “Perhaps it’s better that you didn’t. I’m not sure you’d be standing—with me to share a pot of ale.”

“Nor am I, of you,” Delfia said.

“We may never know.”

Delfia glanced up from her ale. “It appears Lord Gemini has disappeared.”

Renata looked around the tavern, “You’re not subtle, that’s for sure. It seems my circle of friends have known about you since you set foot on this side of the sea.”

“I have no fear of your friends,” Delfia said.

Renata laughed. “Nor they, of you, but it’s no surprise that you’ve come this far without any knowledge of Gemini.”

Delfia looked at her, “What do you know of him?”

“What does it matter? Gemini’s followers have disbanded. His army is no longer a threat. He hardly holds court those other than his own faces.”

“Threats like Gemini do not go away easily. We must know.”

“Indeed, whether or not you see him, he is here.”

“Am I to be frightened by the riddle?”

Renata replied, “Some think that they can set a foot in hell and draw their swords to parry and thrust to vanquish their boredom. They think they can dance the role of mischief maker and stop before the leather of their boots are too warm from the heat.

“But Evil does not approach from a distance with fanfare. It is subtle, clever and quiet. It’s in the wine it offers for drink, and in the pig it offers for food. It lightens your head with flattery and warms your belly with pride. Dine with the devil enough times, and you’ll realize, too late the smoke you’re choking on is from the fire that’s burning away your heart, till your chest is burnt hollow. Some have the sense to desert hell for whatever redemption is left for them. Others have lost themselves completely to wander the world without course or conscience, but still wielding a powerful, reckless axe.”

Renata finished her cup and beckoned for another pot. Delfia reflected on her words, then said, “Gemini has no army, you say.”

“There’s a reason he largely hired mercenaries to fight his war. The sight of coin can hide the true nature of a man’s heartless soul.”

Grabel handed a drink to Renata who toasted him and drank.

“Then I must find Gemini now,” Delfia said, and Renata spit out a mouthful of beer Grabel’s face, surprised and resentful.

“It may be his most vulnerable moment,” Delfia continued, “Where can I find him?”

“My apologies, Grabel,” Renata said, “I’ve been drinking with a witless, foolish woman.”

She turned to Delfia, “Go home, Captain. Go protect your father’s lands. Go finally bed that loyal lieutenant of yours, and perhaps raise little Delfia’s to fight the likes of me.”

She saw Delfia’s face become vacant, her eyes darken to cold black marble stones. “My father is dead, Rogue. Beyle is dead, too.”

Renata stared back at her for a while, and the air between them weighed heavy. “There is a rumor,” she said finally, “that Lord Gemini has retreated to a cavern stronghold in the southern mountain range, beyond the grey forest and the scrub tree foothills.”

“Thank you,” Delfia said, her friendly disposition returning.

“You ride alone, Captain,” Renata said. “What is it that you think you will do? Walk up to him introduce yourself and poke him with your sword?”

Delfia finished her pot. “Something like that. I best turn in, if I want an early start. Farewell, Renata.”

“To you as well, Delfia.” Then she leaned in with the slightest nod of her head toward a table in the darkened corner of the tavern. “You do realize that you’ve gained a shadow.”

“Two, in fact.” Delfia replied. Renata looked beyond her to see another quiet form, seated by the fire, smoking on a pipe.

“It’s a pity they don’t ask you to dance,” she said with a smile.

“Soon enough, I’m sure,” Delfia said, and turned to leave.

V. Gray Was the Summer, Gray Is the Autumn

Birds twittered before the first light of day peeked over the eastern sky, beneath the hillside that separates the Imperium from my lands. Mairtha’s table lay turned over on its side. Grass stained the crumpled white linen, and the plates and cups fell scattered and broken underneath the willow tree. The ground felt cool against my bearded face. My hand stretched out over Trace’s limp body. It was about this time of the morning, when she would hop into my bed, touch her wet nose to mine, curl up against my body, and patiently wait to start the day with me. Instead, her snout was bloodied from ripping open one of the attacker’s neck, just before he sank his dagger deep into her belly. Her breathing was shallow and growing faint, and her eyes locked to mine.

Another man lay on the ground, a table knife buried into his eye socket. He had stood taller than me, but was slow and clumsy once attacked from inside his arm’s reach. My head wracked and crumpled from the heavy blow from behind, and my eyes could barely focus. I held my other hand tightly against my stomach, warm, wet and sticky from the open wound of the third man’s sword.

He had stood before me as I fell to the ground, “To tell you the truth, old man,” he gloated, “you’re hardly worth the bounty. Luckily, I had nothing better to do.”

He took aim, raised his sword, ready to bring it down to severe my neck, then jerked a step backward and gasped with surprise. I saw an arrow stuck out from his chest, just before he dropped from sight. Several footsteps shuddered the ground as they came toward me. I fell away to darkness, just as I felt a hand gently guide my shoulder to lay back, so I could see the face of Luro.

—-

Summer has past since that attack. It seems that the colors of my lands have faded. The leaves of autumn are shades of gray, weakly tainted with yellow, red, orange and brown pigments. The clouded sky and distant land on the horizon blend together, and while the wind from the western mountains blows cold, I hardly shiver. The sounds, however are crisp. Twigs and dry grass crunch beneath my feet, as I walk through the ancient groves almost without effort. I can hear Trace, 20 paces ahead of me, eagerly sniffing beneath a bush for the scent of squirrels and jack rabbits, and possibly a friend. She lifts her head to check my progress, shows her tongue, flashes a smile, and trots to the next bush along the trail.

A thought brushes my mind, and I look up to see the remains of one of our border towns, Brighton. Once the home to many of my people and a thriving venue of trade with our neighbors along the northern plain, the walls of the village lay brittle and breached from a relentless siege of mercenary armies. Our own forces stretched thin, Beyle of the mounted rangers first led the villagers to defend themselves then helped many to escape the merciless attackers, as they pillaged, then razed the shops, liveries, mills, and houses. By the time my third daughter, Delfia, arrived with reinforcements, tired from their battles in the south, she found only refugees scattered, hiding in ditches along the road and in the surrounding vineyards.

She searched among the smoking, charred timbers of fallen buildings and dead warriors till she found Beyle’s body, stripped of its armor, weapons, and boots, leaving him naked, pale, and soiled. Delfia knelt beside him and laid his head gently on her lap. She pulled out her kerchief, wet it with her mouth and cleaned his face. She left his lifeless brown eyes open so she could look at him, to help accept his passing and talk to him while she stroked his hair with her hand.

“You always had a terrible head for retreat,” she chided as she wiped her falling tears from his face. “You never knew when to fall back. You always found yourself surrounded, and I had to rescue you from your mess every time.”

Now Brighton’s outline stands empty. Weeds have overtaken the lanes and deer forage among the blackberry thickets. Trace runs to them for a game of chase, only to find them unintimidated by her presence. She barks for a few moments, then looks to me and bounds back.

Watching her explore the village’s remains reminds me of our hometown, and I find myself standing in the middle of the town square. It’s market day, but the crowd is very thin as few vendors have arrived to sell their goods. I walk across and enter the Mare & Thistle, to find a handful of patrons, sober. Barrel-faced Harry stands at the bar, sipping his ale. Where tales of his travels usually flow like a freshly tapped keg to a thirsty audience, Harry is silent and stares at nothing in particular. Trace pokes her head inside the pub, catches my eye, then coaxes me to follow.

Leaving the Mare & Thistle, I walk through the doors of the Great Hall to find my second daughter, Stella. She stands by the fireplace to stave off the coldness of the room, while Brodin and Ghita from the elder’s council wait with Delfia.

After a moment Stella turns to Delfia, “Sister, what is your opinion?”

“I’m reluctant to concur with what the elders recommend, but we simply do not have enough forces,” Delfia replies. Her face is hardened now, her eyes without expression. “Better to stand strong defending a house than to be weak in a mansion.”

“Agreed,” Stella says. “Send word to our northern castles to prepare. Brodin, would you ask the elders to help prepare for an announcement so we can let our people know? I will make the first of many, of course, but they may also find comfort in your voices as well.”

The two depart, leaving Stella and Ghita alone.

“It is a difficult decision,” the elder says, “and it is a good decision.”

“Good decisions don’t always feel good,” Stella says as they walk outside into the courtyard and down a path of the Steward Estate.

“Our lands there will be entrusted to our good neighbors. Lady Glendora and Judgment are strong in force and will do right by our people.” Ghita says.

“You were always a comforting voice to my father,” Stella smiles wearily at her. “and I’m grateful to benefit from it as well.”

Ghita cups the young Steward’s elbow with her hand. “And you have your father’s strength. Don’t forget that.”

They stop underneath the familiar willow tree where I had taken my last breath, to find one of Delfia’s rangers approach them.

“We’ve received word from our people across the Great Sea,” he says. “Lord Gemini is nowhere to be found.”

It’s Just a Game: from the BC Wall

TO EVERYONE IN MY ARMY:

It’s been brought to my attention that some of you may be tired of the misinformation regarding the Imperium and Royal Imperium thrown around the broadcast, or bc wall. I have participated in this, myself.

The most frequent words I’ve heard are, “It’s just a game.” It seems everyone and all sides use the phrase to underscore their point and justify their tactics. My view is, we are all right, and we are all wrong. I love this game. I can choose my level of engagement with others, and since I’ve been back the breadth of engagement has evolved, thanks to all of you. Because of the game’s construct, many have found, to their dismay, that warmongers cannot exist without “peacemongers,” and vice versa.

Like it or not, sometimes this place isn’t just a game, but a reflection of real life. Many of us were taught to share the playground. It’s big enough for all, and it’s a terrible place when bullies rule it. Here, there are no teachers to settle the complicated disputes, so we are left to self-govern. Most times, you can just have fun, but right now, a few folks were hurt personally by a bully, and it’s getting messy.

So you have a choice to make, you can look the other way, because it doesn’t involve you. Or you can speak your mind, choose a side or take action—or any combination of the three. The broadcast wall wasn’t meant to just convey player codes. It was meant for anyone to use, and to me, the only limitations are my sense of common decency and imagination.

And if my words—past and present—have offended you, I apologize, feel free to take me out of your army, no hard feelings. z2sqr Βrανϵ