Uktar 19, 1386 Year of the Halflings Lament – Immersea

[DM Hawk]

The crackle of the fire was a welcome sound. The chamber was warm, almost too warm, but it was to her liking. Slowly, with almost lazy feline-grace Catling turned and reached her arm to rest on the chest of her husband as he lay beside her. She felt soft furs and blankets. She did not feel any husbands.

A slight crease formed on her sleepy brow as Cat felt around the bed. Forcing herself to sit up, Cat turned bleary eyes toward the window and saw only darkness. Dawn had not come. Lathander must still be asleep, as they both should have been. The fire crackled again.

The hearth? Blinking, Cat turned her head towards the fireplace embedded in the chamber’s stone wall where a fire burned, merrily warming the room. The crease on Cat’s brow deepened. The fire should have burned out hours ago. It was usual for the room to be chilly when they woke. Chilly meant time for snuggling.

Adjusting to the light from the hearth, Cat glanced about the bed chamber. He was not within. Despite the warmth of the room, she felt a cold pit in her stomach. Had he made the fire? How could he have done without waking her, clumsy as he was?

Rising from the bed, Cat strode across the room with growing momentum. Collecting a sleeping gown from the back of a tall, wooden chair she slid her naked arms into the sleeves and wrapped it about herself. Once the gown was laced, a modest robe was selected, thrown on with growing haste, and cinched at the waist. Finally she selected a long coat and a fur cloak besides and made her way towards the door where stockings and shoes waited.

By habit, Cat paused and looked toward the full-length mirror along the way. Her long, copper hair was disheveled and her eyes were sleepy and puffy. Even so, her beauty radiated in the firelight. Cat was almost perfect, she knew. She had been made that way.


* * *


Giogi Wyvernspur brushed Daisey Eye VII’s coat to a shine while she enjoyed her bucket of oats. Placing a hand on her rump he walked behind the palfrey in the small stable. The chilly air of early winter pre-dawn gloom gave Giogi a slight bounce to his step. Placing the brush on the bench, he gathered up the saddle and tack in both arms and with a grunt, hefted it onto Daisy’s back.

The stable boy, recently roused from slumber by the lord’s entrance moved to assist, but the hand of Gwyndaelyn touched his shoulder to restrain him. Giogi gave a private smile to his niece and she smiled in return.

While quite pretty, Gwyn wore the hawk nose, the piercing blue eyes, and strong sharp features of the Wyvernspurs. This look was softened by the golden hair she had gotten from her mother.

Giogi preferred to methodically go through the mundane steps of things, to help order his thinking about whatever lie ahead. The habit frustrated Cat and the stable lad didn’t know what to do with himself as he stood there, prevented from assisting the Lord of House Wyvernspur while he grunted, heaved, and jostled the horse’s saddle. It was a habit Giogi found difficult to explain but Gwyn understood it. He didn’t have to explain it to her and that was a comfort.

Lord Wyvernspur could feel Daisy’s eyes on him and he turned. She had finished her oats and was looking at him expectantly. Right. With a smile, Giogi produced the green apple he had fetched from the darkened kitchens on the way out of the villa. He stroked Daisy’s neck as she munched the apple in his hand. His thoughts drifted to the long road ahead.

“Giogioni.”

The tone was colder than Uktar. Leaving Daisy to her apple, Giogi straightened his back, raising his lanky, tall frame for all its lordly height and turned to pay the piper.

The stable boy was bowing at the waist overlong, not daring to look up. Gwyndaelyn was smiling.

“Good morn, Auntie” Gwyn beamed, unaware of Giogi’s peril.

Cat stood in the stable door, the cold of The Rotting blowing in behind her. Her fiery hair was a mess, her eyes were puffy from sleep…by Selûne and all gods above, below, and sideways she was beautiful. She was perfect. She was created that way. Perfect and famous for her temper. She was quite angry now.

Oh boy.


* * *


“Going for a dawn’s ride, Lord Wyvernspur?” Cat narrowed her eyes, glancing at the robust saddlebags adorning Daisy Eye’s flanks.

“Ah, well, yes Cat.” Giogi was standing straight as an arrow facing her, but his eyes were downcast.

Damn it all.

“Yes and no, Aunt Cat. We’re for Arabel first and then –”

“You are not helping, Gwyn.” Giogi’s muddy brown eyes were capable of amplifying a rebuke.

“Look at me, Giogi” Cat said in a softer tone. The Lord of House Wyvernspur did as she bid. The rebuke in his eyes turned to sadness.

“Arabel?” The cold pit in Cat’s stomach was growing.

“Yes” Giogi allowed but he didn’t offer more.

Damn him. No, damn Myrmeen and her thrice- damned scarlet thread.

“When were you going to tell me? Tell the children?” The gaze of her emerald eyes intensified.

“I told them last night.” Giogi said, withering beneath Cat’s gaze. There was a long moment of silence.

Quietly, Gwyndaelyn dismissed the stable lad.

“Arabel and then to return home. A tenday then” Cat stated, praying it were true.

“Yes. Well, no.” Giogi’s expression became dejected.

“You’ve been home three moonturns this year, if that. How long will you be gone this time?” Cat’s temper flared, armoring her breaking heart.

“I know, Cat. I don’t know” Giogi was holding her gaze now, accepting her fury. Tempting her to let it all fall upon him. Damn him.

“Where else then?” Catling swallowed the painful lump.

“Arabel to start, then Bospir, Sunset Hill, Hultail, Thunderstone, everywhere really.” Giogi took a breath.

“Not everywhere, Auntie. I’ll ride out to Thunder Gap so that Uncle doesn’t have to travel that far” Gwyn offered. It was too little and too late.

“Thunder Gap!” Incredulous, Cat felt her nostrils flaring as involuntary tears stung her eyes, “The Eastern Marches are Dauneth’s responsibility!”

“This is my task, Cat. The King – “

“The Crown Prince!” Cat corrected with outrage, “He isn’t the king yet or have you forgotten? Why must you traipse about the kingdom on the whim of a fifteen-year-old boy?”

Giogi’s voice was meek, “I have a duty-“

Cat closed her eyes and let him have it, “Yes you have a duty! To Olivia and Cory, to your house, and to me! The Crown Prince has regents and barons and lords and war wizards a plenty. You are the only father and husband we have!”

Catling felt Giogi’s lips on her forehead. His next words were spoken into her skin, “Mayhaps the War Wizards could make… copies. Replicants to help so that –“

The slap was a sharp as a Wyvernspur nose and Giogi’s face jerked aside with a red mark on the cheek. How could he?

Lord Wyvernspur approached as Cat stood her ground. His arms enveloped her. He rested his red cheek in the midst of her red hair, “Forgive me, Cat. I don’t always have the best ideas.”

Of course, she would. Just not yet. Cat wept and raged into Giogi’s thin chest. Her hands balled into fists, striking his shoulders.

“They trust us, Cat. We must uphold their faith as they rely upon Wyvernspur. Not just for Alusair and Azoun, but to his grandfather as well, and Tanalasta, gods rest their souls.”

Cat whispered into her lord’s chest “They are fifteen years gone, husband. Let them go. You don’t have to do this.”

Giogi wiped Cat’s cheek dry with a thumb and then tapped his chest beside her face with two fingers, “Not that far gone, Cat. They’re right here.”

Giogi’s heart was big, too big. But was there truly room enough inside for all of them at once? She wiped her eyes and looked up into his, “Caladnei, Laspeera, Moristan, Jestra, Fat Ambrose...”

Giogi looked at his wife with puzzlement, “What of them?”

“Have them teleport to speed your way or make use of their costly portals.” Cat’s eyes were pleading.

“I can’t ask them, Cat.” Giogi wished he knew to do more than shrug his slender shoulders as he held her in his embrace.

“Why not?” Cat asked with defiance, “Crown secrets? Even from them? Let me do it then. We’ll teleport the whole damned kingdom across and I’ll have you home in time for the Jolly Spirit.”

“It’s not that, Cat” Giogi despised his limitations never more than he did this cold Uktar morn, “I need the time on the road to think. The words do not come easily.”

Catling left his embrace. Left the stable. Left him to ride out into the world without her.


* * *


The dawning sun just crested the wall when the Purple Dragon Lionar road up to the north gate, her warhorse’s hooves clacking on the cobbles.

Guardsmen Winstan and Brooklee stirred from their watch fire to regard the officer in the dawn’s light.

“Hail the gate!” The Purple Dragon’s voice rang clear and easily with authority as Lionars did all too often, “Make way! Lord Wyvernspur rides!”

The rising sound of clacking hooves confirmed the officer’s command. The two guardsmen hurried to the gate and raised the bar. They weren’t given time enough to determine whether the road was clear past the gate. It had been a cold, dark night.

No sooner than the gates swung open, wailing in protest upon their hinges, that the first rider was through. Clad from helm to boot in gilded mail and trailing the bright green and yellow trappings of House Wyvernspur, she bore the standard of the High Warden of the West.

Behind the Wyvernspur knight the lord himself rode past on a graceful palfrey. Lord Wyvernspur spared the men a smile and a wave as he rode past.

Wyvernspur knights, men-at-arms, and Purple Dragon officers thundered by, perhaps a dozen in all.

The Lionar wheeled her horse up on its hind legs, either showing off or yielding to the excitement of the ride. Reaching into a cloak pocket she threw the men each their own gold piece and then was off, throwing up dust behind as she raced to catch up to Lord Wyvernspur’s company.

Brooklee bent hurridly to collect his gold piece from where it had fallen on the cobbles, less some urchin or other sneak from the shadows to snatch it away. With a grin he looked at the coin in the light of the dawning sun and his jaw went slack. The coin was platinum.

Winstan shook his head and marveled, “Did you see all the gold and silk? Can you imagine the cost?”

Brooklee couldn’t but he was more interested in testing the weight of his platinum piece.

With their eyes fixed on the riders breaking from immersea to gallop the open road neither man noticed the silhouette in the high window of the Wyvernspur villa, or the copper hair caught in the breeze of the cold Uktar morning.