Draka’s mouth pinched to one side as he regarded the shield. He stood over the opening in his floor wondering if it would be a hindrance or integral for his hunt. It was heavy and large. That wasn’t necessarily going to slow him down, but it would make his ability to change from spear to his bow more difficult than without it.
On the other hand, if he had it with him when he faced the boar, it would certainly come in handy. His bow was useless against the creature even before it had been possessed by the demons. Only a means of slowing it down. But the owls…
He lifted the shield and tossed it to his pelt bed beside the stack of folded armor pieces. As he slid the board back over the hole and stomped it into place, he went over all his preparations to make sure he hadn’t forgotten anything.
His undershirt was near shredded and he had no way of repairing it, so it was in a crumple in the corner until he could get thread. He was wearing his silk shirt so that any piercings wouldn’t tear skin when pulled back out, which was a simple tug of the shirt. He had his quilted and padded coat to cushion any blows, which he would normally have over the silk shirt and beneath the rest, but needed to have as his outer layer to keep his movement as quiet as possible during the hunt, and his chainmail shirt over that to protect him from, well, everything he could. His plate armor would have to wait. It would hinder his movement and be useless prior to the fight against any beast regardless of his skill. They were smarter than that. The creature was waiting for him to be vulnerable. With the plate, it will avoid him. Without it, the beast will be emboldened, tempted, which was what he wanted.
He pushed the table, so its leg rested on the board. The girl was always welcome, but she needed to learn that there is a door for a reason. It was…improper for her to sneak into his house that way, at that time, wearing that…he shook the image from his head.
She needed protection and he grinned at how she seemed to understand that better than the rest of her family. He swore an oath, albeit he still felt tricked into it, to protect her mother. And to protect a mother is to protect the mother’s family, including her children.
What bothered him was that while the girl understood that she needed his protection, she didn’t seem to understand that his protection was not absolute or meant to be from herself. She was teetering on the edge between innocence and indulgence, which he felt forced to pull her away from. Her innocence needed as much protection as his hunt would give. He was fairly certain that she wasn’t wholly aware of what she was tempting him with.
A knock at the door made Draka look to the ceiling with a frown. The Lord is truly on a rampage in complicating everything he knew he needed to do. Please don’t be Aurie, whose lustful eyes had made him nearly jump from his skin, or Maud with her own version of the same. They looked similar enough that Draka was certain that Maud, if she had been blonde and blue eyed instead, was Aurie’s twin at that age. The way Aurie looked at him was the moment he realized that Maud didn't understand what her actions could have meant to a different man last night. Too most men.
He knew what Aurie was thinking when she saw him without his shirt. He was never going to make that mistake again. If he could, he would wear his quilted coat forever to keep those two from tainting their thoughts and soul because of him, but summer was coming. With Maud, he had given her the benefit of the doubt and carried her home out of what he knew was their senses of propriety. Regardless of how practical it would be for her to stay in his house to feel safe, it would be seen as improper, as sexual, even if it wasn’t remotely thus. He had no intention of such things and he was certain now she had yet to know that her actions were implying such.
Gerard met him at the door with a wide smile, “Awe, Draka, you didn’t need to get all dressed up for me. I would never mistake you for civilized.” Draka sighed as Gerard stepped past him with a shove of a folded shirt into his arms, “May I?”
That was faster than Draka expected. He pulled it on and put the silk shirt over top of it, the way it was meant to be. Gerard took a few steps in and looked about him, his eyes eventually falling on the folded coat and chainmail.
“Wouldn’t leave without these, either, given the present atmosphere,” Gerard picked at the chainmail. He raised a brow at Draka, “Bit outdated, don’t you think? This looks like the one I got you when you first came to Heblem.”
Draka shrugged at him as he straightened his layers and shut the door behind him.
Gerard chuckled, “Same one, isn’t it?” He pulled a chair out and sat with a tip of the sword on his belt to keep it from scraping the floor. “I sent for the Diocese in Alcer. There aren’t more than a handful of priests, but they do have monks and I requested they send for the friars in the area to come.”
Draka pulled the chainmail over his head. Good, they can consecrate the uncorrupted forest to keep the corruption from spilling further, while also preventing more demons from venturing past it. Draka hoped that it would also lessen the aggression of the Talkrois as well. These people would have lived differently if their displays of violence were truly in their hearts and not stoked by the corruption. Once the Clerics arrive in force, he will be able to push back and retake the Abbey from all sides.
“I had forgotten how everything is always a coincidence with you, old friend.” What an odd thing to say.
Draka began buttoning his quilted coat over his chainmail with a furrowed brow aimed at him.
Gerard looked to the side thoughtfully, “You’re somehow a walking testament to God having a plan. And there have been more than a few such coincidences here. Too many, in my mind.”
Draka moved to the chair at the end of the table closest to the hearth. Also closest to the aroma of that stew. He wished there was more. Not that he wanted to offer Gerard any if he could avoid it. He reached for the paper and quill.
Before he could write a word, Gerard said, “The man-at-arms in me says that the air here is natural discourse created by the upcoming war with Mueller, compounded by natural tragedy, and the need to place blame. But, once I spoke with a few of the women, since the landed here won’t say a word to us without spouting insults and opposition, the Monastic Knight in me is thinking otherwise.”
Draka didn’t have to write it. A shift of his hand said clearly enough, ‘Tell me something I don’t know.’
“Most of the wives are hesitant to say much more than asking for things on behalf of their stubborn husbands, but I was once a close friend to the Beauvais,” Gerard noticed Draka’s confusion to the name, “Your neighbor’s wife, Aurelie, and her sister, Leticia, are Beauvais, native Alcrois. Anyway, Leta gave me much needed insight. She said that her husband, Gregor Vorner, one of the prominent landed here, had struck her for the first time since they were married. Sixteen years and the man had never raised a hand to her until a week or two before you arrived. The others have similar tales. Apparently, they all are concerned that their husbands have become more violent, far beyond their perceivable character. Every marriage here is on the verge of destruction because their husbands have changed seemingly overnight and progressively worsening. There have been other, more detestable concerns arising as well. One such example, and it isn’t the only one, is the way that the younger are becoming promiscuous and less concerned about propriety.”
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
Like Maud coming to him in that revealing chemise. She was practically naked and didn’t seem to care, though he knew from the way she reacted by their first interaction that she would have been horrified by such indiscretion.
“The Fabron family, the blacksmiths here, have been known even in Strasbourg and Alcer, for their treatment of their wives, though they have also been known for being incredibly loyal husbands. Not a single case of adultery ever accused for generations. The man was caught hiking the skirt of one of the Greshon girls who is just old enough to be in the Ribbon Dance this year. She’s barely eighteen and he nearly had her legs spread if my men hadn’t stopped him. She’s not exactly known for her virtuosity, this one, but this was still beyond anything she had ever done before. From what her sisters and friends have told us in her defense from ‘seducing’ a married man, she had never gone further than a kiss her entire life. Questioning her, she was confused, embarrassed, and distraught, like a drunkard waking from a night he had no memory of. Egan Fabron, however, stated that if her father, Morin, was willing, he planned to purchase her as his concubine.”
Draka’s brows crinkled. There are no concubines outside of the Islamite lands and scripture. Even he knew that. It was in opposition to what he knew were pagan values at their core. Pagans valued independence, physically and spiritually.
“Exactly,” Gerard nodded. “You being here has stoked the fire, Draka. That ginger shit, Balian Clevlan, is already trying to rally the others to attack you again, which we can do nothing about until it becomes more than talk, and whenever the wives try to calm them, try to reason with them, they end up with new bruises. And, trust me, it’s specific. Leta tested it, being an Alcrois and somewhat familiar with Cathol works—she’s seen priests exorcise demons from her time on the streets—and tried her hand at enticing her husband’s neighbor, Soran Greshon. She said she gave him a few comments, suggestive ones, while her husband was present, after I spoke with her about my concerns, and he actually seemed pleased with the idea! Not a hint of jealousy. Nothing. She even fought him over it and said he looked disappointed that they weren’t swapping wives.”
Draka narrowed his eyes. That isn’t necessarily unusual for pagans, but the way that Maud reacted that first time…
“These people may not be Cathols, but they believe in the sanctity of marriage, Draka. That should have resulted in a murder. Instead, it’s the mention of you that hinges on killing. That’s why I sent for the Diocese to intervene while we wait for the Paladinate to rally. They’ll take weeks, maybe months to get here, but the Diocese could be here within a few days, less for some of the friars. I’m setting a wall to surround the village and have ordered for lambs from Alcer and Wittel Village to the south to be brought in. The wives are the only ones that seem to be in their right minds for the moment, so they’re willing to mark their homes with lamb’s blood for now, and let the Diocese do blessings when they arrive to protect themselves.”
Good, Draka nodded. That’s a very good start. More than he could hope for.
“Tell me you see it, Draka,” Gerard leaned towards him. “We might be useless in the actual hunt, but we can help. Just tell me what to do and I will set my men to it. There’s an army being raised against you, otherwise the women would be the ones it targets instead. They’d be the ones to have you revoked through temptation. It doesn’t want you revoked, it wants you dead.”
Gerard took a long sniff. Draka furrowed his brow. “Well, at least I know you haven’t changed. When was the last time you—”
There was a thump that rocked the table. Draka caught the inkwell in front of him before it tipped, his expression unchanged but for his blinking annoyance.
“Ouch,” Maud’s voice rose from beneath them. “Hey!” Another thud and rock of the table.
Gerard smiled. Draka rolled his eyes.
She knocked at the floor. “Draka? Draka? Draka! It’s me. Open up!”
“You going to answer that?”
Draka let out a long sigh and stood. He slid the table and lifted the board from the hole to find Maud looking up to him with a basket over her knees, smiling from ear to ear.
“I brought you food,” She beamed at him as she stood and set the basket to the side of the hole. She lifted her arms at him. “Up.”
Gerard bit his fist and turned to stifle his laugh. Draka huffed and lifted her from the hole with ease. Her hands gripped his shoulders. She looked him over, her hands remaining on him a little longer than he liked.
“I love when you do that,” she whispered before finally looking into his face. There was no lust in her eyes when she looked up to him. It was an expression that warmed him, filled with endearment. She scooped up the basket and stopped when she saw Gerard, “Oh, hello Captain.”
“Hello there, Miss Clevlan,” Gerard smiled at her. He stood with a stretch. “Well, I have much to do. Let me know if you think of anything. Miss Clevlan,” he bowed his head and turned toward the door.
“Did I interrupt something? We can come back.”
Draka thought that one over as he went to replace the board over the hole. A hand stuck out to stop it.
Oh, that’s what she meant, Draka pinched his lip to one side as Alden climbed out of the hole with his spear in hand. Draka dropped the board in place. Alden dusted himself off with a shake of his head.
“I tried to get her to use the door,” Alden grabbed his spear.
“I don’t like how the soldiers look at me and they’re all over the front working on your house,” Maud went to the hearth and looked into the pot. “Oh, wow, you ate all of it.” Her head whipped around to him, “That was supposed to last you at least a couple days. You liked it that much or were you just hungry?”
“Draka,” Gerard called from in front of the door. “A moment.”
Draka thinned his lips.
“Go on, I’ll get your sandwich ready. Alden, put this on the table for me,” She handed the basket to her eye-rolling brother.
Draka followed Gerard out the door to his tall horse. Gerard dug something out of his saddle with a glance over Draka’s shoulder.
“I know you didn’t ask for it, but everyone who has been in a room with you has,” Gerard held out a bar of soap. “Here, anyone downwind of you will be thankful. You smell like Vigora has been shitting on you for a decade. And,” he nodded toward the house and Maud, “she’ll like it. Trust me.”
That made Draka glare, first at the soap he took from him and then at him.
Gerard only shrugged and lifted himself onto the saddle. “Don’t look at me like that. She’s already feeding you. It’s the least you can do, you barbarian.”
Something bounced off the back of Draka’s head followed by Maud shouting from the porch, “You still aren’t wearing your socks!”
“Good luck,” Gerard spurred his horse to gallop back to the village, leaving Draka behind to plead to the sky for mercy.
“Get your smelly barbarian ass in here, now! And don’t forget the socks I threw,” she pointed at the balled pair that had landed nearby and stomped her way back inside. “Unappreciative shit.”
