“I was planning to go report the whole thing to Argonath and let him deal with it,” Emlyn shrugs, “It’s about time that weasel earned his keep.”
“Dorak and Argonath are rivals,” Atres explains.
“All the more reason to report their behavior to Argonath,” Emlyn shrugs, “and let him sort it out. That yabbo put his hands on me. He’s lucky that those hands are still attached to him.”
“You didn’t hear what Rirdec said,” Benger shrugs, “He called her Argonath’s bed warmer and said that Argonath was getting special treatment for sharing her with the prince.”
Atres’s face shifts into a scowl at this, but he continues to insist, “I know that you don’t want to do it, but trust me on this, we need to do it. I wouldn’t ask, otherwise.”
Slowing her horse, Emlyn grimaces, “Oh, very well. I’ll do it, but if they say a word to me or put their hands on me again, it’s going to go worse for them than just cutting their saddle cinches.”
Swinging Snowflake around, Emlyn returns to find them trying to figure out how to mount the two remaining horses bareback and failing miserably. Emlyn sends Benger after the runaway horse. Practically snarling in frustration, Emlyn leaps off her horse and grabs one of the saddles and heals the cinch, mending it. She all but throws the saddle at Dorak.
Dorak starts to say something and Emlyn rounds on him, “Not. A. Word. You three have already said quite enough for one day. I’m not here for you. I’m here because Atres asked me to do this for him. I like him. I don’t like you. I was quite prepared to let you hike back to Harito. I’m a gnat’s eyelash away from doing that anyway. I’d advise you not to push your luck.”
Dorak settles into a thoughtful silence as he starts to saddle his horse.
Rirdec snorts and mutters, “Hrmph. Atres’s bed warmer, not Argonath’s.”
Before anyone can react, Emlyn spins him to face her and launches a left hook that leaves him in a puddle at her feet, giving him a solid kick for good measure, before stomping off.
“What Rirdec said was uncalled for,” Brarazo says to Dorak, “I don’t blame her for punching him.”
“He has a habit of provoking people,” Dorak agrees. The two men watch as Atres talks to Emlyn, calming her.
When it looks like she might be calm enough to approach, Dorak walks over, careful to move slowly and keep his hands out, demonstrating that he’s not a threat.
“If I may,” Dorak says, “I believe we owe you an apology.”
“You planned to stab my mare,” Emlyn says flatly.
“I admit that I was going to try to take your horse,” Dorak shrugs, “We needed to have one with a saddle to catch the others. Yours happened to be the closest.”
Atres moves behind Emlyn and places a hand on either shoulder, smirking.
“I see why Argonath recruited you,” Dorak tries again, “You handled all three of us rather neatly, without actually doing us much harm, except for my mouthy companion.”
“He’s lucky he’s not Marked,” Emlyn says darkly.
Awed, Dorak looks to Atres for confirmation.
Atres shrugs and nods, “I’ve seen her set one. Similar circumstances, too. Her Goddess doesn’t like seeing women bullied.”
Palming his face, Dorak grimaces and says to Atres, “We did rather step right in it, didn’t we?”
Atres, still smirking, nods again.
Brarazo approaches cautiously, “Rirdec’s an ass. I heard what he said, and it was... uncalled for. If he says anything else like that about you, I’ll punch him myself. If you’ll tell me where to find you, I’d like to buy you a drink and apologize again.”
“I’m staying at The Sleeping Gentleman until the Temple reopens,” Emlyn says.
“Kethas’s place?” Dorak says, surprised, and then looks at Atres, “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that she’d know about it if she’s hanging around with you.”
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
“Kethas likes her,” Atres smirks, “so maybe leave Rirdec behind if you decide to visit for that drink.”
“Hrmph,” Emlyn grumbles, “Before Rirdec gets within fifty feet of me again, I suggest you take him to Abato and get Abato to tell you about the bandits. If he ever tries to put his hands on me again, he may find that they’re no longer attached.”
Benger catches the horse easily since it’s gotten the reins tangled up in a bush. Leading the horse back, he finds two of the men chatting with Emlyn and Atres while the third lies in a boneless heap. Smiling to himself, Benger mends the saddle, saddles the horse, and tosses the unconscious man over it. Using some leather strips he cuts from Rirdec’s coat, Benger ties his hands to one stirrup, his feet to the other stirrup, and his waist to the pommel. Then he hooks the reins over the pommel on Dorak’s saddle.
Benger makes his way over to Emlyn and stands beside her.
“This looks friendly enough, little sister,” Benger says, “I take it that they’ve apologized.”
“Two out of three,” Emlyn confirms.
“The third one is tied to his saddle,” Benger gestures, “so you can take him with you.”
“Not going to heal him?” Atres asks.
“Not after what that mouthy asshat said about my sister,” Benger shrugs, “He can heal up the old-fashioned way. From what I can tell, she jacked his jaw pretty good, so he’ll come out of it on his own soon enough. His headache will serve him right.”
“When you said Abato and bandits, I heard a couple of paladins wiped out that nasty bunch on the road out of Harito headed up into Stonehaven.” Looking between Benger and Emlyn, Dorak says, “Oh, gods, it was the two of you, wasn’t it?”
Smirking, Atres nods, and Dorak groans, “We stepped in it worse than I thought.”
“Much worse than that. I do know the prince,” Emlyn says, “One of my Temple duties is to attend a lot of the balls to act as his shield from the title hunters. When they start swarming, he asks me to dance with him to shake them off for a bit. If I don’t tell him about all this, he’ll ask me about it. He knows I can’t lie.”
“Bugger it all,” Dorak groans, “We’ll be patrolling watch towers up in the mountains next winter.”
“Can I give you some advice?” Emlyn offers, and Dorak nods. “If I understand your structure correctly, you’re the leader of your group, yes?”
Dorak nods.
“Why have you allowed him to continue to provoke people? Why haven’t you enforced some discipline there? As the leader, discipline is your responsibility. If you tried and failed, why didn’t you demote or transfer him?"
“He has a transfer pending,” Dorak replies, “but no one wants him.”
“They don’t want him, because they see what a liability he is. Demote him or assign him to something where he doesn’t interact with anyone outside,” Emlyn shrugs, “Best of all, find a spot where his ability to antagonize people can be put to good use, like interrogation.”
“That’s not a bad idea,” Dorak concedes.
“I might know a thing or two about managing my command,” Emlyn shrugs. Reaching into her saddlebag, she pulls out a healing potion. “If he’s not awake in about four hours, dump this down his throat. If he starts having seizures or trouble breathing or trouble walking or anything like that, dump this down his throat. If his eyes look odd when he does wake up, dump this down his throat. If it’s just a headache, let him suffer.”
Dorak nods in agreement, so Emlyn hands over the potion.
“Walk wary and good hunting,” Emlyn says as she mounts up, preparing to turn toward Harito.
At Dorak’s confused look, Benger explains, “That’s what we say to each other when someone’s going out into the field. It means be careful and good luck.”
Dorak and Brarazo watch the three retreating backs for a few moments before mounting up themselves and continuing on their way.
The aroma of baking fish, packed with aromatic herbs, fills the kitchen as Kethas hums to himself while he’s chopping vegetables. He hears the door open and peeks out to see Atres holding the door for Benger and Emlyn.
“Did you all have a nice time?” Kethas asks, and Atres looks almost smug.
“Oh,” Kethas nudges him, “Do tell.”
“She relented enough to sleep on my shoulder,” Atres grins, “It was lovely.”
“Most men would be upset if the lady they were romancing fell asleep on them,” Kethas laughs, “but not you. You really are gone.”
“I think it’s part of what she needs from me,” Atres shrugs, “I can remind her to pace herself, to slow down once in a while, and enjoy things. If that ends up with her relaxing enough to doze off, secure enough that she ends up curled up against me, sleeping on my shoulder, then I’m content.”
“Atres,” Emlyn calls, “I have what I took from the bandits. Would you like to come and take a look? See if there’s enough here to buy a horse?”
Grinning at Kethas, Atres shrugs, “Duty calls.”
Emlyn’s got a pile of knotted silk bundles that she’s dumped out on one of the tables. They’re all different colors, and it looks like a pile of wrapped candies. Curious as to what’s in them, Atres picks one up and unknots the bundle. Inside is a heavy gold chain made of thick links that some traders carry. They use the links as currency in places where none of the coins they have are accepted.
Atres waves the chain at her, “Three or four links of this should get you most any horse you want. It might not be enough for some of the racing horses, but I doubt you’d be interested in one of them.”
“Fy lleidr bach, what’s in all of these little parcels?” Atres asks.
“The bandits had several chests full of jewelry,” Emlyn grins, “and when the Goddess directed me to take what I wanted from their stash, I was looking for things that were portable, but valuable. I sifted through a good bit of it and pulled out some of what seemed to be some of the better items.”
Emlyn unwraps one of the parcels, and it’s a brooch nearly as big as the palm of her hand, with a repeating pattern of diamonds and rubies set in platinum.
“Were you looking to buy your own duchy?” Atres asks quietly.
“I have a House to rebuild,” Emlyn shrugs, “and no illusions as to how hard that’s going to be.” Waving her hand at the parcels, Emlyn continues, “This will go a long way to making that process easier.”
“I can introduce you to a couple of jewelers that I know,” Atres says slowly, “but I’d suggest selling this off slowly. Too much at once, and it will drive the price down. Are you... Oh, lass... Are you sure that it’s a lowly King’s Guard that you want? There’s enough here that King Kashin might find you acceptable for the prince after all, or Dranor or any number of other, far more powerful men... than me.”
Atres stares at her anxiously while Emlyn studies his face.
Boltir’s Atres Watch Current Count: 3 "Unnecessary Gallantries" and 1 "Saddle-Slicing Masterclass."
Observation: "Atres spent the boat ride trying to bring 'balance and moderation' to her intensity. Bah! You don't moderate a hurricane, you write an epic about it! But then, the ride home happens. Three 'yabbos' from the King's Guard try to act tough, and Nia doesn't just argue—she slices their cinches and lets gravity do the work. Then she has Snowflake kick a man into the next province! My beard has regained its volume. Atres might provide the coat, but Nia provides the carnage. I’m giving Atres a 'Participation Trophy' for the wine, but Nia gets the 'Golden Hammer' for making three professional soldiers walk home in their socks."
Boltir’s Tip Jar Current Total: 28 coppers, a bent horseshoe, and Snips (the crab) has officially claimed Atres’s discarded gauntlet as a mobile fortress.
Boltir’s Plea: "Did you see that? Snowflake preened after the kick! She knows she’s a star. Toss a copper in the jar so I can buy Snips a tiny saddle. If a horse can be that helpful in a fight, surely a crab can be trained to nip the cinches of anyone who insults my future muse. Also, leave a review if you think Nia looks better with a dagger in her hand than a wine glass!"
Have you ever met someone awesome and known you weren't the right person for them? I might use some of it. Let me know in the comments.