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The dogs and goats and pigs, the smoke from the forge works, the chattering of the officers and soldiers and scared children. A sea of tents, rivers of mud, the ceaseless tanging of hammer and steel. It all makes Baron Knacus grind his teeth and tap his heel against his horse's flank, irritating the animal and making it blow and tug at the reins.
The witch is bound and gagged, tied behind his horse where she can walk along and take in the war camp at eye level with her new captors. Knacus contented himself that this was the best they had traveled together, and that his relationship with Eligre was ending on a pleasant note. Her books and spell components are locked in chests carried by terrified boys three horses behind her, and Knacus has paid a few extra roughs to flesh out his contingent. Eligre made up with magic what they lacked in might and now, as they said goodbye, Knacus hoped to make up for her loss.
Their four months under contract was to end with Eligre winning a number of his family's finest gems, the best books from his library and whatever she pleased from the dungeons they traversed. As it stood she had gotten a five month headache, a few fistfuls of gold and the most interesting book on offer: a moronically written travelogue for a country she had yet to visit.
And now she was being sold for Baron Knacus's peace of mind.
The obligatory bald place in the campsite loomed before her and the terrified boy holding her lead left her at its center.
"General Forrester!" Knacus grins and laughs, his heart on the back of his tongue making the whole sound shiver. He sits tall in his saddle, his brown and red slashed sleeves and leggings too tight and threadbare for him making the Baron look every bit like the turkey he is. His sweating face smiles at the man sitting across the bald patch of ground.
"Baron Knacus." The general stands from the table of paperwork that had held his attention till now. He tucks his glasses away and turns slowly to face them. The girl in the mud and the sweating man on the horse behind her.
The general wears a Loden green wool coat, cut perfectly to his broad frame and arabesqued across the chest and shoulders with black braid. Matte iron fastenings give the shoulders, the cuffs, the collar their ranks of metal importance. The general's air of tired dignity and the cut of the coat make it easy to miss his riding trousers and heavy, worn boots. This meeting required a coat, not dress.
"It is my honor to finally meet you, sir." Knacus keeps his smile on and doesn't blink. At Luka's elbow a bored aide de camp moves papers around, their scarred face and stern eyes lightless. No one here is batting an eye at the Baron's station. The general watches him with all the interest he'd show a tapering candle. Soldiers around them waste time, chew loudly, talk over each other's shoulders. "My thanks that you've made your camp such a welcoming place."
The general raises a hand and winds it through the air. Get on with it.
"I bring you the price we negotiated." Knacus hurries to say through his sneer. Luka and his army have been a threat since his father's day but only in the last year had they become an inevitability. Knacus could choose to back the king whose line had handed his ancestor their barony or he could lay what riches they still possessed at the general's feet and hope. Eligre and her works significantly increased the value of those riches. "My riches are yours, as is my loyalty. For the good of my house, we pledge ourselves to your cause."
The general stands listening, his eyes small black pinpricks against the gold rings of his irises. He waits, watching the sweat swell through Knacus's skin, hearing his heart stuttering and starting to try and beat its way free of his chest.
He lifts a hand and brushes it through the air, dismissing the baron. The noble on the horse starts to go, the animal skating back awkwardly, shaking its reins as Knacus gets the will to refuse his dismissal. The general is a commoner, a foreigner, he's no king. He's not even human, some say.
"That will be all, baron. Fare thy well."
Knacus clutches his reins, looks behind him to the boys on horseback dressed as knights, and leads them away. They leave Eligre, her crates of books, and take the fineries and horse she joined their company with.
"You would think they never met a mage in their lives." Luka says to the scarred figure at the table. The other grunts in response, organizing the papers in front of them. The general takes a lead block from the table, handling it like it were a snuffbox. It is a leaden square, with a pair of hands bulging from its center and a lock on one side. The general opens it like a book, showing the hollow place inside designed to trap a pair of clasped hands.
He comes up to Elgire, casting a long shadow over her, and stoops in front of her in the mud. The lead gloves sit open on his knee as he takes both her hands, folds them together and then sets them in place, closes and locks the contraption. His big hands are cold, very cold, and he goes about the task as if it were simple and he weren't locking away her best chance to obliterate him. Once locked the gloves are shoulder-achingly heavy and she can feel the heat of her fingertips sweating on each other.
The witch is bound and gagged, tied behind his horse where she can walk along and take in the war camp at eye level with her new captors. Knacus contented himself that this was the best they had traveled together, and that his relationship with Eligre was ending on a pleasant note. Her books and spell components are locked in chests carried by terrified boys three horses behind her, and Knacus has paid a few extra roughs to flesh out his contingent. Eligre made up with magic what they lacked in might and now, as they said goodbye, Knacus hoped to make up for her loss.
Their four months under contract was to end with Eligre winning a number of his family's finest gems, the best books from his library and whatever she pleased from the dungeons they traversed. As it stood she had gotten a five month headache, a few fistfuls of gold and the most interesting book on offer: a moronically written travelogue for a country she had yet to visit.
And now she was being sold for Baron Knacus's peace of mind.
The obligatory bald place in the campsite loomed before her and the terrified boy holding her lead left her at its center.
"General Forrester!" Knacus grins and laughs, his heart on the back of his tongue making the whole sound shiver. He sits tall in his saddle, his brown and red slashed sleeves and leggings too tight and threadbare for him making the Baron look every bit like the turkey he is. His sweating face smiles at the man sitting across the bald patch of ground.
"Baron Knacus." The general stands from the table of paperwork that had held his attention till now. He tucks his glasses away and turns slowly to face them. The girl in the mud and the sweating man on the horse behind her.
The general wears a Loden green wool coat, cut perfectly to his broad frame and arabesqued across the chest and shoulders with black braid. Matte iron fastenings give the shoulders, the cuffs, the collar their ranks of metal importance. The general's air of tired dignity and the cut of the coat make it easy to miss his riding trousers and heavy, worn boots. This meeting required a coat, not dress.
"It is my honor to finally meet you, sir." Knacus keeps his smile on and doesn't blink. At Luka's elbow a bored aide de camp moves papers around, their scarred face and stern eyes lightless. No one here is batting an eye at the Baron's station. The general watches him with all the interest he'd show a tapering candle. Soldiers around them waste time, chew loudly, talk over each other's shoulders. "My thanks that you've made your camp such a welcoming place."
The general raises a hand and winds it through the air. Get on with it.
"I bring you the price we negotiated." Knacus hurries to say through his sneer. Luka and his army have been a threat since his father's day but only in the last year had they become an inevitability. Knacus could choose to back the king whose line had handed his ancestor their barony or he could lay what riches they still possessed at the general's feet and hope. Eligre and her works significantly increased the value of those riches. "My riches are yours, as is my loyalty. For the good of my house, we pledge ourselves to your cause."
The general stands listening, his eyes small black pinpricks against the gold rings of his irises. He waits, watching the sweat swell through Knacus's skin, hearing his heart stuttering and starting to try and beat its way free of his chest.
He lifts a hand and brushes it through the air, dismissing the baron. The noble on the horse starts to go, the animal skating back awkwardly, shaking its reins as Knacus gets the will to refuse his dismissal. The general is a commoner, a foreigner, he's no king. He's not even human, some say.
"That will be all, baron. Fare thy well."
Knacus clutches his reins, looks behind him to the boys on horseback dressed as knights, and leads them away. They leave Eligre, her crates of books, and take the fineries and horse she joined their company with.
"You would think they never met a mage in their lives." Luka says to the scarred figure at the table. The other grunts in response, organizing the papers in front of them. The general takes a lead block from the table, handling it like it were a snuffbox. It is a leaden square, with a pair of hands bulging from its center and a lock on one side. The general opens it like a book, showing the hollow place inside designed to trap a pair of clasped hands.
He comes up to Elgire, casting a long shadow over her, and stoops in front of her in the mud. The lead gloves sit open on his knee as he takes both her hands, folds them together and then sets them in place, closes and locks the contraption. His big hands are cold, very cold, and he goes about the task as if it were simple and he weren't locking away her best chance to obliterate him. Once locked the gloves are shoulder-achingly heavy and she can feel the heat of her fingertips sweating on each other.
