Olympus RPG Blog

The enraged sea buffeted the Gleaming Endeavor as the storm surged on overhead.  Merasiël wrapped her legs around the cracking mast, blinking away the rain as Angrist cut through the jammed ropes holding the sails in place.  Somewhere below, Gabriel floundered in the sea after being thrown overboard.  She could only trust that Rainald would pull the swordsman back to safety.  Triumph turned to fear as the newly freed sails fell towards one of the stouthearted seamen that served aboard the vessel.  The sails caught Tully square in the chest before severing the seamen’s safety line.  A large spray of water blew over the side of the ship where he had fallen and then he was gone.

Merasiël barely registered that her own safety line had been compromised, and dove for Tully’s rapidly disappearing line.

Merasiël dove for the shadows behind one of the plush chairs near the window. As light from the hallway filled the room, she shrank further away from it, forcing herself into stillness. The door closed, and the bright light from the sconces in the hall was replaced by the dim flicker of candlelight.

“My Lord Tereus, we will find her.” Edward? She thought. “But my father threatened her yesterday. She has likely fled.”

“For both our sakes, I hope you do find her. She is the only loose end that remains to be tied. What were you thinking, goading your father like that? Announcing your intentions to marry that elf.”

A pause. “I don’t particularly care for the tone you are using, Tereus.”

“Are you having second thoughts, then? Perhaps you should have entertained those before your father’s untimely demise.”

What is going on here?  His father is dead?  The floorboards just on the other side of Merasiël’s hiding place creaked and she held her breath. The cushioned fabric beside her head hissed gently as someone slumped down in the chair. When Edward broke the long silence, his voice was close to her ear. “No. No second thoughts, Tereus. My father deserved his fate. I will find the Lady Misthal and see that she remains…silent.”

“Good. You have been given the gift of your father’s wealth and power, young Edward, and are the last that holds the Bonet name. It would be a shame if your family’s line were to be cut prematurely.”

The conversation ended with the sound of footfall followed by the door slamming closed. Merasiël waited still, her breath caught in her throat. The fabric beside her head whispered softly once more as Edward rose and walked to the window. Merasiël then had her first clear view of him, and she believed that if someone were to look like hell, as the humans were want to say, then Edward would fit that description. His normally clean and pressed clothing was stained in several places. His collar was undone and the hairs on the top of his head were sticking out at an odd angle. He gazed out the front window for a long while, scowling downward towards the front drive, until the unmistakable sound of a litter leaving drifted up to the window. “Ah, what a bloody mess,” he grumbled, and then turned away from the window. His eyes met Merasiël’s and both of them froze.

It was Edward who broke the silence. “I should have expected you’d find your way here.”

Merasiël rose from her hiding place behind the chair, one hand resting on the hilt of her dagger and the other resting on the back of the chair beside her. “Your father is dead.”

Edward sat on the edge of the desk and ran both of his hands over his face. His voice dripped with exhaustion. “Yes. Not by my own hand, of course, but I was there.” He glanced over one shoulder, eyes scanning the disturbed pages on the desk. “I see you have been busy. You will know by now what my father was involved in.”

“Slave trade.”

“Yes, a disgusting business, and one I wished my family out of. But it goes further than that.” He looked up at her, and he tilted his head, his expression becoming one of genuine confusion. “Are those my trousers you are wearing?”

Merasiël ignored him. “Your father’s business?” she prompted.

“Children as slaves. Noble born, peasantry, it didn’t matter. The younger the better, sold to the highest bidder by a rival’s family or simply taken from the streets and never heard from again. Those few who discovered were silenced before they could bring it to the notice of the church. I had to stop it.”

“Tereus was working with you.” Edward’s simply nodded, and Merasiël continued to press him, “Tereus hired me to steal your father’s secrets. All the while he had your ear? Why?”

Edward folded his hands together and rested his chin on his knuckles and his shoulders slumped forward. “I am sorry, my lady, I truly am. You know that Elves aren’t very welcome here. You were here to be a convenient scapegoat. Now that my father is dead, you will be accused for his murder.”

Merasiël took a step towards the window, and Edward rose hurriedly.

“Wait. Please. Lord Tereus arranged all of this. He would ensure my father’s downfall, and I would ensure your permanent silence. But I find..I cannot. I will not.”

Merasiël’s knuckles were white from gripping the handle of her dagger, and slowly began to draw the weapon. She spoke through gritted teeth. “Oh? And why not?”

“Because I have fallen in love with you.” When Merasiël’s only response was to stare at him, he continued, his voice bordering on desperation, “Please. Tell me truthfully. Was none of this real? All of this time we have been together? Was every moment false?”

Merasiël snapped her dagger back into its sheath, a small smirk finally playing its way across her lips. “What do you think?”

Edward studied her expression, looking for some sort of hope, but he apparently found none and he took a steadying breath. “I see. Then the Lady Misthal is dead. Or perhaps never existed.” He leaned forward against the desk, resting his knuckles on the wooden surface. “I’m afraid you will not be able to stay in Hyrnan. I will instruct the guards that you are to not be hindered and you may leave the grounds with all you came with. But,” he added, ”I ask of you a boon.”

Merasiël rested a hand on one of the windowpanes. “And what is that?”

“I give you your life and freedom in opposition to Tereus’ demands. As you heard before, he is not above ending my family’s line if he doesn’t get what he wants, and I have a distinct interest in staying alive. In exchange for allowing you to live, you will ensure that the Bonet line is not threatened by him further. Agreed?”

Merasiël nodded. “This will conclude our business, then.” She then turned back towards the window.

“And for God’s sake, don’t climb out the window. Use the door?”

———————

Three days later, the sun dawned bright with the promise of a warm, late summer day. The manor bustled with preparations for the late Lord Bonet’s funeral. The transition to the new master of the house was going well, however this morning, the new Lord Bonet was notably absent, remaining locked in his study.

“M’lord Edward?” The voice of Bruce, his father’s Steward, called from the other side of the locked door. Gentle raps became more insistent, and then turned into a cacophony of fists hammering against the wooden surface.

Edward snored from where he had fallen asleep in his desk chair the night before. Eventually the noise woke him, and he lifted his head. He blinked in the dim light that filtered from behind the partially closed drapes, then flew out of the chair, sending several pieces of paper flying in the air. Edward looked out the window, noting with some chagrin the position of the sun and then ran for the door. When he opened it, Bruce stood there, fist raised to continue pounding against the door.

Edward straightened his jacket and stood a bit straighter, fully aware of how distressed he must look. “Bruce? What is it, man?”

“Beg pardon, Lord Edward, but it’s half past ten and there’s a bit of news from town.”

“News? What sort of news?”

Bruce stepped off to the side, allowing one of the servants to pass through with a tray of food. Edward’s stomach rumbled, and he followed breakfast to the desk, motioning for the other man to enter. Once Edward had seated himself and begun to eat, the old Steward cleared his throat and continued. “Seems there was an accident over at M’lord Tereus’ manor during the night, sir. A fire, sir.”

Edward froze, fork lifted halfway from the plate to his mouth. “A fire, you say?”

“Yes M’lord! Terrible one. Sad to say that Lord Tereus was caught sleepin’ in it and has passed on, God rest his soul.”

Edward lowered the fork, his appetite suddenly gone. It’s done then. Am I so different from my father now? Lives can continue or come to an abrupt end at my word.  And yet, the end result is worth it, is it not?

“Something wrong with the eggs, sir? Cook’ll be fit to be tied if the girls brought ‘em to you cold.”

“Eggs? What? Oh, no no. They’re delicious. I’m just…at a loss for words over the news.” Edward forced himself to pick the fork up and eat.

“Quite right, sir.”

Edward paused again, and looked at Bruce. “He had a daughter, correct?”

“Oh yes sir, lovely young lady she is. Lady Katherine. About fifteen as I recall. Oddly enough, she must have been stricken by a fit of sleepwalking for they found her outside the house wrapped in a blanket and lying in a pile of hay. She claims someone carried her out in the night, but the guards believe she’s just upset because of her father. Shook her up quite good, but if you ask me…” he continued to prattle, but Edward’s thoughts turned elsewhere.

Oh, my Lady of the Great Forest, you do have a heart buried in there. Thank you.

“…oor thing has no family here and she’s not betroth—”

Edward interrupted the continued drone of the steward’s voice. “Bruce.”

“Ah…yes, M’lord?”

“Please see to it that proper condolences are sent to the Lady Katherine.”

“Of course, M’lord.”

“No family and no betrothed you say? Well then, I suppose the Church will see that she’s taken care of. But…we could offer her a place here, in the meantime of course. We have plenty of room. See that it’s done.”

“Very good, M’lord.”

—————

Merasiël glanced upwards as the popping and crackling of her campfire echoed loud in her ears. It had been more than a week since the downfall of Lord Tereus, and no pursuit had come from Hyrnan. Still, she glanced around, wary of trouble. When none came, she looked back down at the paper she had secreted away.

Lord Tirius Evern

She did not know where they all were, but she would find them, one way or the other.

Lord Marcus and his Lady Kiriste

Each name’s accusation, branded on paper, involved in slave trade. She had seen enough damning evidence. She proclaimed them guilty.

Lord Malus Drogan, Lord and Lady Fenwick

Some were involved more than others, but in this, Merasiël could not be choosy. They would all eventually fall, just as Lord Claudius Bonet had. Merasiël committed each name to memory, then tossed the paper in the fire and watched the last turn to ash.

Lord Proximo.

Fin.

So much for the element of surprise.

Merasiël ducked around one of the compound guards, tumbling past his sword to seek the cover of a nearby column. She paused once there, remaining just out of view of the templar and his bowman. The horrible events from outside the manor a few minutes ago had been a painful reminder that the shadows, not the open battlefields, were her home. It was easy to forget this when fighting beside Rainald and Gabriel. The pair simply waded into the fray, comfortable in the knowledge of their own skill, or at least, the skill of Mendel to get them back on their feet should things go badly. She didn’t remain where she was for long; her target would soon reload his crossbow and she needed to remove him from play before another feathered bolt struck down another of her companions.

A quick sprint to the safety of another column left her within attacking distance and still out of view. She slipped from the shadows and stepped behind the bowman, placed her blade on his jugular and sliced neatly across. While the cut was not deep enough to kill, her distraction proved a success; no more bolts would fire from his crossbow this night.

As the battle raged on, she noticed out of the corner of her eye that Gabriel had forced the Templar to retreat to a position that was close, leaving his unarmored head within her reach. It would be so easy, she thought, but dare I risk turning my back to my other enemy? When a brief vision of her unconscious form lying on the floor bleeding out passed before her eyes, she buried the thought deep within and turned away from the injured crossbowman. Two steps found her on the Templar’s back, bracing one foot on his hip, her opposite knee in the small of his back and grasping his shoulder with her left hand. Blade met bone with a sickening crunch as she buried Angrist to the hilt in the back of his skull.

As the Templar fell to the ground, Angrist slid out easily, and words floated to her ears through the red haze of battle.

“Marry me.”

It took a moment for them to register, and she simply stared at the man in white that now faced her, blood and brain matter decorating the stone floor beside her feet. Is he…serious? Did he really just ask me to marry him in the middle of an enemy compound after I opened a hole in someone’s skull? Sounds of the continuing battle going on around her threatened to capture her attention, and she masked her confusion within a scowl and curt answer before turning away.

“No.”

Gabriel’s grin in response to her rejection did little to ease her mind.

“Lady Misthal, you enchant me. Thank you.”

Merasiël smiled as Edward lifted one of her hands to his lips, brushing her knuckles with a kiss. “Whatever for?”

“For coming to my rescue, of course! All of the insufferable noblemen, their wives, their,” Edward grimaced, “daughters. This feast is supposed to be a joyous occasion…celebrating my glorious return from Megalos. But I must confess, I did not feel like celebrating. Not until I met you.” He paused for a moment, staring at Merasiël’s reflection in the rippling water of the fountain beside them. “Stay with me.”

“Lord Edward?”

“Stay. Please. Call it the magic of the Elves, call it an impulsive boyish fantasy, but you truly have placed a spell on me. We’ll have a room prepared, and before you answer, I must tell you that will not take ‘no’ for an answer.”

Merasiël lifted a hand, gently caressing his jawline, “So sudden…”

“I will beg if I must.”

“Yes. I will stay with you.”

Edward’s enthusiastic grin in response to her affirmation did little to ease her mind.

Hyrnan, August 2013 ce, Estate of Lord Bonet

Two months.

Two long, painful, boring months of idleness had been spent playing the part of the “Lady Misthal from the Great Forest” and Merasiël’s already miniscule amount of patience was nearly gone. For his part, Lord Tereus had been correct in his belief that insinuating herself into the comings and goings of the household would be easy. Lord Edward had been sent away to court at a young age, and while he was there he developed quite a fascination for elves. Merasiël had but to appear at the feast celebrating his return that evening with her ears on display and the young Lord had been hers. She had been welcomed into the household that night, and subsequently his arms within the week. From there, gathering information about Edward’s father had proved to be more difficult than she expected. Edward was…persistent with his attentions and she had very little time alone. If Edward himself had known anything of his father’s dealings, he kept silent on the matter. She had gathered what information she could and waited for further instructions.

She occasionally received word from Tereus, usually in the form of cleverly coded messages hidden within deliveries. Merasiël had responded to each; delivering what information she had learned since the last contact on the comings and goings of the elder Lord Bonet as well as some of his allies, but Tereus was still not satisfied. Lord Bonet kept his darkest secrets close.

Until the day that the elder Lord announced a visit to the Megalan capital. And, Merasiël was happy to hear, the younger Lord Edward would be joining him.

“Lady Misthal, Lord Bonet has summoned you.”

Merasiël thanked the servant and adjusted her dress, expecting to once again spend the morning listening to Edward tell tales of court and recite horrible Megalan poetry. To her surprise, when she arrived at Edward’s suite, it was the Elder Lord Bonet waiting for her, and not Edward.

“Lord Bonet, this is a surprise. I hadn’t—”

“Enough,” he cut her off mid-sentence. “I know what you are up to.”

Merasiël swallowed. He couldn’t know, she thought. I’ve been too careful. Too conservative. “I don’t understand, milord.”

“He speaks of you near constantly to me, telling me the most fantastic tales. A strange, beautiful, wandering elf, from a destroyed homeland far to the west. One who happens to appear in my home the very day my son returns and bewitches him. He announced his intentions at breakfast this morning to propose to you.” His voice hardened, the lines on his face deepening along with his scowl. “I had heard news that elves had near taken over Harkwood and were insinuating themselves into noble bloodlines there, but I hadn’t expected their reach to go this far.”

“Milord, I swear to you, I had—”

“ENOUGH!” he bellowed. “Not here. Not in my home. And not in my city. Your…kind is responsible for that abominable Blackwood. And I will not have your kind ruining Hyrnan as well!” He pointed a finger in her direction. “Now, I leave on a ship bound for Megalos on the morrow. Edward will be going with me and when we return, he will have a proper wife. I want you gone from my household within the week. Do you understand?”

Merasiël buried her smirk of satisfaction behind a deep curtsey and forced her voice to be as trite as she could possibly manage. “Yes, Lord Bonet.” The door slammed after her as she was escorted from the room, but she barely heard it. Her mind was already a-whirl with plans.

Edward hadn’t been allowed to speak to her of course. As the litter creaked its way down the drive early the next morning, Merasiël risked one brief glance out the window, but thankfully the morning fog prevented any view of the occupants. She half expected him to come running back to the manor like a madman, professing his love, but as the morning drew on, the road remained silent and Merasiël remained alone. The staff, under instruction from Lord Bonet, had abandoned her and she was forced to make do for herself for the day, dressing herself and getting her own food from the kitchen. She preferred it, as she did not like their constant attentiveness and it left her with plenty of time to think. She knew that the elder Lord Bonet kept at least one guard outside his personal offices at all times. But Merasiël had her own way of getting places, and she had long since found her way to the roof.

As day turned to night, the house grew gradually more still as the last of the staff finished their chores and retired. With Lord Bonet away, some tried to stay up a bit later than usual, and voices and laughter drifted up from the windows of the servants’ quarters long after the rest of the household had gone to sleep. Nonetheless, there was still work to be done the next day and one by one, they all quietened down. When Merasiël was sure the only ones awake would be the guard, she crept to the window and opened it. She had abandoned her dress this night, donning a pair of dark trousers and shirt she had stolen from the laundry when no one was looking. They were a bit baggy, and she had secured them as best she could with her belt. She slid her sheathed dagger on the belt almost as an afterthought. If all went well, violence would not be necessary. Pity.

The two months she had spent learning her way around the manor paid off. She scrambled to the roof, dislodging only a leaf or two of ivy in the process. She held her breath as one leaf drifted close to one of the guards, but he either did not notice, or chose to ignore it. Once on the roof, she paused to catch her breath. She was weakened after two months of living a life of idleness, and every muscle in her arms was complaining about the exertion. She gritted her teeth and pushed through the pain and grasped hold of the ivy on the opposite side of the house, this time to descend to the windows of Lord Bonet’s third floor study.

The window was unlocked. Merasiël frowned as the hairs on the back of her neck prickled. This isn’t right, she thought. As worried as he is about his secrecy, this window should be locked. Taking extra care to be quiet, she ignored the voice in her head telling her to leave and stepped into the dark room. Enough starlight filtered in from the windows that she could make out the locations of the furniture, and she she crept to the desk, and began her search. While she could see, the darkness caused her some difficulty in actually making out the details of what she was looking at, but she dared not light a candle.

Wait, she thought, squinting in the low light. Here it is. She tilted the paper so that the starlight aided her vision. Yes. Every single one of them is named. What do these numbers mean out to the side? She was so intent upon her study that she missed the sound of footfall approaching in the hall. The only warning she had was the shuffle of booted feet as the guard came to attention and the click of the lock turning.

To be concluded in part III…

Hmm, Kingfisher Circles the Pond. Yes.

Merasiël mentally followed each maneuver that he went through, alternatively placing a name to the ones she had been working on and mentally noting the ones she had seen but not yet received a name. It wasn’t too difficult, the man was devoted to his art. He practiced every day without fail, and by this point, she figured that she had seen all of his moves—

Hmph, she thought. Haven’t seen that one before. I’ll have to ask him about it later.

Merasiël continued to watch quietly, her arms folded across her waist as she rested against the bulwark of the ship. Around her, the activity on the Gleaming Endeavor continued as though Gabriel wasn’t practicing only a few feet away from them. She came to the conclusion that they were just used to it by now. He has such a gift, she mused. Grace, precision, speed…it’s a pity these traits are wrapped in skin that will wither and fade in a few years. That is, if death doesn’t wait for old age to claim him. But then again, isn’t that true for all of them? They all look so much older than they did in the Crusades. But how many years ago was that? Seven? Ten? When we part next for another span of years, will that be the last I see them?

She shivered, shaking away the dark, unwelcome thoughts, and returned her focus to the sunlight flashing off the blade. One, twist of the blade. Two, arc upward to the neck. Three, The Boar Rushes Downhill.

One, two, three.

Merasiël lost herself in the rhythm of each attack and defense, and thoughts of the past came rushing to the surface, unbidden.

One, two, three.

One, two, th–

————————

“—ree. One, two, and three. And one, and two, and–no, no, a thousand times NO!”

Merasiël turned away from her partner, a sour expression on her face. “What is the problem now?” she growled.

A balding, poufy man pulled a small handkerchief from a coat pocket and mopped his head. The already soaked scrap of fabric did little to dry the sweat from his brow. He then pinched his nose in frustration and answered slowly through gritted teeth, “You are trying to lead. Again! You are the female, you must follow your partner in the Mazurka!” He wrung out the cloth, his jowls flapping as he continued to complain, “My Lord Tereus, you have asked too much of this old man. I should be guiding the young nobility to their futures, teaching young ladies how to woo the young lords and teaching young lords how to woo the young ladies, not trying to turn a mule into a fine mare! Phah!” He flung his hands up into the air, helplessly. “I thought elves were supposed to be graceful!” He opened his mouth to speak further, only to be cut short by a knife that appeared distressingly close to his neck.

Merasiël spoke from behind his right ear, her voice deadly and quiet. “I am graceful where it counts, instructor mine.” She tilted the edge of her knife into the pale flesh of his throat to emphasize her point. When he made a strangled noise, she released him, and then shoved him to his knees.

“I tire of this, Tereus,” Merasiël grated. “Why must I go through this farce? Let me just knife the old man and be done with it.” The instructor squeaked from his kneeling position and Merasiël growled down at him, “Not you. You will regrettably continue living.”

Lord Tereus approached Merasiël and grasped her by the shoulders. His grip was stronger than one would expect from a middle-aged noble. Merasiël flinched, but resisted the urge to pull away from his touch. “The old man has information that we need. You must get close enough to him to retrieve it. When we have what we need, we will allow you to end his life.” He sighed. “The feast is tonight and you are out of time. Just…don’t let the boy talk you into a dance and you’ll be fine.”

Merasiël sheathed her blade and stepped around him to gather her things. “I still would prefer my method, but have it your way.”

Before she could leave, Tereus spoke once more. “Oh, and you may be there a while before we are ready for you to strike. You’ll need this.” He tossed a pouch at her, which she caught with one hand. She gave the contents a sniff, and made a face at the pungent odor.

“Venena sterilitatis,” he intoned blandly. “It wouldn’t do at all for you to wind up bearing another heir for House Bonet, my dear.”

Nine hundred and sixty-one years ago…

A pair of shadows danced in the gardens of Estrilere*, deep within the Great Forest.  Occasionally one of the shadows would detach itself from the murky dark beneath the trees, only to be engulfed again a few moments later.  Guttering lamplight cast an irregular beat for the dance, and the shadows circled round and round in this strange ritual.  Twilight had fallen when they halted at last, and the sources of the shadows were locked in embrace.

“Give….in!  I won this time!”

“Hah!  The Old Elm will lay on the ground before I give in to you!”

Merasiel found herself staring at the canopy of trees above as her legs were swept out from beneath her.  Her breath blew out in a huff as she landed square on her back.  She coughed and spluttered.  She fought the urge to punch the face that suddenly appeared before her eyes, brows knitted together in concern.

“Mera, are you alright?”

“Yes…” she croaked back to him, “…no thanks to you!” With the newfound advantage of surprise, she knotted her hands in her companion’s tunic and arched her back, rolling him over to the side.  He stared at her in surprise as he felt cold metal resting against his neck.  “Did you really think that after all this time you could throw me like that and I wouldn’t be able to land properly?  Hmmm?”

He began to shift and she tightened her grip.  “Ah-ah-ahhhhh.  Say.  It.”

“Fine!  Fine.  You win.”

“Again.”   Merasiel grinned widely, released her grip and stood quickly before he could retaliate further.  She lowered a hand to her companion once her dagger had been sheathed and pulled him off the ground and into an embrace.  They held each other quietly for a long while.

It was Merasiel who broke the silence.  Her voice was muffled in the fabric of her companion’s tunic.  “I will miss you, Bela.  While I’m away.”

Belaguin leaned back, gripping her shoulders with his hands, his expression betraying his disbelief.  “What?”

“You heard me.”

“It’s not often you say things like that.  Are you worried about this journey?”

“Of course not.  I really will miss you.”

Belaguin folded her in his arms once more.  “I wish I knew what the elders were thinking.  They’re sending only five others with you and-”

Merasiel interrupted him, pressing a finger to his lips, “Stop.  The visions were clear.  Those five, Mendelel, Gabrielthorn….even Mags must travel to Mortuturesihad.  No more than that and no less.  The elders won’t say why.”

Belaguin frowned and muttered, “They’re sending that fool Mags with you instead of me.  I’m insulted.”

Merasiel arched an eyebrow and continued, “And, when I return, I will not be sent on any missions for a while.  So I’ll have that much more time to show you how to properly fight.”

He ignored the jab.  “Oh?  How long will you be here?”

“I don’t know for sure.  The elders said that when my task is complete, I won’t be going anywhere for a while.”

“Hm, that’s an odd way of putting it.”

“When have the elders ever had a way of putting things that wasn’t odd?”

“True,”  Bela kissed her gently on the forehead.  “For what it’s worth, my little fawn, I will miss you too.”

Merasiel smiled at him.  “Bela?”

“Hm?”

“If you continue calling me ‘Little Fawn’, I am going to have to gut you.”

The pair tarried in the gardens long into the night, talking and making plans as those in love tend to do.  The following morning dawned grey and bleak, and the six companions gathered together to receive the blessing of the elders, say their farewells and depart.  All of their words had been spoken the night before, and Merasiel shared only a brief touch of fingertips with Belaguin.  She looked back once as they rode into the forest, but her last view of Bela and home was marred by the trees.

* Estrelere is completely made up by yours truly.  Approximate location is in the Great Forest close to the southern end of the mountain range that runs through the center of the forest.

The smell of fear never bothered Merasiel before. At least, not until it was her own.

“Please, mercy! I have money, I can pay you! Let me live!”

Merasiel silently stared down the man before her. She was not afraid; the cloth wrapped around her head served to disguise her features. In any case, the man wouldn’t live long enough to tell anyone. A minor noble, who in a fit of insanity, tried to improve his station by hiring a pair of thugs to kidnap the eldest son of one of his rivals and deliver him to slavers. A common story, with an all-to-common ending. The would-be kidnappers had failed, and had squealed when placed under the slightest of duress.

“Please!” Sweat trickled down the man’s face, and he looked over his shoulder at the dark hole behind his feet. “I swear to you, I did not commit any crimes.”

Merasiel chuckled. “I’m not paid to care. Lord Rufus and his son send their regards.” With no other preamble, she shoved him off the edge. A moment later, a series of splashes echoed from below. This particular fate had been chosen by her employer. She almost admired his imagination. The fall would, of course, be cushioned by the water below. He might have received a bruise from hitting the water at an odd angle, but nothing more. But, and she looked up at the nearby ocean, there was a particularly nasty breed of fish that liked to visit this cave during high tide. Their bite would make his last moments on this world very unpleasant.

She waited until his screams stopped before leaving. All part of the job, of course.

Merasiel’s head snapped back as a gauntleted hand connected with her jaw. The faint taste of blood let her know that her lip was cracked open this time.

“I asked you a question, elf. What were you doing skulking about the Baroness’ estate?”

Merasiel had to fight the urge to laugh. It was a comedy of errors, sadly. Merasiel had been hired by the Ladyship herself to pay a visit to one of the other minor nobles and “discourage” him from his continued rivalry with the allies of the house of Moirea. She was on her way back to report on her success and be paid when she stumbled upon a dark cloaked figure leaving the estate, followed by the sound of the alarm being raised. A very messy fight soon followed, which led to both of them fleeing on foot when a passerby called for the guard.

Merasiel had no idea how the guard managed to track her down at the inn where she was staying, but over the next few hours, she was able to piece together at least some of what happened. Apparently the figure she had run into was a simple thief and had made off with a few valuables. Merasiel, of course, was fingered by the Baroness’ staff as having been seen skulking around the premises earlier in the evening and looking very shady at that. The Baroness herself claimed no knowledge of Merasiel and Merasiel, of course, couldn’t reveal the truth behind her presence in the estate as it would implicate her employer and break terms of the contract. In the end, the guardsmen decided that there was no need to look further for the thief, and Merasiel found herself subject of an interrogation for a crime she had no part in.

Merasiel’s mind snapped back to the present as a blow landed to her belly and she doubled over in pain. Her ears were ringing from the repeated blows she’d endured, and it wasn’t until a new voice spoke that she realized that someone else had entered the room.”She won’t speak, Captain.”

“It matters not. She is a common thief and we will not waste the judge’s time with her.” The “Captain” reached out a hand and hooked a couple of fingers underneath Merasiel’s chin, forcing her gaze upwards. “She looks like she has a bit of spirit in her, doesn’t she? Put her in the Gutter.”

The guard glanced over at the Captain, who noted the silence. “Do you have a problem carrying out this order?”

“No sir.”

“Then you have it. I have word that Lord Proximo will be in need of some new stock in a few days. We’ll see if this one is ready by then.”

After the Captain left, Merasiel spoke for the first time. “What’s the Gutter?”

The “Gutter”, as it turned out, was a long, deep trench where the worst offenders were forgotten until they either died or were sent into slavery. Sections were barred off, but still there were a handful of prisoners in each one. Food and water were tossed down from above, and those who were strongest were the only ones who ate. The smell was horrendous, but what was worse were the faces that peered up at her from the darkness. Not a one of the prisoners were female.

Merasiel swallowed and felt beads of sweat break out on the back of her neck. “Please. Mercy.” She barely recognized the sound of her own voice as the words came unbidden. The guard unshackled her wrists and shoved her forwards. “I’m not paid to be merciful, miss.” Merasiel’s fall was halted by several pairs of grimy, groping hands.

A short while later, two of those in her cell lay unconscious over by the wall where she left them. The other three were huddled nearby, nursing black eyes and broken noses. One of them had finally managed to get his shoulder back into its socket. Merasiel stood against the other wall of the cell and glared at them. She was hurt badly from the fight, but she was damned if she’d let them see it.

As the week drug on and she had little to do but defend herself from the attentions of her cellmates and think, she reflected on her current state and her mind drifted back to all of the times she had been the recipient of cries for mercy, and all of the times she ignored them. A strange, unfamiliar feeling crept into her consciousness. She had never truly felt remorse before, but now that she was on the receiving end of unnecessary cruelty, the feeling would not go away that this was somehow penance for more than simply being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Her thoughts eventually drifted to her former companions as she heard one of the guards tell another about this fantastic show he had seen with amazing magicians and ferocious dragons that had tried to eat ten, no twenty people in the audience! She wondered what they all were up to.

After a week of terrible food and very little sleep, the guards came and lowered a rope ladder for the all of those in Merasiel’s section to climb out, one by one. They were shackled as soon as they were off the ladder, and herded out of a back entrance into a cart bound for the estate of one Lord Proximo.