Theryl's blog

O ye'll set on his white halse-bane
And I'll pluck oot his bonny blue een
Wi a lock o his golden hair
We'll thatch oor nest when it grows bare*

I whispered to Velion, "Got any ideas how to get in, without alerting everyone?"

The bright lamps of eyes stared at me in alarm. "Who is everyone?" He asked in an urgent whisper. Velion slapped his ears and half stood from a crouch, like a scouting squirrel.

"The guards." I gestured at the patrolling men.

"Oh." The little elf went back to all fours and hunkered next to me. "Can I eat them, that would be nice nice, yes it would of course HA!" There was no breath with his voice just the warbling sound, raw and sharp in the dark.

Not far off, a dog barked once.

"Get us in the house quietly, and then you can eat." I rolled my eyes.

As I was walking out alane
I heard twa corbies making mane
The ain unto the tother did say,
"Whaur shall we gang and dine today?"*

I paced the small inn room. I'd made it Lakeshire as dark was falling and taken a room in a lower class inn, just another anonymous, scruffy sellsword. Not for the first time, I frowned and thought about my next steps. The gold I spent had brought a name, a minor noble and Redridge landowner. Unfortunately, the man had gotten wind of the hunt and had left town in a hurry, accompanied by a Kaldorei.

Someone was going to die. A red mist began creeping into my vision and I forced it down with an act of will. Not now, not yet.

I closed the heavy door to the chapel behind me and looked at the guards who stood on either side and at Hugh who stood wringing his hands.

"Is he? ... How?" Vinguld's steward stammered awkwardly.

"Getting worse." I cut him off and he visibly sagged. "He might not recognize you. Make sure you have one of the lads with if you go in. And don't carry anything sharp."

He nodded despondently.

"And use the cosh I gave you if he gets violent. That goes for you too." I gave the guards a hard look.

The cosh was a small leather sack filled with lead dust. A good blow to the base of the skull would daze anyone if it didn't knock them out. He'd have a nasty headache when he woke up, but that was the least of my worries.

“Why are you crying, Mamma?”

My mother looked down at me and wiped a single, vagrant tear from her cheek. “I’m not crying John, just remembering.”

“You knew what you were getting into.”

“I did.”

“You knew what kind of a man he was.”

I sighed and set my knitting to one side. “We’ve been through this before.”

Whaur dae ye lie, my father? Whaur dae ye lie, my son?
Whaur dae ye lie, my ain true love? When will the truth be won?*

Can’t come this year. I’m sorry, Pete. No booze this year either. Not that it makes any difference to you probably, being dead and all. I’ve got more than me to think of nowadays and things are going to the Nether in a handbasket.

At least there’s the chapel here in the castle. I use it a lot, more than I would have thought. Shouldn’t make a difference, of course. You can pray anywhere after all. But having a place for it seems to make it easier.

A raven croaked from one of the nearby trees, jostling another bird for space on a convenient limb.

“Gathering already.” I thought. The scavengers would have their feast soon enough, for now they waited for the humans and their horses to leave.

A half-dozen corpses decorated the trees on either side of the road, twisting slowly in the chill autumn breeze. They were the last of a gang of bandits who’d been hitting the borders of my lands, figuring that an isolated mountain fief wouldn’t be well defended. They’d been wrong and their bodies would serve as a warning to anyone else with the same idea.

The courtyard of Stormwind Keep rang with the clash of steel on steel. It was something less than a duel, something more than simple sparring, as Colonel the Earl  of Huxston and General Lord Belmont faced each other before their peers. I watched with professional interest, I might have to fight one or both of them someday. Most of the court watched with the same interest. After a generation of warfare, Stormwind's nobility was mostly jumped up soldiers of one flavor or another. The old nobility had lead from the front, and died in droves. Those who were left had either been too young to fight or were a hard and hardened lot. Those who replaced them were of the same breed.

"The ambiance of a sergeants' mess." Vinguld had remarked once, comparing Stormwind's court to Lordaeron's. Somehow though, I suspected Stormwind's court of iron and steel might be less deadly to the likes of me than Lordaeron's court of silk and velvet.

The bay gelding shuffles under me and snorts, still skittish from the strange weight on his back and the smell of blood.  I pat the horse's neck and mutter something reassuring.  His former owner, or what's left of him, is lying by the road a mile or two back.

Vinguld's chief gentleman-in-waiting bows from the doorway.  "You asked to see me, my lady?"  My relationship with the marquis' senior servants is tense.  They're better born than I am and aren't shy about letting me know it.  They're pretty subtle for the most part - like the man's bow, just barely deep enough to be polite, and nowhere near as deep as he'd give Vinguld.

I tap the box.  "We've just had a threat against his lordship.  Might be serious so I thought you should know.  I'm having the house locked up tight and the wards raised."

We never do find a mage that night.

It's quiet with him gone. I still can't believe he gave me this, a house of all things.  It's a nice little place, just a few rooms and a bit of garden out back.  Never really had a place of my own before.  Rented rooms in all sorts of places, the fixed up cowshed Pete and I had, the place Yuta and I have in Nighthaven.  But that's a Kaldorei place and it's the clan's, not mine really.  I want to make this place mine.  Maybe make the bedroom all lacy and frilly, just because I can. 

Guess this makes me his mistress after all.  There are worse fates, I guess.  It's not that I don't like the man, because I do; I'm just tired of the labels.  I'm the one who'll get stuck with it, not him.  But it's always the woman who gets labeled isn't it?

She was asleep, finally.   Couldn't blame the poor thing after all she'd been through in the last couple of days.  Kharris was clinging to Iloam, her hair spread across the pillow like a flood of ink.  I drew a blanket over the pair and went in search of food; Elune only knew when the last time the two of them had anything to eat.  As close as I'd been to both of them, there was something there I couldn't share.  Maybe that was a good thing, maybe some things aren't meant for sharing.  I'd seen the same thing flit across Ixinane's face during the exorcism.  It occurred to me that maybe I'd been a little unfair to her.  Didn't mean I liked or trusted her, but everything I'd heard about her had been from Kharris; who might be a little biased.  Just a little.  Not that I could blame her.

Go forth, o soul to the rest prepared for you,
Go forth and trouble not the living,
Go forth and remember not the past,
Go forth to eternal rest and perpetual Light.

I sang the funeral litany as I arranged things; setting everything just so to tell the story I wanted told.  I sang it quietly, not like anyone could hear, and if she could hear it, wouldn't matter how loud or quiet I sang it.  If everything worked, the whole thing would be passed off as a tragic accident, which it was really.  No one to blame but the demon.  But Drakys' words had stung, whether I'd admitted it or not.  I should have been there.  Maybe this wouldn't have happened if I had.

My scowl returned as I left the Heroes' Welcome.  Lord Vinguld's note had been alarmingly terse, just "I need you." and nothing more.  He'd let me in on what'd happened, Iloam's demon had gone nuts and half-eaten one of Vinguld's toys.  Then Drakys had made things worse by calling in Ixiwhatsits.  So we had some problems.

First problem was disposing of the body.  Normally, I'd have considered dumping it off the edge.  Between the fall and the scavengers there wouldn't be much left by the time anyone found it.  Problem was, the girl's father was a mage and we needed to make sure no one tried any scrying or other funny stuff.  What we needed was a reason for the family not to look into things.

On the shortest day of the year, Ythgar Vinguld was returned to life. The thought struck me as I was combing out my hair before bed. Been a long couple of days with one thing and another. It had taken all three of us bring him back: Yshri's strange earth magic, Paxineau's necromancy, and me to go wandering through the shattered pieces of his soul and haul him out of the hell that had been his memories.

I wasn't sure why I'd gotten that job, maybe because I was the most expendable of the three of us. On the other hand, impulsively wrapping my arms around a scared and lonely little boy was what had finally pulled him out of there. Yshri might have done that, but she was awful young, and Paxineau was about as motherly as a crocolisk. I still couldn't believe I'd been stupid enough to drink something Paxineau had handed me.

Place like this ought to have ghosts.  Any place folks have wandered the halls for, what four or five hundred years, has got to be haunted.  Maybe not by real ghosts, but by all the memories of what's happened here.  The halls are mostly empty now; me, Yshri, a few silent and hollow-eyed servants.  I feel like an intruder here, wandering through someone else's life. I run my fingers along the wainscotting, feeling wood polished smooth by generations of servants and passing hands. I don't know why I came here.

I hate the paintings, generations of Vingulds hanging up there on the walls. It feels like they are watching me, judging me. They don't approve of me, I imagine; some jumped up peasant wench who doesn't know her place. Everyone's been very polite, not even a lifted eyebrow when I'm introduced as the Marquis' "friend". Even though we all know what that means.  I don't belong here.

Goldshire's sun was setting, the peaked houses casting long shadows over the dusty town square. Outside the Lion's Pride, raucous voices shouted encouragement to yet another pointless wrestling match between a hulking Kal'dorei fighter and a badly scarred Draenei whose eyes betrayed him as undead. Beyond the crowd, townsfolk walked here and there, finishing their business for the day, locking up their shops, and generally either joining the crowd, entering the taproom's pleasant confines, or throwing coins at a slender girl of elven extraction dancing half nude by the signpost at the corner of the square. As parts of the town dimmed, others were just waking, and with a laugh, wooden shutters opened on a second storey of one of the larger houses, a buxom woman leaning out and calling down to the assembled men. Her beauty spot was sliding into her ample decolletage, and her hair's brilliant red was as artificial as so much of Goldshire's daily facade.

It was waiting for me when I got home.

I unwrapped the package with trembling hands and found the likeness of a single rose; the petals made of black feathers, sharp mithril thorns shining on the leather-wrapped stem.

A brief note written on heavy paper in a strong, precise hand.  Black ink stark against the creamy background.

For beauty, and courage, and softness.  For pain and for pleasure.

It was signed with a simple "V". 

I clutched the rose in my fist and watched  a single drop of blood run down my forearm; the pain in my hand unnoticed.

It's time to get out of the tub; skin's getting all wrinkly again.  Not like there's much else to do but stare out the window.  I'll give it a little and take another one, not that it will help.  I ought to eat, but nothing wants to stay down.  Sometimes, I just break down and cry for no reason.

I'm holed up in a hotel in Dalaran.  A place I don't usually go, but it's private and they have all the hot water you want.  Piped up to the room from somewhere and heated by some magic or other. Even have a thing where I can stand under the water and let it run over me.  But it's not enough and not hot enough.  There's no water hot enough to scrub this away.  My skin's raw from the scrubbing I've given it.  I shift a little and the hot water stings the marks he's left.  The welts, the burns, abrasions, and bites.  They'll heal soon enough; will I?

I hugged my knees to my chest and watched Giles Jackson driving his flocks in for the evening.  There was just the faintest bit of chill to the late summer breeze and a hint in the air that it might rain tonight.  Out back of the Miller's house was the cowshed Pete and his brothers had turned into a cottage.  He'd be there, bouncing Maybelle on his knee, waiting for me to come home.  I shifted my feet, feeling the soft, sheep clipped grass between my toes.  It was always like this here, just around harvest time in a little pocket of the Lordaeron of eight years or so ago.  Just over the hills, the memories faded into the misty green of the Dream; only the road south lay open, running down to that November morning in Alterac where my old life had died.

The wind off the mountains was cold, but bracing.  I took deep breath of the fresh air and smiled as I walked after the Scarlet death knight who was trying to drag himself away from me.  No need to hurry, he wasn't going far with a broken hip.  Scarlet death knights.  I made a face; what was the world coming to?  The Crusade used to have some standards.  And now ... now those undead bastards were everywhere, like Ythgar Vinguld. 

The cold light of a Darnassian dawn filtered through the curtains of Celise's spare bedroom.  She'd been glad to see me and I'd filled her in on what was going on.  She'd agreed to help, now it was just a matter of getting her and Kharris together and figuring out what was up with Iloam.  And that damn mage, still needed to find her.

At least the breeding rituals were starting to unravel.  I'd tried one of the Nightsabre priestesses, she'd nearly fainted when I told her what I needed.  Well, she was young and had flat out told me she'd no experience with that sort of thing; and still a virgin if the rumors were true, poor thing. 

I leaned against the doorway of a shop and watched Kharris walk away, hips swaying as she moved with her dancer's grace.  It'd been good to see her again, I'd missed her cheerfulness and irreverence.  Talking to her hadn't been so great.  Well, the talking was okay; what we'd talked about, not so okay.

A man brushed against me with a muttered "Sorry."  I flinched at the sudden rush of heat in my groin.  Visions rushed to my brain; our naked bodies pressed together, kisses burning my face and neck, impaling myself on ...

Stop.  Stopstopstopstop.  I forced the images out of my brain with an effort that left me sick to my stomach.

I had to get this taken care of.  It'd been bad enough when Kharris had mentioned Iloam, although I'd been able to hide that.  I'd almost lost it when she mentioned Ythgar Vinguld.

Elune's a bitch sometimes; that's the way nature is, after all.  Like I've said before, the Light's nice when you want philosophy and all that, but when you want to get something done you need someone or something to pray too.  Outsiders look at the Temple and only see the big stone front.  That's just stage dressing, really.  There's all sorts of schools, factions, sects, cults, and such.  Some you can't tell apart and some might as well be worshiping a different goddess.  And, frankly, some are just old feuds that have gotten themselves set in stone.  It's gotten me in trouble a time or two, assuming I knew more about things than I really do.  On the other hand, I don't have ten thousand years of bullshit weighing me down.

It's been a year, hasn't it?  Keep meaning to drop by, but with one thing and another ... well, you know how it is.  Looks like someone's been running sheep down here, the mound is looking well kept and all.

The kids are growing like weeds; can't really call them babies anymore, and well ...

I'm quitting, Pete. 

Not going to let my children grow up without me.  Been spending more and more time at home anyway.  Well, and Yuta and I are going to try for another one.  Probably can't count on Her making it happen like last time; well, not any more than She usually gets involved.  All Kaldorei children are Her gift, after all.  But I suspect there'll be a male involved this time.

My toenails were bright pink.

I peered down at them and decided I rather liked the color.  The little blonde who'd just finished painting them leaned over to put the nail polish away, giving me a good look at what she wasn't wearing underneath her loose dress. 

She looked coyly at me through long lashes, "Anything else I can do for you?"

Her smile held the promise of a couple of enjoyable and expensive hours that I really wasn't in the mood for.  After the pedicure and foot massage she'd inveigled me into all I wanted to do was lie here, soak up the sun, and enjoy the nice buzz I'd gotten from rum and fruit drinks.

An ugly green face loomed into view on top of a nattily attired goblin body.  "Hey!  You Theryl?"

"Yeah."  I said, taking a sip of my drink.  "Who wants to know?"

"Da Baron wants to see youse, toots.  Like now."

Am I the only one who sees?

They are two of a kind in their mutual misery. 

Philips ushered me into Lady Pittmeddon's office almost as soon as I knocked on the door of Pittmeddon House.  She took a look at me, seeing the gash in my jerkin and the spatters of dried blood that marked my sleeves.

"Trouble?" Lady Pittmeddon asked calmly.

"Your son tried to have me killed."  I replied with equal calm.  "Three of Bothwell's goons jumped me at the meeting."

"I see."  She looked me up and down again.  "Edward returned home a short while ago.  He is presently confined to his room."  Her look hardened.  "My son will not be harmed, Dame Theryl."

I returned her look and nodded my agreement.  "Not by me, my lady."  I didn't need the trouble, legal or otherwise.

"Good.  Lord Pittmeddon and I have come to certain decisions about our son."  She raised her voice.  "Mister Rivers!"

If you're going to kill someone, it's a good idea to keep your mouth shut about it; speeches and dramatic confrontations are for amateurs.  The three thugs who confronted me hadn't learned that lesson.

"Hey, bitch.  You've pissed someone off." Said the one in the middle, at least he had the sense not to say a name.  The guy to the left chuckled and smacked his club against his palm; I managed not to roll my eyes.

I shrugged, unimpressed.  There weren't that many people who wanted me dead right now, and the one to the right had been hanging around Bothwell's place; it didn't take a genius to guess who they were working for.

Will intercepted me as I reached the door to the tavern.  A glance at his face was enough to tell me something was wrong.

He took me to one side, his voice low.  "Beryl's been kidnapped."  He said, "There was a note delivered to the house this afternoon."

I swore. That explained why Bothwell had been such an asshole when I'd talked to him.  "Where's Edward?"

"I don't know, ma'am.  Her Ladyship sent me to find him and send him home at once."

Worse and worse.  "How much does she know, Will?"

He shook his head.  "I don't know.  Philips got the note and no one's seen Mister Edward since this morning."

A gust of cheerful noise greeted us as Will and I walked into the Bull and Feather.  A few folks looked up but didn't give us a second glance.  No reason why they should, we fit right in with the crowd, plainly but respectably dressed.  We stopped in the doorway for a moment while Will looked for his master.  I took the opportunity to scan the room, out of habit more than anything else.  The Bull and Feather was a respectable place, not like the kind of dives I tended to work out of, the kind of place where a working man could stop for a pint on the way home from work or bring his wife for a plate of sausages and some beer.