Suicharte
BlackRoseSiren
Lildear18
Carlyle
Fallenreaper
Ti
Jumbus
Silly
Echotech71
Astro
He was on the early watch, Marceline with him, sweeping the desert with those tethered senses of hers. Manuel put knife to wood, scraping thoughtfully along its surface. Flakes fell away. “Tio Manuel?” the teen inquired, eyes flicking away from the slowly brightening sands.
“What is it?” he asked, words if not tone brusque. He did not take his eyes off the carving.
“Who is this ‘duque’ who is supposed to be coming?” she asked anxiously. “Have you met him before?”
For another few seconds, Escarra worked the wood, his eyes narrowing in concentration, and then as they glanced out over the sands, where the first sliver of sun had just crested the dunes. “You ask me who the Duque is?” he began, tucking the knife back into his belt. “Hm.” His gaze moved between the desert and his granddaughter. “All of us here: we are creatures of the desert: shrews, coyotes, scorpions, halassa. Even the mighty froabas. We each have our roles. We live and die by its rules.”
He thought better of his idleness and reached for a packet of chicle. Marci looked at him expectantly, as her mother had some sixteen years ago. “But there is one - the one who is coming. He is not a creature like the rest of us. No, mi vida, he is the sun and we all thrive or fail at his word.” His face was earnest when he regarded her. “That is Huarcan Frannemas. You must not forget this.” After a moment, he held out the chicle and she quietly took a piece. “Gracias, Tio Manuel.”
“Of course, my precious.” In that moment, sitting there on the parapets beside him, her dark hair shoulder-length in a bob, chewing on a piece of gum, she looked so much like her mother that it built in his chest not to say something. She rolled her eyes and cringed at the fatherly address. “Tiiiooo,” she whined, “I’m not ten anymore, you know.” The teen blushed. “Shit’s embarrassing.”
His hand came for her swiftly: faster than even her young reflexes could counter. It caught her on the ear and pinched. “Oww!” the girl hollered. “What the fuck!?” He lifted a little bit and she batted at his arm before he let her go. “That kind of language.” He shook his head. “Your mother and I taught you to speak better.”
She rubbed at her reddened ear. “Agh… godsdammit.”
He shot her a look. “I mean, not-godsdammit,” she hastily corrected. “and besides, mom curses like a sailor. I’ve heard her.”
Manuel pursed his lips. “Yes, well, she’s older, and…”
“And…” Marci added, face unamused, arms crossed expectantly.
“You should do as she says, not as she does.”
“I never knew you were such a gymnast, Tio,” the teen teased, but the grizzled ranger merely furrowed his brow. “A mental gymnast.” She rolled her eyes.
He shook his head, wondering what expression kids would come up with next. “Learn that from your outside friends?” he asked, and Marci nodded. They sat there for some time longer, picking up the first few sounds starting to travel across the refuge. The sun was actually almost above the horizon now and both no longer looked there directly. A couple of times, the girl looked like she wanted to get up and pace, but thought better of it, so he did it instead, even though it was against his nature. An elder ranger had once said he was like a lizard in that he could remain motionless for hours. Still, young people needed their space sometimes.
Then, with a push of magic and determination, Marceline heaved herself to her feet and grabbed her crutches. “I’m… not mad at you or anything, you know.” She made her way over and he could see that she barely used her knees anymore. In perhaps a year, she would be finished with walking, for all practical intents. “You don’t have to stay away.”
To be honest, the idea hadn’t even occurred to him. He’d just been giving her space to think. The approaching arrival of Duque Frannemas and the hovering threat of the Wyrm had a lot of them on edge, a lot of them considering things that they would normally push to the side. Manuel was no different. He’d wanted to say it for years now, but Amanda had persuaded him not to, for the girl’s safety. What did safety matter now, though? “Ah, then I will not,” he responded, coming up next to her. Flesh of his flesh, blood of his blood, she was so young and beautiful and, yet, he would probably outlive her should Oraff and Eshiran smile upon their cause in the next little while. The unfairness of it sunk him. The girl glances his way, perhaps unnerved by his intensity. “I am not your uncle,” he blurted, pained. “I am sorry. It was for your safety. I am -”
“My grandfather?” She twisted to look his way, coming to a stop. Marci tilted her head. “I’m right, aren’t I?”
“Was it so obvious?”
She snorted. “You have many talents… abuelo, but theatre is not one of them.”
He begun to feel a weight that he hadn’t known was there lift from his chest and, as he opened his mouth to speak, Marcelina pre-empted him. “You know,” she said, “I think I’ve -” Then, she paused, stalk still, suddenly. A look of alarm and concentration took over her features.
“What is it?” he prodded, grandfather turning back into ranger.
She looked at him, nervousness bleeding from her into the still-warming air. “I…” She bit her lip nervously. “I’ve been feeling something hovering at the edge of my range for a couple of minutes, now, but things are fuzzy there, so I wasn’t sure if I was imagining it.” She shook her head in no uncertain terms. “But it’s real, it’s big, and it’s headed this way.”
At first, it was believed that Marceline had sensed the wyrm’s approach, but this misattribution lived only a short life before the true nature of the disturbance was discovered: an army of some two thousand men-at-arms. After only a handful of minutes, a small group detached itself from the rest, riding up towards the gate. Abdel, Laelle, Luisa, and some of the others were dispatched, posthaste, to awaken all of the Afortunado, the students, and anyone of import and call them together for a hasty meeting in the plaza by the Great Bath.
San Agustin came to life swiftly, after that, and it was Escarra and Amanda who met the duke’s couriers at the gates. “You are Tavio Ortega?” said one, after dismounting. The other four formed a loose perimeter around him, eyes darting about and eager to peer through the small gap behind their hosts. He walked up to Escarra, not so much as acknowledging Amanda’s presence. “Warden Ortega is… indisposed,” the head ranger said simply.
“Then we shall wait,” said the courier. He was a knight and his tone and body language made it clear that he viewed this duty as beneath him.
“You may find yourselves waiting for some time, and the sun will only grow hotter,” Amanda offered, but they did not flinch.
“Perhaps you can hand me that message you’re carrying.” Manuel added, and they turned to him. “And you are?” demanded the knight. “I am head ranger here: Manuel Escarra. It is my duty to receive guests and correspondence outside of normal waking hours, unless I am on expedition,” he lied. “Clearly I am not, and so you see…” he tilted his head slightly, “this is the proper procedure.”
If Amanda wanted to glance his way, she did a good job of hiding it. “I have been a resident here for over twenty years, and it is as he says.”
A couple of the other guards looked her way, but not the knight.
“I also believe it is proper procedure to introduce yourself,” the ranger prodded, “and who you’re representing.” He did not like these men and he liked even less to use their language, but it was his best bid at the moment. Much as Marci had insisted that her friend Jocasta could fight off anyone alive bar Hugo Hunghorasz, and he had witnessed the young woman’s awesome strength, he was not convinced that even the paradigm could stand up to El Patron and his dread children.
“We are here on behalf of his Grace, Huarcan Frannemas, Duke of Spadina-Vergonia, Albecides, and Rio Merraraporra. He has pressing business with the warden of this refuge, which is incorporated as a fief under his domain. We have orders to speak only with the warden himself.”
He had hoped to hide it until he might speak with Huarcan himself, but this was clearly not to be. He caught Amanda’s eyes upon him. ‘The paper’, she quickly mouthed. As casually as he could, Escarra opened his palm where it was hidden. He cleared his throat and returned his gaze to the knight, taking a moment to rehearse it in his head. “The warden has been… deposed, for gross crimes against his charges and his lord. In the face of existential danger, he chose to appeal to Ersand’enise instead of his liege, and they sent six students to deal with the problem, who he attempted to have murdered so that he could petition the school for Zenos instead. He and his co-conspirators deliberately withheld their petition and all information.”
The eyes of the knight who would not give his name widened, despite what appeared to be efforts to prevent this, but Amanda’s motioned for her father to continue. “At this very moment, we have them locked in the dungeon beneath the Red Tower, awaiting the Duke’s justice. As the interim warden of this refuge, I beg of him that he come dispense it.”
Silence built for a moment. Then, cautious, almost accusatory words. “And what of the warden? Where is he?”
“He…” Manuel had murdered him, in truth: a justified one, committed out of anger, but murder nonetheless. Explaining it would be - “He resisted arrest, became unreasonable and violent, and threatened the lives of other staff and residents. I regret to inform you that he was killed in the struggle.” She bowed her head.
The messenger’s eyes flicked her way and he scowled, returning them to Escarra. “How very convenient," he hissed. "And why is this here?” He gestured at her with his chin, and the ranger bristled. It had not gone unnoticed how they had treated his daughter as subhuman. Ill, she may have been, but no less deserving of basic dignity and decency. He felt a tickle along the back of his hand that he knew was her signal to stay calm. How he hated politics and these ‘civil’ men who made war with words. Yet, he knew she was right. The Duke was impossibly strong and, with the family that he had created, would surely not be alone in that strength. Not even escape was an option. “This,” he grated, “Is Amanda:” blood of my blood, flesh of my flesh, and a hundred times the person you will ever be, Torraro. Her body may be frail but, even now, she could crush you like the insect you are. “One of our longtime residents. She was witness to what happened. I thought she might be of use.”
Finally given permission by necessity, the knight looked her up and down briefly, distastefully. “I see,” he remarked, attention back on the ranger. “Well, should her testimony prove necessary, then we will use her. The duke will hear about everything you have done here." It was... almost a threat. "You may step forward.” He held out an envelope pressed shut with the seal of House Frannemas.
At war with the growing heat in his veins, Manuel Escarra took a few steps and held his own hand out to receive it, going not quite as far as he needed to and forcing the other man to move. The exchange was completed. “His Grace will arrive within the hour. His requirements are contained within.”
“Understood.”
The messenger and his four escorts remounted as one, heraldry flapping disinterestedly in the light breeze. They turned and, with a great trail of dust, were gone.
“We can’t just bow to this… duke and give up everything we’ve worked for!” insisted Marceline, suddenly a firebrand. “We’re strong, and there are a lot of us. Besides, we have Jocasta! She’s like… practically a member of the Pentad, wherever she is…”
Yalen and a couple of others quickly made the Sign of the Pentad, but the tethered girl blushed only slightly. They were about fifteen minutes into a meeting. Others were busy preparing the auditorium for Huarcan Frannemas, water for his animals, and food and quarters for those of his people he’d be bringing inside. They’d been told to prepare for fifty, and the kitchen and supply rooms were hives of activity. All of the unused bedrooms, guest quarters, and even some of the sitting rooms had to be pressed into service. It seemed a rather unreasonable request, but perhaps he was aware of the potential power of his hosts and did not want to be left at their mercy. Besides, to refuse or fail would have been to demonstrate ill will before negotiations had even begun. Thus, many of the caretakers and even some of the students and tethered were hard at work. Jocasta and Ayla were not among those, but nor were they present to either support or deny Marci’s assertion. Once a general course of negotiations had been decided, they had hurried off to consult about something secretly, much to the annoyance of some.
Felix shook his head. “We don’t have time for this,” Felix interjected, glancing Kaspar’s and Luisa’s way. “We decided on honey over vinegar and, for what it’s worth, I think it was the right choice.” He was chewing a sizable wad of chicle, fingers drumming on the grips of his crutches. “The Duke is a pragmatic man. He would prefer to do this without a fight. Besides, as strong as Jocasta is, she is not just some weapon we can use as we please.”
“Also, many will be hurt or killed if it comes down to a fight.” Luisa glanced down at her lap and shuddered. “I have worked for Duque Frannemas. You underestimate his strength..” The eyes that she turned on the others made no secret of her anxiety.
Just then, Abdel hustled up. “The auditorium,” he panted, all eyes on him, “She is clear. You can move in there.”
"And the rooms?" prodded Isabella, her twin ponytails bouncing with urgency.
The young teen shook his head, still trying to catch his breath. He could not run so well anymore, and it drained him. “We’re working on them. I have Laelle and a lot of the kids there, helping.” He let out an ironically mirthful snort. “They’re treating it like some kind of game.”
“Good,” said Felix. “Better that than understanding how fucked up everything is.”
“They know where to run and hide, Luisa added, “right?” Abdel nodded. “Okay then,” she decided, setting hands to wheels. “Thanks, Abdel. Now, we should get inside.” The boy hurried off, her eyes swept the others, and Isabella was already on her way.
“I uh, like your attitude,” interjected Zarina, towering over virtually everyone else assembled. She winked. “But we should discuss where everyone’s going before we’re all inside, no?” She tilted her head and smiled, much less anxious than one might expect her to be, given the circumstances. “Probably easier that way.”
“Shit,” said Luisa, skidding to a stop, “You’re right. Where do we have to cover?” She turned and looked about.
“We still need someone on lookout for the Wyrm,” her boyfriend mentioned.
“And someone to look after the little ones.” added Yalen.
“The stables,” said Zarina, pivoting partway on a heel.
“We probably shouldn’t leave the prison unguarded.” It was Kaspar, and Felix nodded in agreement. “It’d be the perfect time for them to try something.”
“I think we should, um… still try to have a lot of people in the auditorium,” Marci added uncertainly, feeling chastised by the older people earlier. “Just in case, you know, things don’t go as planned. We wanna have numbers.”
A couple of people glanced at the meeting’s youngest member with annoyance, but then Oscar spoke. “She isn’t wrong. Besides, something like this needs witnesses.”
“Needs negotiators too,” Marci grumbled, hobbling up beside Zarina. “Speaking of which: where in the five hells are Jo and Ayla?”
“Need-to-know basis,” replied Felix, “and, right now, you don’t need to know. The less who do, the better.”
A handful of others turned to him expectantly and he held his hands up, resting his weight on his crutches under his armpits. “I’ve been sworn to secrecy,” he insisted. “It was Ayla’s big idea. Jo is… a reluctant passenger.”
“Right then, concluded Casii, bouncing antsily on the balls of her feet. “Anythin’ else? I reckon we more’r less got it all, huh?”
“The children, the stables, the dungeon,” began Isabella, ticking them off on her fingers. “We’ll need a few there for sure. Preferably those on three or four.” She’d shifted close to Yalen, whose patient but relentless instruction had shaped her into something almost like a magic user in the span of two days. “Lookout for the wyrm, enough in the big room for safety’s sake, and…” She paused, face pensive. She had been one of the apprentice secretaries before and was good at planning for eventualities. “We should probably keep one or two back, ready to respond, in case something doesn’t go to plan, because things never go to plan.” She took a deep breath and blinked. “I think that’s all.”
“Does everyone remember the signal?” Oscar prodded.
“Mhm, a tickle on the back of the hand,” replied Silas. “Left for ‘need your help,’ Vieri added, "right for ‘watch out’, both for ‘problem solved’.”
People nodded. Then, Zarina clapped her hands together, twice, just like the warden always had. “Alright,” she said. “That settles that. Now, pick your poison and let’s move.”
It was late in the Hours of Shune and dust shimmered above a bed of sand. The thunder of horses' hooves could be heard now from the refuge, and the horizon glimmered with the hard sheen of silvery metal. Gradually, they hove into view: a massive host of some two thousand or more soldiers, most all of them mounted, most all of the armoured: a purposeful show of force that the wayward refuge could not hope to match.
The guards at their posts watched as it resolved itself from a mass to a series of individuals. At the head rode a septet of individuals, and Escarra, up on the wall beside one of the gates, took out his spyglass and trained it on the lead rider. "Huarcan," he mouthed, letting it drift from his eye for a moment. Some of the other six, he did not know well, though he recognized what had to be the two sons and daughter of the duke, arrogant little prats that they likely were. Having seen enough, he rushed over to the ladder and slid down. "Two minutes," he warned, "Open the gates."
"Papa, you're getting your nice clothes dirty!" Amanda scolded, and he rolled his eyes and took a moment to brush them off, standing straight as the gates opened. A few years ago, she'd have done it herself, but that was a pain he didn't have time for right now. "Where in this green hell is Jocasta?" he muttered, and his daughter glanced over her shoulder. "Don't worry," she assured him, "She'll be here."
The seven were now clearly visible without the aid of a spyglass, and the rangers and guards that could be spared began to flank the entrance in an honour guard. Fists clenching an unclenching without the aid of his chicle, Manuel shot a glance back just as a golden-haired young woman came gliding up beside him, finally: Jocasta with far more gift for words and far less for violence. For a moment, he was aware of her fiddling with her brakes in his peripheral, but then the riders were unbearably near.
There were three women and four men and even Escarra could feel the energy boiling off of them as they kept the dust and heat at bay with their magic. One of the women, young and with sandy-blonde hair, rode sidesaddle, her dress and riding cloak incongruously spotless and resplendent against her arid backdrop. To the other side of the lead rider was a young man: tall, square-jawed, and proud. He had all the fine muscle, clothing, and breeding of a duke's son, but he rode with his nose in the air: a braggart, Escarra knew. Beside him, on the far left, was a tall man in dark armour, his face hidden: an enforcer and a magic user, for none other would've dressed that way in the desert. To the right of the woman was another: middle-aged, dark-haired, and severe. Her deep crimson robes were fine, but everything else about her meant business. Finally, at the very back, lay a smaller woman, young and mousy-looking, with a pleasant and unassuming face. As she rode awkwardly, struggling to keep up, he recognized her for tethered. So, the duke has one of his own.
The remaining two were the ones that mattered: the handsome, bored-looking youth in the middle, with his piles of curly hair, golden armour, and shoulder cloak. He was Augusto, the second and greater son. In the lead was Duque Huarcan himself: a man who tamed the heat of the desert with the cold aura of his presence. Unassuming and professional in the saddle, he rode as Escarra would expect his rangers to ride, though the similarities ended there. Then, he had arrived.
He brought no servants. They were riding up behind the lead group now, but they would be too late to play a role in the initial meeting. As one, six of the seven riders dismounted, leaving only the tethered. Huarcan Frannemas strode forward, eyes not bothering to sweep their surroundings. He already knew what threats lurked and he had judged them inconsequential. His mouth was a firm line, his skin soft like a noble's but somehow sandy and leathery, and his thinning grey hair swept back without pretense. His armour, very functional, was nonetheless inlaid with gemstones worth more than an entire lifetime of wages for a Head Ranger. He stopped in front of the group of three and chose Escarra as their leader. His trio of children halted behind him, the wind stirring their trio of cloaks with the exception of August's. The Duke held out his right hand and Manuel kissed the ring on it. "Your Grace," he rumbled, trying unsuccessfully to remove the natural roughness from his tone. "Escarra," came the reply, in a voice all-too familiar.
