Justric

The Daemon Lover

The bard laughed with delight as he played on while the wind whipped around her, billowing skirts and tresses as if purposefully teasing her. While his eyes never left her, Tambernanny noted the slip of cloth as it floated upon the breeze. The fiddle crescendoed into a flourish of a finish. Was it pure chance that the last note was struck just as the glass doors clicked behind Seraphina? Or was he so skilled a performer that he had somehow timed the end of the song to end at the exact same moment that the doors shut? Either way, the servants and guards watching the spectacle clapped wildly in appreciation of his show, some exclaiming outright that they had never seen the like before! Tambernanny turned to grin at them all. He snatched the floating scrap of cloth from the air without even looking at it, holding it high above his head in triumph as though the lady had just graced him with her favor before a tourney before bowing with a wild flourish of his own to the assembled crowd. Turning back around to the windowed doors, he kissed the lace handkerchief before tucking it into doublet while seeming to still see Seraphina within her suite.

***

Later that afternoon, Lord De'Vance summoned both Broadmere and Seraphina to attend him in a small, private office. The matter of the minstrel's claims seemed simple enough when presented earlier, only so bizarre a settlement gnawed at the Baron's mind. Broadmere having obtained more information, the Baron wanted to know then the whole of the matter and the manner of man who so brazenly disrupted his court with calumny. At his daughter's arrival, though, Lord De''Vance could only smile as he bade her sit. "Dearest child. I know that I normally do not involve you in such legal hearings; I have never sought to burden you more than needed with affairs of state. Only as this... person's claim... is one that has it roots within our family's past, I wish the future generations to know the matter settled." He nodded to Broadmere to begin once his daughter was seated besides him at the small table.

"My dearest Lord and Lady," the ancient Seneschal began as he stood before them opposite the table, "As commanded, I have set my head and hands to the task appointed by your more noble selves. What I have to report is both reassuring and... troubling... at the same time." He laid out before them several scrolls and parchments of varying aged yellows.

Lord De'Vance waved a hand negligently. "Be not so concerned, Broadmere. I can not fault you for the evidence you may bear, as it will be no different if another should speak of it. Although, I doubt if any could speak of it as eloquently and completely as yourself."

Broadmere bowed in acknowledgement of the compliment. "To begin with, Master Tambernanny's claim is correct in all its particulars. While the sexton of the town of Wintermelt was not able to gather all of the records I might desire speedily, enough were produced to vouchsafe the minstrel's person. He is the son of Tathernathy, who was the son of Tabernathy, who was the son of Tabernaenny, who was in turn the son of Tamminnanny. Taxes records and local census records of the time list the same occupation for all of them: musician. Tambernanny was born in Wintermelt, that much is certain, although it seems his family left when he was at an early age of life and only recently returned by his lonesome. The lot of land in question," and at this he shifted forward a map detailing the region, "is a... large... one. In fact, it encompasses no less than one hundred and fifty acres along the riverside and some thirty-three acres south of its shore."

Lord De'Vance gasped. "For some family of minstrels? How come they by such fortune? There are farmers generations settled in our lands that have not that much to work upon!"

"My Lord... it was a Royal grant."

A silence filled the room, only to be broken when the Baron asked in low tones, "A... Royal grant?"

"Yes, my Lord." A second document was pushed forward, one bearing what very much resembled an ancient Royal seal. "Master Tambernanny presented this with his credentials, the very same as was presented to his ultimate grandsire by Queen Laurellie, wife to King Marcellus II. It is the proclamation giving freehold in perpetuity of the land described for services to the crown. It would take time to verify the document against Royal records, of course, but in my experience the deed is authentic in every respect." He coughed delicately. "It does not say or even allude to whatever services he may have provided, my Lord, although it is... peculiar that it would be issued and signed by Her Majesty and not King Marcellus himself."

De'Vance decided to leave that indelicate speculation aside for now. "And how came we by the lot of land?"

"Accident, My Lord." More paper. "You ancestor sought to placate radical elements within the Church by granting them land for almshouses and potters' fields. This was a generation after the land had been granted unto the plaintiff's family. As best as I might determine, a section of land roughly the same size was to be granted to the Church for several purposes, including the structure of what is now the Monastery of St. Lucian. Only the area was to be north of the River, not south. Perhaps it was some overhasty scribe or a moment of confusion, only by the time the error was discovered it was far too late to do anything about it! The land belonging to the... er... 'Bernanny" family... had sat unused. It seemed they have a habit of haring off and not returning for decades at a time. Curiously enough," Broadmere added as he slid another document forward, "they have still somehow managed to always pay their taxes. Even though it was by accident, their land was given away without their consent. Land that they rightfully owned and had paid proper taxes on! The penalties that that barony would face are severe, my Lord, and by my calculations would take three and seventy years to repay. And that provides that all of those years are prosperous ones. The fact that all the young man desires is to play for you instead of receiving any financial consideration is nothing short of miraculous!" Broadmere hesitated for a moment before adding, "Or of madness."

Eyes narrowing and brow furrowing, the Baron leaned forward. "That it is madness to pass up such a fortune in coin is without question to me. By why say you this with such trepidation, old friend? You think he intends harm here?"

The ancient shook his head violently. "No. No, I can not believe the young man means any harm. I have interviewed him as to his character, and I believe him as to his desires. That does not mean he is harmless, however. My lord... Whilst he and I spoke, I spotted something about his wrist. A leather shackle or bracelet with torn loops upon it. I have seen such adornment before in my youth, my Lord. Before the Church gave sanctuary to those who were simple or touched in the head, it was common practice to 'bell' them. Thick leather straps ringed with small bells would be bolted to their wrists or ankles so as to give others fair warning of their location. Master Tambernanny's accoutrement bears resemblance to such only with the bells torn away. I can not say who might have belled him or for what purpose, the practice having fallen out of use long before you were born yourself."

Broadmere shrugged as he gave his conclusions. "So it is reassuring that despite the validity of his claim, it is only a small price to pay and have it wiped away. It is troubling because he may well be mad. Confining him until the matter is settled in full would look badly on you, and so until such time we have little choice than to let him wander freely about your halls."

The Witch Trials

Enoch panted with the exertion, staring down at her with a half snarl still on his face. After leaving the courthouse, he had taken lunch in the form of several beers, and while beer and ale were staples in the colony he had downed several pints of the brew before deciding that Mirabella needed a lesson. One did not simply walk out on one's fiancé. More importantly, one did not walk out on a legal contract. Enoch desired her, wanted what was owned to him and now he was intent on taking it. His eyes roved along her prone body, taking in its pleasing curves and sweet face. As drunk as he was, he could still function... But not here. Not in the preacher's house with her so called husband returning soon. Enoch did not fear Ebenezer. The man was nothing a scarecrow with a beardless and boyish face, stuffed with nothing but scripture and hot air instead of leaves and straw. What could he do against a man such as Enoch, who was stronger than even the blacksmith??

Bending low, he scooped Mirabella up into his arms. He slavered slightly as the sigh of her lips parted just so, her neck exposed. It was tempting to take her right then and there, oh so tempting! But no. Not when he might be found out too quickly. He also wanted her awake for this, to know that it was the man she had betrayed who took her maidenhead and bound her. Out the door and into the woods he went, unknowingly following that same deer path that Mirabella and Ebenezer had used just the night before until he came to that same clearing that she had danced in. Settling her down as she started to groan, he ripped off her bonnet and pulled her long hair freely from its bun. It spilled luxuriously out upon the green grass, shining brightly in the sunlight and arousing her attacker all the more. To see a woman's hair unbound like this... Enoch cruelly grabbed at its length, pulling and twisting her hair into a rough rope and tying it off around a handy tree root. With her hair tied to the ground, she would not be able to escape his attentions so easily.

***

Ebenezer felt a hint of panic when he saw the house door standing ajar. Surely his father had returned first was all, and Mirabella was airing out the house? Two men living on their own had given the house a certain odor, he had to cringingly admit; what woman would not want fresh air as she cleaned? The closer he came, however, the more the worry increased. "Mirabella? MIrabella!"

The door bar had been forced, he found, the one bracket literally smashed out of the doorframe and allowing the thick wooden bar to drop away. Ebenezer called her name out again, several times more as he searched the house without sign. "Enoch," he muttered, "It had to be Enoch. But where would he go? Think! He wouldn't take her to his home, even his father would not stand for that... The woods then. He would have taken her away unobserved and into the woods, it was was the only answer! Any other direction and he would have been seen in the broad daylight by any number of people, but as the forest's edge bordered the Stone family's property... There was little time to waste, but a few seconds were spared for an additional consideration. Off into the woodlands Ebenezer charged, each hand carrying a piece of his past that he thought he would never pick up again.

The Bonny Black Hare

James laughed again, a bright sound in the darkness with clean, even teeth exposed. "My manners appear to have been drowned as well it seems. James Rossmund, at your service. And please. I am no more a Lord than poor Ninny here is!" Chuckling apologetically, James gave a bow that mocked himself more than anything else. He turned to brush down his horse with great care, speaking to his hostess as he worked. "I inherited his lands and coin, not his title. Not until I marry. So I remain a wealthy brat living off the fat of his uncle's bequest. Grenmere Hall is my domain and property as are the woods and lands about it, so say the solicitors. After today I daresay a certain hare would contest all of that!"

For all of his banter and light hearted cheer, James worked at his horse's care with a careful eye. One might mistake him for a stablehand or groom what with how exacting he was in seeing to the gelding's care and comfort. Finally satisfied, he tossed the saddle blanket back over his mount's back to keep off the worst of the night's chill. "Hang in there tonight, Ninny, and tomorrow it will be barley oats and rye for you, I promise!"

Turning back to his hostess, he smiled again. Her beauty struck at him, like seeing the sunrise break through the clouds after the worst of storms. It was not an angel's face that peered at him from its frame work of luxurious black curls; surly no angel ever had such mischief twinkling in her eyes, nor such a gloriously tanned complexion! More over, he did not think that a messenger of the most holy God would stir more... earthly passions. Why could not the paraded cattle his mother continually forced by his eye look more like this woman?! BE more like this woman?! For as he stared at her trying desperately to think of what he might say next, James was forced to concede that it was not just looks alone that drew his attention. It was the way she carried herself, the self assurance, the confidence! And how she spoke as well. Past that country accent, he could well see the cunning and intelligence she possessed, betrayed to him by her humor. It made James want to sigh in regret and frustration, for he surely doubted ever finding such a treasure among the eligible candidates his dam had insisted upon, and marriage with a woman from the lower classes had never crossed his mind.

Finding his tongue, he gestured at her leg. "You call the thorns teeth as though these briars and brambles meant to bite at you," he teased, "Perhaps they were jealous at finding a flower far more fair in their midst? But come now! You have my name now, and I find myself the poorer without it! Might I not have your name to fill my empty purse?"

The Witch Trials

It was a strange feeling, Ebenezer thought as he took his leave of her, being married. It was not a notion he'd had yesterday afternoon nor any afternoon for some time! Always he had been... otherwise occupied, with no time to dedicate to even the consideration of what married life might be like for him. And now, in that short time span between midnight and noon, he was wed to a beautiful young woman that he knew absolutely nothing about! She and her family had arrived some time after he had been sent abroad, he thought. He'd been born in the early days of the town and had a good notion of which families had and had not been about at the time. That was all. He had literally just married as complete a stranger as was possible. Still... the marriage would help protect her; he did not think of himself as a bad man by any means, merely a man caught up in circumstances beyond his control. Was he wrong to force her into this match? Not when it would reap such benefits for both of them? And who was to say that, in their Calvanistic influenced views, Ebenezer and Mirabella might not find this was all to God's plan anyway.

He shook his head sadly as he walked. He was rationalizing again, he knew. Lapsarianism, as popular as it was with many of the town, was not a view he agreed with anyway. Ebenezer had sinned and as such was so condemned. That did not mean he had to be a monster.

"Goodman Stone!" Simon Kuyper hailed the preacher's son as he approached the smithy. Setting down hammer upon the anvil, the burly man bulked his way over to Ebenezer while wiping his hands on the scorched leather apron. The man was all beard and smiles. "God keep you, sir!"

Ebenezer nodded solemnly in turn. "And you, sir! I bring the payment, as I promised. Might we settle the matter between you and my father?"

The blacksmith nodded in turn. "By all means. Your father is the best of men. Always has been. I'll be glad to have this debt settled for him!" And Ebenezer knew why: of all the debts, the debt to Simon was the largest. Ebenezer had been paying things off bit by bit since he arrival, and now this final payment would put all to rest. After handing the tradesman the leather purse, Ebenezer waited patiently for him to count it and write him a receipt. Mirabella being alone in the house with Enoch as large was not a comforting thought! Schooling himself to patience, he gazed up at the clouds overhead in the azure sky when Simon's started cry caught his attention.

"Is there something wrong, Goodman?"

"No, not at all, Goodman Stone." The smith had pulled one of the coins out and was holding it up to the light. "There's a few Spanish escudos in here! Wherever did you get these?"

Blast and damnation! Ebenezer thought in a mad panic. I thought I had sorted those all out! "On the Continent, I was sometimes paid for my assistances and duties to my tutors in whatever coin was at hand. My honored father was kind enough to produce some change for me when I returned and must not have had time to exchange them yet."

The smith still held the coin up to the light for a little longer than Ebenezer would have liked before finally shrugging and tossing it back into the leather purse. "I'll have to make change-"

"No, no," Ebenezer insisted smoothly. "I know this debt has been some time in the paying. Take it then in interest and in gratitude!"

It took some time longer to convince the smith that more than the approved 5% interest was still acceptable and that if he felt any shame or guilt in it, he could always gift it to the poor. Still it was nervous heart that Ebenezer made his way home. He would have to be more careful in the future; Simon Kuyper was not the smartest of men, and not all would be fooled by such a quick explanation as to how Spanish coin ended up in the purse of a man who was supposed to have been in the Netherlands.

***

Enoch's fist pounded heavily on the door to Reverend Stone's house. "Open the door! Open it, I say, or it will be all the worse for you, Mirabella!" That hammock of a hand struck the wood again, shaking the thick bar in its sockets. "At least come to talk to me! You can do that much, can't you, woman?"

Striking the door's frame now, the whole of the wooden planking vibrated from the sheer force of the blows. "Mirabella, come to this door now!"

The Witch Trials

The question brought him up short. Was it painful? How should he answer?? A claim of ignorance would portray him in light less than favorable, he was sure. When a wife went to her husband for answers, he'd best have them, especially as he was the head of the household! And if neither of them knew, it would only make her all the more anxious, perhaps, when the time came. Yet as a proper and pious young man with a religious background, he should be ignorant of such things! Should he say that it wasn't painful at all would be an outright lie, an option he discarded in the immediate. Yet his only other option was to tell her the truth, a truth she not only may not wish to hear but a truth that could give more light to his past than he cared to shed. Ebenezer thought about his answer carefully, working the best way in his head as to phrase his reply.

"Do I know myself? No." That part was true enough. He had never been a female virgin deflowered, so how could he know? "But I have the understanding that it may hurt, yes. Some women feel next to nothing at all. For others it is an agony quickly washed away in the moment. Others, or so I have heard, may ache for a day or so. A physician friend of mine told me that there is usually some bleeding, but that this is natural and does not last." Ebenezer paused for a moment again as though giving careful thought to the matter, a thought he already had formed long before returning to the colony. Old Jacob the Tar had taught him much in their short time together. He decided to skip the fact that some women might bleed more than once; it was not a 'comfort' his wife needed to hear. "I believe... I believe there are a number of different factors involved as to whether it will hurt or not, and if so by how much and how long, not the least of which is God's will."

Ebenezer raised his hand again to caress her cheek. He did not know why he found such a pleasure in the gesture, why the skin of his fingers sought to trace the contours of her face so readily. No doubt the sin in his heart tempted him. Yet the touch was so gentle upon her that he could not see how it could be sinful. "What I can tell you, wife, is that when the time comes, I shall be as gentle with you as I may be."

Dropping his hands from hers, he pulled forth a ring of keys from within his coat. "I will have others made, but hold you these for now, wife. These keys open all locks within the house save two, and should you find them those locks are best left alone. Explore the house. Find and arrange things to your liking, for it is your house now as much as it is mine and my father's. Although... best to leave his room alone. It is the smaller of the bedrooms near the back of the house." With a glance in the direction of the Judge's house, he added. "For the time being, if I or my father are not home... or if you do not have guests in place of your own choosing.... keep you the door barred. I do not trust Enoch Mayhew to leave the matter be, for even as a child I remember him to be as thick as an ox and more stubborn than a mule, may God forgive me for saying it. I have some business in town to attend to."

Leaning forward, he gave her a kiss upon the forehead. "God keep you safe, Mirabella. I shall return within the hour."

The Witch Trials

The matter recorded and the dead done, the clerks dispersed to their own duties even as the magistrate shook his head at Ebenezer. "I would not say ill of Judge Mayhew, who has served this community well for almost as many years as your father-"

"But you fear the matter is not settled with his son," concluded Ebenezer piously. "I will trust to God to grant him the wisdom in this, and pray for tranquility, Magistrate." Willford shook his head again, then lowered his eyes towards the preacher significantly. Reverend Stone nodded in turn wearily before saying, "Ebenezer, take your wife home. There are additional matters that I will need to discuss. She is young and was raised without benefit of maternal guidance, so she may as of yet be unaware of her duties."

Leading Mirabella out and back down the road to his house upon the colony's edge, Ebenezer spoke quietly to her as they walked. Whenever those passing by might stare at them curiously or in astonishment, the preacher's son would merely nod pleasantly at them to wish them a good day. Still hand in hand with the younger woman, he limited their walk to a slow amble so as to not appear rushed. Should they scurry out of public sight too quickly, tongues would wag all the faster! They would either be seen as too eager to the marriage bed or too afraid of Enoch's wrath, neither of which would put them in good standing with their neighbors. So the walk home became a stroll. And instruction.

"To be sure you know your duties, I will remind you of them now, wife." Ebenezer's tone was casual, nonchalant even. "Keeping the house and seeing to the laundry, including mending, of course. What shopping as needed and cooking. You will have your own purse for such expenses, although any large purchases should be checked by myself first. Should I succeed my father here as preacher, there will be additional duties to learn. The laying out of the dead, for example. It may also be useful for you to learn midwifery; while not considered an acceptable occupation for the wife of a clergyman, it seems many women... or more often their mothers... ask that the preacher's wife often stand in attendance. As the preacher's daughter-in-law, you will also be expected to help keep clean the house of God."

Ebenezer then squeezed her hand as they neared the front yard to his home... their home. "And of course, there is the ultimate duty to God. Procreation." He stopped them before the doorway and took up both hands in his again. "Despite what I suspect Enoch may have implied to you, it is not just about your duty to me. It is also my duty... to you."

The Witch Trials

The reaction was stunned silence. All of them... Enoch, Judge Mayhew, Magistrate Willford, the clerks who had remained, even Ebenezer himself... stared at her as she made her pronouncement. Ebenezer had been fairly sure she would go through with it; he did feel a tad bad about blackmailing Mirabella into this marriage, but she would learn that it would be for the best all around. In time. The others were simply stunned that a young girl would assert herself so before so many of the village's leaders! It was Reverend Stone, of all people, that broke the silence.

"It would seem that the young lady has made her mind and heart clear to us, good sirs," he advised in a quavering voice. "As we are Christians, we can not allow her to marry a man she does not love. A marriage without love is... anathema to our society. The law must be in service to God's will, not its master, and so as your clergyman I would give my blessings to this union between Mirabella and my son."

Judge Mayhew frowned as he glanced at the preacher. "Of course, you approve. He is your son, is he not? We will seek lawsuit in this matter." His son nodded sharply with a scowl to match.

"A lawsuit," Magistrate Willford advised, "That you will have to recuse yourself from, Mayhew. You may not sit in judgement in case involving yourself and you son together."

"Nor should you give spiritual counsel in this, Reverend Stone," threatened Enoch, his massive brow furrowed in thwarted anger. "You should recuse yourself as well!"

The rest of the collective men glanced in his direction and coughed in embarrassment before his father leaned in to whisper, "A preacher can not recuse himself in spiritual matters, Enoch. Not unless he comes in direct conflict with the teachings of Christ and then must be brought before his brethren." His glare then settled towards the Reverend. "We can, however, seek a new clergymen."

"By which time," Ebenezer cooed, "it will be too late. Magistrate Willford. Will you record this marriage between myself and Mirabella this day. Now?"

Seeing no other option, Willford slowly nodded. "I can see no other course to take, other than to advise you all against any of this. But as the young lady has made her wishes clear... and Ebenezer here has shown both his commitment to the marriage and his knowledge of law and Scripture..." He nodded reluctantly again. "You are considered wed in the eyes of the law."

"And in the eyes of God," added her new father-in-law. "All that remains is for you to consummate your marriage."

Enoch'ss eyes went to narrow slits, his lips twisting in hate. "And may God have mercy on your souls," he spat before stalking out, his father at his heels.

The day won, for the moment, Ebenezer took Mirabella's other hand in his so that they faced one other. With another gentle smile, he whispered softly to her, words said so quietly that they were almost mouthed. "You have kept to your promise. I will keep to mine."

The Orphan's Wedding

"Form on me! Form on me!" Victor leaned heavily on the flag's pole, the banner of Verrun hanging limping from it as though the enemy's bullets had torn the life from it. In many respects, it was no different from the hundreds of corpses that littered the glacis below. The sergeant tried to pull himself up again, slipping on the bloody mud beneath his boots. His one leg no longer obeyed like it should have. He suspected the spray of grapeshot and the accompanying pain had something to do with it. All the same, he gripped the slick wood with both hands while roaring to what survivors might hear him above the din of the battle. "Reform! To me! Onward!"

Only a handful of soldiers rallied to his cries. The rest of the Forlorn Hope were little more than bloody chunks of meat scattered along the glacis and up to the breach in the fortress walls, the luckiest of them blasted into unrecognizable lumps covered in blood and earth. The unlucky screamed and weep where they had fallen. Despite torn bellies and ripped limbs, those men still lived... for a while longer. The army's engineer's had judged the breach practical, telling the Verrun generals that they should be able to take and hold the opening long enough to force their way inside their opponents walls. They had been... wrong. The besieged had mined the glacis leading up to the walls and then mined the breach itself, moving some of their steam cannons from above the walls to behind them so that the Verrun soldier's first view of the fortress's interior would the muzzles of the cannon. There were no officers now. As far as Victor knew, he was the only non-com still standing as well. It was a disaster, a bloody fucking disaster, and nearly all of the Hope had paid the price for the city educated engineers' mistake.

Victor was not going down without one last effort, one last push to try and get into the fortress. Sheltered within the shadow of the wall's exterior, he could count less than a score of men still able and willing to answer his call and rally beneath the banner. They all looked to him now, frightened faces splattered with brown, black and red... oh so much red... Did they all have to look so damned young? Had any of them even learned to shave yet? Or had their wicks dipped by a whore? And why did they look to him now so eagerly with expressions that all said the same thing: 'We're not dead, are we, Sarge? We're going back now, right? You'll see us safe?' Those faces so desperate with hope twisted his guts, especially at the sight of them falling to despair as he spoke his next words.

"One more push, lads. We give it one more go. If we can secure it, the Sixth and Seventh of Foot and Twenty-Third Sharpshooters are right over that ridge. If they can see the banner in the breach, they'll come to reinforce us. Ten minutes, lads. We just have to hold ten minutes." It was ten minutes Victor was sure they would never get to see the end of.

"Sarge," some earnest young voice spoke up, "What about the cannons?"

Victor wanted to throttle that earnest young voice. "I'll take care of the cannon," he reassured them. "I've still got a few fuses left for the grenades. We charge in on my say-so. Form two ranks, front rank kneeling and just. Keep. Firing. Don't worry about aiming, just fire straight ahead." Sparing a hand to adjust the black leather kepi on his head, Victor then pulled out one of the canister grenades before edging himself to the very edge of the wall. The men followed close, hunched over but with rifles at the ready. They were the Forlorn Hope, the 'forgotten heap'. In Verrun's army, they were the first onto the field and the last off of it; it was unsaid that the second half of that statement was correct because the dead were always the last to be cleared away after a battle. Victor's heart was in this throat, sweat making his bloody grip upon the battle standard all the more tenuous.

Before he could change his mind, Vincent gave a roar born of fear, defiance and pain. The flag pole's butt end was shoved into the rubble at an angle, then used to lever himself around into the middle of the opening where he was clearly exposed to both the enemy and the reinforcements hidden below. Grimacing in agony, he reared back his one arm to throw the grenade forward even as his men swarmed around him and forward. *Ten minutes* he thought in desperate panic. *How long is ten minutes? A good beer can last ten minutes, can't it? A quick tumble with a camp follower could take ten minutes. Coffee takes around ten minutes to boil, right? That isn't long, is it, to wait for a good cup of coffee?"

As the steam and smoke cleared in the late morning air, Victor realized that ten minutes was just the right amount of time for a score of men and a torn up sergeant to die as the cannons opened fire on them.

Victor woke up with a scream that was cut off as though he was struck by a sudden seizure. He was in his bed. In his home. In the orchard. Abordale. He panted these facts over and over to himself as he sought to banish the memory. Ten minutes. Ten minutes had cost him eighteen men... boys... Two others had lived, although the definition of 'life' was going to be questionable for one of them. His leg throbbed. Each twinge and twang inside of knee reminded him that he could have suffered far worse. They had taken the breach, taken the fortress... because it had all been a feint. The fortress had finally fallen not to the reinforcements that had never been behind the Forlorn Hope at all, but to an ariel bombardment that had come a few minutes later. Victor still had not idea how many of his men had died by friendly bombs. The Hope had been used as part of a ruse, a distraction. To make it all the more credible, they hadn't even been told.

Betrayed by his own leaders. Betrayed by his own duty to complete the job. Betrayed by the City of Verrun.

Staring into the dark shadows of his home, Victor let silent tears fall.

The Witch Trials

The walk towards the courthouse drew far more attention that Ebenezer would have preferred. It was not just that his father, lame and stooped with age as he was, did not move with any speed. Nor was it the just sight of Ebenezer himself, a man gone so long from the colony that he may as well have been a stranger, was already walking with a young lady. No. It was that the young lady was Mirabella. She had kept herself to long from the sight of others that people stared wide at the very vision of her walking about in daylight, a habit far from her supposed nature. And as those staring eyes focused upon the hand that held hers, tongues began to wag and rumors arose. Enoch Mayhew's bride to be?? Walking out with the preacher's son?? What scandal was this that was blossoming in their midst, that one man would take another's wife intended for himself?? Thankfully the combination of Ebenezer's self confidence and the iron-hard scowl upon his father's face kept the gawkers at bay.

At least until they entered the courthouse. There, clerks were thrown into a tizzy as they tried to figure out what to do. Was this legal? Could Ebenezer marry her when she had been promised to another man? They stalled and stalled and stalled while someone sent for the magistrate, Matthias Willford and then for Judge Mayhew and his son Enoch. All the same protests were brought up that Ebenezer's father had already raised. Each of them Ebenezer shot down with poise and grace, quoting Scripture and law in equal measure unit even his father was greatly impressed, all the while leaving out the implications of Mirabella's bruisings and beatings. He would not have her begin their life together in pity. Soon other aldermen were called in as they awaited Magistrate Willford, and these aged men, too, found themselves under the guns of Ebenezer's assurance and learning. Even so, the bulwarks of custom and tradition... what is expected... were difficult to breach by reason, logic and law.

All the while, Ebenezer held Mirabella's hand. He would not willingly give her up. Not just for her sake, but for his as well.

Finally the magistrate arrived with both Judge Mayhew and his son in tow. The clerks all excused themselves as the fat burgher bellowed out, "What is all of this then! I am told, Reverend Stone, that your son and Enoch's betrothed wish to be wed!"

Ebenezer answered instead. "You are correct, sir! And we have had quite the time in having so simple a matter delivered to us! With respect, I beg you show me the law that says we can not!"

"She is mine!" roared the massive Enoch, who would have been called handsome if not for his sheer bulk in muscle. It was a face that, like the rest of his body, was far too defined to even be called craggy. A thick finger jabbed out violently at Mirabella. "Her father and mine had a legal agreement, that we were arranged to be wed when she was of eighteen years!"

"And I do not give my consent," asserted the Judge. "As my ward, she is under my house and my rule. I forbid this marriage to take place!"

Ebenezer, by now, had had more than enough. His voice cracked like thunder throughout the courthouse, clerks in other halls and rooms hearing him as clearly as a ship's captain bellowing his orders to a crew. "Forbid all you like, sirrah! It is true you are her legal guardian. But! She may still wed without your consent, at the worst of a stiff penalty which we shall pay, money that goes to you all the same as you are the judge! AND, if I may remind you of your jurisprudence, she retains the right to counter sue you should you deny her her choice! We will be married all the same. As for you, Enoch Mayhew!" he growled. "I care not what 'legal' arrangements have been made. She does not love you. If there is no kindling of love at all, then by our own customs and decrees such a marriage would nullified. I have pledged my hear to Mirabella, which I daresay is more than you have!"

Then, in far gentle tones, he turned to Mirabella and smiled. He knew their marriage was going to be something of a pretense for them both, but surely it was pretense she could accept in place of a husband who would no doubt be the death of her? "Tell them, Mirabella," he coaxed softly, "Tell them you do not love Enoch, and that you would consent to marry me instead."

The Orphan's Wedding

*reads post*

*scratches head*

So, forgive me for asking but... where's the "drop in quality"? To be perfectly honest (and I pray you forgive me my bluntness), I think you're being rather hard on yourself! It was a good answer to Feather's questions and gave further insight as to both Kijani's nature and life within Verrun, without being overbearing or needlessly complicated. More over, it gives me a great point to start a transitional post for a bit of a time jump to morning.

It may take me a day to get my reply up. I'm working on a dream sequence to give you (the writer) a better view of what's in Victor's head.