“They say it’s bandits once again, or at least that’s what they suspect.”
He had sighed heavily as he spoke to her, his hands clasped behind his back. He was a tall, slim man, his dark hair cut short, his fine clothing sporting silvery embroidery, his features as slender as his overall build.
“To tell the truth, I tire of such lawlessness,” he continued, “To take advantage of a period of strife to lose all sight of decency and common good is bad enough, but it’s also a distraction from the true threat of those who encroach upon our borders.”
“Nevertheless, Lord Ostaric, no matter who it is who threatens our people, it is our duty to defend them.”
Her voice was high and clear, and her tone firm.
“Tiring of such lawlessness does not mean it can be ignored,” she continued, “Bandits are a threat to the lives and livelihood of our people, and thus it is our duty to ensure that threat is ended.”
While her appearance was that of a girl only just beginning her proper education, and her age was truthfully not very much older, her conviction shone through with her words. To her, it did not matter how commonplace or how strange a threat to the people may be.
It was simple fact that it was the duty of the nobility to handle it, for the sake of those whom they governed. Indeed, the duty of the nobles and the duty of the crown was to the country and its people.
“That Hraesleg conviction, hm?” remarked Lord Ostaric with a smile, looking back over her shoulder, “I suppose that’s to be expected. I can’t say I disagree, no matter how I tire of such matters. But you don’t always have to be so stiff, you know.”
The blonde girl cocked her head, her golden hair shifting. Compared for Ostaric, not only did she look quite young but she was far shorter as well, her sharp blue gaze married with youthful features. Those who only knew her by her looks would perhaps compare her to a doll.
“If such matters tire you, then you must be tired rather frequently,” she replied, without hesitation, “Should you not perhaps rest? My, perhaps a healer should attend to you, if you are so feeble.”
Lord Ostaric chuckled.
“I’d forgotten how sharp that tongue of yours was,” he commented, “A razor behind your teeth with the same edge as your sword.”
“And I’d forgotten that you were so prone to complaining,” she replied, without missing a moment.
Really.
He was her ally, and he was making such complaints? Didn’t he hold the very same beliefs that she did? Then why not hold himself to at least a higher standard?
“The Steel Princess is quite an apt title, isn’t it?” remarked Ostaric, “Regardless, I do agree that something needs to be done. But that’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”
He paused for a moment.
“Still, I’m surprised you’re devoting the full force of the Lions to chasing bandits,” he remarked, “Given the threats to our border.”
Velvetica shook her head.
“They’re no less a danger to our people than anything else.”
But that wasn’t the entire reason. The frequency and brutality of the night raids of late… Her scouts had reported that the damage was much more then they’d excepted.
From ordinary bandits, at least.
“Then, while I expect it won’t be required, my forces will be ready and able to assist you in any way you need,” Lord Ostaric responded.
At last he had stopped complaining.
The golden lion’s head roared against the crimson background. It was the colors of not only the Hraesleg family, but of Reon.
It flapped in the wind above the camp.
The borderlands of Velt were frequently windy, and here was no different. The plains gave way to far rockier terrain, here, white stone jutting up from the countryside in various jagged formations.
Some were said to be haunted by strange fae, others housed ancient tombs of those who dwelled in the times of Talderia, or even beyond that.
The red tents that composed the Lions’ camp were not even so far from one such formation, said to conceal the tomb of an ancient heathen king whose spirit rose to lead the Midnight Hunt.
Such tales didn’t give the Steel Princess pause for even a moment. Ghosts and spirits and unseelie fae were not of her concern.
It was near here that the raids had first begun. Always at night. Fast. Brutal. Crushing. Not only supplies, but people, living and dead, were taken.
While no clear picture had been painted of the perpetrators, Velvetica had her suspicions.
Ordinary bandits were rarely interested in the dead.
With the assistance of her scouts, they had pinpointed the raiders, whatever their nature may be, to these rocky regions.
Were they truly bandits with a twisted interest in the dead, they would be cut down.
Were they soldiers of Ithillin attempting to mask their presence by stealing corpses, they would be cut down.
Were they of another nature, they would be cut down.
The Hraesleg Lion preyed upon the enemies of Velt. It killed for the sake of Velt’s people.
Velvetica took her spot towards the center of camp. While the Lions should have already been well aware of what was to come, it would soon be time to give them the final word.
When her scouts returned, and reported to her the nature of their enemy, or at least enough information to solidify her final attack strategy.
There were far too many unknowns, indeed, but these raids had persisted long enough.
She would ensure they ended.
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