THE hunt had been called on before the sun reached over the sky. It was still dark and cold when the castle stirred and her handmaidens roused her from blissful sleep into a hot bath for a scrubbing and shoved her into the heavy dresses. When she was being led to her wheelhouse she had insisted on riding on her horse ahead of the party. Seven Lords knew that she would murder any lord or lordling to dare and trouble her morning more than it was troubled.

When the sun began pushing away the night chill as it climbed the sky they rode into the estate of a lord who ignored the king's summons to court. The lord was a thin, stocky short man with the build of a tall man and a smooth face. Beautiful he was with his jaw sharp and straight and his nose long and slender. His dark small eyes hid amusement. However, he did not seem amused when the king climbed down from his wheelhouse and sneered at him.

He looked like a man who might want the earth to open up and swallow him whole, Aalina almost pitied him. The Lord welcomed them into his home and made his servants their own, even though he was taken as a servant as per some custom his family followed.

Guests were kings while under your roof or whatever that meant and so to mock him the lords from High and Low Houses sent him scurrying around his estate fetching servants for something utterly ridiculous or something small as iced wine.

The estate was built on a hill that overlooked a large lake and closed off by small sharp mountains like dragon jaws and surrounded by thick green woods. Spring was two weeks and four days in and two more before Sonoér. The land was divided by low rolling hills and sparse flat land with patches of villages here and there. The nearest city, smaller than the capital was three hundred leagues away from the estate but Aalina could see it from the point where she stood.

It must have been built on a tall hill or mountain. The spires were mere dark dots in the sky where it was white and not blue and she could not see where it was built at all.

A gentle wind blew from the east to the north, ruffling the grass and trees and stirring the hairs on the back of her neck. She stood at the edge of the hill before it sloped down towards the forest called Wyrmwood. Strange name it was. The mansion rose behind her, three stories tall and all. Built from stone and dark wood and glittering tiles.

It was a wide place with many windows that shimmered like silver in the sun and the tiles of red were like hot blood.

A windmill rose at the back of the manor, the blades of white cloth turning in the gentle wind that carried smells from all over the land. Honey cakes cooking in the kitchen, horseflesh from the stables on the far side of the manor beside the servant house. Built much like the manor only smaller and with less grandeur than the manor. In front of the manor on the cobbled road rose six pillars that held up nothing and were carved with birds and leaves and other wildlife.

Between the pillars and stretching away from the manor towards the servant house were eight rows of freshly cut rose gardens. The flowers bloomed and open in the spring sun.

The estate was cluttered with knights from each House, but only two hundred men could be let inside the walls of the estate. Most were left to build camp outside. Though Aalina could not see them from the side where she stood she knew there would be a dozen pavilions and tents raised on the grass cooking fires burning and horses being groomed by squires and men out of their armour clashing steel playfully. Aalina preferred to be with them instead of being caged in the estate.

But alas one could not have what they wanted, not always anyway. With a sigh, she turned away from her view picked her skirts and started towards the manor. A breath of wind shifted the banners of every House at court and the House of the lord where they were.

His banner was green and gold. With the crescent moon in eclipse with the sun rising over twin green hills. House Norheim.

As she approached the manor, the clutter of knights in armour and servants carrying chests and swords inside the manor while others from House Norheim's staff helped or scurried on about to their work. At the widely open door stood a tall man, the tallest she had seen ever and bulky built too. His face was flat and board like his chest, arms, and legs. He was a barrel of a man with weathered skin like worn leather. He had green eyes and thin greasy hair that fell over his head, just above the ears and brows.

He wore green woollen breeches and a white shirt with a yellow jacket over it trimmed with gold in the shapes of vines and snakes. Aalina supposed he was the steward of the manor, he carried a lord-like air about him. He even had it in the fashion he gazed at people. A sneer and pride in his gaze that was so high that one could climb it.

Aalina started towards the man. "Lord steward," she called once she was by his side. The man turned to her and smiled, a cruel and hideous smile it was, and made a formal bow. "My Lady, Seven Lord's blessings be upon you."

Aalina curtseyed, "And you my Lord steward." She offered a weak smile at him.

The steward nodded slowly. "Might I be of any assistance, my Lady?"

"Yes, I wonder if you might have seen Lord Conan?" Aalina inquired, but her gut clenched as soon as she asked about him. But oddly she could not stop fretting about the man. For some days he had left her alone and not pestered her about bedding his son or announcing their betrothal to the House of Peers. That man was a snake and snakes carried venom and they would hunt their prey until it was dead.

The steward grimaced as if annoyed with something. "Yes, my Lady. I have seen him. Shall I take you to him?"

Aalina shook her head slowly, trapped in thought. "No but if you could send for him that would be most pleasing."

"If it please you, my Lady." The steward bowed slightly again.

Aalina nodded at him and stepped into the hall of the manor. It had a high vaulted ceiling and a second-floor gallery where lords and ladies could stand when the court was held. The space was wide and open and the air tainted by smells of perfume and cooking moved freely among the servants, knights lords, and ladies. Towards the end of the hall, there were wide stairs that climbed up to the second floor and separated leading both left and right just above the place where the stairs made a part was the arched window of multiple stained glass.

It was a sign of the House Norheim. Hanging from the galley railings were the banners of the High Houses then House Norheims.

The floor was a creamy pale marble carved with flowers and roses. Aalina scanned the hall carefully then her gaze fell on the man she needed at that moment. He stood in the middle of a circle of ladies holding a silver goblet in his hand and chatting quite freely.

Aalina dropped her skirts slightly and started towards him. She held a hint of deliberate elegance in her steps while keeping her face cool and serene. Once she reached the circle of ladies around the prince she called out to him. "Reynald."

Silence fell over the gathering as ladies turned to her and glared. Some whispered with one another and others awaited Reynald's call.

The prince smiled and took a sip of his wine, "My Lady, pleasure to see you."

"As it is you, your Highness." Aalina offered a curtsey. Aalina was about to ask for an audience with him alone when a voice called out to her.

"My Lady!" Aalina turned to the stairs where a beautiful woman hurried down the steps with quick strides. It was the lady whom she had met in the corridor so many days ago.

"Lady Avin, I see you're already acquainted with Lady Aalina over here, good good."

"Yes, your Highness. We met sometime before. How do you fare my Lady?" Lady Avin asked once she crossed the space between them. The ladies that had circled Reynald seemed to tense and whisper, the air around them filled with dread suddenly. And death.

"I am quite all right, and you?"

Lady Avin smiled. "All is well, say, Your Highness, could I steal a moment of your time?"

Reynald laughed gently and took a sip from his goblet, "Any Lady as beautiful as you could steal my time. But would you mind if the lady over here joined us? I believe she came seeking my audience as well." Reynald nodded towards Aalina.

Lady Avin nodded, "I have no problem with that. Shall we speak somewhere privately?"

"Yes, let us go."

"But your Highness. You were still telling us how your Trek to Esha went. Surely both Lady Aalina and Lady Avin could wait." A small, soft voice cried behind them as they started towards the stairs. Lady Avin whirled around, the golden hair tumbling down her shoulders flashed violently. She opened her mouth, no doubt to spew something horrible but Reynald raised a hand and cut her off. The other ladies giggled softly and tried to hide it behind the backs of their hands.

"Ladies, please. Let us be civil and act our status not as children. There is still the feast where I can indulge in my travels as much as it would please you." Reynald said in a cold, firm voice. "My ladies," he called to them as he turned away and began gliding across the floor with Lady Avin hooked in his arm. Reynald was lucky that he was the king's son if he were not then surely those glares cast to him by the ladies they left behind would have been the ones to send arrows from roofs or daggers in the dark of night.

Court was a battleground of its own, only here swords carried less weight than words. A simple lie had the power to build or destroy here or the truth too. Once on the second floor and striding across an empty corridor, Lady Avin broke the heavy silence between them.

"It has been long since we last spoke, your Highness. How do you fare?" Lady Avin asked in a sweet voice.

Reynald shrugged nonchalantly, "As well as a man could fare in a place surrounded by wolves and fools." Reynald answered. He seemed calmer in Lady Avin's presence than hAalina had ever seen her. Even when they had met in the library at the castle, he seemed tense almost as if expecting a monster to jump from the shadows and have him.

"I hear that the hunt will begin at noon, game is scarce this year. There's no sign of even boar or deer." Lady said grimly, shaking her head in dismay.

"I doubt Lord Argrand will be pleased when they take from his stock, but the king wants his hunt and what the king says is law."

"Not if the people want it to be," Aalina whispered under her breath, but it seemed that Lady Avin and Reynald heard her. Lady Avin gave her a startled look, but Reynald stayed blank but there was a calculative coldness in his dark blue Asemon eyes.

"You mustn't speak like that where you might be heard, my Lady. It's dangerous." Lady Avin warned under her voice. Aalina only shrugged and continued.

"People believe that power lies in the crown and so they will follow whoever wears the crown but take away the crown there is no power for people to believe in." That was how the world functioned in her eyes. The people-the world needed something to believe in so they could say it had power by some divine right but take away what they believe in then the whole tower falls.

"Mhm," Reynald hummed, nodding slowly with a smile as if he knew the secret of life and death. "Yes that is true, but without the entity that men might believe it has power there is no balance and without balance there is chaos."

"Oh have you-"

"End it at once..." yell cut Lady Avin mid-speech. Suddenly the corridor was filled with scurrying maids all rushing towards the way they came, men half naked and some without their armour only dressed in ringmail.

Aalina's eyes darted around she tried to reach for the men and women running but they slipped from her touch like butter and disappeared down the corridor.

"There is always trouble, come along," Lady Avin grumbled and turned into the nearest chamber. A low ceiling chamber, wide spaced with the ceiling made of polished wood where a dozen silver candle wheels with burning candles hung. The walls were painted red as blood and marked with golden leaves and birds and vines. The furniture in the chamber was grand as it was. Iron candelabras on the walls and scattered around the room.

A lush dark blue carpet patterned with white and grey. Four couches surrounding a low table burdened with trays of fried onion rings, burnt beef, wine, and bread still hot from the oven. To the right was the wide four-poster bed with the curtains drawn back and the covers of grey and blue spilling onto the floor. The three rushed out to the balcony where they looked down to the courtyard.

The song of clashing steel rose from below. Two men clad in full armour danced their deadly dance of swords. One wore the black and gold cloak of House Wyncoll and the other the brown and black of House Duherd. They were surrounded by knights from each House, all of them had their swords drawn and ready to kill. The bloodlust weighed the air like dread, Aalina could feel it creeping under her skin and crawling through her body.

Men and women were shouting at the men, but they seemed so caught in their dance that they might have been behind a wall. The man from House Wyncoll moved with fancy footwork, dodging and striking quickly. The other lad moved slowly but his blows came strong, each one sent the Wyncoll man tottering backward like a drunken fool.

The clash spun out for a while then the man from Duherd made a mistake in his step and so swiftly, like the blink of an eye, the man from Wyncoll spun and cut the other man's head clean off. It flew and splattered on the ground, a pool of blood forming around it. Screams tore the courtyard, sent the birds perched on the roof of the manor flying in frightened haste. The headless body dropped with a thud and blood formed around him too. As quickly as the battle had ended Wyncoll men rushed forth and restrained their comrade, dragging him away while he screamed.

"He started it. It's all his bloody fault. Not mine, let go of me!"

Reynald sighed. His shoulders sagging, he pressed two fingers to his temples and stepped away from the balcony. Aalina stood there still, staring at the body and the head. It made her realize how fleeting life was, men and women were just sacks of blood and meat. Life could be easily snatched away.

"My Lady the House will be called now. Best we get to it now. Lady Avin," He bowed to Lady Avin stood looked pale white and sickened. Aalina would have asked her what was the matter, but her own heart was heavy and so she followed behind Reynald who quickly walked out of the chamber as if eager to start court already.

*

"Your dog killed my man, I demand reparations and his head!" Roared Colin Tarrencaller in his fit of rage. His fist raised and face red as a ripe melon. He was not the head of his House, so Aalina learned but he was the son of Lord Gobert, whom she had met in the execution.

Lord Conan laughed like a man on the edge of madness. "Demand reparations. I would sooner eat my horse raw than let you have a single coin from me, or spill the blood of my sworn swords imprudent cunt!"

Colin jumped from his seat and would have jumped at Conan if the men of House Norheim had not been in the room. He held Colin under a strong grip and pushed him back to his chair, the fool fumbled for a sword which he had not worn. Pity it was to have a fool for a son.

If it were in a different place and time Aalina would have admired the man's stubbornness and his daring attitude to wear ringmail in court with the House of Peers. But that only turned kind smiles and favours sour like milk gone bad. The fool might just have lost House Duherd all the power it had in court. Even so, it did not seem the case.

All the lords both from High and Low, even Ricardus and Reynald had not dared to try to calm the chaos. Aalina was not certain whether it concerned favour and alliances with the Houses or they just wanted blood spilled so a side could be chosen. All she knew was that to speak here would be deadly, even for her. The weight or dread lingered in the air, heavy and thick like the scent of perfume that came from the lords who had dressed themselves in fine silks and fabrics. Not at all like people going for a hunt. On the way to the audience chamber, she had heard that a pig from Lord Argrand had been taken and released into the Wyrmwood.

Even now while they held court pavilions were being in the hills near the woods and men who would go for the hunt were being chosen. She wished that the two fools would end their strife soon so she could go and join the hunt. Her hands itched for a javelin or lance to hurl. Her fingers tingled at the thought of pulling a bowstring, it had been too long since she went to hunt.

Only when Lord Conan was summoned to court and she and Britius were left to themselves in Alderth Castle. They would take a week and ride to the nearest holdfast and dine before they rode out to hunt. They were the best days when living in Nury. When the snake Conan and his spineless son Ardenor were gone. She felt like a princess once more on those days.

Only now she was not a princess but a queen.

A crownless queen is what you are, a haunting voice laughed from the back of her head.

"Your Majesty, Lord Conan's man was the first to draw the sword. By right and law his House should let us have the man. He belongs to us." Colin addressed the king now in a pleading voice. The vein on his temple leaped violently.

Lord Conan laughed again, though it held not mirth this time. " He belongs to you? Aye, that will be the day. All the men in the yard saw it, Your Majesty, it was the dead Duherd cunt who prodded my knight towards the bloodshed. If he had learned to keep his tongue still he would be still alive to fuck his wife."

"Or I will have your head on a spike you sly snake!" Colin growled fists clenched so hard that they turned white.

"Is that a threat, boy?" No more laughing and on his feet, Conan looked dangerous. Maybe he was though that would take convincing to think of Lord Conan as something other than a pampered fat pig. All his life since his father lived, or so Aalina heard, Conan had never lifted a sword or mace. When they tried to mold him into mice he would fool his trainers into a game in which only he knew the rules too. The games were always deadly and cruel and the young lordling enjoyed them very much. It was how he earned the title 'White Snake' but none would dare use it before him.

The fat pig he might be he was a dangerous enemy to have. Aalina recalled after the first year they came into his banner. A lord of a Low House who was so far from the rest of the realm considered himself king and would not pay his tax and the lord sent two hundred men to the lord's estate. What was left of the family, from father to babe were bloody bones. The flesh flayed from them clean, as if one took a care in his art. The House was gone just like that, erased from history too no doubt.

Aalina hated Lord Conan with every drop of blood in her veins. The sight of him made her blood run cold and her stomach tied in knots. It made hot bile fill her throat and her body stiffened, but it was all she could do. Hate him, for that time while she did not have her crown, yet.

"It is not a threat, my Lord," Colin sneered, "it is a promise. One I will keep." Then Colin stood, and when the guards moved forth to hold him, he raised a hand. The mail clinked, and a look passed between the guards and the lords but the lordling did nothing else but march out of the audience chamber in a fit of rage.

"Fool," Conan grunted when the doors banged commanding silence. The man seated himself on his chair and fingered the stem of his goblet with a grimace.

"Are you sure that was wise, my Lord? Gobert is a dangerous enemy to have." Reynald spoke finally.

Lord Conan shrugged and lifted the goblet from the long table of polished dark wood and sipped the wine. It dribbled down his mouth and soaked into his thick beard like golden wires. "He can go cut himself with a hot blade for all I care. His man slandered mine and he received what he asked." Lord Conan pushed away from the table and stood. He bowed to Reynald and Ricardus-who seemed only here in body but not in mind-and marched out of the audience chamber.

When the door closed, men released the tight breaths they had been holding. The heavy weight of tension that had been in the air vapourised suddenly leaving the air light. The lords continued their chatter that involved little politics and more about the hunt. Ricardus stayed clear of it, he only watched Aalina and she him.

His face looked blank but there was bloodlust in his eyes. Uncle was going to try something foolish soon, it could feel like an itch on her prickling skin and she could not help but smile.

He was falling.

Falling from a pitch-black sky in a pitch-black world to a pitch-black void. He had been falling for...how long an hour or two? He could not remember anymore, there was nothing to do than fall forever.

Is this what death is, to fall endlessly? No, he did not believe it so there was something more than falling into oblivion in death. Death? Why had the thought come to him suddenly? He did not know that either, all thought seemed to escape him as soon as it came, slipped through his fingers like water. All notion he knew and had was that he was falling, ever falling.

But somewhere beyond the black dark void, he senses agonizing pain that comes from all of him. The back of his skull, in his bones, all of him was pain. As if he had been flaid living.

He tasted blood.

Blood, where did it come from? Was it his? Wait who was he? What was his name? Suddenly his head spun and his heart raced. Where was he? Why was he falling into an endless void, was there an answer to anything? There was not any it seemed, not any that he could find, and that put a great fear in him.

Like the talons of a dragon plunged deep into his bowels and turned. There was a pain in there two, did he have dragon talons in him? No that was not the case it was something else. But what? He could not remember.

Down he fell like always. After a fashion, he stopped screaming or crying out for help. No hear heard him in this hell, the endless black void that never seemed to end. So all he could do was fall.

Suddenly and surprisingly he splashed into a watery surface and sank. Water! He tried to paddle with his arms and legs and push himself toward the surface but the water soaked into him and pulled him down. It was black, the water. Without anything or anywhere all he could do was sink.

He held his breath for a while, as much as he could, but he could not anymore and strained for a gulp of air, instead water filled his nose and mouth. Rushed into his throat and would not let go. He tried to close his mouth was it was frozen. The water filled him, it was too much too quickly. He tried to cough, tried to swim but he could not. He always sank and drowned, but he did not die.

Down and down he went and drowned until images began to fill his vision. No, no images, face!

There were a thousand faces, all of them speaking to him. He heard them but he could not understand them. Faces of men he felt he knew but he did not know. A girl's face, hair red and eyes green with her skin pale as snow. The girl morphed into a woman, no the girl was crouching under the bed and weeping. No, she was now holding a practice sword and hacking at someone. No, now she was laughing, not weeping.

As he sank all the other faces vanished and only the red-haired girl's remained. They morphed so quickly that he could barely grasp what they did anymore and so he stopped, but he watched them. They brought him relief somehow.

He drowned and drowned while watching the images shift from one to another and at the bottom if it was the bottom. A bright light came and from the light, a voice calling echoed. Relief flooded him, he paddled towards the light. Heart pounding in his chest, throat raw and filled with tasteless water.

He pushed forward. Towards the light, yes the light. It was his salvation. The light.

He swam into the light and the world exploded into white brilliance.

Britius jerked upright, coughing. His throat dry and draw he coughed and coughed until he dug out blood. It splattered on his fist and the covers of the bed. His heart drummed in his chest, pulse beating like a second hard in his throat the the back of his skull where agonizing pain came in a tidal wave and dragged a howl from his depths.

Hot bile flooded his throat and tried to rise through his nose. Britius rolled to the side and fell to the floor and his knees. He tried to stand but there was no strength in his knees and he tottered and fell. The bile scorched his throat and filled his mouth with a bitter meaty, coppery, sweet taste. He could not keep it down much longer and he retched.

All of his muscles ached, groaned, and creaked like a rotting ship. The blood in his veins was ice, his throat on fire and tongue copper. His vision flickered from darkness to harsh light quickly, too quickly that it left him dizzy and sicker.

He heard something blast the air behind him. But he could not look back, he retched out all that he had ever eaten. Reached until blood came with the green, yellowish vomit. When he was done, all the little strength he had leeched away and he fell, but a strong hand gripped him and pulled him towards the bed.

When he lay and slowly drifted to sleep, a voice spoke to him before the darkness took hold.

"Welcome back to the land of the living, old man."

*

HE stirred to the harsh light behind his eyelids and the bitter-sweet taste in his mouth. His eyes fluttered as he blinked away the heavy groggy feeling of slumber in them. Britius blinked and the misty cloud over his eyes vanished and he was staring at a small window.

Light came through the window and highlighted the motes of dust where they yet hung in the air. The smell of blood and sickness hung in the air and pressed on him like the itch in his chest he could not scratch, it was inside of him. A cough.

Groaning he rolled to one side of the bed and his eyes widened with surprise. A red haired man sat beside his bed, his hair cut short and his eyes focused on the small book in his hands. Britius shifted, trying to pull himself to sit but a sharp pain cut through him and had him hissing through clenched teeth and that's when a wide woman, wider than he had ever seen, steeped through the doorway carrying a silver platter with a cluster of food on the surface.

"Keep that nose of yours out of that book and keep it watching that fellow you brought in here-Seven Lords! He's awake." The woman said with a start. The thief turned to look at him and grinned.

"So he is, so he is." The thief placed a finger in his page and shut the book, stood up and felt his head. "The fever's broken at least. But there is still the matter of his bones, how many broken?"

The wide woman shrugged as she set the tray down on the dresser standing near the door, pressing against the white plastered walls. "Do I look like a Healer to you, boy?" She hissed, "I swear to the Seven Lords, you Aurri was born to make a misery from my life."

The thief-Aurri-laughed. It was a beautiful laugh, clear and unstrained. "Aye, Sal. Aye I was and I am far from done."

Sal chuckled, shaking her head then suddenly she seemed to realize that Britius was there and she turned to him, smiling sweetly. "How are you feeling, lad. Good enough to eat?"

Britius tried to answer her, but his throat was dry and raw and his come came out scratchy and rough. "Aye." He tried to pull himself up but a thousand stabs of hot needle pain had his groaning and panting before the hiss and wince could escape his parched, torn lips. Aurri moved instantly and fitted his hand under Britius' left arm and pulled him to a sitting position and he hoisted himself against the headboard by kicking at the sheets.

Once he was settled, Britius took some time to move again so the pain ebbed away and his breathing paced back to normal again. When he looked up at Aurri and Sal he caught the look of concern in their eyes, but their faces were schooled to other emotions. Aurri cocky and free as a bull and Sal sweet as a mother with her child.

"Where-are-we?" The words were dragged slowly out of him. There was a rugged rumble in his chest, a cough. An itch he could not scratch.

Aurri sighed audibly and sat on the stool he had been when Britius woke up. He ran a hand through his rusty reddish hair and looked at him with his grey eyes, the concern suddenly gone and replaced by something else.

"Falkirk, a town just a hundred leagues out of the Kurgwood."

Falkirk that far already? If they were in Falkirk then a day of two riding and he would be bounding around Tallgrass Hill and to a city after that it was the rolling hills that cradled rivers and streams and villages and beyond that was Nilen, his home.

Or was before his father sold him for lands just beyond the hills. He wanted to be lord and went to the length selling his own son for them. He had sworn to never return there, but Griselda's prophecy had his bowels iced. He had to swallow his pride and do one last thing for his king. He failed him while he was alive then he would not fail his daughter.

"Here lad, eat this. It will make you feel much better." Sal told him as she placed the trencher on him. Britius' stomach grumbled audibly at the smelled that filled him. Heat rose to his cheeks, he had never been this hungry. Oddly enough when he woke he had not felt hungry but staring at the food before him now, he felt like the carvens of his belly were being pawed by some vicious animal.

"Thank-you." He managed to say in his scratchy voice. Sal nodded and started for the door, before she stepped outside looked from him to Aurri.

"I will be in the kitchen." Then she disappeared, closing the door behind her. Aurri sighed tiredly then, leaning on his knees while he held his face in his hands. Britius licked his lips and broke into the warm bread. A faint mist curled up from the inside, tearing off a large piece Britius dipped it into the hot broth in the wooden bowl in the trencher and ate.

"You fool old fuck," Aurri grumbled looking up from his hands. "You almost gotten yourself killed, and me also. What were you thinking? Riding of like that?" He sounded furious, but his face held none of it. Instead he looked concerned, odd for a man he could have killed in an instant. A man he did not know quite well yet.

Britius shrugged as he swallowed. "If I died then I die-"before he was could finish a hammer of pain had his head ringing and spinning before he could understand what was happening. Blood filled his mouth, his eyes felt as if they had been glaring at the hot sun and his skull throbbed with agony from all points.

"Only a fool throws his life away like you do. If you had died in there who would have buried you? Seven Lords you have a price on your head, dead or alive and believe me those bastards in the king's House of Peers would have given a dog a thought before they did you. If you want to die, do it right. Stab yourself or hang, but dare try to kill yourself at another man's hand without a purpose I will skin you and wear your hide, hear me?" With that Aurri marched out of the room and slammed the door shut behind him so hard that it rang from it's hinges, creaking like old bones.

Britius watched the door, half expecting Sal to come in and see what damage Aurri had done and the larger half expected Aurri to return. He had the sudden notion that he owed the man his life-no he did owe him his life. Smarter fools would have left him to the mercy of the king's men but Aurri had returned. They were far from acquainted of even friends, so why... at the grumble of his belly Britius chased away all the other thoughts.

He has to return to strength soon so he might continue to ride. The kingdom depended on it, it depended on Aalina taking what is hers, lest she falls into madness as Griselda foresaw. British prayed that if was not the latter. He had failed his king far to much to fail this too. If he did fail then ... best not to think of that now.

With the silence thickening Britius ate his food in silence while trying to make out Aurri's words and why the man showed sudden concern for him.