azrudaur

heh.

That went better than i could have hoped for.

Duresen't start out well, though. Master Oldgrove brings me ter the Bridgetown... an' up pops more of them grim northerners ... and then... that old bastard hisself, the helm-giffer. I realises master Oldgrove is an even better liar than me.

'You be safe with me lass' he says.

I hold the gobbit of nameless flesh between my fingers. The foetid carrion bird hops eagerly, a feathered jerking excitement on the leafless branch. I wait, its reward soiling my fingers, until it finishes its harsh cawing. My men sit astride their horses, impassive, the guttural sound of the craban no more than a chattering bird call. But to those who have the blood or the power – there are words in the calls of birds.

My lad brings me warm spiced wine and sets it beside me. A good day's ride. He kneels, unfastens and removes my mud be-spattered boots. A comely lad, and in my favour. He looks up at me with a smile as I taste the wine, knowing he has flavoured it exactly as I require.

I glance down at him. A fast, exhilarating ride to this camp, warmth awaiting me. I am in a mellow mood this evening. He sees it - and I wait for the inevitable questions.

'The war goes well, m'lord?'

The filth scatter as I ride out in my glory. The cold mists curl like tattered banners about the fetlocks of my horse. My chosen men spur on hard to try to keep close, but my horse has no peer - and neither do I.

We erupt from the grinning gates, spike-toothed portcullis swinging above us, down into the cold hard valley. Above me on the stone walls a brazen trumpet blares out my challenge to the North.

I take pleasure in the hunt. It is right and fitting that I should  do so, proud heir to a proud lineage. The ride out before dawn, drumming over the earth. The great hounds faithful and eager at the leash. A falcon at the wrist, wildness at my bidding. In the south the amber-eyed lion - even he - must yield his tawny crown to me. Here in the north the wolf and bear bow to my prowess.

But now - the rarest and most precious. The man-hunt.

The fire crackles to itself, bright and warming, as I lay out all the gear that was found on her when she was taken. I begin the detailed inventory... item: long knife, elven-made... length, marks, discription of hilt

... item: fancy leather boots ... colour, design.

... item: one red earring in the shape of a flower, stylised lilly, not elf make. Journeyman work.

Wherever I go on this island, them big grim lads is watchin'. iffen it aint master oldgrove its some other lad, starin' with them grey eyes, like wolves watchin' a new born foal. Aint much ter do at this lake-hold iffen they'm all watchin yer. So there aint much point stayin', and Oldgrove he'em keen ter be off back ter Brig bewiccan. I got ter find Gyth, and bawde... an' we got ter get into the dead town.

'Come now, lady.'

She regards me warily as I carefully take up the slim fingers of one pale hand, tucking them into the velvet-clad crook of my arm. I walk her to the door of the windowless, cheerless room where she has spent all her days since I brought her to the northern fastness. Do I burn her, I wonder, through the cloth of my robe, with the life running through me and the purpose of the east in my veins? There is a burning in her, a cold fire that chills me through the rich fabric. My flesh repulsed by the touch of her, mayhap.

The crumpled paper flies through the air and slams into the fire, raising sparks with the force of my hand. A moment, then it flares with a swift, short brightness. Before me the message-bearer stands rigid, his eyes locked forward facing the exquisite tapestry high above my head. He presumes an air of ease. But his fear scents the room like a rank fox. One tiny betraying muscle flickers in his throat. I am what I am, he can hide little from me.

The sweet dream-smoke curls like ink in water as it snakes upward. She watches it silently with her blue almond eyes, tracking its languid progress.She holds her body alert, wary of my intentions. I lean forward, offer her her a glass of fine red wine. We sit quietly together, sipping the wine. What else can she do?