Version 13

Version 13

by

the Gray_Man

Warning!  The following is a work of pure fiction.  It is a story of my own creation which contains graphic descriptions of situations which may be offensive to some.  If you are easily offended, under age or it is illegal to view such works where you live then stop reading now.  Any similarities between the characters in my story and someone in real life, either living or dead, is coincidental and no comparisons should be made.  I must also warn you that if you are looking for a quick fix, so to speak, you are reading the wrong story.  This work is ongoing and will be of some length by the time it is done.  I would like to thank those who have sent e-mails and posted comments.  Your opinions are much appreciated.

Part IV

       

       

       The three women walked slowly down the narrow corridor amid the pitiful screams of the dungeon.  They gazed from left to right as they passed by the many torture chambers where various questioners and their helpers went about their trade oblivious to the fact that they were being carefully observed.  Sometimes they would stop and watch something that caught their attention through the iron lattice doors.  Other times they would steal a quick peak and move on.  They seemed an odd trio of tourists in such a place.  Two were dressed similarly in boots and pleated pantaloons with white linen peasant shirts open about the chest to show off a considerable amount of youthful cleavage.  The other was older and thus a little more conservative in her attire.  She wore boots, black breeches and a dark green doublet which covered her feminine charms but was close fitting enough to leave no doubt that they were there beneath the fine fabric.  They all wore brown leather sword belts with sabers dancing at their hips as they moved.  The two younger women wore their sandy brown hair in similar braided queues which hung lazily down to the middle of their backs while the third let her blond tresses fall where they may.

       Finally the woman in green stopped and held up a hand to her two companions.  She might have been the oldest among them but even so she had barely seen her thirtieth summer.  She turned fully into one of the chambers studying those who worked within its confines and listening to the cries of the one who was the center of their cruel intent.

       “Is this the one you wished me to see.?” The woman asked as the chief inquisitor stepped away from his work for a moment to converse with his visitors.

       “It is, my lady.” The man confirmed.  “A Hargate officer.  One who was recently taken along the frontier and sent back for interrogation as was your order for all such prisoners of his kind.”

       A quiet but frustrated grunt slipped from the woman's lips.  “Another one?  I hope he has proved more helpful than the last few.”

       “I assure you, ma'am.  He has.” The man said.  With a snap of his fingers the inquisitor received from one of his assistants a set of papers which he studied for a moment to find the relevant parts then offered them to the woman. 

       After only a moment of glossing over the transcripts her eyes shot up from the papers and over to the subject in question.  He was a fair haired man, naked and restrained, pinned to the front of an upright X frame like an obscene butterfly with heavy leather bands at strategic locations across his form to keep him stable and unmoving.  Upon, even in some cases protruding from, his body were a number of devices.  Vices, needles and other more unique instruments ornamented his bloody, welt covered flesh, each in their own place, providing a separate, specific agony.

       She gave the tortured man a soft, elegant nod of her head.  “Sir Ryan.” She said to him, her gaze full of wonderment like a child who had just found a new toy.  “I think congratulations are in order.  You are the first Hargate man of knightly stature to grace our chambers...for now, at least.”

       Captain Sir Ryan Barnett, late of the Hargate cavalry, could only whimper back, eyes desperate above the temporary band of cloth the other workers had put into place to keep his screams muffled. 

       “I take it he has been put to the question for some time?” She asked the inquisitor.

       “Two days, my lady.  He was very stubborn and broke just last night.  I must say he has been most resilient.”

       “Quite.”  The woman acknowledged with a raised eyebrow at the prisoner's tenacity in holding out under what must have been hellish suffering for so long for no other reason than not giving in.  The questioners she had brought with her were some of the best and most efficient at inflicting pain she had ever seen.  They had refined torture to a high art form...at least she considered it so.  They were all in the employ of His Grace and he would have them no other way. 

       She reached out and laid a hand on his bare skin and the man shuddered at her touch.  She moved closer.  Leaned over and whispered into his ear.  “I should thank you for your services, good sir.  You have provided us with such a wealth of information.  I am forever in your debt.” 

       And then she stepped away pulling the inquisitor to her side. “Continue the torture for the next few days.” She said in a quiet tone so the unfortunate in question could not hear.  “Find out if there is any other things he might know.  You know what to look for.”

       The man nodded.  “Will there be any need to call the executioner?”

       The woman sighed as she studied the prisoner's battered but still intact body.  “No, I think not.  If he is still alive next week I will send him back as a gift to His Grace.  Goddess knows he loves a new play toy every now and again.  Until then pray continue and inform me of any new developments as you see necessary.”  As an afterthought, while the pair of brunettes walked out of the chamber,  she added.  “And keep up the good work.”

       “By your leave, Lady Leandra.”  The inquisitor simpered with a bow then returned to his job which had been sorely neglected while he was away.  “No, no...” He grumbled as he saw what one of his assistants had been attempting.  He took the thin barbed probe from the man and demonstrated the proper technique.  He lifted the prisoner's flaccid penis and pressed the lancet against the defenseless head.  The prisoner could see what was happening and began to cry out in sheer terror of what was about to be done.  The gag was then removed and the man pleaded in a voice all but ruined from continuous screams.

       “Please!  What is the use in this for I have already told you all that I know!”  The man was shedding tears at the thought of more suffering, his eyes transfixed on the wickedly serrated surface of the probe as the tip pressed against the tiny mouth of his member.  “If there is any mercy in you then just kill me and have done with this!”

       The inquisitor looked up with genuine indignation. “I have no intention of killing you, sir.  Now where would be the use in that?”  He then slowly pressed the finely tooled device down the shaft of his organ and fresh wails of burning agony erupted in the busy dungeon.

       As Lady Leandra Vale walked out of the chamber she found her two similarly dressed companions waiting.

       “Am I to believe the information you have been seeking has been found?”  One of them asked as she approached.

       “I dare say it has, sister.”  Lady Vale answered smugly as she waved the transcripts from Barnett's interrogations.  “Sir Ryan actually met with Lord Dullman on several occasions and has served with him since he arrived at Hargate Castle.  His insights and knowledge of events will be of the greatest interest to me.  This is exactly what I have been waiting for.” 

       The other, clearly the youngest of the trio, shook her head and frowned.  “Yet do we not already know all there is to know about Lord Dullman?  This seems like such a waste of effort.”

       “We know what Lord Dullman used to be, my dearest.” Leandra explained to the novice with much patience. “What we don't know and understand is what he has become.”

       “Forgive me, my lady,” She responded honestly.  “,but I see no difference.  I myself have studied all about him and have found nothing lacking in the accounts.”

       Leandra raised an eyebrow. “Truly?  And what do you make of the man?”

       Put on the spot the young one thought quickly and formulated her reply.  “He is slow witted and lazy.  Every record we have says so.  More interested in his meat and drink and his own pleasures than what happens around him.  All of his kind are thus.  I doubt that could change.”

       “Yet this slow and self absorbed man has successfully battered the single greatest military power in western Loranth to it's knees in only two months.”  Leandra stared her down but the young girl would not give in. 

       “Perhaps he has just been lucky.  Or others have been incompetent.” 

       She refused to give up her point.  The girl had spirit just like all the others who bore the mark faithfully. “Perhaps you are right....on both accounts.” 

       Without another word Leandra left the dungeons behind and her two companions followed at her side until they emerged into the inner courtyard of her temporary home.  The day was muggy with low cloud cover and warm drizzle coming in spattering fits.  The trio was making their way quickly over to the stables when they saw several men in the segmented body armor of the Knightsbridge Levy approaching them.  They were led by a tall, well dressed man wearing the latest city fashion complete with feathers and tassels.  Leandra recognized him immediately.

       She stopped. “Captain Raigern, good day to you.”

       The officer greeted them but he did not look happy.  His demeanor was of a man both angry yet resigned at the same time.  Without preamble he held forth a note. “I think you should read it.”

       “What does it say?” Leandra asked trying to glean a hint about it's contents.

       “It's a dispatch from our people along the frontier.” Was all he would say.

       After reading the note Lady Leandra Vale's lips curled in a smile devoid of humor.  She handed it over to the girl known as Shanyn, the novice.  “Care to rethink your ideas of lord Dullman?”

       As the youngest of them read the dispatch the other young brunette, known as Alexis, spoke up. “Something has happened?”

       Leandra nodded.  “I should say so.  Sharford Castle has fallen.”  She turned to Captain Raigern. “How long ago?  Do we know?”

       “Six days.” Was the answer.  The news was six days old.

       “And no mention of Sir Lanart?”

       “None.” Captain Raigern said.

       Leandra cursed.

       “I don't understand how this could have happened.” Shanyn's voice was full of disbelief.  “How could it have been taken so swiftly?”

       “Read the note more carefully.  It wasn't taken. It surrendered.” Leandra said looking up at the angry sky as the rain grew suddenly heavy. “Let us take cover, sisters.  We can at least be dismayed and stay dry at the same time.  Captain, be so good to find Sir Rodrick and inform him of what has happened.  I doubt he is unaware but we can at least give our allies this courtesy.”

       “As you wish.” Captain Raigern replied with a smirk.  He took Lady Leandra's hand, kissed it and was gone.

       The trio found shelter beneath a wooden awning near the stables.  They were silent for a while, contemplating their own thoughts and trying to cope with the reality of what they had just discovered.  The news hammered them for they knew what it meant.  Sharford was done for.  Hargate forces already controlled half of their territory.  The castle was the only stronghold preventing the fall of the rest and now it was gone.  That did not sit well with any of them.

       Alexis finally broke the quiet.  “Was there no word of the Countess Golwyn?  Perhaps something can be salvaged from Sharford.”

       Leandra looked to her companion.  “There were no specifics in the dispatch but unless I miss my mark Lady Cora was nowhere near her castle when it fell.  Neither was Sir Lanart.  In fact, they are probably trying to make their way here even now.  Though to their success I cannot speak.”

       “And what about our sisters?” Shanyn asked.  She was taking the news hardest of all.

       Leandra shook her head as she stared out at the rain.  “Of their fates we know even less but one thing is for certain....if the Countess failed in her endeavors to control and destroy Lord Dullman then they have failed as well.  Perhaps they are with her and perhaps they were lost.  Only time will tell us.”

       Shanyn was visibly shaken.  “So what do we do now?”

       Lady Leandra turned to them.  “We must steel ourselves for what is to come, sisters.  Sharford is gone.  This little war of theirs has come to a close and Lord Dullman has been victorious.  All that has been done to stop him up to this point has failed.  We must not make the same mistakes...for now it has become our task to stop him.  His Grace has given us the charge and we shall, Goddess willing, do so or die in the attempt.”

       “As you command.” The two women echoed in return.

       White Tavern. 

       Not just a place....but a name which would be stuck in Jack's head for the rest of his life.

       Over a week had passed since a battle involving nearly four thousand men had been fought on a quiet field just outside his window.  More than a week since Lynette and some of his loyal bodyguards had carried him up the stairs to a lonely room and placed his pale form on a creaking old cot unsure of whether he would live or die despite the best works of the healers and his body's amazing ability to regenerate itself.

       Oh yes...White Tavern was a name he would remember for a long time to come.

       He stood in front of a sheet of dented copper mottled with a green patina, the closest thing to a mirror to be had, and lifted his arms as Ktari buckled the straps of his new cuirass.  It was a plain piece lacking any fancy adornment but it suited him just as well.  It was not so different in design from the old one which had to be thrown away due to the hole driven into it by an assassin's bolt.  There was one major difference, however, which caught Jack's attention and his imagination.  It's brilliant shine.  He smiled to himself.  All his life he had wanted to be a knight in shining armor.  A soldier who fought in great battles and saved damsels in distress.  Now he was actually starting to become what he had always dreamed.  If only it wasn't so damned dangerous.

       While the little squire went about her work he took a more careful note of his likeness in the metal and found an unfamiliar form gazing back.  His face looked worn, his cheeks sunken.  In the boring days and restless nights at the tavern his appetite had left him and not returned.  His belly, which had only months ago been considerable, was melting away with something close to an alarming speed.

       “No more shed for the tool.” He mumbled.  “Well, I guess I won't be hearing any more fat jokes for awhile.”

       “What was that, my lord?” Ktari asked as she peaked at his reflection from beneath his arm.

       “Oh....you heard that?  Sorry, Nibblet.  Just thinking out loud.”

       The lanky teen smiled back at him in the mirror. “It's alright, my lord.  For you, at least.  My sister tells me quite often that thinking in one so young as me is a dangerous prospect.  Be it out loud or in silence.  She tells me I should try to avoid it whenever possible.”

       That caused Jack to chuckle.  “I suppose it was pretty tough growing up with your big sis being the Captain-of-the-Guard.”

       “She was not always so.  Life was hard when I was younger and being in service to my sister was a thankless task.” He saw the pretty smile fade a bit but then brighten. “but I was rescued from that.”

       “Really?  What happened?”

       “You did, my lord.” And her reflection darted away with a playful wink as she refocused on her task.  More and more Jack could see Lady Lynette in the young girl.  When he first met Ktari she had been shy and awkward.  Thin, lanky and not that pretty at all.  But then he began to study her face.  The eyes, the nose, the chin.  They were like standard parts copied and placed on both.  And even if she was still awkward and bony with hair that would frighten most brushes away Jack could tell that the seeds of true beauty were within her.  Just like her sister, Ktari Hunter was going to be one hell of a hottie.

       Jack could feel a warmth start to rise within him and a sudden panic followed.  His member began to harden and strain against the fabric of his breaches.  Jack closed his eyes and tried to take his mind off sex.  More importantly he did not want to think of Ktari in such a way.  Lynette was one thing.  Ktari was another.  The child was barely fourteen. 

       The only consolation for him was his thoughts of Ktari were of the older, fully blossomed version.  Not the narrow-ass little waif she was.  He tried to act normally as Ktari circled around him, double checking each of the many fastenings of his armor and coming uncomfortably close to his groin.  He was actually getting control over himself until she touched him.  Checking to see how the breastplate fit at his waist the back of her hand brushed ever so gently against the shaft of his semi-hard organ.  The touch sent a shiver down his spine.

       Both hands went to his face to cover his eyes and he cursed himself for his weakness.  In the real world he had been no stranger to abstinence.  He had actually begun to think of himself as a sexual camel.  Give him a piece of ass every blue moon or so and he could eek by.  But this world was different.  This world was supposed to be a place of sex and passion and lust.  The irony of it was he had yet to have sex a single time in the months he had been locked in a virtual reality program designed specifically to give him every sexual experience he had ever wanted.  Ayla giving him a blow job the first day of his arrival didn't count.  He didn't bust a load and she had tried to murder him. 

       Come to think on it, he hadn't even jerked off since he got downloaded.  That had to be something of a record for him.

       Time to think of other things.

       “How do I look?” He sputtered, rubbing his eyes and dropping his hands away as a cover.

       “Most handsome, my lord.  The polished armor suits you main well.” She answered proudly. “It's much more noble than the old gray steel.”

He looked at his reflection from head to toe in the mirror and had to agree.

            “Wow.  It does look pretty cool.  Especially with the black pants and sleeves.”  Beneath the three-quarter armor Jack wore a suit of coal black as padding.  From neck to thigh he was covered in steel..  All with the same shimmering surface.  He was half man in black, half shinning metal. 

       Jack had to lift his arms again as Ktari helped him put on a double wrapped belt and scabbard carrying a basket hilted straight sword.  And, as a final touch, a polished steel gorget with a golden rampant eagle embossed on it's front was placed around his neck.  Hargate craftsmen had made them as a more permanent replacement to the gold pendants his security detail wore. 

       “Are we all packed?”

       Ktari nodded. “The last parcels were taken down while you dressed.  All is ready.”

       A wide brimmed cavalier style hat, black with a large white plume in it's band lay on the bed.  The very bed where he had laid and recovered from his wound.  He picked it up and, with a flourish Ktari had taught him, he sat it upon his head.

       “Good.  Let's get the fuck outta here.”

       Jack gave the room one last sweep.

       “I hope I never have to stay here again.”

       The guards at the bottom of the stairway straightened as Jack made his way down.  He could hear chairs scraping against the floor and people moving about with a sudden quickness.  When he got to the common room of the tavern he was met by a squad of his personal guards.  Their blue and gold waist sashes marked them as soldiers of the Hargate Household Guards.  But they too wore the rampant eagle gorgets.  They called themselves the Eagle Guards.  They were the best of his best.

       Lady Lynette Hunter stood at their head, resplendent in her own armor, and she offered a respectful bow as her eyes showed approval of his appearance.

       “I must say the new armor does you justice.”

       “Thank you, Lyn.  That's real sweet a' you to say.” Jack said. “I gotta admit it feels a little weird but it looks fuckin' awesome.”

       “I'm sure you will make a good impression on the crowds today.” She told him with a weak smile. “That is, as long as you insist on riding.”

       He frowned.  “Do you ever give up, woman?”

       Lady Lynette lowered her gaze in expectation of what was coming.  “I'm afraid not when it comes to your safety, my lord.”

       “Well, I wish you would get it through your thick skull.  I am not riding in a carriage like a little old woman.  Okay?”

       As Jack had recovered from his injuries Axel, his personal program assistant, had taken the task of setting Sharford Castle back in order after it's surrender.  Both had taken longer than expected.  Lady Hunter, in that time, had begun to obsess with Jack's well being.  She took up a sparse room just down the hall from the place where he stayed for the sole purpose of being near him in case she was needed.  She had begged, pleaded and all but demanded that he stay there and not leave unless escorted by half the army.  The White Tavern soon became her own personal fortress and no one could enter or leave without her say.  She had been his Captain-of-the-Guard during two assassination attempts.  Both she seemed to blame on herself.  To compensate for what she saw as her past failures she began to micro-manage every aspect of his life around security and he had been forced to put a stop to several of her schemes.  One of which was the idea of riding into Sharford Castle in a closed carriage so as to avoid the crowds and thereby frustrate another possible attempt on his life.

       “If that is your wish.” She said, at last defeated.

       “It is.” He told her with a nod. “For me to be seen riding into the castle on horseback is probably the best thing I could do.  Hell, Lyn, you know the rumors that started circulating about me after I got shot.  Some of our own men thought I was dead...and what have I done to change that?  Nothing.  Until today.  Trust me on this....will you?”

       At that she straightened defiantly yet her eyes seemed to fill with hurt. “I have always trusted you, my lord.”

       Jack remembered it then.  He was laying on his back with a crossbow bolt buried in his chest.  Lynette's face was hovering over top of him.  Her hair dangled in his eyes but he could still see the pain and grief...and the tears flooding down her cheeks.  She had taken his near death hard.

       “I know you do.” He consoled. “But you have to give me some room here.  I know it would be safer to ride in a carriage but sometimes I have to do what I think is best even if it's against your better judgment.  You understand?”

       Reluctantly she agreed.  “I do, my lord.  I suppose my other arrangements will have to be sufficient.”

       “What other arrangements?  Oh, forget it.  Come on.  If it'll make you feel better I'll let you ride beside me.  Okay?”

       One of the guards opened the door and stood aside.  Jack walked out into the bright sunshine and was stopped dead in his tracks.  Instead of the small squad of escorts he was expecting he found in front of him a line of soldiers mounted on their horses along both sides of the pathway leading to the road..

       From behind, Lady Lynette screamed at the top of her lungs. “Company!!......Draw Sabers!!”

       Steel rasped against steel as a hundred swords were unsheathed to glitter in the morning light.

       “Three cheers for Lord Dullman!!!......Conquerer of Sharford!!!!”

       There was a thunderous explosion of sound. “HOOORAAHH!!!.....HOOORAAHH!!!......HOOOORAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!!!”

       “Son of a bitch.” Jack muttered to himself.  At first he was astonished.  He was nothing more than a janitor.  Had never intended to be anything more and had become accustomed to the idea he never would be.  But that was the real world.  His consciousness being trapped in a bizarre computer program had changed all of that.  They had just cheered him and the rush of vibrations the sheer noise had made was like a wave of strength and confidence.  Something he had seldom gotten before.  He grinned as he began to walk down between the rows of horsemen.  He smiled up at all, spoke to some and gave acknowledgment to others.  He started to hear short phrases of encouragement as they expressed their belief in him, their wishes for his continued safety and health, and he even began to reach out and grab those hands which were offered to him.  By the time he got to the end of the line Ktari came around leading a tall, black stallion by the reigns.

       “Midnight!” Jack called out, happy to see his horse once again.  He reached forth a hand and Ktari gave over a carrot she had been holding for him.  The horse took the treat as Jack rubbed his dark coat.  “Good boy.  Good boy.” He whispered. “How's my boy been?”

       In the real world Jack had kept several pets.  Most were cats who never stayed for any length of time.  The one dog he had owned, a chihuahua named Rosco, bit him, pissed in his shoes and ran away after only a week.  Midnight had become his one and only true animal companion and the strong feeling he had at seeing his horse again were surprising.  He slipped to the side and placed a foot in the stirrup.  Grabbing hold of the pommel horn he lifted himself into the saddle.  The first time since the battle he had been there.  And damn but did it feel good.

       Others were mounting up as officers called out orders to the company escort.  Jack pulled Midnight around with practiced ease and gently spurred the big charger into a trot.  Near daily training under the watchful eyes of Ktari had transformed him into something he thought he would never be....a horseman.

       The day promised to grow exceedingly hot but the pace of the ride was quick and the fresh air tasted sweet on Jack's tongue.  As they neared the village he began to notice people gathering on the sides of the road.  They were peasants.  Farmers.  Entire families dropped what they were doing in the fields and ran to see what was going on.  They stood in silence and watched.  They did not cheer or call out.  They seemed too afraid for that.  He started smiling at some but they only stared back.  Others he tried to wave to but they scurried away, acting as if someone had given them a physical blow.  Just before entering the town they came across several squads of soldiers.  His reception there was much better.   They raised their hands to him, cheering as he passed by. 

       Once he entered the town he began to understand why Lynette had been so concerned.  People came out of nowhere to stand on the narrow cobblestone ways crowding in on them as they made their way to the castle.  And once again he found them to be dead silent.  No one cheered him, no one said a word.  They seemed to be such an angry lot.  He held up a hand to them as he went by.  Some of the children waved while others tried running beside the horses.  The adults just looked on.  It was spooky.

       Sharford Castle was not as impressive as it had once been.  At a distance it dominated every other building in the village with it's high stone walls and towers.  But upon closer inspection it was just another run down building.  Hargate Castle was much nicer in his opinion though not as big.  The main gate slowly descended, the portcullis raised as they approached.  Hargate men were everywhere as they rode through the gatehouse.  They let their voices ring out in celebration of their triumph as Jack entered into Cora Golwyn's former lair.

       They crossed the courtyard and came to the front entrance of the main house within the defensive wall.  It was a three story wood and carved stone building with a heavily repaired slate tile roof directly connected to the massive central tower.  Axel stood in front of a solid block of kneeling servants.  He appeared calm and well rested as always.  Nothing seemed to get to the man.  He was unstoppable.

       “Axel!  What's up?” He called out as he pulled Midnight to a stop.  The program assistant grinned and offered up a hand.  Jack leaned down and took it, locking forearm to forearm.

       “You are looking well, my friend.” The blond man said in greeting. “Although you are a bit thin.  Haven't they been feeding you?”

       Jack shook his head disgustedly.  “Brother, you have no idea.  The food at the Tavern reeked.”  He swung a leg over the horse and slid out of the saddle. “But other than that....I'm good to go.”

       “Excellent.” Axel mused. “I'm glad to hear it.”

       Jack became distracted for a moment when he caught movement at one of the upper floor windows.  Someone was looking out at them.  He did a double take at the window but the person seemed to melt back into the darkness which had surrounded them.  He then lifted his gaze and tried to take in the whole central structure of the castle with it's core walls and towers.  Run down or not they still seemed all too functional. “Son of a bitch.” He whispered.  “This would have been one hell of a place to try and take.”

       “Yes, it would have been.” Axel agreed somberly. “Would you care for a tour?”

       “Hell yeah.” Jack said.

       “Then follow me....and well-come to Sharford Castle.”

       “Well...it looks better than I thought it would.” Jack admitted rather happily.  “Here I was expecting everything to be red and black with manacles hanging from the walls.”

       Ktari snickered as she put away his armor.  It was the first thing he shed when he entered the set of rooms that would be his, the final stop on a tour that had taken him from the highest ramparts to the lowest scullery.

       “What would you have done if it was?” Axel asked as he poured a dark liquid from a crystal decanter into two short tumblers.

       Jack lounged back onto the cushions of the window settee unbuttoning his doublet and pulling open the white shirt underneath to bare his sweating chest to the fresh air. “I think I'd be sleeping back at the tavern for the night.”

       The computer program picked up both drinks and handed one to Jack.  “Yes.  I believe you would be.  But rest your fears.  It was nothing of the sort.  Granted, we did have to set a few things right and clean up here and there but for the most part it was as you see it.”  The walls were paneled and thick carpets covered the floors.  Art and ornamental weaponry hung everywhere and suites of ancient chain mail armor stood vigil at every corner.  All the rooms were small, the corridors leading from one to the next were claustrophobic but that was to be expected of the architecture.  The layout was of a central parlor with bedrooms, bath closets, conference rooms and library radiating out from it.  There was a stairway in the parlor leading down to a similar suite on the first floor.  They were all fully appointed with lacquered hardwood furnishings.  Very tasteful.  It was something he had not expected of the countess.         

       “Did you check the bed?” Jack inquired. “You know....just to see if there are any scorpions under the covers or anything.”

       This time Axel stifled a grin.  “Trust me, my friend.  No scorpions......Cheers!” He hefted the glass, tossing back it's contents and gritted his teeth as it went down his throat.

       Jack looked down at his own tumbler with a frown. “Hey, what is this stuff.”  He swirled it around softly trying not to spill it.  He took a sip and his eyes lit up.  “Holy shit!”

       “It's plum brandy.  What do you think?”

       Jack took another exploratory sip then started to fan his face.  “Two things.  First off, it's some pretty good hooch.... and second, it's melting the lining in my throat.  What is it, a hundred forty proof?”

       “Not quite....but close.”

       Ktari popped up off of the floor where she had been cleaning his armor and stowing it away piece by piece. “May I have some?”

       “What?....Hell no.” Jack retorted. “Ain't you supposed to be doing something useful.”

       She froze.  Jack could see she was trying to think but her mind didn't appear to work. “Well...uh....my lord...I uh...”

       “Nibblet, you do the airhead look really well.” Jack said. “What about my gear?”

       “Put away, my lord.” She answered.  She had been tirelessly unpacking into the new home while he had been taking in the view.

       “Then get out of here and find your own room.  Take one of the bedrooms downstairs for all I care.  Then you can go look around, okay?  Now shoo!”

       Ktari's face lit up and she squealed like the overjoyed teenager she was.  She started to run back into the parlor, remembered herself, turned to bow, and disappeared from sight.

       Axel returned to the decanter and filled his glass once again. “Care for more?” He offered.

       “No thanks.”

       “Very well....more for me.”

       Jack laughed.  “Go easy, big guy.  I wouldn't know how to handle a drunk program assistant.”

       “Don't worry,” He explained after downing half of his tumbler in a single gulp.  “I don't have the same simulated functions as the other programs in this choice package.”

       “Okay....so what does that mean?”

       “Simply put, I don't get drunk.  I do, however, feel something.  I think you would call the effect being lightly....'buzzed'?”

       “Interesting.  I guess next thing you tell me is you don't have to sleep.”

       Axel walked over and sat on the other end of the settee with his back against the window sill to face Jack.  “I'm surprised you hadn't noticed until now but actually I don't.  I merely rest for an hour or two.  It's quite sufficient.”

       Jack just shook his head and sipped on his brandy.  “Weird, Axel.   Very weird.”

       The blond man acknowledged it with a dip of his head.  “Thank you.  I think.”  Then he cleared his throat.  It was almost like a signal that the conversation was going to take a more serious tone.  Axel himself appeared to grow more focused.  “First, let me say it is good to see you back up and in fine shape too.”

       “Thanks.”

       “And let me also say I hope you've gotten plenty of rest....because you are going to need it.”

       Jack rolled his eyes.  “Figures.”

       “While you were off at the tavern recovering I was here trying to set this shambles of a house in order and the work is still not done.”

       “I thought you said things weren't that bad?”

       “Oh, Jack, we have more problems than just a messy castle.” Axel said after he finished the tumbler off for the second time. “There are things which I may do alone such as preparing this place for you or keeping the army together or keeping the people in order.  In fact, it is in my files to do so in an effort to make your experience in your choice program more enjoyable...”

       “Well I'm enjoying the hell out of it so far.” Jack butted in sarcastically.

       “...and then there are things which only you can do as rightful lord.”

       “Like what?”

       “Like making a decision on what we do with Sharford.”

       Jack exhaled slowly at the blunt reply, his eyes darted to the gardens below and the servants working in it.  “Damn.  To be honest with ya' I never really thought this far ahead.  But that's the million crown question now, isn't it?”

       “It's one we may have to answer quickly.” Axel pressed.  “We are stuck in a field of nettles here.  Which ever way we move it seems we will get pricked.”

       “The other houses?  Like Wexford and Cardin?”

       Axel nodded, pleased with Jack's knowledge of the situation. “Precisely.  You've been studying, have you?”

       “Hell yeah.  What else was there to do besides heal?”  Jack looked over the room, still half a disaster from Ktari's unpacking.  He pointed to a book on a corner table. “That's it.  Over there.  Ktari gave it to me to keep me occupied while I was stuck in my room.  It's called the Histories and Lineages of the Great Houses of Loranth.” 

       “Hmmmm.  Sounds damn dreary.”

       “Oh I don't know.   It told me a whole lot of stuff about this bunch of brats we've got living around us.  I thought Cora Golwyn was bad.  And then there's the Duke...this Silvan Brassey guy.  If only half the shit they're saying about his family is true then they make Charlie Manson and his bunch look like fuckin' cub scouts.”

       Axel winced.  He was probably the only other person inside the program who would understand the reference. “Yes.  I imagine it did but the duke is not our immediate problem.  This group of 'brats' as you call them, is.  With the fall of the castle Sharford has collapsed.  Sir Jeremy reports he is moping up the last pockets of resistance in the south as we speak....but the victory was not complete.  The countess has slipped through our fingers and as soon as she can she will spread any number of poisons about us.  From what I have heard tell, the countess may well be despised by the other landed gentry but her case will likely hold merit with them.”

       “How?”

       “I fear our conquest here will be seen as nothing more than a land grab or some sort of personal vendetta taken too far.  Such a thing is against the very laws of this realm without royal edict.”

       “Okay.” Jack said calmly but with a very distinct sinking feeling in his stomach.  “So we just brought the attention of every lord in Loranth down on us?”

       “I think it to be very likely.”

“I see.” Jack said with a nod.  “And so what happens next?  The whole country comes together against us and we get put down like a bunch of wild dogs?”

       “I'm afraid that may be correct.”  The computer program shifted uneasily.

       “Sweet.” Jack said. “This program sucks, Axel.”

       Jack emptied the last of his tumbler in one massive gulp.

       

       

       

       

       

        Running!  Constantly running!  It's what their lives had been reduced to. 

       The pace was grueling.  Ten leagues a day and damn the poor soul who could not keep up.  The men were nearly falling from their saddles.  Their mounts were ready to collapse.  But the ragged line of soldiers, knights, followers and servants clustered themselves together beneath the last crimson and black banner of their mistress's house and moved on day after day in a desperate bid to deliver Sir Lanart Brassey to Knightsbridge, the great capital of all Loranth.

       Their escape from the castle had been a difficult one.  They had almost left too late.  To their dismay, they discovered the eastern roads which would have taken them through the Fyns were swarming with Jeremy Ross's cavalry, cutting off their most direct and safest route.  The southeastern roads, though open, were still hazardous and several bloody skirmishes had occurred with advance Hargate patrols on their long journey to the border.  Once there, on the edge of her territory, Lady Cora Golwyn spoke with Sir Lanart about continuing on.  They were about to enter the lands of Wexford, ruled by a lord who was as much Lady Cora's implacable foe as Jack Dullman.  She had raided into Wexford for years, burning, pillaging and even enslaving some of it's people.  She was sure it would not be appreciated.  Perhaps they should head south and take the longer, more cumbersome road through the lands of Devonwick where the greeting promised to be more civil.  But Sir Lanart was confident his banners would protect them both in their crossing.  No one would dare defy the power and authority of Loranth.  Not even Wexford.  Or so the theory went.  Besides, it was so close now and the path so much easier and quicker to follow.  Misgivings at placing herself at the hands of an enemy aside, Lady Cora did not have much of a choice.  It was either go forward and face capture or stay where she was and face capture.  The proverbial rock and a hard place. 

       And so they moved on, leaving Sharford behind in the pre-dawn hours of a beautiful early summer day.  The column straggling through the gentle hill country going deeper into the unknown.  Lady Cora decided to ride a horse rather than ride in the only remaining carriage.  They had started out with three of the delicate vehicles.  Two had broken down with splintered axles.  The undue haste of the escape having been the cause of their destruction.  They were left on the side of the road and stripped bare, cannibalized to keep the third one rolling with the spare parts.  It was also where Sir Lanart chose to dwell, barely coming out of the shuttered cab for anything except for the calls of nature.  She did not have the stomach to sit with him and his slave Nicholus, who was his constant companion.  She could not stand his company even in the best of times.  So she rode beside the carriage wearing a set of riding cloths dusted with leagues of roadway.  Her boots were worn brown leather, her snug fitting pants were made of red homespun.  Her shirt was barely white and her dark sleeveless doublet was open about the neck in a large V.  Her lustrous hair hung loose but for a few strategically placed combs.  It was the most common many of those still with her had ever seen her look.  But on her hip was an unmistakable symbol of her power.  It was a broadsword with a bejeweled pommel and a wrapped leather grip taken from her late husband.  It was not her first choice in attire but of what she had remaining to her it was perhaps the most functional for the situation.

       A situation which changed ominously when the column unexpectedly came to a stop.  She swore under her breath.  Almost since the hour they had entered Wexford she could sense they were being watched.  On occasion she had even seen the telltale glint of metal far off on the horizon.  She had warned Sir Aiden Thorne, the captain of her guards, to be mindful, that Wexford scouts might be around them.  Despite their fatigue he had assured her he and his men would be alert to any dangers.  Now this....after only a day in southern Wexford.  A full hour before the next brief respite was due.  It did not bode well.

       One of the blinds went up on the carriage and Sir Lanart poked his chubby face out the window.  “Ladyship, why have we stopped?  Is there a problem?” He whined.

       “Nothing to worry about, I'm sure.” She answered him but there was a genuine concern leaking into her voice.  There were many times she had been forced to draw on her ability to act in ways contrary to her nature.  This was no act.  “I believe I shall ride ahead and find out what the issue may be.”

       Sir Lanart nodded. “You are brave to do so, Lady Cora.  I shall wait for you here with my guards.”  He eyed her strangely for a brief second and then his face disappeared back into the cab and the blind was shut.  She cursed him for being the spineless coward he was and spurred her white charger to the front of the line, coming to a stop beside Sir Aiden who was talking with Sir Jaylin Foster, former Steward of Sharford Castle.  The captain appeared worn down, his eyes bloodshot.

       “What is going on?” 

       Sir Aiden pointed up ahead.  “Look there, on the next hill over.”

       Lady Cora shielded her eyes with her hands and looked off into the distance.  It took a moment to find what he was pointing to but she soon did.  The countess groaned at the sight.  Horsemen were pouring out of the wood line and forming across the road up ahead.  Hundreds of them....and in the center was a group of officers beneath a flag bearing a black tree in the center of an orange field.  The banner of Wexford.

       As she watched the lines gather horses galloped to and fro behind her.  She twisted in the saddle and found Thorne speaking with a pair of scouts. 

       “What shall we do?” The captain asked when he came back to her side. “We have more cavalry to the north and south.  Less than a league away and approaching fast.”

       Angrily she snapped on him. “What would you have us do, fool?  Surrender?  Surely you did not think we could walk all the way across Wexford without being found out?”

       He bowed his head to her in way of an apology.  “I merely meant to ask what your orders were.”

       They were clearly in a bad way.  Suddenly they found themselves outnumbered and surrounded in an enemy's territory.  An enemy who would, if given the chance, kill them all first and then find out who they were later.  She gazed upward and saw one of the problems.  The crimson and black of her house was drawing them in like moths to a flame.

       “Secure the scorpion banners.  Bring forth a half dozen of your best men and have one to carry a flag of truce.” She ordered, disgusted by the fear and weakness she sensed in both of them....no wonder they had all failed her so miserably.  “You will stay here.  I will ride forward and speak with them.”

       “I would advise against it, Mistress.” Sir Jaylin Foster pressed in, his white hair and clean cloths now frazzled by days of non-stop running.  “It is surely too dangerous.”

       “Just being here is dangerous.  If I cannot talk with them we may all end as crow's food in this field.”  Sir Aiden was silent but Foster looked up nervously for the circling birds.  She smiled wickedly then. “But since you are so concerned with my well being, Sir Jaylin, you may come with me to assure my safety.”

       “Uh...y...yess, mistress.” He stammered, taken aback.

       “Captain Thorne, send someone back to tell Sir Lanart we have company.  Inform him we will require a pair of his bodyguards to come forward....and they are to bring one of their pretty green flags with them.”

       “As you command, Ladyship.”

       She kneed her horse forward and brought it around to face Sir Aiden, “Take what few men we have left and form a perimeter around the carriage.  If we should fall they will surely attack.  In that case do whatever you deem best.”

       It went without saying there would be no hope of escape and they would all perish.

       The escort was quickly formed and a flag of truce made while a pair of Sir Lanart's guards joined them at the head of the column, one carrying the silver aegis, crossed sabers and emerald green background of the Dukedom.  With the countess in line with the others the group trotted out to midway distance up the road and halted.  A moment later the small knot of Wexford officers came forward at a leisurely pace.  They stopped only a lance length away.  One of the knights, positioned in the center of the group, wore armor more ornate and gilded than the rest of them.  He lifted his helmet and revealed a middle aged, tanned face wizened by years of warfare.  His beard was trimmed down and peppered with gray, his head  balding with short cropped hair around the sides.  With cold eyes he stared down each one of them....until he saw the countess.

       “Are you Cora Golwyn of Sharford?” He asked in a deep yet smooth voice.

       She glared back at him with an expression carved from stone even while her nerves jumped within her.  For her to be recognized was most unexpected.  In her dirty common dress she looked more like a tracker than a countess.

       “Come now.  It is a simple question.” He said after he received no answer.  “Are you the Lady Cora or not?”

       She stared down the knight for a moment then gave a gentle nod.  “I am.”

       “Allow me to name myself.” He dipped his gaze to her in deference of her rank.  “I am Sir Geldon Paige, Master of the Horse, in the service of Lord Jordane of Wexford.”

       She arced her eyebrows to show some mild curiosity. “And how is Rowan the Red?”

       “Oh, he is most anxious to met you.” Sir Geldon assured her in a leering tone.

       “I'm sure he is.”  She was no fool.  To meet him in person would be a death sentence....a long, slow death sentence.  She had always heard of a boast Rowan Jordane was fond of making among his own court.  It was said he would one day have Lady Cora brought to Birchwood Manor for dinner though he was not sure how he wanted her prepared.....boiled, baked or roasted.

       The old knight glanced beyond her and her men to the carriage in the distance.  “And I should trust that the Duke's brother is well?”

       Confusion began to burn within her.  This was not the way she had expected this meeting to go.  But her interest was piqued.

       “You know Sir Lanart travels with us?”

       “Of course.” He said rather dismissively.  “We have been expecting him to try returning home for quite a while.....but I had no idea until recently he would take a route this far south and you would be with him.”

       “You seem to know much, Sir Geldon.” She stated.

       His eyes fixed with a stark chill upon her.  “I know you crossed our border without permission with near two hundred of your black guards and the same number of servants.  I know you have the nerve to brazenly carry your own banners beside the flag of Loranth in OUR territory.”  He paused to spit to the side as if the words which he was forming were leaving a bad taste in his mouth.  “And I know you and Sir Lanart make for Knightsbridge where you intend to beg an audience with His Grace and claim grievance against the new Lord of Hargate.....or so I've been told.”

       He flicked a hand at one of the other knights who reached to his side and lifted a pair of severed heads into the air by their hair.  The faces of the two men still held the same mix of surprise, fear and agony they had felt at the moment of their deaths.  The countess frowned at the gruesome sight.  Sir Jaylin heaved while the Lorantine guardsmen and the other soldiers stiffened.

       “And who are they supposed to be?”

       “Two Sharford dogs we captured earlier.” Sir Geldon explained.  “They were noisy, easily taken and squealed after only a few sticks with a hot iron.  If this is the quality of your scouts then I should say there is no wonder Ansyl Wellock lost an army in the Western Wood.  But here, they are your men.  You should have them back.”  Sir Geldon gave the knight holding the heads a quick gesture.  He swung his arm and let the two heads fly up in an arc to land on the ground between the two groups.

       “You do not know everything, Master Paige.” Lady Cora said icily.  She was off balance and at a disadvantage.  A position she clearly did not like being in.  “Sir Lanart has given me and my escorts safe conduct through to Knightsbridge.  No further harm may come to me or anyone who rides with me upon pain of death.”

       “Yes...well.  I'm afraid your journey to Knightsbridge will have to be delayed.”  It was then that Sir Geldon sneered like a predator.  “We have been sent to escort you and Sir Lanart back to Birchwood Manor.”

       She could feel the men around her come on their guard.

       “You intend to divert us?”  She asked while watching him warily.  “On what authority?”

       “On the authority of His Grace, the Duke of Loranth.” Sir Geldon exclaimed, suddenly looking as if his prey had been snatched from right in front of him. “By HIS order you and your men are to be given every accommodation.  You have been out of touch for a long while, Lady Cora.  Events here and in the east have changed dramatically in the last few months....besides, as I have already said....Rowan is MOST anxious to meet you....over dinner.”         

       In the days that followed his arrival at Sharford Castle Jack did little more than work.  There were many things that needed attending to and Axel certainly did his part but,  as the sentient computer program had so adeptly pointed out, there were things which only Jack Dullman could do.  And he soon found out there were some of the hardest things he had ever done.....like signing the death warrant for five knights who wore the black armor of the Sharford Household Guard.  They were hanged from a gallows built within the castle walls with little ceremony.  They had been officers in charge of the prisoner pens which had accompanied the Lady Cora on her fateful ride north toward Raven's Forge.  Jack held them completely responsible for the torture, rape and murder of dozens, if not hundreds, of Hargate civilians who had been caught trying to flee from the approach of the Golwyn army. 

       It was a hard thing to do.  He knew they were merely programs in an elaborate simulation but still they seemed as real as any person he had ever met in the real world.  But then he remembered looking down at the girls and young women who had been raped without mercy and left to strangle slowly in sets of wooden stocks.  They had seemed just as real.  The look on their pale dead faces, burned into his mind, was what continued to haunt him.  And it helped push his quill pen when he signed the warrants.  It would serve as a deterrent to others, not only to those he occupied but to his own forces that such actions against people who could not defend themselves would not be tolerated.

       Other things were less hard.  Jack had found out the Countess Golwyn had placed many harsh restrictions on commerce and travel.  Jack was no economic expert but even he knew some basics and releasing those restrictions and lowering the crushing tax burdens carried by the people of the land was a logical step.  The hope was within no time trade and manufacturing would start up again in Sharford.  The first signs were already promising.  After the initial shock of the conquest faded a certain tentative peace settled over the land and the village markets became more packed with goods and foodstuffs every day.  Former Sharford soldiers were reformed into details to clean up refuse within the village, others were assigned to paint and refurbish many of the buildings which had been abandoned or fell into neglect during the long winter of Cora Golwyn's rule.  Returning peasants were welcomed back to their homes and shops had begun to reopen.  Sharford was starting to bustle again as it had not done in years.

       But always in the back of his mind there was the question.  What to do now?  Day and night thoughts crossed his mind on what his options were.  They were limited to say the least but something would have to be done.  Even he could see that.  Reports were beginning to come in from the frontier regions of Wexford and Devonwick patrols coming close to the borders of Sharford.  That was not good.  Not good at all.  Something was brewing and a feeling he had not had since marching out of Hargate Castle on the long road south was creeping up the back of his neck.  War was coming again and soon.  A fight which he knew would be different.    One which he knew he should try to avoid.  And he found the more he thought on it the more he just wished it all to be over.  He had been the cause of so much death and pain since he arrived.  Medieval World Version 12, or wherever he was, would have probably been a much nicer program if he had never showed up.  He had heard some whisper of the Goddess and the Abyss behind his back.  Even Ayla had talked of it back at Hargate.  He did not know or pretend to know of the belief system held by the sentient programs of this realm but if there was such a place as a binary heaven then Alwyn Kessel was looking down on him laughing his ass off at the things Jack was now putting himself through. 

       Sir Jeremy Ross returned to the castle sooner than expected.  His cavalry had pushed through the southern lands subduing the last resistance to Hargate control.  Only a pair of garrisons had decided to fight briefly.  A third had killed the officer in command who had been so bold as to demand they fight to the last man under the Golwyn banner.  They had come out offering Sir Jeremy the knight's head wrapped up in the red and black ensign as a sign of goodwill.  The fighting was now truly over.

       Once they were all together again Jack invited Lady Lynette, Axel, Sir Jeremy, and the interim Master-of-the-Foot, an old, wispy haired captain named Sir Reginald Butler to dinner.  Duck was on the menu and there was just small talk for conversation.

       Jack swallowed the last mouthful of dinner from his plate and leaned back in his chair.  He took a splash of honey ale to wash it down and looked around to the others at the table.  The were all finished and appeared well satisfied with the meal.  Axel was his typical stoic self.  Lynette was being proper and demure.  Sir Jeremy looked happy to get something other than field rations into his belly.  And Sir Reginald was smashed though, to his credit, he at least had the good sense to be quiet and reserved.  It was now time for the real meeting to begin.

       “Okay, Ktari, pack up and get out of here.  The grownups have to talk.” He told his squire and she dutifully obeyed.

       She was gone in a flash taking the other servants with her.  Jack glanced at each of them in turn. “I've brought you all here to tell you something very important.  I have thought long and hard about what we have to do next.  There have been some tough times along the road so far but nothing we haven't been able to overcome together...and so I feel like I owe you guys an explanation.”

       They all nodded their agreement.  Even Sir Reginald who was barely conscious. 

       “When I first got downloaded into this program I thought I would only be here for about a day or so....and that day has turned into months and still I don't know if it's possible for me to go home.” Jack sighed. “I wouldn't even begin to understand how to get back.  Or if it was safe.  I think Cora Golwyn has some, if not all, of those answers for me.”

       “But she got away, Jack.” Axel chimed in.

       “Oh I know....and it's not your fault, Jerry.”  Sir Jeremy was looking haggard as if he were personally taking the blame for not finding and stopping the Lady Cora from escaping. “But I've come to realize without her I may never be able to get out of this program...” Axel looked as if he were ready to protest until Jack quickly added “...and I'm okay with that.”

       For a long moment there was silence at the table as the understanding of what he had said sank in. 

       “Are you sure?” Axel finally asked. “There are other ways to find the answers we seek.  There is Sir Olric and the woman Varisa.”

       “The only thing Olric has is a few stories about how creepy the Bitch-in-Black was.  And as for Varisa?  She's gonna have to pay for what she did to Alwyn but other than that I don't have the stomach to do the things necessary to make her talk.  I just don't.  I'm sorry.”

       Slowly Axel nodded his acceptance.  “As you wish, my friend.” 

       “So if I ain't able to go home then I'll just have to stay and make the best of it.  I've decided to try and negotiate a settlement with the other houses of Loranth for a peaceful withdrawal from Sharford.”

       Axel frowned, Sir Jeremy bristled angrily and Lynette looked as if she had been kicked in the gut.

       “You can't, my lord....”

       “There is still too much danger....”

       Here it goes... “And if that is successful I'm going to give Hargate back to Lady Jane.  I'm going to abdicate.”

       With that even Sir Reginald got into it. “Bloody hell man!  Have ya lost your fuckin mind?!”

       Jack sank back into his chair calmly as the four bombarded him with their concerns.  It wasn't unexpected.  He knew this was going to be their reaction. 

       “So what else can we do?”  He asked them once they had all worn themselves out.

       Sir Jeremy pounded his fist on the table. “We could stand where we are, my lord, and fight if need be.  We have done far more than anyone would have thought possible and we could do more still.”

       Jack shook his head.  “With what?  We bled Hargate dry just to get here.  What more do we have.”

       “We have what is now the finest territorial army in all of Loranth.” Ross continued to argue.  “And the bravest.  I have little doubt of that.”

       “Really?” Jack countered.  “They may be the best and the bravest but they're also spread out pretty damn thin.  We've got seven hundred in the garrison here and another six hundred in outposts and forts all over the rest of the territory so what does that leave us?”

       Ross set his jaw. “The cavalry.”  He uttered with pride.

       “Yeah.” Jack nodded.  “The cavalry.  About six hundred horsemen to fight....how many would you say the rest of Loranth could put together?  Ten....twenty thousand men?  Not good odds.”

       “Jack, you have a point.” Axel spoke up in the wake of the Master-of-the-Horse.  “But there must be something else we can do.  To just leave Sharford at the mercy of the other houses would be, I believe, a grave mistake.  After they have plundered her and butchered her people they may well allow the Countess Golwyn to return.  And then we would be back where we started.”

       “And we would be without you, my lord.” Lady Lynette Hunter interjected. “You cannot consider abdicating.  Please.”

       Sir Reginald hiccuped and all eyes turned to him. “Aye.” He slurred, pointing to the others with a slim finger. “What they said.”

       The Lord of Hargate took a slow, steady sip of his drink, licking his lips as he finished.  “You know, ever since I got downloaded into this program it's been nothing but drama.  I used to daydream about a time when I would find myself in a situation like this with all the action and adventure I could never have in my normal quiet life....but I've come to realize that I miss that normal quiet life a whole lot more than I thought I would.  I'm starting to get worn out by this shit and I don't know what else to do.  It's my hope that maybe, just maybe, if I can't go home then I can at least have a little solitude.  Let's face it.  Our little run is over.”

       “After all that has happened do you truly believe you may still find solitude?  You may think so but there you are wrong.” Axel told him.  “Cora Golwyn did not act alone.  We know this from Ayla.  There is someone who wants you dead very badly and as yet we know not who.  If you give back Sharford then you lose a potential asset you will never recover and if you abdicate then you open yourself for easy attack.  You may as well sign your own death warrant.”

       “If it brings peace then that's a chance I'm willing to take.” He told them as they sat in stunned silence.  He remembered back to the book he had been reading and thought of what it had said about Hargate.  “Lady Jane was ruler of Hargate before I came along and she stepped aside just for me.  She is a good woman and deserves better than that.  Lyn, Jerry, Reginald.  You served her before I got here and you can do so when I'm gone.”

       “But what if we want to continue serving you?” Lynette asked and the tone in her voice was heartbreaking.

       “Perhaps we should discuss this further.” Axel said.

       Jack put down his glass and smiled faintly. “I don't think there's any use in that.  The decision's already been made.”

       “Let's not be too hasty.” Axel countered. “This is a serious matter.”

       “It's not a discussion anymore....it's a done deal.”

       A worried expression formed on the program assistant's narrow face. “Why?  Why would you say that?”

       “I sent the first envoys out three days ago.”

       Lynette nearly broke into tears.  Jeremy Ross simmered with anger.  And Axel placed his head in his hands.  “Oh, damn it, Jack.  What have you done?”

       Even if the question was rhetorical Jack answered it, refusing to give anyone the last word on this. “Because it's what I thought was best.  I thought you guys trusted me?”

       “We do.” Axel told him with a stern glare.  “We just hope that trust hasn't doomed us all.”

       Birchwood Manor sat atop a crossroads only a half league from the bustling village of Durbinshire like a great guardian troll who would let none pass without them falling under it's monstrous glare.  A large outer ring of packed earthen berms and watchtowers with soldiers standing vigil in great numbers made up the outer defenses while the inner compound was castle-like in all but name.  The manor's curtain walls were stone several feet in thickness and the tops were crenelated with murder holes and platforms where catapult artillery could hurl heavy rounded shot at an approaching enemy.  Inside the spacious inner compound were houses and barracks, stables, mills, workshops and smithies situated around the main dwelling which was a huge four story wood and white plaster home. 

       The site was impressive to all.....except to Cora Golwyn.  When the carriage came to a stop in front of the main house she took Sir Jaylin Foster's offered hand without thought and climbed down the side steps to view her surroundings with little emotion. 

       “So this is where the bastard lives.” She muttered under her breath where only Sir Jaylin could here.  The white haired man winced at the comment.

       Wexford household troops with their orange and black sashes were everywhere and a lieutenant stepped forward to greet them.

       “Good day, Countess.” The young knight said after a quick glance at Foster.  “You are expected. Right this way.”

       The lieutenant walked inside and Lady Cora followed with what remained of her escort in tow, Captain Thorne and a half squad of veteran black armored guards.  At last count there had been only a hundred and eighty of her men left of the thousands she had once held in thrall.  Those few had encamped a league away near an isolated grove well separated from gathering Wexford troops who, no doubt, would still be holding grudges.  The hostility between the two powers had been long and smoldering so who could blame a vengeful Wexford officer for seeking to even the score with what remained of the luckless Sharford army.

       They were taken up several flights of stairs and down a pair of corridors until finally they came to a door where a detachment of  soldiers awaited.  The lieutenant conferred with the officer in charge of the detachment and after a moment and barely hid sneer at the countess he opened the door and went inside.  For some time they waited for the officer to return with permission for them to enter like unwanted guests at a social gathering.  The countess was calm on the outside yet inside she fumed.  It was just another slight in a series of insults she had received since Sir Geldon Paige had met them.

       Finally the knight returned.  He held open the door, “You may enter.” And he stepped aside to let them pass.  Only Lady Cora, Sir Jaylin and Sir Aiden entered into what must have been an informal dinning area with a round central table and a massive fireplace in one corner.  Around the table were a group of perhaps a dozen men in their court finery.  Lady Cora soon picked out Sir Lanart for he was the largest man among them.  His dark, curly hair flowed freely over his shoulders and back and his beard was now closely trimmed, something she knew he had neglected during their flight from Sharford Castle.  His cloths were clean, blue silk breeches and tunic with labor intensive silver thread embroidery on the cuffs and hem.  Immediately her stomach churned at the sight of him.  Sir Lanart was a fop who couldn't button his own pants without a servant to do so for him.  But she suppressed her distaste as the duke's younger brother looked up from the table, met her gaze and smiled. 

       “Countess!” He exclaimed as he pushed aside a pair of courtiers to greet her. “My dear but you are stunning as always.”

       She did indeed look stunning.  Her hair had been washed and styled by Lorri and the burgundy dress she wore was the finest of those remaining to her.  He grabbed her by the shoulders and kissed her on the cheek and it was all she could do not to stiffen and slap him when he did so.  She managed a gentle smile.  “You are too kind by half, sir.  It does my heart good to see you well and in proper spirits.”

       She had seen nothing of him since Sir Geldon had stopped their column.  One of the first things the Wexford Master-of-the-Horse had done was separate the two of them.  He had done so by offering Sir Lanart the use of his pavilion for the duration of their journey and a seat at his well stocked table.  Sir Lanart had taken the offer on the spot.  His only alternative would have been to stay in his stifling hot carriage and eat dried beef and biscuits for the remainder of the trip.  But Lady Cora's invitation to join in any comfort was ominously omitted.  From that point on Lady Cora saw her one hope for survival fade with every passing day and she was helpless to prevent it.  She had tried to meet with Sir Lanart but it was no use.  Sir Geldon's pavilion had been turned into an armed camp unto itself and no one was allowed to met with him.  She tried to send him countless letters explaining her need for his continued assistance and warning him of Wexford treachery only to receive just one in reply.  A brief scribble from Sir Lanart to assure her he had not forgotten his mission and a dismissal of any worries over his safety she might have.  What made things worse was she and her men were purposely kept out of touch and in the dark for the entire journey.  No one would speak to her or tell her what was going on.  For the two days after arriving at their current camp she had tried to see someone, anyone but to no avail.  The quiet waiting for the summons to Birchwood Manor had tested even her steel nerves.  But now they were back together and answers would have to be forthcoming. 

       As if he could suddenly read minds Sir Lanart wrapped an arm around her and began to walk with her back to the circle of men. “Dear woman, I am so very sorry about my lack of attention to you but duties have been thrust upon me of a sudden.  Great happenings all around I should say.”

       The man was excited.  It was the first time she had seen him so and the countess ignored the chubby hand low on her waist, his fingers resting on the top of her buttocks.  If someone other than him, someone she had not needed had placed his hand there she would have had the man flayed alive and buried up to his neck in salt.

       “What great happenings?” She asked, sparing a glance at the others around the table.  Sir Geldon had hinted at something in the east at their first meeting but had not elaborated.

       “Though I have heard few details it would seem there may be war....and not this regional nonsense.  Real war.  Svinland has fallen into chaos and Aladar and Imberland are threatening to invade.  If they do Turis may surely follow suit.  With half the continent in such an uproar Cambria and Umbria have decided it to be a good time to harass our northern borders.  Silvan has marched the greater part of the Levy and troops from the east to handle these incursions.  Were it not for this crisis I believe he would have come directly to deal with this problem of ours.”  Then his excitement quickly turned to shock. “No!  My dear, forgive me.  I have been so caught up in my own affairs I had forgotten to tell you....”

       “Tell me what?” The countess frowned.

       “Lord Dullman has taken Sharford.” He blurted out.

       The countess exhaled, her brow furrowed with the stress of the news.  It was not unexpected.  Sharford Castle had served the purpose of keeping the attention away from their escape but it's fall was still like a physical blow.  She had but to think of Jack Dullman taking up residence in what was her home and her blood began to boil.  “How?” She managed to ask.

       “Your Lord Commander had the good sense to surrender after barely a day's siege.” Came a smooth voice.

       Cora looked to the voice and met face to face with a handsome, broad shouldered man with medium length coppery hair and a gaze which seemed to pierce right through her.

       “Lord Jordane?” She inquired of him. 

       He nodded with the barest flash of a boyish smile. “At your service.”

       She curtsied gracefully yet her eyes burned with the first sight of her mortal enemy. “It is good to make your acquaintance at last though I find your assessment of my Lord Commander to be wanting.  Olric Dunsen should still be fighting as we speak.  He was well appointed in my castle.  Had he held there would still be a glimmer of hope for me to return with help.”

       Before he could voice an answer Sir Lanart grabbed her by the arm, his excitement flowing again.  “Your glimmer of hope still prevails, my lady.  It would seem my brother has already heard of the depredations of this Lord Dullman and wishes us to dispatch him once and for all for his crimes.”

       Now this was a turn of events.  She observed Rowan's bulky form become restless.  It was subtle but there none-the-less.  Lord Wexford was discomfited by what Sir Lanart was saying.

       “Is this why we were brought here instead of being allowed to continue to Knightsbridge?”

       Lanart grinned.  “Indeed it was.  Silvan has sent forth a special decree that whatever actions necessary be taken in squashing this little rebellion and liberating both Hargate and Sharford.  He has authorized a call to the banners and a forming of an army to bring this situation to resolution.”

       There had been many times since leaving her castle she had wondered if she were riding to her death and in recent days that demise had felt closer than ever.  She had never thought to live as long as she had already done and even if death was expected it most certainly was not welcome.  And she did not fool herself.   In the first few seconds after meeting Rowan Jordane she knew that if it were up to him she would long ago have been killed in some suitably horrible fashion.  Something that might have even made her own twisted imagination proud.  But fortunately Rowan the Red did not control events, not even in his own home.  Perhaps there was indeed some hope left if she played her cards right.

       “Please tell me you do not jest, Sir Lanart?” She asked, her ample cleavage heaving with every labored breath as she began to swoon in his arms.

       The fat man laughed.  “No jest, my lady.  My brother tells me he sends a force of two thousand from the ranks of the Levy for me to lead.  They cross the River Gladstone into Wexford even now.  It is to be the core of the Army of Western Loranth.”

       “And who is to lead this army?”

       Lanart's joyous mood failed a bit.  “I had thought to be Lord High Commander on my own but Silvan, in his wisdom, believes me to be too much of a novice at military affairs.  He has asked Lord Jordane to take the mantle.”

       Now there was true irony for you.  Rowan and Cora had fought each other for a decade.  Now he was to be responsible for retaking Sharford and returning it to her.  An unsettling hush descended on the room as the two leaders of their respective houses became locked in a stare.

       “My Lord Jordane,” Cora said finally. “It cheers me to see after so many years of strife we can still come together in common cause.”

       Rowan watched her for a moment, contemplating what to say.  When he finally did speak his tone was sober and determined, completely lacking the venom she saw in his stare.  “Countess, it is my mandate to accomplish this task before us by any means at my disposal and so I shall.  Despite our differences we seem to find a foe we agree upon for the moment.  Let us take advantage of this while we can.”

       There was a universal, though barely audible, sigh of relief from those at the table, including Lanart Brassey.  Apparently they had all been holding their breath.  The bitterness was deep between them but it seemed from this first meeting they had buried it for the time being.  They closed with one another and Rowan gave her a very formal bow.  She turned her head to the side, lowered her eyes to him in gratitude and curtsied to show her acknowledgment of his greater authority.  It was a fine bit of acting.

       Sir Geldon Paige waited patiently until Rowan came storming down the hall. 

       “Didn't go as planned?” He asked, falling in at his side as his lord and master entered into his quarters.

       “Afraid not.” He muttered as he moved immediately to a side bar and poured himself a cup of something to drink.  “The witch still breaths.”  He took a gulp and tossed his head back, letting the blazing liquid slide down his throat.

       “Unfortunate things do happen, my lord.  There could be an accident or some......”

       The Lord of Wexford held up his hand. “Stop there.  Say no more and clear your heart of such thoughts for I have had them aplenty and find no way to act upon them as yet without taking the blame.  Lanart sees fit to kiss her arse and as long as he does we have no recourse but to tolerate her presence here.”

       Geldon grunted. “Well if it be any consolation I have never seen the countess as vulnerable as she is now.  Were it not for the duke's brother she would already be sleeping in the dungeon.”

       Rowan walked over to lean against a dormant fireplace.  He placed his arm and his drink on the bare mantel and faced his Master-of-the-Horse. “Ask my uncle how vulnerable she can be and if he were alive today instead of rotting in the grave she put him in he might would tell you.  I'll grant you she is a pretty thing and looks helpless enough but beware.  Looks are very deceiving.  Beneath that plump bosom lies the cold blooded, calculating heart of a demon straight out of the Abyss.”

       “So what must we do?”

       “Exactly as we should.” Rowan told him. “We shall gather our forces and crush this lord of Hargate, taking back Sharford in the bargain.”

       There was a little bit of shock in Sir Geldon's voice. “We are to retake Sharford and give it back to HER?”

       Rowan barked a short laugh. “Of course not.  I read the commission given me very carefully.  We must capture Sharford and end the reign of  Jack Dullman.  His Grace never said anything about placing Cora Golwyn back in charge.”

       Geldon thought of that for a moment then grinned wickedly. “I take it you failed to mention that flaw to anyone yet?”

       Rowan took a sip of his drink and shrugged innocently. “What flaw?  I see no flaw.  I see only what the duke bids me do as Lord High Commander.” 

       That answer brought a hearty laugh from Master Paige. “Well said, my lord.”

       The Lord of Wexford then leaned in closer. “But be on your guard still, Geldon.  These are treacherous times we live in.  Soon we will have men from the Fyns, Devonwick and Cardin running about....not to mention a division of the Levy.  We shall go along and do our duty as men of Loranth and one day, when this deed is done and Lord Dullman is no more, Lanart Brassey will pack his things and return to court....and we shall have our turn with the fair Cora.”

       “Yes, my lord.”

       “It is a shame really.” Rowan said wistfully after finishing his drink. “We stand here planning his end yet I believe I owe Lord Dullman a great debt.  He crushed Cora Golwyn completely.  If for no other reason I would be forever grateful to him just for that....but he chased her all the way here and now I can begin to plan my revenge on her in my own good time.  I should thank him for that most of all.”

       Lady Cora returned to her camp and noticed the group of horses and the men waiting with them almost right away.  They were different than her own.  They were clean for one, and nowhere near as ragged.  Their cloths were more of the eastern style with tassels and wide cuffs.  Their hats bore several feathers in the band instead of a single one.  Just like Sir Lanart.

       “I think we have company.” She said and Jaylin Foster looked to them as their coach and four passed.

       “Soldiers of Knightsbridge.” He surmised nervously. “I wonder who they bring?”

       “We shall find out soon.”  She answered, her sudden wariness remaining well hidden.  Perhaps it was nothing at all.  Maybe just a messenger.  But there was a feeling of dread that began to take hold in the pit of her stomach at the thought of who had come to see her at such a late hour.

       The carriage stopped in the center of the camp and the countess disembarked.  She waved both Foster and  Captain Thorne away and approached her tent with trepidation.  Lorri was waiting at the entrance.  Her head was lowered, her hands clasped in front of her.  It was her usual pose of submission.

       “Forgive me, my lady,” The buxom slave said without looking up. “You have visitors.”

       “They're inside already?”

       “Yes, my lady.  They refused to wait outside as they were asked.”

       “And you couldn't keep them out?  Where were the guards?”  The tent she had was the largest in the encampment, borrowed from stores of surplus supplies reluctantly given over to them by their hosts.  It was better than sleeping under the stars or in a makeshift shelter but it was nowhere near the size of the pavilion she had to leave behind.  It was, however, her home.  Whoever had gone inside had breached hospitality and her privacy by entering without her permission.  It would take either a fool or someone supremely confident of their position to do such a thing.

       The ire in the countess's tone was unmistakable.  The slave tried to explain.  “I told the guards to allow them to enter.  They bear the mark.”

       Cora's stomach dropped away from her.  She looked to Lorri who crumbled under her stare, then to the tent.  This was a moment she knew would come though it was always her hope it would not come quite this soon.  As if there weren't enough complications in her life.

       “Leave me.” She told her slave.  “I will deal with you later.”

       Instinctively Lorri turned away but stopped.  “I have done no wrong.”  She said, the defiance in her tone was clear. 

       Cora moved with lightning speed, grabbed a handful of her brown curls and twisted her head back.  “How dare you.” She whispered into her ear, fresh rage boiling out of her soul.  “No matter what you may think I still control you.  Don't ever forget and don't ever defy me again, you useless bitch, or by the Goddess I will watch you die ten thousand deaths.”

       Lorri whimpered but she did nothing to defend herself.  Her hands went down to her sides and her face screwed up as if she were ready to cry. “Yes, my lady.”  She said finally and the countess released her.

       “Get out of my sight.”

       And the pretty slave fled.

       Now alone in front of the tent she hesitated.  As Countess of Sharford she had ruled with an iron fist and relished the fact she had no one to answer to for any of her actions, no matter how cruel or unusual.  But as she looked at the flaps of the tent she realized that for the first time in ten years she would have to report to someone and if her actions were seen as lacking they could have dire consequences.

       With a deep breath she went inside.

       “Hello, sisters.” Cora said, pushing all emotions from her voice.

       A lantern fitted with a single large wick candle lit the interior.  The weak light was enough to give form to the three women who were inside with her.  One was seated in the chair beside her cot while the other two, similar in appearance and dress, stood careful watch from behind.

       The woman seated locked eyes on her.  “Countess Golwyn.” She acknowledged.

       Lady Leandra Vale rose from her seat and walked over to her, observing the raven haired beauty with great curiosity.  Cora became as demure as she could.  Her eyes dropped to the wooden planks of the temporary floor.  “Lady Vale, it has been such a long time.  It is good to see you again.”

       Leandra's gaze hardened and her voice came out cold. “Save your act with me, sister.  I will have none of it.  Report as you were taught.”

       Cora looked up and straightened her spine and the thin cover of compliance faded away.  “If that is what you wish.  I beg to report I have yet to complete my mission.  There were a few...problems.”

       The blond scoffed.  “Problems?  I should think catastrophes would be a better word to use.  You have failed miserably and that is why we have been sent out here to this Goddess forsaken wilderness.”

       “You were sent to assist me?”

       Leandra laughed derisively.  “No.  You are to assist us.  Your failure is known in Knightsbridge and His Grace is most displeased.  You have been a sad disappointment to him yet he means to give you a second chance.  Help us complete your mission and the Duke will not send you back to Desalon.”

       Despite it being a warm evening a sudden chill ran down Cora's back.  “I must thank His Grace for his forbearance.”

       “Thank him by sending Lord Dullman's head on a platter.  Is it really so hard to do?”

       “Lord Dullman has proved to be harder prey than I thought.”

       “He is of the Chosen.” Leandra told her. “They do prove more stout or at least so I am told.”

       “It is both a gift and a curse.  I assure you.”

       Leandra smiled but it was devoid of warmth. “Yes.  You would know, wouldn't you?  And what do you have to say for Ayla and Varisa?”

       Cora looked to the other women standing there.  They stood silent and still, watching and listening.  Just like the women in question would have done.  “Ayla was lost at Hargate Castle during my first attempt to complete my mission.  I don't know what happened to her.”

       “I do.” Leandra informed her icily. “She was captured and interrogated.”

       Cora's brow wrinkled. “How do you come to know this?”

       “A prisoner told us of your bungled farce.” Leandra answered. “Though some of the details are lacking I can piece together that Ayla told of your planned campaign into Hargate.  She gave them sufficient warning so they were able to counter you at Raven's Forge.”

       The Countess was stunned.  “Did she tell all of what she knew?”

       “Not all.  The Order's presence in Loranth remains a secret....for now.  What of Varisa?”

       “She was in an engagement only a league from Sharford Castle.  I received a report she had very nearly killed Lord Dullman but was unable to complete her task.”  Cora remembered the afternoon which seemed like a far distant memory when the injured scout had come to tell her of the battle at White Tavern.  She had been exultant until she learned Varisa couldn't finish her work.  She had murdered the scout where he knelt for bringing her the bad news.

       “Did she survive?” Leandra prodded.

       “I know not.  Once I knew the battle to be lost I thought only of getting Sir Lanart to safety before the Hargate forces surrounded us.”

       “You did not think to stay and continue the fight.”

       “I will not be trapped like an animal and besieged.” Cora said hotly.

       Lady Vale scowled back.  “I see.  So you sacrificed your castle, your lands and your people to save yourself....and Sir Lanart?”

       “I did what was best.”

       “Best for whom, Lady Cora?  Two thousand men of the Levy are within a few days march of here.  Had you stayed put and held out we would have been able to come and relieve you.  Sharford would have been saved and you would not be a refugee.  And if that weren't bad enough Lord Dullman's power continues to grow.  Already the people of Hargate are fanatical about him.  Sharford will soon follow if we do not end this soon.”

       “I tried.” Cora snarled hotly.  “I did as I was told to do and went to Hargate.  I took him on my own and nearly made him use the failsafe but we were discovered.  Varisa and I barely escaped.  And then I tried again using all the force I could muster.  But this time we were led into a trap and I lost three thousand men before I got back to Sharford.  And even then I tried a third time.  I ordered Varisa to set a trap for him just as his men had done for us.”

       “And you failed again.  I suppose you have someone to blame?”

       “Blame fortune or luck.  Blame the cowards and fools that served me.  But do not blame me for I have made every effort to gain the failsafe and kill him as I was ordered.”

       Lady Vale edged closer until the two women were nose to nose.

       “Your stupidity astounds me, countess.  How long did you have this man in your grasp?  An hour?  Two?  You mean to tell me with all the knowledge of pain and torture you possess you couldn't make him use his failsafe in that time?  You have single handedly squandered the greatest opportunity we may ever have of stopping Lord Dullman and using his knowledge.  Now we must destroy him.  Aid us well and pray that we do so swiftly and with little problem.  Your fate hinges on it.”

       Leandra abruptly walked out of the tent and the brunettes quickly followed leaving Cora standing in the middle of the floor speechless.    She stood there in silence for a time taking ease now that it was over.  Once again she had avoided a death sentence.  One which Lady Vale could have very easily pronounced and her two minions would have executed on the spot.  Even so another sword hung over her head ready to drop with all the others if she made a misstep.  There seemed to be an endless supply of dangers these days.  After a moment to gather herself she pulled back a tent flap.

       “Summon Captain Thorne.” She told the nearest sentry.  “I have need of him.”

       

       Lorri entered the tent and knelt at Cora's feet.  “You called for me, mistress?”

       “Yes I did.”  She said as she towered over her slave, her hands resting on her hips, volumes of coal black hair hanging loose about her shoulders.  “Have you forgotten who I am?”

       The young woman hesitated a glance up and shook her head. “No, my lady.  I have not forgotten.  You are my lady and mistress and always will be.”

       “Then why did you talk back to me earlier?”  She sounded like a mother scolding a child. “You know I brook no disobedience in my slaves.”

       Lorri's eyes sank to the ground.  “I know not, my lady.  I don't know what possessed me to do such a thing.”

       “I know what it was.” Cora said as if the answer had suddenly dawned upon her. “It was a lack of respect.”

       “No, my lady!  Never!”  Lorri protested.

       But the countess would hear none of it.  “Yes, I'm afraid so.  There are many who feel since I have lost Sharford they may say and do with me as they will.  They think because I have lost much of my authority I have also lost my power.  As if I am no longer dangerous.”

       “That's not true, my lady.”

       “Worry not.  You are not the first to treat me so.  Sir Lanart dismisses me, Lady Vale bullies me, and Lord Jordane tolerates me while he waits to pounce...some patronize while others openly insult.  But either way it makes no difference.   Soon I will show them all the error in their ways.”

       It was then she bent down and placed a gentle hand under Lorri's chin and lifted her face upward.  She looked into the slave girl's soft brown eyes and smiled warmly.  It was like a small part of the old Cora had returned to look upon a friend.

       “If there is anyone in this wretched place I give even a half a care for it would be you, sweetheart.  How long have we been her?  Can you remember?”

       Lorri's eyes welled up with tears.  “I have long ago forgotten, my lady.”

       “It seems like forever and a day.  Does it not?”

       “It does.”

       “And in all that time you have been the most faithful of any who have served me.  We have been through much together....” In the flickering candlelight Lorri saw Cora's face suddenly harden to stone.  She drew back her hand and stood.  “....which makes what I am about to do all the more difficult.  Captain!”

       Lorri twisted her head around to see Sir Aiden and a pair of his black armored guards step in.  “My lady, please!”  She exclaimed, her eyes wide with trepidation as the soldiers took her by her arms and lifted her to her feet.  Rough hands began to pull at the simple homespun peasant's dress she wore tearing it to shreds.  When the last of her clothing was gone and she stood among them naked the guards pulled her arms behind her and bound her wrists tightly together with coarse ropes.  Once that was accomplished one of them placed her ankles together and bound them as well.  When she was tied Lorri just stood there, trussed and helpless, the guards restraining her by her elbows,  not saying a word or uttering a cry but looking to her mistress and silently pleading for mercy.  None was forthcoming.

       The countess stepped forward, hands back on her hips as she studied Lorri's firm, proportioned body.  She cruelly scraped her nails against a defenseless nipple and watched the slave instinctively flinch.  “I have been thinking upon your punishment and I have decided on something which may allow you to contemplate your disobedience here with me while I sleep.” 

       Her eyes darted over to Sir Aiden and she gave him a slight nod.  The captain left but soon returned with a rectangular wooden box.  The sides of the box were honeycombed with small holes.  Four across and six down.  Twenty four holes a side.  The top of the box was in two halves with one larger hole cut into it's center.  Lorri took one glance at it and her knees buckled.

       “Please forgive me, my lady!” She begged as her voice cracked and she began to cry.  “I have wronged you!  I am sorry!”

       One of the men pulled the top off and another picked Lorri up from the ground and began to place her feet first into the small device.  She began to struggle weakly but it was too late.  It took a moment to force her in but they soon finished the task.  She was placed into the box in the seated position with her knees drawn up to her chest, her body wedged in so tightly she could do nothing more than breath and move her fingers and toes.  The guards slid the top pieces back into place and locked them down, forming a firm and inescapable seal around Lorri's neck.  The slave whimpered as the first of the boards lined with rows of steel spikes were brought in.  Each spike was needle sharp and almost two inches long.  There were twenty four to a board in rows of six by four.

       Lorri began to breath rapidly as she watched the first board laid out.  She looked back to the countess one last time. “No, mistress.  Please make them stop.  Don't let them do this to me.” She sobbed.

       But Cora watched on coldly with a stark distance and dispassion, completely unmoved by her pleading.

       At Sir Aiden's direction the two soldiers picked up the box with Lorri inside and positioned it above the spike covered board.  They took a moment to line the spikes up with the holes on the bottom.  As the poor girl inside became more and more frantic her breathing started to come in gasps as the expectation of pain and suffering grew.  Without warning the men released the box and it settled down on the board, the spikes sliding through their corresponding holes drove deep into Lorri's buttocks and the soles of her feet.  The brunette immediately drew in a sharp breath and let out with a blood curdling scream of pain.

       The men locked the first board into place with metal hasps to secure it and brought out a second.  Sir Aiden kicked the box onto it's side with his booted heal and the men set about putting the next board on.  The holes were easier to match up with this one but Lorri's weight wouldn't be used to push it in to the point where it could be locked into place.  One of the guards stood on the board until the wicked spikes sank into the girl's left side piercing her torso, thigh, calf and the side of her left breast.  There were fresh screams in the tent as the box was set up and flipped onto it's other side.  Once again a board was placed and a man had to stand on it to make the sharp metal sink into the victim's flesh.  It was quickly locked on and the fourth board was brought out.  This one was placed at Lorri's back and she begged her tormentors to stop amid screams of pain as it was fixed on just like the others.  This one sent spikes through her back, arms and the palms of her tied hands.  The last board was placed on the front of the box and those barbs injected themselves into her shins, some grating against bone.  

       All the boards were locked down and Lorri wailed pitifully as tears flowed down her cheeks.  Her body was impaled but the needles were not deep enough to hit anything vital.  She would live even though blood began to leak from the corners of the device.  She would be badly injured but she would survive....and that brought a smile to Cora's face. 

       “Pleeeease!” The tortured girl cried. “Don't leave me like this!”

       But the countess merely kicked the box, jolting it and causing Lorri to scream.

       “You shall stay like this all night while you think on the error of your ways.” The countess told her.  “You will be released from it on the morrow....at a time of my choosing.”

       She sent the guards and Sir Aiden out and once they were gone she began to hum a tune to Lorri's moans while she pushed the torture box to one corner of the tent.  She then began to remove her cloths until she stood naked in the candlelight wearing only her silver scorpion necklace.  The countess gave one more look to the wooden box with Lorri's pretty head jutting out from the top of it.  She waved at her as she pulled the covers back from her cot and slid beneath them. “Rest well, Lorri.  I certainly shall.”

       “My lady, please!” Lorri bleated as Cora rolled over.  She continued to groan and cry out in agony for the rest of the night but it did not bother the Countess of Sharford.  She was soon fast asleep.  Soothed by the sounds of the slow suffering of another unfortunate victim.