Chapter 5

The Estoc Arena was a massive construct made long ago to satiate Carthol's desire for entertainment, theater and bloodshed. However, to call it a simple construct would give the wrong impression. In truth, the large majority of it's form was carved into the stone of a mountain upon the Northern side of the Valley. From a distance it appeared to be a gaping pit in the landscape, one might even surmise it to be a quarry and while it may have briefly been one from the start it quickly took on a purpose of its own. The arena floor was a hundred meters in diameter and filled with stone towers, stone walls and obstacles for those who fight to maneuver and take advantage. The arena was meant to simulate battles on a smaller scale, often renacinting historical fights yet mostly pitting warriors, slayers and criminals against one another.

However for as much death as the Estoc Arena was infamous for, it was more commonly seen as a community area where folks could hold festivals, open up shops, put on plays, meet practitioners of both magics and blades, professors on history and academia and experts in arts and crafts. Annesha had fond memories of the arena, mostly because she wasn't beholden to its bloody side unless she and Dalvion were sneaking in as they often did with various results of success. Regardless, this monument of Carthol held a dear place in her heart as it did most Carthinnians.

Within the arena itself, such things were underway with crowds of people gathered upon the floor while others confided among the stands as they watched and listened to a performance below. Annesha made her way to a booth high above them, one where she was due to meet the headmaster of Mourdengel.

"Ah, Oren," she greeted as she entered to find him comfortably seated, intently gazing out to the arena, those mingling below and the play underway upon an erected stage.

"My princess," he curtly addressed, neither standing to greet her presence or even looking to meet her gaze.

He just stared on below and while he may have looked idle Annesha could see him racking his brain. Over what and why? -she didn't know, dismissing the rather rude behavior and took a seat next to him. Up close, Annesha noted he certainly didn't seem to have changed, despite the gray hairs and aged appearance. Same dignified expression, same dignified posture, same dignified demeanor. Rather bland, rather boring, rather… generic for an elder of academia and higher learning.

Not wishing to waste much time, Annesha swiftly began and said, "so I'm sure you're aware of-"

"-of why you requested an audience with me," he interjected, finishing her sentence.

"Y-yes," she stuttered, slightly taken aback by his superficial foresight. "It's concerning-"

"-concerning the enrollment of an individual into Mourdengel."

Annesha paused yet again as she dawned a rather perplexed look upon her face. Of course, Oren couldn't look more complicit as he listened to the play continuing below. She waited a moment longer, and then proceeded.

"I-"

"-Am grateful I could allot time to this meeting out of my busy schedule and taking two days to travel from the College to the capital so that we might deliberate over this matter."

"Okay, what is this?" Annesha flatly asked.

"What is what?" the headmaster questioned.

"What you're doing."

"What am I doing?"

"That thing you're doing," she clarified. "You're finishing my-"

"Sandwiches!" he declared. "There was a stall I happened to stop at within the arena, I certainly recommend their craft. Rather delicious and fitting, dare I say, for a princess." It was then he finally glanced over to Annesha to see a rather displeased look impressed upon her face. It was rather immusing, but he didn't show it as he scolded her with, "oh, what's with the sour face? I thought you'd be glad I developed a motocom of humor in the time you've been gone."

"Oh," she huffed. "So that's what this is about?" Folding her arms she muttered, "I should've guessed you'd still be sour arse about it."

"Sour arse?" Oren challenged. "You weren't known as the, 'menaces of Carthol,' for nothing. Not with your devious pranks and rambunctious antics. If you weren't the Lord's kin-"

"I would've been strung up by my ankles and lashed thrice by every abled body folk in the capital," she finished with a sigh. "See, I can do it too. Just as I figured, you're as slow as ever to let go of a grudge?"

"And why should I?" he pressed. "I certainly was among your favorites when it came to those you loved to pester and prank."

"Oh please. It was only ever a few harmless pranks."

"Harmless?" Oren then challenged as his hand slipped into a fine coat rather deliberately as if to ensure Annesha saw. "Let's, right off the top of my head... stealing my statues before mending and posing them into provocative positions on my lawn." Annesha let out a single curt snicker before quickly covering her face and averting her eyes. "Setting my garbs ablaze during a lecture, convincing Miss Errenvina that I was 'hotty' for her by fabricating a letter and foraging my signature to prove it."

"Oh please…"

"Oh please?" he interrogated.

"It was obvious as day," she confidently stated. "If you weren't so fickle you could've been happy."

"As if your redundant meddling was at all necessary."

"Redundant?" she murmured to herself. "Necessary?" Such choice words, but as Annesha quickly began to analyze the context she swiftly came to a conclusion that left her eyes widened and lungs gasping for a quick spirt of air. "You Dated!?" But then she recalled just how long she'd been gone, gasping again, the earth beneath their seating shifting, magnetizing Annesha's chair to Oren's crashing together as she exclaimed leaning far into his personal space, "You Got Married!"

Oren, shocked, by her sudden enthusiasm and excitement could only sputter a halfwitted response of, "I, errr, we."

"How many years!" she questioned excitedly, shortly before yet another revelation struck her. "How Many Children! Did you name the boy Avrellen!? Wait, what about Lyria!?"

Names he'd only ever written in private, prompting him to question, "you've pilfered my journal?"

With everything swirling through her head, Annesha said, "we have so much to catch up on. Where do we even begin?"

"It's none of your concern," he snapped, the earth beneath their seating shifting yet again to separate the two a modest distance apart. "As childish as ever," he simmered, arms folded with a shake of his head. "No doubt with your coming rule there'll be more pranks to be added to the list."

Folding her arms, a leg tossed over one knee and a bashful denial in giving Oren the grace of her kind glare, Annesha said, "of course you'd be one to keep score all these years."

"Oh I did more than just keep score," he assured as he withdrew a hand from his jacket. "I kept a record. One detailing each and every one of your and Dalvion's childish exploits."

"Let me see that," she declared, snatching it from his hands before opening it up to the first page. It was marked with a date, beginning with the year in which Annesha was nine. It was then she listed them off, reading the rather excellent penmanship upon the papers. "Spilling paint upon ground, releasing the hens, releasing the chickens, releasing the cattle…"

"Those were simpler times…" Oren mused.

She flipped to a later date a few years down the line. "Stuffing pine resin within the eye holes of the knights' helms. Contaminating molten forge work with fleece and hide pelts. Mixing cooking oil with fish oil during summer festivities."

"And the latter years…"

Flipping once more to the final years before she embarked across the seas she read once more. "Hijacking an armored caravan and rampaging through the city. Releasing a wild boar into a grand ball. Flooding the Estoc Arena during the reenactment of the final Clash with the Tyrant of Loriken and slightly miss arranging Oren's paintings."

Of course there were many more she glossed over, pages and pages worth of hijinks and dirty pranks to go over. Most she had forgotten, some she couldn't believe she actually did but all had a place within her mind, faded or not. She couldn't point to a single entry written within the journal and deny it with certainty and there certainly was much more to read over.

Annesha seemed ready to speak when Oren cut her off with a simple, "shhh. This is my favorite part." He nodded to the play below Annesha had previously neglected to identify. However, eyeing the props and costumes it easily became clear to the princess what play was being put on. Oren continued and explained, "Igneous, a molten beast of Keuth thought to be a savage force of destruction by most only to mend the ills of his past upon the people of a small valley village and come to its defense in its time of need."

"Yes…" she muttered. "Analogies..."

"It overcame its god-given nature acting not as ordained, but as to its own desire." Annesha felt an irritating, aggravating and rather annoying sting within her horns equal only to her foul and sour expression. "So, my princess," he then began, sitting back comfortably in his seat rather formally as though moments ago they weren't just bickering. "You have a special student you wish to enroll. Do tell me all about them. I'm sure they are rather… prestigious if they had drawn the attention of a princess to personally enroll them."

"Well…" she hesitated. "He is rather… unique." Oren nodded. "He certainly shows promise in an… unorthodox field of magic." Oren dawned a frown upon hearing such a derided word. "And… erm… well…"

"What's his name?" he pressed.

"Dettetcheny," she answered.

"His name sounds as though his heritage lies within Loriken."

"He's certainly Carthinnian born, however."

"Yes," he agreed. "But why should I enroll him? You've given me nothing but empty platitudes thus far. What's the hook, what's the draw? Why should I accept him?"

"Well he's a…" The closer she got, the harder she found to say exactly what he was to Oren. Yet, after a moments' hesitation, she managed to push through and plainly say, "he's a former Gyr worshiper, yet retains his blessing of his transfigured right hand."

There was a moment of pause as Oren simply sat there. His expression was rather blank as he looked out to the arena. The longer he remained silent, the more anxious Annesha grew as his blank expression whispered only of a mind racing for answers, justifications and any reason why such a thing had just come to pass.

"A gyr worshiper?" he slowly repeated.

"Former," she was quick to correct. "His allegiance lies in the right place… I think."

She didn't actually know.

"And what assurance do you have?" he challenged. "His word?" Annesha's expression was all he needed to answer his own inquiry. With a heavy sigh and a shake of his head, he pushed himself up from his seat saying only, "and I thought these juvenile pranks were done with."

"Wait, Headmaster Oren," she called, standing up to pursue him. "Have the courtesy to hear me out."

"Annesha," he then snapped, turning to face her completely. "And yes, I will refer to you as just Annesha. You don't understand the dire implications an action like this is beholden to. What will the people think when they find out my College, Mourdengel, intentionally harbors a worshiper of Gyr who freely utilizes the transfigured talons and mends lightning to his will? What will my subordinates think of me? The students who attend? And what will everyone in this kingdom think of you knowing you approved of this and harbored a heretic under your wing? They'd call it treacherous, blasphemous and heretical."

"Carthol is in dire straits," she explained. "We can't afford such rigid stigmas. My interest lies only in the knowledge we may acquire from studying this individual and the power such knowledge may provide. To neglect that because of some ancient divine quarrel… it's nothing more than regressive at worst and stagnation at best."

Straightening himself up and flattening his clothing against his chest, Oren took a single deep breath and said, "no Heretic of Carthol or former whisper of Gyr will attend my College, not while I'm headmaster. Rest assured Annesha, as courtesy, what's been said here won't escape my lips, but press this matter no further or I can't promise my nondisclosure of that… pupil of yours."

As he turned once more, Annesha nodded to the arena and asked, "you're analogy with the molten beast was misplaced. Not to mention, you forgot another important aspect of the play." Oren paused before leaving, giving a slight turn of his head as he listened. "As much as the molten beast had to fight against its god-given nature, so too did the people have to come to alter their beliefs, put aside a vicious past and come to accept it for what it was. An ally to the village."

Annesha watched as Oren stood there contemplating her words and reasoning. Yet, just when she thought he'd gotten through to him, Oren sneered and said, "this is not some romanticized fable, Annesha. This is a new tumultuous age of Carthol."

With that, he left. Annesha personally wasn't in the mood to finish watching the play and after several long moments, left in the opposite direction. She didn't necessarily have any place to be at this particular time, in fact she had hoped the meeting would've lasted longer. With the decent gap in the day's schedule she thought it wise to pay a few friends a visit as she wandered the streets of Carthol before turning into a rather unsuspecting and inconspicuous ally that left no discerning trace of residency.

Venturing down, she came to a heavy looking wooden door, and knocking twice she soon received a response. A slider in the door was opened revealing a pair of cruel judging eyes that looked down upon Annesha before hissing a single rehearsed sinister intro.

"I am the gatekeeper of Oar-Inn, keeper of this door. Give me the password or face my contingency..."

"Password?" She repeated, raising a single eyebrow. With a sigh, she stood defiantly and said, "my boot up your arse if you don't open this door."

"Wrong answer!" the harsh voice whispered. "Now answer my riddles. What is form fitting, yet intrusive all the same?"

"My boot up your arse!"

"Wrong!" the voice hissed. "What shrieks, cries and sings at the same time."

"You, once I shove my boot up your arse."

"Wrong!" He began yet another riddle with, "what…"

"The answer is the same," she asserted, pounding on the door once with a fierce fist. "Now upon up Garld before I shove my boot up your arse!"

Garld was suddenly pulled away as a voice said, "quit giving her shite. Let the Commander in already."

The door swung open to reveal a tavern that seemed to light up the moment they all laid eyes on her. They were her crew, save it for a few tasteful looking women, but that was to be expected. They shouted and applauded, greeting with, "aye! Commander Annesha!"

"Wrong," Rollan boomed as he took center stage next to her as she entered, slamming the door shut once she was comfortably inside. "She's Princess Annesha yet again!"

"No, no captain Rollan," Annesha said as she shut the door behind her. "Among my men, it's just Annesha!"

Everyone boomed with an "Aye!"

They were her soldiers and oarmen she'd commanded throughout her years sailing across the globe and ever since landing they'd always been in this building relaxing, drinking and laughing in case Annesha needed their assistance once again. The building was a private establishment Echon never seemed to shut up about, and it certainly did live up to what he described.

It seemed very homey with a fine wooden interior and exquisitely carved tables comparable to Finnald's carpentry skill. Excellent skins and trophies, hanging about the walls with masterfully crafted glass mugs and pitchers. It was warm, dark and calming, to a degree. The jollyness of the crew ensured a bit of excitement coursed through Annesha's veins.

Taking a seat at the bar, one of her men asked, "So what's it like now that you're finally a princess."

"Aye!" another added. "Is it as great as you suspected?"

"Ha," she half heartedly laughed. "Look at me. Does it look glamorous?" She then let out a sigh only to then bury her face between her arms. "It's all so tiring, and boring. I talk with boring old people about boring old things and I'm forced to wait for days for things to eventually happen. Look at me... I shouldn't talk like this," she then admitted. "I don't take Carthol for granted and neither do I the people. But it certainly isn't what I thought it would be. I'm fortunate to have the time to be here with you all as is."

"It certainly was more eventful sailing the seas, participating in battles and fighting beasts!" the captain told.

"Aye!" she shouted. "Slaying foes, and helping strangers. Back then it felt we could make a difference when there was blood to be let and a blade to be laid." They roared in agreement. "Now fellas," she began as she stepped with one foot on the table. "This is as backlines as it gets, telling others what to do and hopefully hearing that it worked out weeks, months or even years later. We've always been the 'hands on-'"

"Aye!"

"The, 'Do It Ourselves!'"

"Aye!"

"And The, 'Get It Done Now!'"

"Aye!"

"But we shouldn't fool and blind ourselves to reality. Those days are over. Those adventures we had... that's it. You're all free to do as you please, go where you wish and venture beyond the horizon once more but I can no longer be your commander, I can't be there with you. My place is upon the throne leading Carthol ever forward… gradually… with each fleeting day."

As solemn as her words were, the men simply laughed in a low tone. "You think we're just a bunch of has-beens?" a voice jested.

"Nay!" another concurred. "We'd never break for anything. Not in the face of death or even worse…"

"Me becoming Lordess?" she asked jeeringly.

"Aye!" They all cheered.

"We're still the Dregsen Brigade!" Captain Rollan said. "Even if you sit upon the throne we pledge ourselves to you. Aye?"

"Aye!" then cheered once more.

Shaking her head with a hopeless smile strewn about Annesha's face, she muttered, "you idiots. You're all idiots! You can all have lives! Go find a wife or shag a wench in the very least!"

"Nay!" they shouted, even those with wenches upon their laps.

"Annesha is my true love!" one joked.

"I've met a plenty of beautiful woman," another dramatically cried. "But not one was Annesha."

"Oh please," she rolled her eyes.

"Annesha the beautiful!"

"Annesha the brave!"

"No!" she shouted with a petulant slam of her fist and stomp of her foot as a blush spread across her face. "We're not singing this!"

But they never listened as they all carry on in their song. "Annesha whose might puts all foes to shame! Annesha the magical, Annesha the fantastical with swiftness and speed quite unmatchable! She lead us to lands and to the ruins of old, discovering places untold. We faced great armies and battled great lords but never did we lose our fast hold, for… Annesha the beautiful, Annesha the brave, Annesha's the one who saw all our foes slayed. Annesha with heart, Annesha the smart, Annesha whose beauty can rival fine art. Forever we'll sail, forever prevail, forever we ride such mighty great gails. Our swords we pledge, we'll never distress for Annesha is our beloved Princess!"

At the final note, they each swallowed their mug before raising it high into the air and slamming it to the floor. Annesha couldn't resist as she drank as well as partaking in the age old ritual shared between those only of the Dregsen Brigade.

"You're right!" she shouted, wiping her face clean. "I can't give you all up like this! I may be devoted to Carthol, I may never sail with you once more, but you are my most trusted soldiers, the best any commander could ever ask for, the greatest men in existence I could ever rely on. Not even the royal guard can suffice. Once I am lord, you'll find a new place in my army, as commanders, officers and leaders. We'll bring Carthol into a new age of prosperity. The lot of us!"

They all cheered, taking another round of drinking, until one asked, "but what if… what if your brother defeats you?"

Everyone fell silent, not out of animosity for the man's sincere question, but out of anticipation for Annesha's answer. One she hadn't even considered herself. It had indeed been many years, and though Dalvion promised her the throne, people change. She'd changed in fact from the rambunctious gloomy pesimist of a little girl to the woman she was now.

"I would never fail," she assured. "Not unless I knew my brother had good intentions and was confident he could lead Carthol to greatness. But if I do lose, and the throne slips from my grasp then… Well Then We'll Just Sail Again! Either Way, We Win!"

Another round of cheering. "We'll be there to cheer you on, Annesha!"

"Aye, with every blow you trade!"

Standing among them she raised a mug and loudly declared, "until then, drink yourself silly!"

And drink long into the night they would. Annesha however wouldn't be joining them, for she had responsibilities to uphold. Giving a farewell to her crew she left, closing the door to the bar behind her before turning and jumping back in fright at quite sudden, yet expected appearance.

"Keeping familiar company I see…"

"Dammit!" she huffed, taking a moment to catch the breath that fled her chest. "Can you at least wear a bell?"

Demion simply grinned. "I didn't think the fierce Annesha could so easily be startled."

"Well with your old mug it certainly isn't hard." With a heavy sigh to regain her composure, she asked, "so… I'm supposing you're wanting to know how the meeting with Oren went."

As they both began walking down the alley with their destination being the castle, Demion said, "yes, do tell."

"Well, you know Oren. Just imagine how he might react if he was asked to take a former worshiper of Gyr under his wing and you'd be right."

"I knew he would refuse, though I thought it to be in good practice to deal with stubborn and fickle minds. Perhaps one day you may muster the charisma and wit to convince some..."

With a fond yet dismissive roll of her eyes, she questioned, "what's the boy doing anyways?"

"You remember Verreene?" he questioned leaving Annesha to nod. "Well, he's teaching her to, 'kill the one she hates most,' according to his words."

"Does she know what he really is?" Demion shook his head. "No doubt she'd certainly scorn and vex him if she did. Still, I'm cautious of the boy's true intentions. I want a royal guard posted to keep watch over them."

"Easily done," he assured her as they continued on into the night.

It was safe to say neither Dettetcheny or Verreene quite appreciated an armored statue of a man looming within the garden like some malevolent omen of ill intent. He never interacted, never reciprocated their gestures and neither spoke when spoken to. He simply stood, watched and waited as they both trained day long for days on end.

They trained their bodies, honed their minds, exerted their strength and conditioned their ability. They worked over battle strategies as Dettetcheny inquired and dissected everything Verreene knew about Chillian's fighting style. She fought with two javelins in each hand with a shield strapped to each stone armament. It seemed to be an incredibly defensive set up with equal capability for offense and knowing this Dettetcheny had set off to ensure Verreene could properly combat such an opponent.

Spears and the like were never a weapon to be taken lightly. While they lacked the versatility of a sword, they certainly were precise and deadly. Compounded with the fact Chillian wielded two ensured Verreene certainly couldn't let her guard down. She only had her blade as well as the set of armaments, but unfortunately no shield to speak of. They had their strategy however, one honed from stripping the bark from trees in one swift swing that would no doubt suffice as the days passed by. That royal guard never seemed to let them out of his sight, no matter where they went, save it for their own rooms within the castle when it came time to rest.

One morning, when they had both awoken early to begin training once more, as they both walked through the castle corridors, Verreene suddenly and inexplicably lurched forward gripping at her chest. She fell to her knees as a harsh and sinister premonition took hold of her heart.

Kneeling down next to her, Dettetcheny locked eyes with her deeply pained and vibrant azure gaze and asked, "Verreene, what is it?"

Though spontaneous and unlike any sensation she'd ever felt before, her soul simply knew all too well, "my aunt, Chillian."

Dettetcheny's mind began racing as Verreene found her footing and managed to push herself up. "You told me if confronted she'd admit to having killed your brother. Do you honestly believe she will?"

Verreene didn't hesitate before solemnly shaking her head. "She's more intelligent than I'd like to give her credit for. Pressed before the court, she'll stone face lie her way through and I'll be an outcast."

"You said she'd be arriving through the north eastern pass to the capital, aye?"

"Aye, by carriage," she answered with a nod. "Why?"

"Fortunately for you, I have a plan." He turned to the Royal Guard that, as usual, loomed behind them.

The Guardsman didn't like Dettetcheny's cunning glare.

"He'll bear witness," Dettetcheny assured.

As Verreene had said, a lone carriage did make its way through the north easter pass between two mighty mountains overlooking the valley of the capital. On each side was a rocky and heavily wooded forest with a nice sturdy canopy overhead as Chillian sat comfortably within the cart in a dignified posture, eyes closed and mediating with both hands upon her lap.

She knew not why she had been called to the capital, only knowing it was at the princess's request. A request she could never turn down but motive never failed to slip her mind. She had a few good ideas, but she couldn't quite be certain, not until it was made clear. She'd ridden within the cart all this way. She felt stiff for the few days she spent stuck in the carriage but it would be nothing in short time.

It was then however, Chillian heard a startling thump just above. As though something or someone had heavily landed upon the roof of her carriage. There was a sudden panicked cry, it was the driver's voice, an aged obedient servant of a man named Felklin. His silence was swiftly met as the cart was brought to a halt. She certainly was alarmed now, though it was strange. It was awfully bold of bandits to rob a carriage so close to the capital, but in these times of strife, it's to be more expected. It was nothing she couldn't handle, so long as she could get the jump.

She quietly stood from her seating as she heard the sounds of struggling and then a stumble. Overall everything seemed quiet as her stone armaments unfurled from her back, and she faced the door with fists raised, ready to act, ready to lash out the moment the door was pulled open.

A stone fist suddenly crashed through the wooden wall behind her head before cold hardened fingers clutched at her throat. Chillian was more than caught off guard by this and in a panic, threw her arms back to grasp at the stone armament. Yet, before she could properly act, she was vigorously and harshly yanked by her neck, crashing through the woodwork of the craige, splintering the wall to pieces as she was thrown to the cold morning dirt of the pass.

The world seemed to briefly spin once she collided upon earth, but she was quick to regain her senses as she laid eyes upon a shadowy figure with a cloth over their face holding fast to Felklin with a dark summoned blade pressed firmly to his chin. The light wasn't potent enough to wash away the darkened tint of summoning magic, but surely it was no blade to scoff at and risk another's life for.

It was then, she shifted her eyes to the one who yanked her from the carriage. She wasn't garbed and neither did she obscure her face. It was Verreene in the flesh and she approached with fearsome loathing glare. She gripped a blade with a rather broad and wide scabbard, an unmistakable weapon, the hooked blade of Galagon Danne. As Chillian found her footing, she let a hand slip to her waist where her fingers gripped a particular wooden chip inscribed with a soulpath.

"You killed Galagon," Verreene muttered in a low loathing voice, eyes glowing with a sinister emerald shine. "Stand up and fight!"

Her hand ripped at the pelt upon her back, throwing from her shoulder forward to the dirt between her and Chillian. A sure sign of a Roe, a custom ensuring that one wished to certainly spill your blood in a duel likely to result in death. Verreene's stone arms were bared as the scabbard was stripped from the hooked blade and tossed aside. Verreene then took a combative stance with sword pointed eager for Chillian to reciprocate.

As she wiped her chin with her knuckle, Chillian stood from the earth as the summing chip was triggered with the careful and precise channeling of her white magic. "I suppose there's no helping it," she muttered as a shaft took form in her grasp. "Though this should serve me well, you've provoked my hand Verreene. My only regret is hiring an assassin that didn't deal deathly blows to children."

A javelin marked with a golden sash had formed in her hands as she took a fighting stance. Yet, as she did, Verreene seemed to grin as though she had received exactly what she had sought out. It was then a hefty blade was grounded into the earth sending a tremor through the soil that shook Chillian causing her to look and find a grand armored figure. Their armor was unmistakable for they were a royal guard of Carthol.

"Ah, convenient timing," Chillian sighed, lowering her guard out of dignity for the guardsmen. "As you can see sir, I've been jumped by some rather… vicious roughian."

Yet the guard wasn't having any of her misdirection and simply stated, "you confessed to the assassination of Galagon Danne. Surrender yourself and bare your misdeeds before the court."

"Tssk," was all she could muster as she shouldered her weapon and craned her head, shunning herself for such foolishness. She glanced to Verreene and that stranger beside him as he released Felklin allowing him to breathe once more. "Clever," she muttered. "But how unbecoming of a warrior of Roe to leave my hands in the fate of the court." Verreeene seemed to pause, her posture stiffening as Chillian glared with chin up. "How very… cowardly… just like your brother and no different from my own."

Verreene took a sure hold of her blade once more, yet before she could take a single step, Dettetcheny had stepped before her and shaking his head for her to reconsider. She took a deep breath, stifled her rage and turned away.

"Make no mistake," she muttered in response. "Your fate is still in my hands. We'll have it out in the estoc arena once your court day is through."

Chillian only laughed. "The worst thing you can do, girl, is give me time to prepare. Make no mistake, even if I am to be shackled after I gouge your throat out it'll have been worth it to shear your blood from the tree of Danne. Curse my brother, curse your brother, and curse you."

Verreene didn't dignify her verbal shots with a response. She simply kept to Dettetcheny's wisdom and walked away leaving her in the custody of the royal guardsmen.

Dettetcheny loosed his grip upon Felkin before helping him to his feet. Once Felklin was able to regain his composer, he looked to Verreene with confusion and bewilderment and asked, "Verreene, what has happened."

"Felklin," she addressed as she helped the old man to his feet. "I'm sorry I didn't explain sooner and I apologize for Dutch. But please, temper your curiosity for now, I'll explain in due time." She looked to the carriage and busted outside before asking, "it's rude to ask after what I put you through, but can you take him and me to the castle?"

"Of course Verreene," he insisted with a nod. "Expediently."

And with that, Dettetcheny and Verreene climbed upon the cart leaving Chillian to stare on as they comfortably rode away leaving her in the presence of the Royal Guardsmen.

"Come now," he insisted with a firm nudge of his palm. "To the dungeon."