Shana looked the scarred old bodyguard up and down appreciatively. She adjusted her dress a little to show more shoulder. "Well, it's rare to look forward to an evening so much, but I think you and I could make a good night of it, sweetie."
Orzo shook his head and strode off towards the dungeons, beckoning the prostitute. "Not for me. Baroness Gertasdottir is hiring you tonight."
Shana looked surprised - and a little disgusted. "The old hag? I thought she preferred boys. If that's the case, I'm doubling my fee."
"No," said Orzo shortly. "The Dog Rose is the client you serve. You'll be servicing a different client tonight. Serving drinks to start with, some meat and pastries. Then your usual work, if things go a certain way. You'll be paid regardless."
Shana rolled her eyes. Nobles were weird.
----
Domnall had given up struggling. There was no point to it. He was unarmed and too many guards surrounded him at this point. He was dragged into a cell by six guards, bag over his head, and forcibly manacled to the wall. Three hours later, the sound came of the cell door opening, followed by two sets of footsteps and an old, creaky woman's voice coming from a distance away.
"Well. You have caused a deal of trouble, haven't you? Now, if we remove this bag are you willing to play nice?"
"That depends." Domnall grinned beneath his hood, no point being cautious, if she was here to torture him, he would get as much fun out of this as possible. "Will you?"
"Oh-ho. I like a boy with spirit. No, I don't plan to play nice at all. Orzo, the bag?" The bag was pulled off Domnall's head, revealing a dark and rather grimy cell, lit by a pair of candelabras rather out of place in the cell. An attractive young woman was busy rolling out a rug onto the floor. A bald, scarred man stood next to him, holding the bag, and across the cell behind the closed iron bars of the door was a woman in her sixties, dressed in thick furs against the dungeon's cold, sat on a fine wooden chair and resting her hands on a walking cane, topped with a silver dog's head.
Domnall squinted against the sudden light and as his sight adjusted looked at the three people in the room. "Hmpf. If nothing else you have a sense of taste, the dungeon and the rug mix well. I cannot quite put you down but your armsman seems rather familiar..."
Finally his eyes lingered on the woman rolling out the rug...that posterior was very familiar though.
"I thought you might appreciate a change in decor. The manacles stay on for the moment, I'm afraid." The woman proceeded to bring in a table, a chair, and a covered basket, from which wafted the smell of freshly baked bread. The old woman tapped her cane lightly. "First things, first. Why did you come to the castle, and why all the fuss?"
Domnall raised an eyebrow. "You have not been informed? Hah, i knew it that slimy weasel was all talk and bluster." he now fixed the woman in front of him with an entirely different look. Gone was the resigned amusement of one who had given up. "It seems an introduction is in order. i am Domnall mac Ghabhain, and i've come here to exact justice on the one carrying the stolen Runeblade. Unfortunately the bastard in charge of the guards thought differently. He let me in, listened to my story, promised his support and then immediately tried to get me and himself killed."
"Well, Domnall mac Ghabhain, that presents a mild concern. Right now, that mysterious stranger is the favourite to be our next king. Do you have a personal connection to the theft in question?"
"I am a mercenary, a killer and a professional duelist. I have been hired by the Runesmiths of the Northern Clans to avenge the death of their own and the theft of that runeblade. While i have no personal connection to that thieving bastard, my professional honor would demand to fulfill the contract. Especially one so prestigious. Plus the pay is exceedingly good, i get to keep the sword. Or would, anyway. That being said. Why in the name of the gods did it ever come so far as to a thief with no bloodline being your best choice for king? If you want a puppet you might as well put me on the throne. Or him." with that he nods towards the scarred armsman of the noblewoman.
"Oh, he has a respectable enough bloodline. Respectable enough for our purposes. As for Orzo here, or yourself, Domnall, you don't have a bloodline or a magic sword, and he has both. Still, nothing is certain yet. Before we proceed, answer me honestly. Is there anything I could say or offer, without naming what that is, to persuade you to end that particular contract?"
"Unlikely. Are you familiar with Northern Customs?"
"Very." Helga pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed. "That really does present us with a problem. I would like not to have you executed or incarcerated. But I also can't have you kill the would-be-king. Would your honour permit an indefinite stay on the contract, holding it in abeyance?"
"Possible. The problem is that my clients took this very, very seriously. Complicating the matter is the fact that i am bound by blood, through my father to them. Beyond that, it won't be hard to find out who took the blade once he sits the throne, so i can't plead ignorance and that i could not find him. However there is several alternatives. First: he could pay a weregild. I could possibly convince them, but i doubt even as a king he would be able to pay the weregild for a runeblade or would be willing to return it. Second: Holmgang. As i had originally intended. However, the Holmgang does not necessitate his death, not necessarily. I would violate the spirit of my oaths but would hold to the letter. Defeating him in a single combat until surrender would be the option here. If i win he surrenders the blade, if he wins, he can do whatever he wants with me. And wouldn't that fit into your narrative of the divinely appointed king? Victory in trial by combat...what do you southerners call it? Trial by ordeal? Divine providence and all that?" he shrugged. "Then again, are you positive that there is no better candidate than the man who talks to his sword?"
"Better? Certainly. There's the rapacious murderous exile, the man so far in the pocket of the church he can see the lining and the 'safe choice', a man who will do nothing with the crown but line his pockets and drink himself to an early grave. And my name is Helga Gertasdottir. I will thank you not to call me a southerner." She snorted, but gestured to Orzo. "I'm afraid you can't leave the cell, but I trust that you won't do anything stupid when Orzo unmanacles you. There is food and wine in the basket, and Shana here is available to see to your needs - whatever they may be. We may as well continue talking in comfort. Eat, drink."
Domnall inclined his head. He patiently waited till Orzo had removed his manacles and inclined his head in thanks. "My apologies, then, i did not expect a true Northern Lady making her way down to this humid..." he waved his hand around with a piece of bread in his hand. "place." "So four options in all. From your tone of voice, none of the latter three are exactly acceptable. So what makes the thief such a good choice then? He runs under a false name so procuring some obscure bloodline for him is as hard a task as procuring one for any other commoner. He is clearly very religious, otherwise he wouldn't claim his sword was sent by Ilos or whatever that god was called again. Which makes him just as bad a choice as the churchman. All i can see going for him is that blade. Or did i miss something?"
"I wouldn't underestimate the blade, as an option. But I don't care to talk in circles. Let's talk about your future instead. Right now you are in custody for, oh, several counts of assault. Nobody was killed, which makes this much neater, and I do like your prior suggestion. My thought is this. I intercede on your behalf for a trial by combat, with a mind to getting the troubled pretender in the ring. Officially this is to determine your guilt, but you can choose to frame it as a holmgang instead. If you win, hurrah for you, mission accomplished. If you lose, your honour is satisfied and I will request that your sentence be placed under my care, as the woman who brought you in. The pretender's hat gets another feather, justice is seen to be done, and everyone carries on with their day."
"Now that is something i call a shrewd businesswoman. Done, done and done." he rose and swifter than Orzo could go for his blades he sunk to a knee in front of the Old Lady. "I, Domnall mac Ghabhain swear my loyalty to you, should you get me this trial by combat. I will serve you loyally and without reservation in anything as long as there is enough wine, women and warring to be had. I would seal the deal with blood but i am afraid before i would reach any blade your man would have cut me to pieces."
"Make that oath again when you're a sufficiently free man. In the meantime, enjoy your stay a little more than you might have expected. Shana will... see to your needs. Come, Orzo." The old woman and her bodyguard departed.
Orzo made two separate trips that evening, delivering two identical sealed packages; one to Falsktnafn, one to Falbrand - both containing some very sufficiently legitimate, notarised documentation proving Falsktnafn's distant, bastardised royal lineage. A third copy, the 'original', remained in Helga's possession. Just in case.
Several hours after the little scuffle, Count Silfverstolpe might well catch sight of one Baroness Helga Gertasdottir approaching his seat at the high table. His nearest drinking companion certainly would, as Orzo pulls the man's chair out from under him so the old woman can take his place next to Silfverstolpe.
says Helga without a trace of irony.
she cackles.
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Topic: You are King! - Crown of the North [IC]: Year 353LL - Spring (Read 12229 times)