zesty_pinto | "Mandrashard" Part 5

“Pelor burn me!” The helmet stared back at him somnolently and every time this happened, he felt a rising heat of insecurity that forced him to quiet down. St. Cuthbert may have been a different god, but insulting another god around the company of a holy knight may as well be a slap in their face and a stab in their gullet. His memory recalled this from those times he did.
“Have you been in the company of others such as myself?” The deepened voice of the man that escorted him gave a slight echo through his fully protected helmet, which he noted glared the sky’s sun. It did not help that the heavy armor of well-kept iron plates and chain mesh that the man wore made him seem impossibly huge as well. An expensive piece of armor that he knew probably allowed the smith that made this piece probably retire from all the coin spent on it.
“Yeah…” Tyren gave his sneer after trying to look at the sun-blaring man “which is why I don’t know why I should be following you.” He heard a chuckling noise echo through the armor that irritated him.
“Perhaps the Retributive One has opened your ears to finally listen to the appeal of justice.” He said it with a zealousness that the man had hated to hear all his life.
“Pelo- No, it isn’t that.” He looked away and sighed, flexing his fingers as he looked down the road, away from the large knight.
“Deep in thoughts?” The man asked. Tyren could not help but notice that the voice hinted of sincerity.
“Why should you care when you’re planning to take me to a town for questioning?”
“It is duty.”
His eyes shifted as he stared at the grass by the road as they continued walking “Yeah, well what is duty? Taking some man who defended his own life from bandits and have him taken into custody only to be judged by people who think anyone that isn’t nobility is scum?” He couldn’t stop himself from spitting that time. The man was silent to his reply “I should have been running off in a direction as quickly as possible.”
“But you wouldn’t, would you?”
“…” His mouth refused to answer.
“Usually I would have to wound the legs of anyone I caught and would have to drag them with me through some rope. You are the first one to follow without force.”
“Maybe I’ll get a chance to escape later, in the night when you’re asleep.”
“Perhaps.” The man said it so placidly that it forced a blink out of Tyren “In the meantime, you’ll need some food and rest. There is an inn not too far from here by foot that should provide enough for two travelers to Alathell.”
“An inn?”
The helmet turned to face him as they walked, the clashing chinks of metal making no difference as he walked “Of course. Did you expect to be treated as an animal and kept in a pallet of dirty straw?”
I’ve been kept in worse… His mouth sneered again and he felt the urge to spit. “Since when did you knights ever play wet nurse to the people they caught?”
“It is our duty to uphold.”
“You’ve got a strange set of values on you… what was that name again?”
“Alec.” He could tell there was some hesitation through that voice. Hmph. A welcome first. Anything to stop that man’s preaching. His eyes looked towards the sight of the first few houses that broke the horizon of the sloping road they followed; a sure sign of a hostel within reach. I’ll escape in the night when he leasts expects it while I am in that room. His eyes and ears could easily tell the man was strong enough to handle his armor better than most, especially since he walked in it rather than had his own horse to carry it around with an equally heavy two-handed blade strapped on his back. Still, no one could be completely fit and still run in armor as though it was a slip. I’ll leave him during the night when he least expects it and hopefully make it to Alathell by-
Tyren’s lips took an annoyed twitch and he immediately stopped it for fear that the knight could see it through his helmet. Even with the two days of bread and cheese in my pack, I could not handle another long trip to get around Alathell to the port of Galthon without running short of food or even shorter in coin. His eyes took another glance over. If he can afford this sort of armour… No, that purse he has is far from large. Maybe a couple of royals and not much beyond that. His mind came back to reminding himself as to another reason why he hated dealing with the company of these men. Even with several royals, I won’t make it from here to Galthon… I guess I’m following the man.
“What had convinced you to do it?”
“What?” He looked up at the helmet subconsciously. The day had already began to dip into the late afternoon, tell-tale by the trail of their shadows stretching backwards.
“Why did you do it?”
In response, he revolted his head back, looking away “Wouldn’t you defend your own life?”
The figure remained silent as they approached the small copse of buildings that rested along the road. The smell of animals became apparent, as did the skeletons of fences as they slowly shifted into silhouettes with the falling sun. Eyes searching, Tyren’s found the largest possible building in the area and knew it was an inn. It stood nameless, but the light inside followed by the muted noise that faintly climbed to his ears from the distance; a jumbled noise that could have only been that of a common room full of ale and farmers.
It was the large man that opened the door first. The noise that assaulted the ears soon fell to a mere stillness at the awareness of the man. Looking through, Tyren knew the look the man had. Reverence. He took a spit outside before walking in.
He approached the man that he could only assume to be the keeper; the keepers in places like these usually were the most easily visible since they seemed the most well-to-do and had the richest look of life in their girth. His imagination came right, as the plumpest looking man was whom he had stopped in front of.
“A good day to you, Sir Legianac…” his voice still held a hesitation in it, most likely from not being sure whether to lick his boots first or ask if he can, a smile escaped from his lips at the thought.
The large man removed his helmet to reveal the mailed and padded coif. The man behind the helmet was a rather handsome figure, with a feature like that of heroes or leaders. His tufts of dark black hair stuck a bit out unceremoniously from the coif and the man immediately attempted to pat it away, “My apologies,” he said as he tucked the strays away with a calmness that seemed inhuman for his need to look decent. His voice did not seem any smaller without the helmet. “Please, refer to me as Alec, good Farell.”
“It is nothing to be apologetic of, good Sir Le- Alec!” He seemed to be stumbling for words. How amusing. This Legianac must own the land around here… a regular son of a Count. This is a first. The knights he had remembered dealing with usually were men sent by nobles, bastard children sent to a church to be forgotten away or the product of a noble’s child when there were already too many there to claim the legacy. Usually if the noble’s son was acknowledged, it was also a sign that they were to become a successor and successors rarely were known for being able to be “pure” enough to ever attain true knighthood into the Holiest no matter how many stories their nannies and wet nurses told them. This boy, on the other hand, was a different story. Escaping this idealistic fool should be as easy as stealing from the blind.
The man had, at this point, already sent his prettiest daughter to bring food to the two of them. Men like him usually had two or three to perform the scullion duties or hope to marry into something better… the thought made him nearly spit until he realized that the noble’s son was looking at him with an unyielding stare of an even bluish-gray, like steel. He held back a shudder. That man was easier to be around while he still wore that helmet. The daughter, a girl that seemed almost ready for womanhood, approached with two mugs, walking with a mature style that Tyren only remembered women did when they sought to attract the attention of men. He stifled a grumble as he grabbed a roll of bread on the table and tore at it between his teeth. Another gold-mining milksop. The room had been rustled to a little more conversation, no doubt encouraged through the uneasy motions of the keeper to the proprietors, but there was still a tension that made it seem as though a falling cup could do quite as much.
“Sir Legianac, was your trip difficult?”
The man turned to the woman and said in his deep smooth voice, “Please, call me Alec.” There was a rise of red heat to the girl’s cheeks. May Olidammara drink you black, he said the same thing to your da!
“Is there any butter for this? I’d have an easier time eating your floor.” He saw the girl immediately shoot him a retortful look, held back only by the presence of the nobleman’s son. Tyren gave a conceitful grin “Are you going to stand all day or should I go into the larder myself?”
Alec stared back at him, featureless, though he could tell that there was some dislike for his action. He turned to the girl “It would be best if you fulfill what he asks.”
“Finally, the man knows how to listen. Why don’t you follow what he says?” The common room grew deathly still again. She continued a baleful look, smoothed it away drastically at a glance of the young knight, and then walked to the back.
The man turned to him and gestured with a finger to come closer, which Tyren followed “If you do not behave further,” his voice hushed the words “then I may have to tie your wrists down and have you fed outside.” he said it with an unusual calmness for a threat.
“You’re better off that I did this for you as a favor. You see that girl?” His head gestured with a shake towards the larder “I’ve dealt with them before. Only want you for what’s in your coffer, maybe what’s in your legs, and then they’ll control you like-“
“Do not,” his voice now emphasized it “-make a show of yourself. You are still to be called for questioning”
“I give you a favor and you spit it back like I just stole your purse? I’ve killed men for doing that sort of thing to me.” He did not say it, as much as he almost forced the words out. Instead, he gave back a glaring remark with his eyes to the young knight, and then sat back down, grabbing his half-eaten roll and chewing on it. The “justice” of St. Cuthbert must be as blind as they say. The room returned to some activity, though tremulous as it was.
The girl began to return, this time with a tray of two steins, a roast chicken that seemed blackened on ends with an aromatic smell that hinted it was treated well with onions, and a small dish that seemed to contain a pool of butter. He gave a snicker at the sight of the dish. She placed the tray there and gave a smile to Alec, which he returned to her in a polite fashion. Tyren sighed and reached for the small dish.
“Alec, my dear sir…” she said with a careful voice that almost forced Tyren to spit a wad of bread from his mouth “Shouldn’t you leave this man outside like all the others?” Be glad I don’t beat you for your harlotry.
“He has done no ill, young lady.” He then turned to the table and closed his hands together, pulled his head forward, and closed his eyes, muttering against the noise of the room his own devotion. Dipping his partially consumed roll in the vat of yellow, he took another bite, watching the man perform grace as he masticated the bread, watching the scene with the bile simmering to his throat.
“You are far too kind, good sir! He is taking advantage of your noble heart.”
“Please, call me Alec.” He swallowed the bread.
“Call me sickly.” Another shot of glaring came from the girl. He gave her a playful wink, but all it did was cause her to turn back to the sight of the man she adored.
“If I were you,” she cooed petulantly “I would have him feed outside with the dogs.”
The man gazed at her. A stare that ran from a pacified glaze to a stern look as stiff as a strong blow “Why would you do that?”
“I…” The strength of the gaze was too much, and she took a step back unconsciously. Tyren gave a snicker and reached for the bird with the knife he always carried on his back.
“Alec, watch out!” The aura of the room soon stood still, and he could hear weapons getting picked up from their resting places; forks of cheap iron and hunting spears that made for terrible weapons. Alec turned his face quickly as Tyren snickered some more, cutting off a haunch from the breast of the browned bird.
“Would you like a cut as well, or should I stop scaring the locals?” His mouth flashed a grin.
“That’s a well-made dagger you carry.” He replied plainly.
“Yeah, well…” he replaced the knife to his back before picking up the slice with his fingers “I have my own share of heirlooms, for a traveler.”
He kept a silent face.
“You were going to kill Sir Legianac!”
“Why would I do that when you were so obviously busy trying to kill him by putting you fangs into him?” Tyren pointed his face upward, pulling at the tendons of his slice with his lips and teeth before eating it with a feigned boredom.
“Sir Legianac,”
“Don’t bother trying to get sympathy from him.”
“Please, call me Alec.”
Tyren sighed.
“Alec…” she said it with a blushing notion, and Tyren immediately rolled his eyes and bit into his slice of flesh some more.
“Is there a room I can sleep in already?”
Alec turned to Tyren, then to the woman.
“A room in the end, by the hallway in the end with a cot and a bed.”
“I haven’t been in a bed in ages,” He gave a smile, stuffed his mouth with the rest of the slice of food, and began to pass by the others as he walked into the hall.
The girl shot a glare of surprise to the man but held her lips with a pursing in her lips. Alec gave no remark, which is what he had expected from the man. Surprisingly, he did not follow him.
The hallways at the end lead to a room that was slightly larger than what he had expected. Then again, he reminded himself, this is a room that was no doubt prepared for a noble’s son and any felons he brought with him. He closed the door slightly ajar as he admired the view. There was, indeed, a very clean look and feel to it that was superior than others. A bed with very white clean sheets and the cot of hay had an equally-clean look to it even though the straw looked old and may have contained the remnants of previous captured fellows that Alec dared to carry along. A window rested outside with a window, no glass but barred with planks of wood to allow light to sliver through and a set of shutters that closed from the inside to make sure it didn’t get too cold in here. He took a look through the window, felt the planks, and gave another smile. Hands to his back, his hand reached comfortably for a small metal tool thin but strengthened along its end and with a wooden handle tied on with some frayed hemp grips to make it easier to hold. As he drove the tool into the window, it gave a light whine; a yielding whine that told him what he needed to know. “This has been all in good fun,” he said to himself as he tugged the bar loose with a grip of his hands “But while Mandrashard is still here, I have no time to wait.”