The noble table had thinned as the night darkened. Now, only a handful stayed some in deep conversations; others drunkenly washed down pastries; and two dwarves were locked in a staring contest that had lasted nearly an hour. The commoner table, however, needed constant attention as the guests flowed through the hours. Lorin walked out into the cold night air of the courtyard with a fresh platter and topped up pitcher. His eyes, as they had been the whole evening, were drawn to Varron's table. It had been two, maybe three hours since the Baron left, and so far the only change at the table had been Varron drinking a thick wine instead of a stout. This time, though, there was a change. Varron sat alone, his chin resting on folded hands while he leaned forward and smiled at the newest guest brought before him. Sofia must've excused herself while Lorin was inside. There were now only three guards around Varron, and that opportunity made Lorin's palms sweat. Before a plan of attack could form, however, he saw movement heading toward the stable. The bright color of hair caught his eyes, but the deep shade of familiar red held them.
It was Jessica.
Lorin took in a few quick breaths, and panic filled him for the first time since he’d hung in his cell. Nerves and doubt were there, had been the whole night, but this felt like being swept away in the rapids of his mind. He had to follow her. There was no end in sight to the lineup of common folk, so there was still time—Varron wouldn't be leaving for a while. Scanning the courtyard, Lorin spotted a server on his way back to the kitchen.
"Here, take this to the pair of dwarves. They’re thirsty tonight and will need the food and drink," Lorin said, holding the pitcher out.
"Uh, but I have to bring more buns out," said the server who barely looked older than nineteen.
"Do you know what happens when a thirsty dwarf sees the bottom of his cups? There won't be a table left to put buns on. Go. Hurry," Lorin said and turned the boy around, pushing him on. The boy was swimming in an outfit ten sizes too big and almost tripped from the shove. But he made his way to the dwarves, and their cheer of approval rang out. Though Lorin didn't see for himself, it was guaranteed the dwarves never broke eye contact through their cheer.
Lorin looked to the stables just as the door closed—he had to follow her. He headed out along the manor. The braziers and lanterns lit the dinner area, but only moonlight guided his way to the stables. Lorin knew the path even during a new moon, so his sight wasn't the issue. He scanned best he could for any wandering eyes looking toward him. There was nothing he could see. He made his way to the stable door, waiting to hear something or see if someone followed after him. Bits of hay crushed under his own foot produced the only sound outside the barn, but muffled sounds from inside passed through the door. Grunting and moaning. The man-door closed squarely in the frame, staying shut without being latched—which for a stable was impressive. Lorin pulled the door open enough to see a narrow path snaking through the small cluttered room and into the stalls. The sounds had become much clearer now.
Lorin entered the room, careful not to make the door creak, and only disturbed air announced his entry. He crept to the doorway of the stables and leaned in enough to get a clear view. The stable had a tall, vaulted ceiling, where in the center of the building you could see the roof's underside. Along the sides of the ground floor a dozen or more stalls kept the horses separated, and between them one set of stairs led to the loft. The noises came from a large pile of straw near the loft railing. There, entangled together, were the Baron and his four girls, all naked and enjoying themselves—or at least sounding like they were. The Baron was not a handsome man, and he stuck out like a hairy fat thumb among the smooth, younger bodies. Lorin had expected the scene from the sound outside, but the sight of the Baron nearly brought up what little was in his belly. Holding control and managing to not make a sound, Lorin began to leave. He had seen much more than he ever needed to and almost forgot why he’d walked in. But then the unease he had been feeling all night returned and made him remember. Where had Jessica gone? Why had he seen his dead wife walk into the stables?
Lorin forced his eyes back, trying not to focus on the Baron. He counted enough thinner limbs to account for three, maybe four girls. They were little more than skin blending in with skin, but their hair was easier to spot. He could see some long brown hair, bright near-white curls, and short black hair. No red. Jessica's hair always glowed, even in dim moonlight. Lorin looked around the stable again and saw nothing but mildly disturbed horses. Spooking a horse might get the group’s attention, and Lorin was about to walk to the nearest stall when, from the writhing pile, a red-haired women sat up among the group, arching her back in a silent gasp.
Lorin saw Jessica. Her same smile. Her bright eyes. A face he wished, he dreamed, so much to see again. He took a step forward, but with that she was gone again, lost in the mass. His chest filled to yell, but he stopped himself. He dug his fingernails into the wood post of the doorway and gritted his teeth. He pushed himself off, almost tearing his nails from their beds, and headed out the door. The pale moonlight felt red and hot. The arrowheads seemed to vibrate on his wrists, and were suddenly between his fingers. A noise came from behind him and he let an arrowhead lose it its direction. It lodged in one of the door’s wooden planks, and Lorin realised the noise he had heard was just the door closing behind him.
Tears came.
He’d lost her.
He’d lost his family.
He’d lost control of himself.
A soft clink of steel hitting cobblestone came, and he slouched down against the stable's wall, head in hands, weeping. He hadn't seen her face in so long, he had forgotten it. And his children's faces as well. He had been so busy with Ashmere that he didn’t have time to remember them. He was moving on and was forgetting them, but he couldn't. Shouldn't.
His tears became a rain draining him and flooding away feeling. Jessica wasn't in there. Lorin had buried her alongside their children. He could see the first shovelful of dirt covering her one eye as it stared up from the grave, vacant and calling out to him for help. Her sweet smile, ugly laugh, and heartbreaking cry all called to him. He didn't want to kill, he didn't want to butcher a monster.
He wanted them back.
She wouldn't have wanted him to get angry, to lose control. A twinge of pain wracked his whole body. She would be afraid of him like this.
But she wasn't here. Not anymore. Was vengeance worth it? If not, then was life worth it? Lorin's fists hit the cobblestone, lifting him a bit. The pain from his fist’s impact was sharp and cut through the haze he was in. He looked toward the feast as a group of guards surrounded and walked alongside Varron while he went inside his home. Lorin's tears and quivering lip stopped. Life, his life, was worth the effort of living, but not for vengeance.
Lorin stood, wiping the tears and snot away on his sleeve. "I can't be like him," Lorin said in a whisper. "But I can help others to not become me." He heard the group in the stables continue to make noise, and he waited a bit to make sure he was safe. Then, he pulled the arrowhead from the door and the one he’d dropped on the road. He walked back to his cell without issue, fell into bed, and slept through his meal.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
"Was I asleep long?" Lorin said, rubbing his eyes with one hand. He looked down to see he was dressed as a prisoner once again.
"The whole day, but it was good—you needed the rest," Ashmere said and outstretched a finger. "I had to change you out of the server's garb, but other than that you did well. Get ready quickly, though. We lost a night of training and I don't want to lose more."
Lorin stood up, bleary-eyed but light. A weight was off his chest and he could breathe. "I didn't kill Varron," Lorin said, reaching up for the hook. "But you knew that."
"I did," she said and turned toward him. "But it
seems someone did die last night."
Lorin, now hanging by one arm from the hook in his cell, attempted to turn and face her, but his fingers were jammed and he remained hanging as they spoke.
"What do you mean? What happened?"
Ashmere raised a second finger. "The courtyard was buzzing with people; they rang bells and announced the Baron's death this morning while you slept. Apparently he was having a frolic in the hay and a sickle forgotten in the pile sliced through his heart. He died quite quickly—and he was intoxicated, so most likely he felt little of anything."
"I saw him with a group of women. What happened to them?"
Ashmere raised her third finger.
"Stop doing that," Lorin said. "How are these questions important to my training? I couldn't figure out any of this without asking, so limiting me doesn't make sense."
Ashmere smirked and lowered her fingers. "Yes, the girls were distraught. I'm surprised their screams didn't wake you. It drew me to the window in time to see the three of them naked and running. They left very clear footprints and were covered in blood, so they made for a gruesome sight."
"The fourth must've stayed behind. They were jumbled together, but I counted four heads plus the Baron," Lorin said, then finally freed his fingers to continue the conversation without hanging by one arm.
"Then she ran off—only three girls were questioned. I watched the three and they weren't intelligible, sorry. I mean, they weren't good sources of information. Their shock was heartbreaking. They just cried and shook."
"Doesn't seem right at all. The group was active when I saw them, and hay flattens, so the sickle edge would've been found right away."
"Murder, perhaps?" Ashmere said in a calm, almost musical way.
"What? Is that what the guards think happened?"
"They were down in the courtyard. How could I know what their investigation produced?" Ashmere said, a wry smile cracking through her lips.
"You're not usually so coy," Lorin said, and he matched her smile. "You snuck in among them."
Her smile widened. "The girls were held for a short time, so one could infer they were released when foul play was ruled out."
"From your shit-eating grin, one could infer you’re not saying all you know."
"You're right, but I want to test how you think through this situation." She tilted her head like a puppy. "The light behind your eyes is different today."
"Well, did I pass the test?"
"Which one?" Ashmere asked, clearly having too much fun with the whole thing.
"My footwork with a dagger and sword," Lorin said, rolling his eyes. "My investigation test."
"You have yet to submit an answer."
"The Baron was murdered. The second he laid down in the straw he would've been impaled, not after the girls were climbing on top of him. I didn't peg him to be a selfless man, so he would’ve most likely waited for the girls to please him—he would have gotten the first seat. His weight would push down the straw, which doesn't cushion well for love, and he would hit the floor and blade. So a blade must've been hidden after I left, or nothing was in the haystack at all. He could've been attacked while the girls were distracted, or they were paid to look away."
"A decent guess, and you do have first-hand knowledge. Then the question is, who and why?" Ashmere said.
"Varron would be my first guess," Lorin said flatly. "He would move up in power, and I know him to be underhanded enough to plot his father's murder. What does this matter anyway?" A little frustration bled into Lorin’s tone. "The Baron's dead, it doesn't change much for us."
"I want to see your reasoning at work," Ashmere said, returning to her mentoring tone.
"I don't see the value here, how does this help me fight Varron, or help others?"
"The same way deciding not to finish the job after hours of work doesn't help you deal with Varron."
Lorin's anger flared, but he breathed out slow and kept control of his emotions. "I at least tried to do something last night."
"Sounds about as fruitful as telling me your theory on a murder that happened right beside you. Varron lives. You had some decent opportunities from what I could see, so why does he live and his father does not?
"One of the girls I saw in the stable… she looked like my wife. She looked so much like Jessica." Lorin held Ashmere's eyes and tensed his fists. "When I saw her I remembered I am doing this for her and my children, not for my own personal need. Still, more than that, I need… I cannot let others be victims of Varron or others like him. The Baron… well, that I had nothing to do with.”
"Before you left you planned to die in the act."
"Yet you didn't stop me."
"Would you have stopped? You needed to push through, otherwise you wouldn't have grown. You are stubborn, but I wanted to see if it was to a fault."
"Another test," Lorin said, then nodded once. "You're a risky teacher."
They stood looking at each other for a while. She was beautiful—he saw her differently now—and her smooth skin over sharp features made her look sculpted to perfection. She was clean, a beacon in the grim cell. Otherworldly.
"What happens now?" Lorin asked, breaking the silence.
"That is up to you. I have much to teach, and you much to learn. Do you still have the conviction?" Ashmere asked as her smile returned.
Lorin used his cot to step up and grabbed on to the hook in the ceiling. He began his stretch and said, "You’re still my teacher and I want to learn, but what about Varron? A lot will change with him in power now."
"It won't be set for a while, and kingdoms are like old couples. Nothing happens overnight."
Lorin laughed. It felt strange and wonderful to have an honest laugh. He began his routine exercise and Ashmere stood watching him, her hands held down at her waist. When he was done, he looked at her and nodded his readiness. She opened her cell door while he opened his.
"I have nothing," Lorin said, standing outside the cell. Ashmere stopped mid-step. "I thought Varron was my only goal, but he isn't. I need to live, because I know Jessica would want me to. And now, I think I want to as well."
Ashmere nodded and Lorin joined in step behind her.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Creeping together on their way to train had never failed them. The shadows made more noise than they did, but training like they had was now impossible. With the death of the Baron, guards had been placed around the stable and courtyard area. The guards were vigilant and switched out three times an hour. Lorin and Ashmere could no longer pilfer from the armory as no less than four guards were posted there now. The sandpit was still empty, but a roaming patrol passed by at random times so the two couldn't practice hand-to-hand there without being seen or heard.
Ashmere wasn't happy. Her emotions were always within her control, but the wasted time from the added guards cracked through that control and she looked frustrated. They spent half that first night watching the patrols and marking out the guardsmen. Lorin had already started the process before she mentioned it and had the pattern down. The swaying, heavy-eyed watchmen didn't exactly try to stay hidden, and Lorin felt proud. He drew out the patrol routine in the sand and marked where the unmoving ones were stationed. He had done it so quickly with every head accounted for that he was impressed with himself.
"What about the four others?" Ashmere asked.
Lorin remained silent, his face reddening in the dark.
"Look, you missed the biggest one too," she said, backing herself against Lorin. Her head nestled into his shoulder and she lifted his arm pointing to the stable. The guards around the building were counted for, two in the front, two in the back, and one that patrolled around it. Lorin shrugged. Ashmere elbowed him and continued pointing. Her arm was directed at the stables, but higher than the guards—she was pointing at the silhouette of the stable's roof. Lorin couldn't see it. The roof was made from one large beam at the peak with tarred wood planks following the slope down. A hatch to reach the roof from i
nside the building and the heavy stone statue at the peak's edge were the only notable features. Lorin shrugged again. Ashmere spun around to face him, still pressed close, and stood a bit taller to whisper in his ear. “That statue wasn’t there yesterday.”
Lorin's eyes widened and disbelief splashed across his face. He couldn't quite make out any fine details, but the statue was of a beast. Tall as any human, thick as a hardened dwarf, and with a muzzle like a wolf. A pair of sculpted wings rested on its back, and two taloned feet anchored it to the beam. Its arms were folded over its chest, and looking at it now, Lorin could see the building sagged from its weight.
"You're sure that's not just a rock?"
"Doubt me?" Ashmere said. "What have I done to lose your trust?"
"Alright then, what do we do, my teacher?" Lorin said with a mock bow.
"The first lesson tonight—pick your battles," she said, pushing him back with a stiff elbow in the gut toward the door they had come from. "You learned that lesson a little at the feast, but that was against threats you could see and could handle."
"That statue is really that dangerous?” Lorin said, once they both got back inside the building. “To be fair, though, I don't think I could've handled all of the guards that night."
"I trust you could fight and win against the men and women guarding the courtyard tonight as well. Maybe not gracefully, or quietly, but you would survive."