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Flight of the Grand Duchess [Dean]

Started by Ivory, November 27, 2013, 05:42:50 PM

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Ivory

[OOC: Not an open thread.  If interested, PM either Dean or Ivory.  Thanks!]

Whether it was the jolt or the creak the carriage made as it rolled over a pothole, it awoke Kathryn with a bit of a start.  For a moment, she peered around herself, surprised to find she was not in bed.  The chill of winter made her shiver, then, and she pulled the furs that had slipped back around her slim frame.  Across from her, her maid gave her a slightly disapproving look and leaned forward to tuck the furs in a little better.

"You shouldn't be travelling in this cold in your condition, Your Grace."  Molly scooped up her knitting needles, and, once again, the steady clack-clack-clack filled the small carriage.

Molly had been Kathryn's maid and confidant since the girl was a teenager, which had granted her the privilege of being one of the few people allowed to scold the Grand Duchess.  "I know," Kathryn allowed with a roll of her eyes, grateful for the help with the heavy blankets.  "Would you rather have me wait until the spring pilgrimage, when I am so big around I can't even stand on my own?"

The maid sighed in good-natured exasperation.  "Hardly.  I'm certain the Church would understand one missed pilgrimage, given the circumstances."  Her eyes flickered to the shapes moving by the window.  "Well, we seem to have arrived, anyway, and no worse for the trip."

The Grand Duchess of Connlaoth brushed back a curtain to study the familiar building in the distance.  The Cathedral easily dwarfed the buildings around it and even the city wall seemed almost toy-like beside its ornate towers.  A few snowflakes swirled around it and were crushed against its massive stone walls by the winds.  Set against the gray sky, it looked somehow foreboding and watchful, as though Angsar Himself were watching the approach of the pilgrims from one of the Cathedral's many windows.

The thought made her shiver again and snuggle back into the warmth of her blankets.

Kathryn had been making these trips to Saint Solee's Cathedral of Oak Bluff for years now.  Each spring, the site drew a hundred or more pilgrims to its sacred well to celebrate Angsar's triumph in the name of its patron saint, Solee, a warrior-king who had driven magic out of Connlaoth from both the battlefield and the throne.  Kathryn attended each year as a gesture of good will and to add her royal presence (and a donation) to the proceedings in the place of her husband.

By spring, however, she would be six months into her pregnancy...  Paying her annual visit now, before she began to show, was a much wiser choice in spite of the cold.

The first indication that something was amiss came as a dull thud against the side of the carriage.  Kathryn heard an angered shout, and then there was another thud against, this time, the window.  The colored glass shuddered in its frame, then burst with a chime of falling pieces.  Kathryn inhaled sharply, then brushed aside the furs to push open the carriage door.

"Your Grace!  Sit down!"

Kathryn ignored Molly's protests, instead calling to the man who was put in charge of this expedition.  "Zerval?  What was that?"

She realized, almost as soon as the question had left her lips, exactly what it was: it was a riot, undoubtedly sparked by the news of the Grand Duchess's early visit to the Cathedral.  There were more and more of them, or so the reports said – but if Calent had believed Oak Bluff wasn't safe, he never would have allowed her to visit, even with the famed Grand Master.

Deanthelis

Zerval sat straight in the saddle of his nigh-comically over-sized horse as he, Her Excellency's carriage and the small company of his fellow Mordecai rode into Matron's Hallow, watching the growing crowd through the visor of his helmet.

"Ansgar be praised for the lack of trouble so far, " he thought. "Direct order from the Grand Duke... If all goes as planned, I shall stay in his good gra-"

Dogryn's train of thought came to an abrupt halt as the peasant's shoe thumped against the carriage. He turned in place just as the second footwear-missile shattered the carriage window.

"Of course. No task worth doing is without challenge."

"Calvin! Marylyn! Right flank! Zac! Clarissa! Left flank!" Zerval barked to his subordinates, who rushed to shield the carriage's sides.

He turned to answer the Duchess' question when a greenish glint caught his eye. In one motion, he drew, aimed, and fired a pistol from his baldric, shattering the glass bottle in a sandy-haired youth's hand who stood on the second-floor balcony overlooking the street. The boy paled, shook, and fell backwards - unharmed, but clearly terrified.

The noise of the bustling city street quieted as the sudden shot echoed throughout it. Zerval waited until he was sure all eyes were on him before he shouted mightily.

"That will be enough of that out of you all. Am I bloody well understood!?" he bellowed to the common-folk gathering about, glaring at them one by one from behind his grim-faced visor. They slowly returned to their business, keeping their heads and voices low, avoiding the gaze of the white-eyed Mordecai that watched them.

Zerval motioned to Clarissa, a stout platinum-haired warrior-woman with a long scar down the side of her neck. The two switched places, allowing Zerval to speak to the Duchess without shouting.

Dogryn lifted his grim mask and addressed the original question. "My apologies, Your Excellency. It would appear the rumors of riots in the Hallow were true. Pitiful fools. Who are they to deface your property with their filthy garments, why I ought to-"

Zerval stops himself short and lowers his mask again. "I should have been paying more attention. I shall pay for the damages personally, Grand Duchess. We shall take a different carriage when we leave the chapel as well. I apologize for my ignorance, Milady." He takes the wooden shield from his back, emblazoned with the holy symbol of Ansgar, and straps it to his left arm, blocking entirely the view of the left side of the carriage from the street. The mountain of a man on his mountain of a steed looked straight ahead, cursing himself under his breath for allowing such violence toward his charge on his watch.

Ivory

As stupid as it had been to poke her head out the first time, she wasn't stupid enough to remain there with her head an easy target.  She had retreated back into the safety of her carriage to let the guards do their job.

The gunshot made her and Molly alike wince, but when no more projectiles were flung at the carriage, Kathryn allowed herself to breathe a sigh of relief.  Delicately, she returned to the window with a gracious smile.

"You've done your job.  Better the carriage than my person."

She made herself comfortable once more, although, now, considerably less relaxed.  Although she took the time to fold the blankets back over her, she sat upright and poised, looking more like she was at Court than in her private carriage.

Silence, now, seemed to follow them into the Church Courtyard.  She waited patiently for the door to open, signalling it was safe for her to descend.

The hood of her cloak, in the royal colors of her husband, was pulled neatly over her head, and she followed in the wake of her guards into the Cathedral.  Once inside, she allowed herself a moment to relax; it was all familiar to her.  Sunlight, though dim, lit the stained glass window, and, as usual, there was a small line of clergy and monks awaiting her arrival.

Her smile faded slightly, however, realizing that she knew none of the men gathered before her.  It wasn't unusual for her not to know most of them, but there was always at least one familiar face...

"Where's Bishop Beadle?"

"Ill," one of the priests answered smoothly as he stepped forward with a deep, almost scraping bow.  "He sends his regrets, Your Grace.  He has instructed us how to proceed in his absence.  Would you like to begin with your usual prayers?  We have hot tea waiting for you in the private chapel."

The excuse and return to her usual routine eased her nerves, which were, she thought, obviously still rattled from the little misadventure outside the city walls.

"Thank you."  She shrugged off her cloak and left it with her maid, then made her way inside the small room to begin her prayers.

After some tea...

Helping herself to a cup, she took a small, testing sip and immediately made a face at the overly bitter taste of it.  It was bitter, but, underneath, there was something else, too, something she couldn't quite identify...

Deanthelis

When they arrived, Zerval gave one of the children at the Church a silver penny to deliver a message to a nearby glassblower and carpenter to make the repairs to the carriage as soon as possible, careful to leave out the fact that it was Kathryn's - he said it was a local noble's instead, which was technically true, as it had originally been a gift from him - in case the craftsmen were among the potential rioters.

He stood beside the Grand Duchess the entire time, eying the clergymen with mild suspicion. While he felt safe in a house of Ansgar, something about these men unnerved him, but he couldn't identify what, so he decided it must've been something he ate.

Dogryn stationed Marylyn and Clarissa outside the door to the small room, and sent Zac to check on Bishop Beadle. While the clergymen did not have the same discipline as a soldier, he thought it strange that they did not send word beforehand that the Bishop of the church was ill. Calvin was tasked with finding the church's deacon; he wanted to ask him about the riots going on, and to say a few prayers as well. Ansgar knew he didn't have time for a confession.

Zerval removed his helmet and held it under his left arm, letting out a long sigh. It had been too long, he though, since he'd worn his royal armor, and in truth, he hated missions away from the royal couple, especially with the child on the way. They were necessary, however. He was the best at what he did, so it was his responsibility to do it, after all.

He was about to place his helm back on when he noticed the Duchess grimace.
"Er... Your Excellency, is something wrong with the tea?"
Zerval examined the cup with his accursed white eye, but it was too hot - for his heat-seeing power, the tea appeared to be only a bright, white blotch.

Ivory

Kathryn glanced at her guard with good-natured embarassment.  "Not at all.  It's just a bit more bitter than I expected."

Sadly, there was no honey on the table to take away that bitterness, or she might have indulged herself a little more.

"Nevermind," she added, half-afraid he'd try to play tea-maid next.  "That's not why we're here."

With a graceful fanning of her heavy skirts, Kathryn settled down upon the cushion that had been thoughtfully provided before the alter.  She pressed her hands together beneath her chin and bowed her head, looking like the very model of piety and purity as her lips began to move in prayer.

It was an old prayer and the one used by most to, as it was said, gain Angsar's attention so subsequent prayers would not go unheard.

"Mighty Angsar, I ask for your blessing.  I ask for wisdom to recognize your guidance.  I ask for patience to understand your lessons.  I ask for temperance to honor your legacy and the strength to continue it.  I ask that you provide to those in need and punish those who have turned away from you.  I pledge my heart and my hands to your will."  She finished the prayer with a deep bow and made the holy sign with her hands.  "Amen."

The words left her lips with the thoguhtlessness of a prayer said a thousand times.  As she bowed her head, however, the room seemed to tilt.  She only just managed to catch herself with her hands before she fell over completely.

Supporting herself with one hand on the cool floor, she pressed her hand over her eyes with a small sound of discontent.  "I'm just a little dizzy all of a sudden..."  She glanced up at Zerval, relieved indeed to see that he was anchored in the place he should be and that the room wasn't shifting around him.

Before she could make a proper excuse to him, a feminine scream cut through the still, otherwise silent Cathedral, echoing with haunting clarity with the acoustics of the place.

"That's Molly!" she gasped and instantly began to rise, only to have the room lurch again with the sudden motion.

Deanthelis

"Bitter...?" Zerval thought. "It's tea, isn't it supposed to be..."

He silently admired the Duchess in prayer until she strangely fell.

"Dizzy? It couldn't have be-" Zerval's train of thought shifted tracks suddenly as the maid's scream rang out through the cathedral. "The tea!" Dogryn quickly removed his left gauntlet and plunged his fingers into the tea, grasping for anything at the bottom of the cup. He pulled out the tiniest fleck of a stem and inspected it closely. After a moment, his eyes went wide.

"Treacherous priests." Dogryn knelt in front of the Duchess. "Milady, I need you to remain calm. Your tea was poisoned, likely by a priest here that opposes Calent's rule. I know where we can procure the antidote, we will need to ride quickly to a village near here. There is an old sage there that owes me a favor; he is the only person I know capable of absolving Nightshade poisoning without the aid of magic. I thank God you took only a sip."

Zerval bowed his head toward the altar. "Ansgar, I beg your forgiveness for the indecency I am about to commit. Your Excellency, I beg of yours as well."

The grizzled Mordecai wrapped an arm around Kathryn's waist and heaved her upon his left shoulder, stood, and burst through the door to the tiny room, giving the two warrior-women on guard a short series of guttural sounds. Clarissa sprinted to the cathedral's front door and flung it open, disappearing down its front stairs to procure their horses, while Marylyn rushed off to find Zac and Calvin.

Zerval took the cathedral's stairs two at a time, pistol drawn and his head on a swivel. He'd forgotten his gauntlet and helm in the room and cursed himself under his breath for it, but there was no time - if they didn't reach that village by the end of the week, he would fail his mission.

Ivory

Poisoned?  She inhaled sharply at the discovery.  Even without realizing it, the young woman had already pressed the flat of her palm against her mid-section.  Although her conscious mind her yet to grasp the threat even a drop of poison was to the unborn child in her womb, her instincts were already fearing for the child's safety. 

"But the Bishop..."  The words died in her throat.  The Bishop was, after all, noticably absent this afternoon...

Before her thoughts could take her much further, she found herself lifted up onto her guard's shoulder.  Her face turned red -- it was, as he said, rather indecent -- but likely necessary...

"Molly..."  She had heard not a peep more from her maid past the initial scream.  It was a feeble attempt to remind the guard of her wayward woman.  If it had been anyone but her...  "What about Molly?"

All of this made no sense to her.  Why would the Church -- the very Church whose goals her husband served -- try to kill her?

Because, she realized with mounting horror, these were obviously not your average priests...

"Zerval!  Behind us!" she cried out as a pair of the aforementioned priests appeared at the top of the stairs.  One already had his bow drawn and an arrow nocked; the other was pulled a sword from a scabbard.

The least she could be, she thought, was the eyes in the back of his head.

(OOC: I don't really care what happens to Molly or if she's ever mentioned again. Dramatic suspense!!)

Deanthelis

Zerval spun on his heel, drawing and aiming a dragon's-head-barreled pistol from his baldric at the 'priest' with the bow.

"Excellency, cover your ears!"

"Know your place, you living filth!" He growled at the so-called holy men and pulled the trigger. The bullet flew halfway up the stairs and exploded in a cloud of acrid black smoke. The faux-priests hacked and coughed at the nauseating filth. Their eyes began to bleed, and they tore at their exposed skin with their fingers as it began to boil and blister. They tried to scream, but with their lungs filled with the noxious gas, they only managed a weak whimper.

Zerval walked quickly down the street. "A small mercy she can't see them. Wyvern poison is no sight for a lady," he thought to himself.

Clarissa came to a rapid halt on her horse, leading Zerval's behind her own. Dogryn put one foot in the stirrup and slung himself into the saddle, then sat Kathryn in front of him. He held her in place with one arm and the two Mordecai sped their horses to a gallop out of the city gate.

Once they were a fair distance away from the city, Zerval and Clarissa slowed their horses to a brisk trot to let them rest and relaxed his grip on his charge, letting her lean against him.

"Your Excellency. It will take at least five days to reach the healer. He will be able to at least postpone the effects of the poison until we get to Reajh. However, the trip there will take at minimum three weeks. We will need to procure some... less overt garments for you on the way. I am afraid Clarissa and I only carry one extra set of clothing besides our armor."

Zerval set his jaw.

"My condolences with regards to your maid, Excellency. Marylyn, Zac, and Calvin did not catch up to us. The four of them are most likely dead. Let us take solace in that their sacrifice was not in vain, and that they are under Ansgar's care now."

A single tear rolled down Dogryn's cheek from his 'normal' eye.

After a half-hour of riding, Clarissa spoke up with a shaky voice.
"Commander, I... I..."

"Keep your courage, Clarissa. I know."

"Y-You do? But how, we were always careful to-"

"I know everything about my brothers and sisters, Clarissa. If you want to avenge your lover, then do so. Later. Now is not the time. When this is over, I swear to you, we will avenge all three of them. Together. But the safety of the Grand Duchess comes first. Marylyn would not have it any other way."

Clarissa nodded and wiped her eyes with her fist.

Ivory

Kathryn settled down against his larger frame, risking a peek around for a moment.  It seemed they were out of danger -- for now, anyway, although she wasn't sure how much longer the temporary peace would last.

News of Molly's probable death brought a color to her cheeks, and her eyes sharpened in anger at the thought.  Dear, sweet Molly, who had borne the worst of Kathryn's secrets with patience and in silence.  She had been a constant companion and a source of some comfort when Kathryn had no one else.

She said nothing in response, although there was anger in her expression and in the way she held herself.  It was a cold anger, darkening her gaze and flashing in her eyes like a storm building on the horizon.  Someone was going to pay for this.

Some time later, the conversation of the Mordecai roused the Grand Duchess from the half-awake, half-drowsing state she had fallen into.  She blinked a few times, then sat up a little straighter to pull her arms around herself with a visible shiver.

"The sun will be going down soon," she observed to no one in particular.  That, likely, accounted for the chill in the air.

Before either could make a response, there was a loud crack that seemed to echo for miles in every direction.  A heavy crash followed, coming from the bend in the road ahead.

A tree had fallen ahead...  She had nearly been crushed by one once, and, if the experience had taught her anything, it was the sound it had made as the wind brought it down.

Shaking off the chill, she looked up questioningly into her guard's face.  "Ambush?"

Deanthelis

Zerval looked down at his charge, raising an eyebrow. "It sounded like a tree fell. I doubt an ambush - nobody rode past us from the city, so unless all of our ambushers are incredibly powerful transport mages that have the one-in-ten-thousand ability to ignore our nullification and are also seasoned combat veterans capable of taking down two Mordecai officers, we should be fine."

Dogryn itched his chin.

"What I am worried about, Kathryn, is the night chill. It's too dangerous to start a fire, even a small one. Clarissa and I are used to the... informalities associated with long missions. I'll explain once we set up camp for the night."

The three rode around the bend in the road and found the fallen log. It was old and quite rotten at the base. A strong gust of wind had finally brought down the ancient standing-dead oak. The tall, powerful horses were able to easily climb over the thick trunk, and soon the trio found a small clearing.

Zerval helped Kathryn down from the horse after dismounting. Clarissa set up a small stitched-hide tent on the edge of the clearing, and Zerval tied the horses to some nearby trees.

"Come, then. Eat with us. We'll sleep after that. Ansgar knows we need it."

Zerval bent and entered the relatively small tent and produced some simple trail rations and clean water in a canteen.

"Not exactly Palace-quality, but it's better than nothing." He extended a dry biscuit to Clarissa, who sat in his lap and chewed on it, staring into the side of the tent with a somber expression. Zerval handed another biscuit to the Duchess.

Ivory

Kathryn watched Clarissa mutely, surprised and impressed both with the speed with which the tent took shape.  One moment it was just a lump of cloth; the next moment, it was a tent!  When they both disappeared inside, she tentatively stepped forward to peer into the opening.

Inside, it was dim, and it appeared to be even less roomy than she had initially suspected.  The expression on her face was one of comical disbelief, accompanied by a scarlet blush, as Clarissa settled onto Zerval's lap with as much regard for him as though he were a bench.  Kathryn hardly considered herself to be the shrinking violet that most women born into nobility were, but there were certain ideas that her mind could not wrap around.

"We have to sit on each other?" the Grand Duchess asked tentatively.  There was a timid note of hope in her tone, as though she were hoping they might admit to a joke.  It crossed so many boundaries of etiquette!  "Surely not..."

And if there was not enough room to sit, how then would they sleep?  The blush only deepened at the thought.

The young woman did not want to be difficult.  She knew her guards knew what they were doing, and she knew it was imperative she listen to them if she was going to survive this little incident...but there were some requests that were easier said than done.  As a gesture of peace, she accepted the biscuit without a fuss.  She didn't feel very hungry, miraculously, much less hungry for such a thing as a dry biscuit, but she was eating for two.

Slowly, with an air of reluctant courtesy, she began to eat the biscuit by breaking off small pieces at a time.

Deanthelis

Zerval looked down at Clarissa and realized how they must look, and shrugged. "It's for warmth. Nothing more, nothing less. Do you have to? Only if you want to keep from getting yourself - and your child - sick." He took a bite out of the biscuit in hand and chewed it, thinking. "Of course, if you fall ill with that poison in you, it'd probably take your life before we reached the village." He chuckled for a moment. "Despite the danger, this whole situation is outlandish, eh?" Zerval sighed. "There's certain sacrifices we Mordecai make regularly. One of them is our dignity, at least to each other. Our charges dying because we were too embarrassed to sit together leaves us on the end of a rope. When I was new, especially when I went on missions with some of the women, I'd go red as a tomato every time the sun set." He laughed a bit to himself, recalling his awkward coming-of-age phase. He took Kathryn's hand in his. "I'm not going to ask you to sit in my lap, for Ansgar's sake. If you want to, I have no objection, but at least lean against us. I can fight mages. I can fight vampires. I can fight liches, dragons, gryphons, mummies, and werewolves. I can't fight the common cold." Zerval patted the ground to his right, indicating for her to sit there. "Come, then. Sit. You're probably tired from all that happened today, anyhow."

Ivory

His words were reassuring, and Kathryn found herself smiling at his claims.  Yes, she supposed, such things would take some getting used to for anyone...

Nevertheless, quite deliberately, she had to push aside the inhibitions that had been drilled into her at a young age and had been reinforced through the years.  A proper lady should never consider such informalities...but, then, these were difficult times, far from the usual.

And he was right; her child's life was already at risk.  Could she really kill her unborn child simply because something was not considered proper?

With her mind made up, and wearing a rather resigned look, she accepted his invitation.  She was surprised to find that the tiny tent was already warmer than the bitter cold outside.  Perhaps it was merely that the tent kept the wind at bay...

"What is your plan for tomorrow?" she asked, having finally settled down onto the ground.  It was uncomfortable -- amazing how acclimated to luxury she had become over the years!

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