laneys.info Beware of Yankees, drunks, and loose women.

Placing her pack on the soft, four post bed Kailee turned as the innkeeper's wife handed her a key. "Hope you enjoy your stay, ma'am. Don't get many visitors from Zariva these days."

"I've heard a lot about this town and wanted to explore a bit. These mountains have quite a history."

Hands clasped before her plump belly, the older woman smiled. "That they do. Well," she motioned to the room, "Get some rest and we'll see you in the morning."

"Thank you, good night."

"Night," Clarice closed the door and her footsteps soon quietened as she headed downstairs. She needed to find out what was going on here before she could get any rest and turned, pondering how to get into the castle. The original walls were warded against magic by Selyria, but those marks may have been long etched out by these superstitious people, or the walls long torn down and replaced during any fighting since. Four hundred and seventy years was a long time, she mused as slender fingers pulled back the thin curtain and she gazed across the adjacent rooves to the castle's well lit towers and main keep. Only one way to find out, she realized and concentrated on the tallest point in the castle proper. Her body again becoming invisible, she teleported to the appointed spot and opened her eyes to see the four guards on duty, three of them sleeping against the far wall. Wind tussled at her hair and clothing as she drifted down passed the lone sentry and through the crack at the roof entrance.

Down the long flight of stairs, she soon found the bedroom of the count, now being occupied by this paladin. Under the door her wispy form drifted and she approached the side of the large bed. Ornate fittings on the four, thickly carved posts as well as above the small table beside it. Brass fittings and candle holders shone in the moonlight from the large window behind her. Carpets adorned the stone floor and paintings on the whitewashed walls. Certainly cleaner looking than what she recalled about the old master bedroom.

Her nose caught something on the tabard hanging listlessly over the back of the chair to her right and as she turned, the scent was unmistakable. Blood. And not his.

Fiery orbs returned to the supposed paladin and she grinned to herself.

* * *

As the sun rose in the east, over the snowcapped mountains, Lyle pushed himself up into a sitting position, a wide yawn escaping his bearded lips. Another day in this place, he grinned to himself. Shoving the blankets aside, a rough hand rubbed his chest as he moved to the clothes and gear which he began putting on. The count would answer for his crimes today and the Church of Arhus would be vindicated finally.

"Boy," he yelled as the paladin finished strapping on his weapon's belt.

"Sir," the younger page opened the door, his disheveled hair nearly a match for his master.

"Water," he motioned to the empty bowl on the table to his left. "Can't wash with air, now can I?"

Hurriedly, the brown haired local took off like a jack rabbit, running downstairs and disappearing. Lyle had finished and waited for a few more minutes, then impatiently walked out into the long, crossing hallway that joined the other suites on this floor. Some of them still occupied by the count's family, for today at least. Where was that boy?

He continued across the long, plush carpet that separated the master bedroom from the rail that joined two sweeping staircases to either side of the large foyer below. Descending the stair, he suddenly became nervous at how quiet the castle was though he did smell scents of bread and bacon from the kitchens which made his mouth water. At least someone was performing their duties this morning.

Reaching the bottom, he continued through the foyer and underneath the upper floor as he continued into the large ballroom beyond, then right and across marble floors to the Great Hall. Opening the door, he noticed the count's family and many of the nobles that lived in Warwick seated and all turn to him. Accusing glares met him and he straightened and turned to walk to his appointed seat as the self appointed seneschal only to notice his chair taken by some redheaded beauty that he had never seen before.

"Here, what's this," he called out and continued to the raised platform that lorded over the audience. "That's my chair, woman."

"Not any longer, murderer."

Brow furrowed, "How dare you, I should have you flogged from this place. Now up and out of my seat."

"This seat belongs to Sir William Grant the Twelfth, Count of Warwick. He's being released as we speak, in fact."

His hand on his weapon, he was shocked at her speed as she jumped up and moved to within a foot of him, hand on his. "I wouldn't do that if I were you," her breath hot on his cheek. Unnaturally so, he had to admit and noticed as her emerald green eyes gained an orange glow within. A sight that suddenly made his body freeze in fear.

"What are you," he whispered.

"First, I want you to tell them what you've done," she motioned to the townsfolk and nobility gathered there.

Lyle then turned to gaze at the sea of eyes now on him. Compelled, he couldn't stop himself and felt as if he had to get this off his chest finally. "I killed the paladin that was on his way here, taking his place in the hopes of stealing all I could for myself. I even had my eyes on a few of your daughters before I left town, planning on taking one of Mister Ascarius' horses as I headed south." Sorrow began to fill his heart and the weight became overwhelming as he dropped to his knees. "Please, forgive me," preceded a well of tears that streamed down his ruddy cheeks.

After long moments sobbing, a hand set on his shoulder and prompted him to look up into the eyes of the count. "Return all that you've taken and make it up by working in one of the shops here. Then, I'll forgive you."

Lyle nodded and sighed. "I will. Thank you."