Chapter Five

It was amusing really, to watch the boy and the guards strip down in the darkness of the night, rubbing squelchy mud onto their skin and to dress in the woolen rags of slaves picked from stragglers bound on the road. All in the middle of winter no less! Their skin must have been covered in bumps and prickles and their hair on end. Of course, he wasn't right out there in the yards to see it himself, rather he watched from a window up above. It had been two weeks since he was wounded, and unfortunately he was still bedridden, despite the little trips he's made here and there to relieve himself or to send for the Master Healer and wail like the injured Mad Man he was. Pity that he had no idea why though, that the guards and the Heir were acting as such, but it was clearly a well thought plan to hide the boy away since the attempt to slay him. It wouldn't surprise the Fool if the Queen had thought the plan herself, she was a wonderfully bright woman despite the seemingly savage lands she came from. She was certainly the smart one behind all of the "joint decisions" made by the Royal Pair. Gaites was courageous and a brilliant War Leader, but Aria was the delicate thinker no matter how valiant and vicious with a spear she was. He'd seen her fight one day himself, when teaching a young soldier how to use one when he was falling behind. Now that young soldier was a Devil, even named such. His armor red and the horns taken as his personal emblem, all in his house dedicated to the way of the spear and to the fiery redhead that was Aria, Woman of War. But nonetheless, Gaites was the one who riled the crowds and the one to take foes head on with his bold attitude and well thought strategy. His own emblem that of the ram, a stubborn creature, just as he and all his Blood ever were.

 

 

The Fool had an emblem himself, and a fierce one it was, but oh how long it's been since he'd seen it, his last sight of it was but two years ago, a passing squire in the castle to deliver a message to the King to sign alliance. With this thought, the Fool retreated from the window and to his bedding, wincing as he laid himself flat. The cursed wound was quite the annoyance. Having him to remove the black and white suit he wore and the cape as well. But not the mask nor the hat, thank the Gods the Master Healers heeded tradition and left the two be. Reaching over to the bedside table, he grabbed a flask of wine and slipped it under the mask, instantly downing the contents. How popular the drink was! Really, it reminded him of the boy again. Especially the night of the gathering, where he had worn purple silks. Carner was a smart boy, that he was. But he was selfish, arrogant. Too used to having people under him and serving him. The boy was always amused at his jests but in the end would drown him with what were supposedly "insults of a higher degree," whatever they may be. 'Twas a pity he did not know the lesson of humiliation. Though he suspected that perhaps that time would come soon enough. Just as every lesson in life did.

 

 

With a distant crack of a whip and rattling of shoddy carriage wheels, it was easy to hear that they had taken off to wherever it is that the boy would be taken. And surely there he would be safe. With that he sat in peace, the orange glow of the candle flames around him created a rather solemn place, but it was almost as if the lights were shining rays of hope that brightened the world of darkness. He often thought candles to be beautiful, for one reason or another, and their flames symbolic. Staring into the ceiling, he saw the cracks in the wood and traced patterns galore and faces sprung to life and creatures of the unimaginable roamed the boards. In such a daydreamer's fashion, he found himself soon lulled to sleep by the inner workings of his mind. For awhile, he had awaited a dream, but found himself in the peaceful black vision of slumber. But the Fool would soon realize, what an unnatural slumber it was. As the Master Healer had spiked the wine to cause him to have a drug induced coma. All with good intention of course, but he'd later find what a terrifying mistake he had made.

 

 

Elsewhere, Carner traveled in the night. Nothing but the heavy breathing of guards and the sound of the rattling carriage posing as a slave cart kept him company. Peering out one of the many holes that littered the sides of the transport, he watched as meadows and forests passed on by. All vegetation had lost their leafage, animals hid away whilst others roamed the lands such as the foxes and the wolves. He wondered if he'd ever see any, he only saw a wolf once. When young, his father had taken him hunting on a cold day, and there they saw the gray wolf. His father shot it dead naturally. It was on fortress grounds. Turning back into the darkness, he stared at the closest guard. A frightening lad of six feet and taller. He was thought to be dumb, but was only mute. He responded to orders well and was one of the most disciplined guards he had ever seen in his short span of life. Beneath the raggedy hood, he could peer into the stormy gray eyes that stared into nothingness. That is, until they turned to him. Instantly that made Carner turn away, his heart almost stopped in his chest. This whole ride made him nervous. The smearing of soil on his body made him feel wrong and as though he was committing some vile deed. Lionel was his destination he knew, for the Duke of Lionel and his Blood were of extreme faith for one reason or another. But even knowing this felt wrong. This trip would last for around another two weeks before they'd arrive to the manor, where he'd soon find a fainting Anna.

 

 

Hours had passed as he found himself troubled by his thoughts, startled often by every woodland creature that dare stirred the cold atmosphere. Especially when the night started to turn to day. The dawn was an eerie setting and the heavy breathing of the guards that didn't take first watch and slept, made him feel as though a compression was upon his being, squeezing the life out of him. It was then when he came to the realization that he was but a child. A scared, lonely naive child. Gods be good, how long has he been this way? So weak and unknowing to the danger of the outside world? It frightened him deeply, to finally have his eyes opened. So strange has time been lately, that this was nearly too much. Had he not the rational thinking to dismiss it, he would've thought he caught the Madness from the Fool at his time of being injured, wherein his blood had stained his fur wrap, so red, a vivid red, against the white of the fur that he had thrown it to the waste in hopes of never seeing it again. But there was no need now, it was burned into his eyes for whatever reason, just as the owl eyes of the mask had been.

 

 

It was at this point in time, a heavy hand came down upon his shoulder, breaking his collapsing train of thought as he was on the verge of breaking mentally and physically. It startled him so, to turn and stare back into that storm for a pair of eyes again. It was the least of all things he'd expected to be put in a trance by. The mute lad had been the one to stop his maddening sense of terror, a firm grip to his shoulder. They had stayed this way for awhile, before the lad raised a finger to his lips. He made a soft hushing sound, barely audible. It was at this sound, he felt his muscles freeing themselves of their tension and his mind halting to clear as a sunny day would. The only thing he could do anymore, was stare into those eyes. Never mind the pack of wolves running by their side, and the murmur of the guards as they pulled up into action, it was those eyes. Nothing but two swirling, raging storms, where lightning pierced the skies.

 

 

And yet truly, in a way, it was a calm before the storm, the calm before the chaos.