Chương 384: 10.4

Jewel yearned for the relief of swimming in the rivers of Magarska, for the moments of freedom, of simple undiluted wholeness with the world and its rushing ephemeral youth and indomitable age, for the peace its waters could bring her. But she could ill afford to leave her encampment or entourage unguarded, nor could she risk even the slightest provocation while behind the lines of Magarska. Not without ruining all honor and noble esteem she had. Even as the cities began to close their gates to her party.

Nobles refused to accept her as a guest and even villages began to turn inward in fear, She needed to persevere. The word from the capital was spreading, the vassals and subjects hearing the word of the imminent war.

Beyond the twin vault pillars called the Iron gate Jewel's party could no longer secure supplies themselves in any settlement, having to pay for provisions on the road from the passing merchants and so suffer rapidly rising prices (all assuredly from the demands of the villages and cities themselves begged the peddlers). It was a stark contrast to the near feast they had enjoyed coming south. All that had been the case until Orad.

Lord General Móric of Vladimirescu had not forgotten them, and neither had the inhabitants of the city about her defense of them against the vampires. The mood of the city was a tense joyous affair, an echo of their past celebrations of her and their victory in defense against what had once seemed the monsters of Wallachia. The General stood and offered her a hand, held up and out, and who was Jewel to deny the greeting of kin in arms and war welcoming each other?

In spite of the awkwardness of her size or anatomy she clasped his own hand in hers and then with a heaving of wyrmflame into her chest, she pulled the man into a firm but gentle embrace with each of their hands across their backs. His armor just barely strained by her grip and her scales almost soft pressed against his face in her throat. His own firm squeeze at her palm now squeezed between them and the slap at her back barely a leaf's brush to her, hopefully he didn't bruise himself on her scales.

As they parted there was a whisper and delighted cheer of spectators on the walls. Only then the General finally spoke.

"Shining Countess of Viznove, A very curious thing has happened, it would seem that all of the usual messenger Gryffs from the capital have fallen ill in transit, cutting us off from any orders there might be for Orad. Tell me what brings you back to us so soon and in a poor season for travel?" Jewel considered the one she had embraced as a brother in war, then dipped her head to acknowledge the general's deception. For the Letter of courtly manners it was a betrayal of the covenant to his liege and theirs.

But she could not fault him any dishonor for it. He'd been a good man defending his people and she could not see any reason to break the ruse. It was his way of standing firm against the horrors Murad had unleashed upon them.

"My dealings in the capital turned... sour and Viznove and I are no longer welcome to remain any longer than absolutely necessary in Magarska. Still it would be most welcome to have lodging in your keep for the night and to speak more privately on the matter. The road north has been less kind than the way south was." General Móric nodded gravely.

"The hospitality of Orad is open to you for this night. And my table welcomes the Countess of Viznove, humble as it may be." And then for just a short hour it was like the terrible events of the capital were forgotten. Orad still cheered her as a welcomed presence. Its people a mix of new faces and old. The joyous festive air brought a raised stature to her footmen, even Erhard's men walked straighter backed under adulations.

The only one who was mostly unmoved by the cheer was the eerily graceful stride of the man who now walked just behind Jewel's left side. Her own colors replacing the armor he had worn before for now. But the reprieve was over too soon, and when they were sealed off from the crowds and then the guards, only Jewel and the Wallachian Vampyre remained with Móric. It was not strictly proper, but there would hardly be a full feast.

Before the general could speak Jewel broke with further traditions of politeness to interrupt. This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

"I know, General, there was no sickness among the Gryffs, But I will hold up the ruse for this night and with any luck I hope the stars are with you, for having seen the fury of your High King, his wrath knows no border of honor, decency or blood." Móric's confidence fled his face and posture slowly. More oozing off by parts than falling away. At last he spoke, voice exhausted.

"There have been rumors and letters sent of what transpired, beyond the direct command to deny you shelter within our walls— but if I were to obey them, the city would be in revolt! No matter what happened in Terminapolis, you are a hero of Orad. Your acts against the Wallachian monsters-""They were not wallachian." The words were soft, quiet, she whispered them as gently as she could. Móric looked confused.

"Not Wallachian? But they were the Patricide's monsters, Your own Djinn confirmed and assured us!" Jewel took a heavy breath then spoke as softly as she could.

"I do not know if your orders informed you, General, but you are a good man, and those you protect suffered worse than nearly any other in this betrayal." He gaped, he stared at her, he prepared the denial Jewel had seen in so many ways play across men's faces when confronted with what they did not want to believe. When they grappled with the truth of herself rather than the stories they had accepted.

"Betrayal? What betrayal?" Jewel fixed his gaze with her own.

"A betrayal that I gave every opportunity to your High King to address. That was so horrific it demanded he abdicate his throne. And when he was asked by his eldest son to do just that, it drove him to the murder of his own blood rather than give recompense to me and Viznove." The general's face paled, yet a firmness took hold under his skin, his expression stony.

"So a second son tried to usurp the throne?" Jewel did not snarl or hiss, she kept her voice even, soft, a whisper, to try and be as kind as she could.

"For the good of Magarska, for justice to the people of Orad, for vengeance owed to all the farms and villages that could not make it to safety behind your walls. For betrayal of his hospitality to me." The paleness began to shift, the sun kissed olive skin of the General going pink, a tremble in his voice.

"W-what was the betrayal? What did the King do?!" Jewel lowered her gaze and spoke into the near absolute silence that had descended. Voice ringing in the world with truth. Not a working, but an echoing acknowledgement of what was. Undeniable, absolute, certain." Murad the First of his name, High King of Magarska, from his own lips and tongue admitted to sending the Vampyre attack upon his own people and me." The man stared at her, gaze wide, shock slowly pulling into slack at his jaw.

But there was soon fury rising in his eyes.

"In spite of his son's bravery and then murder, despite the absolute dishonor of this injustice, He declared war upon Viznove, I and the Realm of Cantor Reborn, instead of relinquishing the throne as recompense for his crime. I warn you now because you are a good man, General." Jewel offered a weak smile and a nod towards the pain and betrayal he must be feeling.

"Magarska and I will be at War come the summer of next year, General Móric. This is why you received the orders you have." Jewel could feel the shift in the atmosphere. Before the man collapsed to his knees upon a cushion of the chamber that would soon be prepared for their evening meal. His gaze intense, as if searching the simple woven carpet afforded his keep for an answer to the tangled knot of loyalty and fealty Jewel had dropped before him.

She could see the faint cutting touches of the heavens' presence on him. Finally he spoke, carefully, as if his tongue and teeth were slipping past thorns and blades. As if any word he spoke might cut him. The way the Heaven's touch on him writhed, it very well might have." I will do my duty, honorably, for the safety of my charges. Thank you Countess, I cannot allow you to stay longer than tonight."

By the end his face was solid again, his lips thinly pressed together, his eyes piercing and his skin now rising from pink to red, furious blood coursing beneath. Jewel nodded. It was more than she could have hoped for, poor Móric was a good man.