Avarice Blacksteel

Fugitives

Jhary Brannon and Aurianne sat quietly by the vestiges of the smoldering fire. The fleeing duo had been very hesitant to kindle the warmth of flame, but they had at last decided to give in to some small form of comfort. Departing so hastily from the slavers compound there were no rations, water, or even saddles for the horses to be had.

Aurianne's heavy set chestnut mare Isabou grazed hungrily on the sparse cropping of sharply spined grasses, just beyond the ring of light emanated by the blaze. The other bay horse mimicking her almost exactly in the quest for nourishment.

Aurianne smiled as she turned to gaze at her equine friend, who was in fine shape after spending some weeks doing nothing but eating copious amounts of hay during her captivity. At least Isabou had profited from what appeared Aurianne's misfortune.

“Well?” Jhary sighed, patting his battered guitar case. “What to do now? Two horses, a guitar, and wonderful company. But seriously what do we do?” He had been echoing Aurianne's very thoughts on the matter. That was when she was not dwelling on what had exactly happened today in the pit before her.

“Well...” She said softly. “All my people are dead. Though I do have a matter I need to put to rest, a clans man I need to either rescue or satisfy he is beyond my help.”

“Oh.” Added Jhary, hardly keeping the disappointment from his tone, not really wanting to think about engaging in any kind of risk so soon.

So he decided he would see if he could change the tangent of the immediate urgency of his companion.

“I think first Milady we should attempt to get some supplies, and honestly I am really in difficulty without a saddle.”

Aurianne laughed musically at this admission. Indeed her companion was a terrible rider, and she had wondered how long he was going to suffer clinging to a horse he seemed to have no sense of balance on. How he made the initial gallop away from the slavers compound she did not know. The young woman had guessed fear had held the poor man in his seat? Or perhaps no more then his determined white knuckled grip on the mares mane.

“There are many friendly settlements here. I am familiar with the south. I know people and I could ply my trade so we could better equip.”

“Yes, it would be a good idea.” Aurianne acknowledged. “I need time to craft a new bow and shafts. We at the very least need water and food, and you are right a saddle.” She again laughed, and Jhary smiled. Real laughter to him was more valuable than gold.

“Well tomorrow then we will begin to see what we can do. Sadly tonight will not be the most comfortable, but at least we are free.” The bard lay back on the sand and closed his eyes. Though he sensed sleep this night would be very sparse. “Do you think they will search for us?’ He questioned.

Aurianne's reply was long in coming. Jhary had almost thought she had not heard. “After today I am not really sure.” She said poking at the dying embers with a stick. “They may search for us, but I think potentially they may have other troubles on their minds. I feel there may be infighting over what happened today, and that old slaver might be doing all he can to save his own hide presently.”

“Yes, you are possibly right. His guest was certainly not amused.”

There was silence then for a time. Each wrapped in their own thoughts to the background noises of clinking bridles and horses chewing tough grasses. However the ever talkative Jhary was not silent for long.

“I have seen some great illusionists in my time. But nothing like I witnessed today? How do you suppose he did that?”

Aurianne merely shrugged, pushing a dying coal about in the sand which was nibbling the dead grass nearby. “You're the showman, you tell me?” Followed by more laughter. Jhary just smiled and again closed his eyes. As his red headed companion also made to sleep.


Evening at the slavers compound was a tense affair. The inhabitants were frightened and jumpy after the day's events. Even more so after it was discovered a further two valuable captives had also absconded along with Victor’s prize experiment.

Jacques was both fearful and angered, and Victor withdrew his own forces to the quarters he had been allotted and stood his men on high alert. He would depart at first light, but nevertheless he was ready for trouble.

Though Victor appeared angered at his host’s lack of respect, he had indeed at last solved his terrible dilemma. The woman was gone and not by his own hand. His Lord could not accuse him of incompetency, he had all his soldiers for witnesses to what had transpired.

Yes, he had lost his captive in the process and it was very unfortunate, however he had to reason sometimes one must pay heavily for expedient solutions.

Victor being a very scientific man didn't want to believe in the existence of magic. Miracles did not exist. All on earth had a scientific explanation, magic and miracles were for the peasants.

The Doctor did regret he would not have the chance to explore his captive’s trickery further. There had to be some logical explanation to what he witnessed today. Think of the military possibilities? What an adjunct those powers would be to holding on to the reigns of power. Sadly at least for the time being he would have to let the idea go.

He sat at the wooden bureau mulling these thoughts over, readying his possessions for tomorrow’s ride. Krosse was a very orderly man and liked everything to be just right before a journey.

As he was arranging his saddlebags he suddenly realized there was nothing at all in the cloth at the base of the bag. He withdrew the purple fabric finding no metallic heaviness there. Incredulously there was no sign of the beautifully wrought dagger that he had seized from his curious captive all those weeks before.

Thievery, or something more sinister? He debated facing his host, but decided it would probably just incite a battle and Jacques forces here vastly outnumbered his own, even if his men were better trained. It would be best if he licked his wounds, counted his losses, and merely departed as soon as possible.


Kario woke groggy and sore in a copse of denuded scrub. Cerulean robe even more tattered than before, covered in stinking, encrusted blood. He sat up most unwell, shape shifting always took its toll on his physical self, hence he was loathe to initiate it.

He immediately began to check his body for wounds, fearful at first the blood was his own, however he seemed to have suffered not a scrape. He then cast his dark gaze about him, most unsure of where he was and how he came to be here. Nothing of interest in any direction, just sand, jutting rocks, and sparse dead or dormant shrubbery.

He made to rise and his hand collided with a sharp cold object in the sand. The tip pricking his finger. He withdrew his hand swiftly thinking it to be a serpent. Though his sense told him it was not possible in this cold. He paused for a moment open mouthed, the sharpness was none other than his own weapon. Miraculously it had been returned to him. Kario took up the windfall his spirits bolstered. He was free, and though barefoot and very cold, his heart was warm inside.


After a very rough and sleepless night outdoors, Jhary and Aurianne were happy to be moving early that dawn. The light was thin, and the air frigid. Steam plumed from the horses nostrils as they settled into an easy walk. They needed to find water today, food would be a blessing also.

Aurianne was not familiar with the lands of the south so she was only too happy to let her male companion lead. He seemed to be very comfortable and knowledgeable of his position here. For now she would rest, recoup, and do things his way. Though after they had provisioned, her need to satisfy herself of Darius’ plight would become all consuming.

Jhary balanced precariously on the back of his round bellied mare. Wishing he had better grip, and the aid of stirrups, marveling at the poise his companion had on a horse of even greater girth than his own.

The man of music had to confess though he was mostly engaged in practical matters, some guilt had surfaced over the welfare and whereabouts of his former companion Aran. The man had saved his life many times after all, and yet would he not repay the debt?

He tried to reason that there would be little he could do to help. Also his companion by rights would wish nothing to do with such a rescue. So he sat torn, gazing about for familiar landmarks promising himself the most comfortable saddle to be had would be the first thing he purchased on reaching civilization.


Victor and his henchmen had also departed at first light. Fortunately the night had been uneventful, though mostly a sleepless one for the small detachment of men. Under close scrutiny by many suspicious and unfriendly eyes, the sturdy bullocks were harnessed once again to the dray containing the hefty payment, to be returned to his Lord in short order. Krosse was very glad this ordeal was settled and he would return home.

Though a friendship had been very much frayed the dour man was very self satisfied that a solution had been found to his problem, one that did not cast him in a bad light. Though he did not enjoy the thought of communicating to his Lord the events of the past days, he felt better that at least his hold on the throne was secure. He would simply leave this place and never return. This to Victor was a chapter closed, and a fairy tale ending of sorts.