The Plot Thickens

A laugh, so grating that the birds asleep in the highest branches of the tress took wing in blind fright from its harshness, split the air. The mounts of the Protectorate Shield posted to guard the perimeter of the temporary encampment rolled their eyes back in their head and anxiously shifted their weight, ears twitching wildly and nostrils flared with fear. When the last echo of the laugh died, it faded into a vacuum of unearthly silence and stillness. A gentle breeze bent the grass outside the boundary of the encampment, but inside the lines formed by the Protectorate Shield, not a single blade of grass defied the inhuman calm.

Ducking his head to avoid hitting the brightly colored awning fringe, Sjean stepped out to survey the camp. His tent was at the western most side of the camp atop a small rise. From there he could see everything. His coal black eyes swept the camp searching for order. Sjean had a passion for order that was nearly as large as his ego. Any tent, campfire, person or animal that did not meet his measure of what order should be would be punished severely, and Sjean’s glittering black eyes never missed a detail.

From inside the tent Lhogeen scrutinized Sjean. She dared not move from the spot he had left her, but the tent flaps were open and she had a clear view of him framed there in the doorway.

“By all that lives and breathes, he is a fine specimen of a man” Lhogeen whispered softly to herself. “That he is.” Her features hardened and her next words came out through clenched teethe. “I will make him mine!”

Sjean remained standing where he was, in a deceptive posture of easy attention. To the casual observer he was a man taking in the beauty of the day. To those who knew him well, that posture was equivalent to the stance of the deadliest of predators, the Plains Lion, in the seconds before it struck its unwary prey down.

Sjean was exceptionally tall, even for one of the race of Posers. He stood a full head taller than the next tallest man in the camp. The blackness of his eyes was surpassed only by his midnight ebony hair which fell in gleaming waves to the middle of his back, only two small sections braided to frame his face. The marks of his rank, feathers and colored leather cords were entwined in those braids. His skin was the color of tea lightened by milk. His features would have been beautiful, had they not been so hardened by the life he had chosen. Every inch of Sjean was well muscled, yet he carried himself with the fluid easy grace of a Beguiler. He had been born gifted, a cut above other men, and he had spent his entire life improving on that perfection.

A last glance across the camp satisfied Sjean that order, indeed, ruled the day. He started towards to stone circle in the center of the camp.

“Bring her to me in the circle” he spoke over his shoulder to Lhogeen. “And have that she-wolf bitch brought up from her cage as well. I want them both now!”

An unbidden shudder ran through Lhogeen as she hurried to comply. She did not know what Sjean had in store for the girl and the wolf, but she knew that it would be a long afternoon for both of them. Maybe the longest of their lives… and the last.

“Protectorate Captain!” Lhogeen addressed the guard at the rear of the tent. “Bring the she-wolf we captured this morning to the Midden Circle.”

The guard shifted uneasily. There was not one of his men that would willingly step into the cage with that she-wolf, even bound as she was. Wolves were symbolic to the Posers. They held a place higher than the gods the other races worshipped. To capture and bind one against their will, especially a she-wolf, was anathema to them. There had very nearly been a mutiny in the camp that morning when Sjean had ordered this one taken. Right now an uneasy peace held in the camp, but the captain was not sure he could maintain any discipline should Sjean choose to show further disrespect to the magnificent animal.

“Which is heavier, Captain? The wax in your ears, or the lead in your arse? Move, you son of a sea sloth!”

The captain nodded his head slightly in acquiescence, tuned smartly on his heels, and started towards the area where the she-wolf was being held.

“Men!” Lhogeen muttered. “Hard as steel, soft as putty.”

Lhogeen stepped back into the tent. She crossed quickly to the back and yanked the wide-eyed girl who was lying across the bed to her feet.

“Are you feeling better, my pretty doll? No? Well, it doesn’t really matter. It will only get worse from here. Now gather whatever shreds of dignity you may have left and follow me out of the tent. You will stay exactly two paces behind me. If you cannot manage that, I will drag you by the golden hair on your head all the way to the Outer Boundaries and back. Do you understand?”

Joia nodded meekly and kept her eyes lowered. She hoped that she would be able to maintain the aura of a frightened child. They started out of the tent towards the Midden Circle. With every step, Joia’s anger rose within her until it threatened to choke her by the time the halted in the center of the circle, but she managed to remain outwardly meek and complaint, never raising her eyes from the ground in front of her.

Just then, Candi was dragged into the circle muzzled, leashed and snarling. Joia’s eyes widened as images from Candi’s mind began to fill her head. As the message took shape in her mind, Joia lifted her head to stare at Sjean defiantly.

“So, father. What is it you want of us?”