Forgotten Shadows

[Jerusha]

"Now, Amy, we need to move NOW!"

Amy needed no further encouragement.  Elspeth grabbed her arm when Amy was close enough and ran with her toward the stairs leading to their room above.  She hugged the satchel to her side as they dodged several combatants, leading Amy up the stairs.

"What about Bede?"  Amy asked breathlessly.

"He'll have to look after himself," Elspeth said without looking back.  "He's managed well enough so far. We'll find the satchel's owner once the tempest below has blown out."

[Bynw]

Grecotha University, the largest and oldest in Gwynedd, has many places where students can gather to discuss and debate the topics of their studies. And also where secrets can be told without fear of them being over heard.

"Gather everyone that you can trust." The student says to a small group of students and non-students. "We are going to send a clear message to the Deryni and the Deryni-loving traitors."

"We know of a Deryni student here at the university and we know his human friends. Within a fortnight they will be burned at the stake outside the city walls."

[revanne]

(So I decided to roll the dice to see how Edwin reacted to what was happening to his bag. 1&2 Angry 3&4 calm and reasonable 5&6 desperate 1d6 =1 angry it is.)

Edwin managed to right himself but, as he spun round to get himself back to where the man with his bag was, he saw to his horror that it was too late. The bag was in the fire and already beginning to catch. Why the hell had he ever got involved with any of this; he hated to think it but the old man was right.

"Ne'er get yoursen involved with what is nowt o' your business."

He no longer cared who was fighting or what they were fighting about, blind to all but his precious bag. All very well for Airich and the likes o' him to jump in all chivalrous to save a damsel in distress, let him get on with it. If a noble's possessions were damaged, doubtless plenty more where they came from. But without his bag he could neither study nor earn his keep. Well, he had got himself out of more fights than Airich had had hot dinners so he rapidly weaved his way round where Airich was struggling, moved smartly to avoid a guy in an eye-splitting shirt and edged himself round the back of the brawling bodies towards the fire.

His plan was to grab his bag, risking a scorched hand but no matter as long as he made sure to use his left hand, and leg it. As far and fast away from this tavern as he could make it. A pity, he had liked the place but there were plenty of other places to drink and eat in Grecotha. And if ever a plausible looking guy asked him for help with his research, well he was done with helping people.

He looked away from the fire long enough to check that he was not being watched and as he looked back he saw that a young woman had snatched the bag out of the fire. Brave lass and  someone with sense in this madhouse. His relief was short lived as the fight moved between him and the lass, giving her time to escape with her spoils, and an accomplice, up the stairs to where he knew there was a room set aside for female guests. He had got into trouble before for trying to gain entrance there but now he was too angry to care. Edwin felt red-hot rage pour through him. What the hell was going on? Was this some sort of trap set up by Airich to allow the women to steal his bag? As another fist connected with Airich's jaw he had to admit this seemed unlikely; just two opportunist sneak thieves then, making the most of their chance. No doubt they thought there was coin or something of value in the bag.

Ignoring everything going on behind him he lunged for the stairs and hurtled up them just in time to see the door slam closed. Barely stopping in time to avoid crashing into the door he reached for the string to lift the latch. It wasn't there, of course! In rage he hammered on the door yelling words that even his father would have frowned upon when addressed to women.

[Marc_du_Temple]

((Bede shoves his opponent, hopefully back into the center of the brawl. 1d6 = 6)) The threatening words from Bede did cause the bookish brute to flinch. In a moment of primal inspiration, Bede lunged forward with splayed fingers, closing them tight around the collar of the man's nicer shirt. Using his entire body for momentum, as though the leader in a dominating dance, he dragged the overall heavier man around only to throw him back where he came from, into the heart of the free-for-all. His opponent disappeared under the writhing forms of the other fighters as they fell over him like trees before the axe. Then Bede dusted himself off with a steadying breath. Onto the next thing.

"Winnifred?!" he shouted above the pandemonium. Getting to the kitchen was easy enough, with the tricks he had learned from Scimmio. It was darker than he expected, and perhaps darker than it was supposed to be, he surmised from the lightless lanterns and candles. He took one off of its perch and lit it with a spark from his hunting knife against his eating knife, and saw someone he loved. Not his Winnifred, but someone differently dear to who he once was. Her cousin Muireagáin. Cleverer than she was often credited for, it came to light too late for him to care that she had orchestrated many of the meetings between him and his beloved. What she could possibly be doing here, he had no idea. Doubtless, she would feel the same if she recognized him.

"Who are you?" she asked fearfully, clutching a hefty cleaver without deftness. Her agitation increased as she continued to speak. "One of his friends? Tell him I'll never replace my sister, and I'd sooner join her." With shaking hesitation, she turned the knife's blade towards herself and dared him with raised brows. When he slumped and began to stammer, she pounced. "Say something, or I'll scream."

Moving slowly, he took off his hat and spoke honestly. "Muirea, it is me: Bede Archer, third son of Ulrich Archer, of Meara. My loyalty is to my God, my queen, my heart, my family, my friends, and then my employers, in that order."

Recognition, relief and disappointment dawned on her beautiful face, and once again she was the sister he never had. "You've grown so much, and yet not at all, Bede. By the saints of our youth, where have you been all these years? What have you done if not repent and live?"

Four years of turmoil boiled over in his dry throat. "I waited for Winnifred! At the mouth of the River Laas. As long as my body could, I did. I don't have time to recount the rest, but I can keep you and my friends from Carbury safe if you'll follow me."

She dropped the cleaver and grasped his hands imploringly. "I'm safer here, Bede. Do you hear that? That's the sound of the bouncers getting ready to do their job. Go out the back, and sneak back to your friends how best you can. Hurry, and God be with ye!" With a shove towards the back, he was gone, circling around the block so as best to survey the situation. He saw candlelight shining out of Elspeth's room from across the street. His was the one next to it, and his new destination. But how to climb the sheer wall of the first floor was yet a mystery. Then he recalled his partner in derring, and trotted off to meet her.

[Nezz]

It was a lucky thing, Airich thought, that the man in the painfully green shirt had caused a tumble that took the wind out of several of his opponents. Edwin had moved on and the big guy was back up and facing him, but he was the only one left. And he looked as tired and beat-up as Airich felt.

And Airich felt very tired and beat-up.

The serving lass was away safely—at least, Airich no longer saw her red hair bobbing through the tavern—and hopefully she would not return soon. But would this man stay away from her? Airich didn't think it likely. He'd have to send this fellow a message regarding the proper way to treat ladies.

The two men circled each other, looking for an opening: both breathing heavily but neither willing to concede. The big man's eyes flicked up and behind Airich, but before Airich could react, a dagger hilt smashed against the side of his face¹—same side as before, dammit!—and an arm encircled his neck from behind.²

"You want I should cut 'im, Jasper?" Airich heard the voice against his ear, much louder than the angry shouts and boos from the crowd, and felt the edge of steel below his chin. "Say the word, I'll cut 'im good. I'll give 'im a new smile if—"

Hoping that his mother's prayers for him were as effective as ever, Airich braced against the man behind him and booted Jasper in the gut.³ He grabbed the dagger-wielder's arm and pulled him over his shoulder, then drove his elbow into the man's neck.⁴ He snatched the dagger from the floor where the gasping man had dropped it, and struck Jasper on the temple with its pommel.⁵

Jasper dropped on his face, groaned once, and lay motionless.

Cheers, applause, and groans accompanied the sound of coins clinking. Looking around, Airich saw no one else willing to fight; Jasper's buddies were either gone or nursing their bruises over their mugs, and glaring at Airich.

Airich straightened his jerkin and brushed imaginary dust from it. He climbed the stairs at an unhurried pace, aware of dozens of eyes on him.

He was pretty sure he could make it to his own room before he passed out.
¹ J attack against Airich, disadvantage; d6=6 Success
² sneak attack on Airich, disadvantage; d6=5 Success
³ Airich attack against J, disadvantage; d6=6 Success
⁴ Come on, baby needs shoes! disadvantage; d6=5 Success
⁵ One more good one plzkthx; disadvantage; d6=6 Success

[Jerusha]

"Mind your mouth!" Elspeth yelled back.  She did not flinch, having heard many of the words before.  Her father only rarely took her with him to the docks; her brothers, however, used to like to show off their additional language skills.   "How do we know you aren't trying to steal it yourself?"  More loud words came from outside the door, just as colorful as before.

"The door should hold,"  she said to Amy. 

"If not, I have this," Amy responded and withdrew her dagger.

"Hopefully it won't come to that."  Elspeth turned to lay the satchel on their bed.  She opened the clasp and began to pull out the contents.

"What are you doing?" Amy asked, a hint of disapproval in her voice.

"I'm looking to see what it holds," Elspeth replied calmly while inventorying the contents. "I would be concerned if it holds large sums of stolen coin." She spread the contents on the bed and  took special note of the pens and parchment.  "It appears this must belong to a student.  It would cost a fair amount of coin to replace all this." 

Elspeth moved back to the door.  "Calm yourself enough to make yourself understood properly,"  Elspeth said forcefully.  "If you can identify the contents of the satchel, it might prove your ownership."  She was not ready to agree to return it quite yet even if he knew what was in it.

Edwin took a deep breath to calm down a bit.  He was dismayed that the woman had obviously rifled through his bag. It was worth a try, to tell her the contents; besides, the pounding on the door was making his hand hurt.  He rubbed the side of his hand and took another deep breath. 

"It contains several sheets of parchment, four pens, and my lucky dice.  It also contains a note from my research at the Grecotha library." He hoped she didn't read the note; it was not complementary to one of the more annoying lecturers.  She probably couldn't read, he thought hopefully.

Amy, still holding her dagger securely in her right hand, moved toward the bed and picked up the note.  She glanced at it and smiled. 

"Our loud man outside the door is not respectful of all his lecturers," she said.

"It would be nice to attend the university and have the luxury of belittling one of the esteemed faculty," Elspeth replied a bit wistfully.

"I agree it is not fair to deny women a university education, although I admit, it would not be for me."

"Life is not always fair."  Elspeth turned her attention back to the door.  She was not unfamiliar with the ways seamen gambled.  "The dice are odd.  Describe them more clearly, if you can."

Edwin looked toward heaven and then said, "Four are black, and four are white."

"I think this satchel is his, Speth,"  Amy said.

[Laurna]

Brandishing her dagger in a firm grip at chest height, Amy unlatched the door and jumped a full step back.

"Watch yourself boy, I am not afraid to use this. We don't want to bring downstairs trouble up here." The shell gleam of Amy's eyes kept an account of every move the student made.

Following an exasperated curse, the tall young man paced forward two long strides. Amy jumped back in retreat to match, keeping herself and the dagger steadily between this man and Elspeth who was repacking the bag's contents.

"Slow down! You will get your stuff. But only if you keep your courtesy to us women."

"What courtesy do I owe thieves!" The student retorted.  His forehead was compressed with frustration, his hands tensely flexed before him, palms out, in plain sight, free of weapons. No calluses on these hands, proving labor was not his occupation, instead showing ink stains around his fingers. Nevertheless, Amy feared those empty hands if they came too close.

"It wasn't us who threw your bag in the fire," Amy countered. She added that special gift to her voice that often convinced others toward her cause. ((Amy using her Charisma on Edwin 3d6= 5 + 1 + 2  Success)) "Miss Elspeth rescued your property when no one else would. You should thank her."

"The way I saw it, you ran like thieves!" the tall boy claimed. Yet his face was slowly unwrinkling and he stopped looking like he was about to rush her.

"We've seen a brawl or two, I dare say," Amy replied more assuredly.  "We both know to run before the whole tavern erupts into chaos and no one but the constable wins."

"It's all right, Am's, here's his stuff back. The flame didn't catch on the papers inside." Elspeth lifted the sachet with an outstretched hand just beyond the reach of Amy's dagger. "Know that we never had any intention of theft. Just didn't have many options... I am not one to let books, or in this case precious parchment, go to the flames.... We meant no disrespect, not knowing who the owner was."

When the student moved too fast to snatch back his bag, Amy again threatened him with her dagger. It wasn't one of those small eating knives either, more like a weapon a man would carry.  He slowed his motion and inched forward taking the top corner of the outstretched bag. He could feel the crisp burns in the leather under his fingers. 

Greatly relieved that he was not going to have to come to fist-to-cuffs with two women, he took his bag, opened it with a quick glance inside, then gave a slow nod to the brown haired girl who had saved his possessions. "Thank you."

In that moment she looked up at him with a warm brown eyed gaze from a half tilt in her head accepting his apology.  In the next moment, however, she heard shuffling footsteps coming down the hall and she turned her full face to him exploring the space behind him. He shivered as her one crystal clear blue eye came into full view.

[Nezz]

Fifteen... sixteen... seventeen steps! Airich counted it a victory that he'd achieved the second floor.¹

At the top, out of sight of the people in the tavern below, Airich stopped, leaned against the wall, and breathed in slowly and deeply, wincing in pain. I don't know how you did it, Da... a single brawl and now I won't be able to move for a week. The ringing in his right ear nearly drowned out the sounds of the fight's aftermath, and the tavern's attempt to return to normal.

He should probably go to his room and make sure his gear was packed. The innkeeper would eventually track down the instigators of the fight and demand payment for any furniture that was damaged, and possibly charge a fee. And probably toss Airich out of his lodgings.

He really needed to be more careful with his money. He was a long way from home and this money needed to last. He glanced at the dagger still clenched in his fist. He could probably sell the serviceable weapon for a half-sovereign, less if he had to go through the black market. He certainly wasn't going to return it to its former owner. Drawing steel—even a dagger—during a tavern brawl, indeed. The man was lucky Airich had only planted his elbow into his throat, rather than the dagger he now held in his hand. He tucked it through his belt.

All this trouble over a girl.

No, all this trouble because you wouldn't do the smart thing. It would have been simple to sidetrack him instead. Just a nudge, plant a new thought, and ol' Jasper would have been demanding more ale and completely forgotten about the red-haired girl...

Airich irritably smothered that train of thought. It served no purpose.

It's not like Jasper's a good man, you would have been well justified in saving that girl the easier way—

Be quiet!

Arguing with himself made his head hurt worse.

Something tickled his lip. He wiped at it, and was surprised to see it was blood. He hadn't even noticed it for the overall numbness of his face. And... gah, was that a loose tooth? Hopefully just his mind playing tricks on him.

He really needed to go lie down.

Airich slowly shuffled down the hall, holding himself upright against the wall, dim rushlight showing the way to his room. He passed the first guest-room door, the one they kept separate for women, and was surprised to see it open and light spilling out. A glance within showed him a man, his back toward Airich, facing down a woman. The woman was staring out the door, towards Airich, her face awash in mistrust.

Please, God, please let her not be in danger from this man, I can't do any more to help...

The man turned, and—thank you God, I owe you for this one—it was Edwin, looking curious and affable, as ever.

"There he is, the hero of the hour," Edwin called out. Airich thought those were his words, based on his lip movement: the ringing in his ears was getting louder and becoming more of a roaring.

"You should have warned me you were about to pick a fight with the entire tavern," Edwin continued as he saw Airich pull away from the wall and stand up straight while in the hall. He couldn't keep the bitterness from his voice. "I would have found myself the best seat in the house. And run the betting table. 'Sir Lord Airich O'Mazing against the entire patronage of the King's Arms.'" Edwin stressed this with a sneer. "We could have made quite the haul. That is, if you'd bothered to tell me! But what's a scrivener's livelihood to one such as you? A mere pittance. You risked my future just to impress a damsel whose favors you could have bought for a penny. Thank God Almighty and these women that my bag isn't ashes now."

"I repeat, I don't like seeing knowledge burn," Elspeth stated, "or anything used to record knowledge." She didn't like how the man in the hall stood there, unmoving. Something about him made her uneasy. Listening to the student talking to him, he was probably one of the men involved in the brawl. She thought she detected a faint moist glistening on his face from a bloody nose. Best move these boys along quickly.

"The armed doormen will probably come up this way looking for the troublemakers. You two had better get off to your room if you want to avoid trouble," she said. The student looked at her, his brow furrowing again, this time with worry. He looked back at his friend in the hall, who continued standing there, staring.

Soft in the head, Elspeth thought. The one man pretending to be a student, and his stupid muscle-bound friend. What are these two playing at? She caught Amy's eye and narrowed her own, letting the younger woman know to stay on her guard. Amy responded by tightening her grip on her dagger and looking grim.

Then Elspeth saw the other man's face drain of blood. His eyes rolled back and he swayed.

"Catch him, he's going down!" she yelled as the man's knees buckled and he slumped into a dead faint.
¹How long can we stay upright? 1=shorter, 6=longer
1d6=6

[Jerusha]

"Catch him!  He's going down!"

Edwin thought he saw the crystal blue eye flash at him.  For a moment, he was torn between holding on to his satchel or dropping it to try to catch the man rapidly falling to the floor.  The crystal blue eye won out; he dropped the satchel and dashed forward, catching Airich just before he hit the ground.

"Bring him to the bed there," Elsepth directed, pointing to a bed that as yet had no claimant for the night. 

Edwin, not much recovered from the brawl downstairs, struggled to raise the heavier man.

"Move quickly, I hear heavy footsteps.  Probably the bouncers."  Amy sheathed her dagger and grasped Airich with both hands around one arm.  Between the two of them they managed to lift him as far as his knees and haul him over to the bed.

Elspeth quickly closed the door behind them and latched it securely.  "Fine time to show up now," she muttered under her breath. 

"You need help?" a burly voice called through the door.

"All's well in here; you can move on," she called back..

"Keep your door locked.  Don't venture out until all is settled down below."

"Have no fear of that,"  Elspeth thought to herself.

With Elspeth's help, they managed to manipulate Airich onto the bed.  "Dead weight is always harder to move," she commented.

"Surely, he's not dead!" Edwin might not like his fellow borderer much, but he would not wish him that.

"I should hope not," Espeth replied as she arranged the battered man into a more natural position. She pushed her hood back and carefully examined him, starting at his head.  With gentle fingers she probed his skull to make sure it was intact.  She spent some time looking at one ear, which was swollen to almost twice its size.  "No blood coming from it, which is good.  Ams, will you pour some water from the pitcher and bring it here, please."

Amy went to the large pitcher filled with water which was meant to be shared by all of the occupants for washing.  She poured a reasonable amount of the water into the basin beside it.

((Physicking roll, 2d6.  If successful, the target creature is healed for 2 HIT points.  2d6  4+1=5. Sorry buddy.))

There was little Elspeth could do for this except apply a cloth with cool water to help with the swelling.  With luck, once any internal swelling passed, his hearing would return to normal. The man was beginning to stir slightly.  Good, though she would prefer to complete her examination before he came fully round.

As Elspeth checked the various cuts and bruises to the man's hands and face, Amy followed with a dampened cloth, making sure the wounds were clean.  Edwin retrieved his satchel and watched them. He did not offer to assist; it was clear they were a practiced, experienced team.  He wasn't needed.

Elsepth studied Airich's nose for a moment, and cocked her head to one side. With a brief motion of her hand, she directed Amy to clean away the blood.

((Physicking roll, 2d6.  3+4=7.  Sigh.))

Well, there was not much she could do here except the old tried and true method. The nose wasn't badly broken, but it was not completely straight either.  She could leave it, but in spite of several bloodstains, the man was well dressed, likely noble.  He would not thank her for leaving his nose misshapen.  She glanced at Amy, who laid her hands on his shoulders and leaned forward with her weight to keep him still and under control, if necessary.
 
Elspeth placed her fingers firmly on each side of the man's nose and then gave the nose a firm push.

"OW!!!"  The man's eyes flew open and for a moment he pushed against Amy's strong arms, trying to sit.

"Lie still and don't complain," Elspeth said in a soothing voice.  "I thought you would prefer the nose straight.  I can put it back the way it was if you'd rather."

Edwin could have sworn the mismatched eyes twinkled.

[Marc_du_Temple]

There in the inn's paddock she was: Bede's trusted steed. "Easy, Winnie," he spoke in soothing tones as he stroked his mare's face. "Go back to sleep, girl." Looking in her dark eyes, he saw himself reflected back, and became terribly aware of just how far they had come with no sight of their quarry. "Tonight we found a memory and an old friend, girl." When she had calmed and stood tired but still, he glanced around for more man-shaped witnesses. Unfortunately for him, some were just leaving the tavern through the front door nearby. He ducked into a deeper shadow and witnessed the final humiliation of the night's antagonists.

The innkeeper's reedy arms cut the air like a switch from the doorway. "Stay out, and you stay away from our maid, you hear?!"

The men who limped out the door in the innkeeper's wake said nothing, only glaring with scorn and shame and raising their hands in compliance as they were shooed out. Only when the door had been slammed shut did they voice their complaints. Bede recognized the first to speak as the one who had charged toward Elspeth and who he had thrown back just as quickly. "At least we had some fun. Right, Jasper? Gave them a good scare, I think."

"We did not come here to have fun. We came here to bring the Mearan harlot back as my bride!" That must be Jasper, Bede decided. He didn't need to see his face to know which one it was, or who the man spoke of. As angry as he was amused by the anguish of the bully, he had a little sport then, miming that he had an arrow and a bow to nock it in, and with a soundless whistle, he let the imaginary instrument fly before continuing to listen.((Bede goes through the motions of using Sharpshooter 3d6 2 + 6 + 4 = 12))

Another one of the thugs spoke, although it sounded as if it hurt terribly to do it. "No way could anyone have been good enough to beat us. That guy had to be cheating."

"Not cheating", Bede whispered to himself, proudly flexing arms that had grown brawny from years of archery. "but he did have help from Ma Archer's boy playing nine-pin with your ruffians."

"Did anyone notice if there was metal between that uppity boy's fingers or..."

"Magic!" Jasper proclaimed, and Bede could only keep from guffawing aloud amidst the hay by clamping his own mouth shut with one hand and painfully pinching himself with his other. He had seen powerful magics in his day, and anything subtler than those was inconsequential next to the numbers advantage the thugs had brought with them, in his opinion. Besides, they had started it. Nevertheless, Jasper's friends all fell in line with his new theory, and as they disappeared down a stony alleyway, the only specifics they could further agree on were that next time they would be ready and that it was not yet over.

By Samson, do you promise? Bede was eager to ensure that Muirea never looked at anyone that way again, and never had reason to either, but he then chastised himself for reckless thinking. If those men could hear his thoughts, they would never let him succeed at anything again. With that in mind, and a minute more to be sure that the coast was clear, Bede flew off towards the wall again, this time at a running start, hoping to clear the sleek bottom story's section of wall with momentum alone. ((Bede uses Acrobat in order to break into his own room. 2d6 4 + 3 = 7)) To no avail, and the best he could say for himself is that he landed on his feet when he hit the ground, shaken by the total of the night thus far. Then he remembered other details of the paddock and its furnishings. Furnishings that included a ladder. A few minutes later he returned once more to his window, by now looking less and less like a chivalrous suitor and more like the sneak that circumstances were making him once again. But no matter, as there were no witnesses to see him creep into his room at this dead hour of the night. Once safely inside, he was feeling reckless, and so he separated the old machine from his window sill with a simple shove, leaving it perpendicularly spanning the alleyway. ((Having done poorly with acrobatics, Bede tries for Strength. Rolling at 'disadvantage' to keep this one simple. 1d6 = 3))

[Laurna]

The nose adjustment even made the barmaid clench her jaw, but that gave her better tension in her shoulders and arms to hold the wounded man down. If he had fought her for a second longer she would have lost the battle, he was a well toned man under all those fine garments.  It was fortunate that Elspeth had the professional mature voice; like the wisest women of the convent. Normally her strongest attributes were directed at women in the deep throes of childbirth. Yet Elspeth had seen plenty of injured men as well, most of them the surly type from off the docks at Carbury. To a male patient, the infirmarian was like the matriarch of their own clan houses. A woman who would see them through their worst of days so they can get back to the job at hand.  If the men got too surly, Elspeth would back away.  Amy would then slide into the view and hearing of the injured; she seemed to have the knack of soothing the beastly side of men, at least some times. 

This was the case now. Even with a slight quiver of shock after his adjusted nose, the fighter was attempting to sit forward and was blocking Elspeth's caring hand with a raised arm. "I'ms fines," he just managed to slur between swollen lips.  Elspeth sat back and Amy spoke clearly and soothingly to their patient as she firmly pushed his shoulders back toward the bed and then leaned into his vision, giving him her softest smile. "Ease yourself, good man, you're injured but you are safe. Let us help you. We wish no further harm to befall you." Amy took the wash cloth and dabbed lightly at the cuts around his eyes. The right eye was swollen shut and the left eye, partially open, watched his new benefactor as she moved gently over him. He relaxed under her ministrations.

"Edwin...?" he managed in a whisper. Amy noted the wounded man didn't wait to hear if his friend responded to his call, it could be that he neither saw him nor heard him in his dazed state. But he seemed to know that the other man was standing there. "In... my room... my bags... white... cloth...." The effort caused him to cough and spit out blood. Amy hoped that it was just from the cuts in the man's mouth. But a look from Elspeth showed her concern that it could be more. With a nod of agreement between them, Elspeth again caught the man's attention with a push on his abdomen and asked if it hurt when she pushed. Amy used the distraction, she moved the wash cloth across his forehead, her fingers and palm leaving the cloth there and moving her palm over his swollen eye. Her left hand reached around his head and slipped smoothly to his collarbone. She turned her eyes up to the candle flame on the table, doing as her grandmother had taught her so many years ago. ((Amy using Empathy to feel the pains of the injured man 2d6 = 2 + 6  success)).

There was pain, she had been ready for that. The right ear and cheek bone throbbed from the abuse, the man's eye deep under the swelling seemed unharmed,  though he probably did not think so from the thundering throbbing of his forehead. That throbbing proved the nose bone wasn't the only bone with fractures, the cheek bone had a crack across the most forward portion, but it was not crushed as it could have been under so many blunt hits. More seriously, Amy discovered a tiny abrasion in the skull near the ear, a fracture so small she could barely sense it, but that would account for his dizziness and head pain.  She suspected that the pain in his teeth and sinuses at least would subside if he did not eat hard food for a few days to come. Elspeth's medicine and time were about the only thing they could do for his head injury, unless it proved to be worse, then the only help would be a healer from the city's infirmary. Taking a deep breath Amy shifted her perception toward Elspeth's bigger concern, his ribs and breathing. Amy did not find any serious injury there. "Praise the Lord," she whispered under her breath.

Amy was turning her gaze back to Elspeth saying that his breathing would be fine, her concern was the side of his head, when her fingers at his neck brushed his fine linen shirt beneath his tunic. A tingle so sharp, yet so undefinable tensed her hand, but before she could move her hand again to find what had caused it, the patient's hand had snatched her wrist and was firmly holding it up in the air.

Who are you? challenged a male voice. Amy, mouth opening wide but not ready to answer, looked up and around, for who had asked that? The student was wide eyed and watching her without opening his mouth and her patient could barely speak clear words between his wounded lips. Only once before had she heard words like this, words in her head and not sounds from her ears. That man too had been wounded, not in the same way as her current patient, but a wound of the soul was as serious as the wound of the body, maybe even more so. 

She pulled her hands away quickly standing up trying to hide her distress. As an afterthought, she wrung the cloth in her hands into the water bowl, rinsing out the blood stains. She could no longer look back at the man on the bed; not out of fear for him, but out of fear for what she had done in the past. 

[Jerusha]

Espeth looked at her friend with concern.  Something had startled Amy and caused her to turn away from their patient.  Now she seemed to avoid even looking at him.  This was not like Amy at all, but Elspeth felt this was not the time to ask her about it.  Amy would confide in her if and when she was ready.

The patient on the bed lay tense,  trying to scan the room with his more functional left eye. "Be at ease,"  Elspeth said gently.  "Let me give you something to ease the pain and help the swelling go down. If you can rest comfortably, you will heal more quickly."  She reached for her satchel and withdrew a small packet. 

"Amy, would you please bring me a cup of wine from one of our skins?"  She looked down at her patient. "The good stuff, I think."  Did she see the faintest ghost of a smile on his lips?  Or maybe he just relaxed a tiny bit.

Amy, feeling relieved at having something to do besides avoid the patient, withdrew a cup from their bags and poured the appropriate amount of wine into it.

Elspeth accepted the cup from Amy and poured a powder from the packet into the wine.  As she swirled the contents of the cup carefully to dissolve the powder, she looked at her patient and asked, "Would you share your name with us?  Just your first name would be fine. If not, that's all right, but it's better than referring to you as 'That Man on the Bed.'"

The man looked doubtful, then mumbled something that sounded like "Erik." 

"Thank you Erik.  Now this...."

"Don't need,"  Erik mumbled.

"Oh, but I believe you do.  Don't worry, this will not harm you.  It's just a mixture of rose, lavender and sage.  It relieves the pain from headache and swelling, which you have plenty of."  She reached forward and lifted his head, holding the cup underneath his swollen nose.  "You probably can't smell this very well at the moment, but if it was noxious, you would be able to smell it clearly!"  She moved the cups to his lips.  "Sip it slowly, but drink it all."

Elspeth wished Amy would help her convince him, but the younger woman still seemed reluctant to assist. Nevertheless, Erik seemed to realize that he really didn't have a better choice.  Slowly he drained the contents of the cup.

"Rest now," Elspeth said as she lowered his head back onto the bed.  She watched him closely as the potion began to take effect.  Gradually he relaxed, and as he fell asleep, began to snore softly.  He was breathing more through his mouth than his nose at the moment, but that was to be expected.

Elspeth rose and handed the empty cup to Amy.  She stretched and rubbed the small of her back for a moment while Amy busied herself rinsing and drying the cup.

Elspeth turned to the man standing along the wall holding his satchel firmly.  She didn't pull her hood up, thinking her strange gaze would be to her advantage.

"I believe you owe us an apology for thinking us thieves," she said.  Amy came to stand beside her.

Edwin gave her a wary look.  "Watching you run away with my satchel certainly did suggest it."  A glint in the bright blue eye made him hastily add, "You certainly do not appear to be thieves now."

Elspeth suspected that was as good as she would get.  "You can take your friend back to his room as soon as he awakes."

"Um, he's not my friend."

"What?" Amy asked, startled.

"He's really just an acquaintance.  I left him behind when I saw you running off with my satchel."

"You what?!" Elspeth said sharply. 

Edwin suddenly felt like he was about to be taken to task by his mother.

[Nezz]

(Posted on behalf of Revanne, whose internet access is iffy at best)

The older of these two women had Edwin's mother's way of making him feel about five. But he was a scholar and an adult, at least he had reached the age of adulthood. It was time he put forth his maturity and reclaimed some dignity.

"Mistress," he began, making himself look the woman in the face, though it was no longer the gaze of that blue eye which bothered him but the forceful personality behind it. "Mistress, I can only offer you my humble apologies for mistaking your intent, and my thanks for rescuing my satchel. The contents are very precious to me, though doubtless that seems odd to you."

The eyes, brown and blue, fixed him with their gaze.

"And why would you think that?"

Because they show me as a scholar, and you're women. Bad idea! Besides which though the university had taught him that the learning of the mind was beyond the scope of women, he knew that his own sisters were as capable of thinking as he. Maybe just be honest, though he was learning that that too was a bad idea.

"Because many despise a student who carries his means of earning coin with him."

The eyes turned less hostile and the two women conferred in low tones. Then the elder spoke in a more conciliatory tone.

"You write letters for people?"

"My family are scriveners in Culdi and these days mostly copy books but I like to earn my own coin where I can."

Elspeth perhaps saw rather more than he had intended. The quality of Edwin's clothes were not that of a poor scholar, but she approved a man who did not boast of his family's wealth and was not too proud to earn his own coin. He saw her change of expression, perhaps he had actually said something right!

"You wish me to write something for you? I will do it gladly, and perhaps allow that to settle somewhat of my score?"

Edwin met Elspeth's gaze and actually smiled, though only briefly lest she should take renewed offence.

"We had hoped to be allowed to research some matter of healing in the university library and I  have a letter of introduction to a Reverend Canon Damian, but the porter refused us admission and would not even agree to see that the letter reached the Canon."

Her tone was full of suppressed anger but not at him and Edwin did not blame her. Thank heaven he had silenced his idiot tongue for once.

"But I know of Canon Damian, he is a good man, who is known for his interest in healing. I'm sure he would help if he could. I would gladly take your letter to him for you."

Elspeth eyed him warily. He spoke well, and seemed willing to make amends but if she was willing to believe in his good intentions his reliability seemed more suspect. So far, all she had evidence of was his ability in a fight, his suspicious nature and his imaginative command of swear words.

Her silence unnerved Edwin. What had he said wrong now? Didn't she trust him? Very sensible of her really but discouraging to his genuine wish to make amends. She was speaking again, maybe the best idea would be to listen to her.

"I don't think I am willing to part with the letter other than to the Canon himself, but if you are able to make a copy and take that, I would be grateful. How much would that cost?"

Edwin flushed, but quickly swallowed his offence knowing none was intended. She was a working woman and knew the value of labour. 

"I think I owe you more than one good turn, once we have light enough in the morning I will copy it for you gladly and see that it gets into the right hands."

[Marc_du_Temple]

After taking a minute in his dimly lit room to collect his thoughts, his next move became clear to him. The last he saw of the Carbury lasses, he had just gotten them out of harm's way, and nearly at the cost of his face. No matter there; all is well that ends well, but there was the question of where they had gone to next. ((Bede listens to the sounds of the tavern: perception 2d6 4 + 6 = 10)) With shallow breaths he listened to the sounds of the tavern, hoping to spot a familiar voice or shuffle of feet. With relief, he noticed a lack of authoritative barking as well as drunken shouting. The fight was over and so was the ensuing patrol. Then he pricked his ears and caught sounds from the room belonging to his clients. Their voices were reassuring, but the voices of men were not. Their father will kill me if their giant doesn't first.

It was not an easy decision, but he left his bow and his arrows behind and took off the jerkin too. He was much too warm as it was. He sorted through his pack, passing over the white canvas that had been a makeshift top and passing over other assorted goods until he found a spare horseshoe. Perfectly inconspicuous, he thought as he dropped it inside of his shirt. That and his knife were enough in his mind to handle anything in these quarters.

Two minutes after his return to the tavern, he appeared at their door. "Mistress Elspeth, Mistress Amy: I have returned from the trouble downstairs. Are you hurt?"
He recognized Elspeth's voice, charged with castigation, "You laggardly boor! Slow to rise and slow to come for us, is that right? God only knows what Father was thinking."

He had been peaceable for long enough, he decided then. With his mouth inches from the gap in the door, he whispered angrily. "I am not a laggard. I have made it this far by balancing caution and daring, something you are halfway to learning. Clearly, he was thinking the pair of you would get yourselves killed on your own, and little wonder there!" He could guess at how the conversation would flow if he demanded to see the men inside. The only move was to make them so angry that they would open the door to yell at him to his face, but he was loathe to ensure that they hate him. "All this fuss over a damned book, but none of them ever taught you to say thank you for a well-timed intervention."

It was Amy who opened the door. "Thanks for-" She did not sound thankful.

And he was inside, with the dirk in his left hand and the horseshoe in his right, glaring with hooded eyes at the men. The worse-looking one was sound asleep, apparently sleeping off the brunt of the fight downstairs. The less bloodied one tried to rise and throw a hook-punch at Bede, but gave up on that due to fatigue, resigning to instead pinning him against the wall of the door. The impact knocked the breath out of his lungs and the weapons from his hands. Between ragged breaths, the two rivals tried to hurl accusations regarding their associations with the women.

"...greasy footpad. . ."

"...meddling lech..."

"...villain..."

"...dandy..."

The brown-haired newcomer won out. "They are dissatisfied with your service, whatever that may be."

"Chivalry costs extra," Bede grinned tauntingly. Then he realized just who these men were, and he began to understand the situation. Muirea owed her safety to them perhaps more than himself. "You two ... you created that ruckus to protect the barmaid." He nodded approvingly. "Her name is Muireagáin. She told me while I stayed with her until the danger had passed."

Edwin recognized the intruder too. "You have two mean arms when you're able to use them, man." He let him go with that comment, and all stood on more equal footing then. Names were exchanged and hands were shaken.

Bede then turned to the girls and begged them. "Forgive my caustic tongue and ways, but please, don't risk your lives so eagerly."

Elspeth nodded but answered, "Some things are worth the risk. Saving someone who can't save herself. That's why we're here, you know. Finding secrets to save lives."

"And for that, you have my utmost," he said with a sigh. He took off his soft grey cap, wiped the sweat from his brow before, and made as if to speak, but was beaten to it by Edwin once again, much to his chagrin.

"And mine," Edwin said to all.

This raised an eyebrow from Bede, but nothing more as he smiled amicably and said, "The hour is too late for lofty schemes. Let's move to the subject of protection: the martyred-looking fellow stays here tonight, under the careful watch of the nurses, and devils take any who protest that. I happen to be their hired guard, but ..." he made a face of consternation and counted on his fingers, "... four, five is a crowd. It's too dangerous to walk the streets after curfew, especially immediately after making enemies as you lot have. Why don't you come rest in my room, friend? If only tonight."

Edwin weighed the proposal and thought it convenient. Maybe too convenient, like a sweet in the middle of a meal of gruel. "Are you sure, mister?"

"Why not?" Bede grinned bawdily. "I have had much worse company than a heroic student."

[Nezz]

A gentle hand on his shoulder, followed by an equally gentle voice.

"Sir Airich? Can you hear me?"

Airich cracked open his left eye. He barely made out what he thought was a woman's face close to his in the dim, pre-dawn light.

"Sir Airich, would you like to move to your own bed? Do you think you can stand with help?"

"Mmm," he grunted. He'd been quite content to drift in his lavender-scented haze of not-hurting-as-much-as-before. But he did not want to cross the matriarch with the commanding voice and painfully strong fingers. And privacy did sound nice: one of the women kept waking him up every few hours, and the occasional whispering between the two intruded upon his dreams.

He slowly lifted his legs over the side of the bed and pushed himself to a sitting position. He could feel the room whirling like a spindle, even with his eyes closed, and it felt like someone was beating him about the head with a giant bream. He couldn't help it: he groaned.

"Oh, it's not so bad as all that." Edwin dropped onto the bed next to him, and slipped an arm under Airich's shoulder. "The Mistresses Elspeth and Amy have been seeing to your every need and have determined you are not about to drop dead in your bed. So, on your feet, your lordship!" and he pulled Airich standing.

Edwin was surprisingly strong. Airich appreciated the assistance.

" 'm'notllord," Airich mumbled as another man draped Airich's left arm over his own shoulders. Airich blinked at him with a half-opened left eye. "Whooryu?"

"Just a good Christian man, milord. Bede Archer, and I am the ladies' hired man, so you can trust me to see you to your bed safely."

Airich wasn't even sure who "the ladies" were or why they were concerned for his safety. But he trusted that Edwin would get him to his room without incident. Or being robbed blind.

"You've got to tell us which room is yours," Edwin said as they maneuvered the injured man out the door. He was determined to get Airich put to bed safely with no complaints. Under no circumstances did he want to give Elspeth an excuse to berate him again.

Edwin barely understood Airch's mumbled words as he said something about the corner room, and gestured vaguely with his hand further down the hall. He and Bede steered Airich to the room, through the door, and maneuvered him onto the bed. Mindful of Elspeth's warning on how to treat others, he loosened the laces on the other man's jerkin while Bede pulled off his tall boots. Airich himself kept reaching feebly for the rucksack sitting at the foot of his bed.

"Leave off, milord," Bede said. "Whatever you think you need in there, I assure you it will wait until morning."

"Needth'chif," tumbled from Airich's swollen lips. Whatever that meant.

"You need to lie down. Mistress Elspeth was insistent that you go right back to sleep." Edwin tried pushing him down to his pillow, but Airich resisted. "Dammit, don't be so bloody stubborn."

"Calm down, I'll get your thing for you," Bede said, and knelt by Airich's pack. "What am I looking for?"

"Hang'a'chif. Leff pocket."

Really? All this fuss for a handkerchief? Edwin shook his head, wondering if perhaps Airich had been knocked in the head a little harder than Elspeth had estimated. Bede dutifully dug around through the pack and finally produced a large handkerchief with fine green stitching along the edges.

"Your handkerchief, milord. Perhaps a love token from an enchanting young lass back home who awaits your return?" Bede looked wistful as he stared at the handkerchief for a moment, then handed it to Edwin to pass on to Airich.

"Here you go, will you finally settle do—oh!" It looked like a fine handkerchief, of the sort that ladies everywhere carried, but as soon as he touched it, Edwin didn't want to let it go. It felt good to the touch, not unlike his lucky dice. Regretfully, he held it out to Airich, who grabbed it and held it to his chest, releasing a deep sigh. He laid down on his pillow then, acquiescent as a lamb.

"I like that handkerchief of yours," Edwin said. Perhaps he might be able to acquire that same type of fabric for himself. "What's it made of?"

"Prayers," Airich said.

Edwin snorted. Apparently getting a straight, honest answer about anything out of this man was going to be as likely as hearing a kindly word from his own father.

Airich listened to the two men leave the room. He wasn't likely to go back to sleep immediately, but he thought it wouldn't take long.

The blessings in the handkerchief had already begun their work. He could feel the tingling in his lips and on his knuckles where the prayers had started to encourage his body to heal itself naturally. His head was still a bit fuzzy, but he hoped he'd be able to speak normally by noon. In the meantime, he had a puzzle to think on.

Who are you?

He'd used Mind-speech with someone he didn't know. That was stupid. He couldn't remember the last time he'd done that. Two years? Three?

The woman's soft hands and soothing manner had put him at ease, and he hadn't noticed her presence at first. He'd felt a feather-like touch, delicately tickling the edge of his being, almost too gentle to notice. Then it had flared and brought out an instinctive reaction from him: Deryni touch, Deryni response. And she'd retreated as if he'd burned her. It was fortunate he hadn't instinctively snapped his shields tight on her; that would have caused pain for them both.

She might not be Deryni. The hill folk used magics that might have been Deryni originally but had long since transformed into something else. Same with the jerramán crystals and the cording lore his mother used. Deryni, not Deryni: Who could say?

The Willimites would say. They might very well be wrong, but they would still have a say. And they would say "magic" and "Deryni" and "wicked" and not hesitate to blame an innocent woman for all manner of evils in the world.

The Willimites were not completely wrong. He'd discussed it at length with his friends in the taverns back home, deep into the night, earnestly presenting his case with others who argued with equal passion. The Deryni had the power to cause great harm to Humans, but the potential to harm someone was no more proof of harm done than that of any man with a blade and the knowledge to wield it properly.

No, the Deryni were not evil of themselves. But they were proud. And that hubris was where a Deryni might decide that the ability to alter a man's thoughts gave him the right to do so. And this was where Airich found common cause with the Willimites.

But that was back home. The Willimite gatherings to the south and this far north took a reasonable complaint against some Deryni as a condemnation against the entire race. They were willing to lump Deryni healing into the same damning category as Deryni mind-control. And so one took care to keep one's business to oneself and not speak of one's background, lest a word slip and the wrong people discover the wrong things.

Which is why Airich finally came to the conclusion that the girl with the soothing hands was probably Hill folk, and hopefully thought his questioning of her merely a figment of her imagination. And that he had no need to worry that she might slip out and tell the wrong people the wrong things about him.

He sighed, the warmth and tingle lulling him deeper into that space between waking and sleeping. The woman's hands had been so calming... so comforting. He wondered if he still had the ability to do similar things, it had been so long since he'd tried...

Get the hell out of my head, you filthy Deryni pig!

Airich's eyes popped open at the memory. He no longer drifted on the edge of sleep.

The handkerchief didn't heal everything.

It was a long time before he'd calmed himself enough to relax again.