[Mkguild] Justice in Vengeance Refrain (1)

[Ryx]

Well, at long last, the murder Trial of Malger Sutt commences...
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            Justice In Vengeance Refrain.


            
            “Are you quite finished, dreamwalker?” the Lothonasa asked flatly as 
Malger knelt over the body of the once proud showman.  The man’s body slowly 
slumped in death, a bloody froth burbling from his mouth as the last rattling 
breath of life escaped his ravaged lungs.  The vixen slowly emerged from behind 
the wagon wheel where she had sheltered.  Her alert gaze shifted from Malger to 
corpse and then the Lothanasa.
            “Yes, mistress, it is done.” Malger’s voice was heavy; wearied.  He 
removed his sword from the man’s chest and held it up briefly before his face, 
eyes closed as he offered some silent prayer.  Shifting his grip from the hilt 
to the blade before its crosspiece he turned and walked slowly toward the woman 
seated upon her divan.  Vinsa cum Elvmere wrung his hands agitatedly upon his 
breast, clutching the Tree secreted under the thin fabric and watched the 
denouement with horror.  At his side Murikeer stood motionless, his jaw 
clenched, but said nothing.  When Elvmere made a step toward Malger the illusion 
guised skunk grasped his arm gently to stay him and shook his head at the 
priest’s plaintive glance.
            “Very well.  Seize him.”  The four guards surrounding the divan 
moved forward as one, their naked blades held before them.  Malger held up his 
arms placatingly and extended his sword, hilt first, toward the nearest of 
them.  The man lightly accepted the blade while another captured Malger’s upper 
arm in a strong hand.  He did not bodily pull Malger away, merely guided him 
toward the divan.  “Who is master of this bestiary, now?” she asked.
            The vixen, having briefly stopped to kneel over the corpse of her 
former master, jerked something savagely from around his neck and stood.  
“Myself, your grace.” She said softly, but easily heard in the heavy silence 
that hung in the wake of Malger’s unexpected savagery.
            The woman shifted her gaze from the prisoner to the vixen.  “I will 
require a wagon to transport this penitent.”
            Sheyiin bobbed her head and bowed crisply, “I will see what can be 
found among our train, your grace.”
            To one side the master of the remaining caravan guards, Grimmam, 
turned and strode back toward the sprawling camp among the trees beyond the 
wagons.  Harsh but quiet orders were hissed to the guards he passed and after 
brief moments to collect their wits the men nodded and trotted away into the 
crowed toward whatever tasks their commander had given them.  The other members 
of the caravan, handlers and drovers, looked on in horrified confusion.  Some 
began to disperse on further orders from Grimmam.  “Attend to the survivors.” 
The Lothanasa ordered her men.  The one holding Malger looked to her in askance 
but at a small motion of her large hand he released his charge to join his 
fellows.  Two went to the man whose leg Malger had severed while two others 
attended to the man missing his lower arm.
            While they busied themselves with the moaning men, who had long ago 
lost their voices for screaming as well as much of their color due to blood 
loss, Murikeer strode forward.  “Cuialye lothan, mistress.” He bobbed his head 
in a desultory bow, “What is to become of him?”
            “You are?”
            “Murikeer, your grace.  His apprentice, as is Elvmere.” He waved one 
arm back to take in the raccoon concealed in his humanesque illusion.  The 
woman’s eyes narrowed as she gazed upon the young mage, the priest, and then 
back toward Malger standing silently beside her divan.
            “He will die!” a voice shouted from among the crowd pulling all 
heads around with swift motions.  The aristocrat who had been among the gawkers 
strode imperiously forward from among his retinue ignoring their hasty attempts 
to stay him.  Polished steel gleamed at his side; a naked sword in one hand.  
“The minstrel slew three and crippled two.  Justice demands his death.”  He 
raised his sword slightly as he approached the divan.  The Lothanasa raised an 
eyebrow curiously and raised a hand to stay her guards where they were, still 
attending to the fallen.  Murikeer’s fingers flexed as he prepared a swift spell 
but did not unleash it.
            “Stay yourself, apprentice.” The woman commanded.  “That is yet to 
be determined, Earl.”
            “Here, and now, priestess!” the man snarled furiously, “I will 
attend to it myself if you will not.”
            Murikeer looked from woman to man, his invisible tail bushing as the 
fur along his spine lifted in fearful expectation.  No one knew of Malger’s 
noble status; to them he was nothing more than a commoner and sufferable to the 
swift justice of the Earl.  Even at the bottom tier of nobility he was well 
within his rights to end the performer’s life on the spot for the crimes he had 
just committed.
            “On your land, perhaps, Earl.  This is the demesne of Earl Asthill.  
He shall make the decision concerning the minstrel’s fate.”  Her gaze came back 
to Murikeer and hardened with a subtle glance at his hand.  The young mage 
blinked in surprise; she could see the spell he had prepared though it was 
invisible to any lacking the sight of mages.  A moment later he realized that 
she could see far, far more than his readied spell and his jaw dropped in 
horror.
            “I bear direct witness to murder, woman!” the man bellowed, “Asthill 
has not!  Duke Thargood will hear of this abrogation of the Temple’s reach!”
            The Lothanasa nodded slowly and shrugged, “Then see about taking the 
news to him, Earl Motense.  Until he sends word that you may gut the man offhand 
I will follow the laws of Sathmore.  I, too, bear direct witness to his 
actions.  He has enacted the Geas of Witness and by such I cannot, I will not, 
allow that Law to be broached.”  Her glare was hard and steady.  After a moment 
the Earl muttered a curse and slammed his sword back into its scabbard.
            “You tread too heavily on Secular Law, woman.” He snarled as he 
turned and stalked back to his retinue.  With a violent jerk of one arm he bade 
them to follow.  Snatching the reins of his mount from an attendant he swung 
into the saddle.  “I will inform his grace of your intransigence.”
            “Mistress?” Murikeer allowed his spell to dissipate as the man 
spurred his horse angrily in a tight circle, scattering his followers.
            “Your master will be taken to the house of Earl Tathim Asthill, 
young mage, as will those who survived his vengeance.” She said after a few 
moments watching the Earl gallop away.  “There he will suffer the Earl’s 
justice, however that plays out.  You and your companion may attend, of course, 
at your leisure.  You are not party to this bloodshed, but may bear some witness 
as to the justice to come.”
            Murikeer stepped up beside Malger, astonished at the injuries the 
minstrel had taken during the brief fight.  His garish raiment was tattered and 
stained with blood; no little of it his own.  Malger’s eyes were distant and 
glassy, offering only a brief empty stare at the mage as he neared.  “Mistress, 
he spoke truly.  The slain were party to the rape of his love, and mine own in 
his wake.  Had I grasped the realization…”
            “You did not, lad.  I know nothing of their crimes, save the 
entrapment of these creatures in such squalor.” The Lothanasa cut him off gently 
with a raised hand.  “If you wish to accompany us you should make ready.”
            Murikeer nodded his head and turned toward the priest standing 
silently a short distance away,  “See to Malger, Elvmere.  I will ready our 
horses.”  Elvmere started with a surprised blink before hastily moving forward.  
He stopped short, however, as he reached the bloodied minstrel, still horrified 
at the unspeakable violence he was capable of.  Murikeer left him to his work 
and trotted toward the camp in the forest to pack their supplies.
            In due time a hastily readied wagon was brought around by a pair of 
horses.  On the buckboard sat a driver and a couple of Grimmam’s men, one of 
which was the guard master’s son.  The other was the man whose nose Malger had 
bitten.  While the Lothanasa looked on the wounded were loaded and Malger was 
helped up by Elvmere who climbed in after him.  The Lothana’s burly guards 
lifted the divan onto their shoulders and, with the wagon following behind, made 
their way down the rutted road toward the Earl’s house where Malger’s fate would 
be decided.
~~
            Grimmam watched the strange train fade into the forest shadows with 
a shake of his head.  “Now wot?” he snorted at the vixen who stood nearby 
watching as well.  She looked across and up at him, as she stood not much taller 
than four feet, and shook her head.
            “I know not, master Grim.” She sighed softly, “I know not where to 
go.”
            “You let us out of these damnable prisons, little bitch!” bellowed 
the bear from her wagon, which was the nearest to them.  That demand was echoed 
by a chorus of cries from the other wagons.  “You know where the blasted man’s 
key is hidden!”
            Sheyiin looked back toward the bear and then surveyed the others 
before nodding.  “Aye, mistress Sho, I had no thought of leaving you in such an 
unpleasant state.  What of yourselves, what shall you do?”
            “Return to Metamor.” Murikeer offered as he led a trio of horses 
from the forest.  His inefficiency at packing, heretofore attended to mostly by 
Elvmere, showed in the sagging packs slung from the mare’s back.  The other two 
horses were more properly saddled.  Pausing to pick up Malger’s remaining sword 
from the grass he crossed toward Grimmam and the vixen.  “All here, and you, 
have been touched by the curse of that place.  Only there can you find some sort 
of life, now.  Cursed as you are, a curse for which there has been no remedy 
discovered as yet, that is the only place safe.”
            “A long journey.” Sheyiin commented.
            Grimmam nodded sourly, “An’ o’ us, boy?”
            The vixen reached out a petite hand and touched the guard’s 
forearm.  “Attend us as you have thus far, master of arms.  I have Max’s 
strongbox, you shall be paid in the same for your efforts.”  She smiled softly, 
“Your men have not shown any degree of wanton cruelty to us.”  With a slow sweep 
of her eyes she took in the milling caravan workers who remained but had no 
immediate task.  “Those who work the wagons without cruelty are welcome as 
well.  Any who did show cruelty are best wise to flee.”
            “I don’t have any wish to make that journey in this cage, fox.” The 
saber-toothed feline growled from her wagon.
            “Hush, Lilith!” snapped the bear.  “I am familiar with Metamor, it 
was not far from my former home.  He speaks the truth!  Once the little bitch 
lets us out of these infernal cages any of you who want to go can go.  I daresay 
the locals will be more than happy to hang your pelts from their walls as 
trophies.”
            “I’ll eat her.” Hissed another voice, that of the hyena from her 
wagon.  She had not moved, but watched the proceedings alertly with hungry 
eyes.  Sheyiin’s ears backed at that pronouncement and her tail drooped.
            “Then you can stay in your Eli be damned cage, you insufferable 
devil!” Sho bellowed loudly, causing Murikeer’s horses to start and snort.
            “Who’s calling who insufferable, you canticle thumping troll?” the 
hyena snarled back, “It’s not like we can haul this gaggle of misfits through 
the land unseen!”  She rattled her chains and turned her back on the rest of the 
conversation.  Murikeer looked on with a slow shake of his head while he tried 
to still the restive horses.
            “Then shall we not be seen, make of it our same show?” offered the 
striped equine from her own wagon, “We a show master need only, replace to that 
monster now so greatly dead.”  Her ears pricked forward as she looked toward 
Murikeer.
            “I’ve my own master to attend to.” The skunk replied hastily with a 
shake of his head, “And our own quests.  You have freedom, once the vixen has 
released those who will refrain from eating her.”  The hyena held up one hand 
over her shoulder in an offensive gesture, proving that despite having turned 
her back she was still listening.  “Even slowly you may make Metamor before 
first snow.  Master Grimmam, Sheyiin, I wish you Gods’ speed on your journey.”
            “Misanthe.” The vixen interjected while Murikeer turned to mount his 
horse.  Murikeer glanced down at her curiously as he settled into his saddle.  
“My given name; Misanthe.  The monster wished to scourge our past lives when he 
remade us, giving us names of his own.”
            “A curse far worse than the one that changed our bodies.” Sho 
grumbled irritably, “The key, little bitch!!”
            Misanthe, once Sheyiin under the iron fist of the deceased showman, 
bobbed a brief bow to Murikeer before turning toward the wagons.  She fished a 
golden key from the bosom of her fine gown and approached the bear’s wagon.  
With a final glance at the former Menagerie of the Marvelous, now dead, 
Maxamillian Malger reined his horse around toward the trail down which the 
Lothanasa had disappeared with Malger.  With the pack mare and Malger’s stallion 
trailing behind he touched his mount’s flanks with his illusion concealed paws, 
tickling lightly with his claws, and goaded it into an easy trot.
            Mounting the steps at the rear of Sho’s wagon the vixen reached up 
to the heavily ensorcelled lock to insert the key.  With that proper counter the 
spells did not trigger.  The lock clicked and the door swung inward.  Before she 
could retreat, however, a huge hand shot out through the gap and seized the 
front of her gown in a powerful grasp.  As she shrieked in terror the bear 
hauled her up into the air until she was at eye level, nose to nose with a maw 
that could take most of her head with a single effortless bite.  Baleful brown 
eyes glowered into the vixen’s terrified golden-green eyes for several long 
seconds.
            Only after she had carefully descended the stairs to put her paws 
upon the cool grass did Sho give a huge, toothy grin.  Convinced that her act of 
kindness was a deadly folly the vixen prepared for the end of her life only to 
be surprised as the air was crushed from her lungs in a bruin-strong embrace.  
“Much as a little bitch you’ve ever been, girl, you’ve never shown cruelty.  I 
thank you.” The bear intoned into her ear with a hot, emotion laden growl before 
carefully setting her back down on her own paws.  “See about the others, dear.”  
Her gaze shifted to the hyena’s wagon, “All of them.  If any wish you harm, they 
will have to go through me.”
~~
            “He refuses.” Elvmere grumbled as he paced alongside Murikeer behind 
the wagon in which Malger sat, head bowed, and stared at the two bodies 
stretched out in front of him.  Neither of Max’s surviving cronies moved having 
passed into the exhausted slumber of adrenal crash and blood loss.
            “What?” Murikeer chuffed irritably.  He, too, was on foot leading 
his horse and Malger’s.  Elvmere had resumed leading the pack mare; a task that 
was hardly onerous.  She followed him of her own accord, plodding along sedately 
even while the raccoon had walked beside her correcting Murikeer’s hasty 
packing.
            The sun had set by the time Murikeer caught up with them half a 
league into their journey.  The Lothanasa did not seem inclined to speak and 
Malger was too exhausted to offer any more than desultory mutterings in response 
to their agitated questions.  He had no need to offer any explanation for what 
he had done; Murikeer was fully aware of the why of it, if not the frighteningly 
bloodthirsty avenue partaken.  But his erstwhile apprentices were very confused 
by his sudden capitulation to the Lothanasa, and the possibly fatal exercise of 
justice that could very well follow.
            “He will not let me pray for him; he refuses my touch.” Elvmere 
complained quietly.  “He let me tend to his injuries within my abilities, but 
flatly refuses Eli’s blessing.”  The raccoon priest looked over to Murikeer, his 
illusory human face drawn with concern.  “Muri, his injuries are bad, I fear 
they may fester if I am not able to do more than poultice them.”  His gaze 
returned to the wagon, “He did ask one thing of me, though.”
            Murikeer raised one eyebrow curiously and waited to hear what 
request Malger may have had.
            “He told me - he did not ask me, he told me - not to touch those two 
men or tend them any aid.” The priest said slowly with a frown, shuddering at 
the smoldering anger he saw behind the minstrel’s eyes when that order was 
given.  Murikeer grunted softly and nodded.
            “I would gladly carve their hearts out with my own claws given the 
opportunity.” The skunk growled as he nodded.  “Slowly, through their backs.”  
He turned his level stare toward the priest, “You saw what I did with that stone 
I presented to your Patriarch.”  One hand he held up, fingers splayed as if 
holding something about the size of an apple.  “Imagine how easy bone would be.”
            Elvmere’s eyes widened and under his concealing illusion both tail 
and ears drooped.  “Muri!” he admonished in shock.  The skunk merely shrugged 
and turned his attention back toward the road ahead.  One of his hands strayed 
to the pouch he wore upon his belt in which he kept a small journal and that 
very stone the mage spoke of.
            “Once we reach this Earl’s house I will help you tend to his 
injuries.  We’ve herbs and dressings in my supplies.” Murikeer replied as he 
touched Elvmere’s shoulder with a placating hand.  “The herbs should stave off 
infection.”
            “But what of your eye?”
            “It will be fine, Elvmere, worry not.”
            Coming around a long curve in the trail they spied their destination 
at last.  The shadow of a tall spire rose out of the surrounding forest some 
hundred feet or so by first glance, flaring out at the top to a crenellated 
turret.  A half dozen slender spires stood at its flanks connected by flying 
buttresses to the main spire.  The tower and its buttressing towers all showed 
elvish grace in their graceful, sweeping curves.  Sprawling around its base like 
mongrel pups was a cluster of clearly human constructed buildings with shale 
rooftops.
            It was all quite dark, without a torch to be seen along the walls.  
A few shuttered windows showed light through their cracks but only near the 
ground floors where the forest would hide them from view.  It looked as if the 
entire manor were trying to hide itself in the darkness.  Murikeer quirked an 
eyebrow at the strangeness of the darkened edifice and Elvmere uttered an awed 
gasp at the delicate silhouette of the tower rising against the night time sky.
            Handing his reins over to Elvmere Murikeer trotted to the front of 
their little caravan, “What is this place, Lothanasa, that is so dark for an 
Earl’s home?”
            The large woman looked down to him with a slight look of concern 
upon her broad face, “I know not, young mage.  I have been away this past 
fortnight and only now return.”  She turned her curious gaze on the manor house 
ahead.  “The bestiary was merely on the road I traveled, the luck of the Aedra 
upon your Master.”
            “The luck of light indeed.  I am concerned, mistress.  May the Earl 
have succumbed to bandits in your absence?”
            “I know not, but suspect that they have other reasons to conceal 
themselves in the night.”  Raising one hand she created a wan glow in the air a 
few feet above her mobile chair.  The bearers seemed unfatigued despite carrying 
the burdensome looking thing for leagues.  Their skin glimmered in the steady 
glow of the light as they slowed to a stop and waited.  A few minutes later a 
flickering light appeared atop the curtain wall surrounding the manor and slowly 
swayed from side to side.  A distant voice echoed over the distance.  Holding a 
hand before her mouth the Lothanasa whispered something and then swept her hand 
toward the distant torch.
            Moments later the torch disappeared, quenched back to darkness.  A 
rectangle of light appeared low on the wall and from it the shadow of a person 
briefly appeared as someone came out to greet them.  That brief light, as well, 
was subsumed back into darkness as the distant door closed.  The group waited a 
few long minutes before the sound of feet reached Murikeer’s sensitive ears; 
someone approached at a swift trot.  Moments later a shadow separated itself 
from the overall darkness and approached.  “Cuialye lothan, and well returned, 
your grace!  We are glad you have arrived safely!” the person said as they 
slowed to a walk.
            “Amsobere, what is this darkness that greets us?” the woman asked 
gently.
            “Bandits, your grace, or raiders, we know not.” The man offered 
without sparing Murikeer more than a passing glance.  He was fully decked in 
leather armor with a sword at his hip and a bow in his hand.  An arrow was 
knocked upon the bow’s string but not drawn.  “Woodton was sacked yester’eve, we 
saw the smoke of its burning this morn.  Riders returned shortly before 
nightfall with a horrific tale of carnage and destruction.  The Lothanasi 
Harkhem was quartered, by their report!”
            “Wise, then, to conceal the manor.  Escort us forth, Amsobere.  I 
would learn more, but not here.”
            The man bowed and knuckled his brow before turning on his heel and 
leading them toward the manor.  Five hundred paces from the manor wall the 
forest simply stopped; cleared for fields and dairy herds as well an 
unobstructed view of the surrounding land should bandits attempt any sort of 
approach.  Murikeer strode forward a few paces until he walked alongside the 
night guard.  The man cast him a sidelong glance.
            “Can you tell us aught of the destruction, goodman Amsobere?” 
Murikeer asked gently.  “A couple of weeks past we witnessed the sacking of a 
border village.  Their Lothanas was similarly quartered and their Temple razed.”
            The man looked across to him again, the whites of his eyes lambent 
in the wan moonlight.  “Aye, stranger, that is the short of it.  The Temple was 
pulled down, I am told.  The villagers slain to a child, as well.  No quarter 
was given.”
            “Dark times.” Murikeer sighed with a frown,  “Dark times for us all, 
indeed.”  With a brief nod of courtesy he fell back, returning to walk alongside 
Elvmere and their horses.
            “What news, Muri?” Elvmere asked diffidently when he spied the young 
man’s pensive expression.
            “Another village was sacked nearby.” Murikeer replied softly, “Their 
Temple was pulled down and the Lothanas slain.  Deep Springs all over again.”
            “Oh dear!” the priest gasped into his hand, “Any survivors?”
            “I don’t know enough to say, Elvmere, but I am thinking not.”
            Murikeer grasped his arm gently and walked at his side more closely, 
“We can do nothing for that village, Elvmere.” He said urgently, “Our concern is 
Malger.  If the inquisitors are behind this attack as well it may be the leading 
front of a war to come.  A war we do not want to be caught in the middle of.”
            Elvmere shook his head sadly, “But if the Church is behind this, it 
will be a war the likes of which have not been seen in centuries!”
            “Aye.” Murikeer nodded, “And in such a war we are but chaff in the 
wind, Elvmere.  We matter not a whit between a clash of Holy Seats and kingdoms, 
bear that in mind.”
            Elvmere gave him a brief scowl, “I have seen my fair share of war, 
Muri, bear that in mind.  I was adjutant to a general for many years.”
            “A what?”
            “Akabieth, my boy.  Before he learned tolerance and humility curbed 
his pride he was the point of the spear that cut deeply into the pagan faiths of 
a dozen lands.”
            “Ah, I am sorry Elvmere, I knew little of your Master’s youthful 
fire.  I saw only his gentle wisdom of later years.”  He shifted his grip to the 
priest’s shoulders, feeling the fur under his shirt through the illusion.  
Giving a reassuring squeeze he dropped his hand and said nothing further.
 
            Upon reaching the dark Manor house they were met by a dozen wary 
night guards and the Earl himself, a strikingly handsome youth somewhere into 
his third decade.  After the Lothanasa explained the addition to her retinue the 
Earl looked to Malger, who now stood silently between two of the priestess’ 
burly guards.  To Murikeer’s sight he looked about ready to fall where he stood 
but he gamely remained on his feet.  If the guards had noticed the feel of fur 
under his tattered clothing they said nothing of it.
            After a few more quiet words with the priestess he instructed his 
personal guards to conduct Malger to the manor’s dungeon and the two injured men 
to the healer’s house.  As the minstrel was escorted away the Earl approached 
Elvmere and Murikeer where they stood at the periphery of the crowd.  The wagon 
was mounted by one of the Earl’s men and steered toward a different area of the 
manor grounds.  Grimmam’s two men remained with the wagon.
            “You are the apprentices of the accused?” the man asked in a gentle 
but strong voice as he faced them, his arms behind his back.  They nodded 
affirmatively in unison.  “I am sorry for the necessity of separating you, but 
it would be uncouth for me to imprison you with him; you do not stand accused of 
any wrongdoing.  I am Tathim of this House.  You are?”
            “Murikeer, your grace, and my companion is Elvmere.”
            “He has the look of a southerner about him; Pyralian?”
            “Of that lineage, sire.” Elvmere offered quietly.
            “Be that as it may, Elvmere and Murikeer.  I will have a room 
prepared for your comfort.  I do apologize for the darkness that greets you, but 
ill events have forced me to be overly cautious.”  Looking down briefly the Earl 
frowned and sighed, “One of my vassalages has been sacked and I fear to say that 
will have some delay on seeing to your master’s fate.  Rest assured I am a just, 
but I am fair.  What will be, will be, may such be to the grace of all.”
            “Sire, our friend is sorely injured.  May we see to his wounds 
before he is cast into a cell?” Elvmere hazarded with all the deference he could 
muster into his shaking voice.
            “I have healers who are quite capable, lad, I –“
            “Sire, he has special needs that cannot be –“ Elvmere interrupted 
but petered to a halt at the man’s sudden hard stare.  Towering over all of them 
the Lothanasa approached the Earl’s side.  Murikeer was amazed at her towering 
height; a good seven feet to the top of her large head but not, as the divan 
gave the impression of, obese in the least.  She leaned down and said a few 
quiet words into the Earl’s ear that even the skunk’s pricked ears could not 
discern.  The man listened quietly for several moments, the expression on his 
face going from hard to curious to surprised.
            “I – see,” Putting one hand to his brow he shook his head slowly, 
“Yes, see to your master, young pupils.  Haeferth, see that they take the 
accused to one of the servants’ halls so that his pupils may tend him.  Once 
they are finished tell Morgan so that they may be housed.”  With a last nod to 
the pair he turned, “Oh, and have their steeds stabled.  Secure what weapons 
they may have.”
            One of the night guards escorted them to the stables along the 
inside of the manor’s curtain wall; more a wooden palisade than a true wall but 
certainly serviceable enough.  Hastily unlimbering their steeds in the dim light 
of a lone lantern they relinquished the animals to awaiting stable hands and 
hastened to follow the guard.  They were conducted to a servants’ hostel and 
once within taken to a large communal room where Malger awaited them under the 
watchful gaze of two guards.
            Murikeer glanced at the two guards hanging by the door where their 
escort joined them and moved to Malger’s side.  The minstrel was a sorry sight; 
bedraggled and tattered, beaten and bloodied by his brief but bloodthirsty 
rampage through the showman’s personal guards.  His breathing was slow but 
labored and he offered but a wan grimace at their appearance.  “I would put you 
two on the road now, but you would not go.” He grunted but winced at the 
discomfort speaking caused him.
            “You’re an aedra bedamned fool.” Murikeer chuffed as he set his bag 
on a nearby table.  An assortment of bandages and herbs had already been laid 
out for them by some forward thinking house servant.  “You can walk away from 
this, right now.  Why have you not?”  Taking a small knife up from the items 
left for them he tested the edge and, finding it satisfactorily sharp, deftly 
cut away the minstrel’s destroyed shirt.  Malger winced, but whether it was in 
pain or the final end of his finery Murikeer did not know.  Carefully peeling 
the blood matted material away he looked at the injuries it concealed.


      

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