Post by The Forgotten God on May 4, 2015 18:32:05 GMT -5
Moat Cailin, May 382
“Cregan was too excitable,” the woman said pleasantly, looking to her two companions. “First noblewoman he sees he decides to attack. Look where that got him.” The men shrug.
“We told you he was too young, Sherice. Thought some wolf’s blood might cool him down, I guess. We did tell you not to let him come.” The skinchanger frowned.
“None of that, now. What’s done is done. The lord will be quite wroth with us if we do anything so stupid again. Remember what’s at stake, here. Unless you want the work that whore Savinia did completed on us, for truth. You can both have some of the captives once our work is done. ” Sherice looked up in the sky as a great green lizard flew. “And now the northmen have a dragon, looks like. More news for the lord.”
“What does he wish of us now?” The army was packing up to move. “Just keep moving south?” Sherice nodded.
“Not Felryn. He has his own task at the northman’s castle. The Lord told us to pay special attention to that one’s family. The most dangerous of them all, he said. You and I go south with the rest. And stay away from the damned princess for now. Her time will come, just like everyone else’s. Cregan wil be avenged, and his…work completed. If the Lord wants royal blood, we’ll find him some.” Felryn nodded.
“Already got my disguise,” he said. “That little prince won’t take a step without me by his side.” He picked up his chainmail and spear, hidden under rags, and a northern soldier walked out, preparing to head back north. Sherice turned back to her younger charge.
“Allyn, this is no time for any stupidity. What won’t you do?”
“Try fucking the princess. Or any of the other ones.” He rolled his eyes in annoyance. Sherice whacked his head.
“Good. You know what happens if we fail.” Allyn nodded, then thought.
“Why does the Lord need us? His power seems so much….greater. Why doesn’t he destroy these fools on his own? Why take our families alive…when he rules the dead?” Sherice looked north, quietly, perhaps a slight mist in her eye.
“Because,” she whispered. “The dead cannot cross the Wall. Not yet.”
////
The Grey Man walked among them, the scattered peoples of the Frostfangs and the Milkwater. His face was stone, now, grey ad cold and without emotion, the ice blue of his eyes the only sign of life or awareness. The crowd around him had stopped and bowed, knees on the cold earth, snow still present even this far into spring, and the Grey Man’s voice was quiet, but everyone for two hundred yards heard it perfectly all the same.
“I am disappointed. Fealty is all I ask, loyalty, service. For your lives. For your families.” The voice gets lower, colder, less human. “But some of you wish to attack my servants, oppose my taxes, hide your daughters and sons from me.” He put a finger under the chin of a nearby boy. “For that, I come to take my taxes myself. What lord is his own tax man? Only one who has disloyal and thieving subjects,” he declared. “My kingdom is populated only by thieves.” He looks over.
“Any who admit their guilt will spare their fellows. If none take the blame for this blatant treason, then I shall…renegotiate my rates.” A gasp cut through the crowd. Long moments passed before a dozen or so stood, men and women alike.
“We did it, Lord! ‘Twas us who lied to you! Spare us, please! Mercy!” The Grey Man smiled.
“Justice is mercy,” he said with finality. “It will keep the rest of my people knowing that they have nothing to fear, so long as they know that every action has a consequence.” He raised a hand. Dozens of the dead, shambling men came, taking the dozen away. Weeping was heard, tears, anger, but, the Grey Man noted with whatever passed for pleasure now, in his mind, not rebellion. Not…resistance.
As he left the second city he had established, a town of four or five thousand, where he could better watch his new kingdom, the Grey Man took a girl’s arm as he walked through the crowd. “This one is for my Warm People,” he said, and the girl bowed her head and came along as her mother and father sobbed. The Grey Man marched off to the north. His powers had grown, his awareness had flooded him with its breadth, but, he noted as he stared at the crying girl, he was still a man. And men have needs.
“Cregan was too excitable,” the woman said pleasantly, looking to her two companions. “First noblewoman he sees he decides to attack. Look where that got him.” The men shrug.
“We told you he was too young, Sherice. Thought some wolf’s blood might cool him down, I guess. We did tell you not to let him come.” The skinchanger frowned.
“None of that, now. What’s done is done. The lord will be quite wroth with us if we do anything so stupid again. Remember what’s at stake, here. Unless you want the work that whore Savinia did completed on us, for truth. You can both have some of the captives once our work is done. ” Sherice looked up in the sky as a great green lizard flew. “And now the northmen have a dragon, looks like. More news for the lord.”
“What does he wish of us now?” The army was packing up to move. “Just keep moving south?” Sherice nodded.
“Not Felryn. He has his own task at the northman’s castle. The Lord told us to pay special attention to that one’s family. The most dangerous of them all, he said. You and I go south with the rest. And stay away from the damned princess for now. Her time will come, just like everyone else’s. Cregan wil be avenged, and his…work completed. If the Lord wants royal blood, we’ll find him some.” Felryn nodded.
“Already got my disguise,” he said. “That little prince won’t take a step without me by his side.” He picked up his chainmail and spear, hidden under rags, and a northern soldier walked out, preparing to head back north. Sherice turned back to her younger charge.
“Allyn, this is no time for any stupidity. What won’t you do?”
“Try fucking the princess. Or any of the other ones.” He rolled his eyes in annoyance. Sherice whacked his head.
“Good. You know what happens if we fail.” Allyn nodded, then thought.
“Why does the Lord need us? His power seems so much….greater. Why doesn’t he destroy these fools on his own? Why take our families alive…when he rules the dead?” Sherice looked north, quietly, perhaps a slight mist in her eye.
“Because,” she whispered. “The dead cannot cross the Wall. Not yet.”
////
The Grey Man walked among them, the scattered peoples of the Frostfangs and the Milkwater. His face was stone, now, grey ad cold and without emotion, the ice blue of his eyes the only sign of life or awareness. The crowd around him had stopped and bowed, knees on the cold earth, snow still present even this far into spring, and the Grey Man’s voice was quiet, but everyone for two hundred yards heard it perfectly all the same.
“I am disappointed. Fealty is all I ask, loyalty, service. For your lives. For your families.” The voice gets lower, colder, less human. “But some of you wish to attack my servants, oppose my taxes, hide your daughters and sons from me.” He put a finger under the chin of a nearby boy. “For that, I come to take my taxes myself. What lord is his own tax man? Only one who has disloyal and thieving subjects,” he declared. “My kingdom is populated only by thieves.” He looks over.
“Any who admit their guilt will spare their fellows. If none take the blame for this blatant treason, then I shall…renegotiate my rates.” A gasp cut through the crowd. Long moments passed before a dozen or so stood, men and women alike.
“We did it, Lord! ‘Twas us who lied to you! Spare us, please! Mercy!” The Grey Man smiled.
“Justice is mercy,” he said with finality. “It will keep the rest of my people knowing that they have nothing to fear, so long as they know that every action has a consequence.” He raised a hand. Dozens of the dead, shambling men came, taking the dozen away. Weeping was heard, tears, anger, but, the Grey Man noted with whatever passed for pleasure now, in his mind, not rebellion. Not…resistance.
As he left the second city he had established, a town of four or five thousand, where he could better watch his new kingdom, the Grey Man took a girl’s arm as he walked through the crowd. “This one is for my Warm People,” he said, and the girl bowed her head and came along as her mother and father sobbed. The Grey Man marched off to the north. His powers had grown, his awareness had flooded him with its breadth, but, he noted as he stared at the crying girl, he was still a man. And men have needs.