They discussed the plan at some length, before they were forced to conclude that the Amazon lady’s intentions were sincere, her proposed plan a goodly one. This in spite of the reluctance on the part of Daegan, who was still possessed by the spirit of spite, so that she cared little for Otrera. The plan still pleased her.

  The proposed date for the plan was to be the following night.

  What they hardly expected was that no sooner had they descended thither, into the darkness to free their friends than they were caught.

  The servant, who caught them up, was one of the Warlady’s handmaidens, a brunette with a plump build and who spoke with confidence despite the absence of guards. “Milady Prithia would see you in the mead-hall, you and her prisoners.”

  Surprised and displeased as they were to have been seen by her, and at having discovered the prison cells to be as barren as the rest of the prison, they acquiesced.

  Trailing reluctantly, some such as Daegan grumbled of treachery, “It was Otrera who betrayed us, it must have been she. You would never see a Forlarin commit such a gross act of treachery!”

  “Nonsense, I say it was Stamatios,” Ronald guessed at once, feline eyes aglow in the darkness of the underground prison below the keep, as only feline eyes could be.

  “Tush the lot of you, it matters little who betrayed us, only that we now have an audience to set them free in the best manner imaginable; honestly.” Connor reprimanded those behind him, his voice angry.

  For the first time since they had made one another’s acquaintance, Bardulf agreed with the Bairaz saying aloud, “Agreed, from the beginning, I had my doubts about this scheme of Otrera’s.”

  Gnashing her teeth childishly, Daegan followed after her betters displeased and furious at the scolding she had received. She was still utterly convinced of the guilt of the niece of Prithia, by the time they arrived to find the feast hall full of Prithia’s guards and warriors. Included in this number at one of the lower-tables was Stamatios, he did not meet their gazes, but rather focused his attention upon tearing into a nearby hunk of meat.

  The smell of the hall was intoxicating, with its roasted and cooked duck-meat, gull-meat along with some ostrich, herons, beef, pork, mutton and also fish-meat. There were fruits to be sure, the peaches Namavians loved ever so much, was accompanied by apples, bananas, boiled tomatoes, cucumbers, beans, and much more. They had hot-bread not the long sort that the Gallians preferred or the warm cornbread that filled all who ate it with warmth of the Elves, but small rounded buns. These were hard as Gallian bread and necessitated wine to dip in, in order to soften it when it cooled.

  Most of all though, was the beer, ale and wine that flowed as water in this place. For the Amazons of Namavo could be either sober, or they could be horrendous drunks and never anywhere in between. It was for this reason that Daegan was frankly alarmed at all that she saw. Certainly Glasvhail had borne witness to more than a little liquor, but the large bowls and tankards for pouring into the mugs and goblets of the guards and nobles was unlike any sight she had ever seen before. It was a scene of vice, which made her think that those present wished to drown themselves in their wine.

  It left her feeling rather ill.

  The hall was gay-gilded and cheery in its mood as though the men and women present therewith their liege, sought to spite her for her ill-mood. It was a humorous vision to behold, Daegan thought to herself unable to resist a small if brief smile; the cheery, singing crowds and the fulminating Warlady picking at her plate with sharp jabs.

  Next to Prithia sat the miserable Otrera. She would not meet their gazes.

  For Daegan that was proof enough of culpability.

  “Do you know why I have called you here?” Prithia asked interrupting her own minstrel, who was making a poor effort at singing the song of Anameia and her northron laird. It was a song that none of them had ever heard before, save for mayhaps Fergus. Yet the man’s failed efforts drew a frown of displeasure from him, as all failed singers did.

  “We have come hither to speak with you, of the release of our friends and the importance of our quest.” Bardulf replied lightly, his tone as reverential of her as though he spoke to a goddess and not a mortal woman.

  “Does your quest encourage you to break all rules of courtesy, and to ensnare my niece, the spare heiress to my throne into the liberation of your criminal friends?” Prithia sneered full of wroth and indignation at their comportment throughout their sojourn in her city.

  “Yet what honour do you comport yourself with, milady? You have imprisoned men without due trials or with a thought to their injuries.” Bardulf countered to her amazement, his voice sharp so that none could doubt the anger that lay beneath the placid surface he liked to keep upraised in the face of the world’s violence.

  “Aye, and what is more-” Began Andvari ere he was made to eat a piece of meat was taken up to be shoved into his craw, by the likes of Fergus whilst the Dwarf objected loudly.

  Prithia had little in the way of violence to offer them, save for in the complaints she poured quite heartily from her lips. “Woe betides me! Were my dearest niece Andromache the Fair herewith us, you would not speak so to me! Why you would have by now perished!” She turned then to the crowds all about her, “Will no one defend your liege’s honour and rid her of these knaves?”

  The force of her fist upon the table next to her plate made several of those nearest the old woman leap, and the crockery no her table jostle and leap with near to the same distance. Hers was a wrath swiftly and easily awoken, yet also just as swiftly laid to rest.

  Harsh as her words were none moved. For all of them well-understood the guest-rights that had long been allowed for any who entered, the home of Namavians, that to break this pact would bring down the wrath of Namaia. In ancient times they had broken such pacts easily, and every time had paid for it heftily.

  “Andromache? Do you mean Andromache Sword-Dancer?” Ronald queried stunned by the revelation.

  “Who is this Andromache?” Daegan asked at once.

  “A friend, one who is both a fierce tigress and kitten of a woman,” Fergus informed her with a small snigger.

  “Would she really cut us down, where we stand?” Andvari asked after he had swallowed the bit of horse-meat that had been shoved into his mouth.

  “Nay,” Ronald retorted just as their friend’s aunt answered.

  “Aye and she would never tolerate such indignities delivered unto me,” Prithia growled outraged still, her eyes narrowed together in wrath.

  It was debated amidst their ranks whether to claim Andromache as a friend of theirs. This Fergus did, yet Prithia rejected at once, claiming it to be a bald lie.

  Their next attempt to reclaim their freedom was to be entirely thanks to Bardulf who told her, “We come not to quarrel with you, but to undo all that the Dark Laird wishes to inflict upon us.”

  Prithia and a great many of her court were incredulous, staring at him open-mouthed. It was then that Connor pounced with a great surge of passion, “We must destroy the Dark Laird, he lusts for reasons we do not understand the Blood-Gem of Aganippe. It is for this reason we journey north, to thrust shards taken from Mt-Cyril into the very heart of the stone!”

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  In the face of such sincerely spoken words, and passion for the great quest that they had been tasked with, those around them stared as awed by their vigour as by their eloquence. Amazons like the Caleds were not ones for long florid speeches, but rather ones to the point and straightforward in nature. Thus, it was that they became smitten by the unpoetic nature of these two beast-folks. One who spoke as a Caled might and another as might an érian.

  Just as elsewhere upon the Misty-Island there was an air of alarmed fright, at the proposal to oppose the Dark Laird. There was also a brightness in the eyes of some at the thought that they might face his evil, his darkness.

  Prithia informed them with a sigh, “You are not the first to come to me, speaking of a gem of some sort.”

  This garnered the old Warlady the full attention of them all, with it Daegan who uttered, “The Knightwraiths? They visited you?”

  “Aye, they paid me a visit months and months ago.” Prithia admitted with a visible shiver, whether of disgust or of fear she did not say and they did not ask. She continued if reluctantly so, with visible apprehension. “They were cold and cruel, with nary any good or light within them. Their unlight devoured the light shed by our torches, and their voices were colder than the worst knives winter could possibly summon to slice our flesh. They demanded not only the scarlet-gem but the handing over of a man, one by the name of ‘Murchadh’. I told them I knew nothing of this man, and cared less for him.”

  By the time she had finished speaking, she had shared more than words with them. Prithia had given to them her own apprehension, her own fear that left her helpless and paralyzed.

  It was this terror that had bound up her warriors, and kept her from decisive action and also fuelled her rage, so that she threw herself against one wall, then another.

  “I have seen the truth in the face of the wraiths, the depths of their darkness and evil,” Prithia carried on eyes dark and hung with large circles that made her appear all the older. “In them I saw the truth; even without his gemstone he will conquer us.”

  “Is that the true face of the courage of Amazons?” Daegan snapped quaking with rage, “It has been said that your people have long resented Gallian war-nuns, along with the Shieldmaidens of the north. Claiming yourselves to be the bravest, yet now you sit thereupon your seat prepared to give in and weep as though little more than some silly lass? For shame! You would never see those of us of Gallia and Caledonia submit as you Amazons might!”

  Such fearsome words could only incur wroth or shame.

  In Stamatios it inspired rage, he threw down his mug full of ale, face purpling with anger this reaction so surprised the companions of the scarlet-haired lass that they closed ranks about her. Otrera for her own part began to weep pathetically, with a great deal of men and women present doing much the same.

  Even the servants burst into tears, sobbing at the thought of how their ancestors might have looked down on them, for their failure to properly set their affairs in order and to prepare to resist the Dark Laird.

  “Be careful Daegan,” Bardulf warned placing himself between her and the younger brother of the Warlady.

  Eyeing her with a speculative look, Prithia regained her feet. Her demeanour was not at all inviting, she was visibly affronted as well as pensive. “How is it that just as I prayed for Andromache, to return to stiffen our spines, to command our armies the goddesses send me this young flower. Tell me lass, have you been blooded in battle?”

  Daegan could only shake her head.

  At this response the old woman continued, “Then do be silent of affairs that are beyond your ken, going forward unless you have learnt to endure the horrors and glories of battle you have no reason to speak. I would prefer to be shamed if I must be, by those wiser than a child.”

  “Milady, she is uncouth in her manner of speech towards you,” Ronald said solicitously, with a glance to Daegan, one which was thoughtful. “I do however agree with her that, we shan’t give up. We must at this moment go beyond simple hope.”

  “And look to what, o Tigrun?” Prithia snapped in exasperation.

  “To desperation if we must, for we must either cling to one another or perish.” The sorcerer insisted with sincere feeling, which pulled a thoughtful look from the old woman.

  Sullenly she sagged a little in defeat; it was at that moment that she glanced towards one of the guards at the lower-table. A woman dressed in a simple woollen green dress, with her hair cut a little shorter than the rest of those around her.

  It was to this woman that Prithia addressed her next words, turning to her for guidance, “Penthesilea you were akin to a sister to Andromache… tell me would she counsel, the same as these strangers?”

  The turning to this stranger was something that none of them had accounted for, it was with wary eyes that this woman studied each of them. Muscled and yet fair of hair and to the eye, she looked from them if briefly so without Prithia noticing, to the lady Otrera.

  When at last she answered, it was with utter confidence, “Aye milady, though I doubt very much she would trust these strangers as your kinwoman does.”

  This appeared to make up the mind of Prithia, with Stamatios looking resentful and Otrera wearied if relieved. Bardulf and the rest of his companions began to congratulate one another, to thank the Warlady, pleased by her decision to stand by them.

  They could not have foreseen, though they should have known just what sort of conditions Prithia might hold them to, given her being as all Amazons are, partly of Dorian descent. Tricksters as well as warriors, it was thus for this reason that she interrupted their cheers. “I wish to hold two of you herewith me. In exchange for the companions of yours I have taken on as prisoners.”

  “What? You cannot be serious; we will never accept such a bargain!” Connor bellowed furiously, scowling with all his teeth at her.

  In response to his bellow, most of those around him arose to their feet, with the men having their swords and daggers near. The warrior-women had no swords at hand but their warriors’ daggers, for when dressed in woman’s garb they never wore their swords or other arms.

  “I am quite serious; I wish to exchange the father for the daughter, as she strikes me as being of far more valuable a prisoner and person than he.” Prithia countered sharply, with the companions looking prepared to object.

  It was to Daegan now that the fate of their quest befell. In the past, she had humiliated herself and shamed her ancestors by cowering, when needed most. She had failed continuously, and in spite of how she was frightened of this bull-dog of a woman, the scarlet-haired lass could not shirk her duty now. It was thus, with her head raised up high and her chin upraised that she defied the Warlady, “Agreed!”

  “Daegan, think! We did not come all this way to surrender you in such a manner!” Bardulf hissed protectively, “I promised Cormac to protect you, and I intend to keep that oath!”

  “And you will, please for my father’s sake,” Daegan pleaded at once in turn, gripping his hand ignoring how others might have perceived this gesture as weak or womanish. “We all must make sacrifices for this quest; I know that this is mine. Besides, he is my papa I must save him! You have seen how they treat him, please they will treat me better this I know as surely, as I know that you and Cormac will see this quest to its very end.”

  Bardulf was distressed at her words, as was Connor and Andvari. One out of a sense of chivalry that he had never failed to show towards every lady they had encountered on this journey. The other was out of a sense of duty towards the only man he considered his friend.

  “But Daegan, think of Cormac, we are sure to see him soon,” Andvari said to her, his voice trembling with anxiousness. “Do you not wish to see him?”

  Daegan bit her lips, she wished to weep so badly did she long to see her beloved. But she could not shirk her duty to Corin. It hurt, but she knew he would understand, “I-I wish to see him, more than you could know, more than any other person on earth. But duty as my papa once said trumps all else, and is the highest form of love.”

  “Such a beautiful sentiment,” Fergus murmured with genuine feeling, clearing his throat he turned now to the Warlady, “Milady allow me to stay by the lady Daegan’s side.”

  This startled Daegan, along with several of those present. Many appeared now a little intrigued. Not being particularly fond of beast-folks, Dwarves or Elves, a Pardiff being in their midst was worthy of consideration. They loved music and poetry as much, as any other ancient folks did.

  Prithia nodded her head.

  “But Fergus, you cannot!” Ronald begged, having been frozen before only to now leap thither to shake his brother, “If you stay I must!”

  “Nay, brother you have your duties and I have mine,” Fergus snapped, “You are an apprentice and must hurry whither where your master is. I am no sorcerer, nor the warrior Bardulf or Connor are, therefore this must be done. Someone must stay by Daegan’s side.” At the sight of his brother’s stubborn face he added with a laugh, a great hale one that was all man and all boisterousness. “Bah, do not go soft on me you sorry excuse for a feline! How will this be any different from our adventures in Cymru or ériu? Hold fast to your rod and courage, and we will be reunited in a matter of weeks!”

  As the drama unfolded between the brothers, and as they embraced one last time before their separation, with Daegan numbed with gratitude and emotions. She was pleased that Fergus had chosen to stay at her side; in all honesty she had felt fearful and anxious at being left alone in the house of Prithia.

  Pleased at how all had turned in her favour in this manner, Prithia accepted their submission with glee. It was Andvari however, who put paid to her early celebration, when he volunteered, “I shall likewise stay.”

  “What do you mean?” Fergus asked of him surprised.

  “I too swore an oath, this one to my only friend, to keep his dearest safe until they are reunited. I shall keep that oath,” Andvari stated firmly, seeing the disappointed glare that the Amazon threw him he added with a snigger. “I suppose this signifies that I too shall be your guest, Amazon.”

  The only answer he received was another glare, one that all those of Dytikástro shared in the giving of.