Hearts Return - Part 14

The evening breeze blows through the open window, leaving behind a sting of coolness in the small room where the women wait for word of Rastellion. Zandrianna paces back and forth across the floor, throwing glances towards the window. Emra watches the restless movements from where she perches on the edge the bed. “He'll be here, don't fear. The old man won't keep you waiting,” she chuckles, as she fluffs a pillow and shoves it behind her.

Zandrianna glares at Emra. “That's not what I'm worried about. Rastellion … how could he be so careless as to show up in town where he could be seen?” her voice cracks.

“But he got away, and he'll be more careful now.” Emra picks at her nails in time with the other woman’s pacing. “You need to stop being so stiff."

"And you need to use that head of yours for something other than pursuing men.” Zandrianna snaps back. “The local guards probably work for Sallastin, and if they’d caught Rast…" She stops and rubs her head.

Looking up from her hand, Emra rolls her eyes and regards Zandrianna. "I know you've mentioned this man is horrible, but even he couldn't have that much power."

The older woman turns a bleak look on her companion. "He is, and he does. I've told Rastellion and Ceolfred only a little of what Immalaine told me about him. I think, mayhap, Ceolfred should understand exactly what Sallastin is capable of.” She tosses a hand in the air and resumes pacing. "Now, though, I need to tell him. Even if it's not something Immalaine would wish them to know. At least I won't have to tell Rastellion too."

"Not sure that what happened in the past is going to change much about now, still ..." Emra sits up further, her eyes catching a glimpse of a shadow along the roof-lines. “We'll know soon enough how that fellow fares.” Despite Emra's casual tone, her eyes reflect the strain of her own worry.

The window, which Zandrianna has left ajar, swings open, and Ceolfred peers inside. Seeing just the two women, he nods and steps back out of view. There's a slight scuffling noise, then Rastellion heaves himself through the window, landing with a slight thump on the worn floorboards. He looks about, then twitches as two sharp fingers poke into his back, and shuffles out of the way for his uncle, rolling one shoulder with a slight wince. Ceolfred follows, silently, and pulls the window closed behind him before lowering his cowl. He nudges Rastellion toward a nearby chair, then takes a second himself. He sees Zandrianna's eyes flash angrily as she turns towards the younger man, and he gives a low cough. "Don't suppose there's any wine?" he asks.

Zandrianna pays no heed Ceolfred's question, her gaze settling on Rastellion. "What were you thinking this afternoon? Do you have any idea how worried I've been?" She begins swearing in rohirric, turning away and raking her hand through her hair. "And why ..." she bites her tongue, and turns back to Rastellion, leaning down to hug him fiercely. "Damned man ..." she mutters hoarsely.

Rastellion accepts the hug, giving his uncle a long-suffering look over Zandrianna's shoulder. "Well, how was I to know they'd be looking for me? And they didn't catch me, did they?" He leans back in the worn wooden chair as Zandrianna finally lets go. "Besides, I've got to do something. I can't just sit out in the woods on my ass while everyone else is trying to save Immalaine!"

"And it's going to help if you get caught too and ..."

Emra breaks in. "Lady, not doing any good beating that dead horse. And he's got a point. Not so easy to sit and wait, for any of us.”

Rastellion shoots Emra a grateful look. "Besides, Ceolfred said it was you two who heard about these guys, and that they might be planning something..."

The older man raises is hand. "Aye, an' I also said tha', like as not, it's just a bunch of local lads mouthin' off t' each other over their beers."

Rastellion turns his attention back to his uncle, "You also said you didn't know for sure. Well, I was trying to find out! Cause it sounded to me like they were plotting something, and it wouldn't hurt to find out what."

Emra turns to Ceolfred. “Might be true that most of them don't have the wit contained in the back of a horse, but that Talthos – he's a different cut of leather. Got a temper on him, I can tell, and some strong reason to hate Sallastin. And since he's got some family working for the Watch here, he seems to get away with more than most.”

"And you also said," Rastellion adds, "that we've got to work on a way to get into the compound - and out again! Mebbe they know something. They're from around here. So even if it's just talk, I might learn something..."

The older man purses his lips slightly and shakes his head, but he doesn't reply. Obviously, this isn’t the first time the two have had this argument today. Instead, Ceolfred asks Zandrianna, "So, what'd you think of the other players today? Think you'll be selected as one of the groups invited inside for barding?"

“It's going to be rough ...” Zandrianna answers, just as Emra says, “We'll manage just fine.” Zandrianna shakes her head. “No, it'll not be that easy, and this is not some game. Immalaine's life is at stake. You need to take it more seriously!”

Emra scowls and opens her mouth for an angry retort, but Ceolfred makes an equivocal gesture with his hand, interrupting. "We might manage without,” he says, “but I don’t know how. I’m thinkin’ on it. It’s going to be hard to Immalaine out o' there that night, and it’d be best t' have more than one arrow in th' quiver, as they say." He frowns, remembering his interrupted conversation earlier that day. "I'd meant t' tell that Marybelle that we might have you two in there, ask her thoughts on how t' use that best. But I'd barely started when that burned fellow showed up." He shakes his head. "Damn inconvenient, that was. But, wi' luck, I'll talk t' Mary t'morrow an' see what she can suggest."

Zandrianna looks up. “Speaking of that, I've heard an unusual tale about Marybelle. Seems that… well, I'll let you decide once you hear.”

Ceolfred looks at her with new attention, and Rastellion leans forward in his chair. "Tale? ... About what?" the younger man asks. "Something to do with Immalaine? With our rescue?"

"I'm not sure what to think." Zandrianna nods, her voice tense. Quickly she recounts Madame Greenvale’s tale, Emra tapping her foot against a bedpost the while.

“So,” Emra says, when Zandrianna finally pauses, “this Marybelle girl is not being honest … but why?”

Ceolfred rubs his chin, where stubble has begun to grow, adding shadow to his face. "Mebbe. Assumin' yer friend's cousin is right, an' she's this same girl whose house burned. Could jus' be coincidence, though I'll grant as it seems unlikely."

“I'm not sure what to think,” Zandrianna agrees. “But if she is the same girl … well the one person who'd know for sure is the man who attacked her earlier.”

Rastellion starts at this news. "The man who attacked her.. you saw him again?”

"Yes," Zandrianna confirms, "I spotted him as I was going on stage. It's definitely the same man, could tell from the scars. And he’s with one of the other groups of players! I spoke with his bandleader, very nice lady. The tale she told me, and the one I heard about Mary ...” Zandrianna tells them this tale as well.

“I'm not liking this at all,” Emra frowns, fingering the blanket. “There's something rotten, and it's not the stew downstairs.”

Ceolfred ponders for long moments. "Too much to be coincidence," he finally judges. "The stories are too close. And this Sterek meant to kill Mary - I saw it in his eyes."

"Then we can't trust Mary!" Rastellion exclaims.

Ceolfred holds up a warning hand. "It don' tell us th' truth of things. She could be an innocent who's jus' tryin t' hide and protect herself ... or th' guilty tryin' to cover her crimes. Mebbe she can’t be trusted… or mebbe this Sterek can’t." He pulls out his pipe as he speaks and makes as if to fill and light it -- then catches himself and merely chews thoughtfully on the stem. "Either way, though... seems she's lying about her mother needing rescue.... An that I don' like."

Zandrianna stands and resumes pacing, brushing past Ceolfred in the cramped room. “What should we do? Mary's been our best way of getting to Immalaine. If she isn't who she claims, then how can we be sure of anything she's told us?”

“Either way,” Emra pipes up, “It sounds like we have to decide to trust this girl … or not.”

“She could still be innocent, we don't know,” Zandrianna shakes her head. “But, Immalaine ...”

Emra breaks in, “I'd have to say if it were up to me, I'd not be trusting that girl any further than you can throw the old guy there.”

“You'd not trust anyone anyways, unless his pocketbook was open.” Zandrianna mutters.

Rastellion stands and leans forward on the table, an unusually dangerous light in his eyes. "I say we make her tell us..."

The discussion surges back and forth, growing more animated. Ceolfred sits quietly, just chewing on his pipestem, as the voices wash around him. Finally he raps on the table to get their attention.

Zandrianna pauses next to Ceolfred at the movement. Placing her hand on his shoulder, she squeezes briefly. “Aye?

Ceolfred glances at her hand for a brief moment, as if uncertain what to make of it, but then returns his attention to the conversation. "Here's th' thing: if Marybelle's th' one y'heard th' storSes of - an' we still can't be sure o' that - then she's lyin' 'bout her mother. But that don’t prove ill intent. she might have good cause for that. She don't know us, an' with that Sallastin about, she's got reason t'be wary. 'Sides, was Immalaine as told me t' trust her, an' she knows Mary better than us.”

He taps his pipe stem against his teeth, rises, and starts to pace. “Th' real question is this: is Mary lyin' 'bout Immalaine? Now, other than th' bit about her Ma, everything tracks, best as I can see. Guards, chains - tha's all true. Saw it all for m'self when I scouted out th' place." He meets their eyes in turn, to see if they're following, then continues.

"So two possibilities: either she's tellin' th' truth 'bout this chance t' rescue Immalaine, or not. If she's tellin' th' truth, we go as planned. If she's lyin' - why? Only thing I can think of is tha’ it’s a trap, t' lure me an' the boy into th' villa. No point spinnin' th' tale otherwise." He gestures, inviting response before he continues.

Emra considers his words. “I've got a bad feeling about this, the lying about her mother … that's no small thing to lie about.”

“I have to agree with Emra on that,” Zandrianna replies grudgingly, chewing on her lip. “But what would be the purpose of her luring the both of you there? None of this makes sense!” Zandrianna's grip on the back of the chair tightens as she battles her frustration.

Rastellion's own hands tighten in response. "I say let this scarred fellow get to her and they can sort it out between them. If we can't trust her, she's worse than useless!"

One corner of Ceolfred's mouth quirks. “Here’s the thing: there's no way t' find out for sure without confrontin' her, an' that'd not be wise. If she's got good reason for her lies - if she's lying at all – an’ we start questioning her, it might scare her off. And if it is deceit, no point lettin' her know we're on t' her. Either way, we lose our chance t’ get t’ Imma. No, the question we've got here is whether t' continue on with this plan she's proposed - sneakin' in during th' wedding t' get Immalaine out while unchained an' unguarded - or t' try t' come up wit' our own scheme in th' next two days."

Zandrianna stares down for a moment and then shakes her head. “Well, we don't know either way for certain. And this plan may well be our best chance to get to Immalaine. Still … I'd feel better if we could find another way – in case things go wrong.”

Behind Zandrianna, Emra nods. “Makes sense, what the lady says. We're best thinking of something else regardless. Not sure what, but it doesn't hurt to plan ahead.”

Rastellion nods. "See, so I should be talking to those town fellows. See if they can help with that second way."

Ceolfred shakes his head. "Well, yer not going t' be comin' back in town after t'night. Watch is after you now, like we feared. Best thing you can do is sit tight an' let us figger it out."

Zandrianna gives Rastellion a reproving look and shakes her head. "Rastellion, please listen to your uncle. It's too risky for you to be seen in town, and you'd not be able to help at all sitting in some jailer's cell."

Rastellion makes a non-committal 'hmm' noise and folds his arms across his chest. Ceolfred shoots a glance at him, before turning to Zan. "Meanwhile," he tells the two women, "You keep on wi' your barding, an' I'll keep on wi' Marybelle's plan, actin’ as if all's well. I jus' won’ tell her 'bout you two..." He pauses, face paling slightly as he realizes: "An' I nearly did tell 'er, too. Was jus' 'bout to when that Sterek showed up. Seems 'e did us a favor."

Ceolfred pauses, brow creased, sits, and leans forward, resting forearms on his knees. "Sterek. Now there's a problem. If he's tryin' t' kill 'er - whatever th' truth of th' matter - we can't let 'im. Not with Mary bein' our only way t' Immalaine. An' his group better not win that competition, either, lest he make a try for Marybelle at the wedding. Tha’d likely upset th’ whole apple cart, an’ th’ las' thing we need is somethin' throwin off all our plans."

“Then we’ll keep an eye on him,” Zandrianna says. “All the more reason for us to win.” She adds, under her breath, to Emra: “His group, though… they’re very good….”

Ceolfred brings out his pouch and starts to pack away his pipe, still unlit. "Right. Meantime, we plan for what t' do in th' villa once we're inside, jus' in case it turns out th' whole thing's a trap." He shakes his head. "I don' like stickin' my head into th' noose, but that still seems like th' best way t' get to Immalaine, trap or no trap. Thing is, with this sort o' game, ya gotta keep things as close to th' true as possible, right up to th' last moment, when the trap's sprung. If that's her game, we take advantage o' that - jus' so we're ready t' step aside at th' last moment. So me an' Rastellion'll put our heads innit t'gether." He glances at his nephew, who nods curtly, still looking a bit mulish.

“We'll do our best too,” Zandrianna says. “I'm no more fond of the thought of walking into a trap than you, but I'll do it if it means getting Immalaine back.” She turns her gaze to Emrabeth. “Assuming you’re willing too,” she adds, doubt clear in her voice. Emra snorts and stands, tossing her hair.

Ceolfred shakes his head. "Oh, I'll be th' one walkin' into th' trap. Me an' th' lad. You two - well, you may jus' be th' ones t' spring us out o' it, if trap it is, as they won't know yer comin."

Emra gives Zandrianna a level glare, then turns to the two men and stretches. “I'm thirsty. I'm going to head downstairs and see if there's anything better than the piss-water that passes for ale.” She jerks her head towards Rastellion, “Why don't you come with me, keep me company?”

Rastellion hesitates a moment, then stands. "Why not?" he asks. "If I'm going t' be stuck out at camp for the next few days, might as well get one last pint while I can!"

"I'm no' sure tha's wise, Rastellion," Ceolfred begins.

"We're just going down for a pint," Emra replies confidently, and heads towards the door. "You two want me to bring anything up? Ale? Tea? … Breakfast?”

"No, nothing for me thank you,” Zandrianna replies. “Anything for you Ceolfred?

Rastellion has to fight back a grin at Emra's words, which Zandrianna doesn't seem to have understood. "Ooh, so that's what’s going on?" he murmurs as he joins her by the door.

Ceolfred rises, frowning. "Rastellion, this ain't smart. Let th' girl bring you up a pint, if yer so set on havin’ one." He starts around the table toward them.

Emra pointedly stares at Ceolfred, then flicks her eyes towards Zandrianna. "Talk," she mouths, before turning to open the door. "I'll let you do the picking, Rast, and I'll pay ... this time. Next round it'll be your turn." She smirks and gestures for Rastellion to go first.

"It's busy down there," Zandrianna says. "There’ll be a crowd, no one will notice him. Her mayhap, but not Rastellion. Let them go.”

Ceolfred hesitates at these signals, uncertain what to make of them, and, as he does so, Rastellion grins and turns down the stairs, quickly followed by Emra.

As they reach the bottom of the last flight of stairs and approach the front room, Rastellion's feet slow, then stop. From ahead comes the sound of drinking, merriment, and laughter. He smiles worriedly at Emra when the girl turns to look at him. "I dunno," he says. "Maybe this isn't' a good idea. Doesn't seem right, drinking among folks who are celebrating, not with Immalaine still a prisoner."

Emra tosses back her curly hair and studies Rastellion, her gaze unusually warm and sympathetic. “I know you're worried about your girl, we all are. But you'll do her no good sitting about moping. Besides, you have to keep your spirits up to keep your strength up.” She looks around the room herself and motions with a negligent wave of her hand. “These people may be celebrating but, from what I've heard as I've been down here in the past couple of days, most of them don't have much cause to either. Yet, here they are. Some to drown themselves and forget, sure.” She shrugs and looks back at Rastellion. “But some of them because they know that if they don't, if they let their pains and struggles weigh them down, then they've already lost. We'll get her back, whatever it takes, but in the meantime a break from your worries isn't going to hurt you – or her.”

Rastellion follows her reluctantly, startled by this unexpected eloquence. But he pauses again at the entryway, looking at the crowd, not taking the single step down to the floor. It's late enough in the evening now that the merriment is in full flow. Everywhere he looks he sees smiles and laughter. And kissing couples too, he notes, shifting his eyes away from a pair in the corner. His knuckles go white as he squeezes the doorframe. "Let's just buy something and take it back upstairs," he suggests.

"We'll take something up in a bit," Emra says as she throws her arm over Rastellion's shoulder and jerks her chin towards the crowded counter. "It'll take at least that long to get any service around here. Besides, wouldn't want to go up too soon. I know the lady was eager to speak with your uncle - privately." As she speaks, her eyes take in the room carefully.

Rastellion's mouth twitches at this. "I suppose it would be rude to interrupt them." He takes a deep breath, then lets her pull him down the last step to make their way through the crowd. "And sitting and having a pint here won't hurt. Likely to be the last one I see for some days, after all."

Emra gives him a crooked grin and, reaching up with her free arm, a quick hug. "Don't worry about anything for the next hour. Have a pint, watch the people make fools of themselves, enjoy some company." She starts toward the bar, throwing him a teasing glance over her shoulder, her dark curls bouncing. "I've been assured that I'm rather good company." Rastellion rolls his eyes, but follows.

Upstairs, Ceolfred starts toward the door that has just shut behind the two young people. "Zandrianna, mebbe no one'll notice him, but why take th' risk. Call the boy back."

“I need to talk to you,” Zandrianna says quietly, not looking at Ceolfred for a moment. “And what I have to say, I'd rather that Rastellion not hear.”

Ceolfred's eyes shift from the door back to Zandrianna, then to the door again. The sound of laughter echoes up from the barroom below. "I suppose a few minutes won't hurt," he finally agrees. "An' I had him holed up all evenin' in an abandoned house, waitin' for th' Watch t' stop huntin' him." He lets out a breath. "Alright, let him get 'is pint. But it's dark enough now, an' I'll be gettin' him back out soon as he's done." He half-sits on the table. "So we got a few minutes. What's it ya want t' tell?"

"I told you and Rastellion some of what Immalaine told me, about Sallastin” Zandrianna moves to the bed and sits on the edge. “I left a lot of it out thought, things I felt Immalaine should tell Rastellion herself."

"Then why tell me, if no' him?" Ceolfred studies her.

"Because, I think it only right that you should know what kind of monster that man really is. What he's capable of ..." She holds her hands open. "I tried to tell you the last time, but we were interrupted."

Ceolfred turns to follow her progress. "'e's an evil man. Tormentin' Immalaine for, what, escaping him b'fore? Hurtin' his pride? No one'd do all this jus' t' get some farm. What else is there t' know tha' matters? We'll get 'er out."

With a deep breath, Zandrianna looks down at her hands and begins to quietly recount everything Immalaine had told her - the nightmare Sallastin had visited on her, both physically and emotionally. From his methodical use of blades, to the almost constant humiliation ... Finally, Zandrianna pauses, her cheeks damp with tears as she glances back up at Ceolfred.

Ceolfred's attention is drawn fully to Zandrianna's account as it unfolds; his initial glances toward the door growing scarcer, then ceasing altogether. His face grows harder and harder at what he hears, and the knuckles of the fist grow white as he clenches the edge of the table. He stares at her for a long moment when she pauses. "I had ... no idea," he says, quietly. "I don't blame you for not telling my nephew." He pulls a square of clean cotton from inside his cloak and, leaning forward, offers it to her, his jaw clenching. "That man should die."

Zandrianna takes the cloth from Ceolfred, giving him a quiet thank you. "I don't disagree that the man is horrible, but killing him ... it changes nothing. Lock him away from people until he rots." She grips the cloth in her hand, scrubbing her face and her reddened eyes. "Still, you understand now why I tell you these things."

"Aye. 'E's a monster. I get it. If all goes as planned, we'll be ridin' away from th' village afore he even knows we're gone." His eyes meet hers, implacable. "But if he gets in our way, I shan't show him mercy." One hand drifts to the brace of throwing knives at his waist. "'t's easy t' talk about trials an' prisons when yer safe in a city with a Watch 'n' all. It's different out on th' edge o' the wilds." Seeing Zandrianna's eyes widen as she follows his hand's movement, he offers a faint smile, forces his tone lighter. "But let's hope it don't come t' that."

Zandrianna chews on her lip, her eyes filled with unspoken questions. "I've never felt so helpless as I do right now," she admits quietly.

Ceolfred slides off the table and squats in front of her, taking her hand. "Zandrianna," he begins ... but at that moment, the conversation is interrupted by cries and shouts from the bar room downstairs. Crockery breaks, a door slams, and a woman screams.

Ceolfred springs up without a word and strides toward the door. Behind him, Zandrianna jumps up too and stares at the door. "Mayhap we should go see what ..." she starts.

But before Ceolfred can reach it, the door bangs open and Emra, wide-eyed and out of breath, enters. "They got him" she exclaims, without preamble. "The thrice-damned Watch got Rastellion!"