Losk

In the southern lands there was no greater gem than Losk. For two hundred years Rachel's forebears had sworn to protect it, and to uplift its people, and to honor the gods. Had it not been for her tutor, a crone of Gabras Marsh who had sensed the greed in her young charge, she might have joined their ranks. Her father would marry her off to a corpulent lord whose friendship he needed; her brothers would have inherited his barony. But she had killed her brothers years ago, and now her only loves were behind her, red haired and powerful, and below her, deep and foul.

The city's white walls rose high above their heads. They had been sighted from far away, and now that they drew near, a band of trumpeters loudly rejoiced for them. Today was the day they had long awaited, when the last child of the Baron returned to them after they thought her lost. Rachel glowed with admiration for the fools she would soon see desecrated.

"Sir John Osteler, hero of Rhellin, conqueror of the Red Prince! Sir Odo of Treserre, faithful servant of Losk! Wystan of..." The herald cried out their epithets at unimaginable length, dulling all enthusiasm Rachel had felt. Only when it was finished did the procession enter through the city gates. At the end of Saint Doris's Way she could see her father waiting. The dark and dark haired man was wearing a mantle of stoat's fur that her mother had made for him long ago. Even today the man couldn't smile for his people, much less his daughter. He was motionless in body as he was unmoved of heart.

She rode beside Odo, and in front of the maid; just ahead of them was the king's nephew, waving for all the fools and parading her about like a war trophy. But she did not let her displeasure show. She smiled for the wretches and touched the hands of those that tried to touch the hem of her dress. Then they reached the end of the Way, and Osteler brought his horse to heel.

"Welcome, my friends," boomed her father.

"Not even 'good and faithful friends,' father?" Rachel muttered, still smiling.

John drew his sword and made sure that it caught the light of the sun as it peeked over the walls. "See my blade!" he said. "Not a stain or scratch. The blackguard saw our power and knew better than to challenge us. Your daughter returns to us alive and intact, my lord, just as I promised!" The people screamed their adoration. A woman threw herself in the street before his horse, begging that he turn his fine face toward her daughter. She believed his attention would cure her of her disease. The knight took no notice of her.

Lord Fulke flinched, gritting his teeth. "Then the Red Prince lives?" Remembering courtesy, he nodded for his manservant, who threw out a bearskin rug over the steps to Castle Codny. "I'll hear all the tale inside. Come in, good men, and lay down your burdens."