Private Tales Archnemesis

[Kristen Pirian]

Peculiar though it all was, that flittering sense of credulity, easier felt than firmly grabbed, suggested to Kristen that Sable spoke not a falsehood. Not a single falsehood, not even one born of innocent misapprehension. His tale seemed to be a true account. Ghosts and spirits unclaimed by the gods did indeed inhabit Arethil, and so it would seem that Chasmine, perhaps with "one foot already in the door", had come to join their number.

...I've not had any such ghostly encounters since.

Kristen let out a relieved sigh, mostly for show. Mostly. "And this is good. The company of the living shall make for better fellows."

Her lips pressed into a thin line—not quite a smile, not quite a frown. "Still, though she lingers in undeath, I hope that Chasmine may come to find some rest. Ralene as well, so I have heard—it was not so long ago at this very diner that I had spoken with her. Mayhap she met a true warrior's end."

She studied Sable after the mention. For all she knew, this could well be the first Sable himself had heard of it, being a Knight like Ralene notwithstanding.

Sable Pembroke

 

[Sable Pembroke]

Kristen's quite tangible relief earned a meek smile from Sable. Reintegration hadn't just been about steadying himself and learning to live with his past, but also reassuring those around him that he was not the monster he'd become.

That brief moment of satisfaction was, however, interrupted by a statement that at first rather confused him. Sable blinked, then blinked again. Then the realization dawned on him. Sable chuckled, heartily so.

"Ah...it seems that woman's own efforts have paid off. I'm sure she'll get a good laugh out of this later..." Sable prefaced with a cheeky grin. "Guess I get to be both the bearer of bad and good news today. I'm quite relieved to tell you that Ralene lives, Kristen...though she would tell you otherwise."

 

[Kristen Pirian]

Kristen gave a quizzical twist of her head, eyes narrowing with that selfsame confusion as Sable spoke.

Then she laughed. Breathy and hoarse at first, and then hearty. "Oh-ho-ho-ho my! It would seem that, concerning Chasmine and Ralene at least, I have been woefully misinformed!"

She inhaled deeply, steadying herself. Goodness, what a day for reversals! Now if she were to inquire of Edric and Sable were then to report that he had become a loyal warrior of Vel Anir, sound of mind and stout of heart, she would, admittedly, require a bit more than Sable's word alone—trustworthy though it was.

But on the subject of Ralene: "'Her own efforts', you say? Do you mean to tell me that...it was Ralene herself who wished to be thought dead? But why? It is baffling to me. I simply cannot fathom it."

Sable Pembroke

 

[Sable Pembroke]

Sable rubbed the back of his head.

"Heh, well, they just happen to be the two that I've encountered since graduation...'Ralene' is my lieutenant, actually, and the one who came and got me out of Vel Salvus."

He followed the statement up with a shrug. Truth was that he didn't fully understand why she was so adamant about her name change either, but he respected her enough to call her what she wanted. Not to mention she'd likely kick his ass if he kept calling her "Ral."

"If you ask her, that's what she'll tell you. 'Ralene Bannick is dead,' she says. She changed her name to distance herself from her House. Lieutenant Samantha Black is what she goes by now."

 

[Kristen Pirian]

To Kristen, such an act was unthinkable, even though she could quite easily step outside of herself and take a detached and rational perspective. Of course she, Kristen, would think as she did, for she had Neil Taeris Pirian as her father, Josephine as her mother, Tobias her uncle and so on down the roster of esteemed Pirians as family. Who was Ralene's father? Walter Banick, a man whom the vernacular phrase "a mixed bag" proved an apt and quite charitable descriptor. Who was one of her uncles? Garron Banick—a snake who wore a handsome face and whose smile, though "charming" to the unknowing eye, dripped with venom unseen. Logan, of course, was a good man, yet he was overshadowed.

All this Kristen could see, but still in the end the idea stood staunchly unapproachable.

She sighed with a small bit of resignation. "Very well then. 'Samantha' it is. Yet...yet I confess that to me this seems a hollow gesture. It does not ring with elemental truth. Always will Banick blood flow in Ral—...Samantha's veins, and the burial of a name alters not the past, nor the present, nor the future of that fact."

Her face pulled long, but only for a moment. She regarded Sable with a sincere air.

"Had you done the same, abandoned the name 'Sable Pembroke' as some means to distance yourself from Zettal and all which came before...I believe I might have chastised you." A small pause. "Mildly," she added. "But all the same: a chastising."

She folded her arms on the table, and a smile preempted her next words.

"I am glad you did not."

Sable Pembroke

 

[Sable Pembroke]

Such a perspective made sense. Nobles held their names, their houses, in high esteem. To forsake such a thing, to Kristen it must have been quite revolting. Denigrating, even.

"I'm no noble. My name doesn't mean as much to me as I'm sure yours does to you, but...all the same, I feel no need to shirk it. Despite the shame I brought upon myself."

He returned Kristen's smile and relaxed in his seat somewhat.

"Then again, I bear no hatred for my kin. And something tells me that Sam has no love for hers."

The towering young man made a waving motion with his hand, as though attempting to shoo away some buzzing insect.
"In any case...what's done is done. I'm more in the mood to look forward rather than dwell on what's sealed in history."

 

[Kristen Pirian]

"All for the better, Sable. And though I feared for many a month as you sat imprisoned, seeing you now gives me heart like no other tiding. Dire news abounds, seemingly with no end, and our new Republic struggles onward. Yet here before me is a light of hope, as ever the sun does come to pierce a clouded sky, so too have you been ordained to deliver a brightness, dispersing the gloom. Things do get better."

Someday, perhaps, might Kristen speak with Henk once more. She'd heard quite a few conflicting accounts of him by now, and in the wake of the corrections concerning her information on Chasmine and Samantha, she'd much rather hear Henk's tale from his own lips. But more so would she be keen to hear if his dismal regard of Vel Anir had changed in the slightest. Would Henk be something like Sable? Would he as well be renewed with new energy, full now of a vital essence so sorely needed?

"Will you promise me something, Sable?" said Kristen after a moment.

Sable Pembroke

 

[Sable Pembroke]

Another humble shrug.

"I'm only here thanks to the likes of you, Lord Pirian, Ms. D'Amour, and Sam. But you are right. Things do get better."

He quirked his head and a brow at Kristen's imminent request.
"If it's within my power, of course. What is it?"

 

[Kristen Pirian]

"If ever..."

She stumbled. So difficult it could be, sometimes, to distill an emotion into the proper words to convey it!

"If ever you should feel you need a friend, will you write to me?"

She hoped that she had caused no inadvertant insult. Yet it remained that Kristen worried. Anger, vengeance, these were powerful agents. She herself made Alistair promise her something...dire, in the wake of killing Bull—such a promise garnered to ensure that she would not allow herself to become like the fiend she had slain.

Neither did she wish to see Sable become as such.

And Zettal had been frighteningly close.

Sable Pembroke

 

[Sable Pembroke]

Sable breathed, half a chuckle, half a sigh of relief. He hadn't even realized the tension rise in that brief moment, curious as he was to know what Kristen might ask of him.

The subtext was not lost on him, though. Trust was not easily earned. It was something he'd likely have to cultivate and regrow over many years, with everyone. And all the while he'd have those horrid black spikes to remind him and everyone else of what he had done.

He offered Kristen an assuring smile.
"Only if you promise to visit every once in a while. Vel Castere isn't too far out, you know."

 

[Kristen Pirian]

Heartened was she that Sable walked now the right path. Heartened was she that he would go on to greater feats of service to Vel Anir. Where a black number of their fellow Initiates, now Dreadlords, made themselves irrecoverable, Sable, she believed, had regained his esteem and ventured forth on the right track.

"Yes. This I will do." She smiled genially, and added in a delighted and fanciful manner, "Surely, I must also keep in fighting shape even as a Reservist, and what better way than issuing forth from Vel Castere, in your company?"

She extended her hand across the table, palm up, offering it to him.

"Shall we seal our promises thus?"

Sable Pembroke

 

[Sable Pembroke]

His grin broadened. Leave it to a Pirian to speak with such eloquence and act with such honor...even if it was a bit too formal at times. Kristen really was just like a character out of one of Sable's old books.

"We shall!" Sable replied, taking her hand in agreement. Such camaraderie...it had been too long since he'd last experienced it. Not since the early days following the revolution had he felt this boisterous warmth in his chest. So it was that he let loose a hearty laugh, not unlike those adventurous times back at the Academy.

 

[Kristen Pirian]

And so they parted in geniality and good will, their promises sealed and the past abandoned for the brightness of the new days ahead.

Yet that brightness would not go unaccompanied by adversity.

Indeed, for Sable for so than Kristen, a great challenge awaited.

* * * * *

VEL NUMERA​

A busy day! And exhausting too.

Kristen, departing for the last stretch of travel early in the morning, had returned some few hours after sunrise to Vel Numera. Yet no respite could be found to allay the weariness of travel, for as soon as Kristen returned to the Pirian Manor both Mayor Caspian and Captain Rennil each had matters awaiting her attention. Kristen wanted to take a very active role in her Ladyship of Vel Numera; not to tarnish the memory of her cousin Fyris, but the truth was that Fyris did not like nor want nor, even by his own admission, have the capacity for Lordship. Distant was he, and "hands-off", making vague the name of Pirian in the minds of the citizenry.

Kristen wanted to be very visible in the lives of her subjects. She wanted to show that she cared, that she heard them, and considered deeply their issues and concerns just as she would with any of her own family. Yes, duties of various kinds might call her away from Vel Numera, such was true, but for the days in which she dwelled there Vel Numera and its people would be given her all.

So there were a few domestic disputes, a land negotiation, and (oh goodness, how lovely!) a wedding ceremony to plan from Mayor Caspian. And from Captain Rennil troubling reports of raider activity in the north, which might spill over onto Anirian lands and threaten Vel Numera; fortunately, no report of nearby sedition or hostile action from Gilram's Rogues. It seemed blissfully a distant thing, that foul insurrection of his.

Night had well descended when Kristen at last deemed it time for rest. Almost forgetting to do so, she returned her arms and armor to the small armory inside the Manor, arranging her gear herself without calling upon servants to do so. She went back upstairs. Walked through the cozy halls of the Manor toward her bedchambers. She pushed open the door and stifled a yawn, the day's plentiful business seeming to catch her all at once the moment her hand touched the door. Blessed Aionus, Proctor Magomo himself would have been hard-pressed to tire her out more!

Her room was dim, scarcely lit by the moons outside and by light spilling in from the open door. Kristen lit her lamp that sat on the end table near her bed and then turned to go back and close the door and she did not yet notice the man sitting patiently and secretly in her room.

Kristen closed the door. Thinking still of the day's errands.

She turned around.

And gasped.

Sable Pembroke

 

[Zael]

"Kristen."

 

[Kristen Pirian]

Great apprehension, and battle readiness, came to attend her. In much practiced motion her foot swept slowly back to widen and strengthen her stance, and her arms she braced for sudden action.

At length she said, "I will make you regret declining an ambush in the dark."

"I'm unarmed."

"So am I."

Indeed, neither of them bore any weapons or armor. Kristen still wore the day's finery, and simple traveling clothes adorned Zael. But they were both Dreadlords. Neither needed arms to be deadly, and they both well knew this.

"How's Zinnia?" Zael asked.

"Loyal."

Zael brought a hand to his chest. "Ouch. You don't need to stab me that hard, Kris."

Kristen raised her chin slightly. "I thought you were dead."

"Guess I'm just lucky."

"You shall not enjoy the fruits of fortune forever."

"Don't I know it."

"Why do you persist, Zael?" Kristen said, not so much with anger as with a kind of torment. "You meet Zinnia and I in peace in Elbion, and yet from there bring war to Vel Kastula, and doubtless other places. You assail my home, Zael, and what it is you want from me? Understanding? Forgiveness? You say you are not my enemy, and yet continuously you make yourself so."

And at this Zael lightly smiled. "Then do I have a bargain for you."

With suspicion Kristen narrowed her eyes. "What?"

"Tonight, you could help me leave Vel Anir, and never come back."

Sable Pembroke

 

[Zael]

So that was the main thrust of Zael's plan. Offer up to Kristen the guarantee that he'd never return—one Rogue gone away forever. He thought that'd have at least some effect. Some effect, right? Sure there was an element of trust involved, a scarce commodity between them these days, but it was almost as good as putting a sword through his chest or having him hauled off to jail.

It didn't go as easily as Zael had hoped.

"Says the Slayer of Ganfarred," Kristen retorted bitterly.

"Wars are ugly, Kristen."

"And so is treachery."

"I told you I'm not your enemy, and I'm tellin you again. I'm not your enemy, Kris. I mean that. Whether you believe me or not, I really do mean that."

"Yet much cause have I to worry that you and your lot might bring the selfsame woe which visited Vel Farris to Vel Numera."

Zael's brow furrowed. "What did the Army of the East say about Vel Farris?"

Kristen flashed a rueful smile. "I am certain you could tell me more than I could tell you, seeing as you were there."

"What did they say?"

"Must I report your own actions to you? You and your fellow Rogues rooted like invasive weeds into that town, and with your whispers of sedition turned it traitor—just like that man you followed to Vel Kastula, Stenn, did in many fringes of the Republic until at last the 10th Homeguard struck him down. A shame that the 9th failed to do the same to you in Vel Farris."

Zael's head dropped sharply down, and he gave it a few shakes, grinning all the while at the audacity of the 9th Homeguard. Goddamn, they spun a hell of a lie. Gaage would be fuckin livid. "That's not what happened."

"Spare me your proselytization of Gilram's honeyed words."

Zael lifted his head back up and met eye-to-eyes with Kristen again. "You wanna know what really happened in Vel Farris? Go to Vel Stratholm, find an orphan girl named Heather Hane, and ask her. She's there. I brought her there myself."

"Perhaps I will," Kristen said, as if in defiance of him.

"I hope that you do. I'd like to at least be as settled as I can be with you, whatever happens after tonight."

Sable Pembroke Gaage Eberwhit Saderzaine Vult

 

[Kristen Pirian]

Kristen maintained her guarded posture, and spared not a whit of lenience for Zael nor relaxation for herself. After all, he snuck into her room, for Aionus's sake!

"Go ahead then," she said. "Say what you have come here to say. I shall entertain it, and then we will see what happens here tonight, let alone after."

"I just want to know one thing, Kristen. One thing, and then you and Vel Anir never need to see my mug again. What prison is Sable bein housed at?"

Kristen was taken aback, in no way expecting that. "Pardon?"

"Sable. What prison is he in?"

The sheer strangeness and uncanny timing of it all fogged Kristen's mind for a moment, more so than might one too many glasses of wine at a gala. Her head reeled on her neck, and she forced her eyes back open after a series of blinks. "And...what, pray tell, could possibly be your purpose in wishing to know that?" She wasn't about to release the full truth to Zael—not yet. Better that he labor with expired information until Kristen could make a more informed judgment.

"There's a reason I came here to you about this, Kristen. And it's more than just me bein desperate...and, heh, plain knowin where to find you. That's half the battle."

"The half which explains why, I presume, you did not instead sneak into Everleigh's or Lumen's room in the middle of the night."

"You're gettin it."

"And your reason?"

And at length, with a sincerity even Kristen in her present mood could not doubt, he said, "Because I know you'll understand why I gotta do what I gotta do."

Sable Pembroke

 

[Zael]

OUTSKIRTS OF VEL CASTERE​

Zael lay in his nook atop the rocky ridge and watched the wide southern road leading out from Vel Castere.

So he had good luck with Kristen. But her words became prophecy: you shall not enjoy the fruits of fortune forever. Because as it turned out, Sable wasn't in prison anymore, which should have been great news, right? Wrong, hotshot. He kicked his feet up now at Vel Castere, the Vel Castere, fortress city if there ever was one and home to the Army of the West itself. Kress, Zael figured this would've been easier if Sable were still in prison—the Academy had acquainted Zael with a prison-break or two.

But Vel Castere? No way in hell Zael was sneaking in there. So his only real hope was to try and catch Sable outside of it.

And to that end, Zael had a plan. Something of a plan, at least. See, once Kristen had told him Sable's whereabouts, Zael knew right then he wasn't getting in there as easily as he got into Vel Numera. So, heh, as it so happened, Zael snatched one of Kristen's letters—she might be pissed about that later. But his intent wasn't to snoop on her business, but just to have an example of her handwriting. Zael had already sent Sable a fraudulent letter from "Noel" in the past, and he couldn't risk his own unaltered handwriting being recognized. So if he was gonna do this same trick again, he had to change it up. Send it from "Kristen", and copy her handwriting as much as he was able. Now, Zael thought he did a decent enough job, but it wasn't his eye that was to be the final judge of it. He kept the letter succinct, and by Kress hopefully Sable gave it a once over, assented to the request, and didn't look too closely at the quill strokes.

So now here Zael was. He used what scraps of coin he had left to pay the courier, and now he just had to wait and see.

Shitty thing about Vel Castere's western environs was that there really weren't many places to hide, and the sightlines in this land went long. Zael found his present nook in the dead of night, hunkered down with his cloak and local shrub pulled over top of him, and lay in wait. On the bright side of it, he ought to be able to spot Sable—that giant of a man—coming down the southern road with ease.

And if Sable didn't take the bait? Then maybe Sable would have other business taking him out of Vel Castere, alone or accompanied, whatever the case. But if things started going on for too long? Well, Zael had a desperate last resort plan: get himself captured, thrown into a Vel Castere dungeon (provided they didn't just execute him on the spot), and once again hope to Kress that Sable, even if just out of morbid curiosity, came to visit him in jail.

Hopefully (there's that word again) it wouldn't come to that.

Sable Pembroke

 

[Sable Pembroke]

And so another journey was complete. To think, all Kristen wanted was an in-person chat. Felt like there could've been an easier solution than to travel all that distance, but Sable could understand why it was something she had wanted. There was plenty reason to be uncertain in Sable's stability, to lack confidence that he might turn on allies once more. It had been an important enough matter to Kristen to see him travel all that way, and so Sable chose to honor that.

Why, then, was he already receiving another letter from the noble girl? The quartermaster had dropped it off earlier, and Sable had been more than surprised to see it. Surely he'd set her mind at ease. Would she have chosen to follow up on Sable's offer so soon? And if so, why not just head into Vel Castere herself instead of sending this message ahead?

The seal was right. The hand writing matched the previous letter...mostly. Yet it was the request itself that was odd. Something stunk about this...but who would be so foolish as to try to lure Sable out alone, at night? Foolish indeed...or desperate.

"Zael..."

The name came as a mutter, but there was only one person Sable knew whom had tried this trick before. What in all the hells did he want now? Did Kristen clue him in on where Sable was? If so, why?

Perhaps now it was Sable's turn to act the fool. He'd give Zael what he wanted.

Sable rode out into the night, torch in hand. Alone.

 

[Zael]

Veiled by night the only evidence of the lone rider was the torch he bore. The fire traveled south and left behind the great fortress city of Vel Castere, like some ember cast off from a hearth. For miles could be seen this solitary light in its passage over the rough country that lay about the River Castere. In its forward glow would the southern road be revealed, and in its wake would that selfsame road be swallowed up again by the gloom.

In time would come the figure of a man so revealed along with the road in the light of the rider's torch. Thus did these two men stand now face-to-face; but three eyes were between them, for the man in the road was the proof of the rider's suspicion.

Zael Castomir stood cloaked, and beneath his cloak he did indeed bear his armor, his weapon, his pack, everything assembled for his ultimate purpose and, in truth, everything to his name. His hands he held splayed down at his sides, open palms toward Sable in a gesture of peace. Even in light of it all—Vel Anir and the Rogues, the Bloody Graduation, Zettal, everything—his smile was that of man meeting an old friend.

"How'd you like my calligraphy?"

Sable Pembroke