The Lady Quill Chronicles - The Promise

The Lady Quill Chronicles - The Promise - Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fourteen

It was some time later that Rafe regained consciousness, he was aware of the coolness of the floor beneath him and as he opened his eyes he saw that he was now inside a large building.

In the time it took him to gather his wits he traced the path of the beams down to where they joined the walls, his eyes continued their journey down the bare wooden wall to find a large open fire, roaring fiercely, and two rough chairs set each side of its warmth.

He turned his head, wincing as pain shot through him and his cheek touched the cold dirt floor. There was no pretence to elegance; the furniture was ugly but serviceable, the unadorned walls were a shelter from the elements giving the room an air of functionality rather than homeliness.

The chair directly across from him caught his attention; it held a large framed man tending slightly towards paunch, but strong looking for all that. He lounged across the chair leaning on one of the arms, sunk so deeply into the furs that covered it, that he lay almost full stretch. His hair was dark and a beard covered the lower half of his face. His eyes as they lazily surveyed Rafe, were shaded by thick brows that jutted ominously.

They were eyes, Rafe noted, that held recognition, a recognition that was no doubt reflected in his own eyes. Though he could not recall ever having spoken to Daegmund of Gradock, he did know him by sight.

“I would never have believed you to be so foolish as to stray onto my lands, Valrek.”

Rafe was pulling himself upright, a hand gently cradling his sore head but at these words his eyes jerked up to meet Daegmund’s.

“Your lands?” he asked quickly.

“My lands.” affirmed Daegmund. “My esteemed father died at harvest time…fortunately for you. He would have had you drawn and quartered and sent the pieces back to Valrek! Some would say it is no less than you deserve.” 

Rafe’s fingers traced the lump on his head gently, wincing slightly at its tenderness.

“What happened between your brother and I was ill chance, I meant him no harm.” he replied.

“However ill chanced it may have been, Gradock blood was spilt, there is only one way that can be made right…the letting of more blood.”

“You will be punished for whatever revenge you take upon me.” replied Rafe shortly.

Daegmund grunted and reached out a hand for the goblet of wine at his elbow.

“A fine, what is money to pride? My father would have cared nought no matter how high the price…you killed his favourite son.”

Nothing in Daegmund’s demeanour indicated violence or bitter anger, he seemed in fact lazily unconcerned.

“You need not go the same road as a grieving old man.” Rafe stood, swaying slightly and reached out a hand to brace himself against the second chair. “I am sorry for what happened, truly I am; do not think that I treat the thing lightly. I feel the weight of your brother’s death, but it was an unfortunate event, one that you must believe I did not wish for.”

Rafe passed a weary hand over his eyes not sure why he was even trying to convince Daegmund of his innocence. The man had lost his brother, then his father…he was immersed in grief, what time did he have for explanations?

Grief was a strange thing, it made one act irrationally, did he not know that himself? Nothing could alleviate the pain. He remembered back to the battle of Calis, his first battle, the battle in which he had lost one of his greatest friends…Finan’s younger brother Evoric.