Red's CD Project Story 2: Part 36 – Confrontations

Note: Well the end is quickly approaching. I'll be glad to be through, and take a break from the stress of writing this. I am actually excited to get to editing and honing this tale. I've found problems and issues, and I think once I get this all through I'll have a better idea how all this needs shaped. Needless to say, the writing also needs a lot of work. Sigh.

Disc 2
Track 15: Neon Tiger – The Killers

“I don’t wanna be broke; I don’t wanna be saved.”

Nothing east of the Belnor compared neither in size nor in architectural prowess to Metahischoo. Standing before the stone slab where the main entrance should have been, one could not see where the red granite, polished smooth, of the outer wall ended and the sky began. On rare clear moments on the Veris, Oan had seen that only the peak of Kekur behind dwarfed the outer wall in height.

The top of the wall was not smooth, but was jagged like a sharp set of teeth. From a distance, the palace blended into the mountain behind it. If a man did not know that it was there, he would miss it completely despite its size.

Oan and Nestor spent the day searching out any sort of entry other than the sealed main way. As the light started to fade, the joy they had felt upon reaching the palace began to fade. All this way they had traveled only to be blocked from the hallowed place. The witch had promised answers when they reached Metahischoo. Perhaps, the only answer was that there was no way across the Belnor. Not here, not anywhere.

Nestor gathered anything that would burn for a fire. The resources near were scarce. Neither man would last if they had to stay here more than a few days.

Something else grew in Oan’s heart. He had ignored the feeling earlier, but now it made his whole face twitch. After all the hunts in the tall grass of the great plain where even a gentle wind passed in a long wave; after every deep wooded excursion with no more than a spear and his skin; after climbing the flat wall of a cliff into a cave armed with only a knife and his courage; his skills were ignorant of one essential trait. Hunting had a definite feelling. A smell. A sound that killed the life that saturated the air.

Being hunted was much the same. Except the hunted did not tend notice nearly in time.

“What eats at you boy?” Nestor said, striking two small gray stones together for a spark. Twice more and he had some kindling smoking. “Is it the door, my boy? I think we’ll find it. There’s some trick to it, I can feel it dangling before our noses.”

“Nay, it’s not that.” Oan circled behind Nestor, his back to the stone slab that would not budge to admit them.

“Then what is it?” Nestor bent over to blow on the fire and that little movement probably saved his life.

“We’re not alone.”

The words had barely left Oan’s lips when an arrow whizzed past where Nestor’s head had been and skimmed past Oan’s right hip. He went for his sword secured on his back, but another arrow appeared from the heavy gray world and struck him square in the shoulder. The force drove him backward into the stone slab, he could hear the arrowhead sticking out of his back clinked against the hard surface. His skin burned and ached where it tried to heal around the arrow.

Stunned, but not stupid, Oan made to pull the arrow out, but before he could another one pierced through the palm of his left hand. Nestor watched in horror, but rolled away toward his spear.

Against the gray backdrop figures started to appear, some short, only to Oan’s waist. Others tall and thick-shouldered lumbered behind. A few more were his height. He stayed completely still, knowing that the archer was shooting at his movement.

Breathing deep to allow the air to fill his lungs, he thought deep about his hunts. How had his most sly prey behaved before being caught? If this was death, he wanted it to be done honorably. Then he thought of the possum, and he made a quick jerk to his right.

Another arrow escaped the gray and white, hitting him square in the stomach. The pain was immense, and a darkness hozered at the edge of his vision. Falling to the ground, he thought of the possum once more befor closing his eyes.

* * *

“Stay here,” Meriam pulled a hood over the girl’s head. The old riding coat that Meriam found in the stables was hopefully enough to disguise the girl to allow them to escape the palace unnoticed. The guards placed outside of the door had left when the army from Stra had arrived in the city. The army had everyone on edge. There were some among the guards that wanted to attack despite being terribly outnumbered and the king’s order for peace. The sight of the dragon flag raised the old blood in folks around here. Memories passed down through generations of the battles between Isa and Besa flooded even Meriam’s senses. Satar had mended that old divide. No one here wanted the rebirth of either of those old kingdoms.

The old kingdoms and the army and all the things she could not control were no more than distractions from the cold key in her hand and the colder door behind her. She dreaded sticking the key in the door and turning the jamb to see what lay behind. It terrified her even more than the journey before them. While lonely, terrifying nights lay ahead, the woman lingering alone inside the room frightened Meriam more.

Confronting royalty, begging one to betray her husband, was treason against the order that Meriam built her life upon. Chilling her blood more than that was the woman. It had been weeks since she had left that room. Meriam was not sure what if anything remained of the woman, the Queen of Satar.

Meriam turned away from the girl, clutching the key tight in her hand. The trusted servants had keys to every room. If a king or queen forbade entry to one room, the servants listened and put the keys away till the order was lifted. Using this key was the point of no return. Entering the queen’s room after Eden had forbid it made her a criminal. She supposed that it was a minor offense compared to the things to come. Taking one last breath, she slipped the key into the hole below the knob, turned it till it clicked.

“Nnnnnnn.” A voice, one that sounded almost like a dying animal, squeeked as the door opened.

Meriam rushed in, closing the door behind her to keep the scene from the girl. Guttural noises came from the body covered by a sheet, once white but now badly stained yellow, brown and red. The room stank of sweat and urine and something else foul that Meriam chose not to investigate.

A thin strip of light sneaking through a crack in the thick drapes split the gray dark settled over the rest of the room. The light hit the swollen, pale face propped against a pillow at the headboard. Meriam had attended plenty of deathbeds, but none quite like this where the eternal everafter ached to claim one more life. Even the long sleep pitites this woman.

“I need no attending,” Kendra’s voice mustered every bit of authority she had left. “Please, leave me be.”

Crossing the room, Meriam saw not anger flash in the sagging skin and weary eyes of the queen’s face, but only another level of grief and humiliation that probably had more effect on Meriam than any amount of scolding. She thought of a starving beat dog looking at the woman. Who would do this? How could they? This woman was the jewel of a kingdom, strong and graceful in each elegant step.

“Please,” Kendra begged again.

Mustering the last of her courage, Meriam spoke.

“Lady, I must disobey, and beg that you not suffer any longer under such conditions,” Meriam grabbed the curled left hand of the woman, feeling at least one broken finger. “King Eden is mad. He has allowed a hostile army into the city flying the banner of Isa led by his cousin Cortobrane.”

Meriam stopped as Kendra sobbed loudly, pulling her hand away.

“Leave me, leave me.”

“Lady, I have arranged safe passage from here. A horse, mayhap even two, down behind the stables. We must steal away, immediately. This is the only chance.”

“No, leave me.”

“Lady, I have your daughter ready to flee. Please, she needs her mother.”

Kendra sat up and, for the first time, composed herself at the mention of her daughter. The weeks of torment washed away in that moment, and she assumed her own throne, even if her throne was a tainted bed for an equally tainted couple. Hope tugged at Meriam’s heart. Maybe the woman was not so lost after all.

“Your charge, mistress, is to carry my daughter away from here and care for until the time that she no longer needs such watching. Go now, and if you follow only one of my order, let that be it.”

“I will, my Queen, but please, I have planned for three. I can care for thee also.”

“No,” Kendra straightened the sheet atop her and gave the two lumps at the foot of the bed a cold stare. “My husband has made sure such excursions will not occur for me.”

Following Kendra’s eyes, Meriam took a deep breath before reaching for the sheet and lifting it up. Below was a horror that Meriam had never imagined. Both of Kendra’s ankles were cruelly bent out and broke, huge purple-black mushrooms grew at the joint. The tips of her toes were a faint green. The woman’s feet were soon going to need to be amputated. Vomit stuck in Meriam’s throat. A new sadness sank into Meriam’s heart. There was no way Meriam could get this woman past all the guards in this state. Even if she did, Kendra needed more care than Meriam could give. Kendra’s sad fate was sealed. Meriam allowed herself the first of many tears to escape her right eye.

“No tears, mistress, “ Kendra consoled. “This will all soon end. I fear that I may be lucky to avoid the doom that may come later.”

“I am sorry,” Meriam shook her head. “I should have acted sooner.”

“Hush, woman.” Kendra shrugged her off. “I ask two more things.”

“Anything, my Queen.”

“Go to my dresser in yonder closet,” Kendra pointed and Meriam followed. “In the top drawer, I have my undergarments. Open that drawer and reach far into the back and bring what you find.”

Meriam did as she was bade, reaching deep till her hand found something hard and smooth. Pulling it out, she found she grasped the golden hilt of a small dagger. Gasping, she nearly dropped it before gaining her composure.

“My Queen, I…”

“Hush, child, bring it to me.”

Meriam did as she was bade. When Kendra had the blade, she quickly tucked it under her sheet.

“Now, bring my daughter, I wish to say goodbye to her.”

Meriam hesitated again, but thought better of objecting. Opening the door, the girl stood beyond it, pale and frightened under the dark hood.

“Come in my daughter,” Kendra said.

Evandra broke into a run, and covering the distance in a flash. Equally as quick, she grasped her mother’s hand. The two smiled at one another, and Meriam wanted nothing more than to capture that moment forever. In it was the closeness between a mother and daughter that was like nothing else

“I am too sick my daughter,” Kendra said, Meriam had not even heard the conversation start. “I cannot go with you and Meriam.”

The girl objected, but Kendra brought a finger up to her mouth to stop it before it gained strength.

“It has too be so,” The tears were running uncontrolled now among all three. “I love you. Don’t ever forget that.”

“I love you mother.”

“You must mind Meriam from now on. Do you understand?”

“Yes, mother.”

“Now embrace me, I have one more thing to say for you ears only.”

Meriam stepped back, understanding that those little words being whispered from mother to daughter were the last the two would share. The girl tensed hearing whatever was said, but did not reveal what it was that her mother passed on. Those words were for Evandra. A secret, mayhap. One that only Kendra knew and that now had passed on to her daughter. Whatver it was, it aged the girl seemingly five years before Meriam’s eyes. When she turned around, the girl was no longer suited for toy figurines and the other trappings of childhood. In fact, she was no longer a girl at all, but a young woman.

Only moments later, they were gone, shutting the door behind them, and hurrying out the royal apartment, down the hall, following the exact route that Meriam had mapped out in her mind the night before. Kendra Perde, wife of Eden, was left to her own, lightly running the sharp tip of the dagger up and down her pale arms. The long dark neared the room then, lingered, entered and patiently waited.

Red CD Project 2: Part 36 - Swords & Thrones

Note: Be sure to check out the section below this, if you have not already. I am itching to finish this, just to see how it ends up. Three more parts, and this part of the tale (at least its first draft) will conclude.

Disc 2
Track 14: Sidewinder - Avenged Sevenfold

"Can't you feel the poison rising"

"Awake, my son." Rudan Perde stood before Ewam in Union Hall, a great light shining behind him. "Awake and take your place."

Standing, Ewam gathered his wits long enough to see that but one throne sat centered in the great hall. Rubbing the back of his head where he knew that a stone had dented just moments before, he walked up to it and studied the ancient seat.

"Father, I cannot."

Smiling, his father spread his arms and the light intensified forcing Ewam to shield his eyes. Ewam nearly backed up into the throne and fell, but he caught his balance at the last moment.

"Beware the sword, my son," His father continued. "Use it, if you must, but always beware."

Now the light subsided, but Ewam could see that with it went his father.

"I love you, father." Ewam shouted hoping the message reached his father.

"Listen for the song, my son."

* * *

"The song of Kings." Ewam mumbled as his eyes fixed on the darkening sky above. Banik's face hovered at the edge of his vision, concerned and bloodied from a shallow gash above his eye.

"We must retreat, my lord," Banik said, offering his hand. Ewam did not know how long he was knocked out, but as he sat up he could tell it was long enough that the was battle was nearing its end. The beasts rising from below the ground, had dviided his infantry. The calvary had reformed a line, but its numbers were dwindling. The archers were firing into the heart of battle, hitting their own men as much as they were the Children. Ewam squinted as a bolt of pain shot through the back of his head to see that the two Elder Dinar remained in the middle of the battle, safely surrounded by the Children.

"We must retreat," Banik pleaded.

The ground began to rumble before them, signaling the coming of another one of those wretched beasts from below. Still shaking off dizziness, Ewam stumbled to his feet. A ridge formed cleary showing the path of the beast directly to where he and Banik stood.

"Lord, we must retreat!" Banik shouted.

"Hush, hush," Ewam cocked his ear to the sky waiting to be sure he heard the faint notes of a tune hitting his ears. A toothy-grin split open his face, as his heart confirmed what he ears wanted to hear. Facing away from the coming beast, he hand found the grip of the sword. The song, full of trumpets and deep barotone voices chanting in the ancient language, grew to defeaning decibels. Seconds pulsed in his bloodstream and behind him the moaning of earth being churned grew, but he waited with Banik's panicked eyes watching. "Now!" The voice came from the sword and Ewam answered without thought.

Spinning, he drew the sword above his head while dropping to his knees. He had time enough to see the great jaws of the beast rise first from the dark turf with soil, worms and grass spotting the pink gums between its huge teeth before it disappeared over his head. The blade sizzled as it cut through the beasts skull and kept slicing like the beast was warm butter as its body kept surging over his head. A fountain of black ooze that Ewam supposed substitued for blood rained down upon him as the two halves of the corpse fell around him.

A scream on the wind caught Ewam's ear, and it took him a moment to realize that it was his voice he was hearing. He kept it up as he spun back to Banik, still wide-eyed with shock and panic. His eyes were on Duna, thrust up high above Ewam's head.

"We stand!" Ewam shouted. "We stand!"

Ewam brought Duna down and he broke into run in the opposite direction. With the sword in his hand, every sense was sharpened. He heard Banik's steps as he followed behind. If this my end, Ewam thought, then it will be an end worthy of the Great Kings.

* * *

"My brother and my wife have betrayed me, cousin." Eden faced away from Cortobrane, his voice echoing in the high ceilings of Union Hall. The fat mayor of Stra risked a look behind with a smirk to his doubters, Mr. Vedder and Mr. Itor. Cortobrane could not fight smiling, he had never reached such a level of satisfaction.

Cortobrane had not entirely trusted the woman enough to believe that Eden and Ewam would allow him to ride an army bearing the ancient symbols of Isa into Omet, but the woman must have had some sort of spy inside the palace or even some of sort dark powers with her mind. He did not doubt her now, and he'd tell her that the night he made her queen. Before then, he had two kings of Satar to dispose. One was before him. The other, apparently, was riding west to Nocnil, hopefully to meet his doom.

Cortobrane wanted very much to just draw the ancient sword at his hip and do away with Eden right now, but he knew that Vedder and Itor would never allow that sort of succession. His rise to the throne had to come naturally, meaning he had to use all his stealth to assure that Eden's days drew to a quick and neat close.

"Unforgivable," Cortbrane rushed, nearly forgetting that Eden had spoke. "But not entirely a surprise."

"Unforgivable," Eden mumbled, maybe in agreement or just to hear the word again.

"I warned you of this long ago, do you remember," Cortobrane dared another step closer to Eden. He had always loathed both twins, but this was not the same Eden he had known growing up. That Eden had been cocky, self-assured and regal beyond comparison. This man was disheveled and unbalanced. Cortobrane thought even perhaps on the edge of madness. All of which was an advantage for Cortobrane, but one had to be careful around lunatics. "This sharing the throne business was never a good idea. Your own mother, my dear aunt, believed it to be so."

"Do not speak about my mother," Eden growled. "I know her mind well."

"I... I beg your leave. I only wish to serve you. The true King, as your mother and father knew. Your brother has always been false, you were only too close to see it."

"Unforgivable." Cortobrane thought he heard Eden whisper again.

"The woman, ah, the queen, well scandal only comes naturally to her family, but to betray you with your brother. That is an act of treason."

"Hmmm." Eden raised his left hand to his temple and began to rub.

Cortrobrane stepped closer, daring to grasp Eden's elbow firmly. Leaning in close, he drew Eden toward the front of Union Hall where the two thrones sat. Such a silly idea, two men ruling a kingdom, Cortbrane thought then whispered.

"The old blood rises, my lord. The time of Satar ends. The time of two kings ends."

Something flashed acrossed Eden's face, a brief moment where he almost gained hold of his former self, but that disappeared as Cortobrane brought the green blade with the red pommel.

"They have betrayed you, my lord. Treason has but one penalty."

"Hmmm." Eden's eyes glassed over, truly seeing the sword known as Fangen.

"Take the sword, my lord. Take your seat. No longer one of two kings of Satar, but the true king of Isa."

Eden's hand wavered as hw removed it from his temple and held it out for the sword. Cortobrane nearly pulled away, the damn thing had a way about it. He always wanted with him, touching his skin. He reminded himself that Eden would not have long. Not if things went the way he planned.

Eden's fingers curled around the sword, and every muscle in his face tensed as he did. Bringing the blade up to his face, a final wave grief flared out of Eden's mouth in a howl. The malice and rage within the sword burned away the last remaining bits of his sanity. Growling, he rushed forward toward his brothers throne.

"Unforgivable!" He growled as he brought the sword down in one harsh stroke. A flash of brillant red and green flame accompanied it, as it split the seat and caught fire. The immense heat torched the throne in only a matter of moments. When it was nothing more than tinder, Eden looked to his own throne. Standing beside it was his mother fully dressed for coronation.

"Take thy place, my son." She spoke once. He never hesitated, easing, as he had been taught long ago by appirition now standing only his mind to the right, into the seat.

"All hail King Eden of Isa!" Cortobrane shouted and went to his knee. The two men followed behind him as if puppets the man pulled on a string. His mother whispered once more before disappearing again into the recesses of his mind.

"All hail King Eden, the one true king. It is time for those betrayers of his faith to pay for their trangressions."

Red's CD Project 2: Part 35 - Legends born

Note: I kept putting this off for some reason and I am not sure why. I sat down today and pounded it all out in two writing sessions. The editing may be off. I reverted back to using my old lab top with updated software, but a very stripped down version of Word. The new house has afforded a work space that will maybe help me get this writing thing off its feet. We'll see.


Disc 2
Track 13: Waiting Hare - Buckethead

"You call me today, with your enemies; You call me today, with your infinite dreams"


All the old legends spoke of the hero, Tarek Grandar. The man that rose from obscurity and strange birth from the weak and impoverished class of folks in Marek and became king. The man that climbed to the height of Kekur and carved from the face of Old Moon the sword known as Lunar. The same sword that tore through Salama Blackblood and cast him into the his desert tomb. The same man that cut through the heavens and unleashed Belnor, dividing the land and its people.

Those legends passed through the lips and hearts of every man and child on each side of Belnor for an age. The thought of him, the immortal image, brought hope and joy and safety. The folks of the world gave thanks for Tarek Grandar at morning meal and at night when their weary heads hit soft pillows.

But time forgets the details of legends. If not time, then man does by picking and choosing what he cares to remember. Folks ignore that Marek fell under Grandar's rule. Its people were cast into lots, some banished, ruined and cursed to linger in shadows. Oan Stoneheart and his one-eyed companion know those faces well. They met a few en route to the witch's cave, and that confrontation was nearly the pairs undoing. Others, while not banished or ruined, were cursed just the same to stand and wait in the graveyard of what once was great with only a fool's hope that that greatness would come again.

Oan Stoneheart, brave and ture, surely knew little of these other legends, or of the madness that slowly ate away Grandar before one day disappearing through a certain door with three diamond-shaped panes of glass tucked away in some dingy cave in the foothills of Marek, as he stood before the sealed stone slab doors of the great palace of Metahischoo. Oan Stoneheart had not the memories or thoughts to draw on. Neither did his one-eyed friend, also cursed and perhaps ruined in his own way. For the two had traveled long and far, and in their hearts enough gladness had settled over their worry and weariness to take pride in reaching their destination through snow and wind and one dreadful path ironically called Veris.

What need for worry did they have at this deserted palace where the only voices were those of ghosts? While the stone doors were huge, and no doubt heavy, they would find a way in. Every palace had its front doors and its back doors and side entrances. Surely even Tarek Grandar's great hall had a place for the low folk to slip in and out. They would find one and be inside.

For now, they were pleased because neither were thinking about a small group of leftovers that the witch had slyly mentioned in what seemed like a long ago meeting. For now, they did not see the eyes peering from nooks and crannies of the mountain and buried cleverly in hallowed snow drifts. They were eyes trained for watching and able, if not eager, to kill. Nestor would have understood those eyes, very well. For he too once had been charged with watching an ancient legend. He too understood that after awhile, a little excitement, a little swordplay, was welcomed. It broke up the monotony of such a life with such a calling. Those eyes were eager for anything after an age of nothing.

Oan did not see them. Nestor either. Their collective joy ignored the hairs raising on their necks. Those slight hairs that always seem to know when someone is watching, that someone was waiting to strike, that death was very near.

* * *

Ewam watched in horror as the Elder Dinar trotted half the distance between the two armies. His cavalry line already had huge gaps after the archer's volleys had little effect. The large Children, as Banik called them, shrugged off the little pricks of the arrows. The smaller Children dodged falling arrows with uncanny ability. While others only stopped bit off arrows if possible or simply snapped off limbs that were rendered useless by wounds.

Ewam called for the charge, but the cavalry, which was twice the size of the force before them, barely made a dent. The beasts they were fighting were not like men that slowed with wounds and quickly died. These things were tenacious, blood-thristy, soulless, and worst perhaps of all, hungry. Even when mortally wounded, they kept on, biting, clawing, screeching, maiming. Victorious Children stopped and fed on their opponents in the middle of battle, sucking, gouging, tearing and relishing in flesh.

They also worked in tandem. The small ones, some no bigger than street vermin, bit at ankles and climbed up backs distracting Ewam's soldiers long enough for the big ones to strike fatal blows. It had been only minutes into the battle, but the hopelessness grew by the moment in the pit of his stomach.

Ewam, Banik and the rest of the generals had yet to engage in the battle. They watched from a rise, waiting to call in the infantry, his last line, to attack. Once the infantry moved, Ewam and the rest would go too. How, he thought, could so few decimate an army his size so quickly? How did the world stand a chance?

As if reading his thoughts, the Elder Dinar started their march onto the field of battle. Ewam now understood how foolish he had been to think two was surely not enough to stand against him. Banik had corrected him sharpely and justly. At this rate, Ewam wondered if the dark army even needed those two.

"Be ready," Banik fingered the sword that once was Ewam's. "Be ready." This second time was softer, private.

Ewam reached for his sword, but something in his head whispered, "not yet."

A circle formed around the two black-robed figures and the two hellish beasts they rode. The Children, while starving for more blood, served the Dinar before their own hunger. The Dinar lifted their arms, from Ewam's vantage it was hard to make out the fragile, green hands peeking out. Above the sky turned dark without any clouds to block away light and below the ground started to hum, then buzz. Ewam could not hear over the noise of battle, but he thought the Dinar were chanting. The words echoed faintly in the air.

"Heavens and fires," Commander Robare Lews appeared beside Ewam, his arm pointing to the ground before them. "What is happening?" Ewam followed the man's finger down to the ground feet before them. The dark earth below the yellowing grass was splintering like glass dropped on stone.

"BE READY!" Banik shouted drawing his sword.

The warning proved late for Ewam and Commander Lews. Springing from below the surface of the world came a haggared, slitted-eyed creature with a pointed noise and huge round mouth. Trailing behind it was a long, cylindrical body with thousands of dark, bent legs to push it through soil. Ewam's horse reared in time to throw him away from the creature, but not quick enough for him to miss the sight of Lews' head and shoulders disappearing into the hurdling mouth of the creature, which never ceased moving. The creature snapped the upper-half of Lews clean off save for his spine that tore free and dragged along with creature till it sank back into the ground. That was all Ewam witnessed before landing with a hard thud on the back of his head.

Everything went dark, and he remembered thinking in that instant, that he may not see light again.

* * *

"Who is that?" Evandra pointed down to the street from the balconey high above. Her finger led to a fat man riding a poor, tired steed. His armor reflected the sun, but Meriam shielded her eyes enough to see the green dragon etched and painted across the front. King Eden stood below at the entrace of Union Hall, clearly waiting to welcome the man. Squinting, Meriam could make out enough to recognize the fat man.

"Cortobrane," Meriam whispered and Evandra turned her ear up. The girl had always been stout, but she had lost dozens of pounds since first hearing that cursed call.

"Our cousin from Stra?" Evandra wrinkled her eyebrow. "Father and Uncle Ewam never liked him."

"He should not be here." Meriam said. "He should not and he should not be wearing that."

Meriam forced her eyes away and knew this was her only chance. Grabbing the girl by the shoulder, she turned her and knelt to meet her squarely.

"Do you trust me, Evandra?" Meriam asked.

"Aye, madam, I do."

"Then trust me when I say that we have to leave here," Meriam let a tear slip from her eye. "We must leave here, get away from your father and this place."

The girl dropped her chin to her chest and let out a sniffle.

"I know." She croaked out the answered Meriam hoped to hear without much conjoling.

"Good, we must pack," Meriam rushed back into the girl's bedroom. "I have arranged a horse."

"Mistress Meriam," the girl followed behind.

"Yes girl."

"Will we take mother?" She stalked over to the bed and sat.

"Aye, if she'll let us, I will," Meriam answered tossing clothes that looked the least regal from the girl's wardrobe into a burlap sack. She also pocketed some jewelry that did not look important, but that would bring good trade.

"If she does not let us take her?"

"Girl, I'll try, that's all I can promise."