Vazza inhaled deeply and signed. The sweet scent of honeysuckle carried on the breeze, with only the faintest suggestion of the lavender from the next valley dancing around the periphery of his senses, playing with him. The landscape was like an oil painting, the sunlight twinkled across the vineyards and bounced off the pristine whitewashed houses that lined the river. Vazza knew the water was cold and clear on a day like today, and almost as crisp as the dry , fruity white wine these grapes would produce. His homeland… Tranden, its lands glowed lush and vibrant all year round, the meadows saturated with deep purple wild flowers and the crimson fuchsia tumbling from hedgerows as one rode past. Children’s laughter joined the birdsong and caught his attention, and he turned on his horse he watched a beautiful peasant maiden chasing her sisters through the neatly maintained lanes of grapes, her blonde curls tumbling from underneath her suncap, bouncing around her perfectly slender jaw. She was fair indeed. Vazza smiled and urged the horse onwards. She turned to him as he approached, the white mare picking its way delicately through the yard. Her were eyes were sapphire blue and wide like saucers as he approached, almost too big as they gleam up at him. She opened her mouth to speak, her lips full and blood red against her porcelain skin, parting slowly for him with the unmistakable promise of the evening to come and heady wine fueled secrets to be shared.
“Wake up you useless shit-munching dick-nosed fat fuck” she whispered.
Vazza jerked upright in the saddle. They had stopped suddenly and James had delivered a swift elbow to his ribs to bring him to attention. He thoughtfully thumbed his nose and frowned as he peered into the darkness. Vazza fucking hated the South. The land was shit, the food was shit, the people were shit and the weather was complete shit. The had just spend a whole fucking week riding across some plains after paying a small fortune to the ruler, who was no more than a man in a tent. If the knights of Tranden so wished, they could run the entire khanate down in a mornings work he suspected.
He adjusted his belt and freed up his sword arm, pushing the grizzly trophys of the slain dog men to one side. They had fought like.. well.. the animals they were, but they should have thought of that before they had crossed the path of the warriors of Tranden. It would sure be a tale worth telling back in the court of the Earl, the trophies might finally earn him the knighthood he had so cruelty been denied this last season.
He peered ahead into the black night.
“Why have we stopped”
“Something spooked the horses”
Vazza rode to the front of the line, nodding to Sustack. He had returned from Porta Verde empty handed, no lead on the quarry. This had displeased the captain greatly. He could kiss that vineyard goodbye that Sustack could. Vazza chuckled, pleased to see Sustack fail. Maybe Vazza would give him a job in his mill when he was knighted. Never liked Sustack. Had a weird nose Sustack. Too straight.
As Vazza stared on, he saw two flickers of torch light in the distance begin to approach him. Too far away to be important, but then why had the horses stopped so. As the points of light drew closer detail began to emerge.. they didn’t flicker, rather they .. blinked, they were eyes. Vazzas heart began to pound in his chest, almost clinking off the breastplate. A few seconds later and the shape formed out of the night.. a man? Oh by the twins, the smell of blood was in the air. Vazza fucking hated the South…
The man stood silently, the eyes glowing a deep swell of amber, like a sun setting on a particularly troubling day.
Captain De Fleur addressed the figure.
“We wish to pass through here, please stand aside, by order of the Earl of Tranden”
A long silence followed before the voice responded, a gravely, world weary male voice.
“Have you paid your taxes to the Khan to pass this way”
“We have, you work for the Khan?”
“And you killed those dog-men” dragged the voice
“And what of it, they were abominations”
“It seemed like you stormed their camp at night”
“The tactics of battle are but details, the story is of victory and bravery”
In the still night, Vazza felt a bead of sweat begin to form at his lower back, pooling under the wool and leather.
“And why are you riding South oh brave ones?”
De Fleur withdrew the scroll and passed it to Sustack, who dismounted and slowly approached the figure. The glowing eyes fell on the scroll, and on the portrait. The handsome half elf. They had been tracking him for months now, but the only good lead they had was beaten out of that Kossovian wine merchant a few weeks ago.
“You seek this half-elf. What did he do?”
“He is a thief, a charlatan, and a seasoned criminal. He took something of great value from a very powerful person.”
“What did he take exactly?” the voice rasped
“We.. er.. I.. am not paid to know such things, only to retrieve him and his possessions”
The eyes blazed now as they stared back at De Fleur.
“Do you know this … crook? Who are you? Speak or feel the kiss of Tranden Steel”
“Sir” came a call from the rear. Vazza spun around, the dread rising in this throat like bile. There was another pair of eyes behind them. The horses snorted and stamped the ground, the smell of the panic spreading through the ranks. Vazza pulled hard on the reins to maintain control of the beast. His stomach sank as his bowels loosened. Another pair. Another. Another. Within a few seconds, dozens of the orange eyes had emerged from the undergrowth. They were surrounded.
“My name is Squint”
Vazzas horse rose up in terror as he lost his grip on the leathers. Sailing backwards through the air Vazza had a lot of time to reflect on the factors that had lead him to take this quest to retrieve the Errant Bentbuck. Greed for one. Gold. Wine. Lust. Ambition. Hubris. As the ground rose up to meet him, one simple universal truth had become crystal clear to him however , the words punched from his lungs and the rocks buckled his breastplate and crunched his spine skywards.
“I fucking hate the South”