Emerson

The righteous man will know

Small shimmering disks of bright orange fire were bobbing over the bridge and beyond it, as people searched the dark and yelled the young Reeves name. This bizarre dance of lights made the cold night come alive in a strange manner. Emerson had stayed back, since he didn’t know the terrain at all and Spurius had insisted that his people would locate the wayward couple faster, without the knight slowing them down. He’s having fun under a tree, grass up his arse. We’ve been there ourselves my friend, the aged ex-Centurion had said, a smile on his face.

It hadn’t alleviated the Knight’s fears, who knew Glen had made powerful enemies through no fault of his own, other than his blood of course. So he stayed near the bridge and watched the search continue impotent, despite Spurius best efforts to elevate his spirits.

Ye make a mistake, it’s on ye to fix it, his father used to say. Or if ye can’t, patch it up best ye can and accept responsibility. Don’t expect to enjoy the remedy and an apology should hurt aplenty, or it’s no plaguin’ good.

The knight pressed his tired eyes close hard, the memory too vivid in his mind, much as his sister’s cries.

What becomes of me now? Lila had lamented, her sweet face distraught, Ethan’s bloody severed head in her hands.

A fit of anger had stripped his sister from the father of her child, but made her the Lady of Balard Castle in the process and one the richest women in Lesia. The man was a conniving opportunist that had dishonored her, but taking his life was too harsh a punishment, especially over her protests. Emerson had bequeathed his title to his pregnant sister after that, but never felt it was apology enough and had left Lesia many years back, to fix other people’s mistakes and heal himself in the process.

The righteous man will know, when the debt is paid. He’ll know when to back down and when to ask for help himself. He will know to listen and set aside his pride, his father always preached. In his heart, he would know.

“Where is she from?” Spurius asked him, interrupting his gloomy thoughts. “The woman.”

“The plains of Cofol,” Emerson replied, crooking his mouth, the lie tasting bitter.

“Doesn’t sound, or look like a Cofol,” His old friend said. “Not that anyone has seen her proper and it’s been months. I don’t know how she does it, but I can understand the lad being smitten with her. Her face could turn a king’s head.”

“She’s a great scout,” Emerson grunted, as if that explained any of it.

“Whatever she may be, this has to end. Lord Reeves will put a hard stop to it, if the lad doesn’t,” Spurius pointed with a sigh.

“Glen will do the right thing,” Emerson replied through his teeth and seeing commotion from the west path, the one leading into the redwood forest, moved to intercept the coming riders.

Glen’s face appeared filled with strain, but otherwise he stood unhurt on Val’s saddle. It was Lith that had blood on her face, a large burn on the front of her cape. Emerson rushed to them and Glen seeing him approach breathed a sigh of relief and pulled at the reins.

“What happened?” The knight asked.

“We’re fine,” Glen assured him and Emerson saw another two riders following right behind them. A man and a woman. The man was armed to the teeth, Emerson counted two swords, an axe and a crossbow at the first glance, among several daggers. His face that of a Lorian, if a little narrower, much as he could see him under the hood he had on.

“That’s Larn, a bounty hunter,” Glen introduced the couple. “The woman is Mezera, his wife. They saved our lives.”

Emerson nodded. “I’m Sir Lennox, a Knight’s Errant. Glen is my squire. Gratitude for the assistance.”

Larn return the nod. “Think nothing of it, Sir Knight.”

Emerson turned to Glen. “Let’s move you to the castle. Is she badly hurt?” Lith hadn’t said a word and appeared out of it for some reason, he noticed.

“I don’t know.” Glen looked at the people slowly gathering around them. “We need to get her inside.”

“Head straight for Dante. We’ll use their rooms.” Emerson said stepping away from Val. He glanced towards the silently observing the scene couple. “You’re welcomed to Hellfort, Mr. Larn. We’ll see about finding you some quarters.”

“Don’t inconvenience yourself Sir Knight,” The bounty hunter rejoined, his voice a mixture of accents. “We can sleep under the moons.”

He thought his counter ludicrous, the chill hurting his bones already.

“I will have to insist, Mr. Larn,” Emerson grunted. “It’s the least I could do.”

Jinx spotted them return and got out of the kitchen, an oil lamp in hand. She’d stayed back due to her hunting injury and still walked with a bit of difficulty.

“Hah,” The Gish guffawed. “I knew they were… wait, what’s the matter wit her?”

“Who’s in there?” Emerson asked brusquely.

“Liko, Zola is still out, lookin’ for them,” Jinx replied.

“Give us the place. Get the boy out and guard the door,” The knight ordered and went to help the Zilan climb down her mount.

“I can do it myself!” Lith hissed, all indignant.

“Go on then, the kitchen is empty,” Emerson replied, with a grimace. “You want us to have a look at yer injuries?”

“Just the Gish will suffice,” Lith said, a little subdued, perhaps for her outburst.

“Sure, Princess,” The knight replied mockingly and Lith threw him a glare, before walking away stiffly.

Emerson watched her disappear into the dark entrance with a frown. He sensed Glen standing on his side and repeated his earlier question, without turning to look his way.

“What happened?”

“We were ambushed in the woods,” Glen replied, his voice detached. Almost alien. Emerson turned to examine his face and was shocked to see how pale the young man was.

“Who were they?”

“Cofol agents. They got paid to attack us.”

“They said that?” Emerson queried, taken aback.

“Larn said it. He was tracking them.” Glen explained with difficulty, as if something was bothering him.

The knight crossed his arms deep in thought. Why would the Cofols ambush Glen? Retaliation? Who would tell them? And more importantly, how would they know where he was? It didn’t make any sense.

“What else did he say?”

“Larn? Not much. It was luck he found us.”

“Aye,” Emerson murmured, looking back in an attempt to locate the bounty hunter, but failed to find him in the dankness of the yard. They needed more torches lit, he decided. And guards posted inside the castle. Perhaps another patrol at the barricade—

“She ate that man’s hand,” Glen blurted out, interrupting his thoughts. Emerson narrowed his eyes.

“What are ye saying boy?” The knight asked although deep down, he already knew.

“Lith,” Glen replied with difficulty, his face scrunching this way and that, horror trying to break to the surface. “I had to stop her,” He turned to look at Emerson, his eyes haunted. “That’s not her blood.”

Emerson burst through the kitchen door sword in hand. Jinx, sitting cross-legged on her hey mattress, raised a pink eyebrow seeing him glaring around, all flushed and furious.

“Where is she?” The Knight grunted.

“She’s gone.”

“Gone where?”

“I didn’t ask.”

“Ye allowed her to leave the room?” Emerson admonished her, but quickly he felt silly towering over the small-bodied woman and he sheathed his sword.

“She wasn’t injured. Not seriously,” Jinx replied, an annoying grin on her face. “What’s with the blade, Sir Lennox?”

Emerson clenched his jaw. “Did ye plaguin’ know? Has she done it before?” He asked her accusingly, the words laden with guilt. Every question addressed to himself in the same breath.

Jinx chuckled, finding the situation amusing for some reason.

“Stop it! This isn’t a joke Whisper!”

“Oh, but it is,” Jinx replied still grinning, getting up. “You can’t fix it, Sir Knight. Better keep that sword sheathed, next ye she her. Or you may put us all in trouble.”

“What are you talking about?” Emerson grunted.

“I’m saying, you knew. We all did, sort of. We are all to blame, for bringing her along.”

“Of course I didn’t. I thought it a myth, for Uher’s sake!” The knight protested furius. “Wild tales and nothing more. I would never have allowed her near Glen, had I suspected something this vile!”

Jinx smacked her lips after he finished, then started hobbling towards the exit, moving slower than an asthmatic snail.

“Where are ye going?” He snapped and the Gish paused and looked at him behind a pink curtain of hair.

“I need to talk to Glen. Explain things, much as I can,” Jinx said simply. “We need to keep this quiet. Knowing him, he may go off any minute, if he’s left unsupervised. Then we’ll have a real problem. I prefer to talk now, than fight later. How about you?”

Darn it.

Emerson took a step back, his initial anger retreating. The Gish was right, they’d signed up for this; all of them had. Himself first and foremost. He was the most responsible for the mess.

“I will come wit you,” He decided brusquely. “I should be the one to explain.”

“Tsk-tsk, better not dear Sir,” Jinx said. “Let me have a go at it. It needs a special touch.”

The Knight frowned.

The righteous man will know.

“Is it a Gish thing?” He asked, his voice coming out tired.

“Yes, I can help.” She corrected it for him.

“I don’t trust you Whisper,” Emerson had to admit begrudgingly, using a hand to rub the back of his neck hard, but he couldn’t see any way around it.

The Gish grinned, it reached her ears. “Ye will soon. And I won’t hold it against ye.”