Penny

WoT: The Dark One's Own Luck.

Mave caught Ali’s arm as he turned to go her eyes on the darkening sky. Beltane was the new moon and so the thin sliver of silver of the previous night would be entirely absent. Ali tensed uncertainty under his grip and gave her a questioning look, obviously a little relieved to have an excuse to hesitate.

“If we are going to go back to the farmstead tonight, we should get going,” she said quietly her voice strangely intent.

“It isn’t a night we want to be on the road after dark,” she said, her voice quiet and intense. Ali stared at her in perplexity.

“Why not,” he asked glancing about. All around them the villagers continued their happy celebration, making her obvious concern seem all the more out of place.

“I’m not sure,” she replied with her usual infuriating lack of information, “But if we aren’t going to leave soon we should stay at the inn.” Ali threw up his hands.

“We can't stay at the inn tonight Mave, all the rooms have gone to the peddlers and the gleeman,” Ali pointed out. Mave, unfamiliar with the village, hadn’t considered that. Families from farms that were too far to make the trek were also in town overnight, meaning that their wouldn’t be any spare beds.

“Then we should leave quickly,” she repeated, hefting the leather pack she had bought. She had an uneasy feeling that she had tarried too long here, the peddlers hadn’t had half of what she had wanted but it was too late to worry about it. Ali glanced back at the inn obviously torn between whatever it was he needed to do and her urgings. At last he took her arm in his and they headed out of the village.

They didn’t speak much as they made the now familiar trek down the forest trail. Darkness was already beginning to close around them and wisps of cloud veiled the stars save where odd breaks permitted an occasional glimpse. Despite Mave’s fears they reached the house without incident, though she thought even Ali was glad to bolt the door behind him.

“So you are going to leave tomorrow, he asked as she set her pack down and he piled some kindling in the fireplace and struck it to flame with a flint, blowing gently until the fire caught and began to spread over the twigs and branches.

“I think I had better,” she said with a ghost of a smile.

“The Wisdom and your Evelyn will probably be here with torches and pitchforks if I don't, plus your family will be coming back and you won't have space for me.” The words were a little sad, she had enjoyed her time with Ali. He was handsome and brave and dependable in a way that no one had been since she had signed her name into the Novice Book years ago. She was going to miss him.

WoT: The Dark One's Own Luck.

Though Mave was pleased to be away from Evelyn and her theatrics, she was less than pleased to be made the center of attention. The last thing she wanted was word of her location to filter back to those who were hunting her. Still there was no practical way to refuse without causing more of a scene. The gleeman nodded happily and moved off to begin starting his performance. Mave glanced down to the sword at her hip. It was a simple thing, a short steel blade with a leather wrapped hilt. Negotiating with the peddlers hadn’t gone well. The villagers had their own craftsmen who did most of the work, peddlers primarily bought in exotic luxuries like silk thread and copper sheeting, which the locals used in their own crafts. Books and parchment and other such things made up the bulk of the trade.

“I learned to use a knife as a girl,” she explained. Domani marriage and courtship rituals involved the use of special marriage knives and most people learned the basics of using one, at least as a game. Mave didn’t truly need a weapon, she had the One Power, but something that caused an opponent to hesitate could be very useful. The sword wasn’t much longer than a marriage knife, but she didn’t intend to try to use it for anything like fencing.

“Your.. umm.. Bethrothed is very forceful,” she said after a moment, giving Ali a teasing look. Her eyes tracked the Wisdom as she strode across the green to acost two young boys who were up to some mischief.

“THere seems to be a lot of that going around in Tarren’s Ferry.”

WoT: The Dark One's Own Luck.

Mave offered Evelyn a slight Domani bow, the kind which competing suitors exchanged as a sign of mutual respect. Evelyn, as ignorant of the veiled insult as anyone else unfamiliar with Domani custom, merely made a slight Hurrump sound as she dragged the protesting Ali away. Mave didn’t envy him the tongue lashing he would likely receive from the Wisdom, particularly after the altercation the previous evening, but this was Ali’s life and she didn’t expect it would prove fatal.

The village was a riot of color and pageantry. A great table had been laid out over the green, covered with a half dozen tablecloths of splendid reds and whites. Great barrels of porter, piles of fruit and sliced meat had been piled on wooden platters. Here and there were meat pies, pastries and cakes were stacked alongside pots of boiled vegetables. Loaves of bread some of them still steaming, where stacked beside crocks of fresh churned butter and jar after jar of jams and preserves. Pitchers of cider and water sweetened with fruit juice and honey glistened with condensation, clearly having been bought from cellars where they had been kept cool.

Men and women were stacking plates and filling tankards and chatting happily. It was clear that this was a day to which the whole village looked forward and marked the end of the long winter. Mave saw Mayor al’Kagan dressed in an impressive sash of old but well cared for silk. He was speaking animatedly to a gleeman in a patched cloak. Everyone was dressed in their best clothing and Mave, with only her cast off dress to wear, was the odd one out. None the less she was still a center of much interest, a group of girls seemed to hover about her, nervous to ask questions until one plump bloned finally blurted out.

“Are you really marrying Ali?” A barrage of questions followed that Mave answered as best she could. No she wasn’t marrying Ali, yes he had saved her from bandits, yes he was staying at his house, no she hadn’t beaten the wisdom with a bunch of thistles. Yes this was really the best dress she had to wear.She moved through the knot of girls with grim determination heading for the peddlers. There were a pair of them, both standing before wagons which groaned with everything from pots to books to bolts of cloth. A number of goodwives were haggling with the peddlers though Mave had the impression that these were late comers who had missed the early trade. She picked the older looking peddler at random and approached him as a woman hurried off with a roll of lace.

“Ah what can I do for you miss?” he asked, eyeing her dress as a clear sign that she didn’t have much to trade.

“I need a backpack and a knife or short sword,” she said bluntly.

“New boots as well, if you have them. I also need a map, flint, a tinderbox and a new dress if you have one.”

“And how will you be paying for all this miss?” the Peddler asked, “We usually trade on account for bales of wool and…” He fell silent as Mave pulled her pouch from her belt and jingled it significantly. They got down to business.

Mave was just sitting down to enjoy a pie and a slice of bread, trying to ignore the looks from the village women, speculative or disapproving depending on whether they had boys or girls or perhaps husbands with wandering eyes, when she was interupted by a near shriek.

“You hussy!” Mave paused with her pie half way to her mouth. Evelyn was standing across from her, chin raised and hands on hips.

“You do plan to steal him away dont you, that’s why he won't marry me!”

Mave pictured herself as a flower, petals slowly opening to the sun. Finding serenity. Saidar beckoned her but she merely wanted to compose her mind.

“For the last time,” she said in a cold quiet voice.

“I’m not here to steal anyone away…”

WoT: The Dark One's Own Luck.

“Truly?” Mave asked as she sat down in one of the comfortable chairs and pulled off the wollen leggings she had been wearing. Crossing her long golden limbs she took the proffered bowl of oatmeal. Weariness was settling into her bones, though in truth the Weaving she had performed had been more taxing than the evenings travel and the dancing combined. Now, by the light of a warm fire, she felt foolish to have bothered with it. Surely her suspicions were nothing more than that and the rider would turn out to be some disgruntled customer of the family business or some such. She had wanted to return to the farmstead so that if things went poorly she would at least not have to worry about innocent bystanders, save for Ali of course, and he had proven that he could take care of himself.

“Well I grew up outside Bandar Eban…” she talked for a time about the wonders of the port city and then about the manor that her family had brought with the money from their trading ventures. Nobility was a fluid thing in Arad Doman and in a few generations the Kashana’s would probably give themselves titles and airs to match their wealth. If Mave hadn’t been taken off to the White Tower, she doubtlessly would have been another brick in that climb, a marriage alliance to a house with ancient title but failing fortunes. She didn’t share that part with Ali naturally, nor did she allude to having travelled to Tar Valon. He didn’t seem to mind, he was a good listener eating up the stories she told him of the vast Almoth Plain or of the storms she had seen on the Aryth Sea and the shipwrecks she had visited on the rocky coast. He was a handsome man, strong and muscular and very different from most of those she had met. The odd shade of his eyes was captivating as well and she could easily understand why he had been the center of attention for the marriageable women of the village. Less understandable was why he was still single when the average age of marriage was low. Possibly this Evelyn she had heard of had plans in that regard. Well in a day or so she would be gone and her disruption to his life would be over. It made her inexplicably sad, he was the closest thing to a friend she had enjoyed since she passed through the arches. Unless you counted Velma Sedai, who while mysterious and intense was hardly friendly.

The fire had burned down low by the time they finished talking and Ali made one last round to check the window latches. Mave doubted he would have bothered but it was obvious that the strange rider wasn’t far from his mind either. For her own part she was comfortable that her wards would keep them safer than the strongest door in the Two Rivers would but she couldn’t share that information. Finally it was time for bed and she gave Ali a hug and a quick kiss on the cheek, an act which made him blush almost the shade of his eyes.

“Thank you for today Ali, I had a wonderful time,” and with that she vanished into her bedchamber and lay down to sleep.

Word association Game!

Tequila

WoT: The Dark One's Own Luck.

"No, no its fine," Mave said after a moment of consideration. The dusk was growing heavy and they would need to be leaving. The mayor returned walking quickly across the green with a basket in his hand. To Mave's considerable surprise it contained some cheese and a loaf of bread as well as some dried apples. The man cleared his throat in obvious embarrassment.

"You'll be back for the feast tomorrow of course but I know that you aren't fixed to be feeding guests," the mayor muttered the words and Mave sensed they were an apology of sorts for the behavior of the Wisdom and himself when they visited earlier. Instinctively she moved the bread aside to see a wineskin concealed beneath it.

"Thank you master al'Cagan, and I apologize for my outburst earlier, I did not come here to cause dissent," she said carefully but the mayor was already waving her words away.

"Your welcome here Misstress..."

"Kashana," Mave supplied. The Mayor nodded as though the name made sense, though this far from Arad Doman she could have said anything and it would have been equally believeable.

“Mistress Kashana,’ the Mayor repeated and bowed slightly. They stood and waved and started for the edge of the village. Ali took up his staff and Mave wrapped her shawl tight around her shoulders. Beltane eve it might be, but it had been a harsh winter and the seasons grip hadn’t yet been dislodged.

“Should we take the game trails?” Ali asked as they walked into the twilight, the lights of the village twinkling behind them as they headed westwards towards the mountains. Mave shook her head.

“Let take the path,” she said, “I don't think we will have any trouble. Whoever your friend is he knows you aren’t home by now.” Mave didn’t have any such belief and she kept her eyes opened as they followed the path through the moonlit woods. Ali had taken a lantern from the green but he kept it shuttered, it was almost the new moon but the stars were bright enough to see by and they instinctively didn’t want to draw more attention to themselves. Despite Mave’s misgivings they reached the house without incident, and they both felt an unspoken relief as the farmstead came into view. No black figure or dark horse lurked around that she could see. Ali cleared his throat perhaps feeling a little embarrassed at his own fear.

“Well, nothing like a walk in the woods,” he said with giddy relief. Mave smiled at him and gestured to the house.

“Why don’t you go in and get a fire started,” she said, affecting a slightly nervous glance towards the house.

“I’d like to look at the stars a moment,” she said. Ali nodded and gripped his staff, imagining that she was worried about someone lurking inside the house.

“Right,” he said and headed inside. Infact Mave wasn’t concerned that the rider was lurking inside, but she did need a few moments of privacy. Reaching out she surrendered herself to Saidar, allowing the One Power to flow into her like a warm draught of tea. Instantly her senses were sharper, she could hear the chirps of bird and sense the movements of leaves. She began to walk around the house, weaving flows of spirit and air in an intricate lattice work. Some Aes Sedai believed that all students had a particular talent or aptitude when it came to the Power. If that were true Mave’s talent was wards. She completed a circuit of the house, joining the point where she had began before inverting her flows and tying them off.

By the time the ward was in place the light of the fire had appeared in the window and Mave went inside. Ali was closing the windows and latching them, no doubt imagining the rider to be a more prosaic threat than Mave feared.

“It is beautiful in the country at night,” she said as she began to take off her shoes and shawl.

“In Bandar Eban you can hardly see the stars for the city lights.”

WoT: The Dark One's Own Luck.

Mave wasn't really sure why she wanted to dance. It wasn't something at which she had gotten a lot of recent practice at. Partially it was to move the conversation away from the notion of her being Aes Sedai. That wasn't technically true, but it was close enough that she would prefer he didn't dwell on the matter. Maybe it was because she was certain it would infuriate the Wisdom, or maybe it was because she had been stuck in the White Tower for long enough that she missed it. Accepted were taught to dance in the fashion of a noble soiree but it would have been unseemly for them to engage in the more energetic country dances. Regardless of her motives, obscure even to her, she led Ali out onto the green.

It was a broad expanse of grass that functioned as a village square. Already a Beltane pole had been erected, with pieces of colorful fabric twined carefully around its twelve foot length to avoid flapping in the light breeze. Lanterns were being set out also in preparation of the celebration. There were already several pairs of young people dancing on the grass to the music. Most of them were of an age with Mave and Ali though there were a few older couples and a few precocious younger ones. Several of the older more staid villagers had looks of disapproval on their faces, but they made no mood to stop the impromptu celebration.

The dance was simple enough that it only took a minute or two of watching before Mave, pulling Ali behind her, took her place on the green and they began to dance. It was more fun than she had imagined, all the more so for being a relief from her cares. Why shouldn't she take a moment to enjoy something, soon it would be Beltane and she would have to be on her way but while she was here she might as well enjoy it. Several local girls were giving her hard looks and she realized that Ali must be something of a prize in these parts. An unmarried man with an aging father and a thriving trade must be a match that made mothers swoon. Soon enough she was laughing as the whirled and danced on the green and it was almost a disappointment when the fiddler, a boy younger than Ali, was forced to take a break.

"Its been a long time since I danced," she admitted as they sat breathlessly on one of the wooden benches. As they longued Master al'Cagan came busting over, a concerned look on his face. He was puffing his pipe in and out fast enough that it could only be a sign of nerves.

"Alidrin what is going on, first its bandits, this girl... begging your pardon miss, and now I hear there is some strange man looking for you? WHat have you gotten yourself into boy?"

Dogs of War: Old World Mercenaries

“Cydric do you even know how to joust?” Camilla asked as the Ostander stalked back and forth. She had seen Cydric fight from horseback with a sword before but she couldn’t ever rember ever seeing him use so much as a spear.

“I’ve used a halberd,” he said guardedly, “how different can it be.” Camilla sighed and walked over to Cydric. Without ceremony she slapped him over the back of the head. Cydric yelped and leaped backwards rubbing his scalp.

“What was that for?!” he demanded.

“You will not risk your life jousting with Beaumont. It is bad enough that the locals act like their armor has scrambled their brains without you joining in,” she snapped.

“But your honor…”

“... will be quite secure without fools hitting each other with sticks over it,” she responded acidly, plucking the note from his hand and tossing it out the window while Cydric gaped. A footman appeared at the door a moment later.

“M’lord I was told to take a res…” the man began but Camilla cut him off.

“Fetch me quill and ink,” she ordered. THe footman might have been confused but he didn’t hesitate vanishing from the room and returning an instant later. Camilla dipped the goose quill in ink and wrote a reply in carelessly graceful Brettonian before blowing on it to dry the ink. After a minute she folded up the paper and passed it to the footman.

“Take this to the tallest tower that isn’t currently inhabited and leave it there,” she instructed.

“Then go and tell Sir Beaumont that I shall meet him there and that I ask him to come in full armor.” The servant bowed and rushed out of the room, he clearly didn’t understand but he was probably used to that.

“Why full armor?” Cydric asked looking baffled.

“I just enjoy the idea of people climbing stairs carrying all that extra weight,” she said with a malicious grin. Cydric looked puzzled and amused. Camilla crossed the room and collected her sword. It was only an hour till noon but knowing the Brettonian’s they would already be gathering.

“If I’m not going to joust…”

“You are not,” Camilla agreed.

“Then what are we going to do?” Cydric asked a little plaintively. Camilla belted on her sword and then drew a knife and slashed the expensive dress at thigh height, clearing her legs to move freely. Tucking the dagger back into its sheath she collected the gunpowder she had been drying on the window sill and poured it back into her pistol, wadding down the ball with a little of the left over silk before adding a pinch to the pan. It wasn’t going to be easy to find replacement powder outside of the major cities but that couldn’t be helped.

“You and I are going to investigate this curse at the center of the castle while they are all gathered to play with sticks,” she declared. No one would be there who would be able to stop her going with Cydric if they were all out at the lists.

“Uhhh… wont they wonder where we are?” Cydric asked. Camilla turned her devastating smile upon him, making a gesture after the departing footman.

“Why Cydric, I left them a note of course.”

Spinwards to the Marches

Benson, Epsilon Sub Sector, Disputed Space
Toehold

Kyra slipped back into the bar, feeling the wash of auras play across her as she entered the darkened interior. Smoke from dozens of cigarettes and more exotic delivery mechanisms hung in air like a cloud tinged with neon accents from the signs. In one corner a group of men were playing a game on an ancient holographic table. It was something like cykari though the flickering holographic heads made it hard to tell from this distance. Kyra was dressed in a suit of synthetic leather like those worn by the auto gangs that made the slums of Toehold a dangerous place by night. The garment hugged her skin without being uncomfortable. A belt was slung across her hips at a jaunty angle though she didn’t have a gun to make the look complete. Her hair had been blacked with cheap dye to eliminate her more distinctive blond locks.

Augustine was sitting in a corner booth nursing a drink and she slid in beside him waving a hand to the tattooed bartender for a drink when he looked up at her. The man pumped a few fingers of amber liquid into a none to clean glass, poured in some ice and sent it her way by sliding it down the bar with the ease of long practice. She stopped the smoothly gliding tumbler, and flicked a credit disc back along in a near perfect reciprocal.

“For my friend too and keep them coming,” she called. The bartender caught the disc and touched it to his forehead in salute before making the thing plastic credit marker vanish into a pocket. Kyra took a pouch from her belt and slid it across to the man. He opened it with a finger, took in the pile of credit chips and tucked it into his jacket.

“The good news is it is easy to find someone willing to buy a stolen truck and a couple of stolen carbines,” she said, taking a sip of the drink. Whiskey was available in most bars Kyra had visited across the galaxy, though exactly what they meant by the term varied considerably. Judging by the ethanol burn, this was an industrial alcohol cut with water and a dash of flavoring agent.

“The bad news is I couldn’t find any captain willing to lift us out of this hole. I did speak to one who said he would, but I got the impression that he was just angling to rob us,” she told Augustine. It had been much the same story in Port Carolus, though she had hoped it was just because they were closer to where they had made their escape.

“Someone really doesn't want us to get off this rock,” she went on, running a finger idly around the rim of her glass. At first she had thought it was merely an attempt to keep her from reporting back to the Syndicate but it had to be more than that. Even perfectly reputable shippers were refusing to take passengers.

“Something has people really spooked about this place. Too spooked for people who are moving uranium dust and animal skins.”