Clare/Cauldwyn - Escape from Kaldera

[Ashley]

Boots thundered down the vaulted hallways, mail rattled against plate drowning out the conversation the abbot was presently having with the war battered Knight Captain. The old priest struggled to keep up hands clutching and holding the ends of his robe up so as to not trip.

"This is HIGHLY irregular, ser!" The abbot spat out at him, his jowled face red with anger "The Princess is under MY care I assure you no harm will come of her while she is under the roof of the gods. She M-MUST continue her studies she is at a pivotal point and stopping the process now will set us back MONTHS... Captain? CAPTAIN! Are you listening?" the abbot sputtered at the knight's indifference to his pleas as they stormed the halls, twelve in all, a paltry company but it was the best he could do on short notice.

"I heard every word you said, father." Cauldwyn said voice like gravel, hard and calloused like the wind-weathered skin of his face. He stopped but his soldiers continued down the hall towards their objective. "And none of it changes the facts as they are. the Queen has moved against the King and has claimed the Princess an exile." His tone was calm but cut with the sharpness that reflected his impatience and anxiety.

"The queen? Against the king?" The Abbot let out a hearty but mirthless laugh "Absurd, man, are you completely bereft of any brain matter? For what reason..."

Cauldwyn gave an exasperated sigh and continued down the hall after his men, the Abbot scurried after, beet red int he face angrily calling after him about breaking from important traditions, that the captain would come to regret this, and perhaps he would. But not today.

****

The double oaken doors poured into the Narthex of the Abbey's church. At the front of the church, kneeling before an altar was a young woman with a veil pulled over her face and hands clasped in prayer infront of her. her lips silently mouthing the words to the Night Maiden.

Cauldwyn entered the Narthex and his men snapped to attention, the Princess hadn't even broken her prayer, his eyes were focused on his objective, fixed on the girl infront of him as he passed between the pews until he came to the small steps where sat the altar the princess kneeled before, a small velvet pillow under her knees.

"Princess" Cauldwyn said in as even a tone as possible, hard as the steel he wore at his hip yet there was a quality to it that belied his deeply troubled state. "I bring news of your father"

But the Princess didn't acknowledge him she remained, head bowed before the altar mouthing the words to her prayer. The Abbot burst into the Narthex and charged through the church proper bellowing as he went

"OUTRAGEOUS" He spat "COMPLETELY UNACCEPTABLE" he felt the need to repeat as he walked between the pews, purpose in his stride. "CAPTAIN, I MUST PROTEST" the abbot raged on, Cauldwyn turned to him

"I've heard your protests Abbot and I've given you my answer." Cauldwyn answered in a crisp no-nonsense tone but the Abbot was not cowed by the veteran nor the wicked bastard sword he wore.

"MATTERS OF STATE DO NOT. DO NOT. TAKE PRECEDENCE. OVER THE GODS." Realizing he was still bellowing the abbot cleared his throat, lowering his voice "This is a Sacred ritual, not a one living person is supposed to enter the chapel during Ithiriel. No knight, nor Duke nor king, even if blessed Tholin himself turned up at our doorstep, he would not dare interrupt the Ithiriel. I tell you once more, Captain, you cannot interrupt this ritual and the gods will not wait."

Cauldwyn gave a sour chuckle and motioned for a man lined along the wall.

"Squire" he called to Thrand who hurried over and snapped to attention. "Take The Abbot back to his offices"

"THE OUTRAGE" he bellowed, his face swelling and reddening with the rage "I WILL NOT SUFFER THE ARROGANCE OF A SELF IMPORTANT HEDGE KNIGHT POMPED UP WITH POWER AND PURPOSE BEYOND A PEASANTS-"

"And Thrand...do try not to cause permanent damage" Cauldwyn continued ignore the rage of The Abbot, who was now being seized by the arms by the Knight's squire and a man-at-arms, they began to turn away when Cauldwyn spoke suddenly

"Abbot.." The Abbot lifted his face to meet Cauldwyn's eyes and they burned with indignation and hatred. For a man of peace there was much hostility in this little man. "I am no king nor of noble birth, but today, even the gods will wait. "If Tholin does turn up on your doorstep you can send him and his grievances to me, priest."

The men dragged The Abbot away kicking and screaming. It was then Clare's lips ceased moving and her hands fell apart...


She heard the arguments, it was hard to block them out, but still she stayed focused on her task. She finished the prayer, her eyes closed against the visual images of what moved around her. She felt Cauldwyn, her very trusted Captain, come to sit next to her. He did not kneel. She knew he did not abide by the Old Gods. She wondered if he abided any God, but she never had the courage to ask him. She supposed it was his own choice, whether or not he wanted to believe. She wouldn’t, could not, hold that against him.

He spoke to her, addressing her as he did only when they were in public, in company. She much preferred to hear her name on his lips instead of her title, but it did not sway her from finishing the prayer she’d started. She had known that something was coming, something would be happening – soon. And she wanted to have all of the blessings she could before it did. Being kept in the Monastary did not allow her the knowledge that being in the castle did. She had to rely on hearsay and messengers, most of which never got passed the Abbott. She knew that he was faithful to her step-mother.

Finally, as the Abbott was taken from the chapel, she finished the prayer. Her lips stopped moving and her hands dropped from their clasped position at her clavicle. She turned her full attention to Cauldwyn at that moment. Her eyes took in his face, every line that was formed from age, worry, or a sword. She studied him for a long moment before she shook her head, back and forth just once.

“What is the news, Captain?”

She turned then, counting the rest of the men that were left in the chapel. Guards for her. She knew all of them by name. All friendly. But she did not see Eddrick. That worried her. She turned her gaze back to the knight.

She knew, without him telling her, that they were leaving. She simply removed the veil and lay it over one of the wooden pews.

“I need to change and gather a few things before we go. How much time do I have?”


"I bring ill tidings from Deepcrest, your grace.... We left but a day short of a fortnight, by now your father may well be dead... Last I saw him he still drew breath but time was not on his side and.... " He felt the weight of the news on his shoulders and Cauldwyn couldn't help but feel somehow responsible. This was on his watch, his guard in whom he had so much trust and yet it would seem one of them had betrayed him.

"your father lays dying from poison. Unfortunately the assassin was killed upon completing his task and we have nothing to prove the Queen had any hand in this foul play" he took a deep breath for while that was sure to hit her had what he had to say next was worse, much worse.

"Clare" He said in barely a whisper, yet it echoed across the chapel near still in is quiet, the deafening silence broken by a whispered name.

"The queen has played her hand and claimed the throne for her eldest son, she has denounced you, accused you of hiring the assassin that you might sooner succeed your father... She's declared herself Queen regent in the interim and the High Ithral has given his blessings. I don't know she bought the clergy but I have serious doubts the divine gods came down and told the queen to poison your father and usurp his crown. It gets worse... Some of the nobles... They've already sworn fealty to this new regime." Cauldwyn scowled at that, the idea of betrayal a stain in his mind, like he could see "Traitors, most like they were bought with promises of gold, titles and land.

"Duke Tullius has taken up your father's banner and rallies all the lords that support your claim... But he has had to retreat to Valarius along with his retainers, what you see here is the extent of your command. Of course we will go where you command but Tullius asked me to convey his advice; Don't try to connect with Tullius's forces, even if we didn't have to cross the entirety of Kaldera to get there they would be expecting us to go there, your grace. Better to run to friends... Garanore, your grace. The king will take you in until such time as Lord Tullius can come fetch us."


She bit back a yell at the news of her father. It was not Cauldwyn’s fault that he had to relay the news of her step-mother’s plot. She should have known that something would occur. She’d been sent to the monastery, for her own good she was told. She knew now that it was to keep her from protecting her father. For taking over what was rightfully hers.

She shook her head, looking back to the altar where she still kneeled. She pressed her lips to a thin line. Her mind raced with the possibilities. She knew that he was right, though. He always was. They couldn’t risk contacting Tullius. She would put them all in danger. It was enough to know that he had taken up her father’s banner and stayed loyal.

“Then we’ll head to Garanore.” It was his idea. His plan. But she still spoke it aloud to make it seem more official. She trusted Cauldwn’s judgment, his strategy.

“Is there any way to get news of my father? Is anyone loyal still in the household?” The doubt of her father’s fate rolled her stomach until she felt ill. She pushed herself to a standing position. It would be better to move than to stay idle. If she moved, she could think better. She could push down the sickness she felt creeping up the back of her throat.

She was already moving through the chapel. She stopped, and looked at Cauldwyn. “Are you sure Garanore will not take my step-mother’s banner? They’ll help us?” She suddenly felt tired, exhausted. She didn’t want to run. She was tired of what she felt was giving up what was hers. But what could she do? She couldn’t risk the lives of these few men for what would be a bloodbath. She hated to run, though. She’d always hated the thought of retreat.


"A wise action" Cauldwyn said deferentially, His palms pressed to his knees, he pushed himself to his feet. They had little and less time before the Queen's men interrupted them and though there were no finer warriors in all of Kaldera, those twelve couldn't match an entire army. The silence was heavy in the chapel, Cauldwyn felt nothing, no presence, no feeling of some... entity, the Gods as quiet as the chapel, no whispers nor visions... He had heard many proclaim they felt such things in churches but all Cauldwyn saw was brick and mortar.

"Perhaps in time but we won't know for certain until Ser Rolden returns from his father's estates. He's gone to persuade him to take up your cause, he's remained... Aloof. He's taken no sides yet but his men might mean the difference between victory and defeat."

There were so many, perhaps too many things to consider and not enough time to go over them all. They were moving now, a quick pace down the aisle and its rows of pews.

"Garanore has no cause to side with the Queen and your father always backed them in their disputes with Tyranon and Ashenmore. You won't be sitting idly by in Garanore, Tullius has also requested you try to convince King Crowley to give you an army... Then... Tullius will be the anvil upon which we bring down your army to smash the usurper and her traitors."

He gave Clare a sidelong glance as they exited the church and crossed the Martialing yard towards the Abbey proper where her possessions were kept.

"You must be swift, your grace. We have little time to be away from this place. We must be leagues away by the time the Queen's men arrive."


She nodded as she listened to the counsel. She didn’t want to, but she knew she would start to see traitors in every face she looked at. How could she trust anything, anymore?

“King Crowley,” she lets the name hang. She’s never been a fan of the King’s, but Cauldwyn is right. He may be able to help build an army for her to take back what is rightfully hers. She swallows the distaste of the King. Instead, she simply nods. “Very well.”

She pauses and looks at the captain of her guard. “Thank you, Cauldwyn. I want you to know that I have always…appreciated…your service to my father and myself. In the coming days, I may not get a chance to tell you that. But I want you to have heard it from my own lips.” Before she can think, she leans up on her toes and presses her lips to his cheek. “Thank you,” she whispers it in his ear before she is moving away from him.

“I will meet you at the stables in five minutes’ time. That’s all I need.” In truth, she’d been preparing for such a message. She has a bag packed and ready to go, she simply needs to change.

Without waiting, she turns and heads towards the room she keeps on the bottom floor of the second building.

[Ashley]

(This is a continuation of the scene above.)

The sun dipped behind the towers kissing off the stained glass dome that topped the temple of Ithiriel. Beneath its vaulted ceilings and towering marble pillars Clare's small retinue had gathered. Clare had wanted to leave immediately upon hearing the news but Cauldwyn had pressed her to wait until dusk and escape unnoticed under cover of darkness. The time had come and Cauldwyn and his men were clasping large black cloaks about their shoulders covering their arms and armor.

Cauldwyn looked up at the sound of leather heel on the stone floor, its echoes slicing through the listless silence. Clare came into view a moment's later followed the Abbot, Cauldwyn approached her;

"Your grace" he began as he whipped the last cloak until its hem touched the floor. It was a plain, brown thing, stained with the dust and grime of travel, patches littered the fabric and gave it a near motley look. he flung it about her and rested it on her shoulders, the cloak falling close as he took his hands away. "Unlikely anyone would notice us leaving but better to take care and avoid unnecessary attention."

The Squire and the men at arms formed a double column behind Cauldwyn.

"We should go your grace..."

The Abbot stepped forward, wringing his wizened hands.

"Prin - Your grace" The Abbot began putting both of his hands atop of hers. "I'm truly sorry it has come to this, you were an excellent student and I wish you God's good grace on this journey and know that Ithiriel blesses this..erm.. Departure from tradition."

Cauldwyn stepped back allowing the old man his moment. He lingered, a sad look on his face. He had come to see Clare as almost a daughter after a fashion, they had forged a student-teacher relationship and Cauldwyn could tell the Abbot hated to leave his task unfinished. A long moment passed before Cauldwyn cleared his throat.

"Your grace..."


She didn’t want to leave. The quickness in which she wanted to leave had nothing to do with desire, but rather just getting away from the place as quickly as she could. She would have rather strapped her sword to her back and road to the palace, but it wasn’t her place. She knew all too well what would happen if she allowed her senses to vanish in that way. She was also glad that she had Cauldwyn to stay with her and make sure she stayed sane. He was right, as he always was, that they had better to flee and find forces to back them, before making a move on her stepmother.

When Cauldwyn returned, she had only two bags packed, which could easily be strapped to the horse she rode. She left much behind, but she knew it was necessary. They were material things, at any rate. They could be replaced.

When the Abbott came to stand with her, she smiled as he took her hands. It was a sad smile. She, too, was sad to be leaving him. She knew that he did favor her stepmother, but it wasn’t that he was an evil man. She couldn’t stay with him, no matter how much she liked him. She leaned forward, brushing her lips against his papery cheek. “Keep me in your prayers. We all need them now.”

She squeezed his hands gently before she let go, turning away from the Abbott as Cauldwyn came to stand next to her. She simply nodded at Cauldwyn, letting him know she was ready.


"Let's go" Was all he said before turning on his heels with Clare at his side and his men in tow. He was anxious to go but he hid it well, lingering anywhere in Kaldera was dangerous for Clare and he wanted to get as much distance between them and the city as possible while a few shreds of daylight remained. The horses were already saddled and ready to go int he marshaling yard, Clare's white destrier stamping its foot impatiently.

"Mount up!" He said, his voice echoing off the rocky walls of the court yard. He hopped into his saddle, shifting in it. The saddle was new, not yet broken in. He supposed it would be soon enough. Cauldwyn clucked his tongue and directed his horse towards the gates which swung open before them and lead them into the quickly emptying streets of Balmoreton. The party would remain stone silent as they wended their way through the narrow alleys between pot shops, taverns, whorehouses, all manner of building that made up this mishmash city of converging cultures of Elendrael. Cauldwyn's gaze was ever sweeping the front, his men the sides and back. he shifted his glance to Clare whose silence was heaviest of all. She seemed lost in thought eyes staring at the pommel on her saddle, thinking, perhaps brooding. He wasn't sure. Cauldwyn turned his eyes back to the road in front of them, tight packed cobblestone, it must have taken a hundred masons ten years to pave the roads of this city which was tiny compared to some in Kaldera.

"Your grace" He said finally, breaking the silence as they rode beneath the gates, the bored looking guards barely sparing them a second glance. Farms dotted the landscape beyond the walls of the city, the road was a well traveled one and a main artery of trade between Kaldera and Valarius, though he imagined that would stop shortly after the Queen realized Valarius was harboring mean she had deemed traitors. "I know the circumstances seem dire but you, even when in the shadows of darkness, must stand in the light. The people will look to you now. The queen has no love of the common folk, but you? You are their own princess, blood and tears of this kingdom and it's rightful ruler."

Strength, he wanted to tell her. That's what she needed but Clare knew this already and telling her so wouldn't make it any easier a draught to swallow. He sighed quietly as their pace slowed, listening to the clip clop of the horses' hooves.

"I ordered none of these men to come with me, they chose to be here. For your father's crown and for their princess. We will all protect you with our lives..." he paused and with a wry grin shrugged and added "for what little they are worth."


She knew that leaving was the best thing she could do. She had to survive, would survive this, so that she could save her people. Who knew what the Queen had planned for Kaldera? But Clare would make sure that she did everything in her power to save her people. She loved the Kingdom as if they were her own family. It made her sick to have to leave.

She stayed quiet during most of the ride. By a few hours’ time, her legs were sore and she would have given anything for a soft bed. But she didn’t complain. She knew that the men would be suffering, as well. Each with their own pains. She knew them all by name. She knew some had families that they were leaving behind, others lives that had barely begun. That made her saddest of all. She knew Cauldwyn would tell her she was being silly if she voiced those opinions. She should have left on her own, really. But at the same time, she was thankful that they were there. Both for her protection and their company. She would forever look at them as brothers, not guards.

When Cauldwyn came to ride next to her, she lifted her gaze to him and offered a small smile. She couldn’t muster much more and be sincere about it.

“Thank you, Captain.” She bowed her head in acknowledgment of his words. “I will be as bright as ever, if it will douse that awful darkness that has taken over my home.”

She looked ahead again, quiet for some time. “These men have become brothers to me,” she told him what she’d been thinking. “And I owe them my very life for theirs.” Her eyes turned to his and she kept his gaze for a long moment. “All of your lives are worth all the gold in the kingdom, to be certain. If only I could ever repay any of you for what you are doing for me.”


Cauldwyn listened, as he always did. He rarely interrupted, in truth he was a man of few words and little humor. His life seemed to be soldering, fighting, and everything in between. His quarters reflected that, being spartan with few personal decorative, save for a battered old shield that hung above his small cot. He scratched idly at his beard, scattered with the growth of gray hairs. His brow creased as he frowned and crows feet collected at his eyes.

"Your grace we do not need repayment. We serve because... It is what we do. Above all else we know the kingdom comes before family, the gods, everything."

Cauldwyn certainly spoke with conviction and he seemed to believe his men held those same beliefs, who better to know them? And yet... perhaps, as a noble, royalty it was dangerous to believe that anyone could do anything without expecting something in return. her life was trading favors, delegating who and where and how much. It seemed lonely to Cauldwyn at that moment and he grieved silently for the little girl she had been that had never known the simple pleasures of growing up as an anonymous child living in some backwoods village. heavy is the heart of the one who wears the crown, or so the saying went.

"The Queen will be made to pay for her treachery, Lord Tullius will see to it, I expect. But you must not look back, your grace. Your path lays in front of you, always. it is Garanore you must dwell on the past is naught but wind and words now."


“Yes, I suppose you’re right.”

She looked away from him, falling back into silence for a few long moments. She felt that they deserved some form of thanks. She didn’t like the idea of simply taking because they gave. It never settled right with her. She felt that those that did good, deserved good things done to them. It was perhaps why the Kingdom prospered in times when other areas did not. The people of Kaldera did as they could, and she always made sure they saw the best that they could have.

“Garanore will never be my home,” she said. It was said quietly, but there was an obvious sadness that lurked behind the words. She blinked quickly a few times before she lifted a shoulder in response. “But it seems to hold the future. For now.”

“How long do you think it will take us?”

(paused.)