"What we need to do is help out, Herald," Sir Gansson commented, facing the Herald in question and awaiting her command.
"As much as I'd love to aid the wounded, Gansson," Gwynaoir sighed, "Aelveil has plans with some neighboring counties to bolster up defenses, and we all need to be there when Scentral starts its counterattack. Aelveil's allies are weak, and this attack was only successful because of surprise and the storm."
"Harsh world."
"Yeah, it's always been harsh. Now let's—"
"Please," a young girl, no older than eight, perhaps, whimpered, shuffling towards Gwynaoir. "Please."
"Who let this kid past the manor perimeter?" Gwynaoir grit her teeth and glared at the Aelveil footmen.
"None of us, Gwynaoir," Gansson assured. He made a subtle gesture to the Aelveil soldiers.
"Find who did. This is a military outpost now, no one—"
"Please," the girl pleaded again. "Please help my brother. Please." Everyone hesitated action. Except for Gwynaoir
"Look, kid, your brother can die and no one will care. Go off and bother the bandits. I'm sure the bastards would be happy."
"Herald!" Novice Kinea objected, "That's too harsh, ma'am..."
"Ain't the world harsh, Novice?" Gansson scoffed. "She's Herald, no questioning her."
Yet although the world is harsh, Squire Benn thought, These knights should observe closer. She must have already been in the hands of bandits, rogue townsmen, or dishonest Aelveil troops. Dirt and blood is on her face and hands, perhaps from trying to help her brother's wounds? But not only there. A difficult spot to be bloodied, the inner thigh, also has blood. Torn clothes and a cut on her right breast by what seems to be a rough cut, so must be a rusty blade or unskilled bladesman. These selfish knights are not observant.
"Where is your brother, little one?" Benn spoke up, a strange, light emotion in his voice, the likes he rarely allows to be revealed.
"Please," the little girl cried again, "P-please."
"Where is he?" The squire's brow was furrowed.
"Squire," Gwynaoir commanded, "What did I just say? Leave her to find someone else to bother."
"Where is he?" The squire wouldn't give in so easily.
"Pl-p... pleeease..." the girl whimpered again, trying to speak in-between sniffles. "Th-the others hurt him. W-we aren't Magon, I swear it. I swear it!"
Benn stepped up to the girl and took her hand. "Take me to your brother. I'll help." He bent his back and knees slightly to be level with her.
"Th-" She wailed, tears flowing as the floods did just days ago. "Thank you! He's here..." Letting Benn keep a firm grip on her hand, she started to lead him out of the manor walls.
"Hey, Squire, what are—" Gwynaoir started, only to be interrupted by Kinea.
"I'm going, too," the Novice in question admitted, following the two young orphans of war out of the compound.
After they left, Gwynaoir sighed, "I just don't want Benn to go through any more shit. I don't know what he went through, but it must be bad."
"Let the boy do what he wants," Gansson commented, "He'll realize that helping doesn't change anything soon enough."
"Goodness, you two," Knight Kaedon began, "That's a bit gloomy."
"The truth is gloomy, Novice," Gwynaoir stated, "The world is harsh and the truth is gloomy. Let's hope that your sister knows that much and she can help out the boy."
"I wouldn't count on it." An awkward silence fell in.
Everyone started to slowly shift back to what they were doing before the incident started. Gwynaoir and Gansson restarted their debate on relief for the peasantry, though Gansson was agreeing more with Gwynaoir now after witnessing the recent event. Kaedon and the other junior knights went back to polishing their blades and repairing their shields. Some went about to grab some food and drink from the manor's cellars. Aelveil soldiers lazily guarded the exposed bits of walls around the manor's grounds and the servants' quarters where their fellow soldiers were lodging and resting from wounds. Everyone forgot about what just happened and continued preparing for any oncoming battles.
But Benn, Kinea, and the girl were rushing towards the prison. On the way, they passed peasants, bandits, and guards alike wounded, somber, and committing several criminal acts. But in the horrors and remains of battle, there is no law. Rape, murder, and thievery were but a few of the acts going on in the chaos of the town. Yet, surprisingly, when coming upon the prison, all was quiet. The only sounds were distant, even the groan from a young man on the ground were quiet enough not to wake a mouse, and the woman applying a healing spell was discreet enough to not attract any attention.
And that young man's name is Kret. Prison guard, by trade. He witnessed his mentor Saur and the other prison guards die from the torturer [unfinished passage]
The woman is a Sieclon tribeswoman without a given name. She originated from the South, the beautiful plains where tribes of different cultures live in harmony, only to be kidnapped, defiled, and killed by Scentral slavers. [unfinished passage]
ns 15.158.61.20da2
