Crouched, I rubbed my bald head, freshly shaven for the occasion.
Arrived on foot. Left the steed behind. Said, rest, repose, respite, old friend. Watch the stead while I’m away.
May lose privileges to the stead for this act.
I could not handle domesticity. Not without her. She was there physically, but she was not all there.
Every night she goes to the brig. In vain, she tries to reason with her beloved but gone astray sister.
The sake I drink tastes flat though I know it is not. There is no lovely player of the lute to serenade the scene or raise her cup to mine. I speak of a plan. She stays silent. Back from another failed intervention, she sits silently until retiring to the bedroom.
Kneeling in a far corner of the room, candle lit, her mother’s beads in her hands, she talks to the same for hours, until long after my eyes have closed, surrendering to sleep.
The four of them know something I don’t. I only ever talk to one of them, but I have told you, she isn’t talking.
She, the mother, the sister, and the necromancer all know when the meeting will take place, a reunion in which two of those hope for reconciliation. But I know the other two seek sinister, just as they always have.
So I gifted the steed interim. Raven accompanied me. He flew on ahead and warned me of any danger.
When we arrived close enough but still at a safe distance from the necromancer’s abode, Raven continued as my eyes in the sky. Few other birds would know how to remain unseen in such close proximity to the realm of the foul.
Power and ego corrupt him. Power and ego blind his eyes.
Hold on to my top-knot for now, Foe. I’ll reclaim it the next time around.
Blind, he believes no one would dare.
A week now in camp, I forewent the bushes in favor of a borrowed bucket from an unlocked door along the way.
I shall return it just after decorating the necromancer’s lair with its bubbling and rank contents.
He chose a good day to seek the eggs from the deepest cave of the Uala lizard. Good for me. Not so for him.
Too bad I cannot stick around long enough to witness the rage, sparks, and thunderbolts when he arrives to find that his mongrel enemy has counted first coup.
WHO IS CAPTAIN B?
Captain B. Seafarer. Lover of shore leave. Collector of heads. Disseminator of tales. Twitter: @NPeligeiro