Rising Ch. 04

Ahma boosted herself into the saddle and praised the mare gently for how agreeable she was.

"I thought that mare would suit you," Methaniel smiled.

"This is Nemia, I believe. She's a darling," Ahma replied.

Methaniel led them out the gate of the manor and through the streets of Durinum City. Many folk milled about, taking advantage in the ebb of the snow and cold to do as much business as they could before the weather grew inhospitable again. The crowd parted as Lanion slowly marched forward, awed by the enormous horse and his tall, proud rider. Ahma followed closely, hoping the crowd would not somehow separate them.

It was past noon when they arrived at the northern gate. The guards nodded them through as soon as they recognized Methaniel for the nobleman and knight he was. The two horses trotted along once they cleared the gate, seeming to enjoy the ride out in the open reaches outside the city as much as their riders did. A rough road wound away from the city, off toward the northern pass. Deep, muddy tracks from passing wagons mixed with half melted snow.

Ahma and Methaniel rode side by side, their pace slow and relaxed as they basked in the simple pleasures of the outdoors and a slow ride. They did not speak, but Methaniel wore a thin smile when she glanced at him, and his face did not seem as severe as it normally was.

Half an hour later they struck off from the road, heading east into the forest. Trees stretched overhead. Many had shed their leaves and greenery for the winter, instead donning their white coats of thick snow piled about on their branches and pooled about their feet. The large majority of the trees clustered about the woods were pines, their soft green needles peppered with white. Various other evergreens broke up the nakedness of the forest. The packed snow crunched softly under the weight of the horses hoofs. Methaniel led them carefully forward, allowing Lanion some rein to pick his own way through the snowy ground. The horse's steps were careful but sure, and if there were any hazards beneath the blanket of snow he avoided them. Ahma led Nemia closely behind.

The forest was quiet and still around them. Now and again a clump of snow would fall from the branches overhead upon their passing, showering them with a light fall of chilling powder. Ahma couldn't stop herself from laughing melodiously when the first pile of snow plopped onto the Master's head, and Methaniel's own wry grin spread wide when the same happened to her moments later.

The majority of the snowy underbrush and the thick, bare trees began to thin ahead of them. They stepped out of the forest line and halted at the ledge just beyond. Ahma's breath caught in her throat.

She could see why this would be one of his favorite places. The view was spectacular; the Northern mountain chain stretched across the sky, a jagged line of snow-capped peaks, like the bottom of some giant maw poised to swallow the world. Their slopes extended downward, filling the majority of the view, shades of earth and snow and small patches of stubborn greenery dotting their length. Small trees clung to the slopes, most as bare as the others save the clusters of evergreens spread about the mountain slopes. At the foot of the mountains, valleys and gorges opened, yawning expanses ranging in width from a horses leap to the breadth of the royal capitol itself.

The sky hung over the white capped mountains, so pale and sallow as to be almost gray, set against the white of frosted snow and the brown of winter ravaged earth. The view was moving, a strange sight that spoke of death and winter and majestic beauty all at once. She wondered what a glorious sight it would be in the full of spring, with such a flood of greens and plants and colorful flowers spread along the mountains and valleys. The Northern Pass wound along just below their feet, leading far into the mountainous reaches and beyond.

"This is amazing," Ahma murmured.

Methaniel nodded, gazing out over the land, his big hands absently stroking Lanion's sleek, pale coat. They sat in silence, their mounts remaining placid and calm. Ahma pulled her cloak closer as an icy breeze began to blow off the mountains.

"When do you return to the front?"

Master Methaniel turned his gaze to his attendant. His face remained expressionless, neutral as it so often was. "I'm not entirely sure. Certain...circumstances prevent me from leaving home right now. I need to take stock of some things...assess the situation before I decide my course of action."

Ahma bit her lip softly, but she had to ask. "Does...this have anything to do with what happened yesterday?"

The Master turned his eyes upon the mountains. His face remained unreadable. "I cannot speak of this."

"I understand, my Lord," Ahma murmured.

Silent moments followed in which both took enjoyment from the view, the peace, the ease of this place. The horses had found a patch of ground under the snow and were idly munching at it.

"Master," Ahma ventured at last, her eyes downcast. "When you were at the front...that is...do you know of two Wingling men? They should be in your unit."

Methaniel turned to her and nodded slowly, his lips twitching into a momentary smile. "Ah, yes. Fahl and Kahr. Your brothers."

"So you do know of them," Ahma stated, relief obvious on her face.

"Indeed. Good men, both of them. My closest lieutenants, actually."

"Lieutenants?" Ahma gasped. "How did that come about?"

Methaniels face turned over the wide expanse before them, his eyes distant. He looked as if the memory pained him. "Not long after my father passed, I was serving at the front far to the south, garrisoned at Fort Balor, which guarded a stretch of land that is now enemy territory. I could have led my fathers unit then and there, but I felt I was too young, too inexperienced. I handed the command to another man, and took my place as a soldier below him with all the rest."

Methaniel squeezed his eyes shut. "It is a decision I deeply regret. The commander was...inept. The decisions he made as the Naemer army advanced upon the fort bordered on sheer idiocy. He had no real idea what he was doing, I've come to believe. As a result, we were soon cut off from our supply lines, and reinforcements were out of reach.

"The Naemer knew that we had enough food to last till reinforcements came, so they began a siege," Methaniel continued. "It was a massacre. We were undermanned and acting under a man who hadn't the sense to command us properly. Everyone was in disarray. The Naemerians outnumbered us horribly. If it hadn't been for the fort's heavy defenses, the slaughter would have been absolute.

"As it was, our numbers dwindled rapidly. The commander tried to flee and took an arrow through the heart. During a brief lull in the assault, I took up command. Fahl and Kahr had become friends with me long ago, and they were instrumental in rallying support to me. It was too late, though. The damage had been done.

Methaniel fell silent for a moment, nodding to himself before turning his eyes back to the girl. "We held as long as we could. Many died. Many Naemer fell, too. We retreated into the inner most ring of defenses and fought with all the passion and strength we could muster as the Naemerians came.

"I took a deep slash across my chest..." here his hand came to briefly touch the area where his scar would be, "But I was too far into the rage and heat of battle to let it stop me. Your brothers... they swear I fought as a demon that day, but I believe we all did. I just knew that if I fell, more of my men would die.

"We thought ourselves finished. Of the eight hundred men stationed at Fort Balor, just over fifty survived. Just when we knew our deaths had come, reinforcements broke through the enemy surrounding the fort and routed them."

Ahma's heart pounded at the tale, her attention drawn by the emotion and memories heavy in her Master's voice.

"Those who survived swore fealty to me and vowed they would not serve under any command but mine. Your brothers were foremost of those supporters. I took up the reins of command, and new soldiers were distributed to me. Those who were with me at Fort Balor hold my highest regard, and your brothers are my closest advisors."

"So they are well, then?" Ahma asked anxiously.

Methaniel nodded, his eyes holding hers closely. "Do not fret, Ahma, I know how you wish to see them. I will send them on extended leave as soon as I return to the front. I would have allowed them to return with me, but I needed someone I could depend on to watch things in my absence."

Ahma bent down to rub Nemia's neck. "I'm glad they do so well for themselves. They make me proud."

"Surely you knew all this, though?" Methaniel asked, his brow furrowing with confusion. "I know for a fact that they write you often."

"Well, yes. They do," Ahma said haltingly. She sighed softly. "Once the Steward began running the house, he had any letters sent to me thrown in the fire pit."

A dark cloud passed over Methaniel's face. His bright eyes danced dangerously. Ahma shivered. She hoped he never had reason to turn such displeasure on her.

"Unforgivable. I should have had him flogged before sending him away."

"You sent him away?"

"Indeed."

Ahma suppressed the urge to clap her hands in delight. "I'm glad," she confessed. "I'm sure he would have gone back to abusing us all once you left for the front again."

Methaniel shook his head, his scowl fading somewhat. "I think not. I would not allow such a person to remain in my household. I will find a new Steward and be sure the position is well filled this time. I will not abandon my people to such cruelty again."

Ahma gazed silently at him for several moments. Nemia shifted underneath her. She caressed the mare's mane soothingly, her eyes never leaving Methaniel. His eyes glowed with agitation and his face still held traces of a scowl. He was so very big, his body packed with muscle, though he moved with a noble grace and agility that bellied his size. He was intimidating to be sure. Even now, she found him to be so. But his heart was that of his father, which was to say, not that of a nobleman. Warmth radiated from his rare smile, and his every action seemed dictated by conscious and justice.

"You are a very kind man, Master," Ahma said softly. "I didn't think I would be happy to serve anyone after your father passed. I was wrong."

His smile peaked, erasing all sign of displeasure from his face. "I try to do the best for my people."

The wind gusted up, blowing through the naked trees behind them. It pulled at the heavy braid of Ahma's hair. She shivered and pulled her wings tighter against her body and snuggled into the folds of her cloak.

"We should head back," the Master sighed. "The day wanes and it feels like the night will bring the cold in all over again. We'd best be back inside the city walls before dusk."

Ahma nodded and took the reins up in hand. Both gazed at the view upon the ridge for one last moment before Methaniel led them back through the quiet woods.

***

It was full dark by the time they arrived back at the Manor. Ahma was quite sore after dismounting Nemia. So long away from the saddle had taken it's toll on her, it seemed. Still, she enjoyed it thoroughly. She unsaddled the mare and brushed her down, clicking and murmuring affectionately to her all the while. She fed her another handful of oats for being so cooperative and amiable during their ride, then turned her care over to the stable hand and followed Methaniel back to the Manor.

As soon as they entered she changed from her soft riding boots into her more comfortable servant slippers. Methaniel turned to speak with a servant for a moment. Ahma's heart felt warm. It surprised her. It was the first time she had felt anything but sorrow and despair since the Master's father passed. She smiled softly as she glanced over at Methaniel, considering him.

The two men looked little alike. Where Methaniel was a massive, muscular man of such height it made her dizzy, his father had an almost diminutive stature and little physical presence. Methaniel had a closed, reserved way of handling himself, always keeping his expression neutral and unreadable, while his father had seldom been seen without a wry grin on his face or boisterous laughter at his lips. The differences were such that Ahma wondered what kind of a woman Methaniel's mother had been, that he contrasted his father so sharply in appearance and mannerisms.

But for all that the two men were different, the son resembled the father perfectly in matters of the heart. Both men had kind, warm, rich hearts. They adhered to a conduct of honor and generosity that was unheard of in either noble or commoner. They treated all with respect and kindness, regardless of their place in society. They both had strong convictions of justice and proper conduct.

The fond smile faded from Ahma's soft lips. Soon, Methaniel would have to return once more to battle. It wasn't fair, she thought. Whether the new Steward was a worthy and kind person or not, life would be lessened with him gone. His presence made the entire estate alive, just as his fathers presence had. The Wingling girl hoped he would stay for a few weeks, at least. Or perhaps, if he did not find another attendant, she could go with him to the front to see her brothers.

And, part of her admitted, to be with him. Methaniel was foreboding at first, but he had a humane and warm side once she saw past the gruffness of a military man. He was pleasant and enjoyable to spend time with. He also took care of himself rather than let an attendant or servant do every little thing for him. It showed a level of self-reliance that she found shocking in a nobleman.

Methaniel bid the servant a good evening and slid the cloak from his shoulders. He hung it on a sturdy wooden peg beside the door and then nodded to Ahma.

"Sorry about that," said he.

"Not at all, my Lord," Ahma smiled. She felt a yawn coming on and suppressed it, instead stretching a bit and blinking several times.

"You look tired," he commented.

"I'm fine, Master Methaniel," she replied despite the tug of weariness. She felt a tingle of sweat around her collar and the base of her wings.

The Master made to reply, but before he could speak a short young lad marched to him, a prominent look of apprehension creasing his face.

"M...m'Lord...I have news. Urgent news," The youth stuttered.

Methaniel glanced at the young man, his face expressionless. "Can it wait?" He asked.

The young man swallowed heavily. Methaniel noted the sallow palor of his face. "No m'Lord"

Methaniel nodded and let out a soft sigh.

"Take an hour to clean up and relax," he said to Ahma. "Then join me in my quarters."

"Yes, Master Methaniel," she replied. She curtsied and watched as Methaniel led the youth into the dining room.

Ahma returned to the servants quarters and spent some time brushing and re-braiding her hair. The tresses curled from the tight mesh of her daily braid, even after she brushed them. Her hair fell easily back into shape as she braided it back up.

Once she finished her hair, Ahma unlaced her bodice and removed the front of her dress. She grabbed a small rag and toweled off her neck and chest. Despite the chill, the exertion from the ride and day outside had left a light sheen of sweat upon her. She cleaned the droplets of sweat from her heavy breasts, wiping the undersides of them where extra sweat collected. She shivered as a draft blew through a crack in the wall and played across the beads of wetness on her bosom. She ignored the pleasant sensation as her soft pink nipples began to harden. She hadn't had time for pleasure in some time. Still, now was not a time for such things either. She pulled her dress and bodice back in place. She glanced over her wings, pleased with how well the underside of them had taken on the pale blue so well. She arranged and preened a few feathers into place before deciding they looked properly presentable.

Nearly an hour passed before Ahma headed to the Master's room. She paused to admire the Dragon upon the door, appreciating the elegant and powerful form and the considerable skill of whoever crafted the image. She noted that Master Methaniel had left the door slightly ajar. Taking it as a sign for her to come in, she entered and shut the door behind her.

A dinner was placed on the table much like the night before, and the heart was again lit and crackling. Methaniel sat in a chair by the window, gazing into the dark night. The cheer of the afternoon was gone.

Whatever the messenger told him was bad news judging by the set of his posture. Ahma thought it must be about the war, or perhaps the attack yesterday morning. Still glancing at Master Methaniel, Ahma began to lay out the dishes and utensils upon the table.

"Master, are you ready to eat?" She asked after she finished and he still hadn't acknowledged her.

Methaniel jumped and noticed her for the first time. He glanced back out the window, then rose, stretching his legs as he nodded slowly. "I'm sorry, Ahma, I hadn't noticed you come in. Has it been an hour already?"

"More than an hour," she replied honestly.

Methaniel motioned for her to sit across from him as she had the other night. Ahma took her seat and he served them both. Their meal was taken in silence, but it was not the easy and comfortable meal it had been last night. Something clearly troubled Methaniel.

"Did you enjoy the ride today, my Lord?" Ahma asked when she could stand the tension no more.

"It was pleasant, yes," Methaniel said. His eyes did not meet hers.

"Master? I was wondering about something," She said after another long pause. "How did you know which dye to purchase? My wings...this shade...I've been fond of it for a long time. I wore it often when I was younger. I know feather dye isn't very common, but...it seems strange that you would know." She was grasping at straws, anything she could think of to break the silence that felt suffocating and dangerous all the sudden.

Methaniel's gaze shifted to the hearth. "Azure tail drops. A rare dye, even in such a prominent market as Durinum. Your..."

His words faltered, he swallowed hard. A muscle in his cheek jerked. His eyes went suddenly cold.

"Your brothers told me of their little sister and her love for the dye."

Ahma's heart lifted and her wings fluttered softly. Her smile was bright and wide. "They speak of me! I am glad. I had hoped they wouldn't forget me too much."

The Wingling girl's smile died on her face as the Master turned empty eyes upon her.

"What is it? Something...to do with my brothers?" Ahma's voice quavered slightly.

Methaniel stood slowly and walked to her. He towered over her. She craned her head back to gaze at him, her eyes begging him to tell her all was well. Her mouth went dry as he laid a massive hand on her shoulder. It nearly covered her shoulder entirely. She began to tremble.

"I...I am sorry, Ahma. The messenger that came...he gave me a report. My unit has been wiped out. Slaughtered. To the man. They took no prisoners. And your brothers...no one escaped."

Ahma was frozen to her core. All the world disappeared before her. Her brothers were dead? How? How could that be? She knew they were always at risk, of course. They had served in the military since the three of them had arrived in the royal capitol when she was but a young girl. But they had remained alive and well for eleven long years, a span of time almost unheard of in such an intense war. To have them pass after all this time, both of them, was unreal.

Now she was alone. Her brothers would no longer write or visit her. Just like her parents, they were gone. The very last link to her old life was erased.