Hector- Lies

“There’s plenty more work for you yet, Vincent,” Hector replied, gently settling Captain Stephan on the frozen rocks. He looked up as four figures shambled warily out of the tall gash in the ice, bloodied but alive. Ringlin and Ibal stepped away, bowing to Duke Bergan as the Bearlord limped into the light, Bo Carver and Reuben Fry supporting him beneath either arm. A girl staggered behind them, her hair matted with blood, feet stumbling gingerly across the uneven canyon floor.

Hector rose from the captain’s body, smiling as Bergan caught sight of him.

“Can it be?” said the Bearlord, his bloodshot eyes watering as they fell on the Baron of Redmire. He pulled free of Carver and Fry, his arms wide as Hector rushed forward. The hug was heartfelt: Hector could still feel the awesome strength in Bergan’s arms, weakened as he was, the Boarlord’s ribs grating uncomfortably in the Bearlord’s squeeze. Bergan held him at arm’s length so he could better look at him.

“My boy,” he exclaimed. “What a sight for sore eyes! How in the Seven Realms have you happened across us? Brenn must be watching over us!”

Captain Fry bowed respectfully at Bergan’s side, while Carver stood on the other, nodding briefly at the Boarlord before turning his suspicious gaze on Ringlin and Ibal.

Does he know them, do you think, brother? The Lord of Thieves recognizes a reprobate when he sees one, I warrant….

“Not Brenn, Your Grace,” replied Hector. “Times are strange, events move apace throughout Lyssia, with unlikely alliances forming across the map.” He pointed up to the ravine’s top, where the handful of Ugri had gathered, their grisly work of slaying the Skirmishers completed.

“Meet the new members of my Boarguard. It was the Creep who spotted you, picking your way through the same foothills that we were traversing. He’s my scout.”

“Scout?” said Fry, as all four of Bergan’s company looked up at the warriors. Fry squinted, his sharp vision never failing him. “They’re Ugri. How on earth have they come to be in your service, my lord?” he asked as respectfully as he could.

He’s a Sturmlander, this one, whispered Vincent. He’ll take some convincing; you’re allied with his mortal enemy, after all.

Hector ignored his brother’s phantom, directing his answer back to Fry.

“Like I said, Captain; strange alliances. This band from Tuskun are renegades, not loyal to the late Queen Slotha.”

“Late queen?” said Bergan.

“She was killed in Highcliff, apparently. We caught another of Muller’s men a couple of days ago, and he spilled what he knew before he passed. Slotha had arrived in Westland seeking some kind of union with Prince Lucas. The Lion’s new Lord Magister murdered her in cold blood,” he added, unable to resist the temptation of embellishing his story. “Regardless of what one thinks of the Werewalrus Queen, it was a barbaric thing to do, especially under the flag of parley. The Catlords are to be feared, Your Grace.”

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