CHAPTER 851: UNWELCOME NEWS (PART TWO)

The clouds outside seemed to grow even darker, and the light rain that had fallen all morning grew heavier, as if the sky was weeping on behalf of the two proud warriors who were too stoic to openly cry at the death of their fallen comrade.

"To Cathal," Gilander said, lifting his cup and spilling a few drops of wine on the floor. A few drops splattered on the fur rug at Bors’ feet, but the Marquis paid it no mind as he returned the gesture, adding a few drops to the puddle in honor of their fallen friend.

"He was a good man," Bors said after taking another deep swallow. "Too upright for his own good sometimes, but a damn good man. I shouldn’t have left him up at the Villa," Bors added darkly. "He deserved better than this."

"He died defending Lady Ashlynn," Gilander said after taking a heavy swallow of the strong wine for himself. The wine smelled rich and fruity, and it was sweet on the tongue, but like Bors, he barely noticed the flavor as his mind drifted back to the last time that he and Sir Cathal had spoken.

Sir Cathal had been livid at the death of Sir Kaefin at the hands of a serving girl and even more furious that Lord Owain sent Sir Broll to his death chasing after the girl, who, by all accounts, had been assaulted by Owain’s own steward.

Cathal had even slapped Lord Owain in an attempt to make him see reason and focus on keeping knights back to protect Lady Ashlynn, but the young Lothian Lord had been too furious over his steward’s death to prioritize the safety of his own wife.

That was why, when Lord Bors summoned Cathal back to Lothian Manor, he pleaded to be placed in charge of the defenses at the Summer Villa. Young heads, he’d said, were too hot and bent on chasing down demons and claiming trophies to properly focus on defending a fortress, even one as light as the Summer Villa. Instead, he felt that an older, cooler head was needed to keep Lady Ashlynn and her unborn child safe in the Villa.

He and Bors had argued for days, but in the end, the Lothian Marquis relented when Cathal pointed out that he’d already turned his village over to his son and that he only had a few years left where he could serve as a knight. Even if it was a simple duty in the Summer Villa, he swore to do it well, and to return with the Lady Ashlynn and her child as soon as she was fit to travel.

"Do you want me to tell Madame Stella and his son, Ricklin?" Gilander asked after several silent minutes had passed while both men’s minds wandered through their memories. "I can make the ride to Kaeral Village in three days if I leave tomorrow morning. Ricklin’s a good man, he’ll understand, but Stella," he said with a heavy sigh. "She should hear it from one of us who knew Cathal best."

Mentally, Gilander was already beginning to consider what he would say when he brought the news to Cathal’s widow. Perhaps he should fetch Shandra and bring her along. Women were often better at consoling each other after all, and the important thing was to care for his late friend’s widow.

"There aren’t many of us left, Gil," Bors said as if he hadn’t heard Gilander speak while he swirled the wine in his cup and stared at the aged, weary reflection of a man he once knew staring back at him. When exactly, he wondered, had he grown so old and tired? It seemed like age had come at him suddenly this winter, stripping away the years he thought he still had in a matter of weeks.

"There aren’t many of us left," Bors repeated without looking up from the wine. "But I have something more important for you to do," he said as he looked up at one of the few remaining men to stand side by side with him in the thick of battle. Those men, he could trust. Those men, he would never doubt... It was just that there were so, so few of them left to do what must be done.

For the first time in many years, he wished that he’d been able to protect Pyrderi, the priest who had stood guard over him during the war of Inches. His nightmares were still haunted by visions of the Demon Lady of the Vale, descending from the sky on black feathered wings to strike down the priest who was supposed to keep him safe from her demonic clutches.

Pyrderi was the last man of the Church he felt like he could trust. Pyrderi would know what was wrong with his body, or at least, he’d be able to purify his flesh with his prayers. But the Demon Lady of the Vale had taken Pyrderi from him, and now, Bors found himself needing to scheme against his own physician, just to free himself from the noxious, poisonous concoctions the conniving scholar inflicted on him.

That Jocelynn had made sure Bors drank every last drop of the slender man’s dubious cures was the greatest sign that he was in league with whatever demonic forces she answered to. Or perhaps Jocelynn was the witch supplying the poisons to a pawn she’d bewitched in the same way she’d ensnared his son’s heart.

Either way, it was only men like Gilander that Bors felt he could truly trust. Men he had stood on the field of battle with. Men who had risked their lives with him and shed blood with him. Anyone else, even if they weren’t in league with the demons, had far too many schemes lurking behind their eyes to be trusted these days.

"Speak the words, your Grace," Gilander said formally, bracing himself as he watched the Marquis’ mood darken. "You know I’m your sword, and I’ll go wherever you point me."