Upheaval and Change - Tales 25

'Ale! A true friend of the working man,' thought Carda, as he took a long drink from his tankard and leaned back in his chair. It was his third jug, and with it a sensation of contentment had finally settled over him. The din of the tavern, its cacophony of servers and patrons overlaid with the strands of music from a visiting bard, washed up against him and cleansed away the cares of the day.

It had been a worrying sort of day. He had, in the hours before sunrise, allowed a group of outlanders to smuggle cattle through the east gate of the town. This in and of itself had not worried him or pricked his conscience -- it was common practice amongst the guards to supplement their income from time to time through such dealings. No. What had worried him was that he had demanded an extra shilling from the men. This too was accepted practice, but he had not dealt with outlanders before and -- although things had gone smoothly -- he had become concerned about possible consequences.

But now, in the glow brought on by the ale, all his cares and worries seemed laughable -- the ghosts of an overactive imagination raised on stories of bogeymen from the highlands. He chuckled to himself. 'The extra shilling was my due, and they'll not begrudge me that,' he thought.

He was still thinking in these terms when he saw the outlander enter the tavern. Carda glanced around quickly for exits. He had unfortunately chosen to sit almost in the middle of the tavern, and as a result was about as far from a door as one could get in the room. The outlander moved unhurried through the crowd, stopping here and there to tease one of the whores, and generally looking for all the world like any other patron. Carda hoped for a moment that he might be coming to arrange a second delivery, but one look in the dark green eyes of the approaching outlander quickly smothered such hopes.

He sat without invitation and called for a drink. A palpable menace seemed to emanate from the man. The silence stretched out while the mug was brought to the table. Carda felt a small bead of sweat trickle down his neck as he sat trying to avoid the level gaze of the outlander. He new he shouldn't feel like this. This was a little man, an outsider, and Carda was a guard with years of training. But there was something unnatural about these barbarians. When the man finally spoke, Carda flinched.

"You know Carda, that my people consider someone who breaks faith ddin, or nothingness. An oath-breaker is driven from the village and shunned by all that come near him. His life becomes worth less than the lowliest animal. And the only one who can release him from this ddin is the one who has been forsaken." The outlander's voice dropped a notch in volume, "Carda, by the laws of my people I can take from you whatever I desire -- your land, your money, your balls. Anything."

"My brother wanted to kill you last night, as you stood there demanding that extra shilling. Lucky for you he realized that leaving a headless corpse at the city gates would have created more problems than it would have solved. Lucky for you and for me, because I need you alive and whole for the future. As it is, I'm willing to give you back your life and more for a simple apology."

Without hesitation Carda mumbled an apology to the outlander, and swore he would live by whatever deals they made in the future. He then reached a greasy hand into his tunic and made to give back the shilling. "No Carda. You've earned it." The outlander said as he reached out and folded the man's hand over the coin.

With that, a change that came over the tattooed-face man that Carda would have not thought possible. Where one moment there had been a bloodless killer, there was now a laughing and smiling man loudly calling for a cask of ale to be brought for his good friend Carda. "And bring extra glasses for the tables around us. Make sure the bard gets his share! Oh, and you pretty lassies, come keep us company! We have developed a powerful thirst for more than drink." The outlander threw a bright shilling on the tray of the server as she came -- more wages than she'd earn in a month -- and bid her keep the change.

Carda sat momentarily stunned, but emerged from his torpor as a pretty blond sat on his lap and nearby drinkers crowded around the table. He glanced up at the outlander to be met with a look that gave no hint of what had passed before, but he knew that for a single piece of silver he'd entered into an irrevocable bargain. "Dangerously handsome, handsomely dangerous."
~ Avalynn ui Rylliach
~ Laera Irenich ~ (NPC)
~ Jameson ap Lorewerth ~ (NPC)

The dark sheen of evening had slowly peeled away, revealing a cool sky of morn beneath a warming sun. Indifferent droplets of sparkling dew covered weeds and delicate plants alike, and from her view above the gardens, Avalynn could glimpse an entire realm awakening. She could not resist the yen to see it firsthand.

"Lae! Wake up, woman. We're going to the market today." Said the outlander as she poked her head into the sleeping Laera's room.

"Uhmff... muhn..."

"Oh, come on now. Wake up!"

"Urmm..."

"Waaake... up!"

"AHRG! Y'don't have to hit me, Ava! I'll get up. Shite!" Laera exclaimed, gently rubbing her reddened upper arm. Glaring scornfully at her offender, she rose from her bed and began sifting through the items in her closet. "We're going to ride, right? I'm not walking all the way there in one of my new dresses."

"Don't wear a new dress, then," replied the other as she gazed out the equally large window in Laera's room. The view wasn't quite as splendid, as there was a giant tree obscuring much.

"I'm not going out in public unless I look nice."

"You look fine in anything you wear, Lae."

"Well, I don't want to just look 'fine', Ava, I want to look exquisite! Who knows who we might run into out there!" Exclaimed the younger as she held an azure colored dress against her torso. "What do you think of this one?"

"What, you mean some handsome young prince?" Avalynn smirked. "It's grand."

"Ugh, you're impossible. Are we riding or not?"

"You'd still be mussing your dress if we rode, so I'll have someone drive us down there. Is that all right?"

"Yes, I sup--" began the irritated Lae.

"Good. Hurry up, then," Avalynn interrupted as she strode toward the doorway. She quickly passed through and pulled the door behind her. "What a whore, that woman," she mumbled. Approaching her falcon's wooden stand, Ava placed her leather shawl about her shoulders and made a light clicking noise with her tongue. The alerted Tashir responded enthusiastically by bobbing her way onto the woman's shoulder. Smiling, Avalynn whispered, "We're going to the market today, my friend. I have spent a tiresome two days in this pretty dunghole and it's time to go out."

Several minutes would pass before Laera would emerge from her room, her hair piled carefully upon her head, body enclosed in that azure dress. Ava resisted the urge to tell the gaudy woman how ridiculous she looked and instead moved to open the door. "Shall we be going, my lady?"

Chin tilted up a bit too high, Laera gave a terse word in the affirmative and glided into the hallway like some majestic cow.

. . . . .

In the midst of the market, Avalynn and her haughty counterpart stood among a gathering crowd. Tashir, who had flown above them during the ride, descended upon the falconer's leathered shoulder, and all three females stuck out like peacocks beside turkeys.

"Now where to?" Asked Laera impatiently.

"Wherever you want. I'm going to find Tashir a snack, I think. Just make sure you're back to this spot by noon," Avalynn answered, her finger pointing upward in the path of the slowly traveling sun. Glancing uneasily at her surroundings, Laera didn't appear to want to wander off on her own.

"I'll just follow you," she said.

With a curt nod, the elder moved into the flow of the street, weaving her way through the crowd. Avalynn was forced to make an effort as she walked, ignoring the many strange glances that were thrown her way.

"So, who was that man you spoke to in the gardens the other day?" Laera had done a good job of keeping close behind, and once they broke through the horde, she had a mind to chit chat.

"Just some gentleman that had seen Tashir," replied Ava as she gave her falcon an affectionate petting. With the flick of her wrist, the bird was back in the air, and the outlander had a chance to rest her shoulders again.

"Did you see his arm? I don't think I could marry a man who is missing half his arm."

"Well, I'm not going to marry him or anyone else, so what does it matter if he had only part of his limb?" Grumbled Avalynn. She was already growing irritated by the conversation.

"He looked kind of old."

"Probably because he is, you hag-mouth."

"I'm going to marry a strong -young- man, Ava, with eyes the color of emeralds," Laera boasted, not seeming to notice the insult. As the pair approached another street, she paused to adjust her skirts, making sure they hadn't gotten dirty in the back. Continuing ahead, the falconer released a heavy sigh, her gaze planted on the ground before her. In a rush of black and a low, rumbling thunder, Avalynn was suddenly thrown onto her backside.

"Ava!!" Screamed Laera, a look of terror upon her face. She rushed forward, now unmindful of her dress, to make sure her companion was safe. Avalynn sat a few yards down the road, head spinning as she tried to sort out the whirl of events that occurred in but a few moments' time.

"I'm all right..."

The younger sighed in relief, squatting beside the confused falconer. "Thank all, Avalynn. I thought you were going to be trampled!"

"Me too," said a male's voice from behind. "Is she all right?"

Laera sprung to her feet and swung around in a storm of brazen language. "You... blind fool! You could've ran over her and smashed her brains in! And she's wearing bright yellow! It's not like you.. can... miss that..." Lae trailed off, staring openly at the gentleman who had spoken.

He was a tall young man in fine garb, and he held the reigns of a pretty black mare. His eyes weren't emeralds, perhaps, but he was handsome, nonetheless, and he wore a genuinely apologetic look. "I'm truly sorry, ladies. I was in a hurry and I should've been paying more attention when I came around that corner... please, let me help you up," he said, leaning toward the seated Avalynn. But she would have none of it.

"Don't bother, sir. I can stand by myself." Cheeks aflame, the outlander attempted to rise on her own and obviously had some trouble. With a grimace, she glanced at Laera, who was still staring at the gentleman who had nearly killed her.

"Please accept my apology, my lady. I truly feel awful," frowned the young man, a stray golden curl against his cheek.

"I'll have your name," Ava said curtly as she tried to take a step. With a yelp, she stumbled forward into the gentleman, unsupported by a weakened ankle. "Agh!" Avalynn swung her arms wildly in protest, her blush even more furious.

"Jameson," was the reply as the young man dropped the reigns to catch the unsteady outlander. "Jameson ap Lorewerth." Although the woman was flailing, he managed to straighten her position.

"Well, Jameson, I'll make sure to spread word of your terrible riding skills all over town," she snickered.

"Ava! The gentleman apologized several times. Accept and be friendly," said a starstriken Laera, her eyes glued to James. Avalynn blanched.

"Perhaps I should give you a ride, Lady Ava? You should have yourself looked at before trying to walk," Jameson offered politely.

"I thought you were in a hurry."

"It's not so important, my lady. Please, allow me to take you somewhere."

"It seemed rather important when you nearly charged over me!"

Sighing, the young man turned to fetch the reigns. "Very well, Lady Ava, but--"

"Enough with the Lady Ava nonsense! It's Avalynn, just Avalynn... now begone with you!" Growled the outlander as she shook her fist. Brows furrowed in a deep frown, Jameson mounted his ride and cautiously cantered off.

"I can't believe you, Ava. He tried to be so nice and you told him off," scolded Laera in a near-whisper.

"Oh shut up, wench. You were undressing him in your head, and you know it. Just.. let us go back to the castle."

"He was very handsome... Jameson ap Lorewerth," murmured the younger to herself. Several times Lae formed his name with her mouth, as Avalynn could see it from the corner of her eye and was utterly disgusted. "Do you think we'll ever see him again?"

Although several hours away from evening, the skies were dark with an ominous blanket of heavy clouds. The storm was unrelenting, and more than once had the women jumped in surprise at the rending, godlike sound of a thunderclap. Lamps and small candles were placed about the room so that Laera could continue sewing between streaks of lightning. Avalynn reclined in bed, resting her swollen ankle.

"What do you think, Lae?" Asked the elder as she stared through her large bedroom window, observing the powerful acts of nature.

"About what, Ava?"

"About the storm, of course," sighed Avalynn. Her ankle still ached rather badly, as she had insisted on walking on it all the way back to the market, but a local physician had assured her that the best remedy was rest. She loathed rest. Like a child kept from play on a rainy day, she loathed rest.

"I wish it would go away. I hardly have enough light to sew this properly," Laera mumbled in an irritated tone. "And I've already pricked myself thrice."

"That's because you're a terrible seamstress, Lae," came a weak snicker.

"Oh? Well, I'm tired of hearing you whine about how you want to go outside and cant. I'm tired of hearing you complain about the castle and the people and... everything! Face it, Ava, we're going to be here for a long time, so you'd best get used to it and stop making it so unpleasant for everyone else," said Laera coldly as she continued to push her needle through a piece of fabric.

Her words cut Avalynn in a way they had never done so before... because she was right -- right about the bitterness and the complaints, right about their future. Struggling with her thoughts, the outlander bit down upon her lower lip. Yes, she had been whining since the moment she arrived, and although she was aware of the situation, she had refused to look it clearly in the face. But Laera was right. They would be here for some time, and there was nothing that could be done to change that fact. Finally, defeated by the younger woman's reasoning, Avalynn submitted to the thought of permanence, a future in Abertawe... a life in Abertawe.

Laera looked up to find Ava's face plastered with sorrow and felt a pang of regret for having spoken the way she did. "I... I'm sorry. I know you don't want to be here. I know you wish you had Gaern back..."

"It's all right, Lae. Shush."

"But I just want you to know..."

"Oh, close your mouth! You're right, okay? You're right about everything... I've been a nagging whore since the moment we got here. I'm the one that should be sorry," sighed Avalynn as she gestured into the air for emphasis.

"Are you?"

"What?"

"Are you sorry?" Asked Laera from her seat, still pushing a needle through the material in her hands.

"Yes, Gods, I'm sorry, you pompous wench!" Came Ava's exclamation from the bed.

Actually pausing in her work, now, the younger woman twisted her face in indignation. "Watch your mouth, you festering old hag!"

"Have you the strength to support that insult?" Glared the equally ferocious outlander as she managed to rise into a sitting position. "You... dirty cow! You'd bed any man within three feet of your crusty thighs if only he'd have you!"

Following a loud gasp of disbelief, Laera sprang to her feet and threw her needlework aside as so to freely charge the defenseless Avalynn. "You'll pay a costly price for that...!"

"Hah! How redundant! Costly price...!" The elder cackled from the bed, casually grasping for a pillow behind her back. When Laera was near enough, she swung out wildly, knocking the other woman's lovely hairdo over.

Growling deeply, Laera looked like a wildwoman with her hair strewn about, and when Avalynn swung a second time, she snatched the pillow away. "I'll show you what a costly price is!" She yelled, pounding the pillow into the outlander's bad ankle... over and over. Perhaps the screaming and pain would have continued were it not for dinner.

"Lady Avalynn? Lady Laera? Your meals are ready. Are you two all right?" Called a maid from the main door.

"No!"
"Yes!"
"No!"

"YES! Yes, miss, we're perfectly fine. We'll be out in a moment," said Laera in a honeyed voice as she began to fix her scattered locks. Holding her ankle protectively, Avalynn managed a bitter smile. "Perfectly fine, indeed."

On this brilliant fall morning the market was a wonder to behold. People thronged about the square dressed in their best harvest attire. Peasants streamed into the city laden down with their offerings hoping to fetch a handsome price for a season's labor. The chorus of their voices flowed like a babbling stream through the air, and a general feeling of goodwill seemed to permeate the very ground around the stalls.

"If just one more of the bastards says 'good day', I'm going to cut out his liver and make him eat it." Little Coch did not exactly have the sunniest disposition when he had a hangover. "And the smell of sweat and shite around this pen is goin'a make me puke."

Pwyll had noted the greenish aspect of his companion's visage and was about to remind him yet again about his earlier warning not to drink the last of Swithen's soured ale, when a fishmonger thrust his wares of dried fish under the noses of the two outlanders. As luck would have it, this was precisely the ingredient needed to tip the scales between simple queasiness on the part of the poor Coch, and gut wrenching spasms. It was only by the grace of the gods that both Pwyll and the fishmonger avoided being sprayed with the contents of Coch's rapidly emptying stomach.

Pwyll's quick motion to the fishmonger to make himself scarce probably saved the man's life, for when Coch arose it was with a drawn dirk and an evil look in his eye. "So much for keeping a low profile my fat friend," Pwyll commented while helping his companion settle down and return to a seated position. "Have a little bread and keep yer gob shut until after the auction."

As it turned out, Pwyll's concerns about attracting attention proved to be unfounded, for not more than a moment or two after Coch's big performance, a sudden commotion drew all eyes to the road leading past the square. It appeared as though a nobleman's horse had struck some unfortunate girl. Pwyll, seeing the victim struggle to her feet, corrected his initial impression quickly. It was not a girl, but a woman of his race clad in a traditional leather shawl.

Little Coch looked up at the commotion and spied the victim and her companion, "Nice bit'o stuff that, eh?"

Pwyll had to hand it to Coch, even sick to his stomach he could still manage think with his groin. "Aye. But you'd best watch your balls with the tall one -- she'd probably feed them to her pet." Pwyll commented as a bird came to rest at her shoulder.

The two eventually turned back to the pens where the auction was to take place. They had chosen the day well, for the dozen cattle they had smuggled in were among the best in the lot. As the bidding got under way, Pwyll turned to his companion and said in a low voice, "So you're sure you've got the list memorized?"

Coch nodded his head in agreement. "Four barrels of yer Aunt's strongest, plus two more filled with furs and leather."

"Yes. And make sure you bring plenty of white ermine. Those pompous turds at court will pay a small ransom to be done up for the coronation."

"You're sure you can get the goods they want in trade?"

"No. But I'm working on it. Before you bring down the barrels, everything should be in place."

Turning again to the auction, the two shared a small smile as the first of their stolen cattle brought a full shilling more than those that had sold previously. "Seems those Nethbo bastards breed a valuable cow Coch. A valuable cow."

Steel. Cool and smooth. Its edge an unnatural sharpness, promising only blood in return for its service. Still and untouched, it was lifeless, but not without potential. Justice, Compassion and Murder. In his hands in another time, he could make it sing. Unearthly songs, terrible to mortal ears, but a thing of beauty to those beyond the veil of death.

But now, it was silent. With but a single hand, and no desire in his heart to hear it serenade him any longer, Amlyn moved through the motions. Clumsily. Stiffly. Exercises long ago taken for granted as unnecessary, were beyond him. And as the morning light gradually began to creep out from below the edge of the land, his frustration grew. He became further absorbed in the struggle, ignoring the guards that passed him in the courtyard to relieve those who watched against the night. Some shook their heads. One chuckled. Amlyn didn't notice any of it. He suddenly wanted so badly to make it sing...

An hour passed. If he had been of a mind to keep count, then ten would have been the number of times the sword had spilled from his grasp to splatter upon a myriad of puddles that blanketed the cobblestones. After each fumble, he would stare at it for several seconds, dumbfounded. Then he would pick it up, and start again.

The castle started to stir into life, an awakening beast that set about putting itself in order. Last night's downpour had cleared the air of the smell of animals and smoke, and servants began to go about their chores in earnest, anticipating a beautiful day. Noises and voices. Distractions and intrusions.

Amlyn flipped the blade from his wrist, seeking to bring the sword quickly upright from being pointed at the ground. But all he managed to achieve was to lose his grip. Again. Eleven.

He pursed his lips, and bent down again to pick it up. As his hand closed around the pommel, and he applied pressure to raise it up, pain shot through his fingers and he dropped it, deliberately this time. Confused, he stared at them. A clean, straight cut mocked him, stretching across the bottom of his fingers. Twelve.

Enough was enough. He clamped his bleeding hand across the top of what was left of his amputed forearm, allowing the blood to seep into the cotton shift. Then he bent down again to pick up the sword with his other...

"Shite," he exhaled. He stood back up and closed his eyes in despair.

And it was then that the graceful bird descended from its place beneath the heavens. With a view man could not know, the falcon dove swiftly and landed upon a short, stubby tree in the courtyard. Small, dark eyes -- eyes that could see farther than any mann's -- stared coolly at the exhausted Amlyn, but Tashir did not know of his suffering... merely his face. And so she watched him.

Amlyn squeezed his hand for a few seconds longer, and let go to roughly pick up the sword and sheath it, ignoring the discomfort. Oblivious to the presence of Tashir, he then tore the stained sleeve of his shift, bunching up the fabric in his palm and closing his hand around it to apply pressure. With his wadded fist, he retrieved his overcoat that hung from a parked wagon nearby. It was donned after again more fuss and fumbling, but no time was wasted on the hooks to fasten it. It would have taken all day. He took one last look around the courtyard, perhaps the only person there who did not appreciate the fine blue skies overhead.

" 'The light will set us free...' make me retch," Renny commented, reading the parchment over. "You understand this Caleb?" Renny asked over her shoulder, looking at the band's smartest guy.

"I think its the new religion," Caleb answered absently, pushing through the bushes.

"Why's it out here then? Honestly..." Renny swore, wiping her arm. "How much further?" she complained. "My dress is in tatters and I must look a wreck by now!" she said, stamping a muddy boot.

"Only a bit more llances," Bear grumbled from in front of her. Bear was Renny’s unofficial grandfather type. He reminded her of one, all cuddly and warm, but fierce in battle.

"I swear mother better be right about this or I will show her angry," Renny said angrily. Her mind drifted to the argument between her and her mother just two hours ago. Only briefly though, she did have a mission to concentrate on.

"Right then. You know what to do?" Sparrow asked, his white painted face slightly marred by the frown he wore.

"Sparrow, we have been through this how many times? Twelve hundred now? I will be fine. Leave it be. Now." Renny demanded, glaring at him. "Lectures are for babies. I didn't realize you all thought I was a baby." she went on, including the whole traveling group.

Mumbles came from all sides giving her negatory answers. "Then no more lectures."

"Here. Stop here. I'd wish you luck, but you don't need it," Bear said gruffly.

"I never did need luck. Born a Lotus die a Lotus right?" Renny asked, looking around. She noticed how some of the older members shifted uncomfortably.

Hugging Bear, Renny turned to Sparrow. "Don't go hopping into Crow's bed right? I will be back." She told him firmly, searching his pale face for a hint of his emotions.

"And don't you let anyone touch you. I'll find out." Sparrow returned his eyes dark.

Frightened by Sparrow's sudden possessiveness, Renny smiled and laughed lightly. "Careful. Someone might think you are serious over me."

Sparrow didn't answer, just squeezed her tight before shoving her onto the road. When she regained her balance, only seconds later, the whole troupe, all seven of them, were gone. Shaking her head, Renny continued down the empty dirt road. "With any luck, someone will see me and take me to the castle." she thought, praying it happened. She didn't want to have to explain why she needed to go in to the castle guards.

'Gawds. Why can't that bastard Alterian schedule our lessons for a reasonable hour,' thought Pwyll as he headed towards the castle for his usual meeting. He had rousted himself out of a comfortable bed --complete with a comfortable partner -- and had slogged up the King's road under a brilliant breaking dawn.

Just before the castle gates he stopped for a moment, and looked back down the way he had come. The sun was now just above the east gate of the town and shining down the golden ribbon of road, which lead to the castle. The town below was just beginning its' morning waking ritual, and only the occasional cough and opening door gave any hint as to the life within it. In spite of his inclination to gripe about early mornings, Pwyll breathed deeply and took in the quiet vista before him. Here indeed was a glorious day. 'Maybe a little fishing is in order,' he thought to himself as he went past the guards busied in the morning watch change.

As he traveled up the meandering way to his appointed meeting place, he made sure to stop by the castle kitchens and steal a loaf of fresh bread and a quick kiss from the sweet maid who helped prepare the morning meal for the castle guards. From there the path took him up past the stables, along one of the enclosed parapets which skirted the training yards, and finally into the meeting hall.

As he walked along the length of the parapet, he was brought up short by the clatter of steel against the cobbles below. Looking down from one of the ornate arches of the walkway he saw a lone figure curse breathlessly and bend to pick up his fallen sword. Pwyll watched with some amazement as the one armed knight, so recently brought into the king's court, began to swing the heavy weapon in a series of difficult exercises. 'Here would be a fell opponent,' thought Pwyll as he silently watched the knight execute each stroke. When the blade rattled to the ground after the thirtieth stroke, a passing guard laughed at the knight's difficulties.

A moment later Pwyll was gone from the archway, silently retracing his steps.

---------

The tall guard -- not a regular on the gate watch -- sauntered past the stables and made his way with two of his comrades towards the guard's mess. "Did you see the cripple with that sword! Why the king makes a half-man like him a knight, and not a full man like me is something beyond my ken," he said, striking his chest in emphasis.

"I would imagine most things would be beyond your ken, you bloody great turd," came a voice from just off the path. The three guards stopped and were surprised to see a short outlander sitting on a large stone eating a loaf of bread.

"Look who's calling who a turd," said the guard as he glowered at the little man. "I crap out bigger ones than you every day."

"I just wonder which hole they emerge from?" Pwyll replied, casually hopping down from his seat and moving towards the big man.

"I'm going to wipe my arse with that dirty foreign pig face of yours," said the guard as the insult sank in. With that he made a grappling lunge for the little man, who nimbly stepped to the right and shot out a leg to meet the advancing guard's shin. As the guard fell forward and past him, Pwyll swung the crusty loaf and smacked the guard smartly across the back of the head. Obviously enjoying the sport, the guard's companions let out loud guffaws as he tumbled to the ground in a heap. Pwyll took a large bite from the bread and waved it menacingly like a sword at the fallen guard. This brought gales of laughter from the two companions, and further enraged the rising guard. When he charged again, it was open arms so as to prevent the little man from slipping away.

This time Pwyll spat the wad of bread in his mouth directly at the guards advancing face. As the guard's eyes flinched closed to avoid the unlikely missile, Pwyll dropped low and drove his fist up into the man's unprotected privates. Helped over by the force of the punch and the crouching figure of the little man, the guard fell forward hard, landing face first into the stones of the path. Dazed, he lay there for a moment before he rolled over and clutched his groin in pain. When the tears in his eyes finally cleared he looked up to see Pwyll standing above him pointing the remnants of the loaf at him.

"Think on this well you oversized piece of shite. If a little man with a loaf of bread can lay you low, imagine what a one armed knight with a sword could do." With that he tossed the loaf to one of the guard's companions, and walked off to meet Alterian, only a little late, for his daily lesson.