Slave Trade - Epilogue (The End)
Slave Trade Epilogue (part 3 of 3)
copyright 2013 comidacomida
Hector sat on his bed gazing down at the signet ring he held in the palm of his hand. Even knowing its significance, the small silver loop of metal still failed to bring about the awe in him that it deserved. In fact, since the demise of Lord Levid, all it instilled in him was a sense of failure. The stag let out a sigh and set the piece of jewelery on the nightstand. In some small way, it was funny to think that it had been both a gift and a curse, given to him by the very king he had sought to bring to heel.
Death had never been a part of the plan but, he realized far too late, it was part of someone else's. Hector had mistakenly believed that Talvin had sought the same goal as he and, throughout the preparations and maneuverings there was no indication that the wolf wanted anything different. In the end, however, Hector had mistaken Talvin's true motivations... something the stag had recently begun to realize was a common theme among his optimistic evaluations of others.
The scroll Hector picked out of his traveling pack was relatively new but it was well-worn from its continued use. Not a day went by when the stag didn't open it; in fact, he unfurled it for the third time since they had arrived at the inn. He gazed at the lettering, prepared in his own hand; the scroll was a list, compiled over the course of a dozen-and-more years. Names of slaves and their statistics crossed the page in clean lines, always culminating in a listing of "Lot 17", followed by the reason for the slaves' supposed defections.
Some of the older names had long-since begun to fleck and the pigment was decidedly lighter than the newer ones. More than a few of the slaves on the list had been lined-out; whether due to natural causes or unforeseen events, a good number of them had died... sadly, far too many of the line-outs were recent. Hector considered each crossed-out name-- twenty seven in total. He sighed, reflecting yet again that they had been his responsibility. "So blind." he whispered quietly, drawing his finger across one of the stricken names: Ulric.
Hector remembered the day he had purchased the lion. He had been a mangy wisp of a slave, half starved, and beaten within an inch of his life. The stag's contacts within the pit said that the lion had brought it upon himself, being unruly. He had been stand accused of killing another of his former master's slaves, and was remorseless and unrepentant. Purchasing Ulric had been easy enough-- he was a Lot 17 and sold at a bargain, coppers-for-crowns.
At the time, Hector thought that circumstances likely drove the lion to the act... and during the many years in which Ulric had served him, the stag was sorry to say that he often overlooked the lion's most extreme dealings. Hector had done a great disservice by reasoning it away or convincing himself that the slave master was improving. Now, with Ulric's blood on his hands, he was forced to see the truth: no amount of care or compassion would have been enough to redeem the lion.
Hector paused as he looked at the next name on the list and shook his head, setting the scroll back down. Finneas had been one of his most loyal slaves. The mouse was ever willing to do anything and everything required by the stag, and made a show of eagerness, if not downright joy. Despite the many slaves skilled at appearing obedient, to Finneas, it was no act; he truly was happy to please and wanted nothing more than to be his favorite slave. Looking back on the rise and fall of the mouse within his household, the stag shivered at how far-too-familiar the tale was compared to his prior master.
At the time, the Hector wasn't aware exactly what the reason "extremely covetous" meant when it came to the Lot 17 explanation provided. Even during the years in which Finneas served him with complete and total loyalty all the stag could assume was that the mouse might have issues with kleptomania... though the fact that nothing ever went missing should have convinced him otherwise. It wasn't until Hector's most trusted slave began feeling he was second favorite that understanding finally struck-- in a way the stag had thought unimaginable.
Though it was likely that few others understood the reason behind Finneas' uprising, Hector had managed to decipher it all too clearly. As far as he could tell, the stag believed with a fair amount of conviction that others blamed the revolt on Ulric... but in his heart of hearts, Hector finally realized the level of jealousy of which Finneas had been capable; striving to be the most desired and most appreciated of a household then suddenly believing that someone else could come along and take that attention of his master in a matter of days. "Extremely covetous" didn't even begin to cover what must have been a desperate obsession.
The stag stood and refolded the parchment, shaking out his extremities as he forced the self-reproach from his mind; he would have time enough to condemn his blindness once those in his care were safe. Ulric, Finneas, Wragol, Vannik... they were all ultimately responsible for their own shortcomings; Hector was not and could not possibly hope to protect everyone... especially from themselves-- Levid was a perfect example of that. Letting out a breath, the stag pushed that thought aside as well, "I will not do this." he vowed aloud to himself.
Choosing instead to keep busy, Hector set down the scroll on his night stand and slowly eased his door open. Gazing up and down the hall, the stag saw that there was little activity at such a late hour. He closed and secured the door behind himself and carefully moved to the staircase, picking his way down one step at a time until he could catch snippets of conversations going on down below.
The common room was all but vacant, though the stag could still see several patrons up and about. While the general visitors to the inn managed to attract some of Lord Hector's attention, the majority of his focus was on a trio of kingdom soldiers seated near the door. None of the group had seen him, and none appeared particularly interested in anything aside from their low-toned conversation... one that was not nearly as quiet as they probably thought it was.
"...and with the throne empty most of the Lords're more interested in consolidating power than shoring up patrols." stated the largest of the three, a broad shouldered, heavy-looking rhino with his fair share of battle wounds.
"Who's covering the roads then?" asked the soldier with his back to the stairs; Hector couldn't get a clear view of the speaker, but he assumed the man was likely a dog breed.
"Bandits." answered the third, a sour-faced, aging black bear. He took a swig from the mug in his paw and wiped his muzzle with the back of his free arm, "Fuckin' deserters are fleein' the battle lines to the north and none of the lords are willin' to help keep order in the heartland... the king might not've been the best in all history, but he was a lot better than all this chaos."
"Hard to keep men on the battlefield if they're not getting any pay." the rhino countered, "Lords only pay the men who're securing their positions."
"Yea..." the dog responded, "It's not like the king pays the commissions anyway... you'd think the treasurer died or somethin." he snickered, "But you can't really blame the Lords for holdin' back their troops-- after the last few weeks the ones left alive are more worried about keepin' their heads than any far off battle with the lizards."
"That's OUR battle too." the bear growled, his voice raising in volume as he spoke, "I spent two years there... lost GOOD men. If the Lords think they can just--"
The stag about-faced at that point and made his way back up the stairs. The news wasn't far from what he'd expected, but it still didn't sit well with him. The soldiers all had good points, and he was among the subjects of their scorn; when everything started falling apart he ran. The stag had reasoned at the time that he needed to protect those under his care but, if that was true, so close to the border with Vensii, why was he still running? He wasn't a Prossian, so why should he owe the kingdom anything?
Sighing, Hector realized that he wouldn't be able to reason away his conscience, and so he opened his room with a heavy heart; he had a decision to make and it would not be an easy one. That decision, however, suddenly had to be delayed-- Sidney was seated at the small table in his chamber, ears up, eyes facing directly at the stag. "Hello, Lord Hector." the fox offered in a demure yet somehow forward tone.
"Sidney?" the stag paused in the doorway, "What are you doing up so late?"
"Thinking, Ma--" the fox paused and quickly corrected himself, "Lord Hector." he smiled, standing slowly so he could circle the chair to stand next to it; Sidney's green eyes flickered in the candle light, a vibrant vitality alive within them. The stag didn't miss that his former slave was wearing the fine clothing he had gifted to him.
"Thinking?" Hector closed the door behind himself, "That is a past time that CAN be enjoyed at any hour, but I would wager that it would do you more good in the morning when you are better rested."
"Tomorrow would be too late to think about tonight." Sidney's voice flowed from him like silk on satin. The fur on the back of the stag's neck began to stand on end as the fox drifted toward him, his steps not making so much as a sound on the wooden floorboards.
Although Sidney was often prone to fits of clumsiness when addled, Hector was surprised to see the alacrity and grace with which the fox closed the distance, but was even more taken aback when the former slave master's arms found their way around his neck, "Sid--"
"Shh..." the fox whispered quietly, raising a single, black-furred digit to press against the end of the stag's muzzle as he giggled. Surprisingly, Hector found himself obediently complying.
Moments later, the stag found himself on the bed, his back pressed against the comforter as Sidney leaned over him, vest falling off as if it were water running off a duck's back. The fox climbed atop him and, before Hector could say a word, the fox's muzzle was pressed to his. It was a very forward kiss, and the stag was surprised to say the least, especially with his prior experience involving the meek fox. The lingering taste of alcohol on Sidney's tongue confirmed Hector's suspicions.
"Sidney--" he managed to get the entire name out before the finger found its way back to his muzzle.
"Shhh..." Sidney repeated, letting out a little giggle again as he did so and, suddenly, the fox's loin cloth was also on the ground, "Your Sorra's over.. you don't have to be a monk anymore."
"Stop." Hector stated in a firm voice. Despite the fox's dominant position astride him, Sidney quickly backpedaled, dismounting to the side before sliding off the bed and onto the floor. The stag saw a hint of confusion, embarrassment, and hurt in the fox's features. "You're drunk." Hector announced.
"Drunk off of you." Sidney offered a seductive smile, tail brushing across his body suggestively as he attempted to recover from the rebuke.
"Drunk off of alcohol." Hector countered, sitting up as he looked to the fox with a hint of accusation in his gaze.
Sidney swallowed, a chink of uncertainty peeking through his carefully crafted demeanor "...a little."
The stag reached up and took one of the fox's paws in his, "Why?"
"Choel..." Sidney cleared his throat hesitantly, "...told me that it's called 'liquid courage'... and..." he looked away, his ears lowering and reddening, "...I really... hoped..." the fox fidgeted, tail fully tucking, "Without your Sorra, you... might... want..."
"No." the stag noted with certainty. He was able to pin point the exact moment the word made it through Sidney's drunken haze, and he imagined he could hear the sound of a fissure cracking the fox's heart, "Not like this." he quickly added.
Sidney's ears slowly rose and Hector saw his drunken brain attempt to work through any sense or reasoning. "Like... what?"
"Sidney... my dear Sidney..." the stag pulled the fox closer and reached a hand up to touch the side of his face, "I could never be with--"
"A male?"
"--someone impaired by alcohol." Hector raised his muzzle and pressed it gently to Sidney's forehead, "It is not right."
"But..." the fox slowly sunk to his knees, resting his chin on the stag's thigh, "... without the liquid courage--"
"Lash it, Sidney." Hector smiled, using the slave vulgarity for the fox's benefit; it did end up getting his attention. "You do not need any more courage... you have accomplished what few can, and I know for certain that you are no coward." he slowly stood, raising Sidney up as he did so, "You do not need alcohol."
"I..." the fox looked away.
Hector leaned forward and kissed the fox atop his head again, "Do you desire my company?" he inquired softly.
Sidney smiled, eyes slowly migrating back to the stag, "Yes..."
"Then stay here tonight, in this room."
The fox looked immediately confused, "But, you said--"
"Just to sleep." Hector clarified.
Sidney blinked, his mind working through the suggestion, "In the morning, when I'm not drunk, then we--"
The stag smiled, "You will have a HORRIBLE hangover, Sidney."
"I wouldn't mind." the fox insisted, slowly disengaging from the stag before falling sideways into the bed.
"You say that now..." Hector chuckled, slowly helping Sidney climb under the covers.
"If I still want to, then?" the fox yawned.
"We'll see." the stag had never been one to lie, but he realized that his answer came as close to it as he would ever manage. Sidney was asleep in mere moments, and Hector was left to his self-reproach; Sidney would awaken in the morning to find him gone... not just from the room, but from the inn itself.
Listening to the soft breaths from the fox, Lord Hector sat down at his desk and pulled out a fresh piece of parchment. He unstopped the ink well and set the quill in it, then slowly stood and moved back to the bed. He tentatively reached out a hand and placed it gently against the fox's chest.
"You think he's ready." the deep, rumbling voice was neither judgmental nor accusatory in its observation.
"I know he is." Hector responded at a whisper, easing his weight down onto the mattress beside the fox as he maintained contact with Sidney's Fildoma.
"...are you?"
The stag was surprised when he realized there was dampness on his cheeks, "Honestly?" he released a breath and shook his head helplessly, "I do not know."
"You're going back... aren't you?" Tharis spoke. Hector blinked through his tear-filled eyes, almost able to make out the hazy apparition seated on the large night stand across from him as if it were a small foot stool.
"I cannot let Pross fall apart." the stag responded, slowly turning to gaze down at Sidney, "And I can not protect him now... not anymore."
"You told me the prayer of Vensian warriors once." Tharis said calmly, "About being on a road and parting ways."
Hector nodded, not trusting his voice to come out in an even tone; he hadn't let it show, but Tharis' death had not been easy on him. Tharis had been a friend and a confidant. They knew one another's secrets but thought none the less of one each other for them. Despite being master and slave, Hector always saw Tharis on equal footing, and the bull had never accepted anything less. By leaving Sidney, Hector realized that he would be saying more than one goodbye.
"He will do great things." the bull acknowledged, gazing down at the sleeping fox, "...and so will you, Hector."
The stag nodded, letting the tears flow freely as he slowly removed his fingers from Sidney's marking' the soft glow faded away into nothing. "If our meeting parts us on the road we both still travel, then I wish him well and pray he finds the end as I wish to find my own: Min sarul." he whispered the words, and returned to his desk.
It took Hector several minutes to compose himself but, when he finally did, the letter quickly took shape.
"Sidney,
_ Fate touches our lives in more ways than a Sorra. At times we are all called to do things that we could not foresee. These things are neither asked of us nor demanded... they simply are, and must be. We each now face such a situation, and the events going on around us will change the world in ways we cannot possibly imagine._
You are a free man now, Sidney, and that means more than following your own will. Being free means that you are responsible for your own actions and will ultimately be accountable for what you choose, and not the decisions of someone else. This is both empowering, and imprisoning... but do not be trapped by your doubts because I can think of no one else who could handle what lays ahead better than you.
Vensii must be your destination, my friend, as it is the only place where you can find those who can help you figure out more about who you are and what you are yet to become. Yours is a rare gift and one that you must nurture. While I cannot order this of you, I can ask it, and I hope you will take my council into consideration. I truly wish you well.
Please do not follow me, Sidney. I know you wish to continue to serve me, and, as a free man you have the right to choose your course of action. Respect my same right, and do not come after me. My road is a dangerous one and I cannot expect you to subject yourself to any further harm. If I know Maern as well as I believe I do he will be of great aid to you. Dorias has already confirmed that he wishes to see you to safety before he will even think of parting ways, so simply know that you need not make this journey alone.
With this letter I have included my signet ring. It was a gift from someone I knew, and it holds less meaning to me than I know it will have for you. Let it be known that you are not my slave-- you are my heir. Neither by birth nor marriage, but by my right as a Lord of Pross, I give you my name, Sidney Desanti, as I can think of no other man alive I would desire more greatly to call family.
Whether or not we are ready for great things, we must accept the fact that these times expect them of us. My heart goes with you, my friend, and know that, while I regret being forced to leave these words on parchment rather than speaking them to you, just know that this is not an easy thing for me, and I am forced to muster all my resolve lest I give in and allow you to accompany me on the path ahead. I know, however, that this is MY path, and my path alone.
Your road will take you elsewhere, Sidney... it will take you somewhere great. I have no doubt that you are meant for finer things than what life has given to you. Some time in the future we will meet again, and I will be able to say that you have come farther than anyone ever could have thought possible... anyone other than me.
There is no limit to what you can accomplish, my friend; even the heavens are within your reach. Sidney, your future will shine with the light of a thousand torches, and I hope to be there when you turn the world on its heels for ever having doubted you.
Hector Desanti"
The stag finished off his letter and, as the ink dried, he carefully collected his signet ring from his nightstand and set it atop the parchment. Letting out a steadying breath and drawing a finger across the bottom of his eyes to banish the tears, Hector took hold of his cloak and exited the room. He realized he could not wait until the morning to depart, and so he made his exit, hoping that Sidney would understand that he was not being abandoned-- he was being truly liberated.
* * * * *
Bane frowned as he gazed at himself in the mirror. The past several weeks had seen the first several steps made on a plan that had taken years to prepare. Lord Levid the usurper had fallen victim to his fate and the kingdom of Pross was in upheaval. Despite his victory, the wolf realized that his time as Lord Talvin had come to an end and his persona Bane's rise as a hero to the masses meant that it was not easy for him to travel incognito. "...not without a little aid, at the very least." he reminded himself.
Turning his head one way then the other, Bane inspected his face; he'd always admired the amber color of his eyes, but the commanding, memorable nature of the hue simply wouldn't suit him if he wanted to go unnoticed. He slowly pulled the thick leather riding gloves from his right paw and took a deep breath. He focused, reaching out for the faint pulse of the world around him. It was a talent he'd fought hard to develop and it had served him well. His naked paw felt a cool breeze that didn't exist and, moments later, the numerous runes covering his flesh burst into life, blazing brightly with the same green that he saw glowing within the reflection of his eyes.
Letting the ebb and flow of the world's pulse fade from his ears, the wolf slid the glove back onto his paw. The marks disappeared beneath the leather and his eyes ceased their vibrant glow... yet still the green remained. Bane gazed back at his reflection, looking at himself out of one eye before rotating his head to inspect at his profile from the other direction. White wolves weren't particularly common, but most wouldn't glance twice at him... not when he didn't have the iconic predator hue to his eyes. It was only then that a faint twinge in the back of his mind made him pause.
Like a spider following the vibration of a web back to a trapped fly, Bane spread his senses out beyond the scope of his body, using a painstakingly trained talent to identify which of his carefully woven alarms had been tripped. The forewarning gave him just enough time to turn to the door and cock the hammer on his fusil. The firearm was not accurate at long range, but it would do the job in the small room. He raised his paw as the knob turned, but a chilling tingle flowed from his palm and up his wrist; he held his shot.
The enormous cloaked figure quickly entered the door and immediately shut it. Thick furs, more suited for an arctic excursion rather than late fall hung down the barely recognizable hulking form. "You are early." Bane noted, slowly lowering his arm, "And you didn't announce yourself." he added, turning away from the mirror and moving to the tray of mostly untouched food seated on his dresser.
Ian simply waved the comment away with a motion from his talon. The Sarvestinian began the lengthy process of untangling himself from the layers of padding. While any of the lizard people caught in the kingdoms would be put immediately to death, Bane had learned long ago that Ian was quite passable as a bear if he wore a cloak, his tail was hidden, and his legs were wrapped with enough fur. Since then, the lizard had become much more adept at blending... when necessary.
"The innkeeper suspects something?" the wolf inquired, glancing back to Ian, who was finally pulling the tightly wrapped hide off from around his ankles. The lizard looked up, red eyes peering back at him; Ian offered a single, succinct nod, discarded the fur on the floor, and went to the tray to look at Bane's leftovers. "Of course." the wolf acknowledged, "You are welcome to them." at which point Ian began ravenously devouring the cold meal.
Bane moved to the reptile's side and rested a paw on his shoulder, "Show me." Closing his eyes, the wolf opened himself to Ian's presence. It had startled him the first time they had connected-- the Sarvistinian's ability to share images and thoughts as easily as words had left him weak and disquieted, but, after enough time and experience it felt as natural as breathing.
The wolf saw what Ian had witnessed, the two sheep talking quietly together. The Sarvistinians neither saw nor heard the world as a mammal from the kingdoms would and it had taken many years for Bane to be able to decipher it; in the end, he realized that the inn keeper and his wife would attempt to drug him in the morning and make off with him before anyone else noticed. They had recognized not only him, but Dorias and Maern. "Remaining together is causing us even more trouble." he announced to the lizard, removing his paw from his companion's scaled shoulder.
Ian turned toward him, the slitted pupils of his red eyes expanding into a diamond shape. Bane smiled, "I concur." the wolf acknowledged to the unspoken suggestion, and slowly drew the glove from his paw, "Though you know how Hector feels about violence..." he closed his eyes, feeling for the living pulse of the world once more, "so we will have to show restraint."
Rather than accept the flow of the world into himself, the wolf instead chose to follow it with his mind. Although very few of the uninitiated realized that the Soraani were not all from Vensii, the fact that the Tenvierian wolf knew the ways of fate was not at all uncommon... especially not within his family. Despite all of his skill, he also knew the limitations of toying with fate-- his time as a slave instilled that knowledge more fully than anything else ever could.
Shaking the thought from his mind, he continued to sift through the numerous paths of likelihood, possibility, and eventuality until he found what he was after. Despite his closed eyes, Bane could see his paw through his eyelids as he raised it into his field of view, illuminated clearly by the glyphs. Reaching out, he gently curled one of the ephemeral lines of cause-and-effect around his finger and gave it a faint tug. A vibration ran down the glowing string and out of sight. Opening his eyes, Bane had just long enough to slide his paw back into its glove before he heard the sound of ceramic shatter somewhere in the common room down below.
The unremarkable accident set into motion a series of events that nobody could have foreseen... at least, not without the aptitude that Bane called his own. Two minutes passed in what could have been mistaken as inactivity, but the wolf knew better. He nodded to Ian, who had since moved to the doorway. Upon Bane's next nod, the Servestinian opened the door, reached out, and grabbed the inn keeper's wife by the apron and pulled her into the room.
"Wha' in th'name o'--" she gasped, but she went silent when her eyes met Ian's. Bane quickly pressed his gloved paws to his ears and began humming to himself an old song taught to him what felt like ages ago by his brother. Even through the wall of self-created white noise the wolf felt the unmistakable tingling sensation of Ian at work. Bane had only ever heard Ian's voice once, but it was something that he would never be able to forget. He was pulled from his musings before his song finished by the light touch of a talon on his shoulder.
Looking up and uncovering his ears, Bane saw that the ewe stood in the middle of the room, slack jawed and cloudy-eyed. Upon receiving a simple nod from Ian, Bane stood and moved to the sheep woman, "You have decided that Bane and his companions are too dangerous to consider confronting." he noted calmly.
"They be too dangerous t'consider confrontin'." she murmured the words.
"Instead," Bane continued, "you suggest to your husband that you let them leave in peace."
"Den... we need t'leave em in peace... they be too dangerous t'consider confrontin'." she droned blankly.
"Good..." he nodded, "Very good." he paused, glancing to Ian, meeting the Sarvestinian's gaze then sighed before looking back to her, "And you will prepare an entire boar for breakfast." he eyed the lizard, who nodded firmly with contentment. "A cow for dessert as well? ...glutton." the wolf chided, then looked back to the ewe, "Do you understand, my dear?"
"Mebee they'll overlook us if'n we feed em a 'ole boar, Den... we 'ave a boar, right?" she mumbled to herself, "A cow too... they'll leave 'appy an' think the world o' us... leave without causing a problem..." Bane silently rolled his eyes when he realized the inn keeper's wife took his joke for direction.
Ian did not laugh... he never laughed, but Bane could tell that her words put him in good humor. "Alright..." the wolf noted flatly, "You may dismiss her." The lizard blinked, and the sheep woman slowly about-faced and exited the room, broken pitcher still in her hand; Ian closed the door behind her.
The wolf moved to sit down on his bed and he glanced to his companion. The lizard gazed back for a moment, his pupils becoming mere slits within his red orbs once again. "Lord Hector will be visiting me in minutes." Bane declared, "Do you wish to stay?" Ian's gaze remained leveled at him and the wolf shook his head in response to the unasked question, "No... his Sorra is at an end but he has no interest in me... he'll be coming to talk."
In answer to Bane's question, Ian sat down in a chair next to the door; the sturdy wood creaked beneath his weight. The wolf casually pulled a treated wooden case out of his belongings, smiling to himself as he considered the jealous reptile; the Sarvestinian had not been pleased at the thought of the stag visiting, but he'd relaxed visibly when he realized that the visit was platonic-- strangely, Bane recalled, Ian had not been as intolerant of Sidney during the fox's visit to the estate despite the fact that the lizard readily knew what was involved. A knock at the door ended his musings.
"Please do come in." the wolf hailed his visitor with supreme courtesy. Ian reached over and opened the door, permitting the stag entry into the room. Bane looked his former master up and down, taking careful note of the fact that he had his travel cloak on and was carrying a pack, "Going somewhere?" the wolf smirked, realizing that Hector was hardly trying to hide his intention.
"Good evening, my friend." Lord Hector offered simply not bothering to answer the question. He inclined his head slightly to Bane then turned to offer the same to Ian, "Hello again, Ian." The lizard responded with a flick from the end of his tail, and the wolf didn't miss the way that that Ian watched their visitor-- like a hawk; Bane was sure that the Sarvestinian enjoyed the view as much as he.
"I was hoping you would stop by before you left." the wolf offered amicably, "Returning to Pross, I assume?" he slid a small table between himself and Lord Hector, letting his question hang unanswered as he continued the small talk, "I brought my chess set, and Ian really isn't much of a challenge... I am beginning to believe that he truly does hate the game." Bane offered a toothy smile.
Lord Hector nodded again to the reptile then looked back to Bane, moving a chair over to the opposite side of the table from him before taking a seat, "I would imagine that he never had to consider strategy in combat... most of his foes would rather flee than face him anyway."
Bane chuckled, letting a smile play across his muzzle before setting his pieces in place, "It makes a great difference having the right kind of help." the wolf watched as the stag finished setting up his own wooden soldiers, "Wouldn't you agree?" he watched his former master glance at him, and then back to his own pieces, "By all means, my friend... please, take the first move." Bane acknowledged, setting his paws on either side of the board.
The stag moved a pawn, "Come with me... back to Pross." he requested.
Bane smiled at Hector's directness, and likewise moved a pawn of his own, "Sadly, I cannot... I will be accompanying your leather worker back to Tenvier."
"There are daily caravans leaving from Arveras." the stag moved another piece, "He is resourceful and intelligent; I am certain he--"
"I am accompanying him as a courtesy, not because he requires it." Bane countered, moving his own piece as well, "I have something that requires my attention in Tenvier... family business, you might say."
"I see..." Hector responded, though the wolf thought very much that he did not.
The game progressed quickly, with Lord Hector arranging his side into the formation he favored; Bane had played often enough against the stag to become intimately familiar with his playing style. In response, the wolf carefully positioned his own pieces, choosing a defense completely wrong for countering the noble's formidable strategy. Lord Hector was astute enough to readily realize what Bane had done, "Looking to hand me a victory, Talvin?"
"You know me, Hector," the wolf smiled, moving another piece, "I'm simply looking to keep things... interesting."
The stag considered his options for a moment and quickly slid a unit forward to complete a capture, "You're sacrificing your pawns, are you?"
Bane smiled at the comment, "I realize my methods differ from your own, my friend, but they are effective." He moved another pawn in response, which Lord Hector likewise claimed.
"I sometimes wonder where all my teachings went." the stag noted, taking that piece as well, "You should never overlook the value of ANY piece, Talvin." their gazes met for a moment, and the wolf, for a split second, felt the reproach that indicated his mentor was speaking on far more than the game.
"It is necessary, at times, sadly." Bane responded, claiming the stag's knight with a rook, "You can accomplish far more if you focus on the ends rather than the means."
"Sometimes," Lord Hector responded, moving his bishop to capture the wolf's rook, "focusing on the end means you overlook the now." and the stag's eyes went back to the board, "Sacrificing endgame considerations for a quick attack on your opponent's position can often end badly."
"Sometimes." the wolf acknowledged, "Unless your opponent is unaware of just when the end-game may occur." he moved, "For example... one more move and you are in check, my friend."
"Back at your estate..." the stag gazed neutrally across the table at him, moving another piece on the game board, "You did not tell Sidney that you were the Soraan that gave me my Sorra, did you?" It was a very direct change in conversation, and the trace scents of the fox on his former master gave the wolf pause for thought.
In the end, Bane smiled, more at Lord Hector's revealing tone than the move the stag had taken, "I did not..." he scanned his options for moves, "in fact, I told him quite the opposite-- that I was unable to sense the future in such a way." he looked up to the nobleman across from him as he moved his chosen piece, the queen. "Check." easing back in his chair, the wolf brought up the next obvious question, "Why haven't YOU told him?"
"I thought I had." Lord Hector responded, quickly moving a rook to block Bane's access to his king, "I told him from the beginning that only the Soraan knew of my Sorra."
The wolf's grin widened, "You always play so defensively." and he claimed the interposing piece, with his queen, continuing his offensive, "Check." the wolf repeated his earlier statement, smiling across the board at the stag; they both knew his words were regarding far more than just the game.
"And you are always far too aggressive." Lord Hector responded just as casually, moving a knight to take the offending queen.
"There are times when sacrifice is for the greater good." Bane responded, moving his bishop, "Checkmate in two moves." He gazed across the board at the stag, folding his paws in his lap, "No." he responded as he watched Lord Hector's eyes go to the knight, "You move him, I take the knight, and you end in checkmate." The wolf watched as the stag's gaze went to another piece. "You COULD move your queen, but once I take her my rook will finish off your--"
Lord Hector's eyes went elsewhere, to the opposite side of the board. With meticulous care, he moved a pawn to take Bane's last remaining rook, left undefended when he moved his queen. The wolf smiled, bemused as the stag took both the black rook and the white pawn off of the board; having reached Bane's side of the playing field he upgraded his pawn to a rook. The wolf raised an eyebrow at that, "A queen would have been more versatile." he offered.
His former master smiled at that, "But unnecessary." he sat back in his seat and stared across the board, "Checkmate."
Without even looking, Bane knew that Lord Hector had won. He casually knocked his own king over and provided the stag a wide smirk, "Surprising how much power such a little piece can have when used to its fullest."
"Indeed." the stag replied. He stood and offered a slight nod of his head to the still-seated wolf, "A pawn CAN make a difference...if given the chance." and, with that, Lord Hector showed himself out. Bane had played many games against Lord Hector and lost most of them. He had, however learned to take his defeats gracefully and always found himself looking forward to the next... despite the different paths they would be taking, the wolf knew there WOULD be a next.