Snippet #1484374

The thunder of hooves, followed by clashes of steel and guttural screams, rent the foggy morning air, sending what little wild-life remained in the barren and hilly plains running for the forest. Lord Gideon Ce'dareaux swung his heavy falchion down from atop his mount in the Arc-of-the-Moon, almost severing a gypsy archer's arm at the shoulder. With a flourish of his blade and a toss of the reigns the lord quickly dispatched another archer and a spearman. He halted well ahead of the clearing just outside of the forest to which the gypsy bandits ran. "Fall back! We're done here."

The seven men he had brought with him either mounted or started away from the forest, back to the main road. His squire was one of those that had dismounted during the skirmish. He stood, with his bloodied blade before him, above the body of another swordsmen with his head mostly hacked off. "Two things, young Olver; Firstly, you were told to go after archers, they are the most dangerous to us. Secondly, during a coordinated skirmish you must never, I repeat NEVER, leave your horse."

Gideon turned to look at the knights that had dismounted without a word then started back to the road.


"It seems that the bandits that have been plaguing this pass are Prince Gaspar's personal honor guard." Sandovak finished the letter and passed it to Gideon who read it with raised eyebrows.

"Who the bloody hell is Prince Gaspar?" He crushed the letter in his gauntleted fist then tossed it into the fireplace. They stood with Olver and Sir Dunnel in the parlour of Halton Manor; the manor of the prefect in charge of Geron's Pass.

Olver stepped forward and bowed, "If I may, milord?"

Gideon nodded his head and twirled his hand as if to say, "Get on with it."

"Prince is an honorific given the gypsy in charge of a caravan. The hierarchy is most complex, each caravan is actually like-"

"That's enough, Olver. I had quite enough of gypsies before I got out of bed this morning." Sandovak put his hand on Olver's shoulder and smiled.

Taking a fire poker and shifting a log, Sir Dunnel guffawed. "Is that what she was? Gypsy?"

The embers brightened and ash scattered. Gideon looked into the flames intently, his thoughts a mystery to his comrades. After a few more moments of introspection he spoke, "The letter states that this so called "prince" seeks to hold me to account for destruction of property and murder."

Everyone was silent as Gideon poured himself a glass of a dark and viscous liquor. He took a drink before continuing, "Though this gypsy upstart does have some rights granted to land owners and citizenry he cannot possibly think his word is worth more than mine. I would say he looks only to insult me, but his letter was sealed and notated. Which means he has legal counsel."

Dunnel cleared his throat and asked cautiously, "So, are we going to-"

"I fear we've tarried too long here, I meant for us to stop briefly and halt the banditry that has grown so prevalent in the pass. However, this last week has us no closer to our goal. The infestation is worse than imagined. It is our duty as soldiers of the realm to eradicate this blight upon our land." Gideon was standing now, glass held before him and his other arm tucked behind his back. He glared into the country-side, almost as if he expected to see a grand army in it's fields.

Sandovak spoke up now, "Gideon, the Gypsies are far from untouchable but..."

"Olver, fetch my scribe. I wish to dictate a letter to the Merchant's Guild." Gideon finished his drink and set it on the table. "You miss my intent, Sandovak. I said we must eradicate the bandits."

Dunnel spoke up, "The fact that they are gypsies is irrelevant."

Sandovak smiled, "Just a happy coincidence is all."