Much Later
Year 356, shortly after the double death of Emily ab Azadar and Hugo ab Azadar II.
The two men ahead of him moved with the elegance and stealth of felines, their cloth-wrapped boots making near to no sound in the mud, and what little squelches they did make were drowned out by the ambient ‘pitter-patter’ of falling rain on brush and tree. Above, Arien was hidden behind the cloud cover and Elliueh was a new moon. Circadnanoth and Balathumel were less than half and set low upon the horizon – giving Lunare its rare full reign of the sky.
Dark, so dark among those short thorn trees, with only the blackest moon to play companion with the stars. Casimir wanted so badly to itch his face, to tear at the mixture of mud and dung that coated his body and take a hot bath, but he forced himself low to the ground and drew his rapier from the holster at his side.
In the back of his mind he saw somebody scream as the balcony beneath them collapsed. The child was flung outward, into space, into nothingness, and it took less than two second for them both to crash into hard cobbles, for their bodies to break, to split open and…
Beyond his line of sight, somewhere in the darkness, two men choked on their own blood as their throats were cut, and Casimir’s men came back – their faces grim but their nods firm. And then? The Marquis raised two fingers and the ten men behind him stalked forward, drawing their swords with all the bravado of a whisper.
The group of thirteen, thirteen men in total, went through the thorn bushes and up the rise ahead. In front of them, spread out in the large clearing lay little less than a dozen wood-straw huts.
In five minutes they had quietly slaughtered the pigs and sheep.
In ten each of the huts were set afire.
And in the span of thirty minutes Casimir had killed the last foolish Hillman to try and defend their family.
So ended the Dar’liech tribe of the lower foothills. Later, as Casimir washed the the dung and mud from his pores, he smiled at the pleasure – the comfort. It had been a long, long day – but successful. Not a man was lost – and this would be the sixth battle that Casimir had won. He had yet to lose.
That night the young Marquis unfolded the periwinkle night gown that Emily was fond of wearing. The soft material ran through his fingers like water. He stretched it out along the bed… and he slept beside it.