Chapter 5: News and Saviors
There was a dungeon and a man whose face Bluestone could not see. Her hands were bound and shackled to the hard cot she now sat upon. "Why did you do it?" The man's voice was so very sad. She raised her heavy head and said in a dry voice, "I had to." "But he'll torture you!" he cried. Her scowl shone brigh within the darkness. "Then let him! Nothing could be worse than what he's depriving me of right now. Besides, what do you care what happens to me?" she asked, venom slapping the man"s darkened face. He stepped into the light.
Light flooded into her room through the drawn curtains and Bluestone blinked, irritaded. She sat up and rubbed her eyes. Images danced upon her closed lids. A dark dungeon. A man whose face was drowned in shadows and a voice more sorrowful than a banshee's.
She got up and dressed in a red and blue robe that would stand out against the white-brown snow that blanketed the city streets, flinging her black cloak above over it. Snappers bit at the belt and she shoved him away. Bluestone held her staff in both hands and concentrated. It took a few seconds before the golden staff shivered, melted, and became a carved, wooden staff much less regal than it had been bfore, but an emerald still lay nestled within the twisting roots upon the crown. She glamoured herself and Snappers and was out the door.
The streets were crowded in only a few areas, Bluestone tried to avoid these. What she needed to find was a good library or maybe even a few scholars. That meant she needed to find a pub, but not just any pub, she needed one located in the righ district. So, Bluestone drew up her hood against the morning's chill and began her search.
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It took some time to find a pub that wasn't full of tigh-liped nobles, but when she did Bluestone found herself within the Blue Oak Tavern. The Blue Oak was a lovely little place with cheery music and boisterous laughter.
"Why hallo young miss!" the bartender, a stout man with red cheecks and a thick mustache growing into even thicker sideburns, said as he set an empty mug on the bar. Bluestone flashed the man a smile and settledonto one of the barstools. "What can I get you?" he asked as he walked towards her, "A pint of ale and some information if you have any." she answere, leaning her staff upon the section of bar next to her.
Te barman nodded, walking away. He came back with a mug of frothy beverage. "Now," he began, "what type of information can I give you?" She took a sip. "I would like to know if any booksellers that may have books on history." He scratched his head. "Well... there's Old-"
A commotion outside stopped the man in mid-sentence. Bluestone looked at him, snatched up her staff, and sprinted out the doors. Two guards held a small, rag-clad child by his arms whilst a third was taking off a mail-backed glove. "Lemme go!" The child yelled and tried to struggle free, resulting in a slap from the guards glove. "Silence!" he hissed.
"Escuse me sir, but what had the boy done?" Bluestone asked leaning upon her staff. The guard turned to her and Bluestone could see that he had a jagged scar across his left temple. "This is of no concern to you, stranger." He said. "Why don't you just go back inside?" Though his tome was mrore commanding than questioning, Bluestone only shrugged. "All I am is concerned about the fairness of the city guard towards very young and unfortunate children."
"Please ma'am! I didn't do nuffing! I promise!" The boy shouted and struggled once again. The scarred guard slapped the boy once more. "I said silence!" Blood spurted from the boy's lips. Bluestone walked over to them. "And I said what has he done?" her voice was cold as ice, her face shrouded by the shadows of her hood. "If you must know miss, " the guard holding the boy's left arm said, "this young lad here has stolen something very valuable fom the jewler just across the street." He guestered with a hand.
"That's a lie!" the boy said. "I didn't steal nuffing! you could even search me if you'd like." By now, a considerable crowd had gathered around the five being. The scarred guard unsheathed his sword. "You know what we do to theives." He hissed, then turned to the guard who had not yet spoken. "Hold out his arm! Make sure I can get to his wrist." The guard complied silently and the scarred guard raised his sword. "NO!" The boy shrieked, tears cascading down his dirty face. The guard lowered his sword.
Faster than any ther's eye could register, Bluestone stopped the blade with her stadd a mere inches from the lad's flesh, her hood had pulled back only enough to reveal her deep red lips. The toher two guards drew their swords, releasign the boy. "Run." She said without looking back at him. The boy did not hesitate before sprinting off like the Devil himself were on his heels.
"Davick," the scarred guard said, "go get reinforcements." The guatd on the left ran off and Bluestone began o dance with the remaining two.
They attacked first., both swinging ther swords in an upward arch. Bluestone easily ducked the blows and twisted, sending the but end of her staff forcefully into Guard Right's kneecap. A loud snapping sound filled the air and the guard went down with a shriek of pain. The scarred guard swung his sword down and Bluestone held up her staff with both hands. The weapons meat with a loud crack. She knicked out at the guard's legs and he fell.
Bluestone rolled to the side and onto her feet as the guard slowly rose. "What the hell do you think you're doing girly?" he snarled. She held her staff horizontally and out infront of her, she smiled. "I'm only doing your jub, keeping the peace and all." He narrowed his eyes. "You sayin' I don't do my job?" "All I'm saying is maybe you like to abuse your power. "The guard snarled and charged, blade pointing at Bluestone. She simply sidestepped his attacke and cracked him on his back as he passed.
Heavy footstpes sounded on the road lading to the citadel and a squad of fifteen men, including Davick, encircled themselves around Bluestone. She turned slowly in cirlces, her staff held out infront of her. Davick stepped forward. "Now," he began, "young miss, I'm going to have to ask you to put down the staff and come with me." She snickered. "Yu brought all these men just to have a cgat with me? Oh, I truelly am flattered." A look af genuine concern flashed over Davick's face and he said. "Please, we don't want to hurt you..." "Ah shut your filthy mouth, Davick!" The scarred guard said, still on the ground. "Men, attack! That is an order!" and they did. All of them with the acception of Davick charged Bluestone at once, weapons drawn.
There was no time to do anything else, she had to use magcik. Blustone twiled her staff above her head and brought it down heavily unto the earth.
A purple wave of arcane energy errupted from her and smacked into each and every one of the guards, flinging them backand off their feet. A thick cloud of dust had wrapped itself around the square and when it settled, most of the soldiers where dead. Bluestone lay unconcious in a small, burnt crater in the center of the damage. But those whom were not dead nor unconcious saw not a lovely young human woman, but something that they could not comprehend. The glamour had evaporated and and Bluestone lay there in her true form. Curiously enough, her staff had not reverted back to it;'s true form the way it's master had.
The scarred guard limped to her and pick up her staff. "Won't someone go and fetch the royal guard?... Tell them..." he grimmaced in pain, "tell them that we have ahighly dangerous criminal in the square outside the Blue Oak Tavern." One of the townsfolk who had been inside and had come out to inspect nodded and ran off.
He returned within minutes with five royal guardsmen and two of the king's magicians at his side. One of the guards pick up Bluestone and held her delicatly in his arms. Something about her compelled him to be careful and gentle with her. The female magician held out her hand for the staff. "Please," she said, "we'll take it from here." The man reluctantly handed he rthe staff and she and her companions walked to the citadel, Bluestone laying limp in the arms of a stranger.
