Unkarra Gate (1st draft)

Chapter 14

Draped in the stolen clothes and blood of helpless peasants, Ronclay did not appear to be of the ruling family as he approached the great Stamrin House itself. It was only a short time before dawn and very few people were awake and about to witness his approach.

He had crossed the wildlands and skirted the borders of House Dasben again to return. The days he had spent travelling back had become a blur. His mind was foggy and memories were difficult to recall; only a driving hunger could come to mind. It wasn't until he found his victims and gorged himself upon their blood did his mind clear.

But now, ahead loomed the massive house upon the hilltop; Its many stories and balconies made up of a thousand separate additions since the first construction. Clinging to the central building was a clutter of bulidings sharing walls and roofs. The colour red was prominent among the walls. This was the opposite side of the hill from the famous Stamrin hot springs, which were built into a series of cascading pools. These springs kept the house warm during the long harsh winters, and houses were built close together as possible to share the warmth the springs brought forth.

In the dark, no one paid much attention to the grubby man storming past them, but they were sure to be as unnoticeable as possible to him, for he cast a great aura of fear as he approached. They cowered or ducked inside as he passed by, and felt fortunate his gaze did not stray from the path in front of him.

Having passed the first rows of buildings; the inns and businesses that looked to greet the arrivals to House Stamrin at the very doorstep and earn their business by convenience, he reached the main house entrance.

Guards were posted, and as they saw him approach, nervously prepared to block his entrance. A few steps away he produced his house badge, thrust it in their faces as he also shoved them aside. They tumbled and he went through.

This first door led through a building that was more like a wall that encircled the great house. Ronclay walked through a brick floored square, a place that at times had been covered with a roof, during the longest, coldest winter years. The way turned into an uphill road, lined with buildings on either side. Homes and businesses mixed and crammed together in no sensible order. The only real order was that the best properties were at the top of the hill, just outside the main house proper.

In two minutes, after passing several lanes down that led to many more houses, he reached the house proper. The scene with the guards was repeated; this time the guards called out hasty courtesies and one ran off to alert the house servants of his arrival.

It was a fully, properly enclosed house now. Here, only the most priviledged were allowed to enter. The house would have much activity in a few hours, but at this early morning only the occasional servant was up and performing their duties. The main entrance hallway he was in opened into a grand foyer, with grand staircases up to the living quarters. He climbed the stairs, taking a turn from the main wing in which his uncle, Lord of House Stamrin, occupied. Up more stairs and down more hallways he went, until he came to his quarters.

It was locked; having lost the key he simply broke the mechanism by force and entered. His quarters consisted of a bedroom, closet, and study. Morning light was already streaming through the windows, and he could see easily inside. He cast aside his peasant clothes and stood naked before the mirror in his room. The strange markings on his body were vivid, but as he checked for signs of his recent serious injuries, such as his severed and reattached leg, or the massive impact injuries from falling onto the rocks, he could see none.

As he studied himself, the house servants came to his quarters, of whom he requested a bath prepared and proper clothes to replace what he had lost. They were scared witless, but they heeded his orders. Once he had cleaned himself, he retired to his bedroom and drew the curtains closed to block out any light, and lay down for rest.

But it was not to last, and he was interrupted quite soon, being summoned to his uncle's presence in his breakfast solarium. He was not in a good mood when he presented himself before his uncle, lord [uncle] of House Stamrin.

When he entered, all conversation in the room ended. There in the room was his uncle, his uncle's concubine (having lost his wife some years prior), [some others, didn't think of this].

"Ronclay, it is good to see you safely return, especially after some worrisome news," [uncle] began. "In fact, there's been so much news, where do I begin?" He fixed Ronclay with a stern stare. "Well, news started off well enough, you had quashed that rebellious hamlet. But I also heard you had died. Soon enough, I hear news from you to the contrary. Pursuit of a dangerous rebel, you said. That's a whole new conversation, let's come back to that.

"But the next news I hear, and sadly it is not from you, is that an outpost of House Dasben was razed. What foolishness is this?" he asked becoming rather heated. "They are preparing for war against us! This will not do our house any good."

"We'll crush them, why cower-" Ronclay began, but was cut off.

"Idiot! Of course we can crush them, but there are other ways to bring them under our control. And now we must expend our resources to deal with this. You will go back out and deal with this problem. Gather your own men. Once Dasben slaughters you and your lot on the battlefield, he'll have had his pound of flesh and perhaps we can move on past this.

"And back to this rebel, your troops come back with the most ridiculous claims. You've been chasing a folk legend, Bogrel the Bold, or Bogrel the Barbarian, or Bogrel the Buther, depending which stories you've heard." [Uncle] paused as he read the surprise on Ronclay's face. "Did you not know this? How typical of you, to be so ignorant as to not even know the name of the man you are hunting. Yes, the Bogrel that has lived through a hundred battles, and claimed the lives of a hundred men in each, so they say. Bogrel the Bold, who brought down kingdoms, some say, Bogrel the Butcher, who murdered his own king, say others. Founder and destroyer of brotherhoods both. The greatest hero and villain ever seen in the war against the Hund, they say. And have you come back to announce that you have indeed killed this man?" [uncle]'s mocking tone increased as he spoke.

Ronclay stood silent, holding back his anger.

"Well, then. He'll have slipped into legend again." There were some laughs from the gathered diners. [uncle]'s tone returned to utmost seriousness. "You'll have to make a name for yourself on the battlefield then. You are to head out immediately. Understand me clearly: You are to find a truce with House Dasben, whether it costs you your life or not."

Ronclay turned and stormed from the solarium without a further word.