Episode 12: Untitled

Sir Gulliden stood in front of the gates, looking up at the watchtower, with his hands on his hips.
“I am most put out,” he threw over his shoulder at Trout, Jnii, and Ivan, all of whom crouched behind an apple tree, its trunk riddled with arrow shafts.
Another arrow came whistling over the wall, directly at Sir Gulliden, who swiftly raised his shield. The arrow nestled itself inside the shield with a solid ‘chunk,’ and Gulliden sighed.
“I’m asking you one more time!” he shouted at the walls. “Open the gates, or there will be punishment for all!”
“My lord?” a timid and all at once gruff voice came echoing down from the watchtower. It was Barley. “Sir, it’s Barley, sir. Just like to tell you it’s all the villagers. They have us captive, my lord.”
Barley took one step back and fired an arrow directly at Sir Gulliden. Once again, the knight raised his shield.
“Oho, Barley!” he shouted. “Perhaps fooled into thinking that thou wast enveloped by darkness, Barley? Not so! Thou art standing very near a torch. I did see you fire that arrow.”
Chunk.
“And that one, as well, Barley.” Gulliden sighed again. “If this is about that blade, Barley, you will not get it this way. Where is Ourood?”
“Tied up, my lord,” came the reply. “He was hysterical. About demons.”
“Not so, Barley! I believe you tied him up to keep him from opening the gates. And Braggin?”
“Tied up.”
“What would you have me say to open these gates?” Gulliden took a few steps back and shaded his eyes.
There was a long pause.
Trout quietly cursed, and Jnii told him to be quiet.
Finally, Barley spoke up. “Would you – would you not let the demons inside, my lord?”
“There are no demons, Barley.”
“Oh. I did not realize, my lord. Do you – do you promise?”
“I promise, Barley.”
“And – can I have my blade back perhaps, my lord?”
Gulliden sighed. “Just this once, Barley. Just this once.”

Mirrathan Black-blood was getting tired of waiting behind a nearby apple tree, and Ivan was getting doubly tired of staring at the hollow-eyed skeleton stare at him, slack-jawed if that were possible. The bones started to rattle as Mirrathan stood up from a crouching position. Trout swiftly turned around and waved at the reanimated corpse to settle down. Mirrathan raised his arms and let them fall back down against his pelvic bone with a sharp crack.

After a few minutes, the gates started to creak open, and the voices of the villagers rose up in protest. Sir Gulliden clapped his hands and rubbed them together.
“Good, good,” he said, and turned towards the orchard. “Now keep the noble – sir – thing -- out of sight,” he said to Ivan, Jnii, and Trout. “I will deal with these good people.”
Barley came out of the gates first, followed by only a couple knights, all of whom looked sheepish. Sir Gulliden smiled and approached them.
“Very sorry, my lord –“ Barley started.
“Fear not, Barley. I am not angry. As you all know, I am never quick to anger, never quick to fear, never quick to forgive.”
The three knights all smiled and nodded their heads. With a swift movement, Sir Gulliden drew out his sword and beheaded Barley, whose lifeless form fell to earth with a thud. The two other knights just stood there and stared at Barley’s carcass as Sir Gulliden, smiling, turned to the apple trees and beckoned.
“Come out, now! It is quite safe!” he cried.
“G.T.!” Ivan whispered, in a panic.
“Stop calling – What?” Trout whispered back, securing Ivan’s and Jnii’s collars in his fist.
“I don’t think I trust that guy! He doesn’t seem to know how to judge when things are safe and when they’re not!”
Trout chose not to answer, and instead pulled Jnii and Ivan, both protesting, from behind the tree.
“Mirrathan the Great!” Sir Gulliden called, and the skeleton jumped out from behind the apple tree and loped up ahead of Ivan, Jnii, and Trout, all of whom slowed and watched the bones carefully.
The villagers were obviously watching the whole proceeding from the walls. When the skeleton revealed itself, a great cry of terror rose up, and everyone probably dashed off for the gate mechanisms, but unfortunately for them, Sir Gulliden was already inside, and so were the strangers.
“You may choose!” Gulliden shouted over the other shouting. “This skeletal form is entering the gates. You may choose to stay within, or to return to your homes!”
There was a swarm of people running around the courtyard now. A great number of them actually dared to run past the skeleton, in order to escape the walls of the fortress. Some dared attack Sir Gulliden, who raised his sword and began hacking away, his voice rising into that clear baritone the travelers had heard in the swamp before, now singing a song of battle. Fortunately, Sir Gulliden’s men were faithful to him, and they hacked as well, although they did not join in the song.
“Stay behind me!” Trout shouted to Jnii and Ivan, as the three pressed against a wall and tried to hide behind a stone staircase.
At that moment, Sir Gulliden raised his bloody sword and shouted happily, “Enough, men! Good show! They have been punished! See, they flee to the village! We will make more decrees upon the morn.”
Some bloodied peasants staggered out of the fortress. Some more moaned from where they lay.
“Sojan! Horwerd! Tidy this up!” Sir Gulliden gestured at the ground as he cleaned his sword. “And Ourood! Close the gates!” Long pause. “Someone untie Ourood!”

Mirrathan Black-blood was brought by some very nervous-looking knights to a room in one of the towers, where he had requested he might sleep for the night. Also, before he left, he scrawled something on a piece of parchment, which he gave to one of the knights. The knight who had been so honored ran all the way to Sir Gulliden, who sat in the banquet hall with the rest of the knights and their three guests.
Sir Gulliden had decided that Barley was the sole traitor of his men, and that the rest had had no part in the mutiny, and in celebration of such decree, they all returned to the banquet hall and ordered their finest wines to be brought up from the cellar. Ivan, Jnii, and Trout sat back down at their places of honor, a great deal more disturbed than they had been previously.
Mirrathan’s note, Sir Gulliden announced to the travelers, said this: ‘Look to Dool the Malignant for those things I need. I’d send those three after him.’
Sir Gulliden gave a hearty laugh, declared they were all honored by such attention, and resumed his seat.
“I want to leave,” Jnii whispered to Trout, who sat on her right.
“Cool it,” Trout replied. “Let’s – just – see where this all goes. Could mean reward.”
“I want to leave NOW,” Jnii whispered again, but this time the Trout didn’t bother to reply. He refilled his cup with wine. Jnii turned to Ivan. “Ivan, I want to leave.”
“So do I,” said Ivan.
Jnii looked at him thankfully. “Then let’s go.”
“What does G.T. say?”
“Does it matter?” Jnii sighed. “He says to cool it.”
“We should probably do what he says,” Ivan returned. “After all, these guys might kill us if we don’t do the right thing.”
This seemed to have its effect on Jnii, who sat back in her seat and heaved a sigh.
“Minstrel Beurel!” Sir Gulliden cried, rising up from his seat and holding up his cup.
Trout didn’t react, until Jnii elbowed him, and he looked up. “Huh—wha? Oh. Yes, my lord?” The wine was beginning to have its effect.
“A song, if thou wouldst please!” Sir Gulliden smiled upon his company. “A song of the night’s valiant deeds!”
Trout cracked his knuckles under the table and slowly stood. He motioned to a boy nearby, who handed him a lyre. He strummed a few chords, hummed to himself, and then broke out in song. Or rather, his voice broke. He cleared his throat, strummed again, swayed a little, and began again, this time in a clear falsetto:

“Bloody, bloody, bloody, bloody—“

“Perhaps a dance!” Jnii shrieked, a little louder than she perhaps intended, leaping to her feet and silencing Trout, who sat back down in his seat, rather roughly.
Sir Gulliden smiled at her. “Ah, my lady! Thou wouldst dance for us?”
“I -- wouldst, my lord,” Jnii replied, curtsying and smiling.
Sir Gulliden’s men straightened in their seats a bit. Sir Gulliden, however, simply clapped his hands together.
“Ah, my lady! What bliss, to think that we should all be blessed with your grace and your beauty, fair one. For a maid, pure and untarnished, is—“
Trout guffawed, loudly, and then cried out in pain and doubled over underneath the table. Jnii smiled crookedly at the knight, who had stopped and was regarding them a little suspiciously.
“Go on, good sir,” said Jnii.
“The minstrel Beurel is taken ill?” Gulliden asked, full of concern.
“Beurel is just fine,” Jnii cried hoarsely.
Trout gave a thumb’s up from underneath the table.
Jnii stepped out into the middle of the banquet hall, rather gracefully Ivan had to admit. He would never have expected it, but she did seem like she might have some talent. The musicians started up a rather fast-paced song, and Trout looked up from under the table.
Jnii put her hands on her sides and just stared at the musicians until they one by one stopped playing. The flute player was the first to take the hint. He started the melody of a long, slow song, which the others took to at once.
Jnii spread her arms and started an improvisational dance to the music. She was graceful, Ivan and Trout both had to admit, but her dance didn’t last very long. As she passed one of Gulliden’s men, seated at the end of a banquet table, Jnii let out a loud squeal and pitched forward, holding onto her behind. Some snickering immediately ensued, and Sir Gulliden started to stand, his face contorted with anger, ready to punish his men, when Jnii reached out one hand, took hold of the offending soldier’s arm and, with a scream of pure hostile rage, thrust it back. There was a sickening crack, and the soldier fell to the floor, gasping in pain. Jnii sent her knee into the soldier’s face, sending him flying back into the stone wall. She took a step forward and cracked him one in the face with her balled-up fist.
Jnii stepped back and wiped her mouth on her sleeve.
The banquet hall fell silent. Sir Gulliden still stood at his place, greatly taken aback, staring at the girl, who very calmly walked back to her table and resumed her seat next to Trout.
Slowly, Sir Gulliden started to speak. “Ah… good… sirs. To bed! I fear we are all too weary and grow… yes… um. Ourood! Tend to the ruffian on the floor. Deal with him.”
On that note, Trout fell unconscious.