Leverage
With a captured town and castle, they had metal and smiths; with metal and smiths came more cannon.
“What town do we take next, Lord Rigel? We have two cut off”, Leftenant Aodh reminded his lord.
Rigel had been thinking about the potential slaughter in taking a town. “Not a town”, he replied. “The Rangers have told me something interesting.” He sipped his cup of extra-strong tea, and grinned a thin, near-deadly grin. “Lord de Cadiz leaves his castle for a time, comes back for a week, then takes off again.” He emptied the cup, tossed it in the air, caught it again. “He’s leaving in three days. We’re going to take his castle while he’s gone. When he comes back – we wave at him from the walls of his own castle.”
“Why’s that better than a whole town?” Austin asked. Osvaldo was laughing; Rigel nodded to him to answer.
“De Cadiz is the most powerful lord in this part of Refuge”, Osvaldo said. “He has vassals, he has allies. If we hold his castle, we can pressure him, and he can pressure them.”
“If he wants it back, he stands for Osvaldo, and so do his vassals”, Rigel explained. “And any allies he can lean on hard enough. Should bring a dozen lords over from the other side.”
“Here”, Osvaldo added, “he has to make peace. He’s been leaving his castle to raid others – that will end.” He laughed. “Lord Rigel, to thus torment de Cadiz would be a great delight even if it were not...strategically sound. So, how many men do we take?
“All the rifles, all four cannon, and four hundred more.”
Leftenant Aodh protested. “The camp will be almost undefended!”
“So you defend mean and nasty if anyone hostile shows up”, Rigel instructed. “You’ve been overboard on things before, but if the camp does get attacked, nothing is overboard – you defend it however it works. Remember it’s not just fighting men any longer, it’s families, too. So you do whatever it takes.”
Aodh nodded, feeling chastised and sober. “They’ll be safe”, he assured his commander. “Just leave me six rifles, and let me choose the men.”
“Done”, Rigel replied.
“I expect no attack”, Osvaldo commented. “Few lords brave the road for any reason once it snows. De Cadiz recognizes no such limitation – that is why he is dangerous; he accepts no limitations.”
“He wouldn’t be such a problem if other lords were as bold”, Rigel observed. “Now: it’s three and a half days to reach de Cadiz’ castle. We don’t want to risk arriving too soon, so we’ll take a full day to get ready. So we leave in two mornings, early. We make a good day’s travel, but we make more sure we get a good night’s sleep – that means tents and all. We turn it into a four-day trip, and arrive rested.
“We move in during darkness. When we get close, we carry the cannon in slings and muffle everything else. When dawn comes, they look out and see us. Chen, you get the dubious honor of delivering the surrender demand.”
“Osvaldo, a question: is it forbidden to destroy significant historical structures?”
The Prince Heir sucked in breath. “The needle towers?! Lord Rigel, the are the second oldest towers in Refuge!”
“Ouch”, Rigel said. He thought a moment. “What if I could rebuild them?”
Oh, come on – how could we rebuild them?!” Austin demanded.
“Not ‘we’, squire – me. I’ll figure it out somehow.” He had a faraway, speculative look.
Three hundred and twenty men lay hidden in snow and stubble, dressed as Pablo and Pato and Jos had been in a different place, in what to Rigel seemed a lifetime ago. Four cannon lay hidden, waiting only to be raised onto their platforms. And somewhere nearby eighty Rangers were making ready for a quick assault on the walls, somewhere far around the castle from the needle towers. Rigel gripped the Sword of Escobar, studying the target intently, as he’d done several times already through the night and dawn, from different angles.
Rose flooded the eastern sky. Sir Patrick whispered a command, and the cannon teams began slowly, quietly hoisting their guns onto the carriages. His was the task of brining down a tower if the castle didn’t surrender. It wasn’t a task he was thrilled about; his preference for fighting was against people, not buildings. Of course his preference in general was to stay with Lumina, but she was safe with a half-dozen riflemen, while he understood the cannon, and someone had to command here.
A bell pealed in the castle. Oran shared a grin with Austin; they both found it funny to use the enemy’s bell as the signal to begin. If someone had snuck to the castle and told them to skip ringing the bell this morning, would Rigel’s army have just sat there? Not likely, but it was fun to think about. His grin didn’t prevent him from counting, though; his Scout talent for distance and time didn’t require moving.
He reached six hundred, one second per count. “Ten minutes”, he said, and stood, signaling fifty men to do the same. The sight of his fifty rising was the signal for others; within seconds, two hundred armed men were standing in plain view of the castle walls. They just stood there, out of arrow range, relaxed and waiting.
“I see him”, Oran commented to Austin quietly. He didn’t point, because they weren’t to do anything but stand there and be seen; instead he nodded his head in the direction he’d noticed Chen. Austin searched, and searched, determined that whatever Scout gifts Oran had, he could match through sheer persistence. But he didn’t find Scout One until Chen’s arrow flew, up and onto the wall.
“At least they didn’t shoot at Chen”, Tanner observed, “But they were sort of rude about us asking them to surrender.”
“I wasn’t asking–“ ”They never would–“ Rigel and Osvaldo spoke at the same time, stopped at the same time, and looked at each other. Rigel bowed to the Prince Heir.
“They would never harm a herald”, Osvaldo informed Tanner. “Everyone wants their heralds safe, so they leave everyone’s safe.” Now, with a grin, Osvaldo bowed to his ally.
“I wasn’t asking, Tanner”, Rigel stated, “I was telling them what they have to do. It’s only a matter of how big a lesson they need.” He looked toward the castle, shook his head, took a deep breath. “Rifleman Dalen, one round, please.”
“Cannon one, fire at your target”, Sir Patrick ordered quietly. One rifle shot meant a lesser target, meant to demonstrate they could destroy anything they wanted. Man-made thunder rolled.
Rigel winced: the first shot didn’t clear the wall; it slammed into the ancient battlements, shattering elegant stonework, marring the stately march of crenellation. Fragments of stone flew; two men – on the wall staring at the lines of men just standing in the fields – fell.
“First blood”, Oran observed. “One of those guys is a goner.”
“That should get their attention”, Tanner remarked drily. “God is good.”
Rigel frowned at him but didn’t respond. “Dalen, one round.” Repeating the signal to open fire served to order its cessation.
Patrick heard the shot, and automatically called, “Hold fire!”
The gunner looked at him apologetically. The torch had already been on its way to the touch hole, too late to call back. As their eyes met, the cannon’s charge went off.
“Hey!” Rigel exclaimed in anger. “What does–“
Tanner cut him off with a wave. “Lord, it takes up to two seconds from touch to launch. That one was already on the way. Only God could have stopped it.”
“Oh – right. Thanks. And hey – what do you mean ‘God is good’? That one armsman got killed!”
Tanner pointed to the wall; the second cannon ball had slammed in right below the first, toppling broken battlement. Stone fell, chips flew, but no one was injured this time. Men scrambled from the gap. “He is very good. Two rounds, so close together, one deadly, the other saying we could have done it again. Our gunners couldn’t always do so well, and they know it – but the people in charge while de Cadiz is gone don’t. In two shots, and one death, they see how deadly our weapons can be. We don’t risk shots falling all over, killing more, while the gunners get their aim. We don’t damage anything but the top of the wall, to make your first point: you can be hurt.”
Rigel blinked. His first assumption of what Tanner meant had been wrong, totally wrong. His Captain was right: the sheer luck of those two cannon balls landing in just that way was a gift – and maybe even from God, he was willing to concede. He looked again toward the castle, ready to command Dalen to give another signal, but Chen was ahead of him: his first Scout had boldly walked within hailing distance of the walls and called out.
Maybe he was getting a handle on his need to know what was going on; the seething frustration the wait, while he couldn’t even hear what Chen was saying, brought annoyance, not the roiling, irritable frustration he was accustomed to. Instead of gritting his teeth and cursing inside while a man on the wall acknowledged Chen’s message, then trotted off, he speculated on what Chen might have said, composing what he would have said in Chen’s place, and guessing where that man had gone.
Osvaldo gave a sigh of relief. Then he gave Rigel the explanation he hadn’t asked for, but wanted. “The man left, but not running. It means he’s getting someone with authority to talk.”
Once again, Rigel found himself intrigued at the way others could read events – though being a stranger to the culture was likely a big reason. “What would running have meant?”
“That they don’t trust whatever Chen said. If the man had just walked away, it could mean they aren’t really interested in what Chen said, or that th person of higher authority is closer by. But trotting off always means they’re going to talk.”
Rigel regarded his young ally curiously. “You’ve seen this enough to know?”
Osvaldo chuckled. “No, but I’ve read all our histories of battles.”
“So at this point do we run up your banner and they do the honorable thing and surrender?” Rigel asked with a smile.
“Ha!” Osvaldo scooped in the snow and brought up a handful of dirt. “As likely as if I blow warm breath across this clod, spring will come.” He looked at his handful, took a deep breath, and blew strongly and steadily. Nearly all the snow blew away, a third of what remained melted. Rigel leaned over and peered at it, feeling a kinship similar to that with Ryan: the thoughts of two running together, and those two knowing it. They raised their eyes at the same time, shook their heads sadly, and laughed. Osvaldo tossed the lump of dirt back where it had come from, then caught Rigel’s eyes again. Rigel was suddenly sure that except for with Miguel, such moments were rare in the Prince Heir’s life.
“Tio Rigel”, Osvaldo whispered. Rigel grinned and clapped him on the shoulder.
“As you wish”, he responded, wondering, since Rita wasn’t there, if anyone would get the reference.
The man who came to talk with Chen was unhappy; that was evident even without Rigel’s telescope. From unhappy he proceeded to angry, from angry to hostile. The man drew his sword and yelled something. His order, or whatever else his statement might have been, was never completed, for suddenly he had no mouth. The sword fell, hands grabbing feebly at where there’d been a lower jaw moments before. Rigel watched the blade bounce, then spin off the edge that had been protected by crenellation just a few minutes before. The men on the wall were busy keeping the officer’s body from following his weapon; the distraction made it possible for Chen to dart close, catch the blade, and dash away before anyone thought to attempt stopping him. He kept running till he reached Rigel.
“He was ordering them to kill me”, Chen reported. “Nice of someone to interrupt him.”
“Corporal Cruz”, Tanner informed them. “He’s a hell of a sniper. Sorry, Prince Heir, but I wasn’t going to trust Chen’s life to someone’s honor.”
“I suppose they won’t be talking about surrender?” Rigel inquired.
Chen grimaced and shook his head. “Not if that guy’s a measure. He had some... nasty things to say about me – and all of us.”
Rigel nodded; it was about what he’d expected. “Rifleman Dalen – two rounds, please.”
Sir Patrick had been expecting the command, so the cannon were already lined up as best the crews could manage. When the sound of Dalen’s second shot faded, he tapped the first gunner on the shoulder. Torch fell to touch-hole, flame and smoke belched, leaving thunder in their wake. The moment that shot was away, the next fired, then the next, then the next, four solid spheres into the air, their paths climbing upward yet bending ever more downward under the gentle but irresistible tug of gravity.
The first ball struck as the last was taking fire. It met a wall right next to the base of one of the twin spires. The smaller stones there fared no better than had their larger comrades on the battlement. The second ball struck higher, farther right, but on the same wall, punching its own hole to complement the first. But the wall hadn’t been intended to withstand such impacts; a crack connected the two holes, and the wall sagged inward. The sagging was increasing when the third cannon’s ball struck home a full two meters higher and one higher, a solid hit on the old tower: the ball bounced, but left a precarious dent behind. Then the fourth shot struck the bottom of the punctured, sagging wall: first the wall, then the roof gave way.
A moment later, Rigel and Osvaldo shared a moment of quiet triumph: none of their men had cheered. There’d been fists clutched, bobbing in front of chests to express satisfaction, but no sound at all. It had been Rigel’s idea to begin with, supported for various reasons: to Lumina, it was refraining from delighting in someone else’s downfall; to Tanner, it was an exercise in discipline; to Rita, it was a subtle way of letting the enemy know you took such things for granted; for Ranger Captain Martin, it was a way to unnerve your enemies; to Osvaldo, and around again to Rigel as well, it was all of those.
The two commanders bumped fists in their own quiet celebration. The field of battle was as quiet, Sir Patrick’s cannon being efficiently cleaned and reloaded, activities within the castle quiet enough the attackers couldn’t hear them.
That didn’t last long. On the tower closest to the cannon, a wooden frame swung up, men tugging and heaving. Rigel handed the telescope to Osvaldo and took up his rifle, now with its own crude scope with a magnification that effectively cut distance in half.
"Scorpion", Osvaldo pronounced. Noting Rigel's lack of recognition, he explained. "Like a giant crossbow. Its arrows are like short spears."
"Can it hit the gunners?" asked Tanner and Rigel together.
"It has the range", Osvaldo replied.
Rigel's answer was to finish lining his sights on a man standing and holding a line of some sort. He took a deep breath, let it out slowly, stopped before his lung would have started feeling empty, held it while squeezing the trigger.... The man dropped the line and grabbed his midsection.
"Gut shot", Osvaldo reported. "Yuck -- and head shot. Your rifles are messy weapons, friend Rigel."
"Head shot -- Corporl Cruz", Tanner judged.
"Swords dump people's guts on the ground, and you call rifles messy?" Rigel responded to Osvaldo.
"Swords don't splatter the guts on someone behind", Osvaldo retorted.
"Yeah, whatever", Rigel replied absently. He'd cycled the bolt and sat waiting; sure enough, someone stepped in to take the fallen man's place. "And... now", he whispered, squeezing the trigger.
"In the chest", Osvaldo reported, confirming Rigel's guess and intent. "And someone else just fell, too."
There was no time to discuss that: the cannon began their roars again. Four great booms, three seconds between, hammered at the ears of everyone within a half kilometer. The first, third, and fourth balls slammed home into the tower; the second plowed into the south wall of the building ruined by the previous round of fire, creasing it lengthwise. The wall folded and toppled inward. Two more dents and a hole occurred in the tower, and Rigel held his breath: he really didn't want it to fall. But he was busy; another head and shoulders appeared by the scorpion -- squeeze, and off went a round. He thought he'd hit a shoulder, but he wasn't sure. He heard Cruz firing, too, then a faint scream from that tower.
A white... sheet? fluttered up from a crenellated terrace near the tower. Rigel didn't bother to pass the command to Dalen; he fired two rounds himself . "Chen -- you're on", the Earl said. "I hope they're going to be smart."
Chen stood and talked and argued for over four minutes. Rigel had a dozen riflemen in plain view move closer and take aim at the figures visible on the walls. He wanted no repeat of the attempt to harm his herald, however honorless an act Osvaldo said that had been: where one man had such a lack of honor, he had no confidence others wouldn't follow.
Finally Chen came jogging back. Rigel poured water cut with wine, handing it to the Scout when he arrived.
"Thanks", Chen responded, downing the drink in two gulps. "Gets thirsty wondering if someone's going to order you dead." He grinned. "I figured you had sharpshooters out, though -- Sir Tiago kept glancing out here and swallowing." He looked at the drained mug. "Another? More wine, this time?" Dalen obliged him.
"Okay", Chen said after a satisfied swallow. "They're pissed as hell you whacked the tower -- not very sporting, I guess. Sir Tiago was a tad bit put out when I said you wouldn't agree to stop shooting them with your 'abominable weapon'. Anyway, we hashed around a bit, and it comes to this: he'll come out to talk, and they'll give up trying to get their toy into action, if you'll stop trying to break the tower. He picked a spot -- that sort of lump over there with the fallen tree. Says he'll bring two, you can bring two -- but keep your riflemen back."
Rigel looked at the "lump", a sort of small irregular hill with a few trees on one side. "That's extreme arrow range from the left tower", he noted. "Okay, Dalen, you'll pull the rifles back to extreme rifle range. Chen, take a half dozen and sweep those trees, just in case, then send them to the other side -- I want them to set up to cover that tower but not our little hill. Tanner--"
"Runners to the other positions, then stand fast", his captain stated.
Rigel grinned. "Spot on", he responded, drawing a chuckle from Chen. "Okay, Chen, Tanner -- go. Dalen, you pull back when I start moving. Meanwhile -- signal for Rita to join us"
Osvaldo lowered the telescope. "That's Marcos de Cadiz, the second son", he told Rigel. "He's three weeks older than I am, so he's just of age to be a caballero. He's got a strict sense of honor. He's smart. He'll listen, but don't push him. That's about all I know."
Rigel nodded. "It's more than he'll know about me -- thanks." He glanced at Rita, then Chen. "Okay, let's do this."
The young de Cadiz was plainly angry. He didn't wait for introductions. "You dare destroy treasures that have stood for lifetimes! Barbarian!"
Rigel decided to ignore the outburst. "This is First Scout Chen, who has been serving as my herald. And this, my advisor, Wise Woman Rita. And your companions are....?"
The formality took the edge from the young caballero's anger. "Martin, my father's castellan. Eduardo, my tutor and advisor. Have you an answer for me?"
"I do. Will you listen?" Rigel asked politely.
Marcos de Cadiz answered coldly. "I will."
"Thank you." Rigel reviewed the slightly altered version of the truth he'd chosen. "Osvaldo Escobar is my ally. I mean to see him have his rightful place as Heir, and as Lord. Your father stands in his way. I learned that your father would be away for some time, and decided to seize his castle.
"I have allies in this: some of the men you see outside are renegades, men of forest and field who answer to no lord. For reasons of their own, they support Osvaldo as well. Many of them don't like your father, and would like to help themselves to some of his wealth." De Cadiz glared, but Rigel pressed on.
"I don't want to see your family's home plundered -- that's not my intent. So I asked how I could get whoever commanded to surrender quickly. I hoped that threatening the towers would work. If it doesn't, the renegades intend to do as they please once inside."
De Cadiz was clenching and unclenching his fists. "And if I surrender?"
"They want some women to volunteer to, ah, entertain them, and at least a gold piece each as 'plunder'. They agreed to trust me to see your wealth and take a fair amount." Rigel didn't really like using the fiction as a prod, but it had been the Ranger Captain's idea, and it did give an edge to his position.
"You choose disreputable allies."
"They planned to attack anyway. They actually have siege engines. I allied with them because I want the castle, but also because I can keep them from... behaving barbarously."
"You think such rabble could have breached our walls?! I have... enough defenders to drive away their hundred easily!"
Rigel chuckled. "They weren't coming with a hundred. There are more of them than that here now. They have six hundred they meant to attack with."
The number jolted de Cadiz, as it should have. That many, with siege engines, would have stood a good chance of gaining entry in a week to ten days. If they'd really been the ruffians the young noble believed, the result would have been horrific. "I... see. How then did you cow them, to do your will?"
"I didn't", RIgel replied. "I made them a deal: they do it my way, and a lot fewer of them die."
"But you destroy a priceless tower!"
"Um, actually..." Rigel looked over at the damaged tower, which looked in serious danger of collapse. "I planned to put it back the way it was. Every stone. Which I could do for that one -- but it would be easier if it doesn't collapse."
De Cadiz stared at him. "Such a lie! No man could restore the stones to their original places!"
Rigel smiled slightly and shook his head. "No man could, but it's not a lie. I spent most of a day studying the towers while holding the Sword of Escobar. It holds memories, and now it holds the memories of all those stones. If the tower collapses, I'll be able to look at each stone and remember where it goes. I'd rather do it before -- but I'll do what it takes to get you to surrender."
Marcos de Cadiz frowned. "Why tell me this now? If you mean to restore the tower if you topple it, what value has the threat of toppling?"
Rigel's reply was simple: "Stones break." He let the young man think it through. "Enough broken stones, and the damage can't be hidden. Then you'd have to answer to your father for letting it be worse than it had to be."
"On top of losing his castle, what difference would that make?!" asked de Cadiz scornfully.
"Quite a bit, actually. See, I plan to give it back." Rigel found delivering that line fun; the look on Marcos de Cadiz' face was priceless. "I only want it long enough to convince your father to stand for Osvaldo."
There came a crashing sound from the castle. Everyone turned, and saw that a section of the damaged tower, about the size of a barn door, had given way. There was a sound....
"Someone's trapped", Chen judged. "Something broken, but no chest damage, or he wouldn't be able to scream that well." De Cadiz turned to stare at the Scout.
"His hearing is that good", Rigel told the confused young noble. "Now, if you surrender, my men will get in there and help rescue him and stop the tower from collapsing more. I'll inspect the place, and decide if Captain Martin's renegades get more than that gold apiece. Then we'll wait for your father."
"Or you'll go back to shooting the towers", de Cadiz responded bitterly.
Rigel shrugged; Rita spoke. "Unless you want to suggest another target", she said. The cold proposal, coming from a woman, a Lady, hit de Cadiz in the gut: he could save the towers and not surrender, if he picked something else for them to demolish! His shoulders sagged.
"I surrender", he whispered.
He was in for a greater shock when they reached the castle: most of his men had gone to one side of the castle, to watch the talks -- not that watching told them anything. With hardly anyone on the battlements on the far side, the Rangers had gone up the walls, silenced the men they encountered, then brought up a full hundred men to reinforce the eighty who'd done the work. As Rigel made a show of chewing out the Ranger Captain, Marcos slumped in dejection: the man his father had left commanding the walls was dead, and now he'd lost the castle no enemy had entered before.
"You'll live", a friendly voice told him. "I don't know if you want to right now, but you'll live."
Marcos turned and saw a young man about his age, dressed oddly. The appearance brought a frown.
"I'm a Scout. I dress to be hard to see, out there in the grass and trees. Looks funny here, doesn't it?"
Marcos had to agree; it looked like a patch of dirt with sticks and leaves had walked into the castle. He said so.
"That's what it's supposed to look like", the Scout informed him. "It's one of the reasons Rigel took your castle -- we were out there watching, and figuring out how many men you had and everything. Not that he really needed that, but the Ra-" -- he caught himself -- "renegade Captain used it. Lord Rigel could have just punched a hole in the wall and we could have come in shooting."
"Rifles -- terrible weapons", Marcos asserted.
"Yeah, well, your ancestors had them. Not as good as ours, but they did. We'll all need them, one day. Anyway, don't worry -- Lord Rigel will get that tower back the way it was, your dad will have to agree to stand for Osvaldo, and then you'll have a Lord Escobar again." Marcos didn't look enthusiastic.
"Oran! I'm ready for the tour", Rigel called.
Oran squeezed Marcos' shoulder. "Lord Rigel's really a good, good guy", he assured him. "He just fought how he thought would cost the fewest lives and hurt the least property. So... ready to give us the tour of the place?"
Wealth was evident throughout the castle, which effectively held a village within its walls -- not a small village, either. Oran stuck with Marcos de Cadiz; Austin kept to Rigel's other side, accompanied by an apparent FitzWin rifleman: Osvaldo in disguise.
Marcos shrank in on himself when he opened the coin room, revealing the liquid family wealth. He revived just a bit when Rigel told Oran, Rita and the others to stay outside, going in alone of his people. "I think the renegades can each have their gold, and a silver blanco, I'd say. I'll give just two silver blancos to each of my men." Marocos looked relieved; Rigel grinned. "They don't need to know you could afford twice that, easily. And I'm not interested in plunder -- just your father's support for Osvaldo."
There was both basement and sub-basement to the place. The contents of the basement, as with everything else in the castle, spoke to Rigel of a family that was well-managed and organized, that planned ahead, and had done so for a long time. But the sub-basement was a dark place, with spider webs in the corners and crawling things skittering along the walls. Rigel considered skipping it.
"He's too eager to go somewhere else", Rita said quietly into Rigel's ear. "I think there's something down there he doesn't want you to see." Rigel looked to Chen and raised an eyebrow. "Down", Chen mouthed.
"Well, I really ought to see the whole thing", Rigel declared, and led off down the steps. Oran saw the near-panic in Marcos' eyes, and wondered at it. His question was answered soon enough: down the hall and to the right, they came to a door on which was emblazoned a coat of arms utterly unlike that of the family in whose castle it hung.
"De Medina", Rita read, her voice full of incredulity. "De Medina?! Rigel, you know where Medina is, yes?"
"Saudi Arabia", he replied. "Isn't it like a second holy city to the Moslems?"
"With Mohammed's tomb", she agreed, nodding. "So what's a Spanish family doing calling itself 'de Medina'? I don't recall any Medina in Spain!"
Marcos de Cadiz stood trembling. "Please", he begged, "do not reveal this!"
"Reveal that you enshrine the remnants of the de Medina? Why should that be a secret?" Osvaldo asked.
Marcos didn't recognize the Prince Heir. "The Escobar Heir proscribed them! To harbor them is a crime!"
Rita made a guess. "It isn't just remnants, is it?" she asked. "You actually shelter the de Medina House, don't you? If we open that door, we'll find them, won't we?"
Marcos collapsed on the floor. "I have betrayed the trust!" he wailed in a whisper. That brought Rita to an informed guess.
"Marcos, this is why your House opposes the Escobars, isn't it? One Heir, back when, wanted the de Medina eliminated. Your House protected them, and still protects them. And you fear that a real Escobar Heir will have you destroyed with them if he finds out."
Marcos nodded weakly. "Now my honor is in your hands. Lord Rigel, do you wish to enter?"
Rigel considered this development, and decided that knowing was better than ignorance. "Yes."
I'm out of class now so I'll be up-to-date quick.
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](/images/smilies/bang.gif "Brick wall ](*,)")
