Mallory's Ride

Mallory sat upon his charger, slumped, head lowered. He let the Camellian mount pick its own pace and route. Out upon his flanks, somewhere beyond sight, were his cats. Large beasts, the size of small horses themselves, they were formidable for war but were suited well to scouting. Neither his mount nor his cats needed to Send, (that peculiar ability the Camellian's possessed for mental speech over long distances) to know the disposition of their sovereign master. Mallory had been sullen and withdrawn since the troubles had started with the Golden Circle. Since his name had begun to be slandered, since he had become known as the Tyrant. And since Camellian had begun to feel the consequences of the political and economic pressures that had been aligned against him.

As his war mount crossed the rolling grasslands west of Kolvir, Mallory sat lost in his own thoughts. Only somewhere in the background of his awareness did he note the passing landscape and the occasional sighting of his magnificent cats upon the a grassy knoll. His thoughts were consumed by his meeting the previous evening with his uncle Julian, and the disturbing tale which he had pulled from him. Wishing to find some peaceful resolution to the war between Julian, his men, and the Witches of Arden, Mallory had traveled to Julian's camp to speak with him. The violence in Arden had begun when a Sea Witch had come to speak with Julian about a vision which had been visited upon her. Her body was found the next day. She had been brutalized, sodamized, and murdered. And Julian had appeared as the most likely suspect. But nothing had come of this suspicion, and Julian was not talking. And the violence had erupted between the witches and Julian's forces. And it appeared that the death of a sister witch from Rebma was the focus and reason for the witches retribution.

And now the Arden withes wanted to speak with Mallory. Had requested him specifically by name. He could only reason that his position as the favored nephew of Llewella made him one of the only 'men' that the witches would deem worthy of speaking to. Plus he was also a General of Amber, a position of authority. Perhaps they wished him to be the mediator in this dispute because he might also be in a position to enforce any agreements.

Mallory had decided it was time to speak with Julian. He was now in a position to pry Julian's lips open on the whole matter. The witches had opened up a dialogue with Mallory and now he might represent the only chance Julian had for ending this costly battle before the price tag increased to epic proportions. So he had pressed his advantage with Julian, but the story he got was not what he had expected.

It seems Julian had known about the Arden Witches for a long time. They had co-existed in Arden under an agreement which marked clear areas that were controlled by either side. Any unauthorized trespassing was a death sentence. Julian had mistook the Sea Witch for one of the Arden Witches, and had meted out his own sick form of justice. He didn't describe in detail what happened to his own men which were caught by the witches, but he implied that it was no better.

Just once, in this world of gray, Mallory wished he could find some black and white. He had been angered at his uncle for what had happened to the Sea Witch. Which he made perfectly clear in the tournament when he disqualified himself by kicking his uncle in the groin. But now he was sickened by him. Sickened by this dark twisted and sick fuck that shared his blood. Had both the witches and Julian been perpetrating evil for centuries? Had the witches just used Julian's act as an excuse to break their agreement with him? Mallory was happier when he thought that Julian was the only bad guy here. Now he didn't know what to think, or what to expect when he would meet with the Arden Witches. Black and white, black and white, Mallory just wanted it all to be black and white. But instead he had a mess of muddled grays. He would go and hear what the witches had to say. He would press them for their side of this age old hatred that existed between them and Julian.

And what if he found them as sick and wanting as he found his uncle? What then? What if this ancient wood was just a big festering wound of hatred and unspeakable crimes? Black and white. Black and white. Mallory felt himself closing off, hardening up. The bitterness of all his pressure was upon him. He loathed the idiotic entanglements that surrounded him. The beauracracy, the bullshit, the posturing, the backstabbing, the vileness, the ruthlessness. Not for the first time Mallory felt like he understood a little more why his father had ended up the way he did.

Black and white. Black and white. If he could find no black and white he thought, he would make it himself. If the witches and Julian insisted on acting like spoiled children then he would treat them as such. If they could not play nice in the sandbox, then they did not deserve it. They shall end this hatred, end the violence, end the killings, or I will burn down this fucking forest and they can take their personal ware and shove it up their ass in some other shadow! filler filler filler filler filler filler filler filler filler filler filler filler filler filler filler filler filler filler filler filler filler filler filler filler filler filler filler filler filler filler filler filler filler filler filler filler filler filler filler filler filler filler filler