“Master Bram’s grown awfully bold of late, hasn’t he?”

“Ah, just a chip on his shoulder is all. Lad’s got something to prove now.”

Atop one of LeBaron Manor’s several towers, two idling watchmen conversed over a game of cards. It was easy enough to relax when their Lord never failed to have affairs so well in hand: so much so that one of the watchmen had gone as far to eschew both his helmet and the leather armor issued to protect his torso. Conversely, his partner proved a shade more cautious and wore the entire set.

The armored guard removed a card from his hand and slid it forward onto the table. “Sure he has,” he said. “Even so, not every day that highborn folk march off to go raiding.”

“He’s set to wed soon. No doubt he wants to prove his manhood before the big day.”

A scoff. “Should’ve done that before he secured her hand.”

The less prudent of the pair shrugged. Gripping two cards from his hand, he flipped them and placed them on the table, smirking as he claimed the card his partner had put forth. “You’ll drive yourself mad holding nobles to our standards. Best to let ‘em do as they do.”

“Pff. Course we should,” came the other’s sardonic reply, further soured by his poor performance. He checked his hand to plan his next move, neglecting to check the perimeter.

Unseen by the guards on duty, she of luminous blood strode confidently toward the manor’s gate with her aged ally limping along at her side. Her clenched fists and furrowed brow betrayed her ill intentions. Unrelenting focus carried her forth toward the gate that held her attention, and she increased pace to leave her companion behind.

“Wait outside,” she ordered. Smirking in anticipation, Hethys stopped in her tracks and leaned against her cane to observe the show.

When the young woman arrived, she stood idle for a brief time to savor the moment. She took a deep breath as golden light radiated through the veins of her arms. Thus prepared, she widened her stance, pulled back her fist, and launched it against the gate.

“The hell was that?!” exclaimed the helmeted guard, dropping his cards and stumbling to his feet as a great tremor rocked the tower. He moved to trace the source of the cacophonous boom that had accompanied it and noticed with awe that the gate had been torn open. Though he saw no smoke, he assumed a bomb had gone off and that the girl entering the manor grounds had been the one to set it.

“Some peasant’s blown the gate!” he exclaimed as he rushed to a rope hanging in the center of the chamber. As he pulled it, a loud ringing pierced the air, alerting what guards remained on the grounds to the presence of an intruder. The young woman didn’t bother slowing down, but her violet eyes darted about as the would-be defenders rushed in from various corners of the manor to seek their enemy.

“Just a girl?” she heard one of them say.

“Surely not.”

“What do we do?”

“Stop her, I s’pose.”

Reluctant as they may have been, they recognized her as an intruder, and one who had blown open the gate at that. The first to approach her did so slowly, but sternly, stepping into her path and gripping her by the shoulder.

“What on earth d’you think you’re doing, woman?” he asked.

“Coming to collect,” said the orphan.

The guard had only a moment to contemplate the statement before the orphan gripped his arm and flung him against another guard to her left. She resumed her course, leaving the men standing in bewilderment until one of them summoned the wherewithal to rally them with a cry.

“WITCH!”

Their reluctance was quick to fade then, for there was no sympathy to be spared for a witch. The accusation was repeated throughout their scant ranks, and all at once, they converged upon the young woman with their swords held high.

She paid no mind to the first to strike her, certain that her flesh would deflect the blade. The second was equally unsuccessful, as were the third and the fourth. One after another, and sometimes in unison, the guards attacked the girl. But none could do her any harm, and knowing that, she walked undaunted.

The great oak doors of the manor proper met the same fate as the gate, smashed open by a single blow from the Ikoras’ heaven-touched fist. Focusing even as the guards continued their fruitless assault, she attuned her mind to seek the thoughts of others present in the building. She found her target in short order and pursued it, passing well-preserved armors and other lavish adornments as she went.

Only occasionally did she spare a glance this way or that to take in one of the sights. Each treasure she witnessed only deepened her fury. By the time she reached the door to the chamber where the Lord awaited, her features had twisted into a scowl so caustic it could well have set the doors ablaze.

But the orphan chose a different course. Turning her attention to the guards for but a moment, she thrashed about to shake off those who sought to restrain her and knock back those attempting to strike. She then gripped the door handles, pulled the chamber open, and stepped inside.

She calmly closed the doors behind her and slipped a finger down a section of the crevice where they met. It swiftly filled with a writhing mass of sturdy roots that spilled out into both the chamber and the hallway on the other side. Confident that it would take any interlopers quite some time to even begin to pry the doors open again, she turned to face the pair who sat at table in the room.

She recognized neither by sight, but could guess by their bearing, their garb, and the nature of their thoughts who they were.

One, a portly man of graying beard and wrinkled face, immediately rose from his overlarge, burnished chair in defiance of the orphan’s intrusion. Adorned in fine silken garments and an excess of gold and jewels, he jingled with his every motion. The Lord LeBaron, revealed to her at last.

The other, a dainty young lady who by her delicate features had clearly never seen an ounce of toil, kept her seat as she covered her lips in shock. But for her youth, it might have been easy to mistake her for the great Lord’s wife; however, as she fearfully gripped the collar of her lengthy blue gown, her thoughts traveled to the lover that was not present to protect her. The young Master Bram’s betrothed, it would seem. Just as sickening a beauty as he.

Between the two lay a well-appointed feast of glistening meats and fruits. No doubt the bulk of it would go mostly to the dogs and swine; surely the two of them alone could never finish it. The orphan decided to show her neighborly side and lend the pair a hand.

Straightening up, she stepped further into the dining chamber. The nearer to them she grew, the more the sound of her bare feet slapping against the cold stone floors overtook the din of the guards struggling outside. She pulled out an empty seat for herself and snatched a handful of sliced lamb from the nearest plate. Most of it was in her mouth in the next instant. That, it seemed was the final straw.

“What in blazes do you think you’re doing?!” exclaimed Lord LeBaron, slamming a fist against the table. The orphan ignored him for the moment and focused on her meal.

“You hear me, you urchin? How did you get in here? Where are the guards?”

She swallowed and gestured behind her. “Can you not hear them?”

Indeed he could, but he could not fathom their failure to prevent this infuriating interruption. He moved to take matters into his own hands, but as he rounded the long table to advance on the orphan, she cut her violet eyes at him. Every muscle in his body suddenly went tense. His tightened throat struggled to draw breath, but by her will, it could not.

“You will sit down,” ordered the orphan, and unable to control himself, Lord LeBaron mechanically moved away from her and sat back in his mealtime throne. Only then did she release him. Immediately, he gasped for air and slumped forward onto the table. His son’s betrothed had taken to quivering at the sight of the display. She opened her mouth to speak, but terror stopped her voice in her throat.

Sensing this, the Ikoras leveled her harsh gaze at the lady. “Wise of you,” she said. “I’ll not need to hear a word from those precious lips.”

Her dark and spiteful stare shifted focus back to the panting man. “The Lord and I have an important matter to discuss.”