CHAPTER 840: A BURNED RUIN (PART ONE)

In Hurel Village, rain danced on cobblestone streets in the early morning light, filling the air with a continuous -tat-tat-tat-tat- sound that some found soothing and Owain Lothian found to be incredibly irritating, especially when he was out in the cold, wet rain at such an unreasonable hour of the morning.

Located a day’s ride south and east of Lothian City, Hurel Village was one of the oldest in Lothian March and it should have been renamed Hurel Town long ago when it became home to more than ten thousand people living either within the village walls or on the surrounding farms, but doing so would have required promoting the knight who presided over the village to a baron and the Lothian March had reached its limits on barons long ago.

As a form of compensation for the Marquis’ inability to bestow lands befitting a baron on the family who guarded the sprawling village, the Pyres had been given near-permanent positions as guards of the Lothian family. Sir Tommin Pyre’s father had once served as Bors Lothian’s personal guard until the day he fell in battle during the final year of the War of Inches, leaving behind a young son who was very close in age to Owain Lothian.

There had been a time when Owain thought of Tommin as one of his best friends, even if he was a bit boring. More accurately, Tommin felt that it was part of his duty to help keep Owain out of trouble, and he’d always been at least a little bit at odds with Sir Kaefin when the older knight took Owain out to indulge in his vices.

But Owain and Tommin had trained together, in the sword, in riding, and all other manners of fighting, from the time they were old enough to swing a wooden sword at a straw dummy. Kaefin might have been the brother that Owain wandered into bars and brothels with, but Tommin was the one he would charge into battle beside. Together, they’d been unstoppable against the demons, and though he hated to admit it, Owain had fought better knowing that he had a reliable knight like Sir Tommin protecting his flank.

Only now, Tommin had abandoned him, claiming that he’d experienced a holy revelation and an awakening of his true calling to serve the Holy Lord of Light as a Templar. And because he’d managed to illuminate a Holy Light Blade, no one could claim he’d been motivated by anything else, even though he’d abandoned Owain within just a few days of the witch, Ashlynn Blackwell’s death.

"You shouldn’t have left me, traitor," Owain muttered under his breath as he walked along the cobblestone road leading up to the place where a grand manor had once stood. "Now look what’s happened because you ran away over a dead witch," he said bitterly as he approached the manor’s gates.

"Lord Owain," an aged, tired voice called from the gatehouse next to the large, wrought-iron gates that protected the manor. The voice belonged to Philder, a stoop-shouldered, balding man who had been the head butler of the Pyre family even in the days of Tommin’s father. Now, however, who was to say what would become of the old man?

"Philder," Owain said in an appropriately solemn tone. "I’m sorry I didn’t arrive sooner. I came as quickly as I could," he said smoothly, acting more like he was meeting an old friend than the lackey of his treasonous guard.

In truth, he wouldn’t have come at all if his father hadn’t ordered him to. He was already furious that the manor had burned down, presumably with Sir Tommin’s wife and child inside. Of all the misfortunes to suffer, after he had gone through to have the bitch and her brat poisoned, they died in a fire before Tommin could even learn that they were sick!

But as soon as word of the tragic fire reached Lothian City, Bors commanded Owain to go and take a look for himself, presumably to be certain that it wasn’t another strangely bold demon raid or some other form of foul play.

Privately, Owain wondered if his father had taken an improper interest in Jocelynn and was sending him away to make some kind of move of his own... The old man certainly seemed to be spending an inordinate amount of time with her lately. Jocelynn assured him that nothing inappropriate was happening and that she was caring for his father in an attempt to convince him to listen to Owain’s plans for responding to the demon attacks.

Owain, however, felt that his father had a much simpler motivation for having a woman as beautiful as Jocelynn tending to him as he struggled against the apparent ’illness’ that ravaged his body, and he wished that he’d been able to keep her at his side on this trip instead of leaving her behind with his manipulative father.

But at the moment, it was important that Owain did as little as possible to draw attention to himself while the poison affecting his father’s body and mind did its work, and there were advantages to being away while his father’s sanity crumbled. After all, if he was constantly seen as the dutiful son, following his father’s orders and riding across the realm, no one would think he’d had an opportunity to harm the aging Marquis, and so he obediently took a carriage and rode an entire day to reach the village where Sir Tommin’s family had died in fire.

"We’re all honored that you came at all," the old butler said with a deep bow as he opened the iron gates. "I gathered up the staff by the stables," he added helpfully. "Most everyone made it out alive and unhurt."

"How many is ’most everyone’, Philder?" Owain asked sharply as he eyed the burned-out husk of the manor.

Fires were rare in the dreary, damp winter months, but even on a cold and rainy day, once the flames spread far enough, even if the Holy Lord of Light himself sent a flood, the house would still burn. It was just a question of how much the flames would spread before the wind and rain eventually snuffed them out.

In this case, it didn’t look like the flames had spread too far, but the entire east wing of the century old manor had been reduced to blackened beams and the charred husks of furniture while the central hall had collapsed when the massive beams supporting it gave way.

"Twelve of fifteen of the house staff serving that night are gathered here, your lordship," the old man said as he followed behind Owain while the Lothian heir approached the wreckage. "And six of the nine soldiers who were on duty that night. Captain Lemond charged into the flames with Dorn and Pall alongside him, hoping to rescue young master Tonnis and Madame Rosie, but they all died in the blaze."

"Mmm," Owain said noncommittally even as he mentally castigated the fools for running into an inferno for the sake of a spoiled woman and an immature brat. The pair were likely dead already by the time the soldiers tried to rush the blaze, but they clearly hadn’t realized the futility of their ’honorable sacrifice.’

At least they’d been loyal, though, he thought. Unlike the knight they’d served...