The Dauntless Rook (§.13)

Continued from §.12. Volfsige could not believe his eyes, for standing before him, in the litter-strewn alley that let out to the smokestacked north, was, against all reason, Oeric Adair, who only minutes prior, had stood in the market square, surrounded by gambesoned mercenaries. Adair had exchanged the stately clothes and short-brimmed cap for the… Continue reading The Dauntless Rook (§.13)

The Dauntless Rook (§.12)

Continued from §.11. Serlo poured himself a tumbler of scotch as his father ambled into the drawing room of Wealdmar Estate, mahogany cane clacking violently off the decorative and newly-swept marble floor. "How is our dear Cerelia?" Grædig Wealdmaer inquired with scant concealed venom, taking a seat upon the leather armchair opposite his son, who… Continue reading The Dauntless Rook (§.12)