Two carriages moved away from the castle in the distance, winding around the unpaved road leading to the village of Hyrnn.
Long, thin streaks followed behind as the carriages rolled along the dry mud. The weight of the metal and wooden shell dug into the earth, freeing the trapped moisture below the sun-dried surface as it clung to the steel wheels and horseshoes, joining them on their journey ahead and down the hill.
The bunched-up conifers on the side of the lonely, deserted dirt road, offering some protection from the glaring sun for the drivers and guards atop the carriages, came as a fading relief when the open path widened to an empty stretch.
The village of Hyrnn could be directly seen by the two drivers, one on either carriage, in front and behind, both of them seeing the lone belltower at its heart as the self-imposed monument.
*CLACKING OF HOOVES AND THUMPS OF WHEELS ON HARD SOIL.*
Clattering's of horses and neighs pierced the shell of the luxurious confines of the padded purple interior of the carriage in front; mixed in were the violent jolts of the frame fighting the uneven dirt road below, the leaf spring failing at their jobs. The rocking and swaying motion became unbearable for the woman draped in a red frilled dress inside the carriage as she reached down into a bag out of sight by her feet.
*SHUFFLING OF A DRESS.*
Fumbling hands moved around in the bag, searching for something, until a thin piece of cloth appeared and the woman spoke out at her dismay of the journey, fighting back the bile wanting to come up and out of her mouth.
Lady Fionneruis: 'Uncomfortable.' I thoroughly despise these outings... (Controlling her breathing.) It's so warm today on top of it. (Wiping her brow with the top of her wrist.)
A silk-red handkerchief remained on a set of plump, glossy red lips, trying to fight off the motion sickness.
Fionneruis: If it were up to me... (Falling forward, catching herself on the handle by the door.) For Pete's sake, can that driver be any more rambunctious? 'Annoyed.'
*VIOLENT JOSTLING OF THE WHEELS LIFTING UP, THEN SLOWING.*
The carriage moved from the uneven road and now onto the cobbled stone, lifting upwards then falling back down as it mounted an unseen curb, forcing the three people inside to hold onto the handles as the driver above called to the three inside.
Carriage driver: Sorry! 'Sincere.' We are nearly there! Please forgive the bumpy ride, my Lord. 'Polite.' This warm weather from the recent rain has made the roads a bit treacherous as of late.
A fist from the man inside tapped the top of the carriage, acknowledging the words.
*LIGHT SINGLE TAP.*
They were now entering the outskirts of the village as the carriage's wheels settled to a smoothness as the wrought iron escaped the numerous potholes in the dirt path behind and the slumbering sludge. Any remnants of the mud-filled journey rubbed off onto the cobbles below, fading as civilisation was ahead and waiting.
Red lips parted and the lady was speaking once more in a disgruntled tone, sitting back on the padded seat and releasing the twisted brass handle that saved her from gravity's pull.
Fionneruis: A bloody fool of a driver. Why do we have to make our way here to the ass end of nowhere for that simpleton? 'Irrate.' I truly depsise this village; why can't you make a residence in the capital, my dear.
The man sitting across from the two women glanced at Fionneruis nonchalantly speaking her mind, ignoring the maid beside her, his fist furled back into the fold of his arms, not amused by the spoken words.
Fionneruis: 'Angry.' For what that monster did... death should be all that he is gifted, not this charade of pompousness and parlour tricks. 'Feeling sick.' We should just pull over now, behead him, and be done with it all, I say.
As the lady's bile crawled up her throat in an attempt to escape once more, the handkerchief moved down, and a snide tone filled the small carriage, aimed directly at the maid.
Fionneruis: (Waving to the bag.) Pass me that concoction; I do not wish to paint my dress with my morning tea and meal... (Snapping her fingers sharply.)
*LOUD SINGEL SNAP OF FINGERS.*
Fionneruis: Now! You bumbling girl, hand me that potion and be quick about it. 'Gagging.' Good help is so hard to find these days; they just don't find slaves like they used to. 'Small smirk.'
A small maid in a worn and patched red and white dress moved, slipping a red gloved hand into a patterned red bag by her feet, nestled between the two.
*HAND RUMMAGING AROUND A BAG.*
The chequered pattern of the bag matched the ensemble Fionneruis was wearing in between the white frills. The woman's hand quickly found what she was looking for in a side pocket, and she was now holding a small glass potion with a pearlescent pink liquid that swashed around, moving with the carriage.
Two gloved fingers gripped the cork and twisted it, releasing the pressure inside.
*POP OF A CORK.*
Maid: (Removing the cork fully.) Here you go, my lady? 'Gentle.' This should help...
A frilled satin-covered hand, skin partially showing under the semi-transparent material, snatched the potion and knocked it back without hesitation, the berry smell wafting up and disappearing. A loud sigh escaped the woman's lungs in response to the relief as the feeling of sickness subsided and clarity swept over her mind as she thought about the words that were just spoken to her.
The small glass returned to the maid, dropping from a height into the gloved hand's waiting patiently for it. Words followed the drifting end of relief that became discomfort for another.
Fionneruis: "Lady?" 'Miffed.' It is "Lady Fionneruis" to you, filthy demi-human. (Raising a hand.) And you will surely remember it!
The frilled hand raised, then came crashing down, twisting so the knuckles would hit first.
Before the backhand of the pointed palm could land upon the maid's face, who clenched her eyes tightly, bracing for the strike, a thick arm from under the red cloak flung forward from the seat across from the two women in a blur.
A strong voice comforted one and scolded another as a chill ran down the Fionneruis arm. The force of the slap was reverberating into her bones, numbing the muscles.
The hand sat above the maid's face as she opened her eyes, wondering why nothing had happened and the mysterious man began to speak, no longer holding his tongue.
Lord Preonus: 'Annoyed.' And what do you think you are doing? (Still holding the wrist of the lady.)
No immediate answer came, nor did the Lord wait any longer for one to form.
Preonus: How will it look to people if she turns up black and blue by your hands? You are not here to admonish her; you should remember that the next time you raise your palm to my servant. 'Firm.' Also, as for that "simpleton," you better not be referring to the high priest, or are you forgetting who saved our daughter... 'Scolding look.'
The Lord's gripped hand loosened its hold as Fionneruis looked down like a child receiving a reprimand from their parents and lost eyes stared at the felt soft carpet, not attempting to speak as the hand moved back under the red cloak.
Preonus: I grow tired of your childish ungratefulness, and I also have no patience today for any of your antics. (Looking to the maid.) If she were to throw the potion on your person, then you would have the right to lay a hand on her as the rule of law of my lands. 'Sighing.' But what can I expect from trollop who cannot see worth in anything other than material things, let alone the "words of law." (Glancing at the dress.) 'Cold tone.' Or do you wish to ride in the cart behind you to remind you of your place, even you once held long ago?
The woman in the dress clamped her mouth shut, knowing of the words the Lord was speaking of and hoping he wouldn't talk any further about it as the maid grew interested but fighting back the look on her face not wanting to show her hand.
Preonus: You can gladly dispense your justice there if you wish, with your own hands. (Not waiting on an answer.) Just because you are the mother of my daughter doesn't make you any better than this "Demi-human" as you so eloquently put it from your snaked tongue; I could easily put you in her role—in the chains of servitude to the people of "my" domain, not yours. 'Hateful eyes.' Now... apologise before I do stop this carriage and act upon my spoken words, "FIONNERUIS."
Gritted white pearly teeth loosened; no longer looking at the carpet, Fionneruis turned to the maid next to her, softening the hard expression of a brutal defeat before meeting the maid's gaze, her gloved hands moving to her knees.
Fionneruis: (Gripping her dress, lifting it slightly.) I apologise for my actions, maid Chu-rika. 'Meek.' I shouldn't have raised my hand to you after you helped me so... So please forgive me. (Hand on chest.) These morning commutes always affect my mind.
The maid returned the empty bottle to the bag, slowly pushing the cork back inside as it fell back into the pocket from whence it came and accepting the empty apology with a slight nod and a simple smile, used to the sentiment she had heard time and time again, holding no weight or substance of truth, only hollow lies.
Maid Chu-Rika: 'Content.' It is fine. (Nodding her head in compliance to both.) My Lord and Lady, these bumpy rides are strenuous on anyone's stomach and mind. 'Smiling.' Even my own.
The Lord focused on the lone window of the carriage door, now speaking his mind on the apology and acceptance.
Lord Preo: It is not fine Chu-Rika. 'Reserved.' You are "my" servant and a good slave in standing, but I shall not have good and loyal people be treated in this manner, in or outside my presence. (Looking back to Fionneruis.) "Good help is so hard to find these days," isn't it, my dear? That can be easily said about wives. 'Pausing.' As for that criminal in tow, he will get what he deserves in due time, for justice shall be served in this life and the next. (Waving his hand.) Now, please be quiet. I wish for no more talk from either of you until we get to the square, understood?
Both women nodded in compliance as the conversation ended with a sour set of words and mood.
Far behind, a carriage was following, fighting the earth below.