Present day…
Alastair made his way through the manor, stopping for a moment beside a bisected skeleton that still had rotting scraps of cloth and leather remaining on its bones that lie in one of the halls. He said a quiet prayer for the soul of the young man it had been, the first-born son of the ex-count, Aaron Thayne. He had only been trying to protect his father due to blind duty, never questioning if his father was in the wrong, knowing it would likely cost him his life. Alastair remembered when the eighteen-year-old, who had already become an accomplished swordsman for his young age, confronted him. He had tried to give the Aaron a chance to surrender, not wanting to take the life of one so young, but the young man had come at him with a vengeance. Alastair’s large sword had been less than ideal for facing the boy in such tight quarters, but as Aaron left a wide opening, Alastair was able to strike with a killing blow, cleaving the young man in two.
Alastair shook his head at the unpleasant memory, and vowed to give the lad a proper burial before leaving, something he hadn’t been able to do six years before since the second prince had ordered Aaron’s corpse be left to rot for backing his treacherous father.
The duke moved on, heading to the upper floors and entered a large bedroom where the countess and her eleven-year-old daughter had been found. That day, the ex-countess had taken her own life and was lying crumpled in a pool of blood, hands still loosely clasping the dagger buried in her chest, her dark purple hair spread around her head like an umbral halo. Her daughter, Brigid, collapsed in a corner, defensive wounds on her arms and a large gash across her belly. When Alastair had found them, he had thought both were dead, but as he had turned to leave room, the young girl with hair to match her mother’s had twitched. He had rushed to her side and found that the gash in her belly was not as deep as he initially had thought. The young girl had looked up at him, her face bloodied and tears of pain in her deep emerald green eyes. She had tried to say something but passed out before she could. Alastair had ripped a portion of the skirt and hem of her mother’s dress off to make bandages in order to bind the girl’s wounds. Then he had carried her downstairs, leaving her with the nobles who were easily keeping the undead from entering the manor at that point.
The decaying remains of the former countess lay where they had been left, like the remains of Aaron. Alastair had always thought it was cruel to leave the bodies of the Thayne family to rot and be picked over by scavengers that could access their location. When he thought about it, he could somewhat understand the desire of the former countess to take her daughter with her into the afterlife. She would have heard the word of the second prince as he called out to her husband and, knowing what a sentence of exile to Westerroch would likely entail, death would be a preferable option.
Sighing, Alastair moved on, continuing to search the upper portion of the manor, but found nothing more than the memories of that day. The upper and ground floors searched, he moved on the basement, the location where he had finally found the former count, Thomas Thayne, hiding.
On that day six years ago, as he had entered the basement, the count had attacked him before he had even cleared the stairs. Alastair had taken a short fall down the few remaining stairs, his sword was knocked free of his grip and fell to the floor a few feet away, clattering against the stone tiles. Before he could recover, the ex-count had kicked him repeatedly in the ribs before stomping on his sword arm, pinning it to the floor. Kneeling, his foot still pinning Alastair’s sword arm, Thomas reached out with his hands which were glowing a sickly green, the color of life force manipulating magics. The ex-count had had smirk on his face as he reached his left hand down, placing it on the center of Alastair’s chest. The next thing Alastair had known, he felt a pulling sensation where Thomas’s hand was, as if his very being were being drawn out through his chest, as the ex-count pulled his life energy out of him. The pain had been excruciating. Alastair had felt on the verge of passing out when he heard the ex-count scream in pain and the pull on his life energy stopped. His vision hazy, he saw Thomas turn to flee before he passed out completely.
Later he found out that Prince Edgar had successfully fought his way to the manor and had rushed in as the men with him saw to the nobles who had come with Alastair. Seeing Thomas pinning Alistair while drawing out his life force, the prince had ripped stone shards from the basement floor and flung them at the ex-count, piercing the arm that he had been using to drain Alastair of his life energy. Thomas had fled, but the second prince had sent shards flying into his legs, sending him sprawling. When he fell, he had stuck his head on one of the stone walls, knocking him out and the prince was able to easily take him into custody. Afterward, a one of the field doctors had been summoned to see to Alastair. His arm had been broken when the ex-count had stomped on it, and it needed to be set before it could receive proper healing.
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The prince had also seen to the healing of young Brigid Thayne, who had physically recovered but wouldn’t speak, clearly emotionally scarred by the trauma of having her own mother try to kill her. The king had shown mercy in her case, not exiling her, now that all of her family were either dead, or soon to be dead in the case of her father. Instead, he had sent her to one of the border cities to the east, in care of the orphanage there, with instructions that she was to receive no special treatment since her rank was no more. Alastair didn’t know what had become of her, she would be seventeen by now and would be moving out of the state’s care, able to live her life as a commoner, like the majority of the population of the kingdom.
As he neared the bottom of the basement stairs, he tapped a small mana lantern that he had hanging from his belt, infusing it with some of his energy. The lantern sprung to life, casting a cheery light green glow about, illuminating his surroundings.
Alastair thought he smelled faint traces of smoke in the air. His guard up, he made his way down the hall that had led to the large wine cellar whose door stood slightly ajar. Nudging the door open enough so that he could enter, he saw the remnants of a campfire which was likely no more than a few days old. Nearby was a molding blanket and the bones of several small game animals. Clearly someone had been camping here.
Making his way to the fire, he found a small pouch, in it was a piece of fabric, clearly torn from one of the tapestries upstairs, that bore the crest of the former count’s family. There was also a scrap of paper with several names on it, written in charcoal. The first name on the list immediately caught his eye. It was the name of his daughter, Beira Braemar, and it had a line drawn through it, crossing it out.
Alastair closed his eyes and clinched his jaw as rage threatened to flood his senses. He forced himself to take several deep breaths as he tried to clear his thoughts, knowing that his anger would only make it more likely that he would miss something important. As he breathed deeply, he started listening to the sounds around him in the basement. In the corner of the wine cellar, he could hear something small rooting around in a pile of trash, but other than that there was an uneasy silence.
Opening his eyes, he glanced at the corner and confirmed that it was indeed a small rat that had been rooting around. He walked over to the pile of trash and noticed that it was a collection of clippings from newspapers that had been crumpled up and tossed in the corner. Some of them were older, detailing the final battles from the war with Westerroch, some were about the fallen Count Thayne and the actions that led his eventual arrest. One had details of his execution in the very manner that the second prince stated six years prior at the gates of the Thayne estate, for Prince Edgar had indeed drug him behind his horse all the way back to Aberling, using the army’s doctors and healers to keep him alive, until the day he was torn apart by a team of horses. A few of the articles talked about the destinations the ex-count’s various pieces were sent to, including how Thomas Thayne’s head was tossed into a refuse pit in the dungeons of Aberling Castle.
Amidst all of the older scrapes, though, there was one that was much more recent. It was an article detailing the, at the time, upcoming masquerade to celebrate Beira Braemar’s fifteenth birthday. It detailed how an official announcement of her engagement to the third prince, Prince Angus Dunkeld, was expected to follow despite the engagement being the worst kept secret in the kingdom since everyone already knew they were to get married when she turned eighteen. That same article sang the praises of her father, and his accomplishments in the five-year war with Westerroch, and the role he had played in bringing the ‘villainous’ Count Thayne down.
Having seen enough, Alastair finished checking around the basement but found no further evidence nor had he found any signs of occupation in the last couple of days. He determined whoever the person who had been staying there was, they had moved on by now. It was unclear if they had intended to leave the items behind that they had, but Alastair was doubtful they would be back to claim them.
He gathered the clippings up, and stuffed them into the pouch with the list and the Thayne family crest, before looping its straps onto his belt, securing it in place. He took the decaying blanket and walked back upstairs to the ground floor. There he carefully gathered the bones of Aaron Thayne in the blanket and carried them outside, sitting them by the door. He hesitated for a moment and then went back into the manor to the upper floors and retrieved the remains of Ingrid Thayne, the former countess, from where they had lain since her death, wrapping her up in a blanket, similar to what he had done with her son.
Might as well give both a little bit of peace, though the countess really doesn’t deserve it considering what she did to her little girl, even if I do understand why, he thought bitterly.
Placing her beside her son, beside the doors to the manor, Alastair looked to the sky noting that it was only a little past noon. He picked up the remains and made his way to the western side of the yard in front of the manor, in a spot where the vegetation still thrived. Nearby, there was a large oak tree with roots that ran both deep and wide. Touching its base, Alastair asked the tree if it would clear space in front of it for the remains to be placed. The oak kindly obliged, shuffling it roots in such a way as to create two small pits that Alastair then lowered the bundles of remains into. Thanking the mighty tree, he informed it that he was done and the oak’s leaves rustled as it filled the earth back in, caressing the remain in its roots.
Once he got back to Goliath, Alastair mounted up and began the almost three day journey back home.
