Field of Death: The Harbinger

Red was the color of the curtains when he slipped through the window and landed solidly on the floor. His boots made little other noise as he walked over the soft rugs that lay beneath the fine furnishings of this elaborately decorated room. A bedroom. A couple's bedroom. Oh, the smell of it. The sweet scents of a lady's perfume mixed with the acidic odor of the leather that covered the chair beneath the window.

His gloved hand runs over the silk spread covering the bed and pillows, inspecting that which had been acquired by the family who lives there. Rich, solid colors adorn the room. Every piece and part a measure of grand opulence.

Now, the sound of voices. A young woman ushers a child down the hall, speaking with a familiar Irish lilt. As they turn away from the door, he opens it just enough to peer through the slit created. His eyes stay on the girl as she rounds the turn at the end of the hall then looks back at him just the instant before she disappears. Had she seen? No matter. The young one would not be allowed to falter from her course.

He walks back toward the dressing table, slipping a hand into the satchel at his waist. Without a sound, he sets a small wooden block, untouched by a carver's blade, on the small mirror set there. He moves the block just a bit, setting it just right, then turns and walks back toward the window.

Within moments, he is out the window and moving away from the light of this large home. He pulls tightly on his cloak and peers over his shoulder once more, eyes narrowing with rage as he sees figures moving across the red curtains of the window he had just left.

~~~~

Elspeth steps into their room and sighs, "I'm not sure which is worse, hosting all of these business guests or..." she blinks then sighs again, her shoulders falling with a noticeable wilt, "I'm far too exhausted to be witty."

Lerrad smiles as he crosses to his chair and sits, looking briefly at the window a moment before leaning to adjust the curtains. His voice is as cheerful as he can muster, given that he agrees with his wife, "The Count and his wife can be a bit much to handle, I'd agree. This is good business, though." He tugs at his boot with a grunt then drops it on the floor beside the bed, "We must spread our wings, if we are to grow."

"I know, it's just so tiring telling the same stories over and over." Elspeth says as she unbraids her hair with a wistful stare, "You would think that someone as worldly as the Count would not be so interested in our travels."

Lerrad just smiles as he pulls off the other boot, setting it aside with the first, "I'm glad we went on those trips now, Love. They may just win our family a powerful ally in the Count."

Elspeth smiles and nods, not really understanding the reason for such an ally, but knowing that it's probably for the best if Lerrad says it is. She finishes the last of her braids and looks at herself in the mirror then releases a breath as she reaches for her brush.

"Hmm," she says with a tilt to her head.

"What's that, Love?" Lerrad asks as he stands over his bureau reading a parchment there.

"This," Elspeth holds up a wooden block, "It's not like Marilyn's other blocks. I thought they were all colored." She turns, "You remember the ones my Aunt gave to her. They're all colored."

Lerrad nods and turns back to his reading. "Yes," he responds absentmindedly.

Elspeth looks at the block a moment longer then shrugs and sets it aside, going back to the task of brushing her hair.