Bubbly stories

It all had went terribly wrong about two weeks earlier in Kjeladin, the capital of Lamarr. They had banned him from Lamarr on accusation of treason and attempt to assassinate the regent. Considering the charges, he got off lightly by just being banned, instead of a hanging. That must have been the work of Safira, a counciler of the province and his wife-to-be; they were supposed to get married the next day. Brandon was immensly grateful for the banning instead of the alternative, but at the same time he didn't like to contemplate what Safira had had to do to change the verdict accordingly.

The treason and murder attempt all had happened, however, Brandon had not been involved. Him getting accused was ofcourse part of the conspiracy, but he hadn't realised that until it was to late. Not being involved wasn't entirely accurrate though, he was almost ready to unveil the whole plot after months of questioning, infiltration, bribes and eavesdropping. He knew that a few small but important details were missing and eager to get to know them he had gotting greedy and careless, knowing that the conspiracy would come to a conclusion very shortly. Which proved to be fatal for Brandon.

A few days after he was caught, the trial got served, which went incredibly fast: just after two hours they already had a verdict. That in itself was proof enough for him that it all had been a setup: noone could have gotten that much evidence in such a short notice. One of those details he wanted to find out. After the trial he was led back to his cell and two days later all arrangements had been made to expell him from Lamarr. It had been decreed that they would bring him to a small island a couple of miles from the coast of the neighbouring country. However, some of the boat's crew weren't happy with that verdict and at sea decided to take matters into their own hands. Brandon got hit on the head with one of the oars and was put in the spare raft and set afloat unconsciously with almost no food or water aboard. After two more days he saw some land and managed the little boat to float in that direction.

Now that he finally had had something properly to eat and drink he looked back on how it could have gotten so far. It all had begin the first time Brandon had met Safira, 2 years before. That had been in a local bar in a small village near Kjeladin. The regulars were the town's men bragging to each other, some farmers from around the place and the occasional hunting party during their travels to the big city. Women seldomly visited the bar and if they did, it usually was one of the wifes to drag their drunk husband home.

Quite some whispers and comments could be heard when, during that evening, the old rusty wooden door opened and a woman could be seen silhouetted against the lights from outside at the end of the lane leading to the bar. Straight away it was clear she wasn't a local one; they never wore such expensive, laced, bodyhugging dresses. Most of the men in the bar didn't notice the hunted look in her blue eyes when she started walking purposefully inside, too busy with leering at her or nudging their fellows. She almost marched straight towards Brandon, who sat on a bench in a corner behind a table and was paying better attention over the rim of his tankard, which was halfway to his mouth.

Immediately he knew that this could become a very important evening, not foreboding much good and deciding the rest of his life, but at the same time he realised this could be his ticked away from the village. He had grown up there, but for a man in his mid-twenties there wasn't much to do except to learn the old traditions of the local tradesmen or become a farmer. Brandon had never liked that prospect, but didn't have much choice, as moving to the city costed a lot of money, which he didn't have. Preparing for what was to come, he slowly put the tankard down and waited for the woman, which seemed to be around his age, to arrive at his table.

Leaning forward over the edge of the chair opposite him she looked him straight in the eyes and said with a soft, velvet, yet urgent voice "You seem to be the hunter in here," indicating his bow with ever so slight a nudge from her head towards his bow, which was leaning against the wall next to him. She must have seen my loot hanging outside, he thought. He had a good hunt that day and had managed to shoot some small game. It was hanging outside so the blood wouldn't start smelling inside. He had planned on preparing the rabbits later that evening for some stew but wanted to celebrate a bit first in the bar. He was the only hunter that evening inside. Not knowing were this would lead to, he just acknowledged silently. "Did you ever had to hunt men?" she continued.