Wicked Hunt

Chapter Three, Part I

Rafe: Control

"Are we riding out after the wedding, sir?" Rufus asked as he followed Rafe down the steps into the courtyard. The Commander glanced up and sighed. The square space was normally silent and cold, but now it had been replaced by a cluster of people squawking noisily. Servants cleaned the steps, guards snickered loudly, townsfolk haggled one another, guests, arriving early after traveling hundreds of miles, complained about everything. Several of his men were attempting to usher people about, but they didn't know the castle grounds that well.

We're not even supposed to be here, Rafe thought pointedly. They should be out patrolling Verlic, watching the lands, free to roam. Being cooped up in the castle for the next week was going to make his men restless. Hell, it was putting him on edge already, and he'd only just arrived last night.

"Sir?" Rufus tried again.

"Well, we're not going to be staying here, are we Rufus?" Rafe snapped. "Unless you want to."

The Watchman's face turned scarlet beneath his bushy beard. "No... of course not, sir..." Rufus fiddled with his black jerkin, unable to meet the Commander's scowl.

"Stop asking me stupid questions." Rafe left him standing at the base of the stairs and approached Matilda, the head serving woman.

"Ah, Commander Walsh," Matilda crooned. She was a stooped old crow, an ancient relic that Rafe was sure had been in the castle at the time of its inception hundreds of years ago.

"Why are my men down here?" he demanded. He gestured to a Watchman named Dorius who was arguing with a servant about where to put a collection of brooms.

"Always so pleasant," Matilda bristled. She tugged up the wool skirt that was dangling from her narrow hips. "They were down here looking lost, so I put them to work."

"You should have sent them to the barracks," Rafe told her, referring to the brick edifice beside the castle where he and his men stayed when they were not patrolling.

"I can't command your men any more than I can command you." Matilda put her boney hands on her hips.

"Unlike the guards," Rafe said through a clenched jaw, "my men are disciplined. They know how to follow orders."

"Tell that to the brute over there." She jerked her chin to where Dorius was still quarreling with the servants about the brooms.

"Let me handle this." Rafe was already striding toward the big man, his eyes narrowed. He was a direct reflection of his men, and he would not have them be loud-mouthed idiots in front of all these people.

"Dorius!" he barked. The crowd parted, conversations quieting as Rafe made his way to Dorius.

"Sir." He lowered his head and clasped his scarred hands before him, a product of knife fighting. Towering high above the Commander, Dorius was the largest of Rafe's men. His dour face was in a constant scowl, the lower portion of his mouth protruding outward due to an underbite. Dull, emotionless eyes stared down at Rafe. Dorius was one of the Commander's most prolific killers, a low born misfit who had been eager to please when he'd joined the Watch. Now that he didn't have to kill to survive, he did it for fun.

"Stand down," Rafe growled, his hands firmly held behind his back. He twined his fingers together so tightly that his knuckles began to ache. "Get back to the barracks."

Without question, Dorius relaxed his tense shoulders and moved away from the servants. He raised his head up and headed for the eastern gate that would take him out of the courtyard. The only signal of disobedience was an almost imperceptible hesitation before he walked. To the others around them, it had been missed. To Commander Rafe Walsh, it was magnified. He did not like disobedience. It was harder to control.

And were you in control last night in the Great Hall? his inner critic asked him. Rafe's lips pressed together as he stepped away from the crowd. People's voices began to rise again, and he strode along the outer edge, making a straight line for the gate Dorius just left through. He ignored Matilda waving him back over. In fact, he barely saw her. His mind was already leaving the courtyard, traveling back to the Great Hall and the events of last night.

The error of mistaking the princess for a common servant kept replaying repeatedly in his mind. Foolish mistake, he told himself sharply. He was more than embarrassed by the blunder, he was ashamed. He did not even allow his men to step a toe out of line. If they did not follow his orders, they were brutally punished. Yet, here Rafe was, calling the soon-to-be queen consort a serving girl. He felt sick with rage at his own idiocy. He had been taking that rage, and instead of confining it, used it to lash out at others.

He exited the crowds and walked along the outer wall, no longer in the courtyard. The air was crisper out here, not bogged down by close-knit bodies and hot breath. He gazed down at the jagged cliffs that encircled Dunhelm Keep. One wrong step, out here beyond the safety of the stone walls, and he would tumble down into the gorge below. He would be swallowed by the crags and overhangs. His blood would splatter upon the rocks, but he doubted anyone would find his body. He'd been out on those monstrous, slick cliffs. It was like a maze, trying to traverse the sharp edges and gaping holes that littered the expanse.

The air was cold, and he relished it, taking a deep breath of it into his lungs. He tried to filter it in and shove out the disappointment, but there it sat, heavy on his chest. It was almost as if he were beginning to suffocate with it. The nagging of the mistake would not relent. Rafe knew that there would be no peace within his mind until the error was remedied. He did not know how to correct it, only that it needed to be done.