Lord Randell and the Red Study (X/Ff)

[goodgulf]

Lord Randell and the Red Study

Lord Randell looked up from his work at the unexpected knock. He was just puttering around his lab, not doing much of anything, but the servants knew better than to disturb him over trifles.

"Enter."

It was less a command than a statement. A few decades ago it would have been a command, but in the years following his father's death Lord Randell had become more comfortable in his powers. Bullying servants had always been beneath him but now he understood that he didn't have to impress them. That because of his command of mystic forces and his near sovereignty over his family's holdings the servants knew what he could do (or have done) to them and were suitably impressed, much more so than any amount of bellowing could do.

His steward entered the lab and stopped a respectful distance from Lord Randell. Not that identity of the knocker surprised him; it would have been surprising if any other than his steward had dared knocked. Well, there was his daughter, but she had her own lab and if it had been her hand that knock then she would have entered without waiting permission to do so.

Lord Randell finished what he was working, taking a moment or two to stop up a jar, then turned to his steward.

"What requires my attention this time?"

It was a bit annoying, these constant interruptions, but it was the price Lord Randell paid for rulership over his lands. Someone had to run things and if you weren't the one with the final word then someone else might usurp your lands. It was a bother, and Lord Randell was half convinced that he would be a much greater wizard without these interruptions. He was only half convinced because if he wasn't a Lord then he wouldn't have the level of resources that researching magic required. Either way he looked at it he just couldn't devote his life entirely to magic.

"Please pardon this intrusion milord but there is a party of adventures here to see you."

Lord Randell frowned. Adventures were a nuisance. Self appointed busybodies who went around disrupting the orderly working of the world. Oh, they did some good, but there were only two types who sought him out.

The first type, perhaps one group in ten of those darkening his door, wanted to Do Good and thought that as a lord that he could direct them to where they could do the greatest good. The others, the vast majority, were just idiots whose ability to plan ended at "hey, let's call ourselves adventures and go off and ... um, do stuff". Not that it took a genius to find adventures. There were the orc mountains. There was the goblin forest. For the more adventurous there were the ruined cities of the Serpent Lords (a race whose dominance of these lands had long past, but traces of their awful glory remained). Those who went to the local lord and asked "do you have any adventures for us" were either stupid or too lazy to find their own path.

Lord Randell had little patience for adventurers, but he did have a policy. They were to wait until after he had his dinner, then a snifter or two of brandy (and perhaps a glass of wine), and when he was feeling relaxed enough to handle their nonsense then they could enter his presence.

Lord Randell frowned. His steward wasn't an idiot. There had to be more to this story.

"And this important enough to knock whilst I am relaxing in my lab?"

The steward looked embarrassed.

"Normally no milord. Normally there would have been a note at dinner, um, but, um..."

"Out with it." Lord Randell commanded.

"Your daughter happened to enter the room were they were waiting." The steward admitted. "And she is now being entertained by their boasts of daring deeds."

"Boasts?" Lord Randell asked.

"Empty boasts milord. I would be very much surprised if any of them has ever seen a real fight, much less been involved in one."

Lord Randell sighed. His daughter was at impressionable age and lately stories of adventurers were making a deep impression on her. It was cruel, but Lord Randell forced himself to show her the other side of adventuring. Making sure that she heard the tales that ended with "... and none returned alive" and meeting some of the cripples who couldn't afford magic healing. It pained him to show her the dark side of reality, but she needed something to balance the tall tales of daring do.

"I better deal with this." Lord Randell sighed. He wouldn't have sighed, if there were any of note to see him do it, but Lord Randell knew that he didn't have act strong in front of his steward. "I do hope that this won't lead to a red bottom. Which room?"

"The blue waiting room."

"Have them sent to the yellow receiving room." Lord Randell instructed. "The blue room lacks chairs and I won't have Meribeth sharing a bench with so-called adventures."

Lord Randell had discpvered that if he didn't make adventurers comfortable then some of them would leave without waiting to see him. Those were his favourite sort of adventurers.

"Of course milord."

"And have the book brought." Lord Randell added. Not that he needed to give detailed instructions to his steward, but Lord Randell was nothing if not thorough.

"Of course milord."


Lord Randell put away the items he had been working on, muttered a cantrip to clean his clothing, then made his way to the yellow receiving room (so named for the yellow hangings). There he found what he expected; half a dozen young, poorly equipped fools telling his daughter tales of what they would someday do. Meribeth was listening with rapt attention, wide eyed at these paper dreams of theirs.

Seeing at his daughter, Lord Randell couldn't help but notice how she looked more like her mother everyday.

The only surprise, and it was a minor surprise, was the present of females in the group. Most times it was young men who ran off to get themselves killed but every now and then someone had to prove that a girl could be just as idiotic as a boy. This group included two such fools; a woman with a bow and long knife and another who had an air of magic about her. A girl in the robes of a mage who looked only a few years older than his daughter. Opening his senses, Lord Randell could tell how little training she had. The young mage might have taken some classes at a school or been tutored at home on the ways of magic, but it was clear that she had no real training, not even an apprenticeship under a hedge wizard.

Which made sense; hedge wizards were too sensible to train the sort of fool who would run off looking for adventures when there was a perfectly good living to be made casting minor magics for the lower classes. As long as there were pigs who needed healing and lame cows to treat no hedge wizard would ever want for work.

Lord Randell wondered briefly if his daughter had noticed that her own powers outstripped those of the group's mage. then called attention to himself by clearing his throat.

"Yes? What is it?"

The group rose from their chairs and one of them, the oldest looking boy who wore a sword and some form of leather armour, began to speak.

"Great Lord Randell, long have we desired to meet you. Your great deeds of wizardry inspire legions of heroes across the realms. Long have we studied those deeds and sought to emulate you."

Lord Randell knew many lords who were fools. Not that he ever told them that to their faces or acted as if he thought they were fools. The practice with dealing with his peers served him well as the young idiot blathered on.

'Great deeds!' Lord Randell thought. 'Only my peers know of my greatest deeds. I wonder if I should ask the fool to list any of my "great deeds"?'

Humiliating them now might quash some of Meribeth's hero-worship.

"So we have come here to pay court on you and your good lady..."

Meribeth's face fell slightly at those words; Lord Randell knew that he wouldn't have to go out of his way to humiliate them. Which was good; he hated to look cruel in front of his daughter.

"Good lady?" Lord Randell asked, interrupting the carefully prepared speech. "If you have studied me as you claim to then you know that my wife past on some years ago. Or did you think that Meribeth, my daughter, was somehow either my wife or old enough to be Lady of the Household?"

Speaking of his wife's passing was no longer the biting pain it once was. Being a Lord (or Lady) came with certain responsibilities and Lady Randell had given her life to seal the Unnameable Gate at Greyhold. Lord Randell thought that the alternate (having a few million demons invading the world) would have been preferable to her passing, but she hadn't asked his opinion before she did it.

Which was yet another great deed that the peasants would never hear about.

"Um, that is, well..."

The boy stammered a bit, then returned to his rehearsed speech.

"Um, milord, we are the Annihilators of Harold Woods and..."

"Really?" Lord Randell asked, interrupting again. "That's a shame. I quite liked Harold Woods and no one told me it had been annihilated. Since it was one of my holding you'd think that someone would at least tell me about its destruction."

"Um, no Lord Randell, you don't understand. We call ourselves 'the annihilators' and since there are other groups calling themselves that we had to add an 'of' and we decided, um, voted on 'Harold Woods;' because..."

"Oh, that's all right then." Lord Randell said, noticing that his daughter no longer looked at the boy the same way. Best of all he hadn't been cruel and made the lad look bad; he had merely allowed the boy freedom to speak and let Meribeth see what a fool he was. "And who are you? Your name, not your group's name?"

"I am known as Lance of the Brightsword, and this..."

Lord Randell doubted that anyone other than the boy's fellow 'annihilators' called him that, but he didn't feel like wasting time.

"I asked your name, not for a general introduction." Lord Randell chided. "And what do you want here anyway?"

"Um, we thought, that is, since this is your lands, um, well..." Lance fumbled, losing the threads of his carefully rehearsed speech.

"You wanted me to point you at an adventure, is that?" Lord Randell asked. "You don't feel like asking the lord mayor about what needs doing or chasing bounties? I see. Steward, the book."

Lord Randell pretended that he didn't hear them muttering among themselves. They simply weren't important enough for their poor behaviour to matter.

"It's where they record all the problems that need attention." Meribeth told them.

That he couldn't ignore.

"Meribeth, did you want to sit during dinner?" Lord Randell asked, flipping to the most recent page. "For if you speak out of turn again I fear that your bottom will be in no condition to sit on."

Lord Randell pretended not to see how Meribeth blushed deeply or hear the outrageous chuckles that his comments produced. It was clear that this group were freeborn (no peasant would dare find mirth in Meribeth's situation) but that they had never interacted with their betters. It took an effort of will not order them flogged for insulting his daughter with their mirth, but Meribeth had to learn that if she allowed adventurers to presume to be her equals that they would soon treat her as their lesser. It was merely the way of their type.

"Can you tell me of great deeds that you have actually done? No? Ah, here's a good one then. Village of Clearbrook has a kobold problem. At least a score of the nasty buggers have moved to the area and are making a nuisance of themselves. Steward, cancel the patrol. Rather than send our men to deal with them we shall allow the annihilators to prove their mettle."

"Kobolds?" Lance asked, clearly crestfallen at the word.

"Well I can't send you to deal with ogres until you've proven you can handle kobolds, can I?" Lord Randell asked. "Not that there are any ogres that currently need dealing with. Besides, there's a score of them, which makes them a challenge that the locals don't want to deal with. Yes, kobolds to start with, then maybe more later."

"But kobolds..." Lance said, almost whining. "The bards don't sign about kobold slayers, do they Ralf?"

"Not unless we're taking the wind out someone's sails."

Lord Randell wouldn't have pegged the man as a bard. He lacked a stringed instrument, but on closer inspection was carrying some sort of wind instrument. Perhaps a recorder or other peasant instrument.

"Well, you have your adventure. Now's the time to start walking." Lord Randell instructed, bringing the interview to an end. "Clearbrook is two days to the east. Follow the trade road and you can't miss it."

"Um, well, that is..." Lance said, fumbling for words.

Lord Randell wondered how bad a speaker the bard was if they allowed Lance to be the spokesman.

"You came for an adventure. You now have an adventure. What more does a party of adventurers need other than a destination where they can put their blades to good use?" Lord Randell asked.

"Um, well, supplies..."

"Supplies?" Lord Randell asked. "Oh, you must mean trail rations. Yes, that must be it; no one with an ounce of sense would go adventuring if they didn't already possess all the arms and general equipment that they needed. Steward, see that this group are issued travel rations."

"Um, thanks, um, but..."

Lord Randell didn't allow Lance to gather his thoughts.

"Ah, where to stay whilst at the village? Yes, of course. Steward, my pen and some paper."

Lord Randell's pen was a little magical extravagance that he had acquired years ago. He never used it for important matters but found it useful for sending messages to village headmen and other near peasants.

'To the Village of Clearbrook - this party of brave souls have volunteered to handle your kobold problem. The cost of their food and lodging at the inn (but no drink) may be deducted from your taxes this quarter. Please inform me if they fail to handle the problem in full so that I may despatch further aid as required.'

As Lord Randell wrote, the letters appeared in silver that flamed and rolled roughly a quarter inch from the page. Then he passed his hand over the words and a clear voice read aloud what he had written. After one final touch, underlining the words 'no drink' twice, he handed the note to Lance.

"Small beer or mead normally comes with the meals, and feel free to purchase extra drink, but over the years I've found that adventurers do poorly when they are the worse for drink. For some reason most of them seem to view ale as treasure, at least when another is paying for it, and feel the need to try to drain every barrel at the inn. If you want to lie around and drink you may certainly do so, but you will do it on your own coin." Lord Randell told him.

Meribeth, her mouth firmly shut, gestured at her belt. More specifically at the pouch containing the reagents that she needed for her magic, then (one she was sure that her father saw her) gestured at the female mage.

"Meribeth, there are times that you tax my patience." Lord Randell said sternly. "But technically I told you not to speak out of turn whilst remaining silent on the art of mime, so you need not report to the Red Study. Steward, ensure that their mage receives any common items that might be required by her magic. Magical supplies, food for the road, free lodging, yes, I do believe you have received incentive enough to handle a few kobolds. And then there is the bounty! The general one offered on kobolds. You needn't bother collecting ears this time; when you are finished simply return here, hold a truthstone, and say how many were slain and you will be paid. Steward, see that they receive what they are entitled to and point them on the road to Clearbrook."

Walking away from the room, Lord Randell pretended not to hear their grumbling. The insult of dealing with kobolds! Not having their pick of his armoury! Not being given a single magical device of any kind. Normally such grumbling would offend him, but today Lord Randell was glad to hear it. Such ingratitude would show his daughter their lack of character, further disillusioning her.


Later Lord Randell wondered if he shouldn't have sent his daughter to the Red Study after all. The embarrassment of having to stand for dinner (with all the servants knowing how red her bum was whilst pointedly silent on the subject) might have made the memory of those adventurers a sour one. Instead the next few days showed that his daughter was clearly fascinated with the rabble.

Not so much with Lance or that bard Ralf (which further showed that the lad lacked the silver tongue that a bard should have) but with 'Alison of the Flowing Robes', which seemed to be the name that the mage had chosen for herself. Lord Randell would have named her 'Alison of the Too Tight and Almost Shamefully Revealing Robes', but no one had asked his opinion. Meribeth hadn't seemed to notice how few supplies this Alison could use and had even gone so far as to ask the servants to inform her when the party returned.

After a bit of thought Lord Randell gave an order that her wish was to be obeyed as he pondered the possibilities, feeling more than a little worry. On one hand it could be hero-worship, something that could distract Meribeth from her studies and might even cause her to risk her life in some hair scheme adventure, but on the other hand he worried that it might be some sort of pash and wished that his wife were here to handle it. But it hardly mattered whether Meribeth was besotted with the adventurer lifestyle or an adventurer (or adventuress), what mattered was his daughter was distracted when magic required her total attention.

To shift the direction of her thoughts (and put her on the next step of her training), Lord Randell 'accidentally' left out a minor spell where his daughter would find it. Technically it was for slowly building a defence against physical mishaps, but why he knew it would catch her eye was that the spell was a magic shield that would cover her bottom and her bottom only.

Of course Meribeth tried it and of course, distracted as she was, Meribeth miscast it; just as Lord Randell knew she would. Not that a miscast could do any serious damage, but after that failed attempt at casting Meribeth took a few meals in her room (complaining of 'womanly troubles', an excuse that she knew always worked on her father) while avoiding chairs whilst her bruises faded. Then she buckled down and started to seriously study the spell, needing to master it to regain her pride.


A fortnight later, the Annihilators of Harold Woods returned for their reward. At least most of them did; the survivors at any rate. A word with his steward (who would speak to the servant that Meribeth had talked to) set things in motion.

Lord Randell timed things so that he would step into the receiving room moments after his daughter rushed in the other door. That would give her time to take in their dishevelled state but not long enough for them to tell her of their 'adventures'. A message from the headman Clearbrook had already reached Lord Randell and he wanted to be sure that Meribeth heard the truth, not a pleasant story of glory.

Missing from the group was the woman with the bow and Ralf, whose skill with a blade had proved less than his inept attempts at music.

"Ah, the adventurers return." Lord Randell said, entering the room. "Meribeth, would you close that door? Steward, the report."

"Report?" Lance asked, favouring his right side with its cracked ribs. "But... I mean we came straight back so how can you have a report?

"The headman of Clearbrook sent one by post." Lord Randell said in a firm tone. "The rider arrive last eve. Now let us see why you gone for so long. Two days there, one day to slay the kobolds, two days back. That does not a fortnight make."

Lord Randell wasn't speaking for Lance's benefit. Meribeth needed to know how the trip should have gone. How they should have arrived back when she was still unable to sit. How they had taken at least ten days to do the work of one.

"There were a lot of kobolds." Lance protested. "The first day we slew three. The next..."

"Just take that truestone and give me the total." Lord Randell commanded, an edge to his voice. "I have not the time to waste to hear you speak of all ten days."

Lance gritted his teeth, but did as he was told.

"We slew 16 kobolds at or around the Village of Clearbrook." Lance said.

The light of the truestone showed all that he spoke the truth.

"Sixteen? But there were more than a score there." Lord Randell said, pretending to be puzzled. "Let's see what the report says."

"Um, that report might not be accurate." Lance muttered.

"A headman lie to me? In writing? Nonsense!" Lord Randell declared. "And if I read anything you disagree with, why you are holding a truestone in your hand. Simply speak up and I'll know your version is the true one."

Lance stared at his hand, as if wondering how it could betray him by holding a truestone at such an inconvenience moment.

"Let's see." Lord Randell muttered. "So by 'first day' you mean the first day you actually did something, not the first night you arrived in the village. Or even your first full day there when. instead of disposing of the kobolds, you were bothering the barmaids and not listening when they said to stop."

"If they didn't want to be treated like that then they wouldn't be bar wenches." Lance protested.

The glow of the truestone showed that he truly believed his words.

"So they shouldn't have been born to an innkeeper? An innkeeper shouldn't have his daughters working for him?" Lord Randell asked.

Not that Lord Randell needed an answer. He ignored the boy's attempt at justifying the group's actions while watching Meribeth out of the corner of his eye. Whenever she travelled with her father, Lord Randell he allowed her to associate with the barmaids. Barmaids who always treated her respectfully and often like a younger sister who might have a few questions. He doubted that his daughter suspected that they did so on his instructions (given while dropping hints of the types of floggings he could order for even the most trivial offences). He knew his daughter was inquisitive and suspected that she would trust answer from a worldly barmaid over one given by a governess. The more she learned from barmaids the less he would have to explain to her, and while Lord Randell had no problem explaining the mysteries of magic to his daughter he shied away from trying to explain the mysteries of a growing girl's body to her.

Knowing, in vague suitably terms, that they had mauled a barmaid while ignoring marauding kobolds, lowered the adventurers in Meribeth's eyes far more than anything he could have invented. Her father hoped that she now saw them as the lowly scum they were.

"Then you tossed the headman's daughter into the mill pond." Lord Randell continued.

"It was just a prank." Alison of the Flowing Robes offered weakly. "She didn't mind that much. I cast a drying spell on her afterwards."

"Yes, the report mentioned that." Lord Randell noted, reading the report. "One that stripped almost all of her clothes off her as it dried them."

"Well she was young enough that it didn't matter." Alison of the Flowing Robes countered. "She was just a kid. That's why she got tossed. She said she was too young for some stuff that Ralf wanted to do."

"I see." Lord Randell noted. "If memory serves, the girl shares a birth year with my daughter. Obviously she was barely more than an infant."

"You know her?" Lance asked in surprise.

"I know of all of my sub-lords, mayors, headmen, and all of their families." Lord Randell revealed. "It's the duty of every good lord to know his more important subjects. So let's see... Drinking, fighting, damaging the inn, pushing around the peasants, and occasionally killing kobolds. Must have been quite the adventure. Oh, and four days ago you put a major push on. At night, after a day of drinking, all because a small boy said you weren't tough enough to kill the kobold that raided his family's chickencoop, you went looking for the main lair and found it."

"It was a little girl!" Lance protested.

"And not all of us were drinking." Alison of the Flowing Robes protested weakly.

"No, it was a small boy. Oh, you were confused because the child was wearing a sack? Peasant children often wear old bags for clothing." Lord Randell told them, ignoring Alison's comment. "That's another thing a good lord knows; how his peasants live. Too well and he's missing out on taxes, to poorly and they don't produce as much as they should."

Lord Randell glanced down at the report and then looked up.

"What's this? Breaking down a locked door? Robbing the village herbalist?"

"We needed the herbs." Alison of the Flowing Robes said weakly. "People were dying. My friends were dying."

"You didn't ask the herbalist, a man with decades of experience, for his aid? You merely robbed his home?" Lord Randell asked, laying bare the stupidity of her actions while hoping to kill any feelings that his daughter might have for her.

"Not his house, his shop." Alison of the Flowing Robes protested.

"He lives in that building." Lord Randell told her. "The front room is his shop while he and his family lives in the backroom. In addition to bothering my peasants you broke into the home of a freeman and stole from him. That's not acceptable behaviour. Most would call it a crime. One worthy of high justice."

"It was all her idea." Lance said quickly. "She didn't even tell us she planned it."

The others quickly spoke up, agreeing with Lance, and the truestone didn't dim as the idiot spoke. Lord Randell thought that her actions, doing anything she could in attempt to save her friends' lives, was as close to heroism as the group had come, and here the rest were denying they had anything to do with it.

Technically she should be judged, but Lord Randell didn't want make the girl look noble. Handing out a serious punishment for a semi-heroic deed might make his daughter respect the girl more than Meribeth already did.

"But I had to do something. I wasn't really stealing." Alison of the Flowing Robes declared.

"There are two ways of handling something like this." Lord Randell said, pretending to ponder aloud. "I could, nay should, treat it as a serious crime, but considering your age I could also treat as a youthful prank."

"Um, if it's a crime then what happens?" Alison of the Flowing Robes asked.

"For a crime such as this you would lose your hand, your offhand since none were harmed, or be branded a thief. A large 'T' right here." Lord Randell said, tracing the letter on his forehead. Not that the choice of hand really matter; most spells that the girl knew would require both to cast. As for the brand, no one would hire a thief as a mage. If branded she could expect a lifetime of justified beatings from anyone with the slightest authority - all of whom would see it as treating a known thief the way you treated thieves.

"Um, and if I did a youthful prank?"

"Then you would go to the Red Study and leave it with a very sore bottom." Lord Randell informed her.

"Um, could I be a youth then?"

"I'll have to give it some thought." Lord Randell replied.

"Father." Meribeth said quietly, her tone saying what she wanted.

"If you are asking for mercy for her, then I will grant it." Lord Randell told her. "I do believe we are done here. Steward, have a patrol sent to the Village of Clearbrook. Include a few carpenters to repair any damage that these 'adventurers' caused. And see that these men receive the bounty for their 16 kobolds. I should apply it you bar bill, but if the innkeep was fool enough to sell to you on credit then he doesn't deserve to be rewarded for his foolish actions. Before you leave you should know that my daughter, the only one who can influence me in matters of justice, visits the nearby inns and knows the names of most of the barmaids. You may wish to keep that in mind before you start pawing any of them. Meribeth, would you be nice to escort the youth to the Red Study? Merely show her the door; do not enter it unless you have a guilty conscious that needs clearing."

"Father!"

Once more Meribeth's tone said far more than her words did.

"But we lost boon companions." Lance protested. "Should we get more!"

"The report said the village had buried them for free." Lord Randell informed them. "They wanted to know if they could take the expense of the graves from their taxes. Did you want to apply your bounties to the cost of the burials?"

"No, but..."

"Then congratulations on surviving your first adventure." Lord Randell said with obvious fake cheer. "As you can tell, not everyone accomplishes that. Even there are only kobolds involved."

"But they didn't even have any loot!" Lance protested.

"Of course not." Lord Randell told him. "They were only kobolds. Kobolds robbing peasants. Neither has anything in the line of real treasure. Why would you think that they had anything of value?"

"But..."

"Would you like some help in finding your way out?" Lord Randell asked. "It would not be the best use of my time, and as a powerful wizard my time is quite valuable, but if you wish I could be sure that you found your way out. Actually, a simple spell would ensure that you would leave by the quickest route possible."

"Um, no, that's fine." Lance said.

Three of the 'annihilators' left while Meribeth escorted the remaining one in another direction.


"Um, this is embarrassing." Alison of the Flowing Robes muttered as she walked with Meribeth. "Um, the blue room had blue hangings and the yellow room had yellow ones, so are there red ones in the Red Study?"

"You mean the blue waiting room and yellow receiving room?" Meribeth asked. "Um, no. It's nothing to do with the room. Um, it's when I leave that's, um, the colour of my..."

"I got it." Alison of the Flowing Robes said. "So does Lord Randell handling it himself or does he get the steward or a stable hand to do it?"

"Um, he doesn't." Meribeth said, looking away. "He used to, but when I got older, um, he laid some enchantments in one of the studies and now... That's the reason he said not to go in. If I do then..."

"Just you?" Alison of the Flowing Robes asked wishfully.

"Any girl." Meribeth admitted with a blush. "Or woman. The maids don't even clean it anymore. Father has to use a spell when it needs cleaning. Normally he doesn't waste magic for anything that a servant can do but the maids can't go in."

"You mean I just have to go in there and ..."

"And that's that." Meribeth said with a mental wince.

Alison couldn't believe what was happening. Last month she had been eager to leave her studies behind to go adventuring. Three weeks ago she had been sitting around with friends, talking about which adventure they would go on first. A few days ago she had held a dying friend in her arms, her magic unable to make any difference over whether she lived or died. Now, here she was, about get a sore bottom like she was some sort of naughty girl.

Alison thought that she might have had a smacked bottom before, but she couldn't think when. If it had happened then it had been so long ago that she couldn't remember it. Her school hadn't used any form of corporal punishment and she couldn't remember her parents ever giving her bum a firm pat. Now she was going to get a red bum, one delivered by magic rather than real person. A real person who she beg mercy from.

Not that she had any real choice. She couldn't cast spells without both hands and as for a brand, once branded she would never be able to walk down the street without being seen as a criminal.

The walk seemed endless, but finally Meribeth stopped in front of a door.

"This is it. The Red study." Meribeth announced. "The site of countless nightmares."

"Nightmares? I thought it was just a red bottom?" Alison responded.

Meribeth blushed again.

"Well, my nightmares." Meribeth admitted. "Going in there is the awfullest thing that happens to me."

Alison thought about that night, with the blood and the never-ending stream of kobolds, and wished that this could be awfullest thing that ever happened to her.

"I just go in and it happens. Just like that?"

"Just like that. The room is set to do it whenever someone enters." Meribeth nodded. Then she smiled. "And I've got a surprise for father. I've got a spell that beats this room. He just doesn't know it yet. I've been waiting for a chance to prove it."

"So why haven't you?"

"Um, just in case I'm wrong about beating it." Meribeth admitted. "But I know I'm not. I'm coming in with you to prove it."

Alison looked at the girl. Meribeth was only a few years younger than her and the girl's greatest nightmare was to get a sore bum from an enchantment that her father had rigged so he wouldn't have to spank her himself. Alison wished that she could be that carefree again.

Alison opened the door, took a deep breath, and walked inside. Meribeth followed, closing the door after her.

Alison had titled herself Alison of the Flowing Robes because it sounded impressive, but now her robes were actual flowing up her body as her under things shifted down. Then she was floating, being bent in mid-air as she floated to a high table. Bent double with her belly resting on the table, her feet well off the floor, Alison saw a strap float off the opposite wall and slowly drift towards her. She had plenty of time to think as it drifted.

"Don't you wish it would move faster?" Meribeth asked. "I know I always do."

"It can take its time." Alison commented.

All too soon it had drifted behind her. Then there was a sudden impact as it landed on her bottom.

Landed hard, with a loud smack.

Alison grunted, trying to shift her position, but the magic held her firmly in place.

Then the strap landed again, shifting its position so it struck a new spot. And again. And again. Always moving. Sometimes it landed mostly on one cheek, sometimes the other, sometimes on both, always moving. Always landing with a firm, hard impact. No emotion, no feeling, nothing but the smooth and steady fall of the strap.

The impact of the strap and the burning of her bottom. Those two things consumed her world. Tears began to fall. Partly from the pain, partly because of the feeling of helplessness, and partly because of something else.

For the first time since that night, Alison cried. She hadn't cried when Ralf died. She hadn't died when the last of Hillary's lifeblood spilled from her body. She couldn't cry then. Not as the only girl among the men. She couldn't allow herself the weakness of tears. Not then.

But these tears weren't a weakness. They were just a symptom of pain. It was like she had permission to cry so her tears could flow like rain.

It was almost worth the pain just to shed those tears.


Meribeth stared wide-eyed as the woman was strapped. Watching her kick like that, naked from the waist down, Meribeth suddenly realised why her father had stopped spanking her himself. She knew that she had to look like that when she was getting spanked and she was glad that her father didn't see her like that, with her legs sprayed as she kicked wildly under the strap. Alison was older than Meribeth was, and had more to show than Meribeth did, but Meribeth was sure she showed too much for her father (or any man) to be in the room when she was being strapped.

Then Alison was sliding off the table, the mystic force holding her in place vanishing. She moaned as her bruised bottom made contact with the floor. Meribeth had seen this happen before, once when a maid followed her in. The maid had been strapped first, then it had been Meribeth's turn.

But not this time.

This time she had a magical shield for her bottom. This time it wouldn't hurt. Meribeth smiled as her clothes moved.


Lord Randell waved his hand, dismissing the image from his viewing mirror. He watched the idiot adventurer's strapping but he wouldn't watch his daughter's. He had seen the smile on her face and that was enough. His face had once had a similar smile, right after his father had taught him a similar shielding spell.

His father had taken him down to the stables where the stable boys had taken turns throwing rocks at him. He had been sure that his shield would protect him, but he had been wrong. It was one thing to maintain a shield in practice, but it was another when rocks were bouncing off it.

That was impossible. Impossible unless you practised. The rocks had hurt that day, and the day after, and every day for weeks, but he had slowly learned how to keep a shield up under the pressure of a real (although harmless) attack.

Lord Randell knew that his daughter would be able to keep her shield up for the first fall of the strap. Maybe even for the second, but by the fifth time the strap fell it would be landing on her unshielded bottom.

Meribeth might think that the Red Study was always the same, but it wasn't. The default setting was 'maid who defied my orders', then there was the 'naughty daughter' setting and the 'prisoner' setting, the last one unused until today. From now on he would leave it at the 'Meribeth testing her shield' setting. It might be a bit hard on the maids but it would allow Meribeth to test her shield on her own terms.

And Lord Randell knew she would test her shield. That his daughter would sneak into the room every few days, always sure that this time her spell would hold. That this time she would be able to beat enchantment he had laid on the room. Her picking the times would give her illusion of control, but she would learn to master her shield just as he had, driven by pain and pride. The day she beat the room would feel as good to her as the day that none of the stones had hurt had felt to him.


Alison of the Flowing Robes finally stopped crying and limped away from the castle. She wasn't surprised to find that the rest of the annihilators were gone. Somehow the felling of companionship had dropped away when after the deaths. Maybe Ralf's tired old jokes had held them together, maybe it was just that they had seen death, but whatever it had been there was now gone. Alison wasn't sure if she would keep calling herself Alison of the Flowing Robes or if she would even go adventuring again. All she really knew for sure was that her bum hurt.

That, and that Meribeth had to be crazy; afterwards, through her tears the girl had vowed to test that room again and again until she could keep a shield up through an entire strapping. The girl planned to willingly, when she didn't have to, just so she could test what had to be the stupidest spell that Alison had ever heard off.

Not that it mattered now. Not that anything really mattered. As she limped away, Alison wondered where she was going. For the moment "away" was the answer, but sooner or later she knew that she would need a destination.

In her room, Meribeth was still crying, but these were tears of shame rather than ones of pains. She had meant to impression the other mage and instead the beautiful Alison of the Flowing Robes had gotten an eyeful of Meribeth's girlish kicking and crying as she was strapped. Meribeth knew that she was now nothing in Alison's eyes and vowed that she would beat that horrid room if it was the last thing she did. That even if it took years there would come a time when she left that room smiling.

Meribeth vowed to herself that she would do it and knew that she would never release herself from that vow, no matter how many times that wicked room reduced her to tears.
Goodgulf