Chapter 3
Time - Early evening, 1 day after the Harvest Festival
Place - Western border pass, Plegia
Inigo woke up.
It was one of many decisions he would later come to regret.
His head was throbbing, both from the drink and from slamming his head against the roof of the cart the night before. He was covered in sweat and tangled with a messy knot of blankets - which, worst of all, somebody appeared to have peed on.
At least it was nice and dark in here, he thought, at which point bright, blinding light flooded in, because he had apparently offended the universe in some way.
He thought, what's going on? Where are we? How much time has passed?
He thought, I have a lot of vague memories from last night, and none of them good. I remember explosions and people screaming. I remember pain in Gerome's voice.
He thought, we have to get back there and help everyone. Gerome and Lucina and all the rest...we have to save them.
But what he said was, "hrrghgblurghmuh."
Soft hands grabbed him and pulled him out from the mess of blankets. He blinked furiously, his eyes watering, until he could see Morgan.
He tried again. "Wha's where wha' who?"
"Yeah, hey," Morgan responded, closing the back of the cart. Inigo felt himself start to wobble, but miraculously caught himself and straightened up before he could tumble.
"Water?" Inigo asked, pleased at himself for finally managing a coherent word. Morgan nodded, and handed him a flask. Inigo took several long, grateful gulps. When he finally handed the nearly empty flask back, he asked, "where are we? What happened?"
Morgan took the flask, shook it, and sighed at how little was left. "We're in Plegia. I don't...know what happened, exactly. It was bad, whatever it was. There were Risen, and...I think Lucina…"
Inigo looked at Morgan for a long moment, before moving in to offer her a hug. She pushed away, shaking her head.
"It was that new king of Plegia. Mort. He cast some sort of spell, an explosion. You were in the back of the cart, in no condition to fight, and I saw Risen appearing all around us. Out of nowhere. I don't know how he did it. But I...I panicked, and drove the cart away as fast as I could. West, into Plegia. It was the only path that wasn't blocked off by the Risen, ironically."
"Okay, well, Lucina is fine," Inigo asserted. "She's a tough nut to crack, eh? And she's got Gerome with her. Hell, I wouldn't be surprised if the two of them wrapped up the whole thing already. So we should head back and rendezvous with them-"
"We're not rushing in blind," Morgan said, with a finality of tone that brooked no argument. "This Mort says he's my half-brother. Says he was hidden by his father until he was old enough to claim the throne. But...I mean, an army of Risen? I've read the stories about Gangrel. He was crazy, but he wasn't able to do anything like that."
Inigo looked around, scanning the horizon. Plegia had never exactly been a prime vacation spot, but after decades of war, much of it was scarred wasteland. When the Fel Dragon Grima had been summoned, it was here in Plegia. The population had been quite literally decimated. The environment ranged from miserably hot desert, to miserably dry canyon, to miserably empty steppes.
"So we're at war with a new king of Plegia," Inigo said, slowly, "and we're running into the HEART of Plegia? Just the two of us?"
"We're not here to fight. We're here to investigate. Gather information about your foe, always enter battle prepared. Knowledge is power. My father used to say at least two of those three things."
Inigo cracked his neck and rolled his shoulders.
"Fair enough," he said, utterly lacking the willpower to argue against Morgan. He knew how determined she could get. "Just the two of us, on an epic quest to save the world. Really brings me back, y'know? To the good old days, when we were almost dying on a daily basis."
"Uh huh," Morgan said, rolling her eyes. "But before we start this journey, you should probably take those pants off."
Inigo looked up at her, his face turning an embarrassing shade of crimson.
"Why, Morgan, I-" he began.
Morgan held up a hand to cut him off. "Just stop right there. I'm saying this because you clearly pissed yourself while you were passed out last night and it's starting to make me uncomfortable. There should be some spare outfits in the cart."
Inigo looked down at himself, contemplated for a moment, then back up.
"We can't prove this pee is mine," he said.
"Go!" Morgan snapped.
As Inigo made his way back into the cart to search for some new clothing, grumbling to himself under his breath, Morgan made her way to the front of the cart. She had a small, simple map unfolded by the seat she had been sitting in while driving through the night. It wasn't particularly detailed, though getting this far hadn't exactly been difficult; she just followed the setting sun then continued in as straight a line as she could manage.
Now the tricky part was figuring out where to go from here. Some parts of Plegia could be brimming with hostile soldiers working for Mort. Many, undoubtedly, would be full of the poor and destitute that were just struggling to pull their lives together after the many wars that they had been dragged into.
She scanned the map, looking for anything that jumped out at her. Her mother had been from Plegia. Technically her father had been as well. Unfortunately, none of this really seemed to matter - amnesia apparently ran in the family. She was unlikely to find a long lost Grandma to run home to.
She spotted a town on the map, just a small ways north of their current location. "Midtown," she read aloud. "A popular crossroads and trading post. Hmm…"
There was a soft jingling behind her, and she turned to see Inigo walking around the cart. He was wearing a flamboyant blue doublet, slightly opened at the chest, and flared purple leggings. He had even put on pointed shoes with little bells on them.
He spun around as Morgan gave him a long, blank stare.
"What do you think? How do I look?" He chuckled. "Man, who do you think packed this getup?"
"You look like an idiot," she responded automatically. But then a proverbial candlestick lit up over her head. "Inigo, you idiot! You brilliant, brilliant idiot!"
"Uh, okay," he responded, his blush starting to rise up again.
"Are there more weird clothes like that? I should change too!" Morgan said excitedly, rushing around to the back of the cart, half pulling her shirt off before she was even around the corner.
"I am loving your excitement," Inigo said, rather hesitantly, "but I'm not sure I understand it."
"Two Ylisseans snooping around for information would be incredibly suspicious, and a good way for us to get caught by some of Mort's lackeys. But if we're not Ylisseans...just, say, two travelling merchants from a distant land…" Morgan explained, over the sound of supplies being tossed around.
"Ahh! Yes, I understand. We'll travel...in character!" Inigo exclaimed. "I can speak with an accent! Dah, my name iz Inigo unt I ahm from exotic lands across dah sea."
"Mmm, okay, that was around three accents and they were all terrible, so let's drop that plan," Morgan responded, coming back out of the cart with puffy, embroidered robes on. "But you're in the right ballpark." She made a flourishing motion with her hands. "Morgan and Inigo's Merchant Caravan is open for business!"
"Yes!" Inigo said, pumping his fist in the air. "Hey, how come your name goes first..?"
They worked late into the night. Every item of clothing, every spare weapon, ever knick knack they could scrounge up was dusted off and carefully arranged on display. Morgan tore some blank pages out of one of her notebooks to make price tags. Inigo found some red mud to decorate the outside of the cart.
"Ta-da," he said, as the fading sunlight glinted off his handiwork: Inigo and Morgan's Merchant Caravan. Crude drawings of the two of them flanked the logo.
"Not bad," Morgan said approvingly as she stepped back to take it all in. "We make an alright team, when you can focus on the actual task at hand long enough."
"Yeah, yeah," Inigo said dismissively. "So, we set off for Midtown first thing in the morning, yeah? Want me to take first watch?"
Morgan shrugged. "I don't really think it matters too much - it's a straight line to the horizon in every direction. We'd see and hear anyone coming long before they reach us."
She turned and pulled back the curtain to the back of the cart. Her and Inigo looked inside - with all the items laid out everywhere, there was only room for one sleeping bag in the middle.
"We could both-" Morgan said softly.
"Yeah, I'll take first watch!" Inigo said loudly.
"Hm?"
"What?"
"I said-"
"Oh, I was just-"
"Sorry, you go first."
"You get some rest," Inigo said, puffing out his chest in a show of bravado. "I was unconscious for twelve hours anyway. I'm wide awake!"
"Oh. Okay, thanks," Morgan said meekly. She crawled into the cart and gave Inigo a fleeting look. "Goodnight."
"Goodnight!" Inigo said, far louder than he had intended. Morgan drew the curtain shut.
He turned away, feeling incredibly hot beneath the collar for some reason. He made sure he was about fifty paces away from the cart before he said, "gods damn it."
"Wakey wakey!"
Inigo jolted upright. His neck was killing him - apparently using a jagged rock as a pillow hadn't been the best plan, but his outdoorsman skills were sorely lacking.
He was hot, sweaty, and covered in a fine layer of dust, but a refreshing shadow had moved to cover him - Inigo and Morgan's Merchant Caravan. Morgan sat up front, horses already fed and prepped to go, reigns in her hands. Inigo scrambled upright and hopped into the seat next to her.
"Somebody had a productive morning," he said, brushing his clothes in an attempt to get at least some of the grime off.
"I had a bit of trouble sleeping," she responded with a light shrug. "Had a lot on my mind."
Inigo gave her a nervous look. "Er, like what?"
Morgan stared back. "Like...what to say to a murderous half-brother if and when I finally come face to face with him?"
"Oh, right, that." He stretched out, trying to get as comfortable as he could on the bumpy ride across a countryside where 'roads' were a bourgeois luxury. "You're a good person, Morgan. I think whatever you do, it will be the best possible choice. If anyone could change someone...it would be you."
Morgan frowned. "That's nice of you to say, Inigo, but I'm not quite as confident about that as you are. My mother was a...strange character. I don't have many memories of her, personally, but I know she fought against Ylisse for many years. She worked with Gangrel and Validar. Hell, even my father had the blood of the Fell Dragon in him. If anyone has the potential for evil in their veins, it's me…"
Inigo watched her, her normally bright and shiny face overcast by her mood and the incessant storm of dust.
They had never told her. About how, when they had found her shortly before the ritual to come back in time, she had been ranting and raving about being in service to Grima. How she had attacked Brady, forcing him to bash her over the head to knock her out. How that was likely why she had lost much of her memory from before that time.
Inigo knew Morgan; she had long been one of his closest friends. So close that he could hardly bring himself to invite her out for tea. Whatever was between them was more serious than that, or so he hoped. And he knew she was a good person. She would never have voluntarily turned against them. Grima, or an agent of his, had cast some sort of spell on her. He had always believed that to be true, and he wasn't about to stop now.
"Shut up," he said, playfully. "You are the last one to ever do that. Let's be honest, if any of us have supervillainy in our future, it's Gerome. He's already got the wardrobe."
Morgan chuckled at that. "You really think he's okay?"
"Trust me on this. We're going to make it back to Ylisse, and Gerome is going to roll his eyes at me and say something like, 'took you long enough. Were you busy getting rejected by every woman on the continent?'"
Morgan laughed even harder at this. Inigo felt his heart soar, knowing he had helped take her mind off of darker things. They rode in silence for some time.
"I think I see something on the horizon," Morgan finally pointed out. "See, there?"
"Aye," Inigo agreed. "Looks like man-made structures. Probably that town we're heading for. So, just to be clear, we're NOT doing accents?"
As they drew closer, it became apparent that Midtown was less like a town and more like an outpost. A small smattering of crude, unadorned buildings extended outwards from an empty, dusty circle that could possibly have been a bustling trading post in a time when this countryside wasn't so hellish.
At the moment there didn't seem to be any signs of life...no, that wasn't right. A lone merchant had a stall set up along the outer rim of the trading grounds. It looked to be hastily constructed with uneven hunks of wood, with a shakily written sign up top - 'Apples 5c'. Small baskets filled with brownish circles sat atop it, just daring the world to try one.
Lacking any other options, Morgan pulled their cart over to the apple stall. She and Inigo dismounted to make their way over to the lone merchant, Morgan stopping to hitch the horses.
Inigo reached the stall first, and looked suspiciously from the little old lady minding the stall, to the 'apples' she was selling.
"So...apples, eh?" he said, rather hesitantly.
"Oh, yes. Fresh from the orchard," the old lady responded.
Inigo looked over the merchandise. "Are they...Macintosh?" he asked.
"Sure," the old lady replied.
Inigo picked one up and inspected it. He brought it down onto the wooden counter. It went 'clonk.'
Morgan came up behind him, not-so-subtly shoving him aside so she could speak to the old lady herself.
"Greetings, madame!" she said, all sunshine and flowers. "We're travelling merchants looking to do a bit of business in yonder town."
"Yonder?" Inigo whispered.
"However," Morgan continued, ignoring him, "I can't help but notice this town is a bit devoid of potential customers."
"Mmhmm," the old lady replied.
"Being from...not around here," Morgan went on, "we're not quite up to date on the, ah, situation in Plegia. Heard there's a new king around."
"Mmhmm," the old lady replied.
"What's he like, eh? Any connection between him and the...apparently dwindling population here?" Morgan asked, trying to sound casual.
"Mmm," the old lady replied.
Morgan sighed. "Is there, by any chance, a tavern, or somewhere I can go to talk to someone?"
"Sorry," the old lady replied. She tapped the 'apples 5c' sign. "I prefer to save my chitchat for paying customers."
Morgan and Inigo exchanged a sidelong glance. Morgan motioned towards the old lady. Inigo frowned. Morgan waved her hand a bit more aggressively. Inigo rolled his eyes and reached for his coin purse.
"I'd like to buy an apple, please!" he said, with a sarcastic amount of excitement. He slapped five copper pieces onto the wooden countertop, and took the apple he had banged against it earlier. He began tossing it back and forth between his hands. He certainly wasn't about to bite into it, unless he suddenly decided he had too many teeth.
"Pleasure doin' business with ya," the old lady said, grinning. "So, what was the question?"
"Where is everybody?" Morgan asked. "This place seems deserted. Does it have anything to do with, uh...that new king?"
The old lady gave a shrug. "Ain't been many folks out this way the past few years. Lotta folks joined the Grimleal, went and got themselves eaten. Didn't much see the appeal in that, m'self. There's mostly just the local militia, by which I mean the sheriff and his boys. But they ain't had much work to do lately, since them city folk came to lend a hand."
"City folk?" Morgan pried, feeling like they were starting to get somewhere.
"Ayup," the old lady went on. "Platoon of guards said they were sent by that new king ya mentioned. Dunno why they bothered. Ain't nothin' out here worth a king's attention."
Morgan and Inigo exchanged looks once more. "Thank you, very much. Where could we find these city folk?"
Inigo fumbled the apple, but caught it before it hit the ground. "Huh? Why would we want to do that?"
The old lady pointed east, at one of the wider buildings. "Took up residence in the Sheriff's place. Good guy, our Sheriff. Bit of a dolt, but 's alright."
"Thanks! Come on, Inigo."
Morgan took off towards the indicated building. Inigo watched her for a moment before rushing after her, apple in hand.
"Wait! What's the plan here?" he hissed. "Isn't going right up to a group of guards sent by Mort kind of the opposite of remaining low-key?"
"We're not going to learn anything from that crazy old lady," Morgan answered. "Don't worry, just stay in character and we'll be fine. Let me do the talking if it makes you feel better."
"It doesn't," Inigo said with a sigh.
Another dust storm was starting to pick up. Inigo and Morgan both brought up their arms to cover their faces as they approached the building. They pushed the door open and stumbled in just in time, before the whipping winds became truly painful.
"What a miserable place," Inigo mumbled, rubbing his eyes.
"Hello there!" Morgan announced.
A half dozen set of eyes looked up at them. They were not welcoming looks.
Five of them were scattered about the room, sharpening blades, cleaning armour. Two were in a fierce arm wrestling match. One was picking his teeth with a dagger.
The sixth had the markings of an officer on his uniform. He sat behind a large desk. Oddly, there was nothing on the desk - no paperwork, no office supplies, nothing.
The officer lifted his head ever so slightly. "What?" he said. It didn't seem to be a question so much as an indication of his astonishment that anyone would be so stupid as to come in here.
"We're travelling merchants on our way through Plegia," Morgan continued, after pausing for only a moment to regain her composure. "We haven't been this way in a few years, though. We heard there's a new king and wanted to learn a bit more about the situation here. So that we can better understand the culture, and all that."
The officer continued to stare daggers at her. Inigo, feeling deeply uncomfortable, began to nervously fiddle with the apple in his hands.
"The culture," he repeated.
"That's right. It's always good for merchants to...know the lay of the land, and all that." I think, she added to herself.
Inigo looked around the room. The other five hadn't made a peep. They had all stopped what they were doing to stare intently at the newcomers.
"King Mort is a good man," the officer said slowly. "He brought us with him."
"From the capitol, you mean?" Morgan prodded.
The officer paused for a moment, before responding, "yes."
"Odd, though, that no one knew about him until recently, isn't it? How did Gangrel manage to hide the fact that he had a son? And why?"
The officer looked deeply annoyed. "I do not know why kings do what they do. I follow orders."
"And your orders were to come out here, to Midtown? Seems a bit odd for one so...well decorated as yourself." She gave her best attempt at a flattering smile. It didn't work.
The officer leaned back and stretched. He was a much taller man than he had originally looked, hunched over his desk.
"I don't ask questions. I follow orders."
There was a thud, as the guard that had been using a dagger to pick his teeth drove the blade into the table in front of him for no apparent reason.
"Look, I think we may have gotten off on the wrong foot," Morgan said hurriedly. "We don't mean to cause any offense."
Inigo gulped nervously. He went to toss his apple from right hand to left, but missed - it hit the ground with another 'clonk' that cut through the tense air like a knife. Upon hitting the uneven wooden flooring, it began to roll, until it banged into the edge of what appeared to be a makeshift bar built into the left side of the room.
"Sorry, sorry," Inigo mumbled, "I'll just...get that…"
"Don't get many travelers this way," the officer said, idly. "Where did you say you were from again?"
"Well, we didn't say," Morgan answered with an awkward chuckle. "We're from, ah...the Farfort. Small town, I'm sure you've never heard of it."
"No," the officer responded, venom in his tone. "That in Ylisse?"
Inigo hunched over and hustled after the apple. He bent down to grab it, and something caught his eye. Very slowly and cautiously, he looked around the bar.
A pudgy man was staring at him. His eyes were wide with terror. He didn't say anything, presumably because of the gag over his mouth. Rope was binding his legs and arms together.
"Meep," Inigo said, straightening up and spinning around.
"It's near Ylisse," Morgan said. "But I'd remind you that Ylisse and Plegia have been at peace for years now."
The officer looked between Morgan and an increasingly sweaty Inigo. He stood up.
"I think we should go," Inigo hissed.
"There's no reason for this hostility," Morgan said, her voice growing stern as she clearly began to lose her patience. "What does this king Mort have against Ylisse, exactly? Why would he possibly want to start another war?"
The other five soldiers were standing, starting to fan out in a circle around them. Inigo watched as they seemed to morph before his eyes, their skin fading, their faces shifting…
"Risen!" he shouted.
The officer let out a shriek as the illusion slipped away. He reached under the desk and pulled out a spear, then launched himself over the desk to charge at Morgan.
"Get down!" Inigo screamed. He shoved her to the ground, and together they tumbled across the floor as the officer went flying over them.
"We need weapons!" Morgan yelled. Thankfully, this was a barracks, even if it was a relatively bland one. A few weapons racks leaned against the wall to their right, boasting a variety of poor quality swords.
Inigo and Morgan scrambled to their feet. Unfortunately, the Risen were already armed. Two came charging at them, one from each side. They spun apart, each letting the thrill of battle take control of their reflexes.
They had been killing Risen for a long, long time. They were good at it.
Inigo grabbed a wooden chair as he spun away, and brought it around in an arc, smashing it across the torso of the Risen closest to him. The Risen collapsed to the ground, its weapon skittering across the floor. Inigo leapt backwards towards the officer's desk and kicked it over, making a barricade of sorts.
He ducked behind it, just as a Javelin came hurling across the room. It jutted into the thick wooden desk, shuddering to a halt.
Keeping himself close to the ground, he peeked around the desk to see if Morgan was okay. A Risen was slashing madly at her, and while she managed to nimbly dodge back and forth, a few times the Risen was missing by mere inches. It was too close for comfort.
Inigo rushed forward and threw himself at the Risen, knocking it backwards. Together they crashed straight through a wooden barrel. Thankfully the Risen absorbed most of the blow. Inigo quickly stood up and brushed the stray splinters off of himself.
"Catch!"
Morgan had reached one of the weapons racks. She knew his preferred fighting style; a long, thin rapier was thrown his way. He caught the hilt and spun around, feeling whole once again, even if this was clearly a piece of garbage compared to some of the weapons he'd grown to rely on in wars past.
Morgan was, despite appearances, a good deal stronger than Inigo; while he preferred to dance around his opponents, slashing at weak points as they became exposed, she preferred to use a broadsword and bash her way through their defenses. Inigo knew from years of training alongside her just how relentless she could be.
The Risen next to him was starting to pick itself up. Before it had a chance to recover, Inigo spun and drove his sword through the back of its skull, putting it down for good.
Morgan let out a guttural scream and charged forward. Two Risen stepped in front of the officer as if to protect him; odd behaviour for Risen, Inigo couldn't help but notice. The ones they had fought previously were all but mindless beasts. Not only had one been communicating with them in nearly complete sentences, but they were organizing like an actual platoon.
Morgan's blade came crashing down on one of the Risen, knocking its dagger aside and sending it hurtling across the room. She quickly ducked down as the second one's blade swept past where her neck had been a moment before. She grabbed a leg from the chair Inigo had shattered earlier, and parried a second blow with it. The Risen's weapon jammed in the wood, and Morgan yanked backwards, pulling the Risen off his feet.
Inigo charged in towards the officer. That one still had a spear, allowing him much greater range than Inigo had; hopefully it would prove cumbersome in close quarters combat. He brought his sword down in an arc to knock the spear away as it was thrust forward; the blow sent waves of pain up his arm, but it was better than a spear in the gut.
The officer stepped away from him, and the vaguest of survival instincts told Inigo to turn around; another Risen was almost on him, dagger raised and ready to cut him down where he stood.
In a panic, he brought his sword up, while stumbling backwards. He didn't feel his sword connect with anything. Well, that was it; he had missed, and now he was going to die.
After a moment of continued not dying, he looked down and saw the Risen on the ground, cut perfectly in half. Inigo looked sidelong to see Morgan still busy holding off two Risen on her own.
"Damn, I'm good," Inigo admitted with a shrug.
Morgan thrust her blade through the ribs of one of the Risen. She brought up a foot to kick the corpse backwards while pulling her weapon free. As she turned her attention on the final guard, the officer charged forward, spear ready to drive straight through her.
Not sure of what else to do, Inigo threw the apple. It clunked against the officer's head, throwing off his aim. Morgan had just finished dispatching the second Risen when the officer reached her; instead of impaling her through the back, the spear slid across her shoulders, cutting her a nasty but non-lethal flesh wound.
Morgan screamed and collapsed. The officer turned towards Inigo, eyes glowing with hatred.
"Come and get me, ugly!" Inigo taunted. He prayed the monster would charge for him first, rather than try to finish off Morgan while she was prone.
Thankfully, the officer proved susceptible to schoolyard taunts. It charged forward. Inigo raised his blade and stepped aside, but his opponent anticipated this; the officer pivoted, and drove the butt of the spear hard into Inigo's ribs. He felt a painful crack as the wind was knocked out of him.
"Pathetic," the officer said with a smug grin. He picked up Inigo with one hand and threw him across the room, where he landed next to Morgan. Morgan was struggling to sit upright again; Inigo helped her, and together they sat in each other's arms, bleeding and broken.
"Mort will be most pleased. Two less Ylissean scum. I will bring your scalps to him at his new home in Ylisstol."
Inigo held Morgan as tightly as he could. He had so much he wanted to tell her. So much he wanted to apologize for.
And then a spear tip exploded through the Risen officer's chest.
"Aaaahhhh!" Inigo screamed. "A haunted spear!"
Morgan shook him. "Inigo, look! Something is holding the spear!"
As the spear was pulled out of the Risen, the corpse slumped to the ground at their feet. A large, shining suit of golden armour stood behind it.
"Aaaahhhh!" Inigo screamed again. "A haunted suit of armour!"
Morgan slapped him. "Inigo, look! Someone is in the armour!"
Together they looked up at the concerned, gentle face looking down at them.
"...Dad!?" Inigo gasped. He then clutched his ribs in pain. "Ow…"
"It's okay! That's the last of them," Kellam said, bending down to offer his son a hand. "Come on, there was a healing staff in the cart. You and Morgan both need to be patched up."
"Dad!?" Inigo repeated. "What the...how did you get here? How did you know where to find us?"
Kellam looked between Inigo and Morgan, both of whom were staring at him with shock and awe clear on their faces.
"Er," Kellam answered. "I've been with you guys the entire time."
"You...huh?"
"I was at the festival with you," Kellam explained. "I was the one who kept offering to refill your drinks for you? I wanted you to be able to relax and have fun, since I know how rare that is...but then I helped Morgan carry you to the cart since she was struggling to do it herself…"
"Huh," Morgan said. "You know, I thought it was suspiciously easy."
"I've been helping steady you whenever you were about to fall," Kellam continued.
"I thought I had really great balance!" Inigo yelled.
"And I helped cut down that Risen that almost got you," he said, pointing to the Risen that had been cut in half.
"So, wait, wait, wait," Inigo said, rubbing his temples. "You were the one who peed on my blankets!?"
"Er...no. That was definitely you."
"Oh."
Morgan winced and grabbed at her bleeding shoulder. "Well, thanks, Kellam. We'd be goners if you hadn't arri- er… been here. What was that about a healing staff..?"
"Wait, hold on," Inigo said. He gritted his teeth through the pain and walked briskly across the room back to the bar. He reached down and dragged forward the man who was bound and gagged, quickly using his sword to free him.
"Thank the gods," the man gasped, slowly standing up. He quickly stumbled back to the ground, his legs too weak to support him. "I can't believe the two of you took on all those monsters!"
"Three," Kellam corrected nonchalantly.
"It was nothing," Inigo said. "I realize our cunning ruse was very convincing, but we're not actually travelling merchants. We're Ylissean soldiers."
"Right, yeah, I got that," the man said, rubbing his legs in an attempt to get some blood flowing. "I'm the sheriff, by the way. Or, I mean, I was, before those guys showed up. They conscripted anyone who could hold a weapon and sent them off to 'serve the king.' I think they only kept me around to parade out if anyone left started asking questions…"
"What do you know about this new king?" Morgan asked, shuffling her way over to them, blood dripping through her fingers as she clutched at her wound. "Why does he need so many conscripts?"
"That's way above my pay grade," the sheriff replied, "but I heard those beasts talk about an invasion of Ylisse a few times. They made it sound like they had already started…"
Morgan and Inigo exchanged a worried glance.
"That Risen said he'd bring our scalps to Ylisstol," Inigo said.
"So that's where he was heading after the festival," Morgan added. "If he managed to kill everyone there and march through the night…"
"There's no way he killed everyone there," Inigo asserted. "Gerome? Nah? Donnel? These guys helped take down Grima! You mean to tell me some punk kid would do what Grima couldn't?"
"Well, a bunch of punk kids helped take down Grima," Morgan pointed out.
"Not the point!" Inigo sighed. "Gerome and the rest are fine, okay? They made it to Ylisstol. They'll warn Severa and Gaius and everyone, and hold out until help arrives. They're a tough bunch."
Morgan crossed her arms across her chest, deep in contemplation. "But where does that leave us…? What should we do?"
"We should probably try and get back to Ylisstol as soon as possible," Kellam suggested.
"I say we head back to Ylisstol as soon as possible," Inigo asserted.
"But it may be dangerous if more of Mort's Risen are patrolling the area," Kellam continued.
"I agree, but it'll likely be dangerous with Mort's Risen patrolling the area," Morgan responded.
"Then we continue as the caravan!" Inigo announced. "We'll ride north, straight through the heart of Plegia, then head east across the border when we've bypassed any holdouts of Mort's army. I know it didn't work out so great when we were prying for answers, but if we just keep our heads down and keep moving we should be alright. I mean, with my charm…"
"And my cunning…" Morgan added, nodding.
"And I'm also here," Kellam said.
"If I can but in here?" the sheriff said, awkwardly raising a hand. "I may actually be able to help. There's an annual meetup of, uh, I guess you could say merchants. It's a few days ride north of here, but it sounds like you're headed that way anyway. Might be able to join up with a caravan heading to Ylisstol, help hide yourselves a bit better. Maybe buy some mercenaries to join your cause, I dunno."
"Hey, that's a good idea," Inigo said, nodding. "Can you show us how to get there?"
The sheriff nodded, and made his way over to the desk, which was now laying on its side and impaled by a javelin. He sighed. "I liked that desk…"
He opened one of the drawers and pulled out a scroll. Upon unrolling it, it was a clear map of Plegia, much more detailed than the basic one Morgan had been using.
"Here," he said, pointing to a spot that was otherwise in the middle of nowhere.
Inigo, Morgan, and Kellam all craned in for a better look.
The spot was labeled, "Annapolis."
Kellam chuckled.
Inigo sighed. "Really should have seen that coming."
Morgan grunted. "Okay, great. So...about that healing staff…"