Hello internet!
This is the (small) milestone of a tenth chapter. So...congratulations? To me? I dunno.
Also, I'd like to suggest to you to go read and review The Miner's Destiny, since the ending will be coming (soon). This is the best time to catch up on it, so do yourselves a favor! :D
REVIEW ANSWERS:
TheShadowSong: Matt? Why, he's right here :P
HPE24: In due time, Leon will show up. Another chapter, I daresay...
EclipseWolf64: The volcano will do volcano things soon. And yes, there will be fire!
manaphymajic1999: First thing, your name, good sir, is terrible to spell XD. And no, Celine did not survive. It is unfortunate, but it only two Gone characters are alive (not counting Herobrine).
VVVVV
Two weeks of traveling through woodlands and plains had left Matt deprived and exhausted; when they crested the stony ridge of a small hillock and gazed down upon the flowing waters of the Delphos River and the massive city of New Connaught, it finally felt like he had found a home. Or, at least, a place to stay.
Ever since leaving the hospitality of Herobrine's homely hovel behind, Matt and his escort Royce had trekked out of the plains of the Southron and into the temperate forests of the northern part of the province, closer and closer to New Connaught. Only twice had they come upon an actual village; the first one had been burned by Harvesters, a destroyed ruin left behind for travelers to stumble upon.
"Evil has been done here. You can almost feel it," Royce had commented bleakly as they traversed the wreck of the unnamed hamlet.
Most of the men had been killed outright, while they had attempted to defend their homes; the women had been despoiled and then either killed or, if the raiders had been feeling cruel, tortured to death. Not even children were spared.
"The Southron is a giant horror story," Royce had commented again, gazing up at crucified corpses near the town hall.
"They kill everyone, don't they?" Matt had asked.
"Aye. They kill, but then they go beyond that. Women, especially young girls, have it far worse; they'll be raped, sodomized, mutilated and humiliated before death. We've already got prime examples here."
Matt shied away from the younger corpses, desperately wanting to leave the village.
The second town, by the name of Wellington, had its own gruesome sight to display. At least twenty Harvesters had been decapitated; their heads had been jammed onto pikes, and their bodies strung up as a grotesque cautionary sign. A crude hand painted sign read "NO MERCY FOR THE MERCILESS!"
"Heh. Even the brutes are brutalized," Royce laughed as they rode past the heads, each one of them fresh.
"Aye," one of the well-armed guardsmen had called down from the gatehouse. "That's for what they did at Carpale and Stillrun."
"What happened there?" Matt asked, out of sheer curiosity.
"You don't wanna know, lad. Just pray those bastards never take you alive," the guard replied, before disappearing into one of the towers.
They had bought supplies for the road in Wellington and visited a local doctor for Matt's arm, where he was given several illicit healing potions and ordered to spend the night. Reluctantly, the pair sought shelter in a nearby inn and, thankfully, Matt's arm was almost entirely healed by morning, although it was still sore and throbbing. They ate breakfast in the common room before striking out north once more, heading ultimately for the river and for the great city. Only once did they come upon a Harvester by the road, one who had become caught in a bear trap and was lying against a nearby tree. Royce did him the merciful favor of slicing off the leg that was not trapped, allowing him to die faster.
"I should've let him rot there," he mused afterwards, while they were making a small camp in a nearby cave. "I guess I let pity get the best of me."
A week after that, they had arrived on the hillock that stood over the great city, a sprawling cancer of stone and wood that housed millions of people, all tightly packed in what was mostly slums and shacks. A massive stone wall, nearly thirty feet in width, circled around most of the city, except for the north side and the river. The north quarter was spilling out around the giant mountain that stood watch over the metropolis.
"New Connaught. Ah, what an ugly, wretched hive that is," Royce laughed.
"Where will we go?" Matt asked, his horse neighing nervously as a large mountain looming over the city rumbled briefly.
"The trading company's headquarters. That's the best place to go-as for you, I need to take you to an inn on the south side of the city. Search for this runaway castellan, I forget his name-"
"Bergensten," Matt corrected.
"Yeah, whatever. Just remember his name, he shouldn't be too difficult to find..."
As Royce guffawed dryly, Matt sensed sarcasm.
"You're being sarcastic."
"Of course I'm damn well being sarcastic. There are half a hundred inns on the south side-we'd be better off looking for a grain of dirt in a desert. It won't be easy finding Rose Cross," Royce snorted. "We'll enter on the main road, it'll look less suspicious."
The pair descended from the hillock, returned back into the nearby woodlands for about an hour or so, and then emerged on the large cobblestone highway that led south, and turned back towards the city.
Traffic on the road was relatively heavy; caravans, traveling salesmen, priests, civilians, and quite a few columns of soldiers bearing the banners of either Lord Kastner or Lord Kleiner. None of the guardsmen stopped to accost them; Royce still wore the markings of the Crosshatch Trading Company, despite lacking a wagon for goods. Only one caravan passing south noticed and spoke to the pair for a short moment.
"You seem to be missing your paycheck," one of the escorts joked, mentioning the pair's lack of goods. "What happened?"
"Harvesters happened," Royce grunted in reply.
"It seems to occur quite often. Glad we're only going down to Castle Razorback."
They were watched by guardsmen as they entered the city gate, but were able to pass into the metropolis unmolested and unchecked, squirming through thick crowds as they walked. Most of the people rode horses; the ones who were on foot were unfortunate enough to be jostled around by mounts and carts.
They had entered the south side of New Connaught. The walls, at least forty feet tall, towered above them, massive battlements of stone and packed earth lined with guard towers and barracks. In some places they were even thicker, to the point where buildings had been constructed on top of the walls themselves, instead of adjoining to them. Wide streets of paved cobblestones cut past tall timber-frame homes and stone villas, and in some places large collections of shacks or hovels took over, overcrowded and filthy.
"Welcome to the Faceless City, Matt. You'll find no better place to have your damn pockets picked," Royce scoffed as they flowed with the foot traffic, down one of the larger avenues leading along the walls.
"It's called the Faceless City-"
"Because no man here has a true face, so the saying goes," Royce explained. "I wouldn't have expected you to know that. Much of the city is infested with brigands, pickpockets, con men and thieves, or in general slimy folk. Indecent people, best not to get acquainted with any of them."
"Do remind me why we're here again," Matt groaned, watching two suspicious looking men out of the corner of his eye. They slid out of the crowd and into the narrow, twisting confines of a back alley, disappearing into a decrepit stable.
"Some white-eyed bastard asked me to. I'm regretting it already." Royce chuckled at his own joke and the two pushed on, sticking to the south side.
There were people everywhere, from all walks of life. Soldiers and guardsmen plodded the streets in groups, keeping watch and marching from post to post. Merchants, on the corners and crowded sidewalks, hawked and peddled their wares to passerby, selling everything from coal to lapis lazuli to fine fabrics, and more. Common folk, workers and laborers and apprentices, walked from place to place, taking care of their daily business. Porters, hefting large crates or hauling wagons loaded with goods, parted the crowds as they walked, bearing their loads across the city and moving from location to location.
Night had fallen when they stopped by the Rose Cross, distinguished by the fading lettering and emblem inscribed on a sign hanging over the main door. The smell inside could only be described as a wafting, thick cloud reeking of ale, stale sweat, spit, roast meat, human feces and old bread.
"Ah, the stink of an inn. You get used to it," Royce smiled, stepping into the foul odor of the common room.
"It's not my first time-"
"Nor will it be your last. Try to focus on the better smells, if there are any," Royce advised.
"I can't say I can pick out better scents in here. Unless you can get a whiff of lavender," Matt complained, wrinkling his nose as he jostled past innkeeps and burly men.
"Hey, sweat smells better than shit. Keep that in mind," Royce chuckled.
They jostled past more men, finally finding an empty table that would fit four total. Royce took a seat, and motioned for Matt to follow suit.
"Our man must be somewhere in here. Keep your eyes open," Royce reminded him as one of the barmaids shuffled over to their spot and took orders. Royce motioned her away with a disinterested flick of his hand.
"I could use a bite to eat," Matt complained.
"We'll get some later. Better to take care of our business first, and then turn our attention to more minor details."
Royce nervously picked some dry, loose leather off of his hauberk as they waited, waited for someone who looked like a ragged, runaway castellan to show his face in the crowded interior of the inn. After nearly fifteen minutes, during which another serving maid came to take their order and a rowdy brawl broke out between two drunk stablehands, an aged man with blond hair, an eyepatch and ragged, dirty traveling clothes approached them and sat down beside Matt, facing Royce.
"You look like the man that was described to me. Crosshatch, middle aged, dirty, haggard...do you have it?" the newcomer asked quietly, whispering despite the surging, raucous din of the inn.
"Have the...what?" Royce asked, blinking himself out of his momentary stupor.
"The pendant...don't ask questions, just show me the damn trinket!" he hissed.
Without hesitation, Matt pulled the dirtied pendant from the pocket of his mud-caked pants, and just barely revealed it, so that the newcomer could catch a glimpse. Hurriedly, he stuffed it back in as a commoner passed by the table.
"Good. You have it. If you must ask, I am Rykar Bergensten-"
"We've been searching for you-"
"Hush," the castellan silenced Royce. "You cannot mention my name in public. I'm a wanted man, I fled my post and abandoned Lady Lanos. Not to mention I cast out her pendant," Rykar explained in a hushed tone, barely audible.
"It was never clear to me why you did that," Royce said, bemused.
"My oath to the Persson family is much stronger than my oath to the Lanos household. When the time came, I knew where my loyalties lay. Once I fled, I dyed my hair and threw on an eyepatch. Enough to fool most folks."
"And so now you're on the lam, disguised as a back-alley beggar?" Royce gaped, incredulous. "Must be a new all-time low for the castellan of Brackwood Keep."
"I did what I had to do," Rykar growled. "But my job has just begun. I have found the pendant and its keeper, and it is now my job to escort him to a safer location."
"So, this is it? You just take this kid off to god knows where?"
"Is there an issue with that?" Rykar asked politely.
"Maybe...a bit," Royce admitted, wincing.
"Have you grown attached to Mr. Cook here? That would be interesting, wouldn't it?" the castellan smiled nastily.
"How do I know you're Rykar Bergensten, eh?" Royce asked, and within a second the castellan withdrew a badge from his pocket, the pin of House Lanos, and stowed it away before anyone could see.
"I keep the badge with me. A reminder of my service. But I have to keep it hidden; remember, I am a fugitive..."
"Alright, fine. You're Rykar Bergensten. I suppose this is goodbye, then...I suppose I have become attached to Matt. We've shed blood side by side, that's something," Royce spoke, more quietly now.
"If you wish to travel with my group, you're more than welcome to come along. Seeing as there's not much left for you here," Rykar pointed out.
"Perhaps. Where would I meet you, if I were to consider it?" Royce asked.
"West Gate. I've got a few guardsmen there who are...on my payroll, suffice to say. They will let us through without harm," Rykar answered him.
"You'd better hope you bribed 'em well. We'll see if I go there. I'm heading off to either pick up a new job or leave the Company."
Royce bid his farewell and disappeared into the swarming crowd.
"Herobrine told you all about the pendant, did he not?" Bergensten asked when Royce was gone.
"He...yeah, he did. He explained everything," Matt said as the castellan shifted to the other side of the table.
"Then you realize the power that you hold? How much energy is contained within that tiny trinket?"
"I realize that," Matt replied. "But...why can't I shift the burden to someone else?"
"Because no one else will take that burden," Rykar chuckled. "Some dimwit might steal the pendant, thinking that he can sell it, but few understand the raw power contained within it. Tell me, have you felt...like a pull towards it? Like, a gravitational pull?"
"Several...times, yeah," Matt answered, feeling the pull at that very moment. It was as if the pendant was calling out to him, deep within the safe confines of his pants pocket.
"That's the the power of the trinket. It's a dangerous object, and it's far worse when worn. You haven't been...wearing it on your person, have you?" Bergensten asked cautiously.
"No, I have not been wearing it-"
"If that were the case it would've already ensnared you by now," he muttered. "The fact that you're keeping it in your pocket probably helps you resist the drawing force. Doesn't mean you're entirely safe from the pendant's power."
"What do you plan to do with it?" Matt asked.
"Hide it somewhere. Well, not necessarily hide," Rykar tacked on. "I intend to conceal it safe from strange eyes and strange hands. The Ditch is sufficiently well-defended to allow the pendant to stay sealed away. Once we get there, it should be in safe hands. Or, well, safer hands..."
There was more commotion inside the common room; another brawl was starting up, between what looked like a muscular blacksmith and a bulky, brawny field hand who had the look of a Southron man on him. Rykar shook his head in obvious disgust and tried to ignore the cacophony of shouts and guttural growls.
"It will be nearly two weeks' journey to the Ditch on horseback. We've got enough horses to carry our entire party."
"How many people?" Matt queried.
"Ten in total. Nine now, including me, and we're accounting for you. We cannot account for your other companion, presuming that he comes along with us."
"I'm ready to leave. I have no business in New Connaught-"
"Then we'd best be off. The sooner, the better," Rykar muttered, already up from his seat. Matt stumbled out of the booth behind him as the castellan pushed his way through commoners and bar goers, moving towards the back of the common room where the stables were.
There were several men waiting in a dark corner of the stable, all well-armored and armed with fine steel. The head of the stables was waiting at the entrance; as Rykar passed, he flipped the man a gold coin.
"For your troubles. Keep your mouth shut, and you'll have none from us," the castellan reassured him, and the man nodded hastily, greedily eyeing the shining golden disc.
"These are my men. You'll get to know their names, but for now it's kinda pointless to name them. The more time you spend with them, the more you get used to them," Rykar spread his arms to unveil his small group of soldiers. They were gruff, weathered fighters, all in their mid-forties, but they looked far more professional than Royce did.
"The horses are saddled, sir," the stable master spoke.
"Thank you. And-" he flipped the man another golden coin, followed by an iron piece. "We were never here. Remember that."
"Ah, yes, of course...yes sir, you were never here," the man blundered about, stooping to seize the fallen iron piece.
"Now that that's in order, we shouldn't lose time. We need to leave as soon as possible," Rykar announced.
"What about Royce?"
"If he wishes to come with us, he'll be there. We won't make it through these streets easily, and our travel will be slow going. Most like several guardsmen will stop us and check our identification."
"You have alternate identification, I hope?" Matt asked.
"For all of us, except you. But they won't be looking for you yet, word hasn't gotten out. All because of the war," Rykar answered.
"I've missed too much..."
"Lanos and Renn," the castellan spoke as he mounted his plough horse. "Minor, just skirmishes so far, but it's disruptive to the security and stability of the realm. Notch knows what'll happen next."
"War across the entire region," one of the escorts muttered.
"Pessimism gets you nowhere. Someone get Matt up on his mount, we need to leave the city. We'll see if our hanger-on turns up."
"Can you trust this guys, sir?" another man asked.
"Relatively. He's brought our package this far, he can't let us down. He's a Crosshatch man, so he'll be pretty trustworthy," Rykar answered.
"That's not very reassuring..."
One of the armored guards assisted Matt up onto the massive farm horse that he would be riding. It was a bulky beast, nearly sixteen hands tall, but it was gentle, and reacted calmly when Matt urged it out of its stable and followed Rykar out of the building.
The streets were much quieter now, as night had risen and the sun had disappeared from the sky. Normally, the back alleys and dark terraces of New Connaught would be rife with pickpockets and thieves, eager to prey on unwary night time travelers. But the massive group of armored riders seemed to dissuade most of them from even showing up; only a few rough looking men were seen on a street corner, and they failed to make a move even after the convoy passed.
They had no trouble at all until they reached the Western Gate; to Matt's dismay, the gateway was heavily guarded and patrolled by city guardsmen, each of them well armed and on the lookout for someone. They were stirred up when they spotted the approaching escort.
"Damn, I knew we wouldn't get out of here easily," one of the men cursed.
"Play cool. We have our identification, they won't notice anything if we act calm."
"What about the boy?"
"They aren't looking for him. They're looking for me. I'm the fugitive."
The group approached the guardsmen calmly, and the latter watched suspiciously. A large mass of armored, mounted men was sure to draw attention, and even the archers atop the New Connaught battlements were watching down, their eyes following each member of the party from the parapets.
"I'm going to have to stop you gentlemen there," the guard captain announced brusquely, stepping in front of Rykar. "I'm afraid we can't let you go without a few questions."
"Seems reasonable," Bergensten replied politely, trying to throw on a calm and cordial air.
"And what might a group of respectable, fair knights like you gentlemen be traveling at this late hour?"
"We have business out west. The Ditch, to be precise," Bergensten answered.
"Business with Lord Walker, is it?" the captain asked courteously.
"Aye, but that business be our own."
"Alright, well, what you do is what you do. I won't inquire any further." He stepped away from the convoy, back into one of the guard shacks to consult with another man. Matt could not heard a word they said, but the captain's tone was beginning to sound more suspicious, instead of affable. As he returned from his brief conversation, he did not appear to be in such an amiable mood anymore.
"We're searching for a man by the name of Rykar Bergensten. Have you happened to hear of him?" the captain asked, his tone far more gruff now.
"Doesn't ring a bell. Where's he from?" the actual Bergensten inquired, sounding bored now. Matt prayed that the castellan's disguise would be enough to throw off the guards; none of the escorts were wanted for anything, he presumed.
"Southron. He was the castellan of Brackwood Keep. I would hope you are familiar with Lady Lanos?"
"House Lanos, yes. But I have not heard of a man by the name of Bergensten. Was he known to be traveling north?" the real Rykar queried.
"He could be. North, south, east, west, it doesn't matter. We're still looking for him. And you say you've never heard of this man?"
"The name is completely unfamiliar, yes," Rykar answered.
"Well, curious, isn't it. Rykar Bergensten...castellan of Brackwood Keep, known to have fled to escape accusations of grand theft. Known to be disguising himself with traveling clothes, blond hair dye and an eyepatch..." The guardsman was reading off of a scroll of parchment.
The captain spoke aloud, for all to hear, but the only people present were the guards and the riders. Rykar shifted slightly in his saddle, obviously unnerved.
"Eyepatch, blond hair...suits your physical description just right, wouldn't you say?" the captain asked.
"Perhaps we look a little similar. But a castellan would be wearing finer clothes, would he not?" Rykar posited.
"Yes, yes...a man of his station would certainly be wearing something more fitting to his class," the guardsman pondered, and then returned to the parchment.
"Known to be wearing commoner's dress in exchange for his noble's garb..." he read aloud again. "Opted for peasant's rags, have you?"
"They're comfortable. I'm certain that Rykar Bergensten would look far more suspicious than me. I can tell you, I'm not-"
"Let's see some identification, shall we?" the captain requested.
"Identification?"
"Yes...you know, if you really are Ryk-"
"Bergensten? Him? That's a funny notion," a familiar voice rang out in the dark.
Royce, in a fresh hauberk with the Crosshatch insignia stitched on front, rode up on a destrier, looked even better than the castellan. He drew up beside the guardsman and Rykar, looking cleaner than before.
"And who the hell might you be?" the captain asked, but his face betrayed the fact that he might already have an idea.
"The leader of this expedition. We're supposed to be traveling out to the Ditch. I asked my escort to wait at the West Gate for me," Royce spoke, reining his horse in.
"You're Crosshatch?"
"Yes. We're going to the Ditch and escorting a valuable shipment back. Diamonds, probably, but my payroll isn't significant enough for me to know. All I'm told is to bring it back in a month, no longer."
The guard captain looked mighty confused at that point; he glanced from Rykar to Royce, unsure how to proceed. Finally, swayed by the insignia sewn on Royce's chest, he bid the men under his command to open the gates.
"Alright, alright. Sorry for the trouble. Go on, if it's Crosshatch business."
The guard glared nastily at Bergensten, who had just narrowly escaped being discovered. Royce's arrival couldn't have been more timely. Two by two, the escort left the city, led by Royce. As soon as every one of them had departed, the massive doors shut behind them, and they were alone on the west road.
"Perfect timing," Rykar commended Royce as they left the towering city walls behind.
"Did he notice you?"
"He came damn close. I don't think he was too happy to let me go," the castellan replied, glancing nervously back towards the gate. "That insignia works wonders."
"Few argue with Crosshatch. It's probable that they're on the company's payroll, a little extra dosh so that special commodities can slide right through the city. That's the way trade works," Royce answered.
The group fell silent as they left the bright lights of New Connaught's gate, heading out for the distant fortress of the Ditch, a journey of two weeks' time.