Since this story is finished, I will keep uploading chapters despite no one reading it anyway. This is more for my own sake now.
If you do happen to enjoy this, do let me know either via review or in a PM if you are shy.
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Chapter Eight: Unexplained Happenings
Morty's room was nothing special. A clothing rack and two beds with no pillows and a single thin white sheet. He supposed it was supposed to make the soldiers tougher. Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he darted a glance at his companion. Falkner was still asleep. That meant he had some time to himself to explore the barracks. Most of the soldiers were at work now.
He stood up and walked over to the clothing rack. All soldiers were expected to wear chainmail, but Morty found such armour restrictive and too cumbersome. He preferred light armour and he was pleased to see there was leather armour available. Later today, he'd ask Falkner for the location on the baths. It had been awhile since he last had the chance, and nothing was more satisfying after a long hard day of work than a cold bath to ease the muscles. After changing into his leather hide armour, he carefully placed his sleepwear made of animal hide on the bed.
He slowly crept over to the door making sure his footsteps did not disturb. Judging by the total silence, he assumed the other soldiers were also fast asleep. Perfect. He left the room thankful there was no door to worry about. There was no privacy within the barracks, but the soldiers spent little time inside the actual building. The interior of the barracks was for eating and sleeping.
The building had a damp smell to it, and he assumed it was probably because hardly any air entered the building due to the limited numbers in windows and their lack of size. No wonder people spent little time in here. It seemed more like a prison. He walked down the corridor and followed the steps leading down to the bottom floor. Currently, he was on the third.
"…Filthy soldiers… Can't ever clean up after themselves…"
As he walked down the stairs, he heard the voice of a female. He recognized it as Sabrina, the girl who claimed to have visions of bad things to come. She was one of the servants and it seemed her primary area of duty was the barracks. Unlucky girl. He found her on the floor scrubbing away at some food marks.
"You should be careful. Scrub any harder and you might begin to bleed."
Sabrina glanced up, startled. "…Oh gods, I didn't know you were awake." She scrubbed at the floor again with her cloth then dunked it into the soapy bucket of water.
Her dress was white with a red ribbon around the waist but stained with dirt marks. He even saw multiple tears in her dress, and he wondered how much she was getting paid. It can't have been much considering the state of her attire.
Without looking at his face, she said, "The food won't be ready for another hour. We have to wait for the bakers to finish then we have to bring the food over here and prepare the tables for the soldiers."
"I couldn't sleep."
"Oh. You must be one of the new recruits then. It happens with them all."
"What? They all have sleeping issues?"
"It's a different life and it's hard to adjust," Sabrina explained, climbing to her feet. Her saw purplish bruises on her knees. "You're giving up your old life for a new one. A life you think will be better, but it's really no different that of a slave."
He folded his arms, amused. "You speak freely for a slave. Those are some strong assumptions." And she spoke well too. Must've come from an educated background.
"Soldiers train during the daylight hours repeating the same drills every day. Whilst the soldiers are training, the slaves are repeating the same tasks every day. We both serve a higher power and must do as told or face the consequences of our masters." She kept her eyes focused on the ground, as if afraid to look him directly.
"I heard you yesterday. You said something about visions."
"You heard nothing."
He drew in a deep breath. "You do not have to be afraid of me. I am not like the others. I want to know what you saw."
She did not lift her gaze, preferring to speak to the ground instead. Perhaps the bruises on her knees had come from other means. At first, he assumed she had received them from scrubbing floors, but it wasn't unheard of for slave masters to beat their servants. Maybe that was why she was so afraid to look at him.
"I was just dreaming. Nothing more. Please. I must return to my work." She continued to scrub the floor.
He wasn't going to give up. To earn the trust of the locals and succeed in his task, he had to appear a friend. "You're a servant girl. What harm could there possibly be in telling me what you saw? I'm not going to tell anyone else if that is what you are afraid of. I just joined up - who would believe me anyway? Please, look at me. I'm not going to hurt you like others have."
Now she looked up. Her dark eyes were wide, but he could see sadness and fear in them. What sort of horrors had this girl endured in her life? "The others laugh at me. They think I'm infected in the head. I see things when I close my eyes at night. Horrible things. And they become true. I was sent away from my village at a young age because the townsfolk feared me. They thought I brought death."
He dropped down to his knees so he could be at equal height to her. "You're an oracle, aren't you? You are one of the gifted people on this earth that can see glimpses of the future. It's not a curse; it's a blessing. A gift. You should never be ashamed of the powers you have." People feared what they did not understand.
"An oracle? No, I can't be. They're just dreams."
The poor girl didn't even know what she was nor what great power she had. He figured it was best not to frighten her further. "If it is just a dream then there's no harm in telling me what you saw."
She seemed hesitant at first, avoiding his gaze. But she found the courage to speak. "Darkness. It's always the same dream. There's a battlefield. Fallen soldiers lay stretched across the bloody grass and there's a man walking through them, his face concealed by a black hood. He walks with a limp, as if crippled, but it doesn't deter him. He bends over next to one of the corpses and presses a hand against the forehead. He says some words, but I can't make them out. The corpse rises to its feet. Ravens circle high above." She drew in a deep breath and exhaled, clearly disturbed by the visions. "It has to be death omen. The black clothing. The ravens. The blood."
Fascinating, he thought. The girl saw a glimpse of the future of Blackthorn. Death everywhere. The man was supposedly the founding father of necromancy. "That is a pretty vivid vision you have… But it could mean anything."
"It's a sign of bad things to come. They always mean something bad. I used to warn people, but they never believed me until it was too late. They would blame me as if I had caused it." She cast her eyes downwards.
So, the girl had been forced out of her home by the people who feared her magic. After the war, mages had been forced to flee. Those who had survived sought refuge in Ecruteak City. At least, what had remained of the city. Overtime, they rebuilt the place except for one of the towers. From here, the necromancer cult had been reborn under the leadership of Naoko and N. The goal was simple – rise from the ashes and retake the world that was taken from them.
She looked up at him once more. "You do not fear magic."
"I don't have a reason to."
She frowned. "But magic is bad. The soldiers believe it to be. The king speaks of magic as if it was a sickness. Anyone caught practicing magic is sent away. I don't want to be found out… I don't even want these visions. I'm safe here."
Such was the way of the city folk. They had been taught magic was bad. He pitied the girl. If only she had been found by his people, then she'd have an entirely different perspective on magic and her powers would be put to good use. At least his people would welcome her and make her feel appreciated. "…If only things could be different…" he murmured. He knew one thing for certain – this girl had to be watched. An oracle who didn't learn to manage their visions would slowly descend into madness.
"What do you mean?"
"…If magic was appreciated for the good it could do then you wouldn't have to hide."
"…I want them to stop."
"You can't. They're a part of who you are. Embrace it. Don't fear it. But don't tell the others here what you are. Not that they would believe you anyway. But you can trust me." He wished he could help her, but that would only draw suspicion to himself. "I have to leave you be, but if you have any more visions, you should tell me." The other soldiers would probably be waking up soon and he didn't want to waste any more of this girl's time. He climbed to his feet just as he heard footsteps making their way down.
"…Morty." Falkner's voice.
Morty turned around. "Did you sleep well?"
"I thought you'd still be resting."
"I wasn't exactly overworked."
He snorted. "Right," he said, then turned his attention on the slave girl. "I hope he wasn't bothering you. He's new." Turning to Morty, he said, "We're not supposed to interact with the slaves. Besides. I don't know why you'd even want to. They're just slaves. Are there are slaves in your hometown?"
Morty raised an eyebrow but didn't reply. Either Falkner just didn't like slaves, or it was a general shared feeling among the city folk to look down on slaves. "I suppose you could say we do… We just don't use the same word. We call them the Scarred. They bore an 'x' on their foreheads." These people were unfit to join the Order of Ash. People who had failed the tests. They had their tongues removed and they were forced to wear it around their necks to bring further shame. "They perform similar tasks to your people."
"So, you must understand interacting with slaves is frowned upon."
Morty nodded. He didn't see the point in explaining their slaves could not speak. They were simply there to be made examples of and do the menial tasks. "Understood."
Sabrina scampered away to continue with her tasks elsewhere.
Shifting his attention back to Falkner, Morty said, "What is the task of the day anyway?"
"Eager to begin already?"
Morty nodded. "Better than sitting here doing nothing of interest. I'm eager to prove my worth."
"This was the task I was supposed to do earlier until you arrived, but we are to scout the local forest and head to an abandoned shrine located near a small lake. Chuck says some people were found murdered not too far away and he wants us to investigate."
He wondered if it was the same people that he had killed several days earlier, or victims belonging to the wolves. And here I thought I had hidden the bodies well enough, Morty thought. "Right. Sounds easy enough."
"You'll need a sword. We still stop by the blacksmith before we leave. This sword will be yours, but it must be returned at the end of each day before the sun sets and picked up again the next morning. This is just for safety reasons." Falkner turned his back and headed towards one of the tables then sat down.
Morty joined him sitting down opposite. This was a new experience. He wasn't used to people bringing him food to eat. With the cultists, they had to hunt for their food and prepare it themselves. Falkner didn't realize how fortunate he was. It was like being part of the royal family. The man wouldn't survive a day out in the wild.
"There are quite a few slaves in this city," Morty commented.
Falkner nodded. "Indeed. They keep this city alive."
"Shouldn't they be treated with better respect then if they do all the dirty work?"
"They're slaves, Morty. This life is better than the ones we found them in. They should be thanking us."
"So, this is a reward?" A slave girl he didn't recognize entered the room carrying two ceramic bowls. He sniffed the air. Rabbit stew. That was something he was familiar with.
The girl laid down the bowls on the table then took her leave to repeat the cycle for the other soldiers slowly filling the hall.
"Yes." Falkner picked up his spoon and placed it in the soup. "We keep the slaves safe within our walls and in exchange for our protection they do the menial tasks. It's a fair trade."
Morty helped himself to his own rabbit stew. The meat was quite tender. The people here had the advantage of having a proper kitchen unlike his own people. They simply cooked their food in a pot over a fire, and they didn't have the luxury of spoons and knives. He picked up the spoon and looked at it. "Such strange things."
"You've never seen a spoon before?"
"We don't use them where I am from… We don't have the luxury. I'm a mercenary. That's what people from my hometown become. Sell swords. And that means we're constantly on the move and we don't have a permanent home base like your people do," Morty explained. "It keeps things interesting. We're always constantly doing something. What about you? Have you ventured far from the castle before? Done anything exciting?"
Falkner shook his head. "No. I'm usually stationed here at the castle as a guard. It's been awhile since I've ventured outside the castle walls."
"Oh, how boring."
The man straightened his posture and pouted. "It's an important role."
"Right. But you must feel a little underwhelmed… perhaps even jealous of the people who actually get to leave often and experience the sights and wonders this world has to offer." That would explain the man's uptight negative attitude. His life was dull. He was probably seen as incompetent and that is why he was stationed here at the castle. Morty's recruitment had changed that as he had a proven background in surviving the wilderness. "But that's okay. I'm here now. I'll show you the way," he said with a grin.
Falkner snorted. "I can handle myself."
"…According to the superiors here, you can't, and that is why you are just a guard."
A muscle jerked in Falkner's jaw. Clearly, he had touched a nerve. "I've been on a scouting mission before. They're simple. We just head to the destination and get as much information as we can then we return home to report our findings."
Morty wondered if Falkner had ever used a sword outside of training before. Hitting dummies was quite a different experience from delivering a killing blow. He wasn't going to ask as the man was already on edge. If they were to find themselves in conflict, Falkner's experience would show. He just hoped they didn't cross paths with any members of the Order of Ash. Older members.
"Do we know anything about these murders?"
With a shake of his head, Falkner said, "No. That is for us to find out."
"Great." Silence fell. Morty continued eating his soup. If Naoko or her sisters had gotten involved, they would leave a mark behind – a cat's eye. He finished his soup then looked at Falkner's bowl. He hadn't eaten half. Perhaps he wasn't in the mood to eat. "We're going to find something, and you'll prove to your superiors you are capable of being a scout."
"You seem awfully convinced."
"I had my superiors too. I know what it feels like to be looked down upon when you know you are capable of so much more."
"Aren't you a sell sword?"
"…Before I became one. I was taught how to fight too. My superiors were quite… selective of their students. You were punished harshly too if you failed them. But we need to focus on getting you to eat. We could be out there for hours and if you faint on me because of hunger, then you'll never be a hero to your people."
Falkner poked at a chunk of meat with his spoon then looked up. "Why do you even care what happens?"
"Because we're partners and we're not going to achieve anything if we can't work together." He needed Falkner to cooperate. Falkner was his main lead in learning more about this city and if he failed to perform it was likely the man would be forced to stay on guard patrol duties instead of exploration. How was he ever going to meet up with Naoko to report if he wasn't even allowed out of the city?
Falkner sighed. "It's no secret that I don't trust you. We've only just met. I don't know if you have some ulterior motive here or if you honestly want to do some good. But I won't dishonour myself and give up so easily." He stabbed his fork at a piece of meat and brought it to his mouth. He consumed the bite and repeated the motion until his bowl was empty. "Come. Let us visit the blacksmith so you can select your weapon of choice." He stood up from the table.
Morty followed, eager to begin. No more words were needed to be said as he followed Falkner out of the barracks. He hadn't been away from the wilderness for long, but he already missed the freedom. There were no rules outside the walls. "Very well. Let the fun and games commence."
Silver winced as pain shot down through his arm temporarily paralysing him. For several days he had worked hard on menial labour carrying large stones and carving them into symbols of the king's seal, the dragon head. The stone weighed a little less than half the average body weight of a healthy grown man. It was difficult work, but as a slave he was not allowed to take breaks and rejuvenate. The rays of the sun burned into his back turning the skin a dangerous shade of red. If the work didn't kill him the heat would.
His thoughts were interrupted by the protests of another slave. His name was Alan, a young male with brown hair and matching eyes. The large sandstone fell out of his hands and onto the ground.
The guards rushed over to him and forced him to his feet. "Get back to work!" The first of the guards spat aiming a well-placed kick at Alan's left ribcage.
Alan whimpered and struggled to stand. His knees wobbled, and he fell to the ground again. His weary body could not be supported by his equally tired legs. One of the guards brought out a whip and lashed the weapon at his bare back. Alan's face contorted with pain. "Please... have mercy..." he said. He arched his neck backwards and stared up at the darkened sky, as if expecting a response from the false gods. The people here believed in Arceus, the so-called God of Creation, but Silver didn't believe in gods.
"Arceus does not listen to filth," the guard said, a wicked sneer on his cruel features. Alan wiped away a tear from his eye and once again forced himself up from the ground. "Pick up the stone and continue your job, slave." The guard pointed to the stone Alan had dropped.
Alan nodded and limped to the stone. He bent over and wrapped his arms around the stone and tried to pick it up, but his physical strength had left him. He collapsed against the surface of the stone.
Silver turned away unable to watch another slave suffer. The pain was unbearable, even more so than receiving the hooked claws at the end of the whip. This was the life of the unfortunate slaves purchased by cruel masters. Many slaves in his situation ended up in the Slave Pits where they would fight to the death for money. He thought about Lyra, the girl he had at the auction. She had ended up in the castle and she'd never understood the plight of the slaves. How he disliked her even more despite knowing little about her.
"Get your hands off me!"
Silver's eyes snapped open and he jerked his head behind him. His eyes were drawn to an aging man he knew as Blaine, the grand slave master of Blackthorn. The only slaves he had no authority over were the ones who lived in the castle as they were under the supervision of the king and his royal subjects. Unfortunately, Silver was one of Blaine's slaves and the man had a temper that was quick as to ignite as a flame.
The man was holding a girl with long brown hair close to him, chuckling with delight as she tried to free herself from his iron grasp. Blaine slapped her in the face. She hissed at him but spoke no further. Satisfied, Blaine helped the girl to her feet then glanced in Silver's direction. "You boy. Come over here."
Silver walked over ashamed of himself. He was just a loyal dog here within these grounds unable to think or act for himself. He had to do as asked or there'd be punishment and he didn't want to have an iron rod pressed against his back again. "Yes master?"
"You're going to show this girl what happens around here." He pushed the girl into Silver's arms then walked away to examine the condition of Alan.
Silver looked at the girl and took note of her black left eye. Clearly, she had tried to put up a fight, but had ultimately failed. She didn't look much older than himself – probably in her early adult or late teenage years – but age didn't matter here. After a few long hot months, she'd lose her youthful looks and her soul in the process. That's what happened to the unfortunate slaves. They lost their identity overtime. They weren't even given names, but Silver vowed to never forget his own name.
Her hair was long, reaching down her backside, stopping just short at the tail end of her spine. Her hair was a light shade of timber and her eyes a golden brown, but he saw fierceness in them that showed her spirit hadn't yet been broken. Many slaves lost their wills the moment they were sold into slavery. He was glad to see she wasn't one of them. Not yet anyway, but how long would she hold out for?
"What's your name girl?" he said.
"Jasmine," she replied softly.
"Where are you from?"
"Olivine."
Ah, Olivine. His father had mentioned the city before. It was near the port and apparently overrun with pirates. It was believed there were chests of gold in the lighthouse, but the presence of the pirates dissuaded adventures from travelling there. "Are you a pirate?" Or at least the daughter of one. It wouldn't be uncommon for pirates to sell off their daughters into prostitution or slavery for gold in exchange.
She shook her head. "No. I am the daughter of Archibald, captain of the seas."
He hadn't heard the name before, but then again, he didn't pay much attention to legendary explorers or heroes. They didn't concern him. "And how did someone like you end up in a place like this?" He walked over to one of the rocks.
"The pirates raided the city and pillaged every home they came across. Women and children were murdered in their sleep and the men became decorations on pikes. I was hiding behind a door at the top floor of the lighthouse, but they still came anyway and broke the door down." A visible shudder raced down her spine. "I remember it clearly you know. These burly men caked in blood. The maddened frenzied look in their black eyes. I was taken against my will and bound in rope."
She stopped short of finishing her tale, but he didn't have to hear what happened next. He had heard a similar tale from many other slaves. Parents murdered. Towns raided. Young people sold into slavery and the elderly killed. Such was the life of the unfortunate and the unlucky. He didn't ask further questions and instead looked down at the stone before him. "We have to load these stones onto the oxen and lead them back to the storehouse." He bent his knees the hunched over to pick up the stone. The oxen were standing in a row by a hitching post.
"Where did you come from?"
"Viridian Forest."
She raised an eyebrow.
"Yeah, that's what I said." As with many women, his mother had died during childbirth. His father Giovanni was stricken with grief then blamed her death on Silver's existence. He was sold into slavery afterwards for gold. He desired nothing more than finding the man responsible for ruining his life. "We're not going to be here forever." He picked up the stone and waddled over to the ox then placed the heavy slab of stone in the cart.
"Your father sounds like a terrible man," Jasmine said, picking up a smaller rock besides him.
Silver snorted. "Yeah. He's a rogue-like character."
"Do you know if he's alive still?"
He nods. "Of course. He's the leader of the bandits." After his wife had fallen sick, Giovanni turned his grief into anger and started his own faction of rebels who refuse to live by the laws of the kings and queens. "I will find him, and I will make him suffer as I have." The man was obviously still in the area. He just had to break free of his chains here and track the man down. There was only one question he had to ask – why?
"You wish to escape?"
He narrowed his eyes. "Why would you want to stay?"
"How are you going to escape? This place is overrun with guards."
Good question, but he had an idea. It was only in the early stages, but it had something to do with causing a slave revolt. Convincing the other slaves to pick up swords against their masters would not be so easy – he would have to earn their respect and the only way to do that was to fight in the Slave Pits. "I've got an idea. It's going to take some time, but I am going to make it work. I must. Corruption seeps through this city like a plague and it will spread. I'm not going to be consumed by it."
She bowed her head. An odd gesture. "I hope it works out well for you."
She didn't seem keen to leave or perhaps she was still growing accustomed to her new life as a slave. Perhaps the recent events with the pirates had shaken her to a point she found it safer here. She'd change her mind soon. No one could ever find happiness here. He decided not to pursue the subject further and focused on the job ahead of loading rocks onto oxen. Jasmine didn't ask further questions of which he was grateful for. He didn't hold anything against the girl, but he had no reason to speak further.
The incident down at the Lake of Rage had proven to be much easier to resolve than he had assumed. All it had involved was a few words exchanged and Brawley had agreed to leave on peaceful terms. Or so the man had claimed. Only time would tell if the wolf held up his end of the bargain. But he was relieved. He wasn't the type of soldier who enjoyed the blood and chaos of war, preferring to solve conflict with diplomacy.
He had returned to the local town and was now in one of the spare rooms of the mayor's office. Pryce was preparing a meal in the kitchen. Lance walked over to a window and peered outside up at the sky, noticing the full moon. Tonight, the wolves would be on the prowl. He wondered if they retained their human senses whilst in wolf form and if they remembered any of it the following morning.
He didn't even have to look at the sky to know it would be a full moon night. The headaches and muscle pains were enough warning. It was an odd sickness. Sometimes he'd experience throbbing headaches, other times he'd feel stiffness in his joints. On some rare occasions he'd even break out into a sweat and be overcome with odd dreams.
Even now he felt the familiar pain in his forehead. He lay down on the bed and looked up at the ceiling, drawing in deep breaths, struggling to find an answer. No one else seemed to complain about moon sickness. It seemed to be a condition unique to himself. He sat upright again and reached out for the potions besides the bed. They helped him relax. The pain would be lessened to tolerable levels so he could function without issue.
Pryce entered the room carrying a plate. He put it down on the bed. "Still having the same problems?" he said, taking note of the potion satchels.
Lance consumed the contents of one satchel then put it back down. "Nothing I can't deal with." Not many people knew about his issue. Pryce was one of the rare few having witnessed him during one of his more intense episodes. Fortunately, the man had kept the knowledge to himself. If other people knew they'd start to ask questions and question his fitness to lead.
"You're the only person I know who has such extreme reactions to a full moon," Pryce said.
Lance sighed. "Is that supposed to make me feel better?" He looked down at the plate. Two fillets of salmon, a couple of potatoes and some carrots from the local garden. He didn't feel hungry, but it would be rude not to eat. He picked up the fork and picked up a carrot. "I don't know why it happens. Grandfather says I'm sensitive to these sorts of things."
"…What did you say your symptoms were again?"
"…Does it matter?"
"Out of curiosity."
"It changes every month. Sometimes they're headaches of the throbbing sort. Other times I feel sore all over as if I'm been pushing myself to breaking point for hours. Then there are the cold sweats, the dreams and a ravenous hunger for meat," Lance explained, picking up the plate and holding it near his chest. "And it only happens on a full moon."
Pryce frowned. "Like someone afflicted by a curse."
Raising an eyebrow, Lance lowered the plate to his lap and looked at Pryce. "What do you know about curses?"
"I've seen a lot of people come through the town, Lance, and I've seen a lot of strange things. Several months ago Agatha visited."
"Agatha?" That was a name he was familiar with. An elderly woman his grandfather distrusted. She disguised herself as a travelling merchant, but she was supposedly an expert with healing medicines. His grandfather claimed she worked with dark magic to perform miracles. It was said she could cure almost any disease or illness, but it often came at a great sacrifice. "That old hag?" How had the woman even survived this long? And why hadn't anyone tried to stop her? Perhaps his grandfather didn't know the woman was still alive.
Pryce nodded. "She's an old friend of Samuel's."
"He has never mentioned her before."
Pryce lifted a brow. "Dangerous to mention Agatha's name in a kingdom of people who distrust any form of magic. Where do you think Samuel learned his potions knowledge from? If you want to know more about this sickness, then you should seek her out."
"Grandfather had her banished for a reason. The last patient under Agatha's care lost their mind, Pryce. Her 'magic' had caused him great pain and suffering, and he had to be killed to protect his own family. All this talk of her miraculous healing ability is just dark magic at work. Do not be fooled. Mages can't be trusted."
"Do you not want to know why you suffer? What if you had a chance to make this pain go away permanently?"
He thought of Yellow and Brawley. Both had mentioned he was cursed. When Pryce seemed to think so. But even so, Agatha could not be trusted. "…Have you listened to a word I've said? She is dangerous."
The old man raked a hand through his hair. "She would have answers to the questions you seek."
"And speaking to her behind my grandfather would be betraying the oath I swore upon which was to not seek the aid of magic regardless of the situation." He then frowned. "She means something to you, doesn't she? Why else would you come to her defence?"
"She's a healer."
"Then explain how a healer allowed a patient to become violent?" Pryce didn't answer. As much as he thought, Lance concluded. Pryce didn't answer because he didn't have one to explain the sudden shift in personality. But Lance had one. All the potions the woman had given the patient had corrupted his mind. "Trusting magic makes you an enemy of the king. You don't want to be caught on the wrong side."
"Then you prefer to suffer for the remainder of your life?"
"I manage, Pryce."
"Samuel won't live forever."
"Then we'll find a replacement."
"You know potions lose effectiveness over time."
Lance fell silent. Pryce was right. The body would eventually become accustomed to the potions. That's why Samuel had given Lance a stronger dosage to help manage better. Pushing the plate aside, he stood up from the bed. "The wolf I met… He said I was cursed."
"And you believe him?"
"You said it yourself. Maybe I am afflicted by a curse. No one else seems to suffer from this moon sickness." The term even sounded ridiculous. "Have any doctors in the past even written about this?" Family members will lie to keep their secrets safe. That's what Brawley had said.
"I've not heard of the term before." The man climbed to his feet. "You shouldn't believe what a wolf has to say, Lance. They are a threat to our people. It is most likely you have inherited something from your father. Speaking of the wolf, did you kill him?"
Lance shook his head. "No. He had no interest in killing the villagers. He only wanted to draw my attention. There's nothing to be concerned about. The problem has been dealt with, and he won't be back."
"I trust you are correct."
"He knows if he or his wolves lay a hand on any villager, I will send an army after them." Lance also climbed to his feet and peered out the window once more. "Something is amiss, Pryce. Why would a wolf put himself at risk trying to draw my attention? Aren't animals the first to sense danger?"
"You still believe in this necromancer theory."
Lance kept his gaze fixated on the full moon. Ignoring Pryce's comment, he said, "The task here is done. I will be returning to the castle to report to my grandfather." There was no reason to discuss the topic of necromancy with a man who didn't believe and talking about his illness only troubled him more. He had many questions forming in his mind. Was he actually cursed? If yes, then why and by whom? Why would his grandfather allow it? And lastly, why had Samuel kept his relationship with Agatha a secret from him?
"Safe travels to you then, Lance. I hope you find the answers you seek."
Lance nodded then retreated without saying another word.
As usual, the tavern was as lively as ever. People from all different social backgrounds had come together under one roof to indulge in a few rounds of alcohol. The tavern was a place people could put aside their worries for a few hours and relax before they had to face reality again. Gary was currently on a lunch break, but he was eager to return to work, not entirely comfortable with leaving responsibility to the new bartender. The boy was called Tracey; he was enthusiastic and friendly enough, but he still had much to learn.
Before he could return to the counter and check up on Tracey, he was stopped by Bugsy, a young eccentric man with an odd obsession with bugs and spiders. He was dressed in shorts and a sleeveless white shirt with a few suspicious brown patches on it. Had the boy been sleeping in the wild again? The boy approached him.
"What do you want Bugsy?" Gary said.
Busy peered up at him. "I know where the sceptre is. My friends found it. The signs were all there. I've been studying the ants for several weeks now and they have all been drawn to this one path. So, I followed it and guess what I found?"
Gary looked around making sure no one was close enough to hear their words. This was not a conversation he needed others to be aware of. Although no one was within hearing range, he did see a few commoners glancing in his direction. They were probably wondering why Bugsy, commonly known as the village idiot, was communicating with him. "I'm working."
He tried to walk around Bugsy, but the boy stepped in front of him again. "I found a secret opening into a crypt just a little north to the farmlands. It was hidden behind some long blades of grass near some boulders at the base of the mountains." Bugsy grabbed his arm. "You have to see it for yourself."
Gary pulled his arm away. "I'm at work."
"Then come as soon as the night falls."
"And leave my tavern under the supervision of Tracey?"
Bugsy frowned. "But it's important. Your ancestors-"
"There's no proof of that."
"Nathaniel Oak. You're an Oak."
That would make him a mage too by blood. Or so he assumed. Did the magical gene always pass onto the children? What if it skipped a generation? His grandfather certainly had never spoken of magic before. 'Sometimes people have the same surname. Doesn't mean we're all related."
"Your grandfather has a journal from Nathaniel Oak."
"How do you even know that?" Gary raised a brow, confused. Not even he knew that.
"My friends can get into any place. They can see everything, and they return the information to me. You're a direct descendant. This sceptre is yours to claim. Don't you want to see the location where your ancestors buried it? It's important. The notes say it had been forged with the blood of Nathaniel and an oracle and was used to create and break seals made with Oak blood."
Gary didn't respond. He was lost for words. Bugsy was a mage. A mage. Right here in the castle grounds! He could communicate with insects. And apparently he was very interested in his family history too. "Keep your voice down," Gary hissed. "This city does not take kindly to suspicions of magic. You could get us both killed."
"And if you claim this sceptre you won't have a reason to be afraid."
Gary tried to get around Bugsy again, but the boy was quick to stand in his path. "And what do you want me to do about it? Bring it home? If my family doesn't have it then we weren't meant to have it. Some things are best left untouched." Several more people were looking at him. One man even rose to his feet. "You need to leave."
"We need to retrieve it."
"What?" Gary replied, disbelief in his tone. "Keep it here in the city? That is just asking for trouble to come here. We don't need trouble."
"But it belongs to you."
Gary glowered. "And I don't give a damn about some relic that belonged to my ancestor."
"If you don't come with me, I'll start a bug infestation in this tavern."
A muscle jerked in his jaw. The nerve of the young man. "You're trying to threaten me?"
"That's how important this sceptre is."
"Why do you even care about it? What does it mean to you?"
There was silence, then, "I've seen things, Oak. Out beyond those walls. Bad things. This sceptre can help us fight them."
"There is no us, Bugsy. I'm not doing anything. I work at a tavern."
Bugsy grabbed his arm. "But you can be something greater."
The man wasn't going to stop harassing him. He could ask the guards to take the man away, but there was no telling what the guards would do. Bugsy might've been annoying, but he didn't deserve to be beaten up for it or jailed. "All right. Fine. I'll come with you. But only if you promise not to bother me again, okay? And don't bring up the fact my ancestor was a mage. It doesn't mean I am, and I don't want to be one."
Bugsy pulled back his hands. "All right. Promise."
Raking a hand through his hair, Gary said, "I'll meet you after dark at the front gate tomorrow night as soon as the sun is down. The guards will let me through if I tell them I'm looking for some ingredients in the forest." All he had to do was pay the guards to look the other way and they would let him out after dark. They knew better than to refuse exit to Samuel Oak, one of the king's advisors, grandson.
Bugsy smiled. "We're going to retrieve the sceptre."
"I certainly hope so because I don't want to hear about it again. Now get out of here before people start wondering why I'm talking with you." People were still looking. People always seemed so interested in knowing the business of other people. There was no respect for privacy here. Bugsy frowned, but didn't argue. He said his farewells, turned around then walked away.
Gary walked back over to the counter. Fortunately, it seemed Tracey was handling himself well. Perhaps he had given the boy less credit than he deserved. He approached him. "Tracey. All goes well I presume?"
Startled, he jumped then spun around, almost heaving a sigh of relief. "Oh, thank goodness you're back."
"No trouble?"
He shook his head. "No, none. But I really need to use the loo."
The toilets within the kingdom were small holes in the ground with a wooden plank on top which was used as a seat. People who held important positions were fortunate enough to have access to a garderobe which jutted outside the side of the castle keep. The gong farmer had to clean the mess. Gary pitied those poor fools. He would rather be dead than spend the rest of his life cleaning up the shit of the rich.
"That guy… What's his name again? Bugsy? Why was he talking to you?"
Gary pretended to be confused. He was still reeling from the information about possibly being a mage himself. "I don't know really. He's simply weird. He'll just come up to me and start talking, but he's not a problem okay? He just talks to me because I'm one of the rare few people that will listen. I mean. I work at a tavern. I must listen to people. But I need to you look after the tavern tonight. I've got some things to do for my grandfather."
Fortunately, Tracey didn't seem to suspect anything was off. He just nodded. "Of course. Family first."
Gary forced a smile. "Indeed. But I'll be back tomorrow and working as per normal. But we should get back to work before the customers start asking questions. I'll collect more hops." He moved past Tracey towards the back entrance. He didn't need more hops. It was just an excuse to get some fresh air to recollect his thoughts. Tonight, he'd venture well outside the walls of the castle into dangerous unfamiliar territory. He just hoped Bugsy knew what he was doing.
Clair was in no hurry to return to the castle to meet with her grandfather. He only had lectures for her about her future. Nothing else of interest. Instead of taking the quickest route back to the keep, she opted for the longest path which took her past the military quarters of the city. It wasn't often she had a chance to venture out on her own, and if her grandfather had his way, she'd be married off to some boring prince soon.
The path she followed took her past the barracks and the blacksmith. As usual, there were soldiers patrolling the streets and she heard the shouts of men in training. She could hear the swords clashing with other blades and even the sounds of arrows being released. It only made her wish she could wield a sword, but women weren't allowed to use weapons. According to her grandfather, the battlefield was no place for a woman.
But that didn't mean she couldn't hold a weapon. She made her way towards the blacksmith pretending to smile at the passing peasants to give the impression she cared. Grandfather always said to smile even if you didn't feel like smiling. "Have a blessed day," Clair greeted, forcing a smile.
The peasants, two women, smiled back. "May Arceus bless you too, my lady."
Clair watched them walk past then continued towards the blacksmith. Surge was the man regarded as the best blacksmith in the region. He was a former soldier and had served for almost a decade until he had broken a leg which forced him out. The man would normally be at the force, but he wasn't present oddly. Instead, she saw two men standing outside. One she recognized as Falkner who was a low-ranking soldier Lance had trained once when Wallace had fallen ill. Falkner's companion was a man she didn't recognize. His hair was blond, and it fell around his shoulders in an uncombed mess.
"…Odd. Normally Surge is around and waiting."
"…Can't we just grab one of the rack?"
"…No Morty. We can't do that. We have to sign our names off."
"…But we're wasting time. We've got a task to complete for the king. Who knows where Surge is?"
The royal signature would suffice, Clair thought. Surge would understand. If her grandfather had given a task, then it must be important. Clair walked over and approached the two men. Crossing her arms over her chest, she cleared her throat and introduced herself. "Greetings. Surge isn't present now, but I can help you."
They turned around. Falkner immediately bowed as a sign of respect. Morty, the blond, didn't. She frowned. It seemed he didn't know the basic rules of respect here in the kingdom. She straightened her shoulders. "Greetings, Your Royal Highness," Falkner said.
"Ah, you must be Clair," Morty said.
Clair lifted a brow. "That isn't a way to address a princess." She should be offended by his lack of manners, but she couldn't help but find it amusing. Although it was flattering to be reminded constantly of her superior social standing, it meant people were quite rigid around her, intimidated. "You must be ready to depart on a quest then. What has my grandfather ordered you to do this time?"
"We're to investigate the ruins just south of here," Falkner explained.
"Oh, the Ruins of Old Blackthorn."
"The Ruins of Old Blackthorn?" Morty repeated.
Clair nodded. "It was an old sacred site that belonged to the priests many centuries ago before the mages came along. All sort of weird things would there – animal sacrifice, song and dance festivals to Arceus… the things the ancient people did. Or that's what the scholars say. I don't know if you can read, but if you ever have the chance, you should visit the archives."
Most of the soldiers could not read. Only the knights were formally educated in the castle. A soldier's job was simply to fight, scout and patrol not to decipher old writing nor create their own words on paper. "That sounds interesting. I'll be sure to visit the archives when I have a chance… Where can I find them?"
"At the castle of course. But you can't just walk in there without a pass. You're not a knight; you're a common soldier and they're not allowed to walk within the castle halls. You also need a royal seal to enter the Church. Maybe if you retrieve something ancient for me, I might grant you one," Clair responded, arms folded across her chest.
"Like that amulet around your neck," Morty said.
Clair glanced down. "Oh, you noticed?"
"Never seen anything like it. Looks old. Ancient even."
She looked up. "It's beautiful, isn't it? It's fitting for me. The stall owner said it once belonged to the priests to ward off against evil spirits. Isn't that fascinating? I could be holding a cursed object, but I don't believe in spirits or the dead rising. I mean that's nonsense, right?" She looked at the two men. Falkner just shrugged, but Morty frowned, almost as if troubled. Did he know something?
"…You're right. It is beautiful. Very fitting for you, your royal highness."
She smiled. "I don't know where Surge is, but I can sign you both off. If anyone complains, tell them to come and speak to me directly. The only thing I ask for in return is that you find me something beautiful."
Falkner bowed his head. "Thanks"
"You don't need to thank me. You serve the crown, and it is your duty to serve. Now don't waste my time. I have places to be. Pick a weapon and go."
Falkner looked at Morty then gestured towards the weapons rack with the long swords. Morty shifted his attention to the rack on the right with the dual scimitars instead and selected them whilst Falkner picked up a standard long sword.
Once they were done, Clair walked over to the papers and signed their names off by adding her signature. "There. All done. Now get out of here."
The soldiers didn't need to be told twice. She watched them retreat feeling a pang of jealousy as they walked off. The boys were fortunate. They were able to leave the city and experience the wilderness. They had a taste of adventure whilst she was stuck in the kingdom. Her life would become even worse after marriage. Everything she owned would belong to her husband. Her grandfather would happily give her a lecture upon her return to the castle. Knowing her grandfather would be expecting her home, she continued walking ahead taking the path on the left towards the castle.