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Chapter 09:

Maryden sat in the common room of the Goose and Fox, journal on her lap and quill in hand, but no word was written yet. Her mind was too absorbed of what had happened that night. Her free hand went up to touch the base of her throat, quickly pulling away when it was still sensitive but luckily not bruised. She still felt his fingers on her skin.

Durance had left before Sagani had come in the room, clearly intoxicated and instantly falling asleep when she had hit the covers of her bed. Maryden envied her then, not able to venture into the realm of dreams again herself. She and the priest hadn't said a word about it this morning, Durance acting normally towards her like nothing happened but Maryden could not help but to feel wary in his presence. Her trust in him damaged.

Movement in her peripheral vision pulled Maryden out of her musing about the early morning and she looked up, meeting green. Edér sat down opposite of her, placing down a tankard in front of her of which she softly thanked him about.

"Too much to write down?" He started with a small smile, one that Maryden returned although a bit strained.

"Something like that.. too much on my mind."

"Hey, you don't have-" he began, his gloved hands fidgeting with his own tankard one of the few signs of his nervousness.

"Edér, I promised that I would go with you to the archives," Maryden said strongly after swallowing some of the contents down of her own drink, which tasted a bit like some sort of wine. "And I keep my promises to my friends," she finished with a soft voice, meeting his green gaze with her own. He was definitely nervous.

The fighter sighed and leaned back in his wooden chair, which groaned a bit underneath the weight of his armour and body. "Okay, okay," he surrendered himself.

For a moment they both remained silent. He probably in thought and Maryden finally scribbling something in her journal. Something very short about the dream, just a few key words, but mostly what to do the next following days. Sagani was still in bed, hungover, whilst Aloth was off to the market and the launderer.

Durance was somewhere in the city. Maryden had no idea where or what he was doing, he promised surveillance and trying to investigate where to find the Leaden Key and how to get there, but honestly she let him do his own thing. She had no control over him anyway and deep down that frightened her though she would never admit it too anyone, especially to herself.

With care she closed her journal when the ink dried and glanced over to Edér, who was fumbling with his pipe now. Not lighting it but constantly grinding the herbs in it. She decided to no longer torture him and stood up, putting her stuff in her backpack.

"Come on."

It was clouded outside, the sky filled with rain but none of that fell. Here and there were puddles which most people avoided but cued the children play in it. The sight of little feet stomping in the water so mundane it made Maryden smile. Their walk to the First Fires district was quiet, Edér's heavy foot falls next to her own, sometimes brushing shoulders.

They were both cladded in armour, weapons on the back, not because it wasn't safe in Defiance Bay, but Maryden figured a quick trip to blacksmith after this all was done was efficient. But there was also the reason that she didn't trust the archivist, not how Edér had described him to her and that he was quite bitter towards Eothasians.

She did not want to come unprepared if a fight should break out since the hate of Eothas' followers apparently ran deep. Maryden hadn't told Edér, but this whole hate towards those who followed another God felt unjust and wrong.

'But isn't this the same with the Leaden Key and Woedica?' the dark voice mused inside her, quelling her feelings. 'Because you don't understand something, you decide to hate it and that it should be eradicated? Ignorance is not always bliss.'

"We're here," Edér sighed. They stood in front of a large staircase, a pair of heavy wooden doors on top of it with large golden inscriptions. The building itself was also enormous, very typical.

"We can do this," Maryden whispered and without thinking grabbed his gloved hand with her own. Though thick layers of leather separated them, she still squeezed tightly and reassuringly. It felt good to feel him squeeze back and nod firmly. He was ready.

Inside was just as grand as outside. bookcases reaching up to the ceiling, floor made of white marble and everything decorated in red velvet and gold. It felt like heresy walking here with their muddy boots and worn out physiques. A woman walked towards them, dressed in the same red of the drapes and carpet. Her wrinkled face taut in politeness but Maryden could see the look of disdain crossing in her eyes when she sized them up.

"Can I help you?" She inquired with a strained voice. As if she had something better to do than to indulge them. Maryden hated that kind of up-stuck people, but let that slide with a polite smile of her own.

"Yes, we wish to speak the Records Keeper."

The woman arched an overly plucked eyebrow that was as grey as her hair that was pulled tight in a bun on the back of her head. Her wrinkly lips purged, looking more like another end of the human body rather than lips. Maryden straightened, quite taller than the woman and met her scornful gaze with her own, not budging nor telling the reason that the woman was obviously waiting for. Edér just stood there between them, weight shifting between his feet as this battle of wills was being fought in front of him.

Finally the woman broke the stare-off, flicking Edér an eyeful, and sighed, clearly irritated. "I will return shortly, please wait here." She then turned around and trotted off, out of sight. Her heels clicking annoyingly on the marble.

"What just happened?" Edér whispered to her underneath his breath, head inclined towards her, eyeing the other archivists who shot them curious glances from a distance before resuming to their work.

Maryden gave him a small smile and leaned a bit closer so that the others could not overhear them. "Just something between two women." She knew wasn't very illuminating, but Edér mumbled an 'Ah' and straightened himself again, dropping the matter. He was just a bit taller than her, not quite able to look on the top of her head to give an inclination.

The clicking of heels attracted their attention as the taut woman returned. "The Keeper will see you now, follow me." At those words she made a small pivot on the spot and walked back from where she came. Edér and Maryden followed her, their boots heavy compared to the woman's heels. Maryden shot a look over her shoulder, seeing they left footprints. She smiled to herself, already imagining the woman fussing.

They went into a hallway, passing multiple people, some dressed in white but most of them also in red. Their venture was stopped short in front of a heavy looking door, the woman knocked a few times curtly and opened the door, stepping inside.

"Keeper, your visitors are here," she announced. An old man that stood behind an expensive looking desk nodded.

"Thank you," he said with a strong voice. "You can leave Sidly." The woman curtsied, shot Maryden a last scornful look as she passed and left the room, closing the door behind her.

They approached the desk, stopping in front of it. The old man was slightly hunched, but his grey eyes were still youthful and alert despite his aged body. He donned a white robe, making his pepper coloured hair almost filthy-looking. He regarded them in cool manner, seemingly unprejudiced unlike this Sidly. "So what can I do for you?" He asked.

Edér and Maryden shared a small look. The former looking a bit clueless of what he should ask, so Maryden decided that she took the plunge into the deep.

"We wish to see the militia records of the Saints War, if that is possible Keeper. We're trying to find out what happened to someone."

The man cleared his throat and gave her a doubtful look, Maryden wasn't sure if it was either curious or sympathetic. "We've had a number of such inquiries about such information. I'm afraid we've had to bar access to those records from the public."

"Why is that?" Edér asked, voice genuine. Attracting the Keeper's attention.

"Seems there are still quite a lot of Dyrwoodans who bear ill toward Raedcerans. It would be irresponsible to surrender their names to anyone- many came to settle here as refugees." In other words, some of the folk in Dyrwood still wanted to do them harm.

"Perhaps if you were more established in Defiance Bay, things would be different," the man said slowly but not hesitant. "But I have no reason to suspect you to be any different from the others."

Maryden did not expect that. "But we've come a long way-" she began, interrupted by the Keeper.

"So have many others."

Edér now stepped forward, a pleading look on his face. "Look, I just want to know what happened to my brother. I don't even know what side he fought for or what happened to him."

The Keeper looked at him, now clearly sympathetic but still shook his head and wanted to turn away from them. "I still can't help you, perhaps it's best if you leave."

In a few quick steps Maryden was around the desk and in front of the man, not in a threatening manner, but in a way that he could not turn away and had to face her. She wanted to make him listen so she stared into his grey eyes with her amber ones and spoke with a soft voice that wasn't pleading, but clear.

"Keeper, I understand your reservations. You don't want to bring harm to those written in the records who are still alive, you want to protect them and that is noble of you," she appealed to him. Not trying to charm him, but stating a fact because it was noble of him. Her eyes flicked to Edér for a moment, before settling again on the old man in front of her.

"But bear in mind there are still those who want to do good. Who want to lay those to rest who died, or put down their own demons that they can move on. You can make friends, but family remains with you forever even in death. Isn't it just for them to know what happened? He deserves it." She meant not only Woden, who deserved being remembered, but also Edér. The living man deserved the rest he longed for. The questions answered that haven't been for over 10 years. For everything he has done for her, and because he is the way he is.. she wished to grand him that and more.

The Keeper looked at her, longer than a few heart beats. She could see his eyes flick to and fro from hers, searching. Finally she looked away, thinking he had not budged but then the man spoke. His voice clear.

"One moment."

At that he walked away, closing the door of his office behind him. Maryden and Edér shared a glance, both of them now nervous. She walked towards him, squeezing his mail-clad upper arm trying to reassure him and secretly herself.

"It's up to the Gods now," she whispered oddly brittle. Edér said nothing, but nodded. Swallowing thickly.

Time seem creep by in a snail's pace that was maddening. Maryden looked out the window, hands wringing, lost in thoughts as she watched the people scatter and bustle about on the square down below. Some hiding from the rain, others not caring for it. Edér had resorted to pacing around.

Both of their thoughts were pulled back when the door opened and closed again, revealing the Keeper with a thick book in his arms that weighed almost a ton by the look of his red face. He dropped it on his desk, the lamp on it tinkling and wood giving a groan in protest.

"This is what I found. The rosters are in the front, the inventories of the dead are in the back. Please, only use it for what you are looking for. Alright?" Edér quickly nodded, stammering a 'yes'. "Please give it back to Sidly when you leave, I will leave you alone for now." With that the man turned and left, not even giving them a chance to say thank you.

Maryden and Edér stood in front of it, she side-glanced at him, not being able to tell what he was thinking. "This is it," she murmured, now examining the book. It was dressed in thick brown leather, on the front the writing was golden and curly. 'The Saint's War: an inventory' it simply read.

Edér pulled off his gloves, revealing his large calloused hands and opened the book carefully with trembling fingers, the back of it groaning to its lack of use. Minutes passed as his green eyes passed page after page, his fingers gliding past each of the names.

'What if he isn't in there?'

Maryden fearfully thought and looked at the fighter, how intently he was reading the pages with mouth pulled tight in anxiety. The wrinkles on his forehead and between his brows deepening. She tried not to imagine his reaction, if that were the case, but her heart was hammering at the possibility and she grew more nervous herself the more they reached the end of the book.

Finally his fingers stopped below one name and a breath that he had been holding was exhaled, in defeat or relief Maryden could not tell, but she saw the recognition in his eyes. She glanced at the page.

"Woden Teylecg," Edér whispered. "Died 18 Majirvino, 2808. Third battle of the Clîaban Rilag," he read. Cursing the Glanfathan names underneath his breath. Then he stopped, stammering. "Raedceras?" He then looked up to her, eyes filled with disbelief and question.

"Why did he fight for Raedceras?"
"I don't know, maybe he had a good reason?" Maryden said, but clearly it did not dawn on Edér, who was staring at the page again.

"We- we should go there. Clee-uh, the name I just said. I got to see what he saw," the fighter announced with a hint of desperation in his voice. "I need to make sense of all this." Slowly Edér closed the book, fingers not trembling any longer.

"Who knows, maybe his spirit will even be there and you can have one of your weird talks with him," he looked at her again. "Worth trying right?" There was something akin to hope in his green eyes, one that Maryden could not extinguish so she nodded, giving him a small smile.

"We'll try."

Maryden was panting, sweat dripping down her face and neck along with dirt and blood that was partially her own. Her lungs were burning and her heart hammered in her chest in a painful matter, racking through her exhausted body. But she had to, had to continue.

Her sword felt three times its normal weight as she lifted it and weakly swung at a man coming from her, making him stammer back and trip. She used her momentum to bury the blade in his head, killing him instantly. Panic flooded her veins as she eyes scanned the battlefield, looking for someone but not seeing that familiar mob of ruffled grey hair that was slowly becoming whiter.

Finally she spotted him and ran, tripping over the bodies but not quite falling. She did not care if they were foe or ally, she needed to get to

him.

"Riordan!" She gasped and fell on her knees, sword cluttering on the ground next to her, forgotten. She touched him, shook him, willing him to keep his eyes open. His armour was torn, stomach slashed open and his guts spilling out. She pulled off her gloves, not caring where she threw them.

"M-maryden," Riordan moaned, voice weaker than she had ever heard before and it did not suit him. "Help me." A weak, bloodied hand reached her. She grasped it firmly in assurance and placed it back on his chest.

"Stay with me, I'm going to patch you up. Stay with me!" Her voice was shaking like her body. Riordan gasped, lips moving but only a groan filled with pain rolled over them instead of words. He was paler than she had ever seen.

"Riordan, keep your eyes open. Damn it! You're going to make it!" She growled and touched his intestines. It was slimy, quivering and warm, but as she pushed it back inside him she found that he was bleeding more profusely than first met the eye. The aorta artery going towards his legs had ruptured just above the pelvis.

"Maryden."

A much larger and aged hand touched her own, equally bloodied but almost translucent in colour beneath all that nauseating red. The gesture stilled her frantic pushing and pulling. He knew, and so did she.

Maryden closed her eyes, feeling herself break in front of the man who was her mentor, her friend. The man who saved her and taught her everything she knew. The man who was actually her

father, not by blood but by bond. That same man was now dying in her arms and they both knew it.

A hand cupped her cheek, now cold that was once warm and a thick thumb wiped away the tears falling from her eyes, but smudging the dirt and grime on her face in the meantime. Maryden opened her eyes to meet the fading dark brown irises that could flare so hot whenever he was angry, or grew soft in emotion when she would delight him or make him proud. Now they were growing blank, but there was still a shimmer of love.

"Remember what I taught you," he groaned and heaved. Blood coated his teeth and lips.

"Block with both your arms holding the weapon and not hold it with one," Maryden murmured, smiling sad at the memory. "Because the greatsword is heavy and a blow could tip you off balance because of the weight."

"Good girl-" Riordan tried to laugh, but a grimace of pain put an end to it. His hand from her cheek and clutched his stomach, his breath was heavy. The clutter of armour made Maryden look up, a handful of the remaining soldiers approached her warily. Their entire mercenary group was decimated. It would only be a matter of time before reinforcements would round the corner.

"Maryden, you need to leave me. They are coming for you."

"I'm not leaving you," she growled, voice thick with emotion. "They will defile you-"

"You're not dying with me," Riordan barked at her. Instantly coughing and groaning afterwards due to his outbreak. "You are going to live a full life, without regrets. Do you understand?" He said in his commanding-voice, or at least tried to. "You are going to fight and live." He then looked her dead in the eyes. "For me."

Maryden stared at him, meanwhile keeping aware of the soldiers approaching them with raised weapons. She nodded, bending down to press a kiss against his forehead, her hand finding and grasping his own. "For you," she whispered against his skin that was cold with trembling lips and a wavering voice. "I love you."

Riordan's dark brown eyes were empty and void of life when Maryden finally stood. Her bloodied hands clutching the hilt of her greatsword tightly as emotions raged through her like a storm that was uncontrolled. She was burning, her skin having cracked like burnt wood and her hair was like wildfire. She felt stronger than before, the hottest of furnaces heating her insides. Vaporizing her initial fatigue and enkindling a new type of strength.

Gods, please show kindness to those who fell victims to this wrath that is battle-forged.

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