Chapter 34
As Goes Light
Is adventuring not supposed to be glorious? I thought it was supposed to be glorious.
-Vath Deftarm, Final Fantasy XIV
The roads on the other side of the Udso were not as bad as Margane thought they would be. Stones paved the ground the marteness trod on as the rain poured on and on, the pitter-patter of the droplets earning no response from the group of soldiers.
Her companions had remained largely silent throughout the journey. Paskoll was the pioneer in this direction the group had taken – Margane could count the number of words the black fox had spoken since they had left the gates of Floret a month ago. Blacksmiths were all the same, thought the marten. They were all beasts who spoke with actions rather than words, and the only difference was how much gratitude they thought one owed them. Her paw curled up into a fist as she remembered how that squirrel tried to cheat her out of the halberd he forged for her, and it was only thanks to Nola's watchful eyes that she didn't kick his teeth out.
Margane stopped as she took a deep breath. Was Bodvar right? Had she started thinking like a soldier ever since they had come down from Redwall? No, she did not have the discipline yet – but it would come to her one day, like flying comes to a bird.
"You're blocking the path," muttered Frenna, trudging behind her. "Path's narrow enough, so stop staring at the trees and start moving along." The hedgehog's quills bristled in the rain, shaking clumps of water stuck within them onto the ground.
Nodding, Margane walked forward once more, but not without turning around to give her associates a better look. Paskoll remained at the back of the party, while Nola and Alphard were still ignoring each other, still angry about their row over breakfast which had woke the marten up that morning. She tried, and failed, to suppress a yawn.
"Here we are!" squeaked Nola. "Holbeck Castle, far across in the distance." The mouse's voice was shrill and sharp as it shook away the ascending shower of rain. "This is where we'll get shelter, warmth, and breakfast!"
"Yes, but surely we could have had one three hours earlier," moaned Alphard, his rudder twitching with irritation.
"Well, I knew it was raining, I had the Amplifier. You couldn't cook well in this weather!"
"And you got the weather wrong as much as you got it right, so why should I put my trust in you every single time you come to a decision?"
"Could you two stop arguing for a few moments?" asked Margane, turning around once again. "If you must do so, maybe you'd like to continue after a good meal."
"Fine," said Nola, while Alphard dipped his head in shame. Before her eyes turned back ahead she was sure Paskoll's amber eyes displayed something close to approval, but when she looked again to check he was his usual stoic self once more.
When the five beasts made their way to the door of the small castle, one of the guards on the walltops had already retreated into the fort's bowels to inform his master, while the other just stood in silence, keeping a tight grip on his crossbow.
"Erm… could you let us in?" asked Alphard. "We're a bit hungry, and quite cold, I must say."
The figure on the walls remained silent as he kept his watch.
"Please?" pressed Alphard. "The wind and rain are a bit too fierce, and some place to stay would be very appreciated, my dear comrade."
"My partner has to get word from Lord Visbur first," the squirrel on the walls said coldly, his tail curling around himself for what warmth it would bring. "And I believe you're a beast from Floret, judging by your accent."
"Well, I was born in Aballen!" the otter raised his voice as a particularly harsh gust of wind soared across the soldiers' heads. "You need not worry about us being hoity-toity beasts from the capital." He shot Margane a look. "Well, not all of us!"
"But you do wear their clothes, do you not?" Margane could hear the slightest grain of irritation mixing into the squirrel's tone. "Servants of the squirrelking and his steward, oblivious to the plight of his subjects across the river."
"They might be," interrupted Paskoll. "But we are here for your sake, to ensure your security."
"Oh, not this again!" The squirrel threw his arms into the air in exasperation. "Us Travrikans can manage things ourselves, thank you ve-" A look behind was quick to silence him, and he quickly scrambled down to help in opening the gates.
"We thank you for your hospitality, my lord," said Nola as she curled into a deep bow, while Paskoll's head dipped, leading Alphard to follow suit.
"The pleasure is mine, soldiers of Southsward." Lord Visbur Flowperch was a middle-aged otter, whose wide chest supported muscular arms. His brown eyes were stern as they scanned through the entourage of blue-clad soldiers, whiskers twitching at the sight of Nola and Paskoll. "You. You two look familiar."
"We fought in Mossflower together," said Paskoll, his golden eyes matching the otterlord's. "I think I tried making you a sword."
"Ah yes. You're Lofarn's apprentice, are you? That thing snapped right in half while I was hacking at a few stoats. I know it most likely isn't your fault, fox, but you are to tell him that I expect a refund."
"Probably not, the way you were swinging it," muttered Nola.
Paskoll's head dipped in a slow nod. "Weapons like these need to be maintained well, lest they fall victim to wear, tear and rust. You could have told us to make a bigger one."
"I distinctly remember ordering the largest one I can wield – if it isn't large enough how can I repeat my great-grandfather's feat of cutting three necks in a single blow?"
"This might be something to do with the fact that you are not him," said Margane.
The otter cocked his head over, his eyes narrowing at the marteness. "Huh, you were there too, I suppose. Were you always this mouthy?"
"Most likely," said Alphard, rudder twitching under his worn cloak.
"Good. I despise the inconstant." Visbur pointed his arm into the direction of his keep. "Now get in and give yourselves a wash before I hear more of your voices and lock you out instead."
After a quick scrubbing that passed all too soon, Margane rejoined her team around the dining hall for lunch.
The marteness could tell that these Travrikans were much more austere than the Southswarders Margane was used to encountering, or even their cousins closer to the Ring Sea. The meal was but one course, a platter of cooked vegetables. Margane could taste peas, carrots, mushrooms, celery and occasionally a stalk of asparagus, mixed with wheat dumplings and covered by a sauce made from buttered crayfish that lurked along the banks of the rivers during the winter.
"Are they trying to get us to leave?" whined Alphard, stabbing at a dumpling with a spoon.
Nola shot him an irritated look. "Well, if you moan about things they might just kick you out earlier, and I imagine you wouldn't want that."
"I know, I know. It's just too light for soldier fare."
"Is that a problem then?" inquired Margane, raising up an ear. "If you have a problem with the food I can take it off your paws."
"No thanks." Alphard shook his head. "Times like these always make me wish I wasn't an otter."
"Eh, I'm pretty happy being a mouse myself," said Nola, wiping her plate clean with her tongue.
"Well, I wouldn't be if I were you," interjected Frenna. "It's not particularly special."
"Doesn't have to be." Nola's ears folded as she wiped her muzzle clean. "I don't really want to stand out. Well, especially not literally considering I'm not very tall, but back to the point – I doubt Thaumaturgy suits me too well."
"Oh?" asked Alphard, poking around at another dumpling.
Paskoll's mouth curled up into a slight smile. "Do elaborate."
"I've got two sisters, and neither of them's like us." The mouse shrugged. "They're all normal beasts. One of them had two pups, and the other's going to be married quite soon – perhaps next Flamesoar. While I'll get to dart around the world and serve king and land with vigour, I suppose I won't get to settle down for a long while, and by then I will have lost the beasts I love the most."
Alphard's brows furrowed. "Beasts? As in… more than one?"
"If you had been paying me attention, you would have heard that I've got two sisters."
"Ah right, got myself a tidbit confused."
"The point is that being the youngest sister is already tough enough, but suddenly you're the most accomplished one in the family – I don't want to make the beasts I looked up to jealous of me! Does anybeast else here have siblings?"
Alphard shook his head, while Frenna shrugged. Paskoll lifted up a claw, and Margane soon followed suit.
"You've both got one?" asked Nola.
"You know Dennol," muttered Margane as she licked her lips. "Tall, muscular, doesn't talk much, loves his perry…"
"A strange drink for a soldier, eh?" asked Frenna, winking. "I thought it's a drink for softer beasts, like weavers, or grocers, or bureaucrats."
"The otter who took care of us loved it, before he died on the way back from Mossflower."
"Old Rutger," said Alphard, sighing. "Rest his soul…"
Nola nodded slowly. "What about yours, Paskoll?"
"Dead."
"Oh." The mouse fell silent.
"I take it we shouldn't pry?" asked Margane.
"That would be appreciated."
Thanks to Margane's mention of Dennol, the topic of discussion shifted towards favourite beverages. The marteness told everybeast she didn't have one, while Frenna and Nola bonded over their strange predilection for seaweed grog. Alphard's whiskers drooped as he revealed that Rutger Sparkflame had also introduced a liking for perry for him, while Paskoll's answer took everybeast by surprise.
"Water? Really?" asked Margane. "A bit plain, don't you think?"
"It's simple, you don't wake up the next morning with a splitting headache. When the water's clean, that is. I don't understand the fun in alcohol and the sensation it creates within your body and blood."
"Have you ever had a phase where you would do anything for some good wine? One you look back upon with embarrassment? That's what my Da had."
"Talking about drinks, are we?"
All five heads in the group turned towards a young ottermaid, bearing a tray with two teapots and a few cups. She bore the grey fur of the beasts from this part of the realm, and her eyes brimmed with curiosity.
"Sorry for interrupting. My father wanted my brother to give you these, but he appears to have something against beasts from Floret. Being a lord's son has gone to his head, I fear, and somebeast has to be the dutiful one here."
"Thank you for the tea," said Alphard, dipping his head. "I've heard of you Northerners' love of tea – and my uncle told me all about the rituals."
"Rituals?" asked Frenna.
"Tea is taken very seriously in Travrik, as her ladyship could demonstrate. I'm sorry, what's your name again?"
"Gislind." The ottermaid winked. "There's always a trick to it. Some beasts would pour the leaves directly into a full teacup, but I doubt you would be familiar with this, so I prepared two different brews in a manner you'll deem more conventional. Take care – the pink one's stronger than the blue."
Margane pointed at one of the containers. "And then there's the honey?"
"You're supposed to put it into the cup before the tea," replied Gislind, swatting away one of Nola's paws which edged too close to the teapot for her liking. "Then you keep it in even after you refill your cup. That way, you'll have your tea be sweeter and sweeter for every new cup."
Alphard nodded. "Ah yes, I've heard of it. And then you add the milk?"
"Milk is for the Otharnics across the sea."
"You add nothing then?" asked Frenna.
"No, we don't drink tea like Southswarders. We use cream for this task – you put it at the edge of the cup and wait for it to slide in, then rise up as the tea carries it around."
"That sounds complicated alright," mused Paskoll, grabbing a spoonful of thick honey from a little bowl between the teapots. "But I suppose this is the traditional way of doing things, and beasts are proud of that."
"Guests deserve the best, I suppose, even though you'll not be staying long. If you are to make it to Monvann and Hildrinn today, you'd best not dither here for too long."
Frenna shook her head. "Monvann is somewhere we can reach by sundown. Hildrinn, perhaps not. It depends on the roads."
"Perhaps not on footpaw," said Gislind, pouring a trickle of tea into her cup. "But we have business to conduct in the city, so we can lend you a cart."
"Thank you very much!" exclaimed Alphard.
Gislind giggled. "My brother will accompany us… and we said nothing about pulling it along, did we? It's good that you're all well-fed now."
Worried glances shot across the table as the otter lady giggled. "More tea, anybeast?"
Gislind was kind enough to let the rain recede before they were to depart. The skies over this particular part of Travrik were far from clear – the heavens were as grey as the fur of the local otters — but compared to the morning this was an improvement.
"Sorry about the weather," said Alarik Flowperch, his whiskers twitching in the humid air. He was broad-shouldered and muscular, but the way he carried himself and spoke indicated that he still looked to his sister for leadership. "It isn't usually this wet – that must be the Waterrise weather."
"It doesn't rain this much usually?" chirped Alphard, pulling the wagon with both paws. Had Margane's party been double their number, they would have gotten one as well, but five beasts required fewer provisions. Instead, Holbeck Castle provided the beasts with their own. Out of their five, two beasts would drive the other three forward, while the Flowperch siblings claimed the privilege to sit down for all the trip.
"Not at all." Gislind pointed ahead to the front. "And less so up north. It's a dry place, Northern Travrik. I've heard stories that Southsward proper has its own desert up north, right?"
Frenna nodded. "Not a particularly large one."
"But still worth a mention. The North is a massive sandbox, somebeast said, but it wasn't always this way. Centuries ago, this place was as lush as anything you can find across the sea in Otharn and Ilsadia, but the soil went bad, and us otters went south in droves."
"And started raiding everything in sight," said Nola, rubbing an ear. "Back in Gystra the archives still have arrowheads that date back seven hundred seasons, arrowheads that you had fashioned from bronze and later iron."
Alarik scoffed. "Not exactly everything per se, but enough to make the old Imperials take notice, and hire otter soldiers for their wars all around the sea and beyond. I imagine you know what happened next."
"One empire became two," muttered Margane, "and your ancestors began marrying and killing each other, leaving the Southswarders to march in and take everything."
Gislind shot Alarik a stern look before he could speak a single word. "Well, not our ancestors – we did not move. We stayed atop our roost, just by the Udso. You can take a good guess on how our family got its name."
Margane shrugged. "But you're still warriors, right? At least, this is the manner you carry yourselves, and you're quite proud of your traditions."
"Where did you hear all that?" asked Alarik, squinting as his arms crossed. "You don't seem like a beast who should know a lot about these parts."
"The otter who raised me came from Gystra, and his mother was from Kaldos." Back when Rutger was alive, Margane heard all too many tales about how Bodvar was named after the otter's uncle, a fisherbeast who operated on the Glorr. "My brother loves to listen to stories from this side of the river."
"Never knew Bodvar loved stories," mused Alphard from the front of the cart. "I thought he just loved working with beasts." He shot Margane a playful glance. "In more ways than one."
"I was referring to Dennol actually. Back when he was a kit, he loved his books." The marteness stretched out her paws by a paw-length. "He used to have this book of Travrikan legends and stories and sagas, and every single night he buzzed on and on about all the otter heroes and how much he wanted to be like them. I think his favourites were Albwin the Burnt, Hadagrim of Revesvakt and one of the Sigurds. The Snakeslayer, I think?"
"I don't think all our tales can fit into such a small book," scoffed Alarik.
"He only read the abridged versions."
"This explains a lot," said Gislind, stretching her arms as she suppressed a yawn. "I'll be taking some time to sleep – the journey will be quite long, and even the sons and daughters of warriors need their rest."
A nod followed from Margane. "Perhaps I should follow suit. In an hour it will be my turn to drag the cart to wherever we are headed to, and some shut-eye will do me good."
0000
There were those who said that a sleep with dreams is one without rest, and Margane hoped that this statement was false.
"What are you doing here, Margane?" asked Dennol, his brown eyes dull and tired. "It's still daytime, and you've always been a late sleeper."
"I've got a cart to pull," said the marteness, chuckling as she walked closer to her brother. "What excuse have you got?"
"Well, we fought back a group of bandits on our way to Mossflower." Dennol chuckled. "Well, it's more like I fought back a group of bandits, but I suppose the other two did help around a bit. Did break the Amplifier though."
"You what?"
"Some fox shot a stray arrow through the shaft, and it doesn't work anymore. That's it."
"What are you going to do now? You can't exactly go and grab a new one."
Dennol smiled. "Maybe I can. Remember Salamandastron?"
"Yes," spat Margane. "We were inside for half a day."
"Their Badgerlord has a way with metalworking, and I could probably get him to make something new… or just reforge the old axe into something sturdy. We'll have to see how much he knows."
"At least you didn't hurt yourself. Not this time."
The marten nodded. "Not this time indeed. Handling a princess appears to be safer work than I imagined, but for Seasons' sake, that doesn't make it less irritating."
"At least you aren't stuck with four beasts instead of two!" chuckled Margane.
"Ah yes, Alphard and the other three. I suppose you need some luck to handle them."
"I do indeed. They haven't given me any reason to–"
"Margane! Margane! It's time!"
The marteness blinked once, then again, as a mouse frantically shook her awake. "It's your turn," said Nola. "And you're with me."
Muttering curses under her breath, Margane rolled her eyes and stood up. There would be time later in the day for Dennol and dreams, but for now she had duties to commit to.
C/N: It is quite frustrating with this lot, you know. As much as I'd love to get away from Floret I'd expected my travels to be accompanied with brighter beasts. Paskoll's fine, but the other three are grating on my nerves.
At least we've received news from Dennol. Not necessarily good news, but I've learned to take what I can get.
As for Travrik... it's quite a boring place. I don't know why Kio's father wants it to be its own thing outside of Southsward, but I know he's not particularly interesting either. His son takes after him, I suppose.
That's it, read, review, have a nice morning, afternoon, evening, whatever. I've got stuff to do.
