Chapter 4: Trysting trees
"Three Eos."
"Horse shit, I want it at one."
"No," declared the vendor, his face was tics and tells. "This here at three Eos and that's it. Go find someone else if you have problems understanding that."
A string of curses left his companion as he spun on his heel and left. He let him have a four-pace head start before following.
The two of them all but forced their way through crowds of denizens and foreigners alike. Most didn't seem to mind, but that more had to do with how many bodies were packed than it was reasonable to start a petty grudge.
"That gschissener was downright screwing with us," the man in the lead said, his veins protruding around his neck and temple. "Three Eos for flowers. Faen-damned flowers! And those were just asters! The hells."
His fellow merely hummed whilst looking back out into the crowds.
"And what do you have to do for it?" snapped the first man. "Just standing there with a needle behind the ears, yeah?"
"Ease off, Dennis," was the unelated response.
"Ease off!" parroted the boiling man.
"Ease off," repeated the phrase, the man behind it taking a swing from a small, wooden cup he'd been holding. "What's so special you had to have a piss fit over some flowers?"
"They're from Ken!"
"Yeah, so?"
"It's the holy capital city!"
"And they'll be all shriveled up by the time we get back from 'ere to the settlement. You know that, yeah?"
Like some bad theater act, Dennis suddenly smirked. "Oh-ho-ho. You'd have yet to seen my secret."
"Yeah, and what's that? Wait, hold that, forget I asked," the man did a three-fingered shoo with the hand that held the cup.
"Com' on, aren't you a least bit eager to pry?"
"The only thing I'm eager is to watch the day set," he slurped down the last of the liquid in the cup before quietly flicking it away.
Excitement stilled, and Dennis began frowning. "Damn, we're leaving tomorrow, aren't we?"
A hum of agreement sounded.
Both took the time to look out into the street. Noises of bartering, cursing, laughter and plain riots of the paradoxical kind washed over the air. It was that way for a while.
"I never seen anything like this, you know?" Dennis suddenly commented.
"How? Thought you grew up in a burg?"
"Pft, yeah, but… the people never looked THIS jolly. Closest I can think of is the Winter's Fest, but it's mostly just a glorified sermon whilst we try to not freeze our assess in the cold."
No response. The other man only continued looking at the crowd. Or would've, were it not been for two familiar figures coming out of it.
"Oi, Geoff, Dennis," greeted one of the oncoming, lips pressed and limbs fluid.
"Finn, Owen. You two took your time," came the reply from Dennis.
"It's Fionn," the other approaching man said. "And you can thank Mister Sulks-All-Day here for the delay."
"Dul go h-olc ort, how was I supposed to know this place would be lacking in good gear."
"You noticed too, didn't you?" Geoffrey joined in, arms crossed whilst pursing and licking his lips to savor the earlier drink.
"Yeah," Owen nodded. "This place couldn't host a boy band even if their lives depended on it."
"Must you speak like that in Ken of all places?" frowned Dennis.
"Choke me, I'll say whatever I want whenever I want," snapped the man-at-arm.
Ding! Ding!
All four tilted up upon hearing of the bells.
"Fourth ring, let's go," Geoffrey was quick to take to turn and start walking. The other three were quick to join in.
Days had begun to shorten now. Bells would ring six times, and the seventh ring it would've been already nightfall. For that reason, they had to make it back to the camp or else they would've earned a mouthful from their superior.
"You notice how the leaves aren't looking right?" Dennis remarked.
Fionn harumphed. "What do you mean, they're turning red aren't they?"
"Yeah, but…. They just look, too, red."
Sure enough, there was a distinct lack of variety in the red around them. It looked less like the autumn they were used to out in the wilds. Geoffrey plucked one as they passed an archway -ignoring a sound of dismay alongside it- and upon careful inspection, he noticed the bizarreness held in his hand.
It was no dazzling gold. Rather, a ruby red that could've been mistaken for a heart. A few curious bends and crunches proved that the thing was full of vigor and was in no ways shriveling like it was supposed to at this time of the year.
Alas, his ears betrayed the rest of his senses as they entertained the conversation unfolding behind him.
"….didn't think you had it in you!" Owen cheered.
"Yeah, great. But, uh, you sure this concerns us?" Fionn remarked.
"Quit it! This is serious!" Dennis pleaded.
"And we too! Can't you see?" Owen bounced back.
"Yeah? In what way?"
"In whatever way you'd chosen to bend her that is."
"Oh f-"
"Aah!"
A sharp, brief pitch cut off Dennis' cursing. From behind, Fionn pulled Geoffry back as he and Owen quickly took to the front in search of the sound. They weren't alone as every head within the vicinity had turned. Hence, all the four men needed to do was follow their gazes to the source.
There, a colleen was on her behind. Hard bread loafs tumbled across the smooth roads. She was perhaps some ten paces ahead and to the side of the road. Yet, injury was perhaps the least worrying thing.
It was the five or so men who surrounded her that were the problem.
Dennis glanced left-right. He barely caught a glimpsed of some of the city folk moving to aid the young lady before those men came in. He'd wanted to move himself before they came along.
"Faen, dogs," growled Owen.
An undesirable feeling settled in his chest. Sure enough, he looked back, and all five men had the Dog's Head on them in some manner. One of their ilk knelt to help the young girl up, but as she stood the men seemed to tighten the cordon around her. The one who'd help lift her up was quick to collect the fallen bread and placed it in the basket before offering it to her. Hushed talk happened, before it seemed the colleen tried to make her way out.
Her helper didn't seem to like this.
The man was smart. He nipped at the edges but didn't dare to touch. His fellows followed at a sedated pace. Mostly to keep anyone else from getting close.
Fionn palmed Owen on the shoulder. The two shared a look and the former shook his head furiously. In response, the latter bled fury from his eyes, but otherwise didn't act.
"Hey, there!"
All eyes snapped to the new voice. For the two men-at-arms, they immediately recognized their cavalry brother.
Neal stood at the other end of the street opposite them. A loaf of hard bread in his hand.
"Lady, you dropped this," pausing, he gave the piece a good onceover. "This is good stuff too. Think you can sell me this one?"
Turning to the colleen, they watch her seemingly dim even further than she already had. She was quick to try and make her escape down the path away from the foreigner.
"Hey, come on. I'll take it at an above average if you like," Neal pressed, taking a few steps forward.
"I don't think she likes yer, soldier boy," one of the Dogs moved to bar him. He was joined by his fellows.
Only Owen was keen enough to keep track of the troubled lady, noting that she still had the first stalker nipping her heels. He moved faster than Fionn could catch him.
"Damn it, Owen."
Curses met disregard. The Dog soon found a boot jabbed at his left foot and nearly tripped him. The yelp he released was all it took for the young woman to start running as fast as her dress wound allow. Her admirer would've given chase had he not been restrained by two hands on his harness.
Spinning, he faced his denier. "Didn't yer mum teach you to not stick-up other people's business?"
"Says the one who'd disappoint his owner, pup."
The merc positively sneered, barring an imperfect row of teeth.
A double siege was being laid. The merc confronted by Owen, whilst behind him the rest of the Dogs cornered the man-at-arm. Fionn, Neal and the two footmen surrounded them. All around them, the crowd backed away and cleared at least five to seven paces in both ends of the street.
All of the mercs were baring fangs, some literal, others gestured. Hands held tight around respective sheathes. Bodies low, but betraying excitement.
Their opponents were a mixed bag.
Both, Geoffrey and Dennis, were a duo of grim and wide-eyed. One had his body squared while the other had subtle twitches like an unsure rabbit.
Neal and Fionn were like the coast during a storm. One was the swirling sea whilst the other embodied the cliffs.
And then there was Owen, a burning bush in the wind.
Click and brush! Scraping of metal against leather.
"Acting all tuff' and hot turd. What you think you are, a saint?"
"Not at all, but I think I can do good enough teaching a dog where their places is."
A guttural snarl escaped the man's throat, but either side could start swinging a loud blare filled the air.
Heads turned. From the direction of where the girl from earlier had disappeared, came the city guard, and among them Dawn Templars.
Crowds parted like the blind of a window. One of the Templars was a woman with rose like hair, tied into a neat bun. Behind her stood the colleen, and the two shared hushed whispers.
"Faen perfect," Owen spared one last nasty look at his unnamed contest before withdrawing. Likewise, the other man did the same.
The woman approached. Her height notwithstanding, her posture and gaze demanded discipline. There was also her broadening entourage to help.
"I'll be blunt. Speak for yourselves, just what is it you were trying to accomplish."
Both sides rose to the defense. A representative for each, but nothing more and nothing less. Their fellows had the smarts to not add any unwanted clamor.
Another group of guards also appeared on the other end of the path. Dennis gulped, and instinctively made a move to try and slip into the crowds, only to be nudged Geoffrey who gave him a minute glare.
In a minute or so, it died down. The woman regarded both men carefully before sparing a look to the shy figure behind her. Said woman nodded, before she whipped around and regarded both man-at-arm and sellsword with renewed fury.
"Guards, take the Black Dogs back to their camp. Templars, with me, we'll be handling this… other group."
Let it be known that the former group were very open with their displeasure, much to the elation of their brief rivals. Yet, this feeling of satisfaction soon was turned for peculiarity as they watched the Dogs get pushed down one path while they stayed where they were.
All attention shifted from the Dogs to the Templars. Rose-haired lady stood in front of Owen, who began shuffling under her gaze.
"Well, anything to say?"
He kept his eyes above the shorter woman's hairline. "Uhm, no ma'am."
"Not even in defense?"
"If it means anything, we wouldn't have drawn swords so long as they, didn't," Neal interjected, much to Fionn's quiet lament.
The woman locked gazes with the man-at-arm. "And just what right do you have to take over the city garrison's duties?"
"None ma'am. But it doesn't mean we should just let matters like this slide just because. Not when those prats have a frat to cover for them."
The Templar huffed. Tilting her head, she regarded the band of men with new sparkling interest.
"Your banner is the Willows, yes?"
"….. Indeed," Fionn pushed forward. "What of it?"
"Take me to her."
If there was a way to bite the Adam's apple in ones own throat, than Lorraine would very much like to learn how. Otherwise, she would've had to resort to tearing off another's with words alone if she could.
Knuckles turned ghost white. Eyes glared with all the force the muscles around her eyes could muster. Akin a skull whose features were locked in anguish and unrelenting rage.
The five men who followed the approaching formation seemed like a line of guarded prisoners. Sullen, heads low and clearly disinterested in rebelling. Not that even a gesture would've helped in this case.
Roses approached. Her women kept their distance a stretch behind her. There wasn't a need to glance to know that the entire square had their attention focused on the new arrival.
Oh, her loathing couldn't have gotten any more blighted.
"Lorraine," the rose-haired woman greeted.
"Claudia," came the tart tone greet.
Stiff and straightened. Both kept hands on their hilts. There was no ploy or maneuver to be concerned over.
"Get your escorts off of my men."
"Perhaps if you were to keep them on a better leash, I wouldn't have had to lamp them off for harassment."
"That so," she took a cursory look at the men. "I suppose your harlots need something to do every once in a while. Can't have all that beauty wasted in the shade, can we?"
"I ask you to have the decency for respect."
"Maybe if you hand them over, I might consider."
Furrows were creased even more. "You're aware this isn't a game, right."
"It never was, but I'm still wanting what's mine. So, do your part and I'll consider listening to what you have to say."
The tension hung in the air like a cord eager to break. The followers on either side began to play chess with one another. Unsubtle positioning along the flanks and rear of their superiors. All had their weapons snug, but hilts poised for a draw.
"Take them."
The words made every Templar swirl their heads toward their officer. She repeated, and one of the women tried to sound protest, but was quickly shut down.
None of the five men wasted the opportunity to brisk it towards the safety of their camp. All five also turned to face the elites, shoulders bared, and bodies poised to draw.
"Tonight, there will come an escort for you. You'll follow them without question."
"To whom am I to entertain tonight?"
"That's not for you to know, but to follow."
"Laying it hard now, aren't we?"
"I wished there was another way."
"How about getting into a man's pants? Your halfway there already."
A bitter remark treated as venomous. Numerous scrapings filled the air and there was the hearable sounds of gasps and panicked mutters. No less than half a hundred blades were now hanging in the air. Some of which were brandished towards one individual.
The silence bled in mute, whimpering agony.
"Stand down, Templars."
"Ease off, men."
Wielders on both sides looked at their masters. At first, there was uncertainty over the command. Yet, one subtle movement from each respective women made quick work of their doubts and wisely they backed off from their dueling stances.
Claudia looked at her task one last time before spinning on her heels and making to leave. The other Templars were much slower to follow. Rather, choosing to spend as long as they could using their eyes to curse at the warrior maiden before following in their leader's footsteps.
For her part, Lorraine was unfazed. A lone hand resting on the hilt sticking out on her waist, whilst the rest of her posture looked more ready to brace a yawn.
Eventually, the elite guard of the Goddess faded around the corner. They'd left their impact on the square, however. Now people were talking, and their neighboring camps had a gaze that spoke less amiable intentions at play.
"I'm sorry."
Pebble to stone. Lorraine hadn't realized she was still staring at non-existent ghosts, until she heard his voice. Turning around, she was met with the unwholesome face of Neal.
She didn't give a moment to ponder before shaking her head. "For that just now, belay remorse. Still, would you kindly explain just what your doing out of Harold's sight? And how were Owen and the rest roped into to it?"
And so, the man-at-arm regaled the tale from his end. How he was minding his own business this morning, mainly convincing Harold to follow him in exploring the outer ring. He'd bribed the man with mentioning of a beautiful sight consisting of an old canal with plenty of nature around it. They were making to leave until he happened to see the young lass being chased across the square.
"And of course, you followed without question," Lorraine concluded.
"Yes," was the meek reply.
"And the others?"
"Happenstance, milady."
She sighed. Pulling a hand down over her face.
'I ain't putting up with this.' She thought.
"Be grateful that this didn't spiral, Neal." She said sternly. "Edge comes more than just in words and arms here, especially with so many colors and named faces meandering about."
"…" the man didn't have an answer.
"Take off your coat and colors."
Almost immediately, the man went from being accepting to blatantly hurt. A few of the others who'd heard were equally wide-eyed.
"Ma'am….", he weakly rejected.
"Do as I say but keep your Sham Shield. It's best to travel discreetly if you're venturing to the outer ring."
She then leaned to look at those behind Neal.
"Fionn, go with Harold and Neal. Alan takes the watch."
The men called out all nodded in silence. Their faces were a cross between sullen and mild. The company principal then resumed focus on Neal.
"This isn't punishment for acting in the right, Neal, remember that. But examples need to be made, and it just so happens you picked the worst group to start a minor grudge over."
Whether he understood or not the reason for his imposed penance was debatable. His shoulders sagged; he bounced his head twice in a nod. Lorraine then gestured for a dismissal.
Camp soon turned back to their own tasks and interests. There was new feed for the whispers and discussions. At the same time, other things were happening.
A human palisade was being made. More people were assigned to watch, not to mention a couple of groups in threes heading out to recall anyone still venturing around the city.
At the back of one of the wagons, Lorraine sat quietly in contemplation. What could she want? Was what she would ask the air if it could be trusted.
Night wasn't falling any quicker. She was irked by it. Unwilling to deal with her own company whilst in such a foul mood, she ended up retreating to the carriage that had all her belongings in it. Granted, others also had stuff in here.
So here she was, just marooned by her own strain and grinding blades with a whetstone. She dearly missed the open country in this instant. At the very least, she could excuse herself by going on excursion with a party. Goblins were fun to cut up once you get them under heel.
Immersed as she was, she almost missed the cough.
"Ahem, ma'am," a voice called.
Turning, she regarded the bowman holding open the portal flaps with one hand.
"Ceri, you need something?" she asked, resuming her idling meanwhile.
"Not at all ma'am, just wondering where you've been."
"Then keep watch or rest," she laid one blade down for another. "It's going to be a troublesome night and we're riding out early on the morrow."
Between sounds of stone on steel, there was a sigh.
"You know some of the men are talking right?"
"And?"
"This whole thing between you and Ken is going to spread."
"Does it matter? Ask any Sham Shield, and they would know that this isn't a recent thing."
"Still doesn't mean that you should allow it to pass," the man leaned in. "One thing to let people gossip, but if they start getting ideas, then you may find yourself having a nasty nick."
"Was Analach the one who put you on this?" she glared, breaking her repetition.
"Yeah, and let me tell you why," the man was practically inside the small space by now. " 'Cause he worried that you'd do something brash. That's his job you know? Apart from smelling that is."
The two locked gazes, a silent duel of who could get the other to back down. Eventually, the maiden gave way. All but tossing the weapon in her hand into the pile.
"Clean this up," she ordered.
"Aye, ma'am"
The two switched places. The company marshal picked up her bandore on the way out. Before she disappeared beyond the flaps, she turned to look at the bowman over her shoulder.
"Ceri."
"Hm?"
"Thanks."
The corner of the man's lips twitched. "Anytime, milady."
'Damn, how long was I in there,' she inwardly cursed.
Orange was starting to color the sky. Though, there may still be an hour or two left. She was loathing unproductiveness, and just after she'd given her own a dressing down over being an example for others.
Breathe. In and out. No use in laments.
Camp within the square was shaped in a triangle. Three fires for three sides and equal number of vantage points between the carriages to watch over the ins and outs of the place. Archers with their sharps eyes and wit kept watch from their places either near the fires or in obscure angles. Should anything come about, then whoever was closest would be called to handle it.
She headed to one such fire. The kiln was stored in a special barrel since there was only the stone pavement below. Similar fires were used by the other two camps in the square, each with their own vigils watching.
A seat she found by the glow. Others were there, half a dozen footmen and a trio of archers.
"Evening, gents," she softly greeted.
"Evening," some greeted back.
A pause. She wondered what tune would fit. Then, she felt her heart pulse.
'This 'ere be a festival, no? Why not one for match?' spoke the heart.
Before she herself registered, her fingers were already playing the strings. Much to her inner bashfulness, the first tune had to be repeated before she found her throat.
Are you going to Scarborough Fair?
Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme.
Remember me to one who lives there,
She once was a true love of mine.
Pride, it was not. Nor was it done in vanity, she'd say. Her crooning was in heart and brought vigor from soul.
Yes, indeed. It was her heart, or a facet of it.
Tell her to make me a cambric shirt,
Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme.
Without no seams nor needle work.
Then she'll be a true love of mine.
She lost herself in song. Frayed nerves soon calmed upon reaching the end of time.
Around that time, the strings gave way to claps.
Had she closed her eyes? Oh dear, that wasn't part of her intent. Perhaps, she'd been too wound up over the encounter, for now there appeared to have gathered a small crowd before her.
The crowd gathered was mostly her own bannermen, but there were also city folk who stood a distance away.
"Beautiful song, ma'am," clapped one of the footmen.
"With actual words this time, too. Been a while since we've had that," another added, Reginald if she remembered right.
In return, she simply nodded. A part of her hoped her expression was right for the occasion.
From there, time passed as she continued to play her strings. Talk was struck up, some asked for advice while others did idle chatter. A few asked for specifics such as leave or extra days of rest. The last light of the day would go by swiftly.
Ken had special lanterns that lit themselves. It surprised even her on the first night, and she inferred they were halfling made. Only those short folks could've had the time and focus to make such things.
Harold's group returned just as the light went below the walls. They looked content and normal with the exception of one.
Neal stuck out his wears. His slumped figure didn't help. It made a cold sensation spread in her chest.
"Evening, ma'am," Harold greeted, the others walked past him and by extension Lorraine.
"Evening."
"What are you standing out here for?"
"Heading out. And what are you doing coming back here this late?"
"Took our time, mostly. That, and I had to improvise on a botched drawing."
"Botched drawing, you?" she queried, mildly surprised. "That's rare coming from you."
He shrugged. "Yeah well, it's hard to pay proper attention when you have three theatre kids practicing their trade nearby."
"Neal's not taking it well, isn't he?" she pursed her lips.
"With all due respect, I'm surprised he's lasted this long given what I know of him. They don't call him 'hero boy' for nothing."
"It's by those qualities I recruited him. It's by those qualities I trained all of you."
"Don't give me that speech."
"Then don't act like you need me to remind you," she sighed. "We're leaving tomorrow so better sleep in early. The Watch will fill the rest you in on the rest."
Wordlessly, Harold nodded. He moved past her, leaving the maiden to her lonesome. Alone, but with many intangible devils in ear and heart.
Morning couldn't have come sooner.
She got fed up with waiting.
She had an idea where to meet, and so she made her own move. The City Watch was only as keen patrolling the streets at this hour so long they as the could avoid the grounds the foreigners were using for camp. However, like any city, there were plenty of empty, unprotected paths to travel. What guards she encountered; it was a matter of taking different shortcuts and alleyways.
Some rather unfortunate folks were living in those cracks. It surprised her, considering she expected them to either be chased to someplace else, or worse kicked out of the city altogether. For the few she deemed worthy, she left a few bronze pieces with hacksilver.
Approaching out of one of these alleyways, she appeared in a garden. It was larger than most places, and in the background, was the high wall that bordered the Undyed Citadel from the outside. She was right on the mark that this was the place when she heard the melody.
That, and the fact that no less than a dozen Templars were here with half of them pointing spears at her.
"Wha-"
"I believe you master has need of me."
"How did you know where to look then? What of the messenger?"
"Probably taking her time, or already on her way back here. I'd recommend letting me through before she comes. Last thing needed was to make the mood anymore bitter than it is now."
The Templars shared looks with one another, an unanimous decision was reached.
"Stand where you are. We'll need to have confirmation first."
She swallowed her own vocal outburst. Resigning herself to the wait, she began chewing on the seeds in her pocket, much to the wariness of the guards. She simply disregarded their weary looks and kept on chewing.
Moments passed, but eventually the 'messenger' arrived at the grounds. A cloak over their heads, and where the edges met the ground, they hovered in mid-air with every violent footfall. Closing in, they wasted no time in letting fly their hand to her right cheek.
"What is wrong with you?!" the other woman screeched.
She spat on the road, noting the warm taste in her mouth. "What?"
"What?! WHAT?! DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA OF THE RISK COMING HERE ON YOUR OWN! WHAT IF YOU WERE-"
"Claudia."
Face frozen mid-rage. The grandmaster turned to look over her shoulder at the origin of the call. Lorraine followed suit, with a more muted expression.
No additions came. Yet, the message was clear, much to the chagrin of the rose haired woman who grasped the other's shoulder with a gauntleted arm and shoved her through the gateway into the garden.
"Get on with it," she growled.
For her part, Lorraine only spared a brief look before moving in.
The grounds were quiet save for the fountain that poured water from its tip. Insects in the brush were playing their little orchestras. The air cold with the approaching winter.
She found her seated on a bench. Harp in hand and resting on her thigh. Not even the drooping temperature would stop her from wearing those audacious strips of cloth. Slender fingers seemingly danced on the strings; an unassuming tune was played.
Lorraine took her seat. She sat facing away from the fountain. Away from her.
"How have you been, Lorraine?"
"…..Fine."
"You don't sound that way."
Her head bowed. "Being guarded is a must out there."
"…I see. I heard as much."
A small silence parted them.
The maiden exhaled. "Aren't you cold in that getup?"
"No colder than I am on any other days."
"Weird bunch, always, you elves."
A smile, though she could not see it. "There are ways to be like us. You should know."
She snorted. "That path closed off for me long ago. Besides, the current way ain't so bad."
She heard a hum. "Plenty of people on the outer settlements seem to think the same when it comes to travel with mercenaries."
"Well, perhaps the growing problem with demons has to do with that. Not many places are safe other than the cities, and I don't think we need to go down that route as far as talking goes."
"On that, we can agree."
Another silence. This one more gloom.
"Lorraine?"
"Hm?"
"…. I need your help."
"…. No."
"This is more than you and I. So much could do wrong, and I'll be helpless to stand against it."
"You've only being realizing this now? I shouldn't be surprised given your track record."
"I know that. I'm also aware just how little it'll change the outcome. Yet, I'm willing to take any chances if the prize is salvation."
There was iron in that tone. Color the maiden impressed. She turned to look into emerald. The other woman's features frowned in a serious look unbefitting the marble reflections throughout the settlement.
"Lorraine, as soon as able, take your banner to Calamity's Guard. Stay there and tell me what you see."
Now, it was her turn to frown. She used half a mind to suppress the urge to blast her rage. Still, the familiar feeling of tense and strained muscles escaped to the surface.
"You're talking big for someone in need of a first-hand experience dying from frostbite."
"There's still time if you push within the next few weeks."
"My men are in need of rest these next few weeks. More than a third of their kin are gone, if you need to know."
"And theirs aren't going to be the last," the other woman spoke. "Not with the new war soon to happen."
"… What?"
Lorraine felt cold. Cold to the bone, and it wasn't the season.
"I saw it, Lorraine. Saw flames and cries. So, so much crying. Of deeds vile and deviant. I saw defilement on a scale not seen even in the days after Garan's Fall. I saw all of them, even me. Worse, I found myself liking it."
"….."
"And you know the worst part? A knife, and a mirror. My own death, Lorraine."
Cold, and a knot in her gut. There was no fire in her, save for a dim glow.
"Why?"
"Hm?" the woman looked at her with hollowed eyes. "Oh, I see. Perhaps, it was too much. I-I didn't mean to overwhelm you."
The wom- no, the Lady, took her time to rub away the moisture in her eyes. Underneath the umbra, there was no missing the lone diamonds that fell below her cheeks. The High Queen heaved, in and out, seeking composure.
"…. Who else knows this?"
"Claudia, of course," came the reply, not missing a beat. "Her, and Kaguya."
"Why not the rest?"
"There's more to this than you could expect. I'm far from a fool nor am I deafblind, child. Yet, I suppose I can be considered almost as helpless as one."
"And you expect me to make a difference when even your Circle is not reliable?"
"I'm not expecting much. That's the point here. I just…. Want some assurance of the coming omen. Something, to carry that may just be in my hands."
A stunned silence. Lorraine felt as if this was all a bad dream. Or perhaps, she'd wake up in a moment on the pavement with a concerned Claudia above her.
She wanted a lie. Alas, the woman before her told no such things. Not now, nor before nor after. That, perhaps, could just be another reason why she couldn't stand her.
Oh, how she lamented answering the summons now.
"… A wizard."
"Hm?"
"Send for me a wizard. Going need somebody to handle the damn cold. I'm also expecting payment for this. Not now, of course. Don't want people getting ideas."
"So, you'll accept the task?"
"I ain't marching shite up North, Lady. But, damn if I watch the company get caught like wandering boars. I'll see what I can do, but don't be pissy if you catch wind that we missed the chance to climb the Rung."
The maiden paused. A thought occurred to her.
"The Dogs."
"Possible, yes. However, my own sources lay credence that the web is far vaster than we could imagine. I fear, that with the loss of the Arcturus crown, certain elements have seen it as their chance to ascend."
More bitterness. Yet, this felt like cleaning oneself with stone than adding venom to the heart.
"Well, faen. Guess you really are screwed. What are the chances of some hero reaching us?"
The Lady shook her head. "Not in this life. Not in this body."
One final, relenting sigh escaped the maiden.
"Curses. This better be worth the effort, Celestine."
"I'll make sure to that," affirmed the Queen, her head tilted with the barest amusement. "And thank you for finally calling me by name."
"Yeah? Well, suck it. Ain't making it a habit. Wish this'll be one of the last."
"Careful, that may end up a prayer."
"You ain't dragging me to church!" she snapped.
"Oh? But perhaps that's not necessary. Afterall, you're visiting the living idol, herself."
The maiden growled. Muttered vulgarity in twisting tongue before standing to leave.
"Lorraine."
She took half a step. Then, craned her head at the Lady.
"….Do be careful. Come back safely."
"….No promises."
With that, she left.
The journey back felt like rolling through caltrops.
Rose-haired was all but pointing her blade behind to the maiden's back. Not that it wasn't undeserved.
It was by chance that Ceri was passing the side of camp facing the entrance. His stance and expression betrayed nothing, and he simply stood with a hand on his belt as they closed.
When they reached a gap of a few feet, Rose-haired turned and walked off into the night. Both watched her hooded form illuminated by the light of the lanterns she passed.
"She knows the whole point of a cloak is to make it harder to see you, right?" the bowman lambasted.
"Oh, I'm sure she knows. She's just too bent out of shape to care at the moment."
"I could make a joke about her needing to be bended right."
"Don't let her husband hear that," she turned to face the man, smirking at his gob smacked expression.
"Bloody hell, that is a miracle."
She nodded, then turned serious. "Report."
"All's good ma'am. Camp's safe," he straightened.
"Good," she breathed. "Nothing's changed with the plan. I need time to think."
"Sure, looks like it," the bowman bobbed. "Wanna talk about it later at least?"
"No, this concerns the top, but if all goes right, then you'll be seeing the motions happening early."
Vague words incite curiosity, but Ceri simply obliged and continued his patrol. The maiden took her chance to continue back to the carriage she used for a tent.
She would've dozed off right after throwing herself into the cramp confines if she could. Instead, she loosened the straps, and pressed herself to one side of the carriage and laid down, not bothering to remove her armour. Sword held close with thumb under the hilt for quick release.
As she entered the dreaming world, she heard her own voice…
'The hell you're getting into…. Lori.'
A/N: And now we get the ball rolling. I'm eager to test myself on the next few chapters. This particular story is really fun for all the fantasy media I'm absorbing to make my own. You all will find plenty as we go along.
Also, took a shot in breaking some stereotypes in the kind of plot I often find here. In the words of the Black Company….
"There are no self-proclaimed villains, only regiments of self-proclaimed saints. Victorious historians rule where good or evil lies.
We abjure labels. We fight for money and an indefinable pride. The politics, the ethics, the moralities are irrelevant."
