Octopath Traveler 2: The Ninth Flame
Chapter 4: Tormenting Thoughts
Disclaimer: I do not own Octopath Traveler. All rights belong to Square Enix.
Author's Note: Fanfiction has been having quite a few issues recently, so I'll be transferring my stories to Wattpad. Not all of Lion of Courage is on there yet, but I'll keep posting chapters here and on the other site. Look for Earthenwolf96.
"Hahahaha."
Once again, Maolcholm found himself in a dark area, where he was naked except for his undergarments. His entire body ached from the multiple scars he had received from his time in slavery, from his torso all the way down to his arms and legs. There was only one consolation to be found: he wasn't in chains bound to a pillar.
"Welcome back, nameless."
That chuckle, that voice…Maolcholm knew it all too well: the man with the cold blue eyes. However, due to how dark the area was, he couldn't see where the man was…but then, he heard something else. A noise like a low, hissing growl, something reptilian…a noise that filled Maolcholm's heart and mind with terror as soft footsteps approached the lit area. The hissing growls grew louder and more ferocious as the monster drew closer and closer until its reptilian snout broke out of the darkness and into the light.
The monster was undoubtedly reptilian with a mix of orange and black scales, standing about Maolcholm's height with claws on both its arm and feet. Its long tail had spikes at the end, looking as sharp as its claws and capable of tearing through flesh like a hot knife through butter. Its eyes were a fiery orange color, as if flames were crackling inside of them. The monster's mouth opened slowly, showing sharp and serrated teeth as it let out another hissing growl.
"Pyroraptors," Maolcholm gasped in horror. The man's sinister chuckling could be heard from all around the room, leaving it impossible for the Warwolf to know where he was.
"You haven't forgotten my pets now, have you?" he questioned. "The last to survive wins the game. You always were the winner, leaving everyone else to die."
"I…I…" Maolcholm shouted in shock when he felt a blood-coated hand grab his shoulder. The young man turned around and saw a broken man drenched in such blood that it was almost impossible to tell if it was his own blood or if it were someone else's. He crawled into the light, groaning in pain as he did; when he came close enough, his legs were revealed to have been cut…no, bitten off.
"H-help me…" he groaned, reaching out to Maolcholm. But before the Warwolf could do anything, the Pyroraptor let out a loud shriek and pounced onto the wounded man. It dragged the man back into the darkness, where the sounds of screaming, bones breaking, and flesh being torn could be heard in the most sickening manner. It wasn't long before the screams stopped completely, replaced by choking and low breaths before being silenced by a final snapping sound.
"Oh, he didn't make it," the sinister voice spoke with false sympathy. "Pyroraptors do love to play with their food."
"Get me out of here…" Maolcholm spoke softly. Terror was quick to grip his heart before he got onto his feet and began to run out of the light, but as soon as he reached the dark areas, the whole room became lit.
The ground was soaked with blood, the bodies of over twenty people mangled and devoured by the Pyroraptors that were still devouring them. Using their hot breath to melt the flesh and weaken it, the reptilian monsters easily made meals out of the human corpses they had killed and mutilated. One of the Pyroraptors looked at Maolcholm before baring its teeth, letting out a snarl…and then pouncing onto him.
Maolcholm let out a gasp after the nightmare had ended. He heavily breathed several times as he remembered where he was: the abandoned shack where he, Anna and Osvald had camped for the night since the Inn of the Dancing Snowbird had been destroyed. The sun had not yet risen and the Warwolf's two companions were still asleep, the scholar snoring loudly while Anna snuggled up in the fur cloak Maolcholm had given her yesterday. As for Silvermane, he was laying down close to the window, asleep like the rest of his companions.
The North Star warrior was left afraid to go back to sleep after that terrible nightmare. Some nights let him rest peacefully, but some, like tonight, haunted his dreams with gruesome and terrifying reminders of his time in slavery. This was unfortunately one of those nights, one that reminded him of a terrible 'game' the slavers loved to play called 'Survival of the Fittest'.
So many of Maolcholm's nights were plagued by those dark nightmares, remembrances of the horrors he had endured as a slave. Even after Bhailis and Airmed found him and nursed him back to health, the Warwolf was afraid he'd go insane from the nightmares; if it weren't for his new parents giving him support, he probably would've. His mind would've snapped from the trauma and horror had he not been found by Bhailis and Airmed after his ship was wrecked.
But the man with the 'cold blue eyes' continued to haunt his dreams. He had forgotten his face, his voice, everything about him except his eyes, filled with such malice and cruelty that Maolcholm almost thought he was Vide, the Lord of Darkness, himself. He remembered the cruel games, the terrible mistreatment, the grave malice he possessed; that slaver was the embodiment of evil.
"I thought I was free of him," Maolcholm spoke quietly.
"I will never forget you, Natalia," Saron told the woman he had just spent the night with.
"It's Miranda!" she barked in frustration and making the bard chuckle nervously.
"Miranda, I apologize. Well, I'd better be on my way." Saron dressed himself in his attire, grabbed his lute, bag of leaves and rapier, then quietly left through the window of Miranda's room into the New Delsta Anchorage.
The port had expanded into a small town in recent years, though it remained primarily inhabited by sailors, businessmen and dock workers. Though small, it remained rather lively as people traversed the anchorage in search of ships and places of rest. As for Saron, he had already found a ship that would take him to Crackridge and then travel to the Leaflands as Ferdiad instructed him to do.
The ship called the 'Black Sapphire' was docked nearby and Saron had purchased a spot on the vessel, which would leave for Crackridge tomorrow morning at 10:00 A.M. All the bard had to do now was simply wait for the next morning to come around and then board the vessel. In the meantime, the promiscuous musician would spend his time reading, playing music and wooing the beautiful women of the New Delsta Anchorage, just as he did with Miranda.
Most importantly, Saron kept an eye out for potential human traffickers, knowing that the New Delsta Anchorage was a hotspot for such activity. However, the musician had to remain his guard; even though he had done an excellent job keeping his connections to the North Star a secret, he knew professional human traffickers were very cautious and would kill anyone the moment they believed a person a threat to their operations. If he had Maolcholm with him, he wouldn't be so concerned, but Saron's specialty was gathering information rather than fighting.
"Please…we need food…" Saron heard two children begged an older man dressed in the clothes of an aristocrat while carrying a briefcase and escorted by two bodyguards. Instead of looking at the children with sympathy and compassion, his face merely twisted with disgust.
"You dare speak to me, you lowborn filth!" the aristocrat spoke with anger as he raised his hand to strike them.
"Hey, hey!" Saron called out to the aristocrat and stood between him and the two children. "All they did was ask for food. How does that warrant hitting them?"
"These lowborn must know their place in society," the aristocrat spoke contemptibly. "I am a respectable aristocrat of noble lineage, and I will not be sullied by such filthy urchins." Saron rolled his eyes in annoyance.
"Well, I can see what centuries of inbreeding has done to the aristocracy." The aristocrat glared at the musician with great anger.
"How dare you speak to me that way!" He then turned to his two bodyguards. "Teach this minstrel how to respect his superiors!" The two bodyguards stepped ahead of the aristocrat and drew their weapons, both wielding sabers. Saron sighed before reaching for the hilt of his rapier and unsheathing it, pointing the elegant blade at the two fighters.
The first one attacked, clashing his blade with Saron's rapier several times before breaking away and allowing the second bodyguard to engage in combat with the musician. Again, Saron easily fended off the bodyguard's attacks before striking him in the face with the pommel of his rapier, causing him to stumble back from the pain.
"So, I'm not really learning anything right now about 'respect'," Saron mocked the nobleman as he twirled his rapier. "But I am learning that you should've hired better bodyguards."
"Teach this ruffian respect!" the aristocrat barked at his bodyguards. This time, the two men attacked Saron simultaneously, hoping that one of them could catch him off-guard; to their surprise, the musician held his ground against their attacks. In fact, it was he who caught them off guard as he constantly switched his rapier between hands to throw them off.
"Halt!" a loud voice demanded. "Throw down your weapons!" Three guards wielding long wooden clubs ran over to the three fighting men, threatening to attack if they didn't stop fighting as instructed. Reluctantly, Saron and the bodyguards let their swords fall to the ground as one of the guards collected the blades.
"Dueling without guard supervision is illegal," the lead guard informed. "Who began this altercation?"
"He did," the aristocrat claimed, blaming Saron Carnell.
"Not true," Saron responded. "This pompous twit was about to hurt these kids, so I stepped in and stopped him. He then set his bodyguards on me, so he started this; I was merely defending myself." The leading guard glared at the aristocrat and then looked around at the number of people who had witnessed the illegal dueling.
"We will take witness statements and then decide who we'll punish," he informed. "All four of you shall come down to the outpost with us. Refuse to do so and you'll be charged with resisting cooperation."
"This is an outrage!" the aristocrat barked angrily. "I am Phineas Brightly of House Brightly and I shall not-"
"That is enough!" the lead guard silenced him. "You may be of nobility, sir, but you are not above the law! Now come to the outpost or I shall place you under arrest for refusal of cooperation!"
The aristocrat and his bodyguards begrudgingly followed the guards to the outpost while Saron followed without complaint, knowing that his cooperation would paint him in a better light than the nobleman. All the guards would need to do now is collect the witnesses' statements and see that it was Phineas Brightly of House Brightly who started the altercation by ordering his bodyguards to attack Saron. After all, who would support a nobleman who tried to hit children just because they needed money for food?
"We apologize for the inconvenience, sir," a female guard spoke to the musician as she returned his rapier to him. "All the witness statements state that Phineas Brightly ordered his bodyguards to attack you."
"Noble donkeys," Saron insulted the nobleman, who along with his bodyguards were now in custody for starting an illegal duel. "You must've run into plenty of them during your time as a guard, am I right?"
"You have no idea," the female guard responded with a groan.
Many nobles and aristocrats acted the way Phineas Brightly did: entitled, arrogant, condescending and believing themselves above the law because of their 'noble lineage'. Whenever they were placed under arrest or brought in for questioning, they'd make her job a whole lot harder by behaving that the law didn't apply to them; not all nobles behaved as such, but the ones that did really knew how to act entitled.
"Well, as you know, centuries of inbreeding can do horrible things to people," Saron joked, clearly referring to the nobility, earning a mix of a scoff and laugh from the female guard. He then grabbed his feathered hat and bowed.
"Saron Carnell, musician and dancer, at your service."
"Swanhilda at yours," she answered. "Say, didn't you perform at the White Wren Tavern yesterday?"
"That's me," Saron replied before flashing a charming smile. "Why, were you swept away by my beautiful voice and prestigious lute playing?"
"I was more swept away by how you kept flirting with every woman at the tavern," Swanhilda brought up. "Just like you're trying to flirt with me now."
"Well, I clearly cannot resist being sociable with such a beautiful woman like yourself," Saron continued, holding his hat to his chest. "My ship doesn't leave until tomorrow morning. Perhaps you may grace me with a date tonight~?"
"Maybe I would, but…there's a problem," Swanhilda replied and gestured for Saron to turn around. As instructed, the bard turned around and saw a man his age standing there with a very soured expression.
"Mr. Carnell, meet my fiancée," Swanhilda informed.
"Oh no," Saron groaned. He had a black eye for the rest of the day.
"Okay, we should rest here for a bit," Maolcholm suggested after he, Anna and Osvald had walked almost until the afternoon. Anna merely snuggled up in her fur cloak while Osvald sat down on a rock and looked through a small book he was carrying. As for the Warwolf, he walked over to Silvermane and petted him, making sure the horse was calm and warmed up.
Osvald, as usual, sat in silence as he looked through his book of notes. Like Maolcholm, he already had his destination in mind: the town of Conning Creek, located in the southern Harborlands. It was there his life had changed forever, all because of a man he once trusted as a friend…Harvey.
In the blink of an eye, everything he loved was taken from him. He watched helplessly over five years ago as his home burned with his wife and daughter inside, but the image that truly stuck in his mind was Harvey standing in front of the flames. His 'friend' laughed and mocked the scholar while he was dragged away in chains and taken to Breezeport for the murder that Harvey had committed.
From there, it only got worse. Osvald was given a trial, but it was rigged by Captain Stenvar and the judge presiding over it, Utheron. All Osvald could do was stand there while evidence stacked against him, and he was left without a chance to defend himself. Whenever he tried to speak, Utheron claimed he intended to lie to the court and nulled everything that came out of Osvald's mouth. It didn't take long before he was judged guilty for the murder of his family.
Instead of being sentenced to death as he expected, Osvald was condemned to life imprisonment at Frigit Isle, where he spent the next five years planning his escape from the frozen prison. Every day, despite the beatings, the unforgiving cold, the cruel mistreatment from the guards and barely able to eat scraps due to the muzzle on his face, Osvald was kept alive by one thing: the fire in his breast that burned for Harvey's demise. Harvey had taken everything away from him and Osvald would take his revenge on his former friend soon enough.
His journey would start at Conning Creek, the place he had once called home before his family burned. He had no idea where Harvey went after the fire; perhaps he went somewhere like Montwise or New Delsta, but he needed to make sure or else he'd be walking around aimlessly. He hoped to find some trace of Harvey's trail at his old hometown; there had to be something there to help him find the murderer of his wife and daughter.
"We've waited long enough," Osvald spoke as he stood up. "We should keep moving to Icehaven." Maolcholm helped Anna get back on Silvermane and led the horse towards the coastal city, following beside the scholar.
Every time Maolcholm looked at Osvald, his attention kept focusing on the chain around his neck. He couldn't understand how the scholar could stomach keeping it on, knowing all too well what it was like. If there was a keyhole for it, the Warwolf couldn't see it from where he looked.
"We should do something about that collar," Maolcholm suggested to Osvald. "That could give you away as an escapee from Frigit Isle."
Osvald merely gave a 'Hm', though he quietly thought on what the Warwolf said. He currently had no way of removing the chain and collar around his neck, but if he didn't hide it, it would immediately give him away as an escaped convict from Frigit Isle. He would be sent back to the very prison he spent five years trying to escape from and all his hard work would be undone.
"When we get there…you could use the cloak Maolcholm gave me," Anna suggested. "It could cover up that collar."
"Thank you," Osvald replied before remaining silent again, though he did create a large flame from his palm to keep the group warm. While walking, Maolcholm pulled out the book Ferdiad gave him and started looking up information on Breezeport.
It was currently ruled by Governor Jonathan Churchman, who was renowned as a noble and just man who was very open about his anti-slavery stance. Governor Churchman's closest allies who knew about the alliance with the North Star were Lancelus Churchman, his son and Captain of Breezeport's Guard, Arthur Graymon, the Marshall of Breezeport's army and, and Miriam Starke, the Domestic Minister of the city. Once Maolcholm approached the Governor to request reinforcements for the attack on Jul, he would inform the rest of the Breezeport Council.
Snap. Maolcholm suddenly stopped when he heard the snap of a twig. He looked down at his feet, then Osvald's and then at Silvermane's hooves, but found nothing that was stepped on. Osvald clearly shared the same thoughts as he stopped as well, looking around the area for potential attackers. However, neither the scholar nor the Warwolf could see any movement in the trees…but they did the sound of snow being gently stepped on.
"Winds of frost!" Osvald chanted as he threw his arm and unleashed a massive blast of razor-pointed ice in the direction of the noise. As he expected, several men clothed in dark clothes and hoods leapt out of the way of the icy attack.
"Bandits!" Maolcholm exclaimed as he pulled out Stormshot and nocked an arrow. He pulled back and aimed at one of the bandits, shooting him in the leg to wound him.
"There's three more on the other side!" Anna warned as she got off Silvermane and pulled out the dagger from the abandoned shack.
"Leave these ones to me!" Osvald insisted to the bandits in front of him and Maolcholm. The Warwolf rushed to join up with Anna as three more bandits, armed with swords and a spear attacked. Maolcholm fought the two bandit swordsmen while Anna fought against the spearman. Though not a professional fighter, Anna put the dagger she was given to good use as she dodged the bandit's spear attacks and then retaliated with knife strikes and stabs.
"Lightning, strike down!" Osvald chanted as he brought his hand down from above and several lightning strikes electrocuted the bandits attacking, though two of them managed to dodge in time. The first one, armed with a dagger, charged at Osvald and slashed at him with the short blade. The scholar dodged several of his attacks before grabbing his arm tightly, causing him to drop the knife and then using his free hand to grab his face. Osvald then slammed the bandit into the ground, knocking him unconscious before the other bandit attacked with a wooden staff.
The scholar dodged the bandit's attack by dodging, suspecting that his enemy would aim for his head to disorient or kill him. With the bandit turned around, Osvald grabbed the back of the man's shirt and slammed him against a tree before punching him across the face twice.
As for Maolcholm, his fight against the bandits didn't last long as he easily dispatched of both, killing one by cutting his throat and the other impaling him with Winterfang's blade. After killing them, he hurried over to Anna, who was now struggling against the bandit spearman. With one strong blow, Maolcholm cut off the bandit's arm and slashed his blade across his stomach, killing him instantly.
"Is everyone alright?" Maolcholm asked as he retracted Winterfang's blade and sheathed it.
"I'm fine," Anna assured.
"As am I," Osvald answered as he grabbed the wooden staff from the unconscious bandit, deducing it'd make a good weapon for him. However, upon closer inspection of the four bandits he had fought, he couldn't help but question if this was just a simple ambush or if his group were the intended target. The bandits had gone down too easily, not thinking clearly and their body movement inhibited, both signs of low body temperature. They must've been in the cold for quite some time, meaning they must've been waiting for a long while.
While Maolcholm helped Anna back on Silvermane's back, Osvald investigated the other bandits before something caught his eye: a slip of paper in one of their pockets. He pulled it out and silently read it to himself.
"Her Ladyship Patricia Richter, ruler of the City-State of Jul, hereby offers a generous reward of 50,000,000 leaves to anyone who brings the criminal known as the Warwolf to her or any Julian military dead or alive. The reward will be delivered upon receiving the Warwolf as a prisoner or deceased."
"Warwolf?" Osvald quietly questioned. He wasn't the Warwolf and Anna clearly wasn't either…so Maolcholm was their target. Then it struck him.
"That damn Warwolf!" a prisoner of Frigit Isle barked during their downtime, who had been imprisoned for human trafficking. "That animal killed my brother! When I get out of here, I'll rip his throat out!"
"The Warwolf…" another trafficker from Frigit Isle spoke with dread. "That man…he showed no mercy to any of us. I…I only escaped…because I hid and he didn't find me."
The Warwolf, a name that prisoners who were guilty of slavery and human trafficking spoke of with either dread or hatred. They remarked his lack of mercy to any slaver, to anyone who was willingly involved in the business of human trafficking. Clearly, his actions against the business had earned him enemies and now he had a price on his head from the City-State of Jul.
"It seems my intuition was right," Osvald thought as he realized what a valuable ally Maolcholm would be to him and tossed the note aside. Though he was surprised that the swordsman he was travelling with was the feared Warwolf, the Slayer of Slavers, he had no intention of prying deeper into Maolcholm's private affairs. All that mattered to him was finding Harvey and enacting his revenge.
"Lieutenant," a Julian soldier saluted Oliver Mayson as he walked by him. The Julian Lieutenant took off his helmet to show his black hair and green eyes; though his expression was disciplined and stern, he inwardly felt sick to his stomach after what happened over a week ago.
Patricia Richter had commanded the slaughter of slaves under the age of ten and over sixty after the holding cells had become too overpopulated. Though he did not take part in the ruthless carnage, he could still hear the screams of children and elderly begging for mercy, the cries of mothers as their babies were torn from their arms and murdered. In the aftermath, the guards worked all day to carry over two hundred dead bodies outside the city to burn them.
Having been relieved of duty for the day, Oliver started making his way back to his home, where he wouldn't have to see the burnt pile of corpses, corpses of innocent children and elderly. His conscience tore at him, but the fear in his heart demanded he remain quiet.
"Oliver the Bloodblade wins!" the barker for the Julian Arena announced after Oliver had won another match. For three long years, he had slaved away in the arena, trained as a gladiator and forced to kill for the entertainment of the crowds. In the left side of the arena stood the King's Box, where Patricia Richter sat to watch the events unfold.
"Bloodblade! Bloodblade! Bloodblade!"
The crowd chanted his gladiator's name in admiration for him, but it meant nothing to him. Instead, he dropped the sword he was using and started to walk back to the Gladiators' Quarters to rest, praying to Dohter the Charitable that the fights would be over for the day. However, as he approached the hallway to the quarters, he was stopped by Captain Armand Vallon and four Julian guards.
"Her Ladyship wishes to see you," Armand demanded. "Follow us."
As instructed, Oliver walked with Armand Vallon and his guards to the King's Box where Patricia sat, enjoying some fruit and wine as the next gladiatorial match began as a fighter fought against a Mountain Ape. Oliver reluctantly approached the Julain matriarch and stood beside her, waiting to be noticed by her.
"Your Ladyship, I brought the Bloodblade as you commanded," Armand informed, bowing his head. Oliver nervously bowed as well.
"Welcome, Bloodblade," Patricia spoke, wearing a beautiful red and brown dress that matched her brown hair. "How long have you been here at the Julian Arena?"
"T-three years, ma'am," Oliver answered.
"You will address her as Your Ladyship," Armand corrected sternly, to which Oliver quickly spoke 'Your Ladyship.'
"Ah, so it can learn," Patricia chuckled. "I've seen your talents, Bloodblade, and I have a proposition for you."
He took up the offer to join the Julian Army without a second thought as it meant no longer being a slave in chains. It had been four years since he joined them…but every day, he found himself wishing he had found another way to freedom. Now he had joined the very people who participated in the business that caused him so much sorrow and suffering.
Oliver suddenly stopped when he heard a carriage driving in his direction, so he stepped aside to let it through. To his surprise, it was Patricia's carriage, escorted by six Julian soldiers clad in armor black as night and hawk-shaped helmets. He easily identified them as the Blackwing Guard, the most elite of the Julian military and the bodyguards to Patricia herself.
"Your Ladyship," Oliver addressed, bowing his head as she looked through the window.
"I didn't see you with Captain Vallon when he carried out my orders," she spoke. "Is there a reason why?"
"The captain…ordered me to secure an area…to pile the bodies outside the city," Oliver reluctantly answered.
"I see," Patricia responded. "For a while, I thought it was because you were being insubordinate." The Julian Lieutenant kept himself collected to hide the fear of what she implied. Insubordination from Julian soldiers was punishable by either dishonorable discharge, death…or sentenced to slavery. Oliver suspected that if he disappointed Patricia Richter, she'd put him back in the very chains she freed him from.
"But I see I was wrong," Patricia chuckled. "Are you on your way home?"
"I am, Your Ladyship," Oliver confirmed. "Where are you heading to, if I may ask?"
"To the arena," Patricia answered. "I hear new gladiators have been brought here, very violent ones. I do so love a good gladiatorial game; I must keep my city entertained, after all."
"O-of course, Your Ladyship," Oliver responded. "Well, have a good day."
"You as well." Patricia tapped her scepter on the floor of her carriage twice and the carriage driver continued to the arena, the six Blackwing Guard following it.
Oliver looked at the arena with great dread and hatred, a place he had spent three years slaughtering other slaves for the entertainment of the Julian crowds. If it were up to him, he would've torn the horrendous place down long ago, but doing so would earn him the ire of Patricia Richter…and that would most likely mean being put back in the chains he dreaded for so long.
"I can't look at that place," Oliver groaned as he made his way home.
Despite his high ranking in the Julian Army, his home was rather modest, which he preferred to keep that way. However, there were some vases filled with flowers on the tables and counters, which helped to make the place look livelier.
"Hello, Oliver," a female voice greeted him. That voice belonged to Josephine, a beautiful slave Oliver had bought two years ago. With bright red hair and soft brown eyes, she was desired by most men when she was brought into Jul, but luckily for her, Oliver stopped her being sold to an abusive owner by buying her first.
"Hello, Josephine," Oliver responded as he walked over to her and kissed her gently. They kissed for several moments before he broke away and went up to his room to remove his armor and sword.
Every time he looked at the armor and sword on his bed, Oliver felt a mix of emotions: regret, terror, guilt, sorrow. The hawk-emblazoned armor and sword belonged to Jul, the city that had stolen him from his home long ago and made him a slave…and ironically, it was now that same armor and sword that kept him from becoming a slave once more. From a bloodstained gladiator to a Julian soldier, a lieutenant at that…but while his position had liberated him from slavery, it filled him with grave fear and guilt.
Whenever he walked by the slave markets, seeing men, women and children in chains and cages, it'd immediately make him think back to when he was one of them. It made Oliver sick to his stomach to realize what he was doing, especially after what happened when the holding cells were overpopulated…but the fear of being in those chains were far too great.
Every day wasn't living, it was merely survival. If it wasn't surviving his masters' cruelty and inhumane treatment, it was surviving starvation, illness and worst of all, hopelessness. Oliver witnessed many slaves lose any hope of freedom, choosing to rot away or set themselves up to be killed. There were many times when he considered letting himself starve to death, but then his instinct for survival would kick in.
"Oliver?" Josephine asked, knocking on his door.
"It's open," he replied. The beautiful redhead walked into the room and placed a tray of tea and cups on the table.
"You know what happened over a week ago, right?" Oliver asked Josephine. Her gentle smile lowered for she knew exactly what he was talking: Armand Vallon's slaughter of the children and elderly in the holding cells.
Her heart ached at the thought of the countless mothers who had their children and babies ripped from their arms and murdered before their very eyes. How could Patricia Richter command such a monstrosity, especially drawing such joy from it? How could Armand Vallon commit such a heinous atrocity while claiming he's doing what's right? To tear children away from their parents and then kill them right in front of their mothers and fathers.
"I'm just so grateful to Aelfric the Flamebringer that I…I…" Oliver shook his head.
"Why are you serving them?" Josephine questioned. "Why do you serve the people who cause nothing but pain and misery?"
"Because I'm afraid," Oliver confessed as he looked at his wrists, which had scars on them caused by the chains he had worn for so long.
"I told you before: when Patricia offered me my freedom in exchange for my service to Jul, I took that offer without a second thought. I thought I'd finally gotten what I wanted, but…but…" He paused and rubbed his hair.
"I spent so long in those chains and I don't have the courage to go back to them," Oliver confessed.
Josephine understood where Oliver was coming from. The inhumane cruelty, the deplorable mistreatment, the loss of who one was…it was at times too much to bear. People like her and Oliver were the lucky ones, having been given a chance to take their freedom, but countless others had no such opportunity. She too didn't wish to go back to those chains, but her comfortable lifestyle with Oliver filled her with guilt as well.
"I just…want to forget it all…" Oliver spoke softly as he turned around and caressed Josephine's face. "Even if it's just for a few moments." He brought his lips to Josephine's, their kissing starting gentle and soft before passion overtook them.
"We'll take three pounds of it," Maolcholm requested from a travelling merchant selling uncooked meat from Frost Bears. After giving the merchant 500 Leaves for the three pounds of Frost Bear meat, the Warwolf walked back to his companions, who were resting near the road and placed the meat in the satchel on Silvermane's saddle.
"I calculate that if we leave at first light after making camp tonight, we'll reach Icehaven by tomorrow afternoon," Osvald deduced after looking at a map of the Winterlands.
"If you two need a place to stay, I would gladly let you stay with me," Anna offered to the two men. "It's the least I can do for you saving my life."
"Technically, he saved your life," Osvald pointed out bluntly. "You owe me no debt."
"My offer still stands," Anna insisted.
After taking some time to rest, the three travelers continued to the coastal city. Ever since the bandit ambush, things had been rather uneventful for the trio and left only food, warmth, and a suitable camping ground as their main worries until they reached Icehaven. The warmth was easily solved by Osvald's fire magic, the food taken care of when Maolcholm bought Frost Bear meat, but that still left the issue of a suitable camping ground.
"Have you ever been to Icehaven before, Osvald?" Maolcholm asked the scholar.
"No," Osvald answered.
"It's a very beautiful city," Maolcholm replied. "I've been there several times and I've enjoyed every last visit."
"Let's hope it remains beautiful," Anna commented, earning attention from the two men as her comment sparked their curiosity.
"King Havardur Jokull is dying," she began. "He only has about a year left to live."
"Then wouldn't his son, Prince Baldur, simply take the throne?" Maolcholm questioned. "Icehaven is a monarchy, after all."
"Well…there's opposition to it," Anna continued.
Viggo Ulfgangur, King Havardur's advisor, had spoken out against Baldur ascending to the throne. Interestingly, he did not seek to take the throne himself, but rather dissolve the monarchy and replace Icehaven's government with a democracy. As more modern cities like Clockbank, Merry Hills and New Delsta had adopted democratic forms of government, Viggo believed that the Winterlands should start doing the same. Sadly, it had left Icehaven divided, some supporting Baldur's claim to the crown and others supporting Viggo's desire to adopt democracy.
"Now it makes sense," Maolcholm thought to himself.
This is what Ferdiad meant when Icehaven couldn't lend aid to their cause: a power struggle within the city demanded all the support the two sides could get. Viggo was undoubtedly rallying support in the hopes of turning Icehaven into a democracy while Baldur was working to retain his right to the throne. Sadly, it couldn't have come at a worse time for the North Star; they too needed all the support they could get, but with Icehaven divided between its governmental practices, they were in no position to lend soldiers to attack Jul.
"Why would Viggo suddenly advocate for democracy when Icehaven has been a monarchy for nearly seven hundred years?" Maolcholm asked.
"He claims that democratic cities tend to be more prosperous and safer than monarchic ones," Anna answered. "Viggo believes that Icehaven should adopt democracy as it better benefits the city and the people."
"Or they could potentially be trading one evil for another," Osvald responded. "Any form of government can trample the rights of its people."
Though Maolcholm acknowledged Osvald's point, he personally felt it better should Icehaven become a democracy. He had seen what happens when people have absolute power, such as Patricia Richter, who had carried on her family's legacy as slave owners and human traffickers. No one person should ever have absolute power, leaving them unchallenged if they ever become tyrants or incompetent.
But as Osvald pointed out, any form of government could trample the rights of its people. If the people voted corrupt officials into leadership, what would stop them from abusing their power and changing the government for the worst, such as in New Delsta? Having been there himself, Maolcholm had seen the darker shadows behind the modern city; it was ruled by gangs, especially one called the Blacksnakes, rather than the incompetent New Delsta Council.
But the Warwolf didn't have time to think on politics; all that mattered was securing the support of Breezeport, then Lhan and finally Ironfell. However, if the matter in Icehaven was resolved by then, they could request support from the city.
The group made camp in a small snowy grove a short way off the road. Having gathered large branches and stones and put them together, Osvald used his fire magic to start a bonfire. Maolcholm then used sharper sticks to put a pound of the meat over the fire and cook it.
"Shouldn't you change your clothes, Osvald?" Anna suggested.
"My clothes are fine," Osvald responded. "They cover my body."
"But they're prison rags," Anna brought up. "And that collar around your neck…if the Icehaven Guards find out who you are, they'll send you back to Frigit Isle."
Osvald couldn't deny Anna's warning. The scholar didn't know what the authorities believed after his accomplice, Emerald, commandeered a ship and then burned it. It was most likely that both Emerald and he were presumed dead, but until he knew for certain, he'd have to be careful. He could easily swap out new clothes, but the chain and collar around his neck…
"I suppose you have a point," Osvald acknowledged. "But as long as it doesn't raise suspicion, I won't concern myself with such trivial matters. Even if I wanted to, I can't remove this collar."
"Was it horrible?" Anna asked. "In Frigit Isle?"
Osvald was quiet, though hints of his expression were enough to tell a whole story to Maolcholm. He couldn't imagine what he went through, considering the rumors he heard about the frozen prison. Corruption, horrible mistreatment of prisoners, people wrongly convicted, it had earned the name 'Frozen Hell'. Some things were better left unsaid and forgotten. Some things were so horrible that the people who experienced them had no desire to even think of that pain. He would know.
"It's not our business," Maolcholm spoke to Anna. "Let's just get to Icehaven."