Hey guys! Welcome back to Hear a Tale! Apologies for the delay, had too much stuff going on last week to post - but we're back now, and as always, it's review time!
Thanks so much to CitrusChickadee for reviewing! Glad you enjoyed! I love those little dorky cinnamon rolls too :)
And with that, on with the tale!
Relevant Events: Pre- Ophilia and H'aanit's Chapter Threes, post- everyone else's Chapter Threes
32. Night
Night fell like a heavy blanket over the Woodlands. The thick canopy overhead blotted out most of the starlight and fully obscured the waxing moon, leaving the crackling campfire on a cleared-out section of the forest floor as the only significant source of light for miles. It was dangerous, perhaps, to leave such an obvious beacon for the monsters of the woods to observe, but the crisp night air made warmth a requirement for the eight resting travelers.
Besides, with the Unbending Blade taking the first watch, there was little to worry about anyway.
Olberic sat with his back against a thick tree trunk, his sharp eyes regularly scanning the darkness for any signs of uninvited visitors. He knew that the fire's glow would make it more difficult to see any figures lurking in the darkness beyond its reach, but he had enough warranted confidence in his own reflexes that such a disadvantage would no longer be a problem. By the time a beast drew close enough to the light to attack, his sword would already be lodged in its gut.
In any case, he needn't have worried at all. The woods were quiet that night, and he and his traveling companions would be safe for the time being.
It was a great boon, too. With only a cursory glance around the small clearing where they'd made their camp, Olberic could clearly see how desperately each of them had needed a peaceful night's rest.
Alfyn lay closest to the warrior's position, the dark rings around his eyes indicative of how much of a miracle it was that he had actually managed to fall asleep that night. The young apothecary was curled tightly around his satchel of herbs, and he would have appeared at peace if not for his unconscious grimace. It was clear that the life he'd been forced to take back in Saintsbridge only a month prior was still weighing heavily on his heart.
A heart that may be too kind for his own good, Olberic thought grimly. Several times, he had clumsily attempted to help ease the younger man's mind - Olberic knew better than anyone the anguish that came with having to make the choice to spill another human being's lifeblood - but he knew that Alfyn would refuse to forgive himself anytime soon. The lad is going to worry himself to death over this if we don't all keep a close eye on him.
As he sighed silently, Olberic's eyes slid to Therion, who slept in a sitting position, leaning against a tree just a few feet away from Alfyn and Primrose's chosen spots. Unbidden, a slight smirk materialized on the warrior's face. Back when their journeys had just begun and their group had only consisted of the four of them, the thief had made a point to deliberately sleep as far away from the others as he could whenever it was possible. Now, it seemed, he was finally able to find his comfort in closeness rather than isolation.
Still, the furrow lines on his brow remained deep, and even now, his hand was clamped tightly around the hilt of the dagger at his hip. Though Therion had refused to clarify the exact nature of his history with Darius, the leader of the bandits they had encountered in Wellspring not long ago, Olberic had seen the way the young thief had seemed to shrink under the man's smug gaze. He had looked like a cornered animal, torn between fighting with all his strength and fleeing as far as he could. Therion had not stopped looking over his shoulder ever since.
Despite his usual bravado and acerbic wit… Olberic acknowledged silently, …he is still far too young to have this much fear and distress constantly hanging over his head.
His gaze rested next on Primrose, who lay with a hand subconsciously pressed to the terrible scar that marred her stomach. Between Alfyn's herbs and Ophilia's magic, the wound had healed nicely, allowing the dancer to travel freely once more, but it was obvious that whatever pain the injury had brought Primrose, it was nothing compared to the agony that plagued her heart.
Olberic had known from the beginning that Primrose's quest for revenge would never end in anything but grief, and he had even offered her quiet counsel on the subject several times over the course of their shared journeys. However, not even he had predicted that the greatest torment of all would come from the betrayal of a man whom the dancer had once admired above all others. To say nothing of Simeon's guilt in the murder of her father, the thought of a grown man preying on the naivetes of a young girl, drawing her in and toying with her feelings, only to recapture her years later and shove a dagger through her flesh turned Olberic's stomach. It would have astonished the warrior to see that Primrose was still able to hold her head high and walk ever forward despite all she had been through, if he hadn't already known the depths of the strength that lay beneath the dancer's delicate appearance.
She has a will unlike that of any other I've seen, Olberic thought. And yet…I fear that, without support, she will collapse once her revenge is complete.
A few paces away from the dancer lay H'aanit, with Linde resting her head on her mistress' chest. H'aanit's arm was wrapped around her snow leopard companion, cuddling the creature almost like a child clutching a stuffed toy close. Though the huntress presented herself with a poise and maturity well beyond her twenty-six years (Olberic often had to remind himself that he was nearly a decade her senior), in sleep, her youth was plain to see, and at times, she looked almost vulnerable.
It made some sense, the warrior acknowledged. H'aanit was a capable woman, and unbelievably strong, but she had recently been faced with the very real possibility that the only human family she'd ever known could be lost forever. She refused to refer to Z'aanta as anything but "Master," and she would often speak of how she chastised the man for his more childish tendencies, but the look in her eyes when their group had found his petrified form in the Spectrewood was nothing short of devastating. The huntress had handled the situation with surprising grace, immediately resolving to find a cure for Z'aanta's condition, but later that night, Olberic had heard her muffled cries from the inn room next door to his.
The warrior sighed softly. This is not a case of an apprentice losing her master…this is a young woman who has lost her father. I pray that this Susanna woman truly does know where to find a cure…
Cyrus, Olberic thought, his attention shifting once more, was an interesting case. The scholar lay flat on his back atop his bedroll, a tome still sitting open on his chest. It was an innocuous enough sight, showing nowhere near the same levels of distress that many of the others had radiated, even in sleep, but Olberic knew better than that. Cyrus may not have had family members that were in danger, nor was he haunted by any particular tragedies from his past, but the weight of the implications of his own journey still rested heavily upon the man's shoulders.
Olberic had not witnessed firsthand the horrors that Cyrus and Therion had stumbled across in Quarrycrest's sewers, nor had he fallen into Yvon and Lucia's trap as they had, but he could see the darkness reflected in Cyrus' hooded eyes when the scholar thought no one was watching. The subject of the man's journey was dark, and his goal was very quickly shifting from finding a lost book to preventing ghastly fates from befalling more people than those he had already failed to save.
He hides it from the rest of us, but he views the lives of all those people as his responsibility. He blames himself for arriving too late…I suppose all we can do now is help him prevent another disaster.
Ophilia and Tressa completed the circle of travelers, lying side by side to Olberic's right. The two youngest members of their group, neither well-traveled and both barely over the threshold of adulthood, had been facing the ordeals of their companions with surprising fortitude, but the warrior couldn't help but worry about them all the same.
The young cleric and merchant thought often of home - Ophilia of her ailing adoptive father, and Tressa of her parents managing the family business without her - and yet they never spoke of homesickness or any desire to return to the familiar safety of where they had come from. Olberic suspected that they did secretly harbor these feelings, but refused to speak them out loud for the sake of the other travelers facing darker problems.
Both of them had been spots of light in the midst of a group where most of them either walked progressively dark paths or ran from a shadowed past. Ophilia was a gentle, steadying presence, calming the others' with her soft words and serene bearing. The cleric had suffered tragedy early in her life, but had been pulled out of the darkness by the warmth of her newfound family. Now, it seemed, she was serving as a guiding light to the traveling companions that walked beside her, from Flamesgrace, to Saintsbridge, and soon to Goldshore as she carried out her own journey.
Tressa, meanwhile, was a constant crackle of energy, an ever-present gleam in her eye and skip in her step as they traveled on. Ever since leaving home, the merchant seemed to have discovered a great love of adventure within her, and her enthusiasm at visiting each new place was infectious. Of the eight of them, her path had been the brightest from the start, her ambition and the winds of trade the only things pushing her forward, rather than some impending tragedy or score to settle.
Olberic worried about both of them.
He knew that both Ophilia and Tressa were aware of their statuses as the more fortunate members of their group. Tressa was on a journey of her own choosing, with two loving parents waiting for her to return whenever she was finished. Ophilia had the ailing archbishop to worry about, true, but she would still have the support of her sister and the other members of the church, and her path was a straightforward one, carefully laid out in specific steps before her, and designed to bring her back home in the end.
They did not have tragic pasts that were coming back to haunt them, like Therion, Primrose, and Olberic himself. They were not fighting to avenge the potentially permanent loss of a loved one at the hands of a horrific beast, like H'aanit. They had not been forced to become murderers, like Alfyn and Cyrus.
They were the lucky ones, and so they made the others' problems their own.
They never complained about their own troubles, or shrank away from the more horrific aspects of their companions' paths. They took it upon themselves to be pillars of stability, or representations of the good that was still in the world. They offered comfort and positivity, smiles and lightheartedness. They didn't allow themselves to show sadness or fear, all for the sake of those whom they viewed as suffering worse.
It was a heavy mantle for such a young pair of women.
I hope they have been confiding in one another, at least, Olberic thought grimly. They chose to take up this burden themselves, but it may very well crush them beneath its weight before long. The rest of us need to show them that their feelings are equally as important as ours…
The warrior released a long, slow breath, bringing a hand to his forehead as his gaze swept over his sleeping friends. They were all so broken, in one way or another, and nights of peace like this were increasingly rare as they progressed in their respective journeys. Over the time spent on the road with these people, all very different, yet still similar in so many ways, Olberic had come to view them fondly, as worthy comrades. As brothers and sisters in arms.
As a strange, but no less strong, sort of family.
After all, he was broken too, was he not? A fallen knight, mourning his sense of purpose, searching for some form of closure for his bloodstained past. These seven fellow travelers had helped him find Erhardt once more, had stood by him as he dueled and soon reconciled with the man. They had helped him finally look his past straight in the eyes, to accept it and move forward at last. They were still helping him, remaining by his side as he planned to seek out Werner, the true force behind the destruction of his king, country, and life as he had known it. Just as Olberic was concerned for all of them, they worried for him the same. He might have been the oldest of the group, but even he was never expected to face his struggles alone.
A soft smile came to his face as he relaxed against the trunk of his tree, his sword balanced across his lap while he kept watch. That was the beauty of their party of eight, wasn't it? No one ever had to be alone or left behind. Everyone watched out for one another, regardless of age or origin. They all had an integral place in this odd little family they'd made, and their bonds only grew stronger with every passing day.
They fought monsters, they faced trials, they confronted the demons of their pasts, presents, and futures, but most importantly, they did it all together.
And that, Olberic thought, still smiling out into the tranquil night, is a wonderful thing.
See you guys next time for Tale 33: Expectations!