Valkyrie Profile:
Lenneth Novelization AU:
Disclaimer: I do not own Valkyrie Profile or any other tri-Ace properties. Please support the official release.
Chapter Twenty-Four:
Midgardian Interludes V
"LENNETHHH VALKYRIIIIIE!"
"Ulp!" Lenneth swallowed hard as she held the basket containing her dirtied armor and clothes.
The supervisor of golden hall's laundry room gave a her a stern eye as he crossed his arms in a most displeased manner. Despite his position, the supervisor was a tall, broadly build and muscled man to give Arngrim a run for his money. His rugged, warrior-like looks did not speak of a man ran the corner of the palace where the staff cleaned, repaired, and restored the garb of the gods. He wore plain brown clothing with an apron and a baglike hair-containing hat, which hid his long, luscious blond locks.
Lenneth tried to ease the tension with a guilty smile and held the basket up a bit higher.
"My sincerest apologies," she guiltily said. "It could not be helped, Mr. Thamur."
"Could not be helped?" Thamur was torn between exasperation and amusement. "Your armor and the battle-dress both come with enchantments to keep them clean. I spun and knitted those garbs, myself, with the finest fairy silks. The finest dwarven smiths constructed that armor. If I've told you girls once, I've told you a thousand times, many hands slaved over the Valkyrie gear, perfecting their aesthetic and functionality."
Then he picked the dress Lenneth wore under her armor out of the basket, mourning the threads now stained in kraken ink. "Yet you girls somehow always find ways of letting this happen."
"Trust me, I am no happier about this than you," Lenneth said.
She hoped to stop him before he launched into the diatribe she'd heard many times before.
"You do understand, of course, why your armor and dresses were given these enchantments?" Thamur asked.
No such luck.
"You girls and Lord Thor are Asgard's representation upon the face of Midgard. Tidiness when conversing with the mortals, and even our enemies in that realm, is a must. Yet you still come down to my corner of the castle cellar time after time like this. Oh, woe are the makers of this garb. To think such efforts to avert dirt and grim are somehow averted, themselves, as…"
This was usually when Lenneth zoned out, hard, though she paid attention to his body language to know when he was wrapping up. She patiently stood there, waiting for Thamur to finish while she put her thoughts to something useful, like considering how to begin the morning drills with the einherjar.
"Now that we have two magi, I can try different fight formations on the training grounds," she thought.
As she thought about it, she noticed him finishing the initial examination of her gear and battle skirts.
"Oh, he is wrapping up," she thought. "Alright, air of contriteness."
She bowed humbly. "I truly do apologize, Thamur."
"Well, nothing to be done about it now, except for desperate action to have it ready for you on the morrow," Thamur muttered. He gave her a displeased eye again. "Although, I do hope you appreciate what we do down here when you girls bring your effects in, stained with…"
He bent down to get a closer a look to verify what the black substance was. "Kraken ink?"
He seemed confused by that one, but moved on.
"I do not wish to know," he decided. "Cave slime, blood, puss, all manner of dirt, and I do not even wish to know what this other dried white substance is. Just what do you do down there?"
Lenneth's face flushed at the potential implication.
In haste, she blurted out an embarrassed protest, "'Tis giant eyeball juice, from a demonic eye spy! D-d-do not assume what kind of ac-activities I engage in!"
As soon as the words left her mouth, the goddess became sharply aware of the looks some of the staff gave her and she raised the basket higher to hide her face, which had become beet red by then. Thamur contained a chuckle, deciding she'd just made herself suffer enough.
"I said and meant nothing of the sort," Thamur took the basket from her.
He sighed in resignation he looked over the stains. "Only you Valkyries. You do not even participate in the massive battles between the armies of the Aesir and those of our enemies. I would almost like to go on an einherjar run with one of you just to see how you manage to come back almost messier than the other gods."
"You can take that one up with Lord Odin," Lenneth spoke more evenly, though her cheeks were still rosy. "'Tis he that decided on a training regiment for the einherjar which takes them and their recruiting Valkyrie all over to the darkest, deepest depths of Midgard and to its most uncivilized corners to do battle with the Undead and other monsters."
"Believe me, I would love to," Thamur answered. "As his former commanding officer from the old days, you would think he'd still lend an ear even if I have retired to staff work in the castle. Alas, listening has never been one of Odin's strongest suits."
"Perhaps we should not disrespect Lord Odin in his own castle," Lenneth sternly said.
"Disrespect? No. Statement of fact," Thamur said. "That boy's always been a rascal. Have I ever told of you of the time he took his father's ship, loaded it with barrels and barrels of oil, and started a fire in the hole before flying the whole thing into…"
Lenneth sighed, resigning herself to having to indulge the old Aesir man in listening to one of his rants. She hid it well, and just listened to him regale her with stories from the Age of Chaos. From the time before Odin was King of the Gods, when he was in his wild youth. A mere half-elf soldier under All-Father Ymir, the primordial who had originally created the initial eight realms and all the races.
"Oi, Lucien!"
Lucien glanced over his shoulder at whoever was calling him as he was about to lock the door to his little house in the little backstreet residential area. It was a square space which was bordered by small stone houses just like his, all of which faced inwards. He saw his various neighbors going about their business, but it had been Rusty who called to him. Currently, the stocky man was heading his way.
"Oh, hey buddy," Lucien smiled.
Rusty came up quickly and stood very close to speak quietly to him. Lucien immediately recognized something was wrong.
"What's going on?" he asked. "I was on my way to the meeting. We coulda spoke there, and…"
The blonde young man looked around with his eyes. "Done it much more freely."
"Nay," Rusty shook his head. "I ain't makin' that meeting."
He glanced towards the door, "'Ey, maybe we best discuss this inside?"
Lucien gave him an uncertain look in return, but complied, opening the door for him.
"Sure thing, bud," he ushered Rusty inside.
First the stocky man entered, and Lucien followed, closing the door again behind them. As the two men faced each other, Lucien realized Rusty was sweating.
"What's wrong?" he asked.
Rusty replied with a nervous laugh, and then said, "There's some business to do up at the mines."
Lucien felt his stomach grow heavy. "The Turgen Mines?"
Rusty nodded with a foreboding look. "Sheriff and her Deputies been poking around there lately."
The heaviness in Lucien's stomach turned into a lead weight.
"So far, it's just the official mine entrances. The ones they done boarded up when the gold ran dry and they woke up the bugs," Rusty explained. "Can't promise it, but I don't think they's even started poking around the mountain sides lookin' for natural holes."
Lucien swallowed, knowing what Rusty was referring to. The entrance they used to transport themselves and those they rescued from the slave caravans was one such natural cave entrance along the southeast side of the Turgen Mountains. It was close to Gerebellum, and the east sewer entrance they then used to get them all into the slums. They kept the cave entrance covered by a nearby rock, which they rolled to block and unblock the entrance using iron poles. It was a simple process, which left minimal sign of their interference. Crude methods such as that assured that it would be fruitless for Sherriff Agatha and her deputies to try using a dowsing mage to detect enchantments cast anywhere on the mountainside.
"But a talented tracker would recognize what the scratch marks mean," Lucien thought.
Rusty then added, "But not only that. They been bangin' on church doors with warrants."
"Huh?" Now Lucien was almost more confused than concerned. "They'd dare intrude on holy ground? The gods won't like that."
"Not for nothin'," Rusty whispered. "They've only been searchin' churches with entrances down to the ol' Gerebellum catacombs."
Lucien's mouth opened in a slow, silent, "Ah." They didn't use that path, but it still didn't put him at ease any.
"The Iron Lady of Gerebellum is pulling out all the stops," he murmured.
"Yeah, the mayor is really putting the pressure on ol' Iron Agatha to arrest us," Rusty answered. Then he added with a nervous laugh. "Started a bit after we cut ol' Sir Reginald loose after Claire wiped his memory. I think we upset 'em a little."
Lucien shrugged. "I guess we knew this was coming after we dared to lay a finger on one of the nobles."
Rusty mulled that comment over. "Eh, they was always gonna come for us like this. What I can say, we're bad for business."
"A business they shouldn't even be allowing," Lucien answered darkly.
"No argument here. Ownin' and sellin' people like cattle ain't right," Rusty agreed. "But anyway, I'm goin' with a few of the boys to see where her deputies are lookin'. This might be our last time sneakin' folk outta Gerebellum that way. Guess we'll be sneakin' 'stolen goods' outta Gerebellum to new lives some other way soon. So, let me know what's decided at the meeting. They already know. I just stopped to tell you while I collected some o' the boys."
Lucien nodded, "Will do. Be careful, Rusty. You know those mines are infested with all kinda things. The Lizard Men are always active and ornery, but if Lady Hlin smiles on us, Agatha's deputies won't stir up the bugs."
Rusty shuddered. "Last thing Gerebellum needs is another swarm of insect giants filling the skies. Grandpapa always used that tale to warn me away from the mines."
"If you have to, also go with the boys with more repellents to put on our usual way through if it looks bad," Lucien said.
"Will do," Rusty nodded. "Can't promise how the Lizard Men will take this, though."
"They will focus on keeping the Sherriff and her cronies out. We go along the far east side of those mines, away from their territory. We should be fine..." Lucien trailed off under the scrutinizing gaze of his friend. "I'll see about getting extra sword arms for our next run through the mountains."
"See you do. I'll be goin' now. Gods bless ye, Lucien," Rusty said.
"May Hlin keep you guys safe," Lucien answered.
A moment later, Lucien opened the door of his house and he and Rusty stepped out. While he locked it, Rusty walked off to gather a band for his assignment, and Lucien walked in the opposite direction towards that meeting they spoke of. The conversation weighed heavily on both men.
"She's close to figuring us out," Lucien thought as he turned a corner. "But… what can we do?"
He thought again on Sir Reginald, the ex-proprietor of the Lundberg Bondservant Company. He remembered how Claire had been able to seduce him into giving away his company's secrets before drugging him and leaving him a babbling amnesiac for the rest of his life, and how they'd left him for the Sheriff to find just outside of the city. It'd been over a week since then.
It was for that purpose, Sheriff Agatha was holding her own meeting with the mayor, one Harald Boyd, across town in her office. Presently, Iron Agatha and the mayor sat on opposite sides of the same table, remembering that day as well.
Sir Reginald Lundberg was found dressed in simple clothes while gibbering inanely, not even struggling against his bonds when someone happened upon him and reported him to city guard. Sheriff Agatha and her deputies had been quickly summoned and found him at the edge of the forest just outside the city.
"There he is. Right where the boys said he'd be."
Agatha had not responded to her deputy's pointing out of the obvious as they rode along just outside the city's east wall, where the bound noble was said to be trussed up to a tree trunk. By now, the rotund man had been set loose and was sitting on a stump surrounded by city guards, one of which was down on a knee, trying to speak to him.
As the sheriff and her deputies came closer, Agatha got a look at the man's face and recognized that he was indeed Sir Reginald. He had gone missing during The Silver Savior's last slave caravan raid. Most of the guards and cart drivers were killed, every slave had been freed, and this nobleman pilfered. Except when Agatha looked into his eyes, she saw he wasn't all there. There was a vacancy in his eyes which made it seem as though he wasn't necessarily even looking towards her posse, but just happened to be looking in their direction.
As she slowed her horse and motioned for her deputies to lessen pace as well, she thought back to earlier that morning when one of the city guard burst into her office to report seeing a man bound to a tree just outside the wall. They had sent men down to untie him, but said the Sheriff's presence had been requested to investigate the matter.
"Oh!" Reginald cooed with childhood glee as he looked up at the horseback riders.
The kneeling guard stood up and saluted with his two compatriots. "Greetings, Milady Sheriff, Thom of the city guard, at your disposal."
"Indeed, you are," Agatha answered.
She dismounted her horse and approached them, followed by two of her deputies who'd done the same. Agatha's gaze was on Sir Reginald the entire time.
"Oh, wonderful afternoon, isn't it, Milady?" the fuddled noble greeted. He looked up at the blue sky and smiled. "The sun is shining, the birds are chirping, and…"
Then he looked at her fondly. "…You are quite lovely, miss."
Agatha's expression and eyes especially remained as cold and unknowable as always. Her deputies and the city guards exchanged almost alarmed looks, not knowing if Reginald had just incurred The Iron Lady's wrath.
"Is that any way to greet The Iron Lady of Gerebellum, Sir Reginald?" she asked.
"Sir Who?" Reginald asked. He looked around curiously. "I daresay I've heard that name on these nice chaps' lips since we started chatting. Who might he be?"
Agatha did not answer. Her eyes flicked up to the guard who'd been speaking with him, who answered with a grim look.
"Sir Reginald… is you, dear sir," she answered.
"I am?" Reginald looked at her in surprise. "Really?"
The Sheriff's brow furrowed. "You don't remember?"
Reginald thought for a moment, and then his face fell as he realized he knew nothing about himself.
"Well, I'm certain…" he began. He paused, and his eyes moved around slowly as he thought hard. "I thought… I…"
Then he began shaking as his head bowed. Within a moment, the sobbing had begun. Agatha was at a loss when he looked back up.
"Who am I?" he asked in a quiet, scared voice.
Over a week later, and even the best magi, alchemists, and physicians had not been able to return his memory. Sir Reginald's physical condition had improved, but the shrewd businessman and ruthless aristocrat was gone. Now, he had only his current financial assets to live off of, as his family's slave trade company was in shambles between the loss of that big shipment and the permanent loss of its current owner's mind. One of his nephews had taken over while Sir Reginald was taken back to his family's manor house in Lassen.
In the present, Sheriff Agatha found herself sitting across from a very disgruntled Mayor Harold Boyd in her office. She had listened quietly while he verbally raked her over the coals for her lack of progress in finding the Silver Saviors' secret headquarters and apprehending the Scarlet Swordsman who led them.
It was no secret to Agatha that the mayor was decidedly unhappy with her, and yet, it was he who had a hard time maintaining eye contact with her. Although Agatha had only her right eye remaining, she had one of the most piercing gazes Boyd had ever seen. She carried herself with an impermeable frosty air of authority, and he could see the scars from her years on the streets as an officer of the law. In fact, one such mark ran down the left side of her face, starting over her damaged left eye which was covered by a patch, and continued down her cheek, ending somewhere below where her clothing covered her body. Her graying brown hair was tied back in the same plain ponytail as any of her long-haired male deputies, instead of being done up.
Agatha was in full uniform, the official military-style one she and her deputies all wore with black heeled boots, white pants, a black jacket with gold-trim was clasped shut over her chest, but hung open the rest of the way down, ending at her knees. Beneath the jacket was a puffy white shirt under a black vest, both of which were buttoned shut. The golden badge pinned to the right breast of her jacket denoted her rank.
Then there was Mayor Harald Boyd. He was certainly the less dangerous-looking of the two, being a portly fellow in a fancy green suit and a ridiculous large brimmed hat with a peacock feather standing straight up. His graying red head and facial hair were all trimmed short and combed neatly.
Mayor Boyd cleared his throat to continue, "…And furthermore, given your incompetent lack of results, I see little reason not to demote you and give your badge to someone more capable."
Again, no visible reaction from Agatha, who continued to stare him with that cold, studying gaze which made him feel like he was the one put up for review. She sat with her fingers interlocked as they rested on the table's surface.
It unnerved him even more, forcing the mayor to gulp before he added,
"Unless you take drastic action to rectify your failures, the days of the Iron Lady of Gerebellum are numbered. Being unable to locate the bondservants they steal off our trade routes is one thing, but failing to rescue Sir Reginald before he was returned to us as a… in such a…"
The mayor stuttered as he struggled to find the proper phrasing.
"Returned to us as an addlepated simpleton?" Agatha prompted.
"Cruel, but accurate," Boyd admitted. Then his face reddened with more anger, and he slammed his fist down on the table. He ignored the pain of a splinter puncturing his hand as he did his best to stare down the Sherriff. "Have you anything to say for yourself, and for the ineptitude of yourself and those you employ?"
Boyd watched her push her chair back and turned to a bulletin board behind her. He hadn't noticed it until just then.
"Mayor Boyd, I have been chasing the Silver Saviors for years now, and if there is one thing I've learned, 'tis that they have the people on their side," she explained.
"What difference does that make?" Boyd demanded.
Agatha pointed to a pair of maps she had hung from the board. One was of the city, itself, and the other was a map of the Gerebellum territory. They'd had several pins stuck into them, marking specific locations of interest, which were connected by red strings.
"You see this, mayor?" she asked. "This is our work in narrowing the search for the Silver Saviors."
Boyd looked at the maps, noting just how thoroughly they'd been marked.
"It hardly looks like the search has been narrowed to me," his tone was skeptical.
"Oh, it has been narrowed, but it seems their web of influence reaches far," Agatha answered. "Worry not, we do have one aspect of their operations narrowed to just a few possibilities, and I will get to that, but first…"
She held up her arm, making a sweeping motion across the two maps.
"What you must understand, Mayor sir, is that this is not just a group of vagabonds like the Ferny crime family. They do not purchase legitimate businesses to run them as a front while holding secret meetings in those establishments' back rooms, or perform executions in their cellars. The Silver Saviors do not operate by hiding illegal goods to be shipped out in crates, secreted in among authorized imports and exports from their legal businesses. No, Mayor…"
She turned to him again to punctuate her point. "These are ordinary men and women of the lower classes taken up arms to make a stand. Against us. Their support system is generously given by other, similarly disadvantaged persons."
After she finished, Boyd looked to the map again, noting how meticulously the Sheriff and her deputies had marked down all the potential places where other commoners might be aiding and abetting them. The problem was, those possible refuges were all over the city, and especially within the slums on the south side of town, which had just been outlined in red ink.
"You think a large portion of the commoner population supports them?" Boyd asked.
"A decent percentage, at least," Agatha said. "That is what makes discerning their secret hiding places difficult at best. Locals cover for them and keep their mouths shut."
"Why would anyone risk arrest and imprisonment for these ruffians?" Boyd demanded. "What have they to gain by helping some bleeding hearts?"
"Because I suspect the Scarlet Swordsman and the Silver Saviors provide protection for the commoners of Gerebellum. Protection they feel we have not been providing," Agatha replied.
"Protection we don't…?" Boyd fumed. "Bah! That's ridiculous! 'Tis just as ridiculous as that other band led by that upstart Lucien. Him and the Cheapside Guard, patrolling the slums, taking the law into their own hands! Bah! If the poor were so worried about their safety, they'd get jobs and buy homes in safer neighborhoods."
"Yet the peasants rely on Lucien and his band, nevertheless. They trust them implicitly," Agatha then paused for effect. "Which is why I suspect that The Scarlet Swordsman and the Silver Saviors and Lucien and his Cheapside Guard are one and the same."
Boyd blinked dumbly. "…What?"
"Think about it," Agatha tried to hide the condescension she felt towards him. "Lucien and his Cheapside Guard watch over and protect the lower classes when not intercepting slave caravans. Those bondservant shipments only come in once every few months, yet The Silver Saviors' fangs are always perfectly sharpened for a fight whenever they ambush a caravan."
"You suspect they stay in practice with the criminals in the slums?" Boyd inquired.
"Indeed," Agatha responded. "The peasant folk of Gerebellum feel indebted to them, and so when they bring in people they have extradited from the slave trade…"
She paused again, hoping for Boyd to catch on.
He did, "So when they slip in freed slaves, the other commoners open their homes and anywhere they can hide them in return."
"That is one possibility," Agatha said. "Of course. We cannot discount that they may be making use of any of the many abandoned buildings in the city, some of which can house a substantial number of people."
The mayor shot up, knocking the chair he'd been sitting in over. "It's… It's… OOH!"
In his rage, he punched the table again. Agatha caught the pained flinch which followed, but gave no indication she had.
"It's brilliant. Insidiously so!" the mayor grumbled. He then wandered over to a random part of her office, growling. "I cannot believe it! I just cannot! All that time and I never suspected a thing."
Agatha remained silent, allowing the mayor to blow off steam. After he finished rambling, he pointed right at her.
"I want them arrested this instant! Go down to the slums and burn it to the ground if you must, but I cannot tolerate their defiance any longer!" he bellowed.
Agatha held up her hand in a halting motion. "Calm yourself, mayor. Citizens of your city can see and hear you. Besides, we need evidence first."
"Evidence! They mock us behind our backs, and you would wait to collect evidence?" he demanded.
"There will be little waiting," Agatha answered. "Worry not, we have several suspects we are watching, and we will make our move as soon as they've slipped up in some way. As for Mr. Lucien and his friends, I already have a plan of action in place."
"Why not just start making arrests now, anyway?" Boyd demanded. "I can rally the nobles and get the authorization to do it. Take them to the dungeons, and squeeze answers out of them."
"A sudden big meeting of the city's leadership would draw attention," she replied. "Do not forgot we have yet to uncover their secret roads in and out of the city, Lord Mayor. If the Silver Saviors, and more importantly, the Scarlet Swordsman, knew we were closing in on them, they might just flee the city now."
"Perhaps if I do it quietly," Boyd suggested.
Agatha shook her head again. "Believe me, that has been taken into consideration."
Boyd gave in. "Very well, but what secret ways could they possibly be using?"
"You don't know?" Agatha asked in that deadpan voice of hers'. She turned to face him again, hands folded behind her back. "There are currently two potential ways I have deemed the most likely."
"So certain are you they even operate in my city?" Boyd asked. "We found Sir Reginald out in the forest, which is also where they always ambush slave caravans. The Saviors could be a secondary group led by Lucien, living in secret camps out in the wilderness."
"Unlikely," Agatha answered. "While they do doubtlessly make use of the woods for temporary lodging, all descriptions of the Silver Saviors have them all too clean to be anything but 'city dwellers'. After conducting several interviews with surviving slave carts drivers and guards over the years, there are a few key common factors which point to this."
"Such as?" Boyd prompted.
"Their gear is always described as well-used, but also well-maintained. One needs access to the smithy for that. Secondly, their clothes are up to the same standard as the local peasants. If they were living out in the woods, at least some of them would be wearing furs. And third…"
She paused. "My men and I have combed those woods many times, and there is no evidence of anyone except a few lone vagrants living out there. No, Mr. Mayor, our quarry walks our streets near daily."
The mayor sat there, considering the information before slowly nodding his head as he accepted it. "Very well. You said earlier you had narrowed their means in and out of the city down. Go on."
"Two most likely possibilities, yes," Agatha answered. "Now then…"
She pointed to several blue dots around the city map. "You recognize these locations?"
Boyd squinted, looking them over. "Why, yes… those are all chapels and churches. Ah…"
A look of realization crossed his face. "Wait, St. Wesley's on 3rd Street and The Raven's Chapel on Baldur Avenue… These are all churches with access to the catacombs."
"Yes," Agatha answered.
"But they were all sealed when the Undead began using the route to infest Gerebellum. My grandfather saw to that closing, himself," Boyd stated.
"Also unwatched and connected to natural cave tunnels leading out into the wilderness thanks to careless construction," Agatha said. "Before the Undead took notice, thieves were using it."
"Risky, but if they could secure a route with wards well enough, it'd work," Boyd admitted. "And the other?"
This time Agatha pointed to the map of the entire region, specifically to the mountain range which bordered the north side of Gerebellum.
"The Turgen Mountains?" Boyd asked. Then it dawned on him. "The Turgen Mines, rather."
"Indeed," Agatha said. "Closed due to the mineral ores drying up. Now all that moves is the water-powered rig. Similarly infested with beasts, but of the scaly or colossal beetle and wasp variety."
"Yes, very dangerous to take a band of unarmed escaped slaves through," Boyd concurred.
"Dangerous, but likely necessary, if they could secure a relatively safe route," Agatha explained. "The Lizard Men's territory spans the western side of the mountains. Theoretically, they could take them up the east side."
"And bug repellent is likely affordable to peasants on the Back Door Market," Boyd commented.
"Has my assessment proven satisfactory?" Agatha asked.
By now, Boyd's demeanor had calmed, and he looked on Agatha no longer with anger, but almost awe.
"You have certainly investigated this thoroughly," he admitted.
"I pride myself on my work," a smile appeared on her lips. "Forgive me, Mayor. I did not want to intentionally keep you in the dark, but it was necessary to inform as few as possible to make this much headway quietly. Your visit to my office today has forced me hand a bit."
The mayor nodded, looking over her work with approval now. "Very well, Sherriff. I will allow you to pursue this investigation as you see fit. If you somehow manage to rid our city of these undesirables, you will find your position secured for a very long time."
"Thank you, Lord Mayor," Agatha bowed.
"Still…" Boyd's face turned stern. "The instant you are able to make your move, I want them brought before the people of Gerebellum and made examples of. Destroy every building and home they have ever used. Execute them and every man, woman, and child to ever aided and abetted them. I don't care who you punish, show no mercy. Spare no one."
Agatha now grinned in a deadly fashion in response. "You needn't worry about that, Mayor. 'Mercy' was never a part of my personal vocabulary. My men watch the entrance to the catacombs and the mines as we speak and begin their search of their depths. The instant the Saviors try to move the stolen goods out of the city, we will close the net and drag them up from the proverbial sea."
"I see everyone's already down gone to the cellar for the meeting," Lucien muttered.
Chalked onto the back of the old building before him was the Yngvi rune associated with Frei, which looked like a pair of 'greater-than lines' intersecting at the 'lesser-than' angle in their middle. It was the Silver Saviors' signal that a meeting was in session. Lucien walked around the side of a large, rundown stone building that was overrun with moss and vines, and trees. The sign out front was a faded sign reading, "Marley & Marley Mint", where oth coins used to be produced. Now it was but a relic of Gerebellum's forgotten economic greatness.
Lucien discreetly checked to make sure no one was watching or followed him, and then hopped through a window that had long since lost all its glass. It was dark, cluttered, and filthy inside the old mint. More importantly, though, it was empty. Lucien walked the dark halls without a light as he'd memorized the way until he found a mossy stone staircase which led down into the cellar. He stopped, listened, and looked about to ensure he wasn't followed one more time, and quickly and quietly descended to the subterranean floor. When he reached the thick, wooden door at the bottom, Lucien glanced up the steps. Seeing no one, he rapped on the door to the rhythm of "Shave and a haircut," and waited. A moment later, someone answered with three consecutive knocks, to which Lucien replied with two more. He paused, counted to three, and followed that up with four more raps.
"Who's there?" the guard called from the other side.
"I'm Deep Red, and I've stepped in looking to check up on some old friends," Lucien recited the first part of his code.
"Friends? A rare thing to find in these troubled times," the person inside said their first part of the code.
"All the more reason to hold them close and keep in contact," Lucien said the second part.
"Wise words to leave the world less troubled."
"Less trouble than we found it, right?" Lucien said the final line of the code.
Then the door creaked open a crack, and the green-eyed rugged face of Maximillian appeared. Lucien could not contain his amusement at even being able to spot Max's purple bandana even in the dark. The older man was clearly relieved to see it really was him and gave a visible "Whew."
"Come on in," he pulled the door open and stepped back, letting the leader of their resistance in.
Lucien entered, and Maximillian bolted the door shut behind them. As the young swordsman looked around, he took stock of those who arrived from both their group and the slaves they had rescued from their most recent raid. Even if he hadn't known all their faces, it was easy to tell the revolutionaries from the downtrodden souls they sought to aid.
Sixty or so of The Silver Saviors were gathered in a massive cellar, posted around entrances from upstairs, or were gathered around a large meeting table. He recognized Claire, Barren, Bedelia, Bedelia's half-dwarven granddaughters Ingrid and Gloria, Maximillian's daughter Betty, and a few elders from among the rescued slaves. They looked at Lucien, awaiting his approach to truly begin the meeting.
"Lucien," Claire enthusiastically greeted.
She got up and jogged over to him.
"Claire," he put his arm around her and the two exchanged a quick kiss.
"Good turnout," she explained as she leaned into him.
"Of course. You were the one who put the word out, after all," he complimented her.
"You think you can just flattery me?" Claire smirked.
"I think you're liking it," he whispered.
"Damn right," she said. Then her smile faded. "Did Rusty manage to find you?"
Lucien mood turned drearier, too. "Yeah. He's told me. Sherriff Agatha is getting too close."
"We need to talk about that, too," Claire told him. "Come on."
Lucien lingered while she went back to the table. He took quick stock of how many among the rescued slaves had come. Those present had decided to leave the sanctuary provided for them in Gerebellum to either return to their previous homes or find new ones. They were seated at various long tables in the middle of the room. Some ate packed lunches while others played makeshift versions of boardgames like chess with each other, and some just read books, either alone or along with a second reader. Others played with their children. There were around fifty of them this time. It was roughly half of number they extradited. Those present were mostly the elderly, women, and children. Many of the men in that group had opted to join up with The Silver Saviors, some of which were currently acting as guards in the cellar at that very instant.
"Alright," Lucien muttered too quietly to be heard. "This run through the mines will be tricky."
He took off his cloak, doubling it over his forearm as he went to his spot at the table.
"Let's get started," Lucien announced.
He glanced at the map unrolled across the meeting table's surface as he walked past it. He saw little hand-carved knight figurines they used to represent city guard and Deputy Sherriff postings throughout the city. There weren't nearly enough of them to accurately represent the number of guards and deputies at any point, so each one represented a multiple of five.
Four figurines were placed at the west and east gates, a full six at the north city gate, but only three at the south gate.
"Only fifteen troops at the south gate?" Lucien murmured as he hung his cloak over his chair. "Looks as though The Iron Lady isn't counting on us trying to leave by ship."
"The fact she knows we're not is a problem," Barren bluntly replied. "She's got fifty troops workin' the search of the Turgen Mines, buddy. That's not the counting the mages and city engineers they've pulled into this."
"How come I'm just now finding any of this out?" Lucien asked.
"We just now found out," Betty firmly said. "Trust me, we all just thought we'd be planning a routine run through the mines. Instead, we're staring the noose in the face. That's why we rushed Rusty off so fast to tell you while he sees what's what."
As Lucien sat down, grim faces greeted him.
"Have they began searching the mountainside yet?" Lucien asked.
"Not yet," Ingrid replied. "So far, they're just looking for any sign we've unsealed any of the official entrances of the mines. As far as grandma, Gloria, and I can tell, it looks like they plan of popping the boards off and going in through the front before trying anything else. Rusty's recon will tell us more for sure, though."
"Good. We may have time for one last run through our normal road," Lucien said.
"This may be our last time operating out of Gerebellum, Lucien," Claire said. "Rusty told you how they've gone all out, right? They can't find out that we're keeping the refugees at Granny Dolce's orphanage. We need to start thinking about what to do if things get too dangerous around here."
Lucien didn't answer.
"She's right, boy," Bedelia said.
Lucien glanced at the gray-haired old woman. Her stocky form and wrinkled, grandmotherly looks did not speak for the aged ex-assassin they all knew her to be, but her eyes carried a weight that had seen and done it all.
"Now that we've gone and abducted a noble, and then returned him with a blank mind, they are out for blood. Ours'," Bedelia further explained. "It might be time to stop grounding ourselves in one city."
"Ugh," Barren groaned. "Much as I hate to say it, she's right. Gerebellum's just getting' rottener all the time, Luce."
"No doubt," Lucien replied. "First, we do have to complete our current mission: getting these people through the Turgen Mountains to meet with our contact."
"And if we cannot, boy?" Bedelia asked.
The elders from the slave group glanced at her apprehensively, and then turned to Lucien. One was a bald old man with a long beard, who sat hunched over his cane, and the other still had a headful of thick, gray and white curls and a mustache. He also still sat upright and did not shake from old age like the other man did.
"What do you mean?" Lucien inquired.
Bedelia gave him a severe look, "What if the Sherriff and the city guard find the fault in this wall of silence we've built around us? What then?"
Lucien stared back silently for several long minutes. His mind worked as he imagined the devastating onslaught he knew the nobles had been wanting to enact against the commoners of the city for a very long time.
"If…" Lucien stopped. He took a deep breath. "In case something gives, I want everyone ready to flee. After the meeting adjourns, spread the word. Tell every member and associate of The Silver Saviors to be prepared to get out on a moment's notice."
"Flee?" one of the refugees from the long tables protested.
Everyone turned as a large man with a long black beard stood up. "I thought this was some kind of resistant movement? You're not going to stay and fight?"
"Carl, sit yer ass down!" one of the other rescued slaves shouted at him.
"Stand and fight?" Claire replied to the black-bearded Carl with a cynical chuckle. "With what? Our spunk and our gusto?"
Despite her joke, no one laughed. An uncomfortable silence spread through the cellar. Lucien was the first to break it. He stood, keeping his expression and posture calm and confident.
"Carl, correct?" Lucien asked.
"Ay!"
"Sir, as much as we would love to take the fight to the nobles, the sheriff, and Mayor Boyd, the reality is we don't have the numbers or the military might to do that," Lucien told him. "We were able to take on that caravan carrying the lot of you because we ambushed them. We are a guerrilla unit. We work in secret out of the slums and behind the closed doors of anyone decent enough to have us."
Lucien stood and walked over to where the refugee would-be slaves sat. He could not keep some measure of guilt buried in the back of his mental faculties as he looked on their worn and desperate faces.
"Now, I know the tall tales people love to tell about us. They make The Scarlet Swordsman and his merry band of Silver Saviors out to be like the heroes of old taking back what is stolen from the commoner," Lucien passionately continued. "And I am sorry if we fall a bit short of that, but open war with the ruling class is out of the question."
Everyone was listening intently, leaving him uninterrupted.
So, Lucien moved onto his next point, "We'd have more than city guard and sheriff's office to contend with. We'd be facing the nobles' personal garrisons, an actual military power of enough competency to be a part of the front which keeps Villnore from taking any more of the southern territories to this very day."
"Oi, what's this? We never expected ye to do that for us. Carl only speaks for 'imself!" a mother sitting with her three children hollered back.
"Yeah!" came several shouts from around the tables.
Lucien smiled. "Thank you. So, we may not be the heroes you were hoping for, but we have gone through the process of sneaking folk in and out of Gerebellum hundreds of times, and we've planned for the day they grow wise to our tricks."
He glanced back at the council of at the table. "Starting tomorrow, we will begin recon on every available route out of the city and open every avenue we can keep hidden. We'll save choosing who is put in charge of handling that for last in this meeting. Then…"
Lucien snorted. "Then, tomorrow is a busy day between that, selecting volunteers for the transport job, AND getting everyone ready for evacuation."
He started back to his seat. "Now, I don't need to tell you this, but I will, anyway. If everyone is careful and plays it smart, we'll remain under ol' Iron Agatha's good eye long enough to get these folk off where they want to go, and to get ourselves ready for the same."
As Lucien sat back down, he noticed how worried the refugee elders sitting among his council looked. Betty also noticed, and leaned forward with an assuring look.
"Worry not. We will get you all out no matter what happens," she vowed.
There were several additional affirmations from around the table, also promising that the slave caravan escapees would not be left for dead in the event of disaster.
"I'm glad," the bald elder said in relief.
"As am I," the sturdier elder said. "Now, you said we might not be able to take the path through the mountains we used on the way in?"
"It is a possibility," Betty honestly answered.
"If we cannot," Lucien followed up. "We have backup plans, as I just said. They won't be as safe, but they are within our power traverse under the eye of the Sherriff and the slave traders. We would be a little late getting to the rendezvous point with our contact if it comes to that, though."
"We have a few choices," Barren put in. "But if it comes to it, I'm thinking the dried-up sewer canal on the west side of town we unsealed will be our best bet. It exits at the Gerry River, but a way north of the city port."
"So, this sewer is like the one you snuck us in through on the east side?" one of the elders asked.
"A bit," Barren answered. "The east sewer drain's still being used, but it gets us in and out."
"What if they discover what you've done?" someone asked from one of long tables.
"They won't," Lucien answered. "We set it up to look like the east canal's still sealed. They'd have to personally test the wall's integrity to find out it's not."
Then Claire added, "We'd have to go around the Turgen Mountains if we end up taking the old canal, though. We never found a good way past Lizard Men on that side. The only decently safe route is the one you came through on the way into Gerebellum on the east side. I know it's kinda twisty and turny, but it shortened our trek back into town a lot, you gotta admit."
"Indeed, it did," the bald elder responded. "I figured we'd be in those mountains for a week, instead a couple days."
"First things first," Lucien interjected. "We are getting a little of ourselves. Are the supplies for the run ready?"
"Yep. We just finished getting everything you ordered for the mission today," Barren answered.
"Alright, next order of business," Lucien stood up, peering over the heads of those at the meeting table to look on the slave trade refugees. "Does everyone here feel they can make this journey?"
"Ay!"; "We have to return home to check on my family. The sooner we can leave, the better."; "There's no place for my boy or me here, and we don't feel safe. We're ready to go anytime.", were among the many answers he received.
Lucien watched the crowd, and while not quite all the refugees had answered, it looked unanimous. Then he looked at the two elders.
The bald elder with the cane caught his stare and answered, "We've already discussed this matter. Everyone is in good enough health and spirits to make this journey out of the city. Just decide on the date and we will be there."
"Very well," Lucien said. "That matter is decided. As soon as we're certain of the city guard and sheriff office's movements, we'll arrange a date."
He sat back down and folded his hands on the table. "Now, we need a route and to assemble a team."
"I'll put out the word that you need sword arms for a transport job among the fellas after this meeting's adjourned," Barren offered. "Then we can pick from the volunteers tomorrow."
"Very well, we'll leave it to you. I expect a good turnout for that, too," Lucien answered. He looked down at the map again. "Now, what was our next of business?"
As Barren began answering, Lucien briefly retreated into his thoughts.
"I feel so helpless," the depressing thought wormed its way in, and he couldn't stop it. "I feel… almost like I did back then. Like my world's come crashing down. The last time it got bad like this…"
"PLATINA!" the memory of his own last, grieving cry as he held her body in his arms.
"I couldn't save her."
"What was that?" Claire asked.
"Hmm?" Lucien mumbled, not realized he'd just said that outloud. "Oh, nothing."
"Okay…" Claire looked at him uncertainly.
"I'm fine," he unconvincingly told her.
As Lucien looked at the refugee elders and then past the group at the rows of people rendered homeless after being sold, another thought hit him.
"They're coming for us, and I have fifty people just like Platina I must somehow protect."
"It'll work out," he muttered under his breath to assure him. "Everything… will be fine. Everything's fine."
"Easy boy. Easy, Brego."
Aelia leaned forward on the saddle and rubbed the side of her stallion's neck. The brown steed with a white streak down the front of his snout snorted unhappily as he shuffled around, almost fighting his master in his eagerness to flee from the place she had taken him to. Brego looked around, ears up and alert. The redheaded mercenary was grateful his ears hadn't gone flat yet, as that was usually a pretty good indicator something dangerous was around.
They were at the edge a forest, near sundown. A barely visible trail through the trees was ahead of them beside a road sign that was in disrepair. The plank of wood nailed to a post read, "The Old Forest. Danger: Keep out. Monsters and Undead. Warning: Entering the Arkdain Ruins is forbidden without royal permission. Trespassers will be executed."
"Like that ever stops a mercenary?" Aelia grinned as she read it.
She looked up, towards the tree-tops, seeing how high up they went.
"The directions that old geezer from Coriander gave me were actually right. Huh," Aelia muttered.
She sat upright again, putting her free hand on her hip while keeping a tight hold on Brego's reins with the other. As per usual, he wanted to leave whatever monster-infested hellhole she'd taken him to now. He stayed put under her firm hand on his reins, though.
"Now, let's see…" Aelia mumbled. She took the reins in both hands again as she looked up the trail. "The ruins Grey went to are straight North from the warning sign here. So hopefully I can just follow this old path to 'em."
Aelia hopped off Brego's back and began searching the ground for tracks near the trail. It wasn't long before she found not just one set of hooves prints, but several.
"Eh?" she looked down at the impressions in the soft soil with confusion. "A small garrison must have come through here not long ago."
She looked down the trail, and could see the horseback riders had gone through. There were more tracks on the trail and some smaller branches had gotten caught and snapped on a sleeve or a horse's hide.
"To that old temple?" she wondered. "Grey, just what have you gotten yourself wrapped up in?"
More importantly, did he have permission to go there? Permission she certainly didn't have. Aelia gritted her teeth angrily, almost beginning to grind them.
"Damn, I guess this means he's not alone," she despondently thought.
Aelia looked down at the Dragon Gem in one of her gauntlets. Her eyes blazed with determination.
"If Grey's really up ahead, just sendin' word to the others and waitin' for them to catch up with me might not be in the cards," she thought. "Even if he has company, I got no idea where they'd go next and tryna follow them without being noticed is risky at best."
Her grip on the reins tightened.
"Guess I'm baggin' him, myself. No way am I lettin' a little thing like numbers scare me away. I'm comin' for you, Grey. I might have to make use of the gem to break even with your goons, but I will get you and drag ya back to Artolia if I find you. Then you'll answer to what you did to Lamia to all of us."
She calmed herself down, and glanced skyward again, noting the setting sun.
"Not today, though," she mumbled.
Her green eyes trailed to Brego as he made more unhappy noises with his throat.
"Good news, boy," she scratched him under the chin as she spoke reassuringly. "We won't be explorin' any nasty ol' woods tonight. Come on. Let's you and me go over to that spot under the big tree for the night, eh?"
Then with that, Aelia led Brego left from the forest path, taking him just inside the treeline, where she stopped him under the cover of a massive tree with many long branches for cover. She tied him to a nearby, low-hanging branch before unloading the saddlebags from his back, setting them down at the base of the tree's trunk to begin preparing camp.
Under the waning light of the setting sun, Aelia paused, staring off at nothing for just a moment.
"I'm really here. Still seems unreal. It was almost a month ago that I was back in Artolia messin' about with the boys and Celia after a job with Grey a buried thought in my mind," she reflected.
She imagined the faces of Arngrim, Lawfer, Kashell, Celia, and their newcomer, Janus, who'd been their new archer until he left at the same time she did on his own business.
"They better all be okay," she then thought. "I swear, if they somehow got themselves into a pinch without ol' Aelia there to keep 'em straight, I'll tear 'em all a new one."
As she flipped open one of the bags, she glanced into the Old Forest.
"Finally, here after a nine-day ride from Coriander," she muttered. Her body tensed a moment as she remembered the ruined little village with no children. "Frikkin' creepy place…"
She pulled out her bedroll and set it aside.
"What's Grey even lookin' for out here, anyways?" she asked herself. "In the, uh… Arkham… No, the Arkdain Ruins."
The ginger mercenary continued talking to herself as began her nightly preparations. She pulled out a coiled up a rope, a tinder box, and several other supplies to get settled in for the night.
"Guess I'll find out soon. Oh, Grey, you better NOT have moved on again already," she grumbled.
With a few hours, and just in time for night to set in fully, Aelia had a functional camp. Her supplies were hung up in the trees, she was sitting in her bedroll against the tree trunk looking at the fire burn, and the wards to keep away Undead were set up in a circle around her and Brego. Although her armor was set aside, her halberd rested across her lap. With Grey in such close vicinity, she wasn't about to lower her guard, and tonight, that meant sleeping with her weapon close at hand.
She glanced at Brego, chowing down on grass in the campfire light. She grinned at him.
"You'll wake me if anyone shows up, right?"
Groooan… Jingle-jangle-jingle!
"Huh?" a man looked up from his paperwork to the sound of the front door creaking and the shop bell ringing.
He glanced out the window, and only saw pitch dark and the occasional firefly glow pass by, accompanied by the sound of evening crickets.
"Someone's come to check in at this hour?" he thought.
Chime. The desk bell on the other side of his office door went off next.
"Hello?" a young woman almost timidly called.
"Yes, coming, Ma'am," the man called from his office.
He set aside his paperwork and stood up. He was a man of average height and build, dressed in dark brown trousers, light brown boots, and a gray long-sleeved shirt which laced up in front. He was well-tanned from years working out in the sun, but showed only the first hints of middle age upon his oval face with broad features, which ended at a long chin. He had no beard, but possessed a bushy brown mustache with prominent gray. He had long since lost most of his hair, retaining only what was along the back of his head just above ear level.
He was the proprietor of this business, and late-night customers could mean any number of things. Although the meaning of their presence was bad just as often as it was good. Or annoying, because sometimes people just stopped in at night while on the road asking for directions with no intention of checking into any of his rooms. However, it was the bad which kept the crossbow loaded and leaning against the wall next to the locked door of his office.
The man unhooked the keys from his belt and fit them into the mechanism below the doorknob. With a click, he was now officially unprotected if these were more highway robbers. Before he opened the door, he picked the crossbow up and held to his side so it just out of view from the door, which he pushed open a crack. Outside were three people. Two men and a woman. They were all in their early or mid-twenties. One of the men was standing at the counter with the woman, and they were both armed with swords. The third sat on the little bench by the inn front door. The owner felt his trigger finger tighten, but he stopped himself.
The man at the counter was a tall fellow with long dark hair tied in a ponytail. His hair was so black, it looked bluish, and his blue eyes seemed to match it. He was slimly built and had thin, almost feminine features. He wore a yellow tunic, dark tanned trousers, and well-worn but durable plate-mail over his torso, arms, and shins. A large claymore hung from his back. The woman next to him was a fair-skinned, amber-eyed brunette with her tied back in a braided bun by a deep blue bow. She also wore partial plate-armor over her torso and shins over a pink tunic and brown leather boots. She had a much smaller sword hanging from her belt.
Then there was the other man. It was the sight of him which stopped the owner of the establishment from whipping out the crossbow and ordering the two armed persons at his front desk to lay down their arms before they talked business. This third late-night visitor was a small, frail visage of a man with a crutch laid across his lap. Despite his paleness and all-around fragile appearance, he had good, strong facial features which spoke of a warrior lineage, short auburn hair, and faded blue half-lidded eyes. He was also completely exhausted and near asleep while he waited for the other two to get a room for them.
It was the woman who spoke first, catching the owner off-guard.
"Good evening, sir," she stepped in front of the man she stood at the counter with, smiling politely. "I do hope we're not disturbing you this late at night, but we have been on the road for days. You wouldn't happen to have any rooms available, would you?"
"We brought cash," the tall man said, holding up a big bag which jingled with oth.
"Uh… Oh, welcome," the owner replied. Despite the temptation to hold onto it, he set the crossbow down and stepped out to take his place behind the counter, closing the office door behind him. He smiled back at them with a polite nod of his head. "Welcome to Al's Lodgings."
The owner cleared his throat, and said, "Safe from goblins, ghoulies, ghosties, and the Undead, you'll sleep safe 'n' well in ol' Al's homey inn. Satisfaction guaranteed. Better and safer than 'ny other inn in the Camille Highlands. Even safer than the one in Camille Village."
"Satisfaction guaranteed?" the tall man asked. Then he smirked as he added promptingly, "Or our money back?"
"Kashell, be nice," the woman looked at him unhappily as she scolded him.
"What?" he said, throwing his arms up. "Just asking."
The woman gave Al an apologetic look.
"I apologize for him, sir. We're all tired," she explained before smiling again, "Putting that aside, good evening. Mr. Al, I presume?"
"Yes, but… Just Al, if ya please," the owner replied.
"Alright, then," she beamed. "My name is Celia. You've already met Kashell, and behind us is Roland."
She gestured to the man half-sleeping on the bench. Al took another look at Roland from behind the counter.
"He alright?" Al asked.
Celia and Kashell's good natured smiles lessened, becoming tinged with an underlying worry.
"He's just tired from the journey," Kashell said with a deliberate casualness and shrug that both seemed a bit forced.
"Very tired," Celia said with emphasis. "If there are any rooms still available, we would like to pay and go settle in for the night."
"Certainly," Al answered. He leaned over the counter, putting one of his arms up on it. "Three persons, so that'll be 60 oth a night."
"60 oth?" Kashell exclaimed with a hint of anger. "That's highway… oof!"
He gave Celia an annoyed look for elbowing him in his side, and she gave one back, not willing to back down. She nodded towards Roland.
"We have to," she was firm.
Kashell glanced back at their sickly companion. His Adam's apple visibly bobbed down and then back up as he swallowed a heavy, guilty gulp.
"Kashell, please," she begged.
He looked her in the eyes, and nodded as he gave in. Celia held out a hand, and he gave her the sack of money. Then the female mercenary untied the top, pulling out three large gold coins, each bearing the likeness of Odin.
"Three Gold Odins," Celia showed each one to Al as she handed them over.
"Sixty oth, on the dot," Al confirmed.
Kashell watched those three valuable coins as they were taken below the front counter like his own children were being hauled away to work in the mines. He heard the distinct clicking of a safe being opened, then shut and relocked before Al stood back up.
"Now wit' that in order," the innkeeper turned and went back into his office to fetch some keys for them.
While they waited, Celia went to check on Roland. Kashell remained at the counter, but watched over his shoulder.
"Roland?" Celia knelt before the resting young brother of their departed friend.
"Hmm?" Roland lifted his head in answer to his name.
Celia took his hands in hers', and smiled for him, trying to mask her worry as she looked him over under the lit interior of the inn lobby. He'd lost weight since they began their journey and all the daylong horseback riding while exposed to the chilly evening air hadn't been doing him any good, either.
"We just got our room," she told the surviving Gusson. "How's a nice, warm bed for a change found?"
Roland managed a small smile. "…Damn good."
Despite her worry, Celia found it in herself to be amused by that Arngrim-like crack. Kashell turned sharply away, leaning over the front counter with his gloved hands pressed to the wood surface. Al came back out, holding a pair of keyrings.
"Apologies," Al said to Kashell as he handed him both keyrings. "Don't got nothin' on the first floor. Just a few on the next up. Room 2-7."
"Um…" Kashell looked at the two keys in his hands and then at with uncertainly. Al shrugged.
"I figure since there are three in your party, you would appreciate having one of the spares," the innkeeper explained.
"Thank you," Kashell answered quietly. He gave Celia and Roland another sideways glance before addressing Al again. "Hey, where might we find the nearest doctor?"
"A few hour's ride southeast into Camille Village," Al kept his voice low, too. He looked past the tall mercenary at Roland. "With all due respect, young man, but I don't think that young feller is fit to travel. I can't figure on what you two be doin' dragging him all the way out here."
"Believe me, if we had any other choice, we wouldn't be," Kashell muttered. "But, his caretaker has passed away. The only family he's got left is us. So, he's coming with us in the move."
"You got a place yet?" Al asked.
Kashell considered if he should answer that. "…Not exactly."
Al gave him a dubious look with a raised brow. "You even have a town picked out?"
Kashell turned his lips in as he self-consciously averted eye contact. "…Not exactly."
Even without looking at Al, he could feel how unimpressed the man was. However, Kashell still hesitated to say too much.
"What trade ya work in? Soldier for hire? Bounty hunters?" Al asked.
Oh, heck with it. "Yes, we're mercenaries. Never been real big on the whole 'permanent home' thing until recently. Where can we look for work and a house?"
"Sheriff's office in Camille Village always got jobs posted. Bounties huntin' and monster exterminatin' particularly," Al answered. "Countryside's always crawlin' wit' beasties and crooks."
Al then thought a moment before giving Kashell a solution to his second problem. "Well, it ain't for keeps, but if you're lookin' to settle while your sickly fella heals up for a monthly rate instead o' a daily one, ol' Bob Marleyson rents lodging out to hunters and mercs all the same. Ya'll find his property at the south end o' town. You can stay in any of his cabins so long as ya got the oth, like any other merc or hunter. I wager if you was able to get your hands on three Gold Odins once, you could do it again."
"Thanks. I mean it," Kashell started to smile genuinely as his reservations about this innkeeper faded.
Al again gave Roland a quick look.
"Think naut of it. You ain't got a home or job following my advice just yet, but best of luck to ya," he said.
Kashell chuckled as he answered, "Fair enough. Welp… Thank you for the keys and the room. We'll be heading up now. Goodnight, Al."
"Goodnight, sir," the innkeeper gave a shallow bow and stepped back from the front counter.
Celia and Roland looked up at Kashell as he approached.
"Do you have the keys?" Celia asked.
Her partner held the two rings up. "Yeah, and he gave me one of the spares for good measure."
"Oh, bless him," Celia happily responded. She accepted one of the keys from Kashell and then smiled at Roland. "Come, I'll help you up."
Roland held up a hand. "I'm fine. I just needed some rest. I'll make it our room on my own. You just worry about yourselves. I'm a cripple, not a child."
"The room's on the second floor," Kashell said. "I'm more than happy to carry…"
"No thanks," Roland again held up one of his hands. He smiled kindly at his brother's friends. "Just hand me one of the keys and I'll have it unlocked for you when you bring the packs up."
"Oh, but Roland…!" Celia worriedly protested.
Roland grimaced. Her constant mother hen-like concern was making him uncomfortable, and Kashell saw it. He turned to his partner with an idea.
"He's scared," Kashell realized.
He made a decision on the spot.
"I think that's the right call, Cel," Kashell stated.
Celia looked up at him with appalled anger which almost made the male mercenary back down on the spot, but he held his ground.
"Listen," he was firm in his tone. "We have to carry in the packs from the stables. If Roland says he can make it up the steps on his own, then I believe him. It'll be better than fumbling around in our pockets and the lock with our arms full."
"Welll…" Celia was still unsure.
"Hey, you guys have the hard part," Roland assured her. "Just let me do this one thing for you."
Celia mulled it over, eyeing how much weaker he'd gotten. Though, with both her traveling companions insisting on it, she reluctantly handed him the key.
"Thank you," Roland said quietly.
Kashell walked past, tapping Celia on the shoulder as he. "Come on. Those packs aren't going to carry themselves in."
As he opened the door and waited for her, Celia gave Roland one last worried look before standing and joining her partner. Roland watched Kashell close the door as they left him. Once alone, he felt relieved.
"I know you only do it because you care," Roland thought on Celia. "But it just reminds me of how useless I am… And always been."
As he lifted his crutch and braced it against the floor, his depressed thoughts welled up in his mind. He saw years of him only able to do basic housework and buy groceries with money Arngrim had literally risked his life to get. His brother would be gone for weeks, sometimes even months, working, but he'd always returned home.
"Tied to a brother who can't carry his own weight," Roland reprimanded himself.
He'd reached the base of the steps, and started up, hobbling slowly and awkwardly towards the top using his crutch and the railing to support himself. All the reminders that his condition was brought on by childhood injury could not budge his self-loathing at the moment.
"Arngrim should've been long gone from Artolia years ago. Far away from the people who put him up to that bad job," Roland cursed himself. "And Lawfer…"
His upward climb ground to a complete halt as he remembered so vividly as though it were happening in front of him again. He saw his brother's best friend dying to the fiend he called Orlok. He'd never forget feeling of hopeless, helpless terror as he watched the beast overpower the young knight and forcibly converted him into another thing of the night.
Helpless. Hopeless.
"Two words that fit me perfectly," Roland thought with a furious self-hatred.
He forced himself to keep moving with increased urgency as thought a whip was being put to him. Roland was wheezing when he reached the second floor. He paused at the top of the steps, leaning on his crutch, almost unable to stand up. He held their room's key up with a quivering hand as he reviewed the room number, and then began sluggishly hobbling over to it.
The door of Room 2-7 seemed to greet him indifferently as he stopped in front of it. After several tries, he finally jammed the key into the lock with a shaky hand. He unlocked and opened the door. With another couple of clomps against the floorboards, he was inside. The candlelight from the hallway only dimly lit the room, so he could only make out the faint form of a dresser in front of him and a pair of beds to the right. Roland shut the door behind him as he entered. He went over to the dresser. He set the keys down on the dresser top as he pulled the top drawer open. Inside was a tinderbox, which he opened and removed the flint. After a few tries, he successfully lit one of the candles attached to the wall next to the dresser mirror.
With the room dimly illuminated, Roland pulled out the chair and took it over to the door. He set it down far away enough Kashell and Celia could enter and walk past when they arrived. He sat down in it, waiting for the sound of their footsteps and voices so he could get the door for them.
"If this is all I can do, then so be it," he thought.
As he sat back and relaxed in the chair, the exhaustion hit him a second time over. Roland knew he had to stay awake to get the door for his friends, but he was tired. So tired…
Celia saw Roland get up with difficulty through the window of the inn as she followed Kashell away.
"I don't understand why he wouldn't just accept our help," she said. "It's not like Roland to be too prideful to accept it. He's never been like that."
Kashell looked at his partner in the corner of his eye. "It ain't about pride, Cel. He just… hates feeling useless to everyone. I mean, come on, Arngrim, his only family, and Lawfer…"
Just saying their names made both mercenaries go silent. Despite all the death and carnage Kashell and Celia experienced and even wrought on many occasions, the fresh memory of their dearly departed friends still tore their hearts apart. The fact that both seemed to happen so needlessly through cruel tricks of fate did not help. It was one thing to die on a job, either in a fight or an all-out battle, but to die because you were lied to and tricked into participating in a coup against the crown? Somehow, Arngrim and Lawfer's deaths both fit that bill, and it was uncanny in the minds of their surviving friends and family. It'd all been so sudden, so pointless. Kashell and Celia were as angry with themselves as anyone else for being unable to prevent any of it.
"We just had to take that stupid escort job," Kashell privately damned himself.
"I know," Celia said.
"Hrm?" Kashell glanced at her. He was certain he hadn't said that aloud.
"I know. They both died and Roland couldn't do a thing for them," as Celia spoke, she threatened to break. "After Lawfer… After that, I'm sure he's tired everyone else doing so much work for him and getting nothing for it. Or in the case of Lawfer… risking it all, for him."
Kashell was speechless.
"I'm sure… he's also scared of watching us die on him, for what we did," Celia said.
"Yeah… outlaws because we helped an innocent man," Kashell bitterly answered. "That place always was a shithole, just like Arngrim said."
Neither one said anything more until they had almost reached the stable door. After he'd swallowed some of his grief, Kashell decided to change the subject.
"Mr. Al gave me a couple of headings for finding a more permanent place to stay and making money," he commented.
He stopped and opened the door for Celia.
"Thank you," she said as she went through.
"Welcome," Kashell said. "Al said we can find some jobs posted at the bulletin at the Sheriff's office in Camille Village, and someone named Bob Marleyson can rent us a place to stay. Remember those cabins in the big field we passed on the way into town? Apparently, those are this Mr. Marleyson's."
"It's a start," Celia admitted. "But…"
She paused in front of the stall where they'd put their horses.
"Can we really stay here long?" she wondered aloud, to herself as much as at Kashell. "We're not far from Artolia's border."
"Just long enough for Roland to get better," Kashell stated. "After that…"
He shrugged as Celia entered the stall, and then followed her in. She stood at her horse's side and scratched her mane and the side of her neck.
"There, there, girl," Celia soothed her steed. "I'm just taking some of that heavy load off your shoulders."
"Hup!" Kashell lifted the saddlebags and then unstrapped the saddle from his horse. He glanced at Celia doing the same. "It'd be for the best if we went somewhere we had a decent chance of meeting up with Aelia."
Celia stopped mid-motion, holding her horse's saddle as she was hit with revelation.
"You're right…" she mumbled, and set the heavy leather thing down. "She can't go back to Artolia now, either. She'll be considered an outlaw, too."
An anger radiated from Celia's eyes. "An outlaw…. just for knowing us."
"So… the Villnore capital, then?" Kashell asked.
"Or Trondheim," Celia quickly, almost urgently, suggested. "Just a few hours ride southeast of the capital, and not as many of the royal guards and knights about."
Kashell thought about it, "We'll see."
While they finished up in the stall, he stole a look at Celia. Kashell realized he hadn't seen her wear a true smile on her face since this all began. He knew it was selfish, but he missed it.
"I wish… I knew how to give you your beautiful smile back," Kashell thought with yearning.
Not long after, Kashell and Celia entered the second-floor hallway. They carried their packs over their shoulders and the saddles under their arms. They walked slowly, burdened by several pounds of extra weight as they turned right from the top of the stairs towards where the door numbers counted up.
"Room 2-7," Kashell announced as they came to it.
The mercenary partners stopped in front of their room, and Kashell knocked on the door with his elbow.
"Hey, Roland, it's us. Let us in," he called.
After a moment, the door remained closed. Kashell and Celia exchanged a look and then he stepped closer to the door, this time knocking a lot harder.
"Hey," he called more loudly this time. "Roland, it's Kashell and Celia. Open up!"
"Roland!" Celia also leaned in to call.
When no answer came this time, either, Kashell and Celia didn't hesitate. They dumped everything they were carrying and pressed themselves to the door. Kashell grabbed the knob. It turned, and he felt some of the tightness leave his chest.
"Unlocked. Just like Roland said it would be, but why didn't he answer?" he asked himself.
He threw the door open with no care to how loud he was. Both mercs burst in, expecting the worse. Instead, they were met with Roland in a chair near the door jerking back to consciousness. He nearly fell out, but grabbed the arms to steady himself as he looked up at his companions with wide, shocked eyes.
"Huh? Wh-wha…?" Roland babbled.
The two mercenaries looked him in the eye, and he stared back. They were all too stunned to do anything else. It took Roland a moment, but he realized that he had fallen asleep and looked away in shame.
"Oh, damn it," he guiltily cursed as he slapped his hand against the arm of the chair. "I'm sorry. I'm so…"
He started to get up, but Kashell reached out and pushed him back down. Roland looked up in surprise. Instead of seeing anger, only relief registered in Kashell's face.
"I think you can just go ahead and take another moment," Kashell told him.
"Oh!" Celia put her hands to her pounding heart. "You gave us a bit of a fright there, Roland."
"Sorry," he repeated.
Kashell looked back at their discarded luggage and saw a pair of groggy neighbors peering around the corner rather grumpily.
"What the Hel's all that racket?" a large blonde man with a thick beard demanded.
"Sorry. Thought we had an emergency in here," Kashell guiltily cringed with a fake, toothy smile. "We won't make anymore noise. Promise."
"See you don't," the big man grumbled and then shuffled back to his room.
Kashell conspicuously coughed as he turned to Celia and Roland again. "Let's just get our stuff inside and go to bed."
Celia and Roland could only nod in agreement.
"Ugh… Thamur, why must you be so exhausting at times?"
Lenneth entered her bedroom, resisting the urge to slouch as she did. She closed the door and then almost shuffled tiredly over to her bed. There were several ways to be tired, and while she rarely felt the physical kind, she was pretty close to it at the moment. The Valkyrie sighed in weary annoyance. She had taken her armor and battle gown down to the laundry room just to drop it off, and instead of being allowed to leave right away, she'd been treated with Thamur's entire recollection of Odin's time as one of his soldiers in the old days.
Lenneth walked up to the side of her bed, and in a rare instance of forgoing all proper etiquette, she simply flopped facedown on the covers and lied there in her casual gown with her arms at her sides. She didn't even bother turning her head to the side, leaving it planted in the blanket. She had not the energy left to change into her nightgown or crawl under the sheets, even though her sleepwear was right next to her on the bed.
Several minutes passed before she finally tilted her head up, looking out the window at the moon. She noted how bright it was, nestled among stars which were also especially radiant.
"Oh, Mani and Aurvandil has outdone themselves, giving us such a lovely night," Lenneth brightened right away as she gazed at the night sky.
Feeling lightened by the sight of such simple beauty, Lenneth climbed off the bed and trotted around to the window. She unlocked it and swung the doors outwards. For a moment, she enjoyed the cool breeze on her face, and she felt at peace at first. Then a particularly sharp and biting bit of breeze evoked something else within her. She shivered from the sharp coldness it had brought, and from a flood of emotions which left her core in chaos.
"What is this? Sadness? Not quite…" Lenneth pondered the emotions that had been evoked. "I'm… I think I'm happy, right, feeling the breeze and looking up at the night sky, so… what is this, then?"
She pulled up a nearby chair, not bothering to face it properly towards the window and made do simply sitting sideways in it. She leaned forward over the windowsill on her elbows, with her head cradled in her arms. Her expression was troubled.
"What is this… this…" she was almost unwilling to admit to the feeling. "…This hole in my center?"
Something pulled at her mind. It felt as though something very important was wanting to be remembered.
"But what?" Lenneth asked herself.
She sighed, closed her eyes to enjoy the feeling of a gentle gust, which made her hair whip and flow. Then the wind picked up and stung her again. In an instant, that sensation brought her somewhere else. Lenneth was staring out another window, at ground level near the edge of a vast forest.
"What is…?" her mind reeled from this image was alien and yet all too familiar to be something otherly.
She was in a ratty old house surrounded by ratty old things, wearing clothes so old, worn, torn, and too big to have been for her. She was also smaller, and the coolness of the breeze in this window wasn't gentle or pleasant. It was harsh and biting, and yet she had opened the window to look up at the stars.
Then a thought entered her mind, feeling like an echo, perhaps something she had once thought long ag.
"I wish I could die somewhere else… Would Mama even miss me if I were gone? At least I know Lucien would."
"Lucien?" Lenneth snapped back to reality.
She was in a gaping daze for a moment.
"That name again? Tha-that young man I met in Gerebellum," Lenneth muttered.
Her chest tightened at the thought of him. She remembered his smile and the sheer gentlemanliness laced with awkwardness he treated her with, who was just a random woman he'd met in at that orphanage.
"Despite that, he treated me like he was knight and I the fair maiden he was sworn to protect," Lenneth said with a giggle.
Then she froze, going into almost a state of shock at that unbidden moment of girliness which had erupted from her.
"Wh-wh-what?" she could not process what had just happened.
After a moment of internal struggling between the proud Valkyrie warrioress and this girly side she did not even know existed, she stood up rigidly, as though something had impugned her.
"What nonsense is this?" she coldly asked herself. "You are Lenneth Valkyrie, Odin's chooser of the honored slain and trainer of warriors, not some lovesick pampered princess! 'Tis ridiculous for you to get so worked up over some man."
A shooting star drew her attention back to the little twinkles above.
"And here I was just enjoying Mani's moon and Aurvandil's stars," she spoke unhappily. "I've not seen them so brilliant like this in a while."
Lenneth became wistful. "'Tis as though Creation were brand new instead of…"
She cut herself off. That was something she did not want to think about before bed. She pulled the window shut again, and turned away from it.
"Such a beautiful night," she hummed. "I wonder what the night looks like from Lucien's window in Midgard?"
Then she went rigid as she caught herself again, "Eh?"
She squeezed her eyes shut, forcing such thoughts out.
"I imagine 'tis probably not so much like looking up at a shimmering sea in the middle realms," she unhappily muttered. "Especially not Midgard, which is showing its age."
"Despite being the youngest realm," an unbidden thought added
That addendum made her remember Hræzlyre the Undead Dragon's final words.
"Before you banish my soul to Helheim or wherever, now this, Lenneth Valkyrie. The Dragon Orb has not had its guardians in a very long time, and its location is thought lost to the realms. What's more, Midgard dies all around you, almost a dried husk. You've not questioned why?"
"If I am so wrong in what I say about the Aesir being at fault, then what was Sothis even doing between Realms, where she could fall from Yggdrasil altogether? Midgard dies while the other realms still thrive, and the gods do nothing? In all this, you have not asked where the Dragon Orb rests?"
She also remembered what she had insisted to Arngrim down in those caves when he kept pressing her about those they encountered who blamed the gods for their state of misfortune.
"You think it was ever uncommon for me to come across delusional sinners who blame their misfortunates on the Aesir? I have always had to endure the slings and arrows of outrageously misguided blame. This is nothing new," she had been so insistent.
"But… never so frequently before," Lenneth found herself admitting privately.
Then she clapped her cheeks, shaking off the doubt.
"No… Impossible," Lenneth told herself. She squeezed her eyes shut. "Lord Odin and Lady Freya would never do something so abominable."
"The mystery still needs solving," the other part of her mind insisted.
"Indeed," Lenneth answered herself. "With so few among the pantheon interested in knowing why, perhaps I can investigate as well."
So many things that needed accounting for swirled in her mind.
"How did Hel get her hooks so deep into Midgard to get her flesh towers built? How could a whole region get locked in everlasting winter in late spring? Why do many plants not grow properly despite Idunn's best efforts?" her own self-interrogation continued.
"Those are just a few among the questions that need answering," Lenneth thought.
Another glance out at the night sky reminded her that they would not be getting answers in that exact moment.
"Tomorrow, then. I need to start thinking about the right questions to ask," Lenneth thought. "It will give me a better place to begin."
She glanced down at her nightgown, still folded on the bed and waiting for her.
"…I suppose I best get changed and under the covers," she mumbled. "Cannot go about embarrassing myself to Frieda in the morning."
