How long have I been laying here?

Finding the motivation to get out of bed was harder than drawing blood from a stone. Blankets of gray laid themselves over his mind, the melancholic fabrics settling into every nook and wrinkle. Dorian hadn’t been the best of men, but the good in him had ended with his murder. The barkeep had fed, housed, and drank with those men for many a night. Who else can you depend on in the Sad Ward, or the world even, if not those you care for?

I cared for Valora. She left all the same. Others cared for me too, but I left them. I couldn’t. I just couldn’t.

I defend someone from monsters just for him to be killed by another man. It’s all a horrid joke- one that I’m not in on.

More tears. Nothing could be done for Dorian. The extra life within Arlox would only work for Yoric when the time came. There was no saving someone from beyond the grave. That was a thing of long lost Gods and their Disciples, sealed away by Soul during the binding of Samara Eldernight. Yoric would give a great deal to weave life back into those who had died. So many good folk were taken while their murderers got to live and love and kill some more. It wasn’t right.

The door to his room opened. His mother entered, bringing light from the hallway into the dreary quarters. Mama stood tall, straight-backed and sure-footed. Someone who did not know her thought she might be a stickler. That was not really the case. She just had a lifetime of training in conducting herself like this.

She inhaled as if to yell, as she usually did when he slept in far later than was proper.

“Mama,” he groaned. A lump sat in his throat, a product of sadness and thirst. “Not today.”

His mother visibly slackened, her frustrated gaze softening in half an instant. She crossed the room, planting herself in his blue reading chair. Rocking back and forth, she looked to him, confusion and worry surfacing in her expression.

“Your arm seems healed.”

“Aye. I’ve you and Raina to thank for that.”

“Your gratitude is appreciated. You’ll have to thank Raina later, after you get up.”

“I dunno when that’s going to be, mama.” The lump grew heavier in his throat, straining his last words. Shutters racked him as it became more difficult to keep the sobs in. “We lost a friend on the job.” A deep breath, though a breakdown felt inevitable. “A fine man. I couldn’t protect him. I couldn’t.”

That last word came out as a squeak. Tears leaked out again. Yoric could do little but sob as his mother went to his beside, taking his hands in hers. Azure eyes watched over his lamentation. She shushed him, wiped his tears, promised him that all would be well; all the things that good mothers do for their children in times of sadness. Eventually the spell passed. Yoric opened his eyes, feeling a bit of warmth from the obvious concern his mama was showing.

She cared. Even when others didn’t, mama would. It always amazed him how her simple act of listening always helped.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked, without any hint of preference. She would not try to pry, and she would not try to stop him from talking about it. She would just listen. That made it much easier to talk to her.

“Aye. I’d like to talk about it.”

“At your own pace, sweet child.”

He told her everything. He spoke of the preacher boy who chastised Solrusians from the hatred in his heart, of his young murderer who held that same animosity. He talked about Dorian’s, the pleasant nights he had spent in those walls and those who had shared in the same experience. He detailed Dorian and the men he had helped, providing great emphasis toward the barkeeper’s acts of kindness as that was how he deserved to be remembered. He He told of the Clurichaun, the basement farm, and the stakes of their mission- as failure would mean the deaths of many. Finally, he explained the betrayal of Bors, or Benjimak, and how both Abe and Yoric had failed to protect Dorian.

“Good folks go there to die, mama. His benevolence attracted those monsters like a moth to a flame. They treat goodness like a cancer, a lump to tear out due to a fear it could spread.”

“Aye, love. Good goes there to die. The buildings, the people, the infrastructure is all neglected. The folks who go there are stuck, and it’s the same for those born there.”

“How can they be so apathetic about it all, mama?”

“Who? Those who live there, or the lords in charge of maintaining the area?”

“Actually, the lords. Lord Heret is a good man on all accounts. His son seems fine too. How can they be okay with a tenth of their city being a moral shit stain? Kids are killing kids. Solrusians look on with the same apathy they’re treated with. Even if the Witch herself was Solrusian, surely they wouldn’t be okay with this? Do they know?”

“I’m sure they do.”

“Yet they do nothing.”

“The problem is much more difficult to fix than one might expect.”

“I have a hard time believing that.”

“What would you do then, my child?”

“I’d start with the preachers. Forcefully remove them. They’re just getting themselves killed. I wouldn’t let them propagate their hatred on the streets. It helps no one.”

“Forcefully move them, just as the Solrusians are forcefully moved into these slums. Solve the problem with the solution that has been shown to fail?”

“It’s not perfect. An ugly problem usually requires an ugly solution.”

“As was said by Thokar, the Last Disciple of the Dawn’s Laugh. Your training in the philosophies wasn’t nearly as extensive as that of the Lord Heret and his heir. Besides, that line of logic is generally flawed. You don’t remove the hate. You just move it elsewhere, or add to it really. They’d still hate the Solrusians and they’d hate you as well.”

“I can take it.”

“Can you? You might, but what of your family? What of the children you’ll have one day? The Solrusians of old famously spoke of bearing the hatred of their queen so that their descendants might know peace. Did that hatred go subside? Did the new generations of man learn to forgive the Solrusians?”

“No.”

“No. It did not. If anything, that hatred became ingrained in the hearts of the closed-minded. A personality trait. A way of life. Just as we all have a favorite food or a preferred weather pattern, men began to treat the hatred of Solrusians like it was just another part of life.”

He let her words marinate for a bit. Systemic racism was complicated. He knew that. He just figured that those higher up in that system could do something to combat it.

“Do you think you know the answer, my son?”

“No. I do not.” His first thought on the matter had been full of holes.

“May I offer you some advice that I have lived by? Advice that may help you?”

“I’ll listen to it.” She was lecturing much more than she usually did. This was a topic she’d obviously dedicated a great deal of thought to.

“Good. You just have to continue to do what is right. It’s so simple to leave your morals behind when you see someone acting with hate in their heart. You’ve taken the problem of helping those in need and turned it into the violent quelling of their oppressors. Do the preachers deserve it? Likely. Will it make anything better? Likely not. More preachers will come to replace the one who died yesterday. That girl will live with the stain of murder on her soul for the rest of her life. It’ll affect her in more ways than one. I do not blame her. I understand what she was driven to, but she will have to live with it. You can go and kill those who make their lives harder, but is that not what the monster tried to train into your mind?

“You can take on the oppressors, but the first thing you should do is to remember the people. Remember the Ward. Remember the Solrusians. Continue to protect them from the Geists and beasts of the world. Caring for them, showing them that someone is on their side; that is the right thing for you to do. I can’t imagine they want some lad who is whiter than Wintertide to come in and save the day. Support them. Empower them. This is their battle.

“They deserve to be cared for. They deserve to be hopeful. They deserve to be remembered. Everyone does. Show them kindness. You may get nothing back, but that’s not why you do it. You shouldn’t get anything from them, for they’ve little to give. Remember them. Caring and hope can do much for the soul.”

Just as it does for me.

- - - -

The afternoon sky sat high, luminous gold providing a warmth Yoric found welcoming on this chilly day. The last month of the year, Tolden, would soon be upon them.

Strange how I can appreciate the sun some days and not others.

Today he could feel the warmth of the great star.

Abe stood tall to his right. As per usual, they were walking the stone roads of Theralyn. Arlox had flown to the office ahead of them. The huntsmen did not have the time to dally with Raina today. Both had spent their mornings in bed, struggling to come to terms with the events of the previous day.

“Did you talk to anyone? Mama came and talked to me about it all. The stuff, from yesterday-“

“Yoric, I know you’re talking about yesterday.”

“Question still stands.”

“No. I didn’t. Your mom offered, of course.”

“’Course she did. She’s a good person.”

“’Course.”

“You can talk to me, if-“

“You told me I can go to Ilya if I need a therapist.”

“That wasn’t fair of me, Abe. I was hungover, stressed-“

“We’re always hungover and stressed. Only reason we aren’t hungover is because of the shit storm that was yesterday.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know you are. Just give me time, maybe I’ll talk to you ‘bout it. I’ll find my therapists in the bars or to the north.”

Yoric let the conversation die there. He knew it wasn’t fair, how he treated Abe sometimes. He had a thousand and one reasons to think that talking to someone helped with the processing of trauma. To deny his friend the same opportunity had been hypocritical, even if his mood had been horrid. He’d talk about anything and anyone. Anyone but Valora.

“Out the forging way, huntsmen!”

As they were crossing an intersection, Abe grabbed Yoric’s shoulder and yanked him back. Yoric looked around, eyes searching for the source of trouble. Only a moment passed before he saw the procession down the road. It was another few seconds before he saw the throngs of citizens gathered on the sides of the roads. Children sat on their parents’ heads as they competed for the best of views. Adults awkwardly pushed through one another for the same reason. The balconies above were full of onlookers, though the sun made it difficult to get a good look at them.

A procession?

Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

Yoric’s heart dropped into his stomach. Surely the High King wasn’t visiting? What would bring him this far north? Fortunately, he did not have to dwell too thoroughly on that particular idea. Flags displaying the sigil of House Heret, which bore a golden heron on a white field, could be seen on the carriages.

Beautiful bay geldings pulled on standard Arc-Wood carriages. The drivers sat on high, cushioned seats and wore vests with trousers which matched the house they served. White boots that shone in the midday sun adorned their feet. The white boots were a symbol in Theralyn; obtainable only by the Lord Heret and his family. Those who wore the boots served the house.

Come to think of it, the heir was wearing them too.

He had wondered if the house nobility wore them too, and he had his answer.

The carriages sported black doors with windows large enough to peek into the car with ease. Though he didn’t recognize anyone from the first two carriages, he was able to point out Lord Gerald. The golden haired lad looked much the same as he did the day prior: serious, lost in thought, older than he was.

He had seemed so interested in the happenings at Dory’s. Would he really give up whatever ground he had gained in order to travel? Had he delegated his findings to his subordinates? Was it possible that his investigation led to the need for travel? Was he heading for Benjimak?

That wouldn’t make sense. A multi-carriage procession like this would only announce their intent to Benjimak. Whatever they were doing, the lordling would not be personally involved.

“Regalia.”

Yoric looked to Abe. “What about it, my friend?”

“It’s that time of year. The heir is fifteen. The young nobility have to be in the Blackstone Keep before the end of Tolden else the High King will lose his shit.”

“Ah, you’re right. I’d done my best to exorcise that place from my mind.”

“Wasn’t all that bad.”

“The place itself was fine. The people were the problem.”

“I’ll drink to that, Yoric. Dunno how anyone thought that whole experiment would work.”

“It’s behind us. Did you pick up who they left in charge?” Abe had a knack for listening to the crowd, picking up information from the cacophony of gossip. Yoric had tried. Without Prominence, it all sounded like the buzzing of bees.

“Pierson Alson.” The Master of Laws, then. Appointed by Aegimar in order to uphold the organization’s universal laws, the man was said to possess an enviable sense of honor. The Lord Heret would choose between him and the Captain of his guard, Percy O’Mare, to hold the city down in times of absence.

Yoric was annoyed. The boy knew of the things going on in the Ward. How bad the situation was. Gerald himself had said that he had his first lead on Benjimak since he tried looking into the matter. All they could do was pray that the heir had handed the task off to someone who would provide it with the necessary diligence.

The procession passed. The crowds began to disperse as the rear guard disappeared into the horizon. Arlox had not yet returned. The bird was still near Raina’s office as far as he could tell. He could not look through the bird’s eyes or anything, but he could feel the general direction of the bird’s location as well as how far away they were from one another. There were no specific numbers that he could feel; just an overall sensation. It was very rare for midday to come around without even a hint of a potential job. Even if no beasts had made their way into the town, Geists could pop up at any time. There was always some spare trauma bleeding into the Human Subconscious.

The two huntsmen watched for anything out of the ordinary whilst the crowds continued to go about their days. They did so silently until Abe asked an interesting question.

“You ready for the shit jobs to make it through?”

“Forges, I am not. As if Raina’s job wasn’t hard enough.” That was a frequent side effect of Lord Heret’s absence. Hyro Heret was a hard man who stood quite strongly when it came to his morals. One thing he hated was when folks requested jobs from the huntsmen that they could not act on. It was a waste of time for all sides, and it was up to the boys to report the potential employers whenever someone got past Raina’s sharp eye. Those who were reported were generally kicked out of town by the Lord Heret himself. When he was not present, crafty folks did their best to persuade the huntsmen to take some immoral jobs. Most of these involved poaching for exotic furs and hides; something that was entirely against the rules of the guild. Others might try to hire them as bodyguards due to their capabilities with their weaponry, but jobs whose inherent nature involved fighting humans were also against the guild’s rules. Seeing as the guild was an extension of Aegimar, the governor of laws around the world, there was no situation where breaking those rules could be seen as a good idea.

“What do you think, Abe? No on the poaching, but a yes to the bodyguard work?”

“That’s what I was thinking. I don’t like poaching. Hurting animals that pose no threat to us, for sport and wealth of course, sits wrong with me. I’ll happily guard some rich chump for some good coin.”

“Good. Glad we’re on the same page.”

As Abe had implied, illegal jobs made their way to them with an increased frequency when the Lord Heret was gone. They had done their best to report these to either Pierson or Percy when they were in charge. Nothing happened. If they wouldn’t do anything about the reported illegal employers, then they surely wouldn’t do anything about unreported workers who took those jobs.

Thieves. Mercenaries. They would do most anything for coin, so long as they didn’t have to kill.

“Aegimar would have our heads if they knew the shit we got into.”

Abe was not wrong. There was nothing the organization hated more than bad eggs from within. So many different tenets about honor, discipline, doing the right thing. As far as Yoric was concerned, they just spent all of their time fighting Pathfinders and other pirates in the Frontier. Aegimar had done nothing for Solrusians, nothing for the Sad Wards across the world. They wouldn’t even denounce the hatred toward Solrusians. As far as Yoric was concerned, an organization that preached morality yet stood for hatred did not deserve his respect. The Ideal on a Hill, their idea that they existed as an example for all good men and women to follow, was a joke; one only topped by the farce that forced him to be their huntsman in the first place.

Yoric was deep enough in thought that he hadn’t noticed his winged companion landing beside him. Arlox held a scroll in his beak. Yoric reached for the scroll, noting that Arlox had crumbs of food all over the feathers on his head.

“Raina feed ya then?”

An affirmative squawk.

“Good. Thank you for waiting as long as you did.”

A welcoming squawk.

Yoric patted Arlox’s head and unrolled the paper.

Meet your employer in the Church of the Light near Anna’s. Up in the bell tower. Sounds like it’ll pay well. Hurry.

“Bell tower in the church. Sounds secretive.”

“Might be immoral.”

“Guess we’ll have to check it out.”

“Guess so.”

A squawk of an agreement.

They set off for the church, Arlox excitedly flapping his wings and shooting ahead of the pair. Even birds could get bored of sitting around.

---

This Church of the Light was not a grand one. Like most service buildings in Theralyn, this cubic lodge was made up of vertical Arc-Wood logs. A black bell tower bulged from the front of the church, standing tall above its flat roof. The building itself was empty as it was not Allsday, the first day of the week, but rather Masday- the week’s fifth and final day. Services would occur through all hours of Allsday. Priests would preach, provide advice to any and all, and listen to confessions of sin. That was fine and dandy. Yoric and Abe normally stopped by a service or two for the food. They were public servants, employees of Aegimar- the organization that derived their public image from their championship of the light. They were always welcomed with open arms.

They entered the building. Arlox flew off. Yoric had requested that he stay near, just to be safe. Churches in Theralyn were never locked. No one dared mess with them. The Light had stood while the Void and the Earthen Arts had fallen. The Light carried not just the weight of divinity, but supreme divinity- a godly power that rose when others fell. Such a status evoked respect from a great number of folk not just in Theralyn, but the world.

They entered the staircase to their left, climbing up and toward their employer. Masday was a perfect choice for a meeting of a sensitive, or illegal, nature. This was the one day the priests had off. After the church’s services ended on Allsday, they would spend Pasday through Solsday offering lesser assistances whilst preparing for the next Allsday. Those who did come to the church would be commoners, and they wouldn’t come up to the bell tower. They would head to the altars in the chapel to pray. This led Yoric to believe that there was little shot of this being some normal job.

Taking note of where he was, he prayed for some mercenary work.

They reached the top of the stairs. The bell in this tower was a great, bright green. This church was dedicated to the Green Hues, the Hues of Warding. Other church’s would dedicate themselves to the other colors of the spectrum. Even the Sad Ward had a church dedicated to the Purple Hues, the Hues of Freedom.

The top of the tower was open to the outside, railings sitting on the north and southern sides. One could safely look out upon the town with that keeping them stable. A woman with a hard, beautiful face stood by the northern railing. Her cheekbones sat high. She had brown eyes so dark that they neared on black. Pale skin, an inviting smile, and void-black hair. Her sleek, form fitting dress revealed her shoulders, as well as a fair amount of cleavage, while accentuating her hips. Expensive. Alluring. He did not know of this noblewoman. She obviously was one. Her features reminded him of a raven.

Yoric approached with his hand out, ready to shake hers, when an enormous presence appeared between them. A man, tall and covered entirely in black cloth garb. Not an inch of him was visible, not even the eyes. Yoric hadn’t even noticed him before he approached the woman. Abe pulled out his wand, Green Hues coalescing at the tip. Yoric took a step back, though he gestured for Abe to knock it off. The woman chuckled and her behemoth of a guard stood to the side. He was easily a head taller than Abe, who was already half a head taller than Yoric.

“My apologies, young men. Orabel is quite protective. I know you mean no harm.” Her voice was pretty, slightly high pitched, reminiscent of perfect femininity. She had practiced that. She was noble born.

“It’s me who should be apologizing, my lady. Commoners like myself shouldn’t just approach nobility so quickly, huntsman or not,” Yoric replied. They had to come off as humble with employers like these.

“Commoner? That’s a fine jape, Yoric Youngclaw. I’m not nobility. Just a merchant.” She approached him. Her perfume smelled of violets. “Maris N’leary. Concoctions, herbs, and the like.” She extended her hand toward him.

He had not heard of her. That was odd, considering how huntsmen often worked with her wares. Was she new? No, that wasn’t likely. She clearly had the money, and she allegedly didn’t belong to a noble house. Was she from outside of the town, looking to expand into new domains?

He reached out and shook her hand. A small shock caused him to jump.

“My apologies. Must’ve been the material of your dress or something, Maris.”

She chuckled. “Aye. Something of the sort.” She moved toward Abe and they shook hands.

Yoric spoke up. “So, you’ve a job for us then?”

“I do.”

“One not meant for other ears, I’m assuming?”

“Aye.”

They sat quietly for a moment. Yoric eyed her. She was beautiful, and she was obviously trying to leverage that in some way, but he would not allow himself to be taken off guard.

The silence lasted a bit longer. How bad could the request have been? Yoric had a pretty bad feeling about this. Asking for guards was easy. Whatever she was thinking of must have been anything but.

She finally spoke. “Do you know of Ilya Artos?”

Huh?

“I do. A therapist to the north of here. She’s based in the center of the Wolveswood.”

“Aye. Then you know of her clientèle? Beasts. Lupinians, Hemorians; men who can turn into wolves or feed on blood. Monsters.”

Yoric’s bad feeling was grounded in reason, then.

“As far as I’m aware, they’re Half-Beasts who are trying to stay away from the base instincts of their bestial halves.” In fact, he was quite aware of that fact. He’d lived among them when his mind, his way of thinking, and the way he valued life made him no better than a beast. Those who went to Ilya were trying to help themselves. “You’d have to talk to her, Maris. I hear she’s quite settled in that spot.”

“I have tried. She has denied me.”

“Why do you need them to move?”

“Warehouses. Shipping routes. No one will run routes through the north of the Massif thanks to her band of freaks. Even those who know that they aren’t really that likely to hurt anyone. All business between Theralyn and northern cities like Locksbarrow and Wildefast takes three to four more days longer than it normally should. We could create so many economic opportunities to the north if they moved elsewhere. That’s the High Lord’s land. His graciousness shouldn’t be abused in a way that prevents economic development in his own province.”

Yoric felt his anger exponentiating, but he took a moment to remember that she was a merchant. This was just how she worked. Angering him was very likely a part of the plan. He had notably gone to her for help when he was younger. She likely knew they were close and would try to use their bond in order to get the better of him. It was all a game.

“If she denied you, then I don’t see what we can do-“

“You’re huntsmen.”

Ah. Not a game then.

Her kind gaze, now obviously a facade, changed into one of darkness. One driven by profits, unwilling to allow life to get in the way of her goals. “You can force them out. I’ve heard that you killed an Ursinian when you were nine years old. Surely-“

“STOP!”

She jumped. Yoric’s hands were covered in blue Aegis. The guard moved to protect her. A stream of red light smashed into the black garbed man, throwing him through the railing and down toward the ground. Maris stood there, all composure. If the potential death of her guard had shaken her, it did not show.

Yoric approached her. Still, no fear could be seen in her eyes.

“Are we the only ones you’ve recruited?”

“No. I’ve plenty of angry folks who want to displace them for a multitude of reasons.”

“I won’t let it happen. The Lord Heret won’t let it happen.”

“He isn’t in the town. Those beasts aren’t protected by the laws of the kingdom. To harm those who’d displace them would be illegal.”

“I could-“

“Kill me? That’s grand. My people know where I am. They know who I’m meeting with. If anything happens to me, they’ll know and so will the authorities. You’d leave your poor mother to worry while you rot in a cell.”

Yoric was about to explode. He walked to Abe and grabbed his shoulder. The world shifted around him as he Blinked, switching places with Arlox. They now stood on a flat roof of a building which sat across the street from the church. They looked to the ground where they guard’s body would be.

It wasn’t there.

Arlox flew from the bell tower to join them. Yoric put a hand on the bird’s back, petting him thankfully.

“I lost my temper, Abe.”

“I know. Rightfully so.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I had a feeling that big cunt wasn’t going to die from that. It’s fine.”

“I was gonna kill her, Abe. I felt it.”

They sat in silence for a moment. The weight of such darkness sat like an anvil on his soul.

Fight. Kill. Fight to kill. Kill, then continue to fight.

Echoes of his training rang through his mind. His hand twitched, old muscle memory forcing it to the latches on his belt. Familiar steel sat between his fingers. He could throw a knife from this roof. Prominence coursed through his veins, a current to carry the vitriol brewing within.

A knife to the head could end this all.

“Probably would’ve been right to.”

Aye. It would be right. It-

“No,” Yoric said, the word releasing all of the building tension. He completely let go of his Kova as he sat on the ground.

I can protect without killing. I can.

“I would’ve been what she thought I was. What Gwendolyn wanted me to be. That’s not what’s going to help Ilya.”

“How can you help them, then?”

Remember them.

“By caring for them. I’ll send a letter and see what needs to be done.”

More silence.

“Your mother had a few words for you, huh?”

“Aye.”

An affirmative squawk rang out into the blue sky as Yoric requested that the bird head toward the ground. They couldn’t go and order a drink if they were stuck on a roof.