A time to hide, to be discreet
When all else fails, let villains speak.
Lord Requar observed the scene ahead from atop a small rise in the road. The wind was strong, snapping his cloak about him – a cloak bluer than the sky. Overhead rolled an unending sea of grey clouds, darkening in the north.
A few miles before him lay the refugee camp, sprawling through the fields in every direction except west, which was claimed by the rocky shore and the sea.
The camp was bigger than some Outland towns.
“We will proceed as we did in Tulstan,” he said to Commander Trice, who sat beside him atop Foxxin, raising his voice to be heard above the wind.
Grisket glanced down at him and nodded wordlessly.
Arzath appeared on his left. “Must we bother with this nonsense again? We are sorcerers, for Dark’s sake! We need only snap our fingers and no one will dare stand in our way!”
Requar regarded him from beneath his hood, which he clutched over his head with one hand. “In case you have forgotten what happened in Meadrun,” he reminded his brother, “some people are stupid enough to attack us, and I would rather not waste my energy saving people from themselves!”
Arzath looked away, the wind tossing his hair across his distasteful expression, but found no argument with that.
Relinquishing his hood to the wind, Requar grabbed his brother’s arm. “Stop complaining,” he ordered, weaving a camouflage spell over both of them with his free hand.
Arzath had never bothered to learn any concealment spells. He wanted to be noticed; he took great satisfaction from overt displays of power. He craved nothing more than to be respected and feared.
Requar knew the reason for this. As a child, his brother had been ignored by everyone except their mother. He had certainly never been worthy of their father’s attention.
For Requar, it was different. As firstborn, he had been shoved against his will into a glaring spotlight – expected, forced to become someone he was not.
Though they shared the same house, they had had very different upbringings.
He glanced a little ruefully at Arzath as the Freeroamers took the lead, heading down towards the camp. Sometimes, he envied his brother’s brazen, carefree approach. He had a much more straightforward attitude to things.
But a part of Requar – an old, sad and very quiet part, that had been there since childhood – wished that they weren’t so… different. That they could share a greater bond.
He turned his gaze pensively to the fields around them. He had to admit, Arzath’s sudden change of behaviour puzzled and vaguely troubled him. Ever since the tragedy of the SOMS, his brother had dedicated his life to destroying Requar. Nothing else had mattered to him. But in the hall of Requar’s castle, when the truth about what had happened to Lady Fyona had been revealed, something inside Arzath seemed to have broken. The shield of hatred he had built up to protect himself had shattered.
Requar thought the Sword of Healing might have played a part in that. The Sword was capable of repairing mental wounds as well as physical ones. It was a reasonable explanation.
But something still seemed amiss.
Arzath had become rather overbearing since then, constantly insisting that Requar eat, rest and stay away from danger. He was worse than their mother. Why such paranoid overprotectiveness? Why such an extreme change of heart?
His blue eyes found no answers, only more questions in the broken eucalypts scattered across the landscape, their jagged white trunks pointing at the sky like splintered bones, and the golden leaves spinning across their path from the few surviving poplars lining the road.
They hadn’t needed to use magic to know that Ferrian had passed this way.
He put thoughts of his brother carefully aside. There were more important things to focus on.
Such as getting through the next settlement without causing yet another disaster.
Tents, caravans and ramshackle lean-to shelters crowded close along the road, wobbling, rattling and flapping in the wind. Despite the inclement weather, there were a lot of people about. Crying children, barking dogs and raised voices mingled with the brooding rush of the wind into a cacophony of sound.
The road narrowed to the point where they were forced to proceed in single file. Lieutenant-Commander Cairan assumed the lead.
In Tulstan they had been ignored: workers were intent on rebuilding the main street and paid them little attention. Here, however, people pressed up against them on either side, pawing at Grisket’s horse, or ‘accidentally’ bumping into him. More than a few of them genuinely stumbled into the sorcerers and were left looking around themselves in bewilderment.
No one touched Cairan. A large black Centaur armed with a bow and full quiver of arrows was not someone that anyone wanted to mess with.
Requar lifted a hand in between bouts of jostling, using a little magic to subtly push groping hands away from Foxxin’s saddlebags. He looked anxiously at the crowd around them. Far from degenerate vagabonds, the majority of these folk wore good clothes – if in need of a wash – and appeared to have led fairly comfortable lives before unexpectedly finding themselves homeless or having lost loved ones, through no fault of their own. Their eyes were desperate, many clutched children in their arms, and nearly all of them begged for food.
Some were in need of medical assistance. Bruises, cuts and scrapes, hacking coughs and crippled limbs bound up in makeshift slings. Requar’s throat tightened as he passed them, forced to ignore their pleas for help. He tried not to look at the children, but it was impossible not to. His jaw clenched, his fingers tingled with the urge to reach back for his Sword.
Instead, he reached into his money pouch and slipped a gruble here and there into unsuspecting pockets.
Arzath was tense beneath his grip, his fists balled tightly. His eyes flared as he fought a much more violent urge.
He did not at all appreciate being jostled. He barely tolerated Requar holding him.
Requar gave him a warning look, at the same time hoping that his brother’s patience, short as it was, lasted just a little longer…
It was forced to stretch longer than expected, as their passage was slow and difficult. Requar struggled to keep up with the Freeroamers while maintaining his camouflage. Being invisible, people naturally got in their way, threatening to cut them off from Grisket and Cairan. The spell wasn’t perfect, either: a slight disturbance of the air marked their passing. But with all the wind and flying debris, and movement of the crowd, no one noticed.
It was impossible to avoid running into people, however, and a trail of heated arguments and fist fights broke out in their wake.
Better that than a trail of burning corpses, Requar told himself grimly.
Eventually, however, they reached the crossroad. A wide space opened up onto the cobblestoned highway. It was ringed by hawkers flogging questionable wares, but few folk had anything to trade.
They turned north.
The going was easier here, as shelters occupied only one side of the road. Large, grassy-topped boulders rose on their left; the sea thundered somewhere behind them. The wind brought with it the smell of salt and seaweed.
You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.
They began to relax a little, walking directly into the breeze, and with space to breathe again. But a minute later, Cairan stopped abruptly.
The Centaur said nothing, merely stood in the middle of the road, staring ahead.
Grisket rode up beside him. Requar stepped to one side, pulling Arzath with him, to see what was going on.
The Watch blocked their path.
Their armour gleamed brightly, even in the grey light, and their weapons were drawn. But they had not yet noticed the Freeroamers.
Instead, they stood in a circle around two teenage boys. The youths appeared to be unarmed, or at least disarmed. There were seven Watchmen: five were recognisable as the same men who had manned the toll back at Merinriver Break.
Requar cursed quietly under his breath.
Two Watchmen restrained one of the boys with his arms behind his back. The other boy stood in the middle of the circle as the Watch leader stalked around him, a smug look on his face, his blue cloak billowing.
“Dammit,” Grisket muttered. “Pickin’ on someone weaker than themselves, just because they got their backsides handed to ‘em back at the Break.”
He and Cairan exchanged glances, then Grisket turned in his saddle to glance back at where he supposed the sorcerers to be.
Requar understood the unspoken question.
What now?
Requar considered. He could extend his camouflage spell to the others, but it would require physical contact with each of them, and moving like that as a group would be awkward. The Watch took up the whole of the road in any case; there was not enough space for them to pass. And to make matters worse, a crowd had gathered, peering out of all the alleyways between the shelters at the confrontation.
Requar frowned. He was aware of Arzath giving him an intently pointed look, but ignored him.
Grisket took his lack of a response for what it was: indecision, and made up his own mind.
The Watch leader was waving his sword idly about the fearful youth and threatening him in a casual manner. Grisket spurred Foxxin forward.
“Got nothin’ better to do than wave sharp pointy things at young ‘uns, eh?” he said as he rode up to the group.
The Watch turned in surprise, raising their weapons. The Watch leader stopped and spun mid-sentence; the look of astonishment on his face was comical. “You again!”
“Aye,” Grisket replied conversationally. “Just passin’ through.”
The Watch leader stared at him for a moment, and then his eyes narrowed. “You did not pay the toll, as I recall,” he declared imperiously. “And you are very much in our jurisdiction, now!”
Grisket rummaged in his pocket and pulled out a small drawstring bag. He took two round, golden coins from it and flipped them to the ground. They clinked and rolled over the worn cobblestones, one coming to a spinning rest at the foot of the nearest Watchman, who stared down at it dumbly.
The Watch leader stared at it too. Then suddenly it occurred to him where the money had come from. He took a few steps forward, his face darkening in anger, slicing a hand at his men. “Arrest them!”
Four of the Watchmen advanced immediately on the Freeroamers.
Cairan calmly took an arrow and notched it to his bow, but did not draw it.
The Watch slowed.
“ARREST THEM!” their leader shouted.
Warily, the men moved forward again.
Cairan lifted his bow and drew it.
Again, the Watch hesitated, glancing at each other nervously, as though hoping that someone else would arrest the angry Centaur.
A tense silence fell. Nothing moved save the leaves and a scrap of rag that tumbled across the roadway.
A hand clamped down on Requar’s wrist, startling him.
He looked to the side to see Arzath staring at him, and realised suddenly that his fingers were digging into his brother’s arm.
Slowly, Requar relaxed his grip, but Arzath did not remove his. His eyes continued to bore into Requar’s.
Finally, shoulders slumping in resignation, Requar allowed his hand to fall. A shimmer passed over Arzath as the magic melted away.
Arzath took a moment to smooth out his silken sleeves and rearrange his cloak, brushing some dirt off it. Then he strolled forward to stand beside Cairan, folding his arms.
The four Watchmen from the pass stepped backwards, gasping. The two in charge of the second youth looked puzzled. The Watch leader was either very brave or too shocked to move, as he remained frozen in place.
The blood drained out of his face.
He swallowed a few times before speaking. “In… in league with sorcerers!” he managed. “I… I shouldn’t be surprised...”
But he clearly was. There was a hint almost of betrayal in his voice, as though he couldn’t believe that even Freeroamers would stoop so low.
Requar watched gloomily. The crowd had grown larger, and at the mention of sorcerers, gasps and murmurs ran through them, rising above the sigh of the wind.
The Watch were unlikely to flee, this time. There were witnesses, now.
Commander Trice raised his eyebrows at Arzath’s appearance, but did not deny the Watchman’s accusation. “As I said,” he answered carefully, “we’re all just passing through.”
No one said anything. The Watch made no move to stand aside, though most of them shifted uncomfortably, their gazes flicking between Arzath, their commanding officer, and each other.
Waiting to see what is going to happen, Requar thought. And hoping it isn’t going happen to THEM…
After a long, strained moment, Grisket gestured at the youths. “Let those kids go,” he said. “And let us pass.”
Some colour returned to the Watch leader’s cheeks as sparks of anger reignited. “This is no business of yours!” he snapped.
“What did they do?”
“Nuffin!” the boy in the middle of the road shouted.
“If you must know,” the Watch leader replied, glaring at Grisket, “we caught them red-handed attempting to steal a weapon from one of my men!”
“They never gave us no food!” the boy interjected defensively. “Them Watch promised to give out food parcels, but they never gave us none! They was real picky about who they gave ‘em to, yeah, and they accused us of bein’ Outlanders!”
Grisket regarded him. “Are you?”
“Yeah, but–”
“They came here specifically to cause trouble!” the Watchman interrupted heatedly. “We have caught many of their ilk! They pickpocket and claim food that is not meant for them, depriving genuinely starving folk of assistance!” He turned and gave the boy a vicious look. “They are no refugees!”
He spun back to face the Freeroamers, and waved a hand at the shelters. “This camp is three times as large as it should be considering the actual number of homes that have been destroyed!”
Judging by the boys’ flushed faces and inability to meet anyone’s eye, the officer’s accusation was accurate.
It was at that moment, however, that Arzath’s patience finally reached breaking point.
“Fascinating!” he declared sarcastically, drawing everyone’s attention. “As much as I would love to stand here all day being subjected to petty rural politics, you and these ridiculous tinpot soldiers are standing in my way!” He carefully unfolded his arms, settling his stare on the Watch leader. “Move.”
The four Watchmen in front of the Freeroamers stepped wisely aside. The two guarding the kids didn’t appear to have any idea what was going on. The Watch leader, considering his earlier experience in the pass, should have known better, but with the crowd watching decided to make a foolish attempt at bravado. He shifted his stance to indicate he had no intention of going anywhere.
Oh dear, Requar thought. Sighing inwardly, he withdrew his Sword and waited for the inevitable.
Arzath didn’t bother to step forward, or give another warning. He simply lifted his hands in front of him, as though holding a bowl, and magic pooled into them, emitting a bright, lurid purple glow.
Then, as everyone stared mesmerised, he moved his hands apart, crackling with energy, and slashed them violently downwards.
Lightning crashed onto the group from the clouds above, a rapid series of blinding, deafening strikes.
Everyone save the two sorcerers cowered in shock. Foxxin reared, almost throwing Grisket off his back. Requar didn’t flinch, his shield flickering into place as an unconscious force of habit.
The attack lasted only a couple of seconds, then it was over. For a moment there was a sudden, deep silence and stillness, before the wind picked up again, swirling tendrils of smoke that drifted from charred patches of road.
Gradually, people removed their arms from over their heads. The Watch straightened themselves tentatively, looking amazed that they weren’t dead. The two boys bolted into the camp before anyone could stop them.
Remarkably, not a single person had been struck.
Controlling elemental magic of this nature with such finesse and restraint was exceedingly difficult without a Sword to channel it. Requar was impressed.
Astonishingly, the Watch leader picked himself up and resumed his stance. Though horribly pale and trembling, the fact that he was still alive actually seemed to have emboldened him.
He was the only one still standing in their way.
Arzath strode forward, his black cloak billowing.
Now he’s serious, Requar thought. Dismissing his shield and camouflage, he walked into view after his brother.
The Watch leader pointed his sword at Arzath. He might as well have been holding out a fish.
Arzath flipped it out of his hand with a bored gesture, summoning purple light into his fist.
Requar stepped quietly up beside him, set his Sword point downward into the groove between the cobblestones, and folded his slender hands on top of the pommel stone. Not looking at either of them, he contemplated the grey sky, wondering how many times he was doomed to repeat versions of this conversation.
“My brother wishes to hurt you,” he said, still gazing at the clouds. “Very much so.” He looked down at his hands. “As a healer, I am obliged to save your life. However, in the meantime you are going to experience a great deal of pain.”
He lifted his eyes to the petrified Watchman. “You are not the villain here,” he said. “We are. You will not lose face if you back away.
“Of course, you may hunt us down later, if you must. With pitchforks and your best angry mob. You may be suitably outraged from a safe distance–” he waved a hand idly– “atop your shining horse, or what have you.
“But at this moment, the only person who is going to get hurt here...” he pointed at the Watchman. “Is you.”
The Watch leader swallowed several times. He looked a little blank, as though his brain had ceased functioning.
Requar gestured gracefully at the rapt onlookers, and added: “In front of everyone.”
The Watch leader licked his lips, then made a valiant effort to compose himself, taking a deep breath and letting it out again. Straightening, he said, with all the politeness he could muster: “Very well. My Lords; Freeroamers. You are free to pass. The Watch will not detain you any longer.”
Then he stepped aside. There was a sheen of sweat on his skin, even though the wind was cold.
Arzath walked slowly past him, magic still dancing on his fingers, his gaze burning into the Watchman, until he finally turned away, a smirk twitching on his lips.
Requar put a hand to his chest and bowed slightly, giving the Watchman a grateful smile. “Many thanks.” Taking up his Sword, he followed his brother.
The Freeroamers came after. Grisket tipped his hat to the Watch leader as he went.
They left the camp, and a hush in their wake.