Even Dephoni is no longer safe. I had to abandon the city, and all of those of us who were injured. From what my men inside of his armies tell me, Legosia was boasting about the claim. Did I even know the man, truly, when I couldn’t imagine him speaking ill of me such?

-From The Recently Deciphered Notes of King Arneshal, 9th Grouping

For once in his life, Galeon walked. He walked on his own two feet, Emile and Isildan leading. Noviselle and Leane were behind the two of them, which left Galeon to bring up the rear.

The entire group was dressed for travel. Long cloaks and thick dressings covered each of them, and their breath frosted in front of their mouths.

“Are we there yet?” Galeon asked as Isildan opened another portal. His green glowing eyes looked exasperated at the comment, and seemed to internally toil with a decision.

“Can we throw him into a freezing river yet?” Noviselle asked.

“It’s a question!” Galeon replied.

“One that has been answered already. And multiple times,” Noviselle said angrily. Leane looked thoughtful.

“Maybe Galeon has memory loss, like me,” she said.

“With him around, it’s the rest of us that need memory loss,” Emile said, massaging his ankles as he crossed the portal. They were standing on a small hill, and the portal led to another one further down and far away. Isil could only maintain them for so long, so the rest of them scurried after Emile and came out on the other side.

Forests surrounded them on either side, and small animals scuttled about. Above them, a single small moon illuminated their path. Isil brought out a bewllan crystal from his pocket, but it was dim. He repeated a few more times, giving up when he couldn’t grab one that had any juice left.

“We need to rest here. I’ve run out of bewl,” Isildan said, placing the bewllan back into his pockets. He sat down on the ground, and the rest of them followed suit.

Noviselle sat next to Isil, and Emile next to Novi, so that she was sandwiched in between them. Which left Leane and Galeon to scrounge together.

“Beautiful night, isn’t it?” Noviselle said.

“Yeah,” everyone replied at once, all except Isil. Novi sighed, but he had his eyes closed. Isil seemed to be in some state of meditation.

“What would you do if you were to lose your bewllan, Leon?” Isil said.

“I’ve never run out of it. There’s always someone helpful nearby to give it,” Galeon shrugged.

“Helpful?”

“He snatches them off of other hallowmancers. You should see it sometime, Isil. They look like a bunch of headless chickens running around!” Emile joked, laughing by himself. When he stopped, there was silence in the air.

“Can… headless chickens run?” Leane asked.

“It’s an expression, Leane, and hopefully it stays that way. I don’t want to have to bring a Necromancer along,” Emile replied, mood souring for having to explain his joke.

“They’re not evil, Emile, they’re just like me or Isil,” Galeon told him.

“Yeah, yeah. You and Isil’s powers, I understand. I’d be less scared of a Necromancer if they weren’t always staying in dark and gloomy places,” Emile explained.

“I always thought they drew their powers from the darkness,” Isil chimed in.

“Isn’t that a bit childish? Leon isn’t powered by the sun,” Noviselle added.

“But I do feel happier in it,” he replied.

“I don’t think he is a plant. If he was, I think he’d leaf,” Leane had begun to laugh before even finishing, and the others joined in raucously. Emile was the only one who sat unamused.

“Oh, so when she does it it’s funny,” he grumbled.

They enjoyed the short break before Isildan had recovered enough for more trips. He drank from the bewllan crystals, pondering them for a moment before placing them back.

“How did you learn to do that, Galeon? Manage your bewl, fight the enemies, and yet still not fell a single one of them?” Isil asked him. Galeon smiled as the Planar worked on another portal.

“Training. You can reach the same place, Isil, you just have to try,” Galeon urged him. If Isil joined him in this, perhaps Novi would be willing to listen to the both of them. Regrettably, Isil just shook his head.

“You were raised your way, Leon, and I mine,” he said as he finished. Emile and the others stepped through the portal, and Isil gestured for Galeon to move through. Maybe not today, he thought as the journey continued from then on.

****

Another portal opened, and the group came out on a hill. It overlooked what appeared to be a small village situated in the middle of a basin.

“This is Nlaoja?” Emile asked. “It’s….”

“Small,” Leane finished for him.

“Duke Lambre wanted me to meet with the chief of the village. Make sure that Ravenishtan hasn’t been slipping past our armies,” Noviselle told the rest of them.

“There doesn’t seem to be much they could sneak across. How many people live here?” Emile spoke.

Galeon took a quick glance. No spires, no paved roads, and the houses were so spread out he could scarcely call anything there a street.

“A few hundred, according to our records. Still, we’ve got a chief to meet, so let’s jet out of here,” Noviselle emphasized.

“Did you say something?” Galeon asked, glancing away from the village.

“I said, let-”

“Novi, Leon, I can’t hold the portal for long. You both should step through,” Isil told them, and only then did they notice that the others had already passed.

If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

“…Nevermind,” Noviselle grumbled, and slumped down. She walked through the portal, Galeon behind her as it winked out.

When they popped out of the other side, they found a crowd had begun to gather. People of all ages stared at them with widened eyes. They were wearing plain clothes of an old fashion, Isil noticed, like they were behind the current trends. Wide skirts and tunics, loose and made of patchwork materials, which seemed to go for the rest of the village.

Neither side spoke for a long moment, but Galeon did hear murmurs coming from the crowd itself.

“Let me through!” someone shouted, and the crowd parted in front of him. Galeon saw a young man, around his age, step in front of the people like he was their leader.

“Is he the mayor?” Leane whispered as the man approached. He was taller than most Phasgorians and sported a dark skin tone that looked to have been made under the harsh sun. He wore a suit that looked better than the others, Galeon considered, but not on the level of the army still.

“Who are you people, and what business do you have popping out like that?” he barked at them.

Emile clenched his fists, and the man glared at him.

“I wouldn’t try that,” he spoke, a tiny green portal materializing above his hands. His irises glowed a bright green, and Emile desisted.

“The others are looking to him for guidance,” Isildan pointed out to both Leane and Galeon.

“Maybe he’s the only hallowmancer they’ve got? I know I was back at Shimmerlake,” Galeon replied.

“I’m Countess Noviselle and we’re soldiers of the Phasgorian army, here to meet with chief Treomish. Where is he right now?” Noviselle asked him. the man’s attitude dropped immediately, and he grunted.

“You’re the ones father has been expecting?” the boy asked.

“Treomish is your father?” Noviselle said.

“Yes. The way he was acting, I thought you were Ravenishtani! I’m Atreon,” the man said.

“We don’t even look Ravenishtani!” Emile replied, annoyed. In response, Atreon simply pointed towards Leane.

“It doesn’t matter, Emile. Can you take us to your father, Lord Atreon?” Noviselle asked.

“He’s by our house, enjoying an afternoon lunch,” Atreon pointed backwards, towards the only house that reached two floors up into the sky. It was further back in the village, and could barely be considered the abode of a noble, no matter how low-ranked.

“You can go on ahead. I’ve got to settle the folks down,” Atreon said. Noviselle nodded, and the group moved on. Before they were fully out of hearing range, Galeon heard Atreon whisper “Lord...?” in a confused tone.

They walked past a smithy, and Galeon smelled the coal burning in its forge. He took a deep breath, letting it out just as quickly.

“Burning coal. Smells just like home,” Emile noted.

“I used to volunteer at the forge back home every winter. Kept me warm in the cold times,” Galeon said.

“I’d always find an excuse to stick around the flames. Throw a nut or flower inside when no one was looking,” Emile remembered, a smile creeping onto his face.

“The barony I lived on didn’t have a smithy near. The Baroness hated the smell of the forge,” Isil added. A smile crept along her face.

“I remember sometimes she’d give me cakes left over from the kitchen if I took her around the landscape,” he finished, eyes lost in the past. Noviselle nudged him slightly and smiled.

“We could go visit it sometime? Where was the barony located?” she asked.

“Near Deresen. We had lots of fish come in from the province,” Isil replied.

“Would be nice to get a swim in. I don’t think I’ve seen a body of water big enough in ages,” Emile added.

They talked more amongst themselves, until they arrived near the house of the chief. The house rose up in front of them, built on a hill with a paved path leading to it. The only paved path they’d seen thus far, Galeon noted. Near the side of the winding way, Galeon spotted a man sitting on a chair.

A tent above him and a woman sat beside him. He was old, with long voluminous white hair and a beard that reached down to his throat. Wrinkles covered the edge of his eyes, yet he retained a boisterousness that Galeon recognized from retired soldiers. The woman beside Treomish, his wife probably, was much the same, and boasted a significant heft to her.

Her arms were well muscled, like she’d worked hard in a field of some sort. The sleeves of her dress were rolled up, and she held a cup in her hands and blew on it. Treomish raised a hand and shouted to the group.

“Get up here, the lot of you! Or your tea’s going to get cold!” he boomed with a voice reminiscent of a duke shouting orders. The group snapped into place, even Leane, and rushed over onto the little hillside.

Treomish smiled as they clambered up, the group standing awkwardly around the table and chairs.

“Well, then, won’t you take a seat? My son should be here any moment as well,” Treomish offered to them, and they took their places on the oddly comfortable chairs. Galeon felt around on his own, feeling how well-worn it was.

“You’d be surprised how hard it is to get cardamom in such a remote area. I do hope you enjoy the tea, regardless,” Treomish told them.

“Thank you for the invitation, Lord Treomish, but we’re not here for the tea. I’m Countess Noviselle and these,” she said as she swept a hand across her group, “are my friends.”

“He already knows. He just wants you to relax a bit before you get to business,” his wife chimed in, taking a sip from her own cup. Noviselle sighed.

“Lord Treomi-”

“Not Lord, just chief. I gave up Lordship long ago,” Treomish corrected her, and Noviselle paused, annoyed.

“Chief Treomish. Where are the other troops? I know we didn’t send many men, but there should still be some stationed here,” Noviselle asked him.

“They’d be in the forest, running some of their drills. I told them there was nothing to worry about, but it seems the troops get restless if you don’t give them something to do,” Treomish replied.

“And have they spotted anything out of the ordinary while running these drills? Afterburner patrols that didn’t bear our colours, Devourers, maybe even just some scouts that didn’t look Phasgorian?” Noviselle asked him.

“You should take a sip of that tea, Countess. It’s good for calming the nerves,” Treomish proposed. Noviselle grew more annoyed still, but Galeon gestured from his side of the table. He glanced back and forth between her and the cup, and she relented. She settled herself back into her seat, taking the cup and gulping down the hot liquid.

The floral taste of the tea, and the warmth of it, soothed Noviselle enough. It kept her thoughts at bay while she drank, enough so that she barely noticed a portal opening up beside them. At first she thought that Isil was doing something, but someone else walked through a moment later.

Now that they had a reference, they could tell the resemblance between Treomish and Atreon. Both of them had the same build about them, the same air of focus that reminded them of experienced Generals.

Without a word, Atreon took a seat next to his father. At a glance, Noviselle could tell he was annoyed with his father. The way that Treomish’s mouth quirked up, and Atreon’s eyebrow twitched in response.

She finished her tea in silence, placing the cup and waiting for Treomish to give her the time. Instead, the man took an annoyingly long time to finish, and gasped loudly when he did.

“Now, then, business. Lambre told you to come here to check on Nlaoja, didn’t he?” Treomish spoke. The sun had already begun to set by that point, and Noviselle’s patience was running thin. Galeon and Emile seemed to be engaged in their own game, while Treomish’s wife brought out tray after tray of cakes and pies for them to enjoy.

Isildan and Leane seemed to be conversing quietly, which left her to take the lead.

“Yes. Unusual sightings, reports of Ravenishtani soldiers, anything,” Noviselle insisted. The chief just shook his head.

“Nlaoja is as quiet as they come, Countess. You’re free to stick around and see for yourself if you want, especially with how weary you seem to look.”

Looking down at herself, Noviselle hadn’t even realized how unwieldy her hair had become. She rubbed her eyes with her fingers, realizing just how tired she was.

“How long did the duke say you were to stay here?” Treomish asked.

“Three days…” Noviselle muttered.

“Hm…. I don’t think the goal of your mission, Countess, was an investigation into our town. If it was, you could’ve sent a single Afteburner for the task,” Treomish told her.

“Then what….”

“I think the duke simply wanted you to relax. Take some time off. Tell me, how long has it been since you’ve had that?”

But Noviselle couldn’t recount. Looking over to her friends, enjoying the food and talking amongst themselves, she could almost believe it. Isil was standing near the side of the table, showing Atreon a trick he’d learnt with his portal. The young boy seemed mesmerized by the performance and his eyes beamed at the sight.

She turned back to the chief, who had a grin sporting his face.

“Come, take some time to relax, Countess. I’m sure you and yours could use the distraction,” Treomish offered her.

“But what if the King needs me? What if Duke Lambre wants me back for a mission. And the work I left back at the office…” she trailed off, just the thought of what she had waiting back for her silencing her.

“I think you need this more than the others, Countess Noviselle. I might not have many hallowmancers, but I always keep an Afterburner in the case of an emergency,” Treomish told her.

“Do I….?” she felt guilty for suggesting it.

“Just a few moments can last you much longer. Every soldier needs time away from the field, and it’s yours now.”