A revelation came over the Great Hall at Druid Relfon’s announcement. Conversations cropped up throughout the crowd. A Storm Heir? Beyond the already uncommon Stormblood stood a Storm Heir. Only a handful a generation were chosen by the Great Spirit to become the next Storm Sovereign of Strettia and use their immense power to deter all other nations from attacking them. Every great hero and ruler started somewhere on the continent as an Elemental Heir. Such a category of favor and power went far beyond Valentin’s aspirations for adventure.
“Bernard. You need to rally the troops until we can contact the Steward and have High Tiarna d’Gauval adopt the boy,” Roland pleaded to Tiarna Lunoult. “You know how precarious this situation is said to be. You’ve heard the whispers, the rumors.”
Roland’s words were incongruent with the expectation; his hostility was something that Valentin would not have expected even in the most severe of scenarios. Even Tiarna Lunoult looked uncomfortable with the situation despite the massive boon he seemingly received. The lord’s apprehension quickly infected the rest of the room. The excited chatter quickly extinguished in favor of restless whispers.
Tiarna Lunoult did not act. The Marshal and all the guards stood still.
“Roland, I’ve been thinking about what sort of event would attract the attention of someone powerful,” Tiarna Lunoult began. The tiarna gestured at the boy. It seemed like he was not speaking just to Valentin’s father but to the entire Great Hall.
“This is the most likely event that would cause such interest. I’m sorry but I have deemed this the event that was foretold to me in the letter. I will not act nor will I order anyone here to act,” Tiarna Lunoult stated. A look of sadness and confliction crossed his face.
“Bernard! How could you do this? You would turn your back on me right as our clans would unite?” Valentin’s father accused.
“Don’t preach to me, Roland!” Tiarna Lunoult snapped. “Was it not you who advised me to follow my orders? Even if my people beg? Even if my soldiers revolt?”
Frustration plastered to Roland’s face at his words being used against him. He had no response to Lunoult’s rebuttal.
But the lord was not finished. “Fields can regrow. People will be reborn. What unknown horrors would come to pass if I anger the one who penned this missive? Were your words reserved for the suffering of others? Did you so effortlessly dismiss the peasants that you presumed that would take the brunt of it while your life continued as normal? Now that is different I can see that you did not truly consider my dilemma. But understand that those words of confidence shape my current actions.”
“If you cast this boy out, you will incur the wrath of High Tiarna d’Gauval.” Roland argued as he made one more effort to appeal to his friend.
“I fear this person more than I fear High Tiarna d’Gauval,” Lunoult replied steadfastly.
“Who could possibly-” Roland slumped to the ground. Valentin’s mother moved to help him. “Don’t tell me.”
“The winged lion,” Tiarna Lunoult confirmed, much to Valentin’s continued confusion. “I could save your son, but who would save Roucotte? Antolo d’Gauval would happily stand by and trade all of us for your son. I cannot allow that transaction.”
Valentin wished that he had paid more attention in the studies of Strettian history he was taught by a tutor. None of what was being discussed made any impression on him except for one thing. He was in danger.
It was strange. Only Tiarna Lunoult and Roland talked with any level of urgency. The rest of the room sat in confusion, the druids included. The birth of a Storm Heir was heralded by joy in all the stories Valentin had heard. The smiling faces, long since replaced by uneasiness, seemed no closer to understanding than when this conversation began. What was wrong with this situation?
“May I make two small requests?” Valentin’s father asked, lowering himself to Tiarna Lunoult’s feet.
“Let’s hear them.”
“Could you fetch Gilles and pretend that the Bloodstone Ceremony is continuing until we’ve had a private conversation?” Roland requested. “I know that you are not permitted to act, but I hope that you would give me one opportunity to act on my own.”
Tiarna Lunoult stood in contemplation for a moment. He looked towards his marshal. “Fetch Gilles.”
A guard hustled out of the Great Hall. The thud of the doors echoed and a silence covered the room once again. During the time, a druid finished mending Valentin’s hand. The shock of the sudden change in tone allowed blood to spill from Valentin’s wound and stained the ground with the valuable liquid. Soon, his hand was wrapped in cloth and the bleeding ceased. He closed and opened his hand, a slight stinging pain lingered.
The doors opened and two men entered. The new entrant walked into the silent room with a look of confusion on his face. However, that confusion turned into bewilderment when he laid his eyes upon the cracked Bloodstone.
“What in Mother’s name happened here?” Gilles asked his brother with a grave voice.
Seeing an uncharacteristic gravity to Gilles’ demeanor filled Valentin with more dread than anything else to this point. His mind began to run wild with outlandish scenarios.
“Valentin is highly blessed, Gilles, and a powerful individual was already aware of it. Tiarna Lunoult will not support us due to a command from on high,” Roland explained quickly and to the point.
“That means that their agents are likely within the town’s walls,” Gilles replied grimly. “Unfortunately, I agree with Tiarna Lunoult’s choice. Roucotte would soon be doomed if he helped us.”
Gilles words seemed to assuage some of Lunoult’s suppressed guilt, but did little to address Roland’s worries. Roland grabbed his brother’s shoulder and turned him so that they were facing each other.
“You are the one that knows how to handle this,” Roland said, his fingers whitened from his grip. “What are we to do about this?”
Gilles, about to speak, killed his words and shut his mouth. His eyes narrowed suspiciously as he looked around the room. Valentin followed his uncle’s eyes in the hopes that something could be gleaned from the scan. However, he noticed nothing; a conclusion that allowed his imagination to begin to fill in the gaps. His doom could be in this room. His heart rate began to climb and his breath quickened.
“Tiarna, I don’t mean to be disrespectful, but would you mind if the Duvin family had a private conversation in the private portion of your hall?” Gilles requested. “I worry that if you or anyone else overhears anything you will be compelled to share it with your soon to be guests.”
Tiarna Lunoult smiled. “I would not mind.”
Gilles, Roland, Marion, and Valentin slipped behind the Ogaro statue and entered a hallway that led towards the Tiarna’s quarters. The entire hall watched them disappear. They had to continue to sit and wait until they were permitted to leave. Tiarna Lunoult had moved towards the guests and tried to start conversations with them in order to alleviate some of the pressure in the room. However, most of the guests were peasants from outer villages that looked shocked to be directly spoken to by someone like Tiarna Lunoult.
Valentin’s mother held the boy’s hand tightly and pulled him along. However, Valentin’s mind was consumed with the ideas that there was danger lingering in the Great Hall. He did not wish to pass through the room again and potentially risk his life.
Gilles stopped in front of the large wooden doors to the Tiarna’s room. Valentin, partially shielded by his mother, stood next to the large golden knocker that was mounted to the door. Absentmindedly, he touched the golden ring and moved it back and forth without allowing it to touch the door.
“We need to get Valentin to Briste. Once he is in the custody of High Tiarna d’Gauval then this issue will be finished immediately,” Roland stated. “Better yet, get him in the Steward’s carriage. Do you think you can get him there, Gilles?”
“The Steward’s cart is likely already being trailed,” Gilles speculated. “It would be nearly impossible to get him on the carriage untouched and a larger gamble to have the Steward risk his safety for Valentin.”
“What about his guards?” Marion asked. “He made a big show of them.”
“Those guards will be hard pressed to defeat this enemy,” Gilles responded calmly. “And I doubt the Steward of Briste will be willing to involve himself. There are no guarantees that he’d survive opposing them.”
“Then what do you suggest, Gilles?” Valentin’s father said with a low voice.
“There are two options as I see it.” Gilles pointed up one finger, “We give him to another High Tiarna that would not be anticipated.” He lifted the other finger, “Or, we put him in the temporary custody of someone just as strong as a High Tiarna.”
“I do not think it is wise to have him find refuge in a rival region,” Roland admitted. “But what group would be just as strong as a High Tiarna? The local druids wouldn’t be strong enough. The two nearest forts were unfinished and are occupied by bandit groups that are just as likely to ransom him.”
“I have someone in mind,” Gilles said.
Valentin watched the conversation ricochet between the three adults. What he truly gleaned so far is that he would be leaving somewhere unknown. If it was not for the uneasy fear that gripped him, he may have been thrilled by this news.
“Which connection are you planning on reaching out to?” Roland asked suspiciously.
“I intend to go to Ferron. Any deal with him with be based purely on his own personal gain,” Gilles answered. “I think he is far easier for you to negotiate with than the alternative in Verbosc, wouldn’t you agree?”
Valentin focused on this new information. He had heard stories of Ferron through Gilles. A true warrior who makes his living fighting. He was someone that traveled around the known world, pursuing coin and challenging fights. He became slightly more interested in the journey.
“I will not have my son live among killers for hire for even a day,” Marion replied harshly, a scowl crossing her face. “What’s wrong with giving him to some other High Tiarna?”
“Well, the three closest regions are Caradil, Cortel, and Orso,” Gilles explained. “Caradil is a staunch ally of Rilleon and it will not be safe within those walls. Cortel doesn’t like getting involved in politics and will most likely trade him for more autonomy. Orso already has a famous Storm Heir. I worry that if Valentin isn’t equally as prodigious then he will be traded away or perhaps worse. Marion, you’re going to have to trust me. We’ll be under the protection of one of the strongest sub-factions in all of Strettia.”
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“What would he ask for in return for this protection?” Marion demanded. “You haven’t served him in over ten cycles. What makes you believe that he will bother to do this for you?”
“I believe he will help because he is very transparent about what he wants,” Gilles answered. “He wants money and likely a lot. Our previous interactions mean little, but, since I did good service for him in the past, he might have a little leniency in his requirements.”
“Alright, Gilles, I’ll trust you on this,” Roland finally decided. “You wouldn’t allow Valentin to befall any harm. Meanwhile, I will ride to the Steward immediately and notify him of the situation. Once word reaches High Tiarna d’Gauval and he formally announces Valentin’s adoption, you will come back.”
“Roland,” Marion hissed. “We don’t know what kind of man this is. What if he asks for more than money? What if he just takes our son for himself?”
“Gilles will come up with something suitable to entice the man,” Roland addressed his wife’s concerns. He stared into his brother’s eyes. “If there was a fight, would he win?”
A smile crossed Gilles’ lips. “He’d slaughter them.”
“Fine.” Roland stood up, “Figure out how to make this work, Gilles.”
Valentin’s mother didn’t seem convinced at all. However she seemed to have given up in the face of no better alternative. Valentin followed the adults back towards Tiarna Lunoult. Despite the severity of the situation, a sizable portion of Valentin felt excited at the prospect of going on a dangerous adventure with his uncle. He would even meet a powerful warrior. Maybe he could teach Valentin some fighting styles.
“Are you finished with your conversation?” Tiarna Lunoult asked as the Duvin’s returned to the main hall.
“We are,” Roland confirmed. “We will leave immediately.”
Tiarna Lunoult had a pained look on his face. “It is good that you have a plan. You know I can assist you no more than what I have already done.”
“Then how about some gifts between friends?” Roland inquired. “It is Killicia after all.”
“What are you playing at, Roland?” Tiarna Lunoult asked, his eyes narrowed.
“Well, it’s my son’s twelfth Killicia. Isn’t it common to receive gifts for this special day?” Roland approached one of the guards. “Why don’t you give my son your sword as a present? He’s always wanted a real one. And you,” he walked up to one of the servants that remained in the room. “Wouldn’t you love to give him some rations? Shouldn’t you all be in the giving mood today?”
“Enough, Roland. I understand your ploy.” Tiarna Lunoult looked around the room. “Would any of you like to give Valentin Duvin a Killicia present?”
The guard slowly removed his sword belt while watching his lord this entire time. He approached the boy and handed him the weapon and equipment. “For your Killicia.”
“Thank you,” the boy replied. His father was right. Valentin did always want a real blade of his own. It wasn’t as heavy as he had expected. He slightly unsheathed the blade to look upon the metal before a hand reached over his shoulder and grabbed the sword belt.
“I will keep this for now,” Gilles announced as he secured the weapon to his person.
Valentin felt foolish for believing even for a second that the blade was intended for his use. It would be better served with his uncle.
Instead, he was handed a sack and a waterskin by another servant. Valentin shifted the weight in his arms to prevent the contents from spilling out onto the floor. Gilles also received a filled waterskin.
“There is bread, dried beans, and some potatoes and onions,” the soldier explained.
“A soldier’s diet,” responded Gilles. “It will be more than fine.”
Cecile’s father, Clement Orelle, rose from his spot at the bench. While Cecile tried to rise with him, he pushed her back down onto her spot on the bench. Valentin and Cecile made eye contact. She gave him a sad wave that he returned in kind. It was not a fitting goodbye, but it was better than not having one at all.
Clement moved towards the loose conference by the druids. His tall body stood above Roland, Tiarna Lunoult, and all the nearby soldiers.
“I am not certain what is happening, Roland, but it seems that you are in a difficult spot,” Clement said, digging into his jacket pocket and retrieving a small bag of coins. He tucked the bag into Valentin’s pocket. “I did not bring anything more practical than money. I hope that it allows you to get whatever you need when you need it.”
“Thank you, Clement,” Roland said gratefully.
“My daughter wouldn’t speak to me again if I abandoned her friend,” Clement joked, bringing a small amount of levity to the conversation. “I’d like to believe, if our roles were reversed, you’d be doing the same for me.”
“I appreciate the gesture as well, Clement. Now, give him the last gift.” Tiarna Lunoult gestured towards another servant who moved to a small side room and returned with a red jacket and a fur cloak.
A servant handed Valentin a maroon-dyed woolen jacket lined with fur. The soft material was pleasant to the touch and he ran his fingers over it repeated. Gold buttons were studded into the jacket and a knight wielding a long-spear was embroidered upon it. He placed the supplies on the ground and changed clothing. He felt the warmth immediately spread over his body. He looked down at his body and felt that he had a lordly look. It would be perfect for the coming cold. Maybe if he had this from the start of the meal, his parents would have been less angry with him.
“This gift was from Vincent. I’m sure that he will be quite upset that he was unable to give it to you himself,” Tiarna Lunoult said with a thin smile. He walked over to Valentin and placed both hands on each of the boy’s shoulders. “I’m sorry, Valentin. I hope that this will change the outcome.”
Valentin shivered at the words that Tiarna Lunoult used. He temporarily got wrapped up in the gifts and the excitement. Looking around, all he saw were somber expressions. There was no joy in his departure.
“Go, boy,” Roland said, his composure returned while Marion was in tears to his side. “We will not curse you with a goodbye.”
“This is the end of the Bloodstone Ceremony,” Tiarna Lunoult announced. “You must depart as though nothing happened and say not a word about this.”
While Valentin collected the suppliers he placed on the ground, he and Gilles were given a hooded cloak to obscure their faces. He made sure to pull the hood as far forward as he could to more successfully hide.
“Follow me closely,” Gilles ordered Valentin. “We must make it to the stables unnoticed.”
The ceremony participants and their families filed out of the Great Hall. Valentin and Gilles quickly mixed in with the departing group. He hunched forwards to mimic Gilles and shrink his body the best he could. He squeezed into a tight group of people, despite his internal protests to it. A layered and complex reek of body odor passed through his nostrils and forced him to stifle a cough lest he be heard.
As they crossed the threshold into the night, chilled air dispersed much of the pungent scent. Valentin’s eyes twitched back and forth as he looked around the area. Extended family members who were not permitted to join the event reunited with the children to share joy or condolences. Unaffiliated people waited to hear what the final results were out of their own curiosity. Somewhere out there waited people that wished to do something to Valentin.
Who were they? Who was it that were strong enough to instill fear in Tiarna Lunoult and even force Steward Tressavie to remain neutral? What would they look like? He looked for people holding weapons. He tried to spot people that were standing alone or looking intensely in the crowd.
He did not spot a suitable culprit. His heartrate spiked. They were hiding too well to be spotted. Were the stables safe? Were they moving directly into a trap? Should he scream for his uncle to change directions?
His words were kept prisoner inside him. They did not know who he was yet. They could not possibly know until they got their hands on the druid’s ledgers. He could not succumb to his worries and ruin everything that so many people endeavored to protect him from. They were close to the stables. Once they got on a horse, they’d be alright.
“I am here to collect the palomino horse owned by the Duvin family,” Gilles said to the nearest stable hand. “It was brought by Tiarna Lunoult yesterday.”
The stable hand nodded and led them down the stalls past snorting horses until they reached a familiar horse. The animal looked up from her hay to look at her owner. She placed her large snout over the side of her pen and pushed Gilles with it. A snort of accusation left her nostrils as if she were asking why she was given away.
“There she is, there’s my Marigold. Now, now, there’s no need to pout,” Gilles spoke to the horse, rubbing her horse. He led the animal out of the stall and inspected the horse and equipment to ensure that she was in a good enough condition for a long ride.
“Okay.” Gilles said, satisfied with he saw.
Gilles took Valentin’s supplies and fastened it to her saddle. He reached under Valentin’s arms and helped the boy up on the horse.
Gilles grabbed one of the torches that had been lit outside of the stalls. “It’s going to be dark soon. We’ll need this if we want to make any progress.” He hopped up behind Valentin and tried to secure him in a more comfortable position.
The horse trotted through the departing crowd and away from the Great Hall. Valentin gave one last look around the area but could not spot Jeanne or Vincent. The boy sighed in disappointment. He would have liked to speak to his sister once before he left. However, maybe it was for the best. He could only imagine what sort of scene she’d cause without knowing what was happening. She would only be at risk.
Gilles navigated Marigold through the still congested central square of Roucotte. Their pace was barely a crawl and they pressed through the middle. Valentin vigilantly watched the people around him. A man bumped into Valentin’s leg as they passed by, momentarily stopping his heart with the thought that he may be dragged from the saddle.
Eventually, they found Trader’s Way and headed west. Crowds thinned as many of the stalls and shops closed for the night. The festive energy from earlier that day almost completely disappeared as most of the revelers had passed out in drunken stupors. Abandoned Killicia stalls created eerie feelings of pins and needles in Valentin’s stomach.
Side roads and alleys were completely black from the lack of light. Gilles’ torch would briefly illuminate the streets, casting ominous shadows for only a few seconds before falling back into blackness. Endless enemies hid in the shroud of night. They watched Valentin from every nook of the alleys and behind every stall. Valentin could feel the ill intentions prick the back of his neck and follow him down the street.
Other riders followed them down the street and Valentin resisted the urge to look over his shoulder at them every few seconds. Everyone was equally suspicious and equally malevolent in Valentin’s eyes.
“Keep looking forward,” Gilles told Valentin when he was caught peeking at the riders.
Ahead was not much better. The attraction along this stretch of Trader’s way was an entertainment troupe. A woman wearing clothes of bright red juggled torches, much to the delight of all who watched. Seven flames cycled through the air, casting unique shadows across the crowd and the road. Valentin saw glimpses of animosity hidden in the smiles of the spectators, their eyes meeting his as he moved past them.
Near the juggler, a man held a sword in both of his hands and people called out to him. He raised the blade over his head and lowered the weapon into his mouth, the hilt touching his mouth.
Cryptic shouts rang out while he held the blade in place. Second passed before his hand slowly drew the weapon from his throat. He pointed the weapon to the sky triumphantly as all that witnessed it clapped at the sight.
Lowering the weapon, he covered it with a clear liquid. Seeing this part of the act, the juggler flung one of her torches from her rotation towards the sword swallower. He grabbed the blazing torch out of the air with one hand and, in one swift motion, ran the flame along the weapon. The blade made a whooshing sound as it erupted into a bright flame that shone on the faces of the spectators. They covered their eyes at the sudden change in light and clapped while the man swung the sword around him in fluid motions.
Valentin swore that the sword swallower made eye contact with him and smiled.
“I didn’t know you could do that,” Valentin spoke breathily, his voice laced with shock and fear towards what he had seen.
“People from Xanbo can do that without a torch,” Gilles replied, not nearly as awestruck as his nephew. “The most powerful of them can do it without oil as well.”
“What about eating the sword?” Valentin asked.
“That was truly impressive,” Gilles agreed. “I hope for his sake that it was a dull blade.”
Past the performance, there was very little activity on the road. Near the gates walked a group of people. Gilles hastened Marigold to catch up with group. Behind them, the riders slightly quickened but did not match the new pace of the horse before them. Valentin did not look back, he could feel them watching him through Gilles.
Unlike all of Valentin’s other reactions, this change elicited a response from Gilles. He leaned closer into Valentin, trying to use his body to better obscure his nephew from their eyes. Even though his hands tightened their grip on the reins, he did not speed up again.
They joined the tail end of a procession of travelers returning to the village Aberrie before the deep darkness of night befell the land. Wary looks from the villagers towards these unfamiliar companions were met with relief when they saw another torch join them to stave off the impending darkness. They slowly integrated with the group and the mass of people departed the gates to reach the open night.
“Take one final look over your shoulder Valentin,” his uncle ordered and the boy turned around to see the walled town shrink in the distance. “Do you see anyone on horseback behind us?”
Valentin slowly looked behind him to see that the riders stopped at the West Gate and watched the group leave. Now, they were the only two on horseback nearby. All that followed them were the villagers that hustled behind the horse to avoid potentially being left in the dark. Parents lifted their slowly moving children and carried them at pace.
“No,” Valentin reported with a relieved sigh.
“Good, let’s hope it stays that way.”