With that final speech, the pair separated. Valentin moved to a shaded area beneath some trees away from the stream and dried off. Ortus’ rays of light warmed his skin while the gentle breeze lapped at the droplets that rolled off his skin.
Even after he had completely dried and dressed, he remained under the trees. He leaned against the smooth bark of the sturdy trunk and watched the landscape move with the elapsing time of the late day. His mind was purged of all thoughts that could dare distract him from this state of existence. The void in his head accompanied heavy eyes from the comfortable temperature in the air. He was far enough that nobody from the camp would stumble across him and interrupt this rudimentary meditation. So he continued to watch with eyes devoid of life.
Like all things, this state of empty bliss was not meant to last forever. Thoughts and needs began to return into his head, necessitating his return back to the camp. With the return of thoughts, came the return of the nameless mental adversary in his head to which he could engage in mental dialogue.
Naturally, the first topic was whether or not he should have admitted to Jaela what he had done. She trusted the manipulated answer to her carelessly formed question. Had he taken advantage of her incomplete understanding of the language? A small guilt did briefly include itself in the party of the boy’s emotions before being quickly dismissed from the gathering. What good could come of revealing that information? The act had already been completed and no amount of lectures or disappointments could undo it.
He passed through the tents, earning him some quick glances of fleeting curiosity. Now that Bláth had ended and the world was deep into the heat of Grian, the novelty of the new boy had worn off. He was now just a feature of the camp. Besides, the appearance of a well-dressed woman that quickly became a new deggan garnered much more interest. Valentin was now old news and he welcomed his fall from vogue with open arms.
When he opened the flap to his tent, he temporarily believed that his thoughts had manifested the woman. Julianna Marche and her appointed right hand, Vice Deggan Archard, sat on the cushions opposite to Ferron. They drank chilled wine and ate bread with well ground flour and soft cheese.
Whatever conference they had held before Valentin’s entrance was put on hold. Julianna and Archard gave looks that whatever they were discussing did not wish to be overheard. They seemed to be awaiting what the boy desired by entering.
Ferron held no such reservations. “Valentin, come have a seat. We were just discussing marriage.”
“Marriage?” Valentin asked skeptically. Did such conversations spark such secretive reactions? “Whose marriage?”
“You remember Ortaire Forstier, right?” Ferron asked a nodding Valentin. “Well, this Killicia, he will be getting married to Harald’s eldest daughter, the new Tiarna of Etrineux.”
“What of Harald?” Valentin wondered aloud.
“Due to an ‘infection’ he suffered from his wounds and, for lack of better words, recommendations by his new noble council, Harald Marche has abdicated his position to his next in line. Estelle Forstier has been appointed regent of Etrineux until the next Tiarna is of age to rule on her own.”
“Were we invited?” Valentin responded with a question of his own.
“Actually, we were,” Ferron responded with an eyebrow raised in surprise. “We will be sending a gift but not attending. I was thinking of a horse, a sword, or perhaps a nice vintage of liquor,” the warband leader veered slightly of course. “That’s not the point, the concerning piece for Deggan Julianna is over Ortaire’s bride to be.”
“Forstier plans to marry my niece, Parsnip, further dominating the surviving members of my clan through this sham. Not only were we destroyed by our sworn enemy, but now I have to endure watching those that survive forced to carry the offspring of our most influential traitors,” Julianna growled through clenched teeth and fists.
“Parsnip?” Valentin inquired about the curious name.
“A nickname,” Julianna explained before turning back to Ferron. “I cannot sit idly by and allow this to happen. I must stop this.”
“Our good Julianna has delusions of crashing the wedding and recapturing her niece,” Ferron said, fully catching Valentin up to the conversation at hand. “What exactly is your plot to enter the den of your enemy and swipe their bride from under their nose?”
Julianna hesitated, “I cannot formulate a plan without knowing what resources I have available to me. Will you and your warriors assist?”
Ferron took a swig of his wine and regarded the woman with unmoved eyes. “We are approaching a critical time for the growing season. My warriors would prefer to be home to see to their land than attack a new ally on behalf of a mysterious comrade with no coins to their name. I must decline and discourage you from setting off on your own.”
“So I am to watch a girl of ten that I’ve known since birth have her future dominated by these turncoats? Is there nothing I am permitted to do to salve the oozing wounds of my clan?”
“If you successfully take this girl into your custody, will the rest of your clan survive the retribution? Will they spare her parents and siblings? What about the health of your own child?” Ferron countered sternly. “I understand the frustrations that come with the feeling of injustice. You are clever. Even if you do not admit it, there is a voice in your head warning you of the consequences of interfering now and imploring you to focus on recovering your brother instead. There are worse fates than a sham marriage, take a sick comfort in knowing that she will not be harmed for at least a few more cycles.”
Julianna’s eyes narrowed, “What do you mean, the health of my child?”
Ferron shrugged, “You hear many rumors when you are gathering information on an enemy. One such rumor was that Julianna Marche was pregnant for the third time from her husband and all in the town prayed to the Mother that this one would finally come to term. I’m glad to know that this piece of information turned out to be true.”
Julianna furrowed her brow, “What in my reaction led you to believe that such a claim was true?”
Ferron chuckled in his knowing way, “It had nothing to do with you. You contained your emotions admirably. It was Archard’s face that betrayed you.”
Archard looked away from Julianna in shame. The displaced noble sighed in defeat. Frustration and anger that clouded her mind cleared to allow cooler thoughts to prevail. She downed the rest of her wine and roughly placed the cup back on the table.
“Any word on Sothin?” Julianna inquired, changing the subject.
“I have sent coin to connections in Vessaire and Fidel according to your predictions. I have also sent correspondence to allies in Corvello. If he escaped to those nearby areas, we will know. If he went beyond that or took great pains to destroy his identity, then the task will be futile and you will have no choice but to let him go.”
The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
“Sothin is too proud to forsake his clan name,” Julianna said definitively. “He will be attempting to muster a force from nearby tiarnas with the promise of payment or resources. If he has heard of Harald’s condition, he will not abandon his brother. Sothin idealized Harald too much to abandon him.”
“For your sake, I hope that you know your siblings well. It will not be until the next cycle before I hear reliable information from any of them. Relax for now and focus on delivering a healthy child.”
Julianna rose from her cushion, her second in command quickly rising to match her. She offered Ferron a quick bow of respect and exited the tent with Archard. The tent flap wriggled in the light breeze before coming to a rest.
Ferron nursed his wine in the new found silence of the tent. He swirled the contents in his cup as though he were attempting to revitalize some flavor into the beverage before finishing the contents. He poured himself another portion of the beverage from an ornate glass decanter of foreign design, no doubt a trophy from the warband’s eastern campaigns.
He treated this drink with little of the reverence that he displayed for the previous one, preferring to drink it very similarly to the emotionally tumultuous strategist that he hosted. With a loud gulp, the burgundy liquid ceased to be. He slapped both his legs with his hands and rose to his feet. With one of his hands, he motioned for Valentin to join him.
“Come, I need some fresh air.”
The pair exited the tent and traveled downstream out of the camp. They followed the flow of the water for at least a mile until the man turned to follow one of the smaller distributaries that ran off deeper into the valley. There were no traces of warriors or villagers along this secluded offshoot with shores lined with pebbled and smooth rocks. The water grew to be extremely shallow at points, forming rippling rapids over the smoothed stones of the riverbed, before becoming deep once again.
Ferron stopped along a seemingly arbitrary place along the stony shore. There were no landmarks or items of note to gather the man’s attention. He sat down on the rocks and gazed upon the moving waters.
“Sit,” he requested, patting the stones next to him.
Valentin complied and joined his benefactor on the shore. He wondered at the significance of the place, it seemed no different than any other stretch of water that they encountered.
“When I was a boy, my father would take my siblings and I fishing near camp. He would give us lectures by the water about all sorts of lessons. It was one of the few times that we were able to spend some time with him,” Ferron explained, brushing his hands on the stones.
“This was a spot that we found without Father. A wrinkled merchant spoke to us about a great river beast that made its home in the depths of these waters. We thought we were so clever following him to this spot. We set our poles and tried to catch the beast for days on end, but we never got so much as a nibble. We said that one day we’d return and catch the creature and show Father how capable we were.”
“Did you ever return to catch it?” Valentin asked, watching the deeper section of the stream for even the slightest ripple that could reveal the behemoth.
Ferron squeezed a handful of rocks in his fist. “This is my first time back to this spot and I do it alone, the rest of my siblings and my father are ash now. All that remains of them is my memory of them and their will to return to the home that was denied to them.”
He turned his head to look at the boy. “Do you carry anything from your clan?”
Valentin continued to watch the river. His mind went blank at Ferron’s question. Was there something that he had? He still had his gift from Vincent but that was the only item that he possessed from home. What of enduring ideas or goals? What drove him forward? He shed blood to become an ideal version of himself, someone strong enough to earn the right to live. But what to do once he earned that right?
Nothing.
“I don’t know,” Valentin answered.
“That’s alright,” Ferron replied. “Sometimes I wonder at my own dreams. If they are really what I want to do or were they just thrust upon me by those that came before. I think about abandoning those ideas and ensuring that Durant is happy. But when I really think about giving it all up, hunger eats at my soul and denies those fleeting desires of peace. If I give up what I have spent my entire life for, who am I? What did all those people die for?”
Valentin silently listened to Ferron’s monologue. There was nothing he could add even if he wanted to. If someone like Ferron struggled with such thoughts, there was no enlightenment that the boy could possibly provide. However, he tried to offer at least some support.
“I think there were less deaths in Etrineux because of your actions to force open the gates,” Valentin responded. “How were you able to use such power?”
“That power is me at my limits,” Ferron responded. “It is something that takes me some time to recover from and was more of a gamble than you may have realized. Someone with favor like yours could do an act like that and continue fighting as though nothing had happened. Such is the difference between you and me.”
The ability to avoid combat appealed to Valentin. If he had no negative feelings towards his adversaries, then it must feel so much better to intimidate them all into surrendering without a fight. Could he intimidate the other Heirs that way?
“How does one win battles without fighting? How did you force those warriors into giving up without a fight? How did Gerrick’s name alone dissuade an entire army from fighting him?” Valentin asked with tremors of desperation for the potential clarity it could provide.
“Do you wish for a reputation that allows you to win battles with just your presence? For your name alone to strike crippling fear in the hearts of all that hear it?”
“I think that if I have that, I will have no reason to fear losing again,” Valentin replied.
“There is only one path towards that end, boy,” Ferron explained. “You must be so destructive and ferocious in all the battles that you fight. You must have a reputation as one so heinous that even hardened warriors feel despair seeing your banner fly on the opposite side of them and inspire even the most unconfident peasant levy of their assured victory. I have done much to earn that fear. I have performed many sickening deeds to gain this reputation.”
The answer was discouraging to Valentin. Would this path lead to greater peace or just make things worse? How many has Ferron killed to spare an entire town? The mental calculations were dizzying to the boy.
“Enough of this dour talk,” Ferron said after noticing Valentin remained silent. “There was something that I wanted to give you as a reward for your efforts during this cycle. You have met and exceeded my hopes for you.”
Ferron dug around in his coat before removing some folded parchment from his clothes. He handed the paper to Valentin with a proud smile.
Valentin unfolded the paper to read the reward inside. Upon the page was a black shield with two silver spears crossing diagonally through it. Below the image said one word, labeling the owners of the heraldry.
Bothair.
His eyes went wide upon reading the name and he looked up to Ferron with an expression that demanded an explanation.
“This is the symbol of the clan that hunted you and your blood. If you see this on someone’s person, it means that they are associated with this clan. I thought that our agreement didn’t give you much to look forward to during these early cycles. With this, perhaps you can set some goals.”
“Goals?”
Ferron lifted a stone off of the shore and inspected it. He slowly rotated it in his hands, feeling every rough feature along its surface. He threw the stone into the water, creating a small plopping noise that rippled slightly before fading away entirely.
“Yes,” Ferron confirmed, lifting another stone and throwing it. “People like us need accomplishments to cement our legacy to the memories of those around us. If you do not have something you wish to achieve, you will wander aimlessly in a sea of endless possibility. Your life will be at the mercy of whatever current pushes you forwards. Perhaps earning some recompense from the clan that upended your life would make for an impressive start to your illustrious future.”
Valentin stared at the emblem on the paper in his hands. It was true that he wished for the Bothair to suffer for their cruelty, not only towards Valentin and his clan, but to all that were destroyed by their barbarity. Was that something that he was capable of doing? He was not confident that it was something that he could achieve soon. Yet, Ferron provided him this information now. Did he think that he could now?
“Wouldn’t attacking the Bothair reveal that I am alive?”
Ferron chuckled, “If it were only so easy. The Bothair did not take me at my word so easily, boy. They were only forced to leave as they could not overpower my forces with what they brought. This clan has yet to give up their quarry of you and likely still watch us to determine if you are here.”
Valentin balled his fists. He had been naive. Of course it was not to be so simple as to lie to warriors whose purpose is to hunt and kill people like him. A wave of paranoia struck him at that moment. What if they were close by, looking for him? Would they ever give up on finding him? If that were the case, then he would have to take matters into his own hands to cease this hunt and all hunts that follow.
He studied the paper closely. While he did not feel that he could stop them now, he could not allow himself to forget this symbol and who it represents. When the opportunity did arise to settle things, he could not afford to let them go to waste.