The pair returned to camp well over an hour past light’s end. Only an emergency torch packed by Maeve could guide them through the sightless night to camp. Unlike their journey to the grove, Maeve lacked the supernatural wayfinding to bring them back. Instead, they relied on Vescal’s instincts to guide them close enough to camp for them to spot the sparse torchlights of the first shift of the night guard.
Dogs noticed them long before the guards did. Their heightened senses pointed them in the direction of the pair’s arrival. Their barks pierced the silence and shattered Valentin’s hopes for a nondescript return.
To make matters worse, by the time they had arrived at camp, the large silhouette of Ferron Martelle loomed large behind the assembly of warriors that were sallied forth to confront them. An errant ride would not be a sufficient excuse to the question of his whereabouts. He reeked of blood and ash and possessed the haggard look of one that engaged in taxing combat.
To Valentin’s surprise, Ferron did not confront him. Instead, he helped the pair down from their steed. He took close note of Valentin’s appearance, likely tracking things about the boy’s condition that Valentin himself would have no way of knowing how to hide. He wordlessly escorted Valentin to his tent. Valentin rested peacefully, hoping that perhaps he had escaped the entire ordeal unscathed.
But then the morning came.
“Valentin,” a booming voice shook the boy out of his deep, restful slumber.
Valentin launched himself into a sitting position, his body in attention but his mind yet to fully comprehend what was happening. His eyes were wide, but blinked with emptiness for several sections until he finally gained consciousness.
Within the tent, Ferron Martelle sat with the remaining deggan, Julianna, Leith, and Maeve. Valentin was mortified, less so that it seemed that he had failed to escape consequences and more that he was the only person that was still asleep. How long had they been sitting there, watching him slumber?
“Tell me about this ride that you went on,” Ferron asked pointedly, not allowing Valentin the opportunity to gain his bearings.
Valentin’s mind still reeled, his thoughts discordant and half-formed. In a panic, he began to strategize his response. Does he tell the entire truth? Was there anything worth omitting? Did Maeve already say everything? He glanced her way but Maeve had her head turned and looked at some empty section of the tent.
“What is the matter with you?” Ferron asked, mild concern on his face. “Were you injured somewhere? We can have you checked now.”
“No! No, I just needed a minute,” Valentin explained, trying to avoid that ending at all costs.
He took a deep breath. There was nothing wrong with what he did. He just had to explain things properly.
“Maeve asked for my help burning some bodies. She said that the camp was lightly manned and couldn’t offer help,” Valentin began to explain his story. “I decided to help because I didn’t want the same thing that happened in Lutant to happen again.”
Ferron looked expectantly over his shoulder towards Arthus, Hrost, and Durant.
“I rejected her request but told her that we would send several warriors with her in a few days when we had things handled here,” Arthus explained. “It seemed that my proposal wasn’t good enough for our druid.”
“Where were these bodies and how did you know about them?” Ferron pressed Maeve.
Maeve reluctantly turned to face Ferron. She sported an annoyed face. The dark rings that orbited her half opened eyes showed that her awakening was similarly as abrupt as Valentin’s. If it was anyone else, Valentin fully believed she would have continued to ignore them.
“A few miles away from here. I heard them,” she answered tersely.
Whatever face Ferron gave her forced further elaboration. “I’ve always had a soft ear towards spirits. They used to whisper muted words that I could never understand. Ever since seeing Concasque, their words have been ringing clearly within my soul. Even if I wished to follow Arthus’ command, the nearby calls of these unjustly killed would have driven me insane.”
Leith nodded in agreement with his student’s assertions. “Maeve’s spiritual sensitivity is quite high. She told me she fell ill during last cycle’s campaign for similar reasons.”
When Ferron regained eye contact with Valentin, whatever expression he had wielded had subsided. All that remained was his favorite emotionless mask. Valentin tried to surmise what was going through the warrior’s head, but, in the end, all he could muster were hopes and guesses. Nothing that could be employed to assist his answers.
“Continue,” he ordered.
“We rode to a grove about six miles to the northwest and found four corpses that were hung by the neck,” Valentin answered, corroborating Maeve’s brief answer. “We took the bodies down and created a pyre. We lacked the material to build a sufficient pyre quickly. Maeve invoked the assistance of Ortus’ followers in her Verse of the Departing.”
This information seemed to surprise many within the tent, none more severely than Leith. The druid delivered an incredulous look towards his junior druid. The questioning stare was not properly delivered as Maeve had already turned her back on the assembly.
Valentin cursed to himself that Maeve made no efforts to support him, regardless of his previous resolve to take responsibility by rights of his higher status. However, would it kill her to offer him something that didn’t seem like they were interrogating an unwilling enemy through torture? They are just going to ask questions, not rip teeth out.
Valentin chose to continue speaking in the midst of the temporary silence. Feeling through his belongings, he felt cold iron brush against his fingers. He revealed the talisman and the nail towards the assembly, who regarded the entrance curiously.
“At first, the plea failed,” Valentin admitted. “After some time, my attention was brought to this talisman that was nailed to a nearby shack. It wasn’t until I pried the gem from the socket that the flames ignited.”
The talisman passed from Valentin to Ferron to Leith. A knowing look flashed in the druid’s eye as his face shifted in displeasure. He ran his thumb over the runes carved along the edge of the ring and nodded to himself.
“What we have here is a talisman meant to ensnare a lesser spirit and repel all middle and higher spirits,” Leith informed the tent. “If you found one of these, then there is no doubt that the souls that called to Maeve were being used as bait for unnamed spirits.”
“I heard that obtaining one of those talismans is extremely difficult,” Ferron commented.
“That is correct,” Leith affirmed. “
Spirits are often far too capricious to be tamed even with a talisman. Using one of these without written permission from the High Tiarna and the Elder of the realm’s temple is outlawed by both the Temple of Jervin and the Killickian Tabernacle. Unless for a noble purpose, requests are always rejected.”
“Did you meet with the ones that did this?” Ferron inquired.
“I did,” Valentin answered apprehensively. “Three warriors came from somewhere deeper in the grove and tried to interrupt the burning.”
A sudden nervousness spread throughout Valentin. If those warriors had killed those people lawfully, then he had murdered those backed by the local powers. He could have single handedly destroyed the entire campaign before it had truly begun.
Yet, he could not shake the visions of the people that he lowered from the trees. Were they people so deserving of death that the Temple would commit them to die? Only those that committed wrong were to be used to feed spirits. He thought about the defiled body of the girl. Was that permissible under the teachings of the temple? Not Valentin’s temple, not the spirituality that he was raised under.
No, he had made the correct decision. Those three deserved what was delivered to them.
“And?”
“I killed them,” Valentin replied coldly. The internal anger that swirled his mind during his recollections spilled from his mouth, chilling his tongue.
More than the revelation about Maeve’s ability or the invocation of a spirit of Ortus, it was Valentin’s confession that gathered the largest reaction from the tent. As opposed to abstract concepts of beings rarely seen, Valentin’s admission was concrete. The mild mannered boy that so many of them had come to know had admitted to dispatching three warriors. Those that glanced towards Maeve would find that the girl nodded in agreement over the boy’s assertions.
Ferron, while possessing a mild reaction, possessed an uncharacteristic cracking of his normally placid facade. Instead of breaking towards the typical anger, Ferron’s face told a different story written by vulnerable emotions before disappearing instantly.
Concern and pride.
“Did you at least speak with them before you started killing?” Durant sneered, predictably sore about the positive atmosphere of the tent. “Were you certain that these were the culprits and not unlucky travelers?”
“They accused me of stealing their amulet while showing me their steel,” Valentin replied dryly. “I was also asked if I was sent by one of their allies to betray them. I memorized their names. Catria and Rowan.”
To the majority of the room, the name appeared to mean nothing. No flickers of recognition sparkled behind their eyes as they scrunched their noses in hopes of forcing an answer into their minds.
“Is there anyone here that recognizes these names?” Durant posed it as a question, but to the others, it was a pointed statement.
“I do,” Ferron answered, silencing his son’s spat. “The three warband leaders that so kindly invited me to parley just to tell me to walk back home introduced themselves by the names Catria, Rowan, and Bryant. I do not view this as coincidence.”
“Did those warriors have anything on their person that could trace them to the warbands?” Julianna asked the pair with great interest in her voice.
“They did not carry any heraldry nor possess any orders,” Valentin answered in disappointment. “There were also no signs of any permissions from a High Tiarna or Elder.”
“Then it seems that either our new friends have connections that far exceeded our expectations, or they are engaged in spiritual crimes that will make them wanted by the temple,” Hrost hypothesized and the rest nodded in concurrence.
“All the more reason that we have to wait for the degs to report back,” Julianna stated. “We must not do anything rash until we know for certain.”
Valentin’s pent up anxiety had slowly been released from him over the course of the conversation. Ferron had turned his back to Valentin to engage his deggan in conversation and the focus had fully shifted from him.
Tired of sitting up, Valentin went back to resting on his back while he casually listened to the dying moments of the conversation. The boy gave himself a grin. For the first time in a while, he truly felt as though he had done something that could be called impressive. He defeated a group of armed enemies and only walked away with scrapes and bruises. Certainly, his superior weapon and armor factored heavily in his favor, but there was skill in knowing how to use one’s advantages.
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He heard the sound of canvas rustling, he lifted his head to see the deggan depart. The druids, Ferron, and Julianna were all that remained.
Ferron had risen to intercept the departure of Leith and Maeve. He now stood between them and the exit like a massive boulder. He looked over his shoulder to ensure that those that had departed were truly gone.
“I think it is time you informed Maeve of your other responsibility,” Ferron instructed. “If we have more situations like this, I would prefer that we do not let favor go to waste.”
Leith smacked his lips and looked as though the moisture had left his mouth entirely. He looked quickly back and forth between the stern Ferron and the confused Maeve. He then gave a short nod towards Julianna.
“Now?”
“When you have some privacy,” Ferron clarified. He then turned his attention towards Maeve. “If you hear anything like this in the future, come to me directly.”
Maeve grumbled something that Valentin could not hear. Whatever the response was, it was enough to satisfy Ferron. He stepped to the side and pulled one of the tent flaps back, allowing the druids to quickly step out.
Ferron held the flap open for several more seconds before taking a half step outside. He deeply breathed in the morning air and exhaled.
“You are aware that you attacked and killed without permission,” Ferron stated, hints of controlled anger sparkled in his voice like embers.
“It worked out,” Valentin replied sheepishly.
The boy retreated into the shell of his blankets. He cloaked himself in a furry fortress and looked guiltily at Ferron. He had known that this was a possibility when he elected not to tell Ferron about it. What boy his age had not gone against their better judgment in favor of pursuing the rewards and ignoring the consequences?
“It did work out,” Ferron conceded. “It gained us much in the way of information to potentially secure our position. Yet, you did all this without consulting me first. Why?”
Valentin grasped for the mature words to use to answer. Would his real reason be seen as acceptable? Would it imply that he didn’t trust Ferron? The expectant glare made Valentin’s throat tighten.
His words came out strained. He spoke as though he were on the verge of tears. “I was worried that you would forbid me from going if I asked you.”
Ferron frowned and Valentin’s heart jumped. He had already thought up numerous terrible conclusions before the man even had the opportunity to speak.
“You succeeded this time,” Ferron acknowledged before his visage hardened. “However, how did you plan on taking responsibility if you had failed? How did you plan to make amends with a warband denied their payment?”
Of course, Valentin was taken aback by Ferron’s question. Such far reaching and nebulous consequences were still beyond the boy’s maturity level. He did not consider the impact of his failures beyond himself and his immediate circle. The thing he worried most about when he made his choice was a scolding. In truth, he did not even truly understand the potential of his own demise during the encounter.
He knew now that the shadow of death was too light upon his shoulders. But did he truly comprehend it?
Valentin’s speechlessness and unfocused eyes quickly communicated his lack of consideration to Ferron.
“Sometimes you act like someone double your age and sometimes you act half of it,” Ferron half spoke, half muttered. He walked from his spot by the entrance of the tent and crouched before Valentin.
“You are a member of this warband, Valentin,” Ferron reminded the boy. “The decisions that you make can affect everyone within it. Your position gives you more sway over our trajectory than you may realize or even understand. That’s why it is vital that you speak to me first. I would have been willing to provide you with support if the situation was provided properly to me.”
“I apologize, Ferron, I did not give enough thought to my actions,” Valentin spoke regretfully.
“That will be enough this time,” Ferron announced. “Your actions had merit and you have proven that your training is going well. Perhaps you need a reward along with your admonishment.”
“Reward?” Valentin asked incredulously. Escaping the conversation unscathed was all that the boy had hoped for. Something such as a reward had not occurred to him.
“I say reward, but it will not come without difficulty,” Ferron corrected. “You have proven that you are capable of more responsibility. From now on, you are responsible for any more spirit summoning in the area. I will give you warriors and let you make all the decisions. Is that something that you want?”
“Of course, I would be honored,” Valentin answered quickly.
His desire to finally be considered useful won a decisive victory before his reservations and second thoughts had a chance to muster and take hold. Only now that he had agreed to the condition did the worries and fears begin to brew in his mind. Doubts formed over whether he would make the right choices. Worries about how he would be received by the other warriors took hold of his heart.
Valentin soundly opened his mouth to dilute the confidence he had displayed but Ferron smiled and spoke instead.
“I must visit Zalavo, there are things that I will have to prepare,” Ferron informed Valentin, leaving the boy alone with the strategist.
Julianna had shifted back to reviewing documents. Her sallow, sleepless eyes trundled over each line of the parchment. The cluttered pile that Julianna and Ferron had been working through yesterday was slowly being organized into different stacks. What categories those stacks represented, Valentin was uncertain.
Valentin saw his opening to escape and wash his clothes. He shuffled around to try to change his pants without alerting Julianna. However, he made far too much noise and drew Julianna’s side eye.
“How is your baby?” Valentin asked, pre-empting whatever uncomfortable question that Julianna was going to ask him.
“I adore him in all ways,” Julianna replied with a fatigued grin. “I have never been happier in my life. Yet, sometimes, I wish to be apart from him. He is too much for me. His cries make me drop everything to attend to him or make me wish to throw him into the woods and without the midwives, I believe that I would have done so already.”
She laughed morbidly to herself while Valentin remained silent. “I feel insane. I have long since forgotten what sleep truly is. Even when I do feel as though I am to lie down and rest, I feel the aches in my body. My breasts are so sore at all times and cut through my exhaustion. Even then, if I am able to overcome all of that, I feel deep anxiety when I cannot hear him. I fear that something has happened to him and it is all my fault. I feel bloated and upset and not like myself without warning or reason. I’ve never felt uglier in my life.”
Valentin was speechless. The candid answer supplied by the strategist was more than the boy expected when he asked the innocuous question. There were few words, even empty ones, he felt that he could offer in response to Julianna’s answer.
“I’m sorry it’s been so difficult,” he responded, certain that even these platitudes were more polite than silence.
“Thank you,” Julianna replied with a gratified sigh. “It’s something that I wished to say for days.”
“I’m not sure if I was the best person to tell,” Valentin awkwardly sputtered. “I don’t know what any of that is like.”
“There are few mothers here,” Julianna detailed. “I am surrounded by midwives that only wish to placate me. I do not fault them as it is their job. The few women warriors are either childless or have given birth so long ago that they can only romanticize upon their labor and tell me to cherish these moments. The men are still annoyed that my nausea and my pain delayed them a few days. They are more likely to dismiss me than to listen, speaking about stab wounds as though it is comparable.”
“At least when you are stabbed, you have armor,” Valentin slightly chuckled. He placed his hand on the shoulder that had taken a blow the previous cycle.
The quip created a brief smirk on the woman’s face. For a time, the only sound was the shuffling of parchment or the scratch of a quill on parchment.
“Have you gotten close to finding your brother?” Valentin inquired.
Julianna sighed, giving Valentin the short answer to his question. “No. It is only when you are searching for someone that you realize how large this country is. None of Ferron’s connections in Vessaire, Povia, or Rilleon has seen him. Either I will never find him or he is still nearby.”
“What do you think your brother would do?” Valentin asked thoughtfully. “What were you going to do if we didn’t catch you?”
“I was going to scour the countryside for a Tiarna willing to assist me in reclaiming my lands. I was willing to offer myself in marriage if need be. Sothin is likely doing the same. I’ve sent letters to several nearby cities in hopes that he’s found himself in the good graces of one of their courts. I’ve even sent a letter to the main camp of the warband. No response.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Valentin responded sympathetically.
“Not that I blame him if he received the correspondence and chose not to respond,” she continued with a small shrug. “If our positions were reversed, I would not trust a letter from my brother asking to meet. Especially if the area is near where Ferron Martelle is operating. I understand that it reeks of a trap but I have to try anyways.”
Julianna’s expression fell away to something softer at the talk of her brother. A motherly sheen glazed Julianna’s eyes and a sad expression crossed her face. She set aside her parchment gently, smoothing out a crease on the corner.
“Are you sure that you are ready for this position?” Julianna asked with a concerned tone.
Something that carried within Julianna’s voice reminded Valentin of Jeanne. A pang of longing pierced Valentin’s chest. There was no doubt in his mind that his sister would weep if she saw what her brother had done. She would wrap her arms around him and tell him that he could let her take care of everything, that this wasn’t truly his responsibility. What relief that would give Valentin, what lightness it would give his heart.
But Jeanne wasn’t here to coddle him, to give him that escape. He had to manage this on her own, to make them all proud.
“I trust that Ferron would not promote me without confidence in my abilities,” Valentin replied, both believing and mistrusting his own words. “I just have to feel that same confidence.”
“I doubt that there is a good reason to test you so early,” Julianna argued. “I understand that you are important to Ferron and to his plans. As Strategist, I have tried to take you into account in my ideas. I respect Ferron’s mind, but I struggle to see how pressing you to action does anything but put you at unnecessary risk.”
“I wish to be better than I am now,” Valentin stated.
Julianna made a complicated face in response. “It’s not as though I don’t understand,” she conceded, her eyes beginning to sparkle with happy memories. “I remember hounding my father to allow him into his meetings with Marshal Gerrant. They were terribly boring meetings, reports about highwaymen and deserters and lesser beasts. Nothing that required elaborate formations or unconventional tactics.”
Her smile waned. “It was through attending those meetings and Father’s books that made my voice heard when Celfor attempted his first invasion. Granted, all I did was send a letter to Jean Barteau hoping the mercenary was more patriotic than everyone else claimed. But maybe that feat was not impressive enough for them to follow my plans when Arven invaded a second time.”
She had grasped at her clothes and wrung the cloth in her hands. A timeless silence befell the pair as they spent an eternity within their own heads, reliving times that they wish never happened.
“Still, when you are out there, do not feel compelled to do something dangerous out of fear of looking weak or foolish,” Julianna implored, realizing that her personal anecdote had done more harm than good. “The ability to know when you are overmatched and show prudence towards the unknown are also important qualities. Many people who one would believe to believe to be above danger fall. Just last Killicia, a Storm Heir was murdered.”
“What? Where? How?”
Those were the only words that Valentin could vocalize in response.
“Last Killicia in Povia,” Julianna answered. “The village was taken to the torch and most of the villagers were slain in the chaos. Those that managed to run with their lives have been spreading the story in every tavern along the Callarm Road from Croismor to Briste.”
Valentin balled his fists in anger. Divergent thoughts pounded through his head. Bursts of relief bubbled up in his heart. Were they no longer watching him? Would they return to watching him now that they had succeeded?
Yet, he felt deeply distraught at the news. He distinctly knew the disenchanting feeling of your greatest moment curdling into the harrowing understanding that you faced death. The helplessness that accompanied the knowledge that one could possess infinite potential but no way to use it. Valentin could not escape the memories of own worthlessness that delivered him to this state, reigniting the abrasions on his soul.
Unlike Valentin, there was no one that was capable of saving this child. Nobody was capable of calming their nerves and directing them towards salvation. Instead, their life and their world has ended violently and abruptly, flames of life stomped out and eyes forced shut.
Distress bred guilt. He lived while they died. Not just this unknown child, but his uncle as well. Did his village suffer in his absence? Were more punished to uncover his whereabouts? Tiarna Lunoult? His parents? Jeanne? It seemed so arbitrary. Could he have done something that would have attracted their attention to him instead? Was there a way he could have protected this child and spared his home?
They simply were not blessed. If they were loved more, if they were worthy, then something would have interfered. If the Mother still lived, would she allow these transgressions? It was clear that the Great Spirit was apathetic to those below them.
“I have heard that such things happen sometimes, but who would make such a brazen attack so close to the capital?” Julianna spoke with concern, breaking Valentin’s thoughts.
“What do you mean? Were those responsible not known?” Valentin demanded. The culprits were clear, how could there be doubt?
A surprised expression greeted Valentin. Julianna tried to assuage the boy’s perceived concerns. “I have been told Rilleon dispatched Royal Investigators to the village to see if they can discern some clues as to who was responsible. For now, all they are is rumors. It isn’t truly confirmed that they have perished.”
Valentin scoffed reflexively. The court of Jervin has pledged to investigate itself. Who would possibly believe that anything would come from that performance?
He glanced over at Ferron's book. It was then that he realized how valuable the knowledge that was bestowed upon him was. While an open secret among the most powerful of Strettia, everyone else was blissfully unaware of the true offenders. It was to be viewed as no more as a senseless and heinous attack.
Nobody else would pursue justice for him. Nobody else cared or was willing to. The people were either ignorant, complicit, or powerless to stop what was occurring. He would have to endeavor alone to put these people down himself. Not just for his own good, but for all those heirs that did not have a chance to live.
His fingers twitched. A compulsion to take up his weapons took over him. Within the aimless current that he had been following, he felt that, for once, he had something to be endeavoring towards. Something that he felt was a noble cause. Justified violence.