The days passed and degs cycled in and out of the camp. Meager chests full of silver and brass and baubles were delivered in the hopes of finding some level of profit from the venture. Compared to the innumerable thousands of coins of silver that the nobility of Arven and Etrineux shoveled out for Ferron’s support, the offerings of the troubled people of the region were, in the most generous terms, humble. It was barely enough to feed the warriors and give them a paltry allowance to bring home.
While they were poor in rewards, they were rich with information. The area experienced moderate unrest the cycle prior. Several favored deserters took up the mantle of the highwayman. Merchants and travelers were often harassed by the brigands and stripped of much of their wealth.
Catria Eanna, cousin by marriage to Tiarna Eanna of Sarcinel, formed a sizable warband out of the smaller mercenary groups and unaffiliated warriors of the region. After allying with another lesser known warrior and a detachment of the Sarcinel garrison, the formation of the three warbands have since put a grinding halt to the activities of the highwaymen and made the roads safe again. However, it did not put an end to the crime. Now livestock are stolen and food stores are raided.
Eanna claims that the deserter’s network was larger than expected and that by season’s end, they will have eradicated the problem. As a result of these efforts, local leaders and affected villages have been asked to take down their bounties and send the resources towards her efforts instead.
Ferron’s system of squeezing every possible coin out of the region had run its course. With the exception of Elane’s deg, all the warriors returned to camp with the last of the collected coins to try to formulate their next move.
The atmosphere within Ferron’s tent was dire to say the least. No jovial appearances graced the stern mood that all the deggan shared.
“Since we all have a shared understanding of our situation, I’d like to open the floor to hear your opinions,” Ferron said, inviting responses from his trusted subordinates.
“What is the benefit of remaining here? The bounties are down and the problem is essentially resolved. I say we cut our losses,” Arthus recommended. “If we do so now, we can return to our fields and clans long before harvest with at least a silver eagle each. Our gains from Etrineux should be enough to sustain us for several more cycles.”
“Then I take it that you have found my brother’s whereabouts,” Julianna stated dryly.
“Pardon?”
“The purpose of this campaign was to track and recover Sothin,” Julianna reminded the room, her voice teetering on the border of being condescending. “Unless we have accomplished that, then we will not be leaving. In the event that we leave without him, I will consider that our agreement is broken.”
“Your interpretation is correct,” Ferron agreed. “In the event that we do not find your brother, you are free to leave.”
“Ferron, are you really going to entertain the possibility that we return home this cycle for a loss?” Barth barked. “I don’t know what you believe this woman to be worth, but I can tell you that it’s not worth all of us.”
“Returning with less than we started with will be a rare event I believe we should avoid,” Hrost offered his sage advice in his usual gruff tone.
The split within the table was one-sided. Though they did not all speak, it was clear through their facial expressions and nods that the deggan were unanimous in their position to withdraw from the area. Only the embattled Julianna wished to stay and anyone could see that she would soon be overpowered.
“I agree with what you both say,” Ferron acknowledged with an even voice. He used his calm attitude to placate the gathering back towards civility. “To return home at a loss is not acceptable for the Armée’s reputation. However, we still have many more days available before that becomes a reality. It is not as though we lack any information about Sothin Marche. Isn’t that right, Darcy?”
“There were no confirmations that it was him,” Darcy quickly corrected, feeling the expectant look of the strategist fall her way. “Word is that Catria Eanna has entertained several nobles since last Killicia, only few of which were seen departing their company. Some people claim that the amount of warriors that were obtained do not match the amount that live in the area.”
“Implying that their numbers are bolstered by the personal forces of these noblemen?” Arthus concluded.
“Possibly,” Darcy replied. “Those we talked to said warriors that they do recognize were surrounded by many more they have never met before. The other rumor is that there are many more than Ferron saw. That it was one of many camps.”
“For what purpose would they be amassing such a large force?” Durant asked, hand to his chin in contemplation. “An invasion? Regardless, it goes far beyond purging some criminals.”
“An invasion would explain much,” Julianna replied. “It’s peculiar that the deserters began stealing supplies and warriors without heraldry attempting to capture spiritual beasts. I believe that the unrest has long since been stomped out and they are claiming that they have yet to succeed to complete their preparations.”
“I don’t see why they would have to act so clandestinely if they are invading,” Arthus argued. “Someone with the authority of the Tiarna would be able to requisition supplies from the region without issue.”
“Unless it’s easier to simply not return the stolen goods and claim them to be lost,” Julianna speculated.
“The motivation is irrelevant,” Hubert spat, no longer satisfied with standing on the sidelines. “There is no more money to be had here and so there is no reason to remain. Do you have a proposition that will get us paid or do you demand charity to find your runaway brother?”
Silence gripped Julianna. The endless barrage of arguments and pointed questions made the woman a pitiable sight. She was losing badly and could not rely upon Ferron’s promises to coerce the warband into assistance.
“How many days will you give me before you are forced to return south?” Julianna asked Ferron. She had abandoned any hopes of winning over the rest so she turned to the pinnacle.
While some of the deggan fumed over the disrespect, Ferron carefully considered the question. One could almost see the calculations dance across his eyes.
“Twenty days,” Ferron said definitively. “However, I must remind you that there is no evidence that your brother is in this region.”
“Give me these twenty days,” Julianna requested, bowing towards Ferron. “If I am unable to find Sothin in time, I will postpone my search and continue to serve you provided that your contacts continue to watch for him.”
“Very well,” Ferron assented, a jovial grin passed his lips. “I will give you control of the Armée for twenty days. If you fail, I do not wish to hear you complain that you did not receive adequate support and pull out of your end of the arrangement.”
“Father, it’s been forty days already with no sight of this Sothin,” Durant protested. “What will twenty more days accomplish?”
In this instance, Durant was the mouthpiece of the other deggan who stared daggers at Julianna. Their displeasure at being overruled was palpable and only Ferron’s presence prevented it from spilling over into outright hostility.
“Because this time, you will be looking properly,” Julianna countered. “I know that you spent your time hunting out silver and whenever you didn’t have someone at the point of your spear you were in the taverns and the brothels. I assume this time you will have the proper motivation to accomplish this task. Now, the faster you find Sothin, the faster you may all leave.”
Further arguments circled meaninglessly. Eyes began to drift to Ferron for a final verdict. The warband leader idly twisted his rings around his fingers. His thoughts were detached from the conversation at hand and his eyes appeared to be exploring a place where a person could not reach.
“Ferron,” Hrost said, snapping their leader back to the present. “What are we doing?”
“What are we doing?” Ferron asked with mild surprise. “I have already said what we are doing. Julianna Marche will be issuing orders for the next twenty days. Once that time has elapsed, we will be returning home. Is it truly so difficult to comprehend?”
“No, sir.”
While frustrated, the deggan appeared to accept that there would be no further discussion of the matter. Their attention returned to a strategist that appeared to mask how pleased she was with the situation.
Julianna cleared her throat. “We will be splitting into three search parties. One will go North, one Northeast, and one Northwest. You will scour the area for any sign of Sothin for the next twenty days. I will provide you all with maps of the region marked with points of interest that I want you to investigate specifically. Now that the issues of the region have been declared resolved, we should not be accosted by the warbands that remain in the area. The search will be first thing in the morning.”
“Whoever finds him will receive a reward from my own coffers,” Ferron announced in an effort to provide the deggan with some extra incentive. “Determine amongst yourself who will lead each group. The one exception is that Valentin must lead one of these parties. It’s time that he learns the basics of leading as you once all did for Durant.”
Valentin, once again the wallflower of the meeting, shrunk slightly away at Ferron’s announcement. He had known it was coming, but the formal announcement made it a reality. His stomach fluttered and his palms became clammy. He could not tell if the buzzing inside him was excitement or terror. Either way, he wished it would stop.
Further displeasure crossed the faces of the deggan. It was enough that they were forced into this pointless search, but some unfortunate souls will be led by a child. However, there were no further protests. The plans were final and complaints would not improve the situation.
The disgruntled warriors angrily departed the meeting, no doubt to complain about their situation from out of earshot and make their own preparations.
“Thank you for standing up for me despite how unpopular the decision was,” Julianna said gratefully.
“There was no option than to support your search,” Ferron replied nonchalantly. “Failing to uphold one end of the bargain is one thing. To abandon it altogether because of a minor financial setback would make me nothing but an oathbreaker. The fiber of my character would be thrown into question, undoing the image and relationships I have worked so hard to cultivate. Do not fault the deggan for being unwilling, they lack the long term visions that I have.”
Julianna looked relieved by Ferron’s answer and nodded her affirmation.
The strategist returned to their work. She unfurled three copied maps of the area and began to scribble words upon them. Each map did not receive the same notes. Something that was jotted down near a forest on one map would have something completely different written down on a village on another map.
Valentin watched the woman work for a while,
“Ferron,” Valentin spoke, to gather his benefactor’s attention. “Will I also receive a reward if I find Sothin?”
“You’re a member of the search party, you would receive a reward,” Ferron responded. An intrigued look covered his face. “Is there something that you have in mind?”
Valentin had an ill-defined idea of a reward. The boy enjoyed only comforts and had wanted for nothing since making an arrangement with Ferron. Instead, he hoped for something nice to give to Bassett, but had no idea what would make his friend happy. He believed that viewing Ferron’s personal collection housed a bauble that was worthy of gifting to Bassett. If not, he was truly hopeless.
“Not yet,” Valentin replied, unable to put his thoughts into words.
“You’ll have plenty of time to think of proper compensation,” Ferron reassured before a teasing smile crossed his lips. “However, don’t you believe that you are getting ahead of yourself? Do you have a strategy that will carry you to victory?”
“Is it not the strategist’s job to develop the strategy?” Valentin inquired, his eyes drifting to Julianna.
The woman had fully disengaged from the conversation. She was in her own bubble of thoughts that insulated her from superfluous words.
Valentin assumed she was crafting the brilliant plans that Ferron had pursued her for. By the time Ortus fell and rose again, he would receive insight that would allow one as inexperienced as him to succeed. As long as he followed what was set out before him, he would succeed. If the warriors of Etrineux had enacted their plans properly, then they would have been victorious. He would not repeat that error.
“And when something unexpected happens?” Ferron asked.
“What?” Valentin asked, broken out of his thoughts.
“It’s all well and good to have a sturdy plan to use as the foundation for your endeavors. However, no plan, regardless of how impervious it appears, will go perfectly. Something unexpected always happens in the field. How do you intend to adapt when you are confronted with something the plan doesn’t address?”
“I suppose I would just have to go with what I thought was best,” Valentin hesitantly replied. “How do you plan for something that you don’t know about?”
“If you have proper understanding of the task and the factors that surround it, you can identify where a plan will likely fail,” Ferron explained.
The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
He stepped over and held up Valentin’s hauberk. He ran his fingers over the ringlets before pinching one link at random. “Every chain has a weak link and all armor leaves you exposed in one way or another. If you know what those limitations are, you can determine what is needed to prevent them from being exploited later. Securing those places will carry you a long way towards success.”
“What if something happens that you never thought of?”
“That’s when you go with what you think is best,” Ferron answered with a grin, reassuring Valentin that his answer hadn’t been totally wrong. “This is a good opportunity for you to begin using this mindset. Take the rest of the day to think about what you need to ensure that your plan will not be ruined.”
Valentin nodded and scurried out of the tent, not because he had a destination in mind, but because he thought it made him look like he knew what he was doing. With that out of the way, the boy now had to truly consider what he needed to do to prepare for the expedition.
His first step in his grand plan was to walk around the camp. Perhaps in his wanderings, he would see something or someone that would inspire an idea. Sometimes simply observing and copying could manufacture understanding itself.
Unfortunately for Valentin, it did not take much wandering before he hit a wall. The attitudes of the deggan were infectious. The warriors sported expressions and body language that mimicked the posture of their leaders. While Valentin did not command great respect amongst the average warrior of the Armée, today they were especially venomous in their expressions. He tried to brush it off by rationalizing that they weren’t mad at him, but at Ferron. Their treatment towards him was no more than a substitute for the man they would never dare glare at. However, he could not help but take it personally. If he could not figure out a cause, he would create one.
It did not help that they seemed to be preparing no differently than they always had. Small sacks of rations for traveling the next day were set aside while the rest of the food was placed in the larger saddlebags. Bundles of firewood were held together with twine and fastened to satchels.
Even though the mission was intended to be a peaceful one, the warriors still meticulously tended to the blades. Whetstones scraped along spear tips and oiled rags left blades shining.
Was this the preparation that Ferron referred to? While combat was not anticipated, it would be foolish to leave your weapons in a state of disrepair. Despite that rationale, Valentin could not shake the feeling that these weapons were prepared with the full intent of being used. Was it mistrust towards the intentions of their former enemies? Was it something that Valentin was too immature to understand?
Either way, the first traces of inspiration were gifted to Valentin by watching this preparation. He walked with purpose towards a tent that was very nearly his final resting place. The sight of the unremarkable canvas structure made his body reactively quicken his heartbeat.
He stood in front of the entrance for a minute or so before taking a deep breath. He was no longer obliged to partake in apothecary experiments. Using that knowledge as a weapon, he managed to slay his unconscious fears and pull a tent flap to the side.
“Zalavo,” he greeted the interior of the tent. “Are you here?”
“Valentin?” Maeve’s voice called from behind him.
Maeve and Zalavo stood several paces behind the boy. In their hands they carried wicker baskets overflowing with freshly picked plants. Valentin’s eyes suspiciously inspected the basket for traces of the despicable berry that he had ingested but found no signs of it.
“Do you need something?” Zalavo asked with his typically bored voice.
“I’d like to ask you for a favor. If now’s not a good time-”
Zalavo crouched into his tent and Maeve followed him closely behind.
“Come in.”
Valentin followed the pair into the tent. He patiently waited while they stowed away their herbal bounties. Zalavo dipped his hands into his wash basin and flicked his fingers, a habit he seemed to be committed to.
“How may I assist you?” Zalavo inquired, his fingers still dripping with water.
“I am set to join the expedition tomorrow,” Valentin began, formulating in his mind exactly what it was he was requesting.
“Expedition?” Zalavo asked, his eyebrows raised in confusion. “I have heard nothing of an expedition.”
“Oh, of course,” Valentin hurriedly replied, tapping the heel of his hand to his forehead. “Tomorrow morning, three search parties will leave for the next twenty days to search for Sothin Marche. I will be leading one of them.”
“Congratulations,” Zalavo replied dryly. “If you are asking me to accompany you, I must decline. I intend to travel to the village of Herrandal to offer my services to the people there.”
Valentin shook his head vigorously. “No, no, that’s not it at all. I was hoping that you could prepare some potions for me. Even if violence is not expected, I would still like to be prepared. And, well, I don’t yet have confidence in my abilities to make a proper one on my own.”
“I see,” Zalavo responded, touching his damp fingers to his chin. “I was looking for a way to properly apologize for my failed experiment. I will prepare something quite special for you.”
“There’s no need to go so far,” Valentin protested. “Just the basics would be fine.”
“I insist,” Zalavo replied forcefully, leaving Valentin with little choice but to assent to the gift.
The healer turned to his workstation. He pulled out a glass jar with a cloth top. Inside, a grotesque puss-colored bug writhed inside. A bizarre hybrid between maggot and centipede, it clicked its mandibles together and attempted to scurry up the side of the jar, but was ultimately unsuccessful.
Valentin recoiled in surprise at the sight of the creature. Even Maeve flinched and took a half-step away from the healer.
“What is that?” He shouted, pointing at the creature.
“It’s a carocome,” Zalavo explained. “It is a spiritual creature that exclusively eats dead flesh. The Silorans used them for centuries. It is highly useful for cleaning open wounds, not to mention it listens to commands.”
“I have seen the use of maggots to clean wounds,” Maeve observed from over Valentin’s shoulder. “Is this not excessive?”
“Maggots are perfectly acceptable to clean the wounds of unfavored individuals and animals,” Zalavo agreed, setting the jar on the workstation. “But what about favored blood? It would without question metamorphosize into a ghastly creature. Such an inevitability necessitates the use of a spiritual creature to treat such wounds. Unless, of course, you are prepared to defeat whatever is created from the process.”
Valentin gulped, “You are giving me this creature?”
“Of course not,” Zalavo dismissed with a look that bordered on anger. “A carocome is far too rare and valuable to just give away. I will be giving you something that uses the powers of the carocome.”
Zalavo procured some dried meat. He untied the cord that held the cloth over the mouth of the jar and dropped the meat inside. The carocome immediately latched onto the meat with its pincers and dragged its prey towards its mouth. Instead of chewing its meal, a clear liquid dribbled from its mouth and coated the meat. The strands of muscles frayed and crackled before bubbling into a paste that the carocome sucked up,
The healer dipped a cloth tipped rod onto the creature’s mouth. He pulled the moistened cloth from the jar and inspected to see if he had collected an appropriate amount.
“This is the substance that destroys the diseased flesh. Applying this to the wound will make it healthy and safe to close,” he explained. “Without it, there is a risk that the wound will infect the blood and lead to death.”
The rod was inserted into a jar that was half filled with honey and stirred thoroughly. Half a vile of blood was poured into the honey and he stirred again until the contents turned orange. He rubbed the rod on the sides of the jar to ensure no honey was wasted before covering the jar and handing it to Valentin.
“Spread this on an open wound and let it sit for several minutes before wrapping the wound tightly,” Zalavo instructed. “Now I will make something that will help with pain.”
He selected plants that Valentin was not yet versed in while he heated water, pruning the leaves and flowers from the stems. He ground seeds, leaves, and berries into a paste and set it in a bowl to the side. Even this recipe employed a small splash of the healer’s blood.
“Will you be alright leading those warriors?” Maeve asked with concern in her voice.
“It will not be an issue,” Valentin reassured both Maeve and himself. “Besides, weren’t you the one who pushed me into combat last time?”
Valentin’s comment, intended to be no more than a quip, made Maeve’s face darken with guilt.
“I’m sorry that I forced you to fight,” she apologized, her eyes drifting towards the ground in embarrassment. She nervously wrung her hands. “I knew that you would be putting your life in danger. I cared more about putting the dead to rest than I was at keeping someone alive.”
“Don’t worry, I wouldn’t have fought if I believed I’d die,” Valentin lied, unwilling to lose progress on this friendship. “If anything, maybe you should go with us tomorrow.”
Maeve raised her eyebrow and turned her body to close her heart to him. “Why would I do that?”
“I wonder whether we actually stopped them from capturing spirits,” Valentin answered. “What if they just changed locations to somewhere else that you can’t detect?”
Maeve looked unhappy at Valentin’s answer. In truth, Valentin had only just thought of the possibility himself. It was unlikely that such a large and well backed group would give up on their plans so easily.
“I suppose that you’re right,” Maeve responded, her face scrunched in thought. “I planned to accompany Zalavo to the nearby villages.”
“Do not worry about me,” Zalavo interjected, a completed potion in his hands. “You will have plenty of opportunities to join me. Pick what you think is best.”
“I will think about your offer tonight,” Maeve answered. “I need to tend to things first.”
“Of course,” Valentin said, storing Zalavo’s gifts in a bag. “Thank you for the assistance, Zalavo. I hope that I won’t need these.”
That night Valentin did not sleep. His consciousness was a lonely boat that was tossed by the storm of tumultuous thoughts. Endless questions crashed upon his mind with the weight of tall waves, dousing him in cold water that brought him from the brink of sleep. His mind was abuzz with ideas and emotions that warded off the restful spirits that tried to bring him to slumber.
Which deg would be joining him? Would he be allowed to change if Hubert was selected to be his subordinate? Was it smart to invite Maeve to join him? Would he be able to protect her? What if they were attacked? What if the warriors didn’t listen to him? Could he command them properly? Would he live up to the expectations?
Each question, each thought brought a torrent of other thoughts that branched into more thoughts. The thoughts would cross and clash and merge until thinking caused him physical strain. His mind, overexerted by the weight of the anxious thoughts that cluttered his mind combined with the ever growing delirium of staying awake, collapsed into nonsense.
He would have a thought that he had just considered earlier but the thought would not return to him as it once had. It was as though it was a shirt with the stitches removed and then folded in an unfamiliar way. He knew what he was looking at was a shirt, but it no longer made logical sense. The longer he viewed it, the more that he tried to unravel the manipulations that rendered it incomprehensible, the worse it all became.
Even though his mind had wandered into delirium, his eyes were wide open. His body was affected by his unresolved thoughts and tossed endlessly. He rocked from one shoulder to the other, never finding the groove that would deliver him respite.
When morning broke, Valentin had only sampled meager morsels of slumber. His mind was a starved creature craving the meals it was forced to miss. Against his will, he laboriously rose to his feet, his entire form disheveled and disorganized.
He heard Ferron chuckle at the boy. The man had awoken before Valentin and could easily see what the boy had experienced during the night.
“You appear to be a leader of great inspiration,” the warrior commented. He ripped his loaf of bread in half and tossed Valentin the uneaten portion.
“I was strategizing,” the boy groggily responded, ravenously biting into the bread as though it would restore his mental state. “You know, envisioning situations.”
“Did you lose?”
“Feels like it,” Valentin replied, finishing his bread.
“At least you were taking it seriously,” Ferron said, moving from his seat. He placed a heavy hand on Valentin’s shoulder, causing the boy to tilt to the side. “You’ll be in good hands. Rely upon them but don’t let yourself be ordered around them. Always have the last word.”
“I will, Ferron,” Valentin confirmed. He could not let this opportunity go to waste.
“Good, we need to leave as soon as you’re ready.”
Valentin took a few extra minutes to don his armor. He had yet to fully awaken and tried to milk his preparation time for all it was worth. He inspected his work, ensuring that the pieces were properly fitted to his body. He fished his hands through his bag, ensuring that his rations, potions, and other necessities were accounted for. He fastened his sword to his belt and took up his spear.
“I’m ready.”
At the entrance of the camp, near the hitching posts, three columns of approximately twenty warriors each were going through their final preparations. Small carts were filled with tents and supplies while saddlebags were filled to burst with everything else. One column was headed by Arthus, one by Barth, and one by Darcy. Valentin was relieved that Hubert was not chosen to lead a group and silently hoped that he would be accompanying Arthus. He had no harsh feelings towards the other two, but he felt most comfortable around the southerner.
“Valentin, you will be our deggan,” Barth informed the boy. Barth tried his best not to sneer, but Valentin was not so oblivious as to miss the warrior’s subtle contempt of the situation.
“Lighten up, Barth,” Darcy called to the warrior from her own column. “It’s not Valentin’s fault your gambling luck soured on you last night.”
Barth grumbled something rude under his breath and spat. Despite his angered response, Darcy’s admonishment seemed to soften his attitude slightly.
Valentin hopped on the back of Vescal and positioned the horse at the lead of the column. The land spread forth to the horizon in front of him, blossoming with possibilities and obscuring what he may yet to find out of his vision. He sat tall in the saddle to try to appear larger in stature. Barth frowned at the boy’s position but did not protest, the words only barely formed in his mouth.
The boy looked around but did not see Maeve. He was not surprised or hurt by her decision. Trace amounts of relief entered his heart. It was better this way, he would never forgive himself if something happened to her under his orders.
Julianna Marche moved with Ferron to stand before the three columns. She cradled three scrolls in her arm while she shielded her eyes from Ortus with her opposite hand.
“For the next twenty days, you all will look for Sothin Marche. With me are points of interest that I wish for you to check. However, you should use your skills and judgment to determine where he might be. Remember, with the crisis declared over, you should not fight unless it is absolutely necessary and never as the aggressor.”
Behind her, Ferron nodded his agreement with the measures set forth by Julianna Marche.
She stepped to Valentin and reached up with a scroll. “You will head northwest.”
Continuing to Arthus, she informed the man that he would be traveling north. Darcy would be covering the northeast.”
Valentin opened his map. Four locations were circled on the map with a short description written down. These locations ranged from around twenty to one hundred miles away.
“What are you doing here?” A warrior’s voice asked.
Valentin looked in the direction of the voice to see Dacin confronting Maeve at the side of the column. The girl held a small wooden chest in her arms and a burlap sack tied over her shoulders.
“I was offered to join,” Maeve replied.
“Barth, did you invite her?” Dacin asked his deggan with an exasperated voice.
“I did not contact the druid apprentice for assistance,” Barth replied with a look of puzzlement across his face. “Who requested your presence?”
“I did,” Valentin said, with a voice that forcefully suppressed his own surprise. Her acceptance of his request was unexpected. “Maeve can hear spirits and it could be a valuable tool to help us track down Sothin Marche.”
“Boy, with due respect. We don’t need an inexperienced druid to join us. She is equally likely to be a curse as she is a boon,” Barth argued. “When we fight, we will have to be more cautious than normal to avoid putting her in danger.”
Dacin and Maeve devolved into their quarrel out of earshot. While he had his fears and Barth’s words were valid, he knew that he had to use this moment to set the tone for the rest of the expedition. He had to follow Ferron’s advice and establish himself as the true leader of this expedition.
“Please address me as Deggan Valentin,” Valentin corrected, channeling the advice that Ferron gave him. “I must question you saying ‘when we fight.’ It is my attention that this search remains peaceful so I have requested the service of someone who possesses a sense that we all lack.”
Darcy whistled from out of Valentin’s vision. He looked over his shoulder to see the other two deggan offering him looks of shock. Even Ferron seemed taken aback by the boy’s forceful response.
Dread filled his heart. He had gone too far with his answer. His attempt at being stern seemed more tyrannical than he intended. It was not his intention to antagonize Barth. Doing so would only make the next days even more contested than he feared. While he would without a doubt agonize over these words when he attempted to sleep tonight, he had to avoid stepping down from his words and undoing his effort to exert his dominance.
“You tell him, Deggan Valentin,” Darcy cheered from her steed. Her lack of stakes in the disagreement allowed the warrior to revel in Valentin’s words.
Barth’s skin reddened and he used his better judgment to suppress his anger. “Apologies, Deggan Valentin. Your decision is final.”
Valentin sighed in relief. Perhaps Barth was more sensible than the boy had given the warrior credit for. He would apologize later. For now, he was eagerly looking towards the horizon in front of him and sensing the warriors behind him. He was in command of this powerful force, an extension of his own power. He would use this to forge his path forward.
He gripped Vescal’s reins and turned to face the warriors. Some appeared amused by the exchange while others had stern faces that bubbled with anger on behalf of their disrespected leader. He tried not to let his nagging thoughts ruin his moment.
“Let’s move.”