The following morning, the deg quickly moved their camp to a grove three miles to the east of Galleat. It was one of the few places along the road that was elevated with few obstacles on the hillside. The unsuspecting caravan would be struck from the side at speed by the riders while the rest of the footmen hustled down to finish off the stragglers. They constantly watched the eastern road in the hopes of catching a glimpse of the wagon that would bring them the riches they so craved.
Valentin felt fully cast aside by the fervor that the warriors showed towards their goals. He didn’t think a single word of his had been registered by them. Barth would immediately disregard anything that he told him that wasn’t related to the money and got frustrated quickly whenever he would bring up Sothin Marche. He would call such words unnecessary distractions.
The boy was at a loss. He was a passenger in his own runaway carriage in a direct collision course with another and he was not strong enough to yank the reins away. Should he abandon the camp now and pursue his lead to Sothin Marche on his own?
Something told him that abandoning his deg would be viewed as a failure by Ferron. He needed to think deeply about what should be done in this situation to reclaim the deg.
“Barth, I think we should scout out exactly where the castle is,” Valentin suggested to his pretend second in command. “Maybe we will find a better ambush point.”
And Sothin Marche.
“We don’t need to know where the castle is,” Barth dismissed. “We’re going to catch them on this hill. There is no better place along this road to hit a caravan hardest. Leaving this location, even for a moment, destroys our advantage.”
“Can’t we still figure out a way to ambush and complete Ferron’s task?” Valentin wondered.
“It’s not Ferron’s task,” Barth corrected. “It’s Julianna Marche’s. So unless you happen to have somehow become her dog, this is the plan that will serve the warband better. Whatever they have stored away in Galleat far exceeds anything that Ferron could provide us from his personal effects.”
Did Valentin care too much about achieving the objective? These warriors, unlike Valentin, needed to pay to meet their own needs. Would it be right for him to deprive them of a payday in order to find a man that may or may not be in that castle?
Valentin felt himself slightly swayed by his repeated exposure to Barth’s rhetoric. In combination with the repeated rejections that he faced, he did not push as hard on the second day nor on the third day.
By the fourth day, if Julianna Marche responded quickly enough to the correspondence that he sent towards camp, they may arrive before the ambush could happen. That would certainly be a relief on his own conscience. Ferron would be able to deal with any protests against following the plan to the letter.
However, it was also on the fourth day that a heavily guarded wagon rolled westwards along the road into Galleat. A silent signal traveled up the hill to Barth and Valentin, detailing the wagon’s location and security detail.
“Only twenty?” Barth laughed confidently. “What a pitiful number for the amount they will be carrying with them. Rest assured, Valentin, this money will be ours.”
Valentin nodded, silently scolding the leader of the Boars of Ruin for not sending more troops to defend their delivery. Maybe that would have been enough to dissuade Barth from continuing with his plan.
The warriors quickly took to preparing themselves for the attack that would commence when the wagon would return in a few hours. A scout was sent up the road to watch for when the wagon would depart from Galleat.
Valentin held a nervous grip on Vescal’s reins. His mind was full of combative thoughts that continued to drive him away from making a definitive decision. There were no further tools that he could use to trick Barth into following his plan and the warrior has made his opinions abundantly clear.
Each time that he was about to throw up his arms and allow this plan to continue, something gnawed at the back of his head. Ferron forbade the expedition from being the aggressor against these warbands. If Valentin assented to this assault then he, as the leader, would take the brunt of the responsibility for what happens afterwards.
The one mile warning was delivered to Valentin. It would be approximately fifteen minutes before the lumbering caravan would roll right into the thundering strike that was set up for it.
Now that it was so close, Valentin’s indecisiveness drove him to panic. He could not allow this to happen. It was defying Ferron’s orders, no matter how enticing it was. He had no way of stopping it.
“We can’t attack the caravan,” Valentin spoke at a low volume.
“Did you say something?” Barth replied.
“We can’t attack the caravan,” Valentin repeated louder. “Ferron told us that we couldn’t be the aggressor. We are risking far greater things for an unknown amount of money.”
Only a brief glimpse of annoyance crossed Barth’s face while the rest of the deg murmured to each other.
“I get that you have your worries about displeasing Ferron,” Barth replied. “You’re panicked. You’re lost as to what to do. Don’t worry, we’ll make sure that nobody will ever know what happened here. This was nothing more than the brigands that they have failed to eradicate coming for their revenge.”
Valentin was almost convinced by Barth’s reassurance. He just desperately wanted to fling away this responsibility. It was too difficult and he wasn’t sure if he was ready, but this was Ferron’s challenging reward to Valentin. He had to listen to what he thought was right and enforce it to the best of his ability.
He had to try something, anything to prevent this inevitable and short sighting skirmish. He gathered favor within him and focused it on his throat.
“Barth, I order you in the name of Ferron Martelle to stand down,” Valentin barked using his empowered voice with as much authority as he could muster.
Barth’s eyes went wide for a moment and all noise immediately ceased amongst the warband. Even the birds had quickly vacated the area if they had not died from shock. But Barth’s surprise only lasted for a moment before the man broke out into a mocking laugh.
“You know, I told myself that I would be as patient as possible with this situation,” Barth spat. “For a while, I believed that you were actually making the correct decisions, that you were someone that we could rely upon. Now that you have spurned even that, I have reached the end of my patience. You were cute when you were viewed as a pathetic mascot, scared of their own shadow. But now, you have the audacity to issue me an order? How foolish! How insufferable!”
Before Valentin could issue a response. Barth dismounted his horse. The warriors in the deg instinctively formed a wide circle. He unsheathed his sword and brandished it menacingly before pointing it directly at Valentin.
“Your foolishness has reached its end,” Barth announced. “We have a system of determining who it is that makes the orders and it is time that you learned it well, boy. Allow these bruises to teach you of the difference between us.”
A fight that Valentin was not confident he could win was issued to him. He went for his final play to avoid the duel.
“Ferron ordered that you treat me with the same respect as Durant. I doubt that you’d treat him this way.”
“Durant did what we told him to.”
The warriors laughed and jeered at Valentin for his cowardice of trying to use the name of Durant, the unfavored son of Ferron. It was only now that Valentin saw how conditional Durant’s popularity truly was amongst the deggan. With the lesson came the dread of knowing he would have to fight Barth, and he did not know whether or not it was to the death.
“Draw your weapon,” Barth ordered, offering the death knell to any hopes of a peaceful resolution.
Valentin dismounted from his horse and reluctantly unfastened his spear from Vescal’s saddle. He moved towards the center of the ring, stopping fifteen paces away from Barth. The surrounding warriors cheered for Barth to harm Valentin in severe ways. Some even called for his death, as was the tradition.
“Teach him his place, Barth!” Valentin heard one of them shout distinctly.
“I hope you don’t try to run away,” Barth sneered.
Unfortunately for Valentin, while escape was an option, it was not one that he could ever recover from. Even if he was beaten to the final threads of life, fleeing a duel was the spiritual death of the warrior. He would never be able to advance his standing, let alone recover what he would lose.
Instead of waiting for Barth to strike first, Valentin rapidly approached the man and sprung his spear forwards directly towards the gap in the joint at Barth’s elbow. If he could just render him incapable of fighting, he would win.
Barth’s reaction was quick enough to prevent his elbow from being skewered. The tip of Valentin’s spear slammed into Barth’s vambrace at high speeds. The impact sent shockwaves up the shaft of his spear and he had to hold onto the weapon tightly to avoid being disarmed from the impact.
The warrior winced, his right forearm likely pulsing with pain. However, he did not let go of his blade. Still, it gave Valentin a small glimmer of hope towards victory.
Barth took an empowered step towards Valentin, closing the gap between them in one stride. He placed himself in a position that made it impossible for Valentin to generate any power in his counterattack. A big grin crossed his face as Valentin’s strike landed ineffectively in the man’s armor.
A blade that sang suffering swung from overhead towards Valentin. He channeled favor into his legs and pushed himself backwards while throwing in a parting blow towards Barth’s midsection. The strike did little damage as his backwards momentum softened much of the blow he attempted to deliver.
Barth laughed at Valentin’s weak display, prompting laughter from the circle of warriors around him. Whatever pain he felt from the blow to the elbow seemed to have faded away, negating whatever brief hope Valentin felt.
Barth stepped in again, shoving his body directly into Valentin. The boy staggered momentarily from the contact before dodging away from another swing. Barth stepped in again, showing Valentin that his current strategy was untenable. Unless each of his movements from here on were empowered, Barth would continue to nullify the reach of his spear and use his large frame to force him out of his stances.
His taunting grin chased Valentin across the circle, frustrating Valentin further. Valentin took two empowered steps while thrusting forwards with his spear. Barth, still too slow to dodge Valentin’s fully powered attack, managed to direct the blow towards the plate on his shoulder. The attack landed true.
“Fuck!”
The impact of the strike left a visible dent in Barth’s armor, causing the warrior to shout in pain and the surrounding warrior’s cheers to temporarily quiet. Barth’s smile fell from his face and sparks spewed from his eyes and he gritted his teeth.
Barth dropped his shoulder and made a movement that looked like he was going to charge the boy again. Valentin took a preemptive step to the side only to find that Barth was already there. The warrior entered the space halfway through his swing. Valentin’s midsection was on a collision course with the accelerating blade and it was all he could do to redirect himself in the final moment to allow the tip of the sword to slice his surcoat and graze the chainmail beneath.
If he hadn’t dodged, would that have killed him? Valentin’s eyes widened from the thought as anxiety began to worm its way into his brain. He anticipated a beating, not a slaying. Was Barth actually going to disregard Ferron’s wishes and kill him? They had spent the past season making their raids on the other warbands disappear, what would stop them from doing it to him?
He had to win.
Valentin took the opportunity to reposition and try to get another strike in before Barth could recover his stance. He found his target at Barth’s unguarded legs. The tip of his spear penetrated the gap between the warrior’s tasset and chausser. Valentin felt his spear pierce flesh briefly before his world spun.
His focus on stabbing the man’s knee made him unaware of Barth’s follow-up strike with his left fist. The blow cracked the boy in the right shoulder with the power of a boulder careening down a mountainside. Valentin let go of his weapon and was sent flying along the grass and outside the circle of warriors.
Valentin’s entire body screamed its displeasure. His arm throbbed incessantly with pain and his head swam with disorientation. His lungs burned from the exertion and he tasted iron at the back of his throat. Would he be able to stand even one more of those blows?
Someone from the circle dragged Valentin to his feet and the boy stood bow-legged like a newborn fawn.
Barth howled in pain. Valentin’s spear was embedded in the man’s knee. He ripped the blood tipped spear from his leg and threw it into the woods in a rage. He, like Valentin, was breathing heavily. The lights from the favor that coated his eyes flickered from the pain before returning to its full brilliance.
“Ten minutes!” The lookout shouted from his position.
“Get back in here!” Barth commanded. “We are not finished yet!”
Valentin drew his sword and breathed raggedly a few more times. His breath crackled and gurgled from the favored blood that had been freed from their vessels.
Instinctively, he knew that he had already lost. His skills with the spear and his footwork were the only things that made this fight appear competitive. With the sword, he was far outmatched by the larger and more experienced warrior. Even though Barth’s mobility would be hindered by Valentin’s last attack, the boy no longer enjoyed a range advantage. Getting close enough to take a deathblow himself was the only way that he could win himself.
He staggered his way into the ring. His steps were deliberately slow in an effort to draw out the time to allow for some of his energy to return to him and to try to strategize any possible ways towards victory.
There was only one he could imagine. Even then, it didn’t involve winning.
“Aren’t you going to get me?” Valentin spat his taunt. “I’m right here!”
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If he could just force Barth to use his injured leg-
Barth listened to Valentin’s taunt. The warrior appeared beside Valentin, sparks shooting off his body in every direction. Valentin was close enough to see his adversary grimacing in pain from the exertion.
Valentin blocked with his own sword and was forced back several paces from the impact. He had to crouch to maintain his balance. His wrists protested his amateurish form and demanded that he return to his spear.
The warrior immediately pivoted to pursue the boy, his sword already wound back behind him to deliver the blow upon his arrival.
Valentin performed an empowered leap and landed on the opposite end of the circle. His limbs felt like they were stuck in mud. Exhaustion was trying to override his adrenaline and bring the boy to his knees. If he could just hold out a little longer. If he could swing just one more time than Barth could, then he would still be able to make it.
He was not immediately followed by his opponent, allowing Valentin to wheeze just a few more crucial breaths. Frustration bubbled on Barth’s face as he gripped his knee and Valentin felt that hope return. It didn’t matter how he did it or how it looked, he had to win.
However, around Valentin, something was happening. The maneuver was wildly unpopular amongst the viewing warriors. Even the arena in which they fought would conspire against Valentin. The warriors took several steps inwards, constricting the arena further and giving the boy less room to maneuver.
“AHHH!” Valentin screamed incoherently, only wishing to express his frustration with the turn of events.
Barth chuckled before bellowing out in laughter. “Try not to find this unfair. If you were loved more, maybe you could have controlled the arena.”
Valentin’s options dwindled down to a direct crossing of swords with Barth, a proposition with little hope of victory. Desperation was brewing in Valentin’s mind, fully prepared to throw everything at Barth in order to claw out a victory by any means necessary. It was these emotions that spurred him forwards in the face of his odds.
To both his and Barth’s surprise, the two charged each other. Valentin’s strike skidded ineffectively across Barth’s armor. With Valentin in a completely unexpected place, the warrior’s strike met nothing but air.
Valentin moved to attack again, retaking tempo over the battle. However, he held little regard to his energy or his form. Blows would connect without much power or with the incorrect angle and do little more than leave marks that would promise to become bruises later. Any that were lucky enough to randomly contain the power and accuracy to do damage were deftly blocked or redirected by Barth.
Barth could smell the boy’s desperation and used the flurry of attacks to regain his strength. He was perfectly happy allowing blows to hit him if they had no true danger behind them. The entire circle knew that the end was close at hand. Even Valentin himself knew that he had done nothing to take an upper hand in the duel.
When he stepped to the side to prepare another attack, he felt something collide with his ankle and he tumbled to the ground. His heart stopped beating for a moment as he expected Barth’s next blow to deliver him to an endless darkness.
Instead, laughter broke out amongst the warriors as one of them looked at him with a mocking smile. They wished to humiliate him further, to make him feel shamed and hopeless at the end.
Barth did not spring upon Valentin. Instead he allowed Valentin to regain his footing. Barth deeply breathed life back into his muscles, giving himself precious more energy to end Valentin at his convenience.
“I don’t need your interference,” Barth spoke sternly towards the warrior that tripped Valentin.
“It’s not my fault that he has no awareness of his surroundings,” the warrior taunted.
Valentin had truly wanted to end things as peacefully as possible. He knew how important every warrior was to Ferron’s goal. However, his attempts to cease the ambush failed. He could not defeat Barth efficiently, if at all. There was no respect that others would put forth towards him. He commanded nothing because he had accomplished nothing.
He had been going about things all wrong. He had already been told the answer by Ferron. His path to peace was written in paradox. It was not found through his ill-conceived schemes or his pleading for cooperation. Only in the face of insurmountable violence did people lose the appetite for combat. Where had he offered that deterrent? Where did he make crossing him seem unpalatable?
Never.
Valentin operated through compromises and respect to obtain peaceful resolutions. As soon as someone knew they could trample him to get their way, they did. Valentin knew it was coming, and even then, he still tried to divert things towards a bloodless end.
A feeling that felt foreign to Valentin rapidly swept through his mind. This powerful irrational force usurped Valentin’s typically measured psyche and overrode his thoughts and his faculties. An unbridled anger soared into Valentin’s mind. This was a grievance too far. Something that Valentin just could not take, something that he refused to take. His wounded pride and his fear allied with each other to beat out a single command in Valentin’s mind. He felt compelled to follow the command regardless of its logic, regardless if it was what was best for him.
Hate and hurt curdled his judgment as he sprung into his strike. While he could not see how he appeared to the rest, Valentin felt showers of sparks scatter from his body. He watched Barth tense up in preparation from the blow. But, Barth’s preparation was for naught. Valentin’s target lied elsewhere.
He spun around his body at speeds that he hadn’t reached before to face the warrior behind him. The smile on their face retracted and their eyes widened in surprise in slow motion. Their helmet rested at their side, unable to help with the assault that was about to sever their life. There was nothing that they could do to stop it. There was nothing Barth could do. There was nothing that even Valentin could do.
The strike hit the warrior in the temple. The blade carved a grisly campaign across the warrior’s eyes and the bridge of their nose and out their cheek. A corpse landed on the ground, leaking blood into the soil.
It was the first time that the warrior’s recoiled in response to anything Valentin had done. Even Barth was taken aback by the gruesome display he had witnessed.
The effect of his act was short-lived. It was not long before they brandished their own blades and screamed at him for the death of their comrade. Valentin was not surprised, only one act could be seen as a fluke. It would be too easily explained away as a result of desperation and cowardice. He would need to continue further if he wished to make a lasting impact.
“Sorry, this blade hates cheaters,” Valentin coldly quipped. “They can only blame themselves.”
He brandished his blade towards the rest of the warriors in the circle indiscriminately. The message had to be sent equally to all. “Don’t interfere if you are too weak to deal with the consequences!”
“Enough!” Barth bellowed, his pride as a warrior damaged by his deg’s continued interference. “This is a fucking duel! Stay away!”
Valentin struck forth at his original foe. He was no longer interested in beating Barth into a living submission. Only Barth’s death would cement his position. Only then would be secure again, would he feel safe again.
The swing was wild and inaccurate, propelled forwards at whistling speeds by the blood that coursed in his veins. Even so, Barth was forced to block the strike. The force of the impact rattled Valentin’s arms.
He swung again and again and again in the hopes of overpowering Barth with the sheer impact of his blows. Clanging swords rang constantly near Barth’s face. Valentin no longer went for body blows or to incapacitate Barth’s limbs. Every strike was a headshot intended to kill his opponent. He would beat him into a pulp, he would. Everything will be fixed once he succeeds. Everything would-
Whatever frenzy that gripped Valentin’s mind deluded him into believing he could overturn his previous assessment of the battle. While Valentin delivered several vicious blows aimed at Barth’s head, none of the strikes killed his foe. All Barth needed was the one swing that was no longer able to be sent at full power.
With a trained flick of his wrist, Barth drove Valentin’s sword towards the ground with one hand. The other hand delivered a solid favored punch directly in the center of Valentin’s chest, sending the boy tumbling along the grass to a resting place several paces away.
He scraped his face along one of the rocks embedded into the ground, gashing his cheek and streamed blood down his face. His tumble left him momentarily disoriented and his lack of balance made him feel ill.
Before he could find himself, Barth gripped Valentin’s wheezing body and pulled it towards him so they were face to face. Blood trickled from the boy’s mouth and he was barely clinging onto the final vestiges of consciousness. The pain in his chest was the only thing grounding him to the world while his head swam and his lungs gasping for the air that had been forcefully squeezed from his body.
Valentin fully believed that this would be the end of him. He lacked the energy to drive his blade into the warrior’s neck and he knew it. His mouth tasted bitter and his eyes still rang with rage. This was his own fault.
However, Valentin spotted something strange in Barth’s eyes. It was no longer rage and pride that dominated his face. Buried within all of his negative feelings towards Valentin was respect towards him as an opponent.
“The caravan is in sight! We need to move quickly!”
“You are fortunate that Ferron needs you,” Barth snarled. “It is thanks to him that you will continue to breathe. Never command me again.”
He threw Valentin to the ground and rose to his feet. While he limped away from the boy and towards his horse, he looked at his bloody leg and screamed another obscenity. The wound was one of the few feelings of accomplishment that Valentin could find in the beating that he took.
From near him, he heard the shuffling of someone mounting a horse. Was it Vescal? Was someone stealing him?
“Hey!” Barth shouted. “That’s Ferron’s horse. If you steal it, he’s going to gut you with his hammer. Don’t be fucking stupid.”
With that, the deg that Valentin had been tasked to lead disappeared from view to assault the oncoming caravan. At this point, Valentin didn’t care what the result was. He was still alive. His focus was on rising to his feet.
He tried to roll over to his stomach but sharp pain from his chest made him wince and stop his progress. A couple more failed attempts made Valentin surrender for the moment.
It didn’t truly matter if he got up now or the next day, there was no stopping the ambush or returning to his assigned deg. He could already hear the faint sounds of shouting and the whinnies of horses from down the hill. The hollow echoes of steel on steel reverberated the songs of battle into his ears.
This was his complete failure. He could not convince the deg to follow his plans. He could not bend the warriors to will through strength. He could not inspire any of the warriors to follow his cause. All he could bitterly wonder was what he possibly could have done differently.
A figure stood over him, blocking out the light. Has someone returned to finish him off? It was not as though Ferron could truly prevent it. Even if the warrior got revenge for him, it wouldn’t matter to Valentin. He’d no longer be of this world, cast to the Great Spirit. In this way, he was reminded that any victory that wasn’t his own was meaningless. He overestimated his benefactor’s pull on the group once they hit the field and that foolish belief they would treat him with Ferron’s respect led him to his current condition.
“You’re not dead are you?” Renne asked, reaching down his hand towards Valentin.
“Half dead,” Valentin croaked, grasping at Renne’s wrist.
Using Vescal’s saddle and Renne’s support, Valentin worked his way to his feet. His knees shook under the weight of his body as though the ground beneath him tried to drag him back down. He fished through his saddlebag and found Zalavo’s potion to soothe pain and downed half the contents without much consideration. The addition of the healer’s blood hastened and amplified the effects of the concoction.
He touched the wound on his cheek to find that, at the far end of the cut, his fingertip slipped through and touched his teeth. A pit of disgust formed in Valentin stomach and he probed his ripped cheek with his tongue.
He dug through his belongings to retrieve Zalavo’s other gift. Hesitantly, he rubbed the strange bug’s honey across his stinging face. Unsure of how much to apply, he used a large glob of it and plastered it to the wound. If it was not Zalavo who had given it to him, he may not have used it at all.
After a few minutes, the pain deadened into a manageable discomfort. However, it was still taxing to stand and his limbs felt sloppy and boneless.
Valentin looked up to see that a few warriors still remained besides Renne. Coralie, the other Cur, seemed to be there reluctantly. Henriette and another Marche warrior stayed behind, disinterested in Barth’s plan. Finally, Dacin remained since Maeve did.
“Is this what remains of my deg?” Valentin asked the group, blood still trickling from his mouth. “What purpose is there to follow a defeated weakling like myself?”
“If you are weak, then I am not sure what I would use to describe myself,” Renne replied, clapping Valentin on the shoulder.
“You are the only one still bothering to find our people,” Henriette said with a soft smile. “That is enough for me.”
Valentin coughed and gave a soft smile. If his duel had been pathetic he doubted that any of them would still be here. It was the strength that he showed that kept these people near him. He knew it to be true.
“Go see the battle,” Valentin commanded the remaining warriors. “I need to take a moment to speak with Maeve.”
Without word, the remaining warriors followed Valentin orders. It was a relieving feeling compared to how difficult and out of control everything had been up to this point. Another positive feeling that he chose to attribute to his epiphany.
“You as well, Dacin. I need to have a private conversation,” Valentin explained to the warrior that still stood resolutely by the druid.
After a moment of hesitation, a nod of confirmation from Maeve fully convinced the warrior to follow the rest of Valentin’s deg down the hill.
“I’m sorry that I dragged you into this,” he apologized, wiping the blood from his mouth. “It’s been a disaster from the beginning.”
“You don’t need to apologize,” Maeve replied, looking away from Valentin. “I saw that you were struggling by yourself, yet I said nothing to support you because I thought there was nothing I could say that would help.”
“Allow me to apologize one final time,” Valentin said.
His eyes drifted towards the body of the warrior. Now that his battle fervor had subsided, the grisly remains of the warrior’s face turned Valentin’s stomach. However, an equally attractive force spoke from the blood of the warrior. Strength rested within it. Strength that Valentin needed to overcome his flaws resided within it. It promised to solve all of his woes and deliver all of his wishes.
“I need you to purge the spirits from the blood of this body.”
“Right now?” Maeve recoiled away from both Valentin and the body. “You don’t need this, Valentin. You are plenty powerful. You just need to grow. Anyone could see that this was a difference in size and experience, nothing more.”
“Please,” Valentin begged. “I need it. I can handle it and I need you to make sure that it doesn’t poison me.”
Maeve stood quietly for some time. Her own war of thoughts and emotions raged in her own head. To assent to Valentin’s request would make her no more than a hypocrite in her eyes. However, she also saw in what poor condition that Valentin was in.
“Maeve,” Valentin implored again.
“I cannot help you with this, Valentin,” she rejected. “This will only taint your soul and make you lose sight of yourself. You need to be more confident in yourself.”
“You weren’t there, Maeve,” Valentin countered with a quivering voice. “You didn’t hear what Elder Eudes said when he read my blood. I’m not good enough as I am. Even if my strength alone will eventually place me above the other mercenaries, I will not survive the Choosing that comes after. There will always be something that comes along to shorten my life. I’m not telling you to do this because I want to be stronger, I need it.”
Maeve looked deeply troubled by Valentin’s words. Her beliefs were being torn from multiple sides with no answer available that would give her a clear conscience.
“Perhaps…perhaps you were destined to fall in the Choosing. Or maybe you are meant to run away and find a new path.”
“What a cruel thing to say,” Valentin replied. “My destiny is to either die or to run?”
Valentin clenched his fists. “It doesn’t make sense. Why is it alright to eat and be eaten during the Choosing but not during any other times? How is that different from this? Do you oppose the Choosing? What about this spirit will corrupt me that the others won’t?”
“B-because they were chosen,” Maeve answered. There was no more confidence remaining in her shaking voice. “They allow that fate to occur to them for the pursuit of becoming Sovereign.”
It made no sense. None of it made any sense. When confronted with this contradiction, both Maeve and Valentin quickly shut down. They had no choice but cling onto whatever recesses of their mind that would offer them refuge.
“I don’t believe you!” Valentin shouted in desperation. “I don’t believe that I was born to be food to someone else! I don’t believe that one is okay while the other is not. If you don’t help me, you’re condemning me to die, Maeve. Don’t make me drink this blood without you.”
“You can’t do that, Valentin. Don’t do this to me,” Maeve whimpered.
“Help me, please.”
Something within Maeve finally relented under the stress that her mind was put under. She was trapped in the situation, unable to find a way out that wouldn’t crush her psyche. The only thing that she could do that would spare her from a full breakdown was to relent for now.
“You must be careful,” Maeve finally said as she opened a vein and poured the fresh blood into a wooden bowl. “Regardless of whether or not it is a spiritual crime and whether or not the Elder has agreed to it, it will eventually harm you. There are too many written cases for it to be false. If you feel yourself slipping, you must stop yourself from descending into the abyss. Promise me that.”
“Maev-”
“Please, Valentin,” Maeve implored, her hands shaking, causing the blood to swish tumultuously in the bowl. “Promise me.”
“I promise,” Valentin said with a smile. “I will not let it destroy me.”
Without any further assurances that she could gain from him, she whispered into the bowl. Wisps of clear vapor wafted from the blood into the air, whatever fragments of the soul residing within was released into the air.
She handed the bowl to Valentin. She refused to look at him. She could not watch the results of what she was doing, of what she had done.
Valentin quickly drank the contents of the bowl. There was no further time to waste. At any point, someone may accidentally return to witness this taboo. Despite all he said to convince Maeve, he still felt a dip pit of guilt over what he was doing. If it was the correct thing, if it was the proper thing to do, then why did he feel such shame?
The warm liquid coated his tongue in a familiar iron taste. He was an animal driven into an invisible corner who could determine no way to escape. In his desperation to live, to be allowed to exist without someone stronger standing over his shoulder, he was willing to descend deeper to find that security. Through these actions, he shared the guilt with his co-conspirators. He was not alone in his crimes, the burden was not his to carry in solitude.
Favor crackled through him as he felt the heaviness in his limbs lighten, if only a little. He felt revitalized through this process. It was one step towards his escape.
Valentin wiped the blood from his mouth and rinsed the bowl out with the contents of his waterskin. The evidence of his crime would be removed and they would find Sothin Marche.
Maeve had already moved to collect kindlings to stuff around the dead warrior. She moved slowly, weighed down by the great sadness that she felt inside.
Valentin reluctantly reached outwards and gently touched Maeve on the arm for reassurance. While she initially recoiled slightly, she accepted the touch. Her eyes were moist with tears of shame and guilt as she knelt in front of the body.
“Help me burn them. Then I can sow your face back together.”