After the twenty days had elapsed and all the search parties reconvened at camp, a grand party was held before the warband departed to Verbosc. There was much cause for celebration. Sothin Marche had been found and news of the mass departure of warriors meant that there would be no shortage of profitable work in the coming cycles.
However, there was one person that stood above all others at the party. A name that hung on the lips of the warriors and toasted in every drinking circle. A name that made everyone grin widely with pride. A name that many would call a true warrior and mercenary.
Barth.
It was no secret that Barth’s assault on the Galleat silver wagon was the only reason that the warriors would return home with any level of wealth. He had handled it expertly with no trace of their associations remaining on the carts and equipment discovered by the soldiers of Galleat. It had been a perfect operation.
Unfortunately for Ferron’s ward, there was a clear villain to this tale. The one who valued the brother of an outsider over the needs of his compatriots. The one who wounded their hero and slew their own deg mate.
Valentin wandered the darkening evening of the drunken party with little place to truly be. He abandoned Ferron’s tent early in the party. He had little interest in being present for the aftermath of Barth’s story nor did he believe Barth wished for Valentin to be present either. The man’s bravado had shrunk when he had to explain the portion of the story concerning Valentin’s involvement in concealing the evidence of their identities and thwarted the investigation of the Galleat garrison.
Barth was not foolish. He knew that without Valentin’s intervention, connections to the Armée du Corbeaux would have been uncovered. The difference between enjoying one’s riches and decapitation at the hands of their leader was uncomfortably thin. Barth recognized such an act and spoke of his duel with Valentin under much more generous terms, showing a certain amount of respect despite their adversarial positions.
However, Valentin would quickly learn that there were still fifteen other mouths that already delivered their own greatly exaggerated versions into the cups of their drinking mates. The air towards him had already grown to be considerably hostile.
While he absorbed the criticisms and hurled threats that came from the slurred mouths of the warriors, he made sure that his face did not crack under the words levied against him. To react would be to make things worse. This was just a punishment, a natural consequence of his failure. Had he won, had he been more endeared in the hearts of the warriors, he would have been in Barth’s place. Perhaps even if he had lost, if he had been loved more, the stories would have been more generous towards his own desperate efforts.
As much as he told himself these things, as much as he steeled his heart to be prepared for such backlash, he could not help but leak tears of frustration as soon as he was no longer visible. The acknowledgment did not lessen the misery nor did it make him feel less alone.
He sighed, wiping the hot tears from his cheeks. He wished to hide away for the rest of the night, to cease to exist until the next day. Even then, what would that change? His reputation was currently being hardened into a new truth by the tales spun around these drinking circles. Hiding today would not change the story tomorrow.
Footsteps from nearby forced Valentin to slip further away from view. A warrior turned his back from Valentin and began to urinate in the fields away from the tents.
“I don’t blame you for hiding out here,” Renne spoke. “You are not well loved.”
“What is it that they say?” Valentin answered hesitantly, not truly wishing to subject his heart to the answer.
“There are two varieties,” Renne answered, the sounds of him adjusting his trousers carried over to Valentin. “The first is that you were a sniveling coward who used cheap attacks to wound Barth before surrendering on your own.”
“A bold faced lie,” Valentin replied angrily.
“I agree,” the warrior said coolly. “The second is that you were a tyrannical deggan that held no loyalty towards your fellow warriors and that Barth humbled you in a vicious duel that he was unable to escape from entirely unscathed. Though they still try to underplay your strike on Barth’s knee, crediting it more to luck than your abilities.”
“I see.”
“The first story was popular until some warriors pointed out how weak and pitiable it made Barth look. I will admit that people that were sympathetic towards you did much of the work to discredit that story and make the second one the more popular version.”
“I appreciate you trying to help me save face,” Valentin said gratefully. The designation of coward was something to be avoided at all costs.
“It is important that you are not drowned in the mud,” Renne dismissed, his back still facing the boy despite finishing his business. “I would drown shortly after you. Besides, it was Vice Deggan Morna that had the largest impact in destroying the less flattering version of the stories. I heard she’s quite upset since there is rumor that your face was damaged.”
Valentin did not respond. He followed the scar. Thanks to the honey, it was a thin line that traveled along his right cheek and terminated in a small divot near his molars. Once again, he had to feel indebted to Morna’s efforts in ingratiating herself to him. He quickly brushed those thoughts aside, he could not afford to be stingy in where he received support.
“I will have to thank the vice deggan later.”
Renne turned to walk back towards the party. He stopped after a few steps and looked in Valentin’s direction.
“If I may say one last thing,” Renne requested.
“Go on,” the boy permitted.
“I understand that you are not welcome in many circles tonight, but you cannot hide away to spare yourself the trouble. If you are not present to set the story straight, then you will be at the mercy of whatever the rest decide on their own.”
Valentin hung his arms at his sides. Renne was right, as long as he hid, he was allowing people to speak ill of him without recourse. If not for the people that had a vested interest in his image, the boy’s reputation would have been fed to the wolves with little mercy. Although it would be painful and embarrassing, he had a role to play. Renne made it clear what that role was.
“I will follow you shortly,” Valentin reassured, convincing the warrior to depart without him.
Valentin waited several minutes before leaving from his hiding place. He needed to channel the proper anger. The petulant anger of frustration that tried to cover his heart was not the proper vintage. He needed a more arrogant anger, a more confident anger.
He must be strong.
With his head held high, Valentin left the shadows that shrouded him in safety and walked brazenly in the open again. He felt some gazes drift his way but, for the most part, most had descended too far into their cups to be overly aware of the boy’s presence.
However, that did not prevent him from overhearing his name being discussed at one of the larger drinking circles. In this group, there were several members of Valentin’s temporary deg present. One acted as the primary storyteller and handled the “facts” of the matter while the rest chimed in to confirm and add their own information to the tale. They were too engrossed in the story to notice the subject of their story standing only a few paces away.
“You should have seen him blustering atop his horse,” one of the warriors laughed through his tears.
“Really, Deggan Barth shouldn’t have wasted his time fighting him,” another added. “We should have had him fight the weakest of us to break his spirit entirely. I worry that he still may be hopeful despite the beating he received.”
“Is that so?” Valentin asked, stepping fully into view of the circle.
The air was sucked out of the circle. The storytellers sat like a bunch of children caught misbehaving by their parents as they blinked in disbelief that the boy actually showed his face. The rest looked on with eager faces to see what would happen from this confrontation. After all, it is no real party without a fight.
Valentin was relieved that this was a group that was so blatantly hostile against him. It meant that he would not have to worry about Morna being present amongst the group.
“Why did you stop your story?” Valentin asked, channeling Ferron’s emotionless visage. “I was curious to hear what other fantasies you wanted to come up with.”
“You scared me for a moment,” the primary storyteller admitted with a quickened breath. He took a swig of their beer. “Why are you here?”
“I desired fresh air,” Valentin answered simply. “I was surprised that during my stroll about the camp I came to hear many stories about the events of the procurement of the silver. I wonder why your versions are so different from the ones that come from Barth’s own mouth.”
Curious gazes went back and forth between the storyteller and the story’s antagonist. To the warriors that were not present for the events, they were more or less neutral. However, Valentin could not count on that in the event that things escalated. The harsh lesson of his popularity had not been quickly forgotten.
“Deggan Barth is a humble man,” a different warrior bragged. “He did not wish to overstate his accomplishments and disrespect Ferron’s ward to his leader’s face.”
“So your superior shows respect while you show none?” Valentin asked. “That doesn’t sound right to me.”
“It sounds right to me,” the storyteller replied. The circle had regained their composure and had grown more hostile in response. “You only extend respect to those that are above you. Deggan Barth showed respect to Ferron, not you.”
The final comment elicited some chuckling from the circle, causing the boy to frown.
“I understand that Barth was respectful as Ferron is his better,” Valentin admitted, much to the delight of the warriors. “But what is your excuse?”
Valentin’s response once again quieted the circle. While some looked uneased and exchanged furtive glances with their fellows, others looked incensed by the boy’s question. They scowled, but did not yet rise to their feet to teach the boy another lesson.
“What did you just say?”
“I asked what gave you the impression that you are my betters?” Valentin rephrased. “I was unaware that when I fought Barth, I fought the rest of the deg. Are all of Barth’s accomplishments your accomplishments as well?”
Valentin’s comments only further served to ignite the pride of Barth’s warriors. While most of the other warriors seemed irked by the boy’s inflammatory comments, they were not about to jump up in a matter they were not directly involved in.
He was not finished.
“I heard you say that you should have sent the weakest amongst you to face me,” he continued. “I find that a strange thing to say. Did I not already kill your weakest member when they interfered in my fight?”
His words shared with the warriors had been like an oil slowly poured over the warriors of Barth’s deg. At the final comment, he had finally thrown the match that would spark the full inferno of rage within them.
“That was no honorable kill!” The storyteller leapt to his feet with his comrades quickly behind. “You slew them when they were unready.”
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Observing the scene before him, Valentin wondered if he was pursuing the proper course of action. While he believed that he could handle just the storyteller, all five of them were still beyond his abilities.
“Your anger is misplaced. I must ask my fellow warriors for their opinion,” Valentin countered, addressing the spectating warriors. “If someone interferes in your duel by tripping you, what would you do to the one that tripped you?”
“I would kill them for their craven acts!” A warrior exclaimed.
The others were quick to descend into angry shouts of agreement. A payment in blood was desired by all of them. They shouted that they would skin the offender alive. They would chop off their limbs and have their way with them. They would bleed them dry and use it to fertilize their fields at the next Saignee. There were no evils that these warriors would not enact in order to heal their wounded pride.
“You say these things about such a dishonorable act,” Valentin continued, taking advantage of the change in atmosphere. “I agree with you, fellow warriors. We are of the same mind. That is why I slew the warrior who interfered with the fight. A person who not only disrespected myself, but their deggan as well. They called out clearly to the world that they lacked faith that Barth could win against me through his own strength. Tell me, warriors, how would you feel about a person who attempts to delegitimize your victory through such underhanded means?”
Their responses were similarly enraged to the previous round of proposed atrocities. The sheer concept of it made them vibrate with indignation. Valentin himself could not help but feel a boiling anger in memory of that moment in his fight.
All of the shouting had attracted the attention of nearby warriors who quickly migrated towards this group to listen to what was being said by the not oft seen ward of their warlord. Their faces began to change from curious to angry once they were caught up on what had been said so far. Over a third of the camp had arrived, and those numbers were only growing.
“Once again, I agree with you,” Valentin answered, regaining the focus of the group. “Look at these warriors who share this story with you. They mourn and attempt to avenge such a person that interfered in a duel and tarnished the honor of their leader. Why is it that you give their stories any credibility? What value do they carry in their words?”
He had boiled the other warriors into a mass of deranged shouting that Valentin could barely decipher. They brayed their frustrations and frothed at the mouths to find a physical outlet for those angers. Viewing this chaotic mass of violent energy gave Valentin the smallest amount of insight as to what fearsome power Ferron wielded when he whipped these warriors into a frenzy. This is what the villagers of Etrineux had to face in their final moments.
“If you agree that you cannot trust the words of such people, allow me to tell you the truth of the matter,” Valentin asserted.
Shouts calling for the boy to get on with the story spurred the boy to tell his version.
“While searching for Sothin Marche, I came across a rumor of a large shipment of silver leaving Galleat. I, unfortunately, lost vision of enriching the warriors of the Armée and was too focused on finding Sothin Marche while we could have done both. Barth challenged me to regain leadership and I accepted.”
Valentin felt he had to admit his fault in denying the other warriors the possibility of extra payment. The boy did not truly believe himself to be in the wrong. However, if he did not concede that point here, he felt that the silenced warriors of Barth’s deg would try to regain momentum.
“Barth and I engaged in a noble duel that, while he had the upper hand, was still not close to being determined,” Valentin continued, satisfied that he was not booed too severely by his previous statements. “It was then that our match was interfered with when I was tripped from behind by a coward. That warrior, if I can even call them as such, paid for their action with their life and I lost the duel.”
This version seemed to be easily accepted by the warriors who cheered at the news that the tripper had met a violent end. However, while things were going well, he did not wish to push his luck to a point that he could not support.
“Since the duel was interfered with, I can claim that the results are illegitimate,” Valentin announced, much to the interest of the warriors who likely expected Valentin to call for a rematch.
Valentin instead filled a mug with ale from a nearby cask and held it above his head for all the warriors to see.
“Instead, I wish to acknowledge that Barth is a warrior of great strength and would have been the likely winner of the fight. I do not wish to besmirch the name of the man who brought you such valuable silver through his efforts. To Barth!”
While some of the warriors seemed disappointed Valentin wasn’t clamoring for a rematch, the rest were more than happy to cheer for the hero of the party once more and all the drinks that came with such a celebration. Barth’s deg stared at Valentin with burning eyes, but dared not do anything further.
Valentin sighed in relief. He was glad to avoid the potential rematch with Barth. Without proper growth and training, the result would be close to the same and he was not keen on getting badly beaten again. All he needed was to cast enough doubt on the loss to salvage his diminished reputation without angering the deggan.
While he wished for nothing more than the slip into the shadows after burning all of his nerve on his grand showing, the warriors that remained wished to drink with the brazen boy. They handed him refills of his drink and laughed with him.
He resisted the urges to flee at the earliest possible convenience and downed the first cup. If he did not make an effort to get to know these people when the opportunity was handed to him, there would likely not be further chances. He took his cups gratefully and encouraged those around him to share stories of their own valor.
The night was one of the more fun than he had in recent memory.
It did not take long for the anger in the group to subside and be replaced by jovial talking and light jokes at each other’s expense. Valentin made sure not to join in the joking himself, but did not bother to stifle his laughter when a hilarious story was told.
The night grew long and the group began to hemorrhage exhausted warriors who were eager to return to their tents for some much needed rest. It was within one of those exoduses that Valentin bade his farewell to the remaining warriors. He was uncertain if much of the night would actually be remember by the warriors that he drank with. All he hoped was they would remember his presence fondly.
He lit a torch and made his way into the darkness. Fortunately, he did not drink as heavily as the previous time but he still swayed on an uneven gait. He was able to walk under stable feet back in the direction of Ferron’s tent.
He shoved his hands inside his cloak to shield himself from the cold breeze that gusted through the camp. His fingers brushed against the edges of the brooch inside of his pocket. He pulled the forgotten reward from his cloak and ran his fingers over the petals. He furrowed his brow at the sight of it. Was it too late to do what he wanted with his reward tonight?
It would only be a short detour, he reasoned. If he couldn’t find the person he sought, then he would use a later opportunity to do so.
Valentin took one final lap around the camp, looking intently around him in the torchlight for any glimpses of his friend. His expectations were low, night had fallen hours ago and only the most dedicated revelers remained outside in these unfriendly conditions. They were now too deep in their cups to acknowledge the passing boy.
It was when he was on the far side of the camp that he spotted who he believed that he was looking for. A tent flap opened and a slender figure slipped out into the night. They ran in a hunched position to try to make themselves smaller. Valentin tilted his head at the confusing sight.
“Bassett,” the boy quietly called to the figure.
The person froze in their tracks, slowly turning their head towards the person that called out to them.
“Is that you Bassett?” Valentin spoke again.
This time, the person quickly stepped towards him. The face of his friend was illuminated by the torchlight. Bassett’s hair seemed disheveled and his eyes were wide with surprise at Valentin’s appearance.
“What are you doing out here so late?” Bassett hissed in a whispered voice.
“I was celebrating with the soldiers,” Valentin replied with a grin on his face, the alcohol affecting his senses. “There was a misunderstanding that I needed to clear up. What about you?”
“I was,” Bassett began, looking away from Valentin. “I was visiting some friends in the camp.”
A somber expression crossed Valentin’s face. He gripped one hand on the brooch within the coat but did not reveal it. Doubt began to cloud his mind. Was this a gift that Bassett would like? Was it truly a gift if he had no use for the item? This brooch meant a great deal to Julianna. It felt inappropriate to give it away so flippantly.
“I see,” Valentin remarked. His eyes drifted towards the black ground below him. “Do you think that they’d be friends with me as well?”
“No, I don’t think so,” Bassett answered quickly. It seemed as though he were not even looking at Valentin.
“Oh, okay.”
Valentin was disappointed but unsurprised. He had waited too long to try to bolster his friendship with Bassett, so he would lose him. It was a natural consequence of his foolish actions.
“Well, I’m your friend too,” Valentin said with indignation as he fished out Julianna’s brooch. Perhaps it was the alcohol that emboldened him to do something. Even if it wasn’t an appropriate gift between boys. It was better than nothing, wasn’t it?
When the brooch was placed in Bassett’s hands, it seemed that the other boy had just began to listen to the conversation that he was participating in. He was speechless. Eyes darted between the gift and the giver.
“W-why did you give me something so nice?” Bassett asked with a flustered face. “Why?”
Valentin tilted his head at Bassett’s question. The response was not what he had anticipated in his head.
“Friends give friends gifts,” Valentin replied as though it were an obvious truth. “I have been a poor friend as of late and I know that this won’t suddenly make things better. But I just wanted you to understand that your friendship is important to me. If this doesn’t suit you, I can find something else.”
“No!” Bassett shouted. The boy clasped the brooch with both hands and he turned his back to Valentin. “I like it very much. I’m just confused why you think our friendship is in danger.”
“I haven’t spent much time with you this season,” Valentin explained. “I’ve never given you anything and had no idea what you may like. Even this was just a guess. You just left spending time with the friends that spend more time with you and buy you more things. Aren’t you happier with them?”
“No,” Bassett rejected, still refusing to look at Valentin. “That’s not true at all.”
“I don’t understand,” Valentin challenged. “How is such a claim possible when I come up short in all aspects? You don’t need to spare my feelings, Bassett.”
“I’m not,” Bassett asserted. “You are not lacking as a friend. Do not measure yourself with such flimsy pace sticks. This gift is better than any I have received.”
Despite his desire to trust Bassett without question, Valentin did not feel convinced by his friend’s words. In these late hours of the night, it was as though they were the only two in camp. Existence was condensed to only what the torchlight kissed. If it was only for them, they why did they feel apart even in this moment?
“Then turn around,” Valentin requested.
“What? Why?”
“I cannot feel your sincerity through your back,” Valentin explained. “You call me friend and then close your heart to me.”
Bassett turned to face Valentin. His eyes were red. Stray tears had escaped the reservoirs in the corners of his eyes and streamed down the side of his face. He inhaled sharply, shifting the loose mucus in his nose.
“Is your heart not closed too?” Bassett accused Valentin. “You are the last person that I expected to hear such things from.”
Valentin wanted to answer to defend himself, but he lacked the words to reach his friend. In the end, they were too similar. They both knew that the other hid something deep inside, but could never pry it away from that cloistered place without permission.
He had taken too long to respond to Bassett. The boy only offered him a sad smile before turning away again. Bassett stepped into the darkness and Valentin failed to reach out to him.
“Thank you for the gift, Valentin. It means a lot to me.”
Valentin stood for some time alone in the darkness that engulfed him. What was a refuge only moments before became a place of suffocation. Though Bassett appeared to enjoy the gift, he felt little closer to the boy than he had earlier. Even now, they held each other at an arm’s reach, never daring to get closer out of fear of exposing the raw pieces of themselves. Valentin knew that there was something Bassett was not telling him just as Bassett knew Valentin hid a crucial piece of himself.
It was a lonely feeling.
He took his time to return to his tent, dousing his torch in a bucket outside. Ferron did not stir at his presence. The man’s breaths rose and fell without interruption. While making as little noise as possible, Valentin slipped into his own cot and stared up at the lightless ceiling.
As he sleeplessly lied within the tent, he ruminated over his failings. He spiraled from his perceived failing with Bassett to his failings as a leader to his failings as a warrior. The season had been the worst of his short career. However, and most crucially, he was still alive to improve. He had to seize the opportunity before him and become more than he already is. He could not afford to ever feel satisfied until he reached the pinnacle.
Valentin remembered something that his father told him.
When Valentin had first started learning the skills of the wine merchant, he had been upset that he was struggling to grasp even the basic concepts. As the youngest child, he had no option but to compare himself to his older sisters who were already contributing to the vineyard and receiving praise from the adults in his family.
While Roland had the reputation of being a blunt and unrelenting man in town, he had the ability to take a softer approach in front of clients in order to woo them into a favorable relationship. On one of these regular days, Valentin had expected a scolding over his most recent display of ineptitude. Instead, he received something wholly different.
“The first time a person does anything, it will be difficult. Even the first several times can be a challenge. But through repeated action, anyone will become skilled. So much so that it can be done without thought. It becomes as natural as breathing.”
Valentin recalled not being convinced by his father’s words as he had never seen a Duvin struggle with these tasks. He distinctly remembered the feeling of his frustrations bubbling and a difficulty wording his responses. However, his father had picked up on the meaning of the wordless tantrum and had answered correctly.
“Even I had difficulties in the beginning. I was always at the mercy of your mother whenever I made a mistake.” His father had laughed and scratched at his back. “Even your sisters struggled at first. Jeanne made the very same tantrum that you are right now.”
Valentin struggled to believe such a claim at the time but now it made sense. Whether it is farming, or smithing, or fighting; nobody starts off with skill. Even something as simple as becoming a good friend did not come naturally. But in time the thoughts required to perform those tasks melt away like snow in spring. Once he becomes skilled at fighting and killing then the battlefield would gain repetition to him.
March, stab, kill, drink, burn.
They would return to Verbosc in the morning, satisfied with the riches that they had claimed this cycle. More campaigns were assured in their future. With a large portion of warriors marching northwards, more and more nobles and merchants would have to rely upon Ferron to resolve their issues. When the Armée was called upon, Valentin was resolved to be prepared to take advantage of those opportunities and grow even more, even faster, than he already was.
He couldn’t lose anymore.