The first die had been cast and Verbosc became rife with mistrust and confusion. After several clans sent numerous agents to investigate the aftermath, no culprit could be identified and no witnesses could offer anything more but vague descriptions of lightly armored assailants in black cloaks who referred to each other by number. The information collected implied the use of an elite force and the quarreling clans had no choice but to assume any of their adversaries possessed one.
With no assigned responsibility, all the clans could do was review the evidence and draw their own conclusions. Entuloun’s manor was reduced to ash along with their heir. Simultaneously, several ships docked on the northeast shore of the Linnbeatha were set to torch and settled into the shallows. The clans who owned the vandalized vessels held the shipping manifests close to their official’s chests to avoid revealing further information. All that was announced was that it was a complete loss of merchandise.
While the city simmered in directionless anger that leashed their desired revenge, the true culprits were making a casual escape from the region. Their black clothing stuffed away in sacks and buried beneath other luggage in carts pulled by mules. The cast that headed eastward were garbed in vibrant colors and were escorting two valuable individuals.
“Have you fared well this Faur, Zalavo?” Valentin asked politely.
It had been several seasons since he had seen the tepid apothecary. Many of his assignments of late had been entirely separate from the main body of the Armée. The only reason they were in contact this cycle was by virtue of this escort. Otherwise, Valentin imagined Ferron would dispatch him to who knows where to accumulate more of these small favors.
“The streets are filled with fools giving each other grisly wounds with rusted tools,” Zalavo complained listlessly. “And that was before Tiarna Bellafon passed. I cannot say that I’ve fared well at all.”
“At least you can always look forward to a new day,” Renne offered cheerily. Compared to the dispositions of Zalavo and Valentin, Renne’s warmer disposition felt almost alien to the point it felt they were speaking entirely different languages.
“I very much do not look forwards to my next task so I have no optimism for tomorrow,” the healer countered in a way that was as succinct as it was dreary.
Renne shrugged and quickly gave up on salvaging any further conversation. The rest of the escort fell silent for a time, the mood soured by Zalavo’s milquetoast disposition and short answers. Valentin sighed at the healer’s entirely predictable behavior. However, he did not find the silence unwelcoming.
In a way, the somber attitude was more fitting for the region that they found themselves in. There was little by the way of mirth since the night attacks shook the higher echelons of Verbosc society. Such unrestrained happiness would only prove to be suspicious. The brand of jokes exchanged between warriors and peasants alike were of a more morbid nature. It was humor reserved for people that were in neighboring bhaints, trapped and dependent on external forces to survive.
Along with that morbid camaraderie came the understanding that time does not stop for war. Stomachs still need to be filled, goods still need to reach the other side of the lake, and souls still needed to reach the Great Spirit.
Unlike the openly hostile coexistence that the residents of Verbosc could enjoy, the farming villages that surrounded the city did not typically have mixed allegiances. Fences were mended, sheep were herded, and fields were inspected. They all stopped and watched the sizable escort pass their lands with a healthy amount of paranoia and distrust. The backs of their minds flooded with thoughts as to whether or not they’d be the target of the next raid.
The best thing they could do to be temporary occupants in these people’s minds was to ignore them. Looking elsewhere, Valentin caught a glimpse of the bandages on Zoe’s leg. Despite finding some difficulties placing weight on it, the thigh wound seemed to be healing nicely.
“How are you feeling today?” Valentin asked as he had the previous several days.
“I’m fine,” she replied curtly. Her tone was short and her voice colored with the annoyance of someone who had been asked the same question repeatedly over for days. However, Valentin believed he had seen her smile.
“That reminds me, Zalavo,” Valentin reluctantly said to the healer. “I used the last of my carocome honey on Zoe’s wound.”
“Unfortunate,” Zalavo replied without even looking Valentin in the eyes.
Valentin swore under his breath at the vexing answer he was given. The last vestiges of his pleasure in seeing the healer fully depleted. It was Valentin’s opinion that Zalavo took a secret joy in the way that he interacted with others. Nobody was that naturally obtuse.
“Would you provide me with another batch?” Valentin requested. “It has done wonders in reducing my deg’s casualties.”
“If our task goes well, then I will consider it,” Zalavo replied. “Until then, I encourage you to fight as little as possible. Maeve, take a look at her wounds when we make camp. We can’t have her leg healing improperly.”
While Valentin made a sour face at Zalavo, both he and the healer drifted their eyes towards the unresponsive druid. Her eyes were fixated on Valentin. More specifically, the object that dangled from his waist.
Perhaps it was the jostling of riding Vescal, but it was only when he was conscious of Maeve’s gaze that he felt the mask shake against his leg. He initially wished to store it away while they rode but the mask had shook so petulantly that he received perplexed looks from his warriors. They would not question their well-connected deggan’s strange baubles openly. However, that did not stop their curious side glances. It appeared that Maeve was no different.
“Maeve,” Zalavo said again with a disappointing level of bite that would not even gain the attention of a well-trained dog.
“Maeve,” Valentin spoke instead. “Are you feeling unwell?”
The mask ceased its shaking and Maeve blinked blankly back into the present. A wary curiosity washed over Valentin towards his ancestor’s relic.
“I am fine,” she replied curtly. Her sharp tongue felt to Valentin more motivated by the amount of eyes upon her than anything he had done.
“Check her leg when we get to camp,” Zalavo repeated.
“Yes,” Maeve answered with a nod.
They rode in silence for a few minutes. While she was attempting to be less obvious than earlier, Valentin felt Maeve’s eyes furtively peer towards him. If it had not been trained out of him, this awkward stand-off may have persisted for days. Traveling with Zalavo certainly did not help her expand her sociability.
“What is bothering you, Maeve?” Valentin asked when he caught her looking his way again.
“There’s a spirit inside that mask that you’re carrying,” Maeve informed him, pointing at the accessory. “Where did you buy it?”
“Ah,” Valentin replied with a smile. “I’m aware. It is the spirit of the Guerros ancestor. We’ve come to an arrangement. Is something about it bothering you?”
“Well,” Maeve stated, making an annoyed face and touching her tilted head with her fingers. “It’s been speaking to me ever since it realized that I could hear it. I understand that being unable to be heard is frustrating, but.”
“But?” Valentin attempted to probe further.
“It’s saying some uncomfortable things,” Maeve replied hesitantly. “Mostly about my appearance, about what it would have done it still had its body. It…spoke in great detail once it knew I could understand its exact words as opposed an empathic link.”
Valentin unfastened the mask to he could look the spirit in the eyes. It felt bizarre to him that he was going to berate an inanimate object. He felt that others were watching him and boyish embarrassment held his words briefly at bay. However, a much more powerful anger and indignance sprung from the same source. It was irrelevant whether the ancestor’s behavior was due to its true personality or an unflattering memory, he would not be treating it lightly.
“Listen to me,” he ordered the mask with a growl. His harsh tone made several of his warriors sit in attention instinctively. “I do not care if you are my ancestor. If you speak so carelessly about and towards people that I care about, I will bury you and ensure that this is the last time you see the world outside your tomb.”
The mask trembled a response in Valentin’s fingers but he still refused to directly commune with his ancestor. He gave an expectant look towards Maeve to be an interpreter instead.
“It’s unhappy that you haven’t worn it since taking it from the shrine,” Maeve spoke on the mask’s behalf. “It says that it is bored, among other things.”
“Other things?” Valentin inquired.
“It’s showing frustration towards you, its daughter, and the ‘current era of humanity’,” Maeve explained.
“A tantrum?”
“A tantrum,” she confirmed.
Valentin returned the mask to its place at his side. His ancestor could complain about him all it wanted. If it could act in a trustworthy way, he would eventually accept its conference. He couldn’t help but smirk a little. After laughing in Valentin’s face with such authority, it had only lasted barely twenty days before it fell into boredom.
Valentin too would fall to boredom soon enough. The escort would follow the safe and familiar route that would lead them through the heart of Orso in all of its unremarkable glory.
Valentin mentally reviewed his planned itinerary. It would take forty days without delays to reach their destination. Following the guidelines that Ferron gave him, they would stop to resupply every five days and stop to rest in an inn and bathe every ten days. If they were on track, their first two stops would be Arnesbourg and Sarcinel. With flat terrain and several days in a row without rain, Valentin hoped that they would make rapid progress along the first two legs of their journey.
Fortunately, the good weather persisted and their steeds were hale. The day was calm and the night would be dry. Miles passed by without issue or worry as they followed the road along the Orstine River.
It took until nightfall and flasks to be opened for Valentin’s warriors to regain their personality. They sat around a singular fire baking breads in pans and telling stories to one another. Due to the conditions surrounding their departure, they had not had the opportunity to speak to each other about their respective portion of the mission. The alcohol assisted the conversation to devolve quickly into a competition of who earned more merit.
“It is clear that our side performed the greater deed,” Mannix, a warrior from the ship raiding team, concluded.
“The only thing that is clear is that your head is full of rocks,” Kerwin retorted aggressively, drink held tightly in hand. “How could you compare the two achievements? Not on was our accomplishment more impressive, but our difficulty was far greater.”
“You boast of the accomplishments of your group sure,” Cathmor, a large warrior assigned to Renne’s group, argued. His brown mane blended in with the fur collar of his coat. “But what were your individual accomplishments? How much of your victory was handed to you by Deggan Valentin? I heard you held a sack open and stole jewelry while our deggan killed all the noble warriors.”
“That pilfered jewelry is what’s feeding you now, oaf,” Zoe barked her way into the conversation. “You couldn’t steal anything from those poorly guarded ships?”
“Says the injured one that almost ruined everything,” Caera retorted with a snide grin. The tall woman stood over Zoe, the light of the fire illuminating only half of her face. “Maybe you would have been better suited switching places with me. I wouldn’t have disappointed Deggan Valentin like you have.”
“You think you could have done a better job than me?” Zoe challenged. “I took on six- no, ten enemies!”
Valentin silently watched the debate unfold before him. Counter to his intuition, allowing this conflict was for the benefit of the group. The tiring dance of boasting and chest puffing served to create a soft hierarchy. Without these small outbursts and conflicts, the internal pressure caused by the lack of a pecking order would cause a more catastrophic outburst at an uncontrollable time.
His only concern at the moment was that he felt that inadvertently created factions within his own group. When assigning the groups with Renne, he chose to place people that he knew got along well together to prevent any internal conflicts during such a sensitive mission. However, it seemed to have stuck after the mission completed. Even when traveling, those that went to the manor rode to Valentin’s right while those that went to the docks rode on his left.
Even if they weren’t directly participating in the argument, the rest of the deg was playing close attention to the outcome of the argument. Mutterings of who was stronger between Cathmor and Kerwin were not new and they were eager to see that debate settled once and for all.
The only people that seemed disinterested in the argument were Médéric and Marotte. Médéric attempted to read a loosely bound book in the dim light of the fire. He contorted his body into an odd position to best get the light to illuminate the transcribed words. Marotte whittled at a block of wood with a knife. Her attention was too funneled on her blade to pay attention to the squabbling.
“Why don’t we settle it once and for all then?” Caera challenged, her hands confidently planted to her hips. “Show me the strength that took out ten people at once.”
“I’ve been waiting to knock a few teeth from your grin,” Zoe replied, rising from her seat to confront her challenger.
Seeing that others had reached their boiling point first, Kerwin and Cathmor backed off from their own challenge to watch the one that was erupting. Saliva was reactively swallowed by dry mouths thirsty from bloodshed. Their fingers reached for their weapons to commence the conflict.
“I do not permit this duel,” Valentin boomed.
The wind was sucked from the billowing sails of the vessel of conflict. Apprehensive faces strayed towards the person that dared utter such words in the presence of proud Storm Bloods. People born to fight did not accept interference easily.
“Deggan Valentin, why do you stop a fight that we’ve both consented to?” Zoe asked the question that everyone had been silently thinking.
“Do you forget the wound on your leg?” Valentin inquired coolly.
“That can’t stop me,” Zoe tried to argue before Valentin stepped in again.
“Are you planning on spitting on my efforts?” Valentin asked with a pointed, accusatory tone that silenced both challengers. “Do you think I spent all that time dressing your wounds and used the last of my valuable carocome honey for you to foolishly undo that because you got your pride wounded a little? I’m offended that you’re not more grateful.”
Valentin could see Zoe’s face turn flush with embarrassment. Even though they were the same age, Valentin appeared a father scolding his daughter. Her arm dropped to her side and she returned to her seat.
“And you, Caera,” Valentin said, directing his attention towards the other party. “I don’t understand why you are grinning so widely.”
“Sorry?” Caera asked, her smile dissipating into the smoke of the fire.
“I don’t understand why you look so pleased,” Valentin answered through an icy expression. “Even if I had allowed the fight and you had won, what is there to brag about by beating someone injured? I wouldn’t find something like that impressive in the least.”
Both parties had sat back down with their faces turned in opposite directions. Even if they were going to fight, Valentin’s words would not make them miraculously start getting along. However, it was enough to spoil everyone’s appetite for a fight.
“I don’t mind if you all fight,” Valentin spoke up again after seeing his warrior’s dejected faces. “However, I don’t like the expressions that you all were making. Let me remind you in case you’ve forgotten, you are all warriors in my deg. You are each other’s closest allies and friends in this world. If you are going to fight, do it as friends and rivals striving towards our mutual goal. End the fight with a smile and a drink. I won’t tolerate enemies serving beneath me. Of course, if you find that disagreeable, I’ll accept your challenge instead.”
Kerwin, Cathmor, and Mannix all looked at Valentin before looking at each other. While they had not seen it themselves, the story of a young Valentin drawing Barth’s blood was one that was still often told while drinking around the fire. It was a fight of a ferocity that they were not yet willing to test.
“If it’s all the same to you two, I’ve lost my appetite for fighting today,” Kerwin admitted to his previous rivals. “How about I show you my superiority through dice instead?”
“You want me to drain your purse before I beat you half to death?” Cathmor asked with a rumbling laugh. “I am more than willing to oblige.”
Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.
“Don’t neglect me from this challenge. It will be you two stone heads that will enrich me further,” Mannix goaded.
A fairly sizable gambling circle formed around the trio. Dice clattered on the wooden bowl causing money to noisily change hands. Valentin watched the game unfold with a thin smile on his face.
“You seem overly pleased with yourself,” Renne commented from behind Valentin.
“The mood is much better now, don’t you agree?” Valentin asked without looking over his shoulder.
Renne sat beside Valentin. The warrior uncorked a wine skin and took a deep drink out of it before offering it to his deggan. Valentin took the skin and took a similarly long drink. Thoughts of calm water and warm breezes filled his mind before fading into familiar nothingness.
“Aye, they were near ready to tear each other’s throats out,” Renne observed the lighter banter exchanged around the gambling ring. “If we need to separate again, let’s be sure to force them to cooperate.”
“I agree,” Valentin replied with a nod.
They traded the skin back and forth a few more times until the contents were emptied. Each swig evoked more sensations of Valentin’s past. They were thoughts of home that would have brought comfort and pride to most. However, to Valentin, all it left were feelings of melancholy and dissatisfaction.
“I wonder how long the threat of a duel will last before one of them tries their luck and takes you up on that offer,” Renne thought aloud.
“It probably won’t be until they challenge you for the position of Vice Deggan,” Valentin replied in a dry tone that masked all intention. “I’ve seen them eyeing you up more recently. You should train hard while you still have time.”
“Are they?” Renne asked with a joking smile. Seeing that Valentin didn’t return his gaze or change his facial expression, his voice grew a little more nervous. “You wouldn’t let your friend take a beating would you? Ferron keeps giving us little monsters that I’m finding ever greater difficulty reining in.”
“It’s a potent generation for certain. I’m no exception to that rule either,” Valentin concurred with a small grin. “Don’t worry, Renne, you won’t be losing your position anytime soon. None of them possess the administrative skills that you’ve honed these past cycles nor have they shown that they are fully worthy of my trust. The only ones that I’d watch if I were you would be Mannix or Médéric. Perhaps Marotte as well, you make her manage inventory often and she does better than most. I think you may be accidentally training your replacement.”
“Not interested, too much work,” Médéric commented from his even further contorted reading position. “I might have felt compelled if Vice Deggan Renne was incompetent only to protect myself and Rou.”
“You’ve put my heart at ease,” Renne said with a grateful chuckle. “By the way, where did you learn to read?”
“Learned it from a whore,” Médéric answered without mincing words. “She was a former daughter of a noble whose clan fell to ruins. You could pay a silver and she’d teach you letters while playing in your trousers.”
“I’m surprised you could learn anything like that,” Renne observed in surprise.
“Yet here I am reading,” Médéric stated while shifting his body yet again.
“Brat,” Renne spat. Even though he was only twenty six, the youth of Valentin’s deg paired with the lack of authority Old Laud possessed forced the vice deggan to take the mantel of elder statesmen. The ridiculousness of his statements was not lost on him and he sighed deeply.
“I guess there are only two that you need to worry about,” Valentin replied, opening another wine skin and passing it to Renne.
The drink was passed between the two a few times before Renne reached over to offer it to Médéric. The young man grabbed it without looking and took a healthy swig before returning to his book.
Valentin saw Renne’s eyes drift from Mannix performing well in the dice game to Marotte diligently whittling at her carving. His eyes transfixed on the knife meticulously splitting the wood with mesmerizing precision. The second in command gulped, lost in his own wine flavored pessimism.
“I think I’m going to take Marotte off of inventory for a while,” Renne said to nobody.
“Do what helps you sleep,” Valentin said with a shrug.
“Don’t make me do it or I may reconsider what I said about seeking your position,” Médéric warned.
The contested first day and night gave way to a much more civil first leg of the trip. Riders were no longer segregated by mission group. It appeared the second day groups were divided based on performance in dice.
Slowly but surely, the hilly topography was slowly flattened as though the Great Spirit had taken a rolling pin to the region. While unremarkable, it was to the benefit of their horses and mules that would not be burdened with even the gentlest uphill. It was imperative that they made strong progress through Orso.
Their meals on the road were quite austere. Brewing tensions in Verbosc made farmers far less willing to part with their grain. Barley bread and brined vegetables were the staple of the group during the first part of the journey. If they were willing to pay a premium and a farmer had a blessed cycle, they could purchase some eggs, butter, and lamb from larger villages.
The first leg of their journey ended thirty miles to the north of Mulliti in the town of Arnesbourg. Wood was a premium in the fertile fields of Orso. Without any nearby quarries, only one small stone fortress existed to defend the citizens during invasion. Only the nice homes and businesses were built of lumber of questionable quality. The majority were constructed of waddle and daub. Small cracks and abrasions formed patterns upon the dried clay surface of the buildings.
After finding an inn large enough to comfortably accommodate their party, the warriors travelled to the markets to resupply.
In times like these, it was easy to tell what social backgrounds and cultures his deg came from. Valentin and Mannix, both children of successful merchants, showed the greatest displeasure towards some of the lesser ingredients that they had to procure. While they both had a taste for nicer ingredients, their cultures led them towards vastly different palates.
Valentin, the Southerner, felt great joy when he found an olive peddler and quickly purchased much of their stock. Feeling heartened, he desperately sought out his native cadeau mer but could not locate the fish sauce this far north.
“Apologies, the people of Arnesbourg have little affinity for the aquatic flavors of Briste,” the final merchant Valentin visited reported with a short bow. “If you are staying in Arnesbourg for an extended period of time, I could procure some for you.”
“No need,” Valentin replied with a voice that tried to mask the disappointment in his voice. “I will be gone by the morning.”
“Safe travels to you then,” the merchant wished with another courteous bow.
“What do you mean you don’t sell Traenax cheese? I’ve seen numerous sheep around your village and none of them are Hergin breed?” A depressed and frustrated voice asked nearby, gaining the attention of both Valentin and the merchant.
Valentin looked over to see Mannix having a similarly exasperating conversation at a different nearby stall.
“We don’t have any northern sheep,” the shepherd replied sternly. “They don’t do well during the hot seasons, even if you shear all their wool off.”
Just before Mannix shared more choice words with the shepherd, Valentin’s hand planted onto his shoulder.
“Who-,“ Mannix began to ask aggressively before locking eyes with his deggan. “Deggan Valentin! I didn’t see you.”
“I was finishing my own purchases,” Valentin informed his startled warrior. “Like you, I had difficulty finding food that hailed from my homeland. In the end, we’ll just have to be disappointed together.”
“Yes, Deggan Valentin,” Mannix said before turning to the shepherd. “Apologies for my poor behavior.”
The pair traveled back towards the inn with their less than ideal purchases. Thoughts of a bath already crept within Valentin’s mind and soothed him in anticipation. He had chosen their stay based upon it. The selected inn was among the nicer structures in the town. Blue walls made it difficult for newcomers to lose track of. Only the inn front was made of wooden planks, the rest was painted-over hardened clay. A white dove was painted over the doorway in an effort to evoke the tranquility found within.
Inside, Valentin spotted a handful of his warriors gathered near one of the walls. All of them were members of the Renne’s half of the previous mission. Gair, the stout son of a woodcutter, Guain, the soft featured heartbreaker, and Coralie, the former Merciless Cur who followed Renne, were several drinks deep already. Their hands grasped half empty cups of beer and wine. The more attentive members noticed the entrance of their deggan immediately.
“Did you find everything you sought, Mannix?” Guain teased with a kind grin.
“I have what I need to survive,” Mannix replied glibly. “You will never starve in Orso, but you will never have a fine meal either.”
“I did not realize you were so particular about your meals,” Gair commented. “You have so such reservations when it comes to alcohol.”
“That’s a curse that all you are plagued with,” Valentin interjected dryly. “You could be given fermented trough water and ask for more with a smile.”
The other warriors seemed to tense up at Valentin’s comments. He was perplexed by the reactions. Whenever he used this style of humor in the past, he was fairly successful getting at least a chuckle. To spare himself the thought of being unfunny, Valentin chose to believe that his warriors reservations stemmed from the respect reserved for his position as their superior. Deflated, he decided to show his hand.
“A joke,” he explained with an ill-fitting grin.
Shallow laughter covered the table. However, the tension still lingered loosely in the air. Valentin convinced himself they were just frayed from travel. Another delusional excuse to cover the failed joke.
“I will not intrude further,” Valentin informed his warriors.
“Deggan Valentin, you are more than welcome to join us,” Guain said stiltedly. “Isn’t that right, everyone?”
“No need,” Valentin declined. “There are other matters I wish to attend to.”
Valentin took his leave from the group and moved further into the inn. Even if he was warmly invited to spend time drinking, he would have declined. Something far more important was waiting for him.
He ascended stairs and moved down the hallway. Plain wooden doors were replaced by a handful of doors painted blue with gilded handles. Attendants were stationed in front of some of those doors.
In front of one of the doors stood both an attendant and Cathmor. It appeared that the large man had lost the draw and had to guard his leader while the rest drank merrily below.
“Master Valentin, did your shopping go well?” The attendant questioned as Valentin approached them. Her eyes closed when she smiled.
“As well as I expected. I did not find half of what I had hoped to,” Valentin admitted.
“It brings me great regret to hear that,” she replied apologetically, dealing another blow to Valentin’s ideas of humor. “I hope that the bath we have drawn for you will raise your spirits. We removed the coals less than a half hour past. If the heat is unsatisfactory or if you find there is still smoke in your room, please do not hesitate to notify me.”
“Many thanks, Elise,” Valentin said with a far more genuine smile. He handed two silver coins to the woman and cracked open the door to the room.
While many inns of Arnesbourg could boast possessing nice communal baths, the Fluttering Dove was the only that offered private bathing arrangements. True to the Strettian practice of bathing with those you wished to bond with, the baths for these suites were designed to fit several people within the marble basins. While a lavish use of his funds, Valentin felt it was well worth investing in such luxuries occasionally. There was no way of knowing when such opportunity would be available again.
Valentin noticed that Cathmor was moving to follow him in. He narrowed his eyes at his guard and sighed in annoyance.
“Cathmor, what do you think you are doing?” Valentin asked slowly.
“Guarding you,” Cathmor replied plainly.
“Guard me from out here,” Valentin ordered in a similarly plain way. “I will not need your assistance for this.”
Cathmor grinned in a devious and knowing way that made Valentin far more nervous than if he had continued to insist on following him inside. This was knowledge that he was not privy to, so he looked to Elise for assistance.
“I can assure you that there is no chance of any hidden weapons or people inside,” Elise stated with the utmost confidence, not answering Valentin’s intended question. “Our establishment would not function without at least that much of a guarantee.”
“Enjoy yourself, Deggan Valentin,” Cathmor said, maintaining the expression that Valentin felt increasingly interested in forcibly removing from his face.
Before the door had closed behind him, Valentin understood the source of Cathmor’s mirth. Two perfumed women in thin, transparent cloth dresses flanked either side of the bath. Each wore a scarf around their necks, making it the only portion of their body that Valentin could not fully see. One held a harp in her arms while the other, a dancer, held her face in her hands with boredom. They both straightened their postures in recognition of Valentin’s interest.
“Welcome, Master,” they said in near unison.
The honorific made the muscles in Valentin’s face twitch reflexively. The flames of Valentin’s excitement were violently quenched by this unrequested development. These guests defeated the entire purpose of purchasing a secluded bath. Valentin breathed deeply and suppressed the innate hostility that brewed inside.
“I’m confused,” Valentin admitted to the women. “I was not expecting accompaniment. Why are you here?”
The women exchanged looks of surprise.
“You ordered the most expensive bathing experience offered by the Fluttering Dove,” the musician stammered before regaining a trained composure. “We are the courtesans that comes with that selection.”
“Are you dissatisfied with us?” The dancer inquired. “Would you have preferred male companionship? Or, perhaps, is it that you have a very specific taste? It can still be arranged before your water cools.”
“The fault lies with me,” Valentin explained, raising his hand to halt the words. “In my haste for luxury, I did not pay enough attention to what that luxury entailed. I prefer to take my baths in solitude.”
A quiver of a lip. A secretive look of worry. The courtesans meekly stood to leave without complaint. However, something about their behavior did not sit well with him. Against his better judgment, Valentin raised his hands to prevent the two women from fully departing the room. A glimmer of faint hope sparkled in their eyes.
“Is there a consequence for a dismissal?” Valentin delved straight towards the heart of the matter. “I will not ask for a refund for your services as it is not you to blame. I will even go so far to explain it directly to your employer.”
Another silent conference excluded Valentin. He had fully calmed down at this point and tried his best to loosen his posture and his expression to appear more inviting. It would be unacceptable if he could not make a good judgment because his mood was compromised and closed off.
“Well, Master,” the musician began to explain. “It is one matter to be rejection due to a misunderstanding in preferences. It is an entirely different for all companions to be rejected.”
“It reflects poorly on the establishment. Hurts our prestige and all,” the musician added.
Valentin nodded in understanding of what they were saying. However, he felt that there was something more that they were continuing to hide from them. Prying further would likely provide him with a predictable answer of how people of pleasure are often treated. If Valentin had more faith in druidic law, he would report every brothel he encountered for infractions against religious law on principle.
“Were you encouraged to be charitable in return for charity given to you?” Valentin asked, remembering words that he had heard cycles ago.
There was a sharp contrast in reactions between the two women. The musician had a solemn look on her face as though she had heard such a story numerous times. The dancer looked shocked at the words Valentin used. Her mind was lost in the memories of when those specific words were used against her.
Valentin sighed in resignation. Regardless of the true reason, he would not allow himself to be the cause of whatever punishment they feared.
“Very well,” he conceded. “You may stay. I am not unopposed to the peaceful strumming of the harp during a bath.
While his sharp insights had undoubtedly spoiled whatever sexual atmosphere the courtesans had worked to build, relief filled both of their eyes.
“I do have one condition,” Valentin continued. “I request that you cover your eyes to obscure your vision. Do not blind yourselves, just enough so that you can no longer see me clearly. I am a strange man that covets his privacy more than what is healthy.”
“Usually, when someone requests a blindfold, they are the ones that wish to wear it,” the musician joked. “We will comply, Master.”
The courtesans removed their scarves from their necks and tied them over their eyes. Valentin waited until they both had finished adjusting the blindfolds before he disrobed and stepped into the tub.
While the women’s presence was still not ideal, Valentin still felt his muscles unwind as soon as the warmed water enveloped him. Their presence quickly slipped from his mind in the embrace of the water. He audibly let out a grunt of satisfaction once he had fully sat inside of the tub. He could fall asleep inside of it if he were not careful.
By the time Valentin had settled himself, a delicate melody filled the room. Valentin closed his eyes and allowed the sensations to cover him.
“Apologies, Master. But I do not feel confident dancing without my vision,” the dancer admitted nervously.
“Do you know how to sing?” Valentin asked.
“I have been told that I have a nice voice,” she answered.
“Then please do that,” Valentin instructed. “To tell you the truth, my eyes are not even open to appreciate your dancing anyways.”
Wordless vocalizations joined the playing of the harp. Floral scents from the courtesans paired with the light music to create blurry visions of flowered fields and dancing at dusk in his mind. This was the way that rulers bathed. All he lacked were the sweet flavors of chilled grapes and an open air pavilion to feel Ortus’ warmth. He had to forcibly remind himself to scrub his body instead of basking further in the bliss. The water grew murky from the grime that sloughed off his skin.
Valentin forced himself away from his paradise. The visions and sensations ripped away to reveal a closed room with two blindfolded courtesans. Cool air kissed the water on his skin and made him shiver. He departed the tub and took a cloth to his body to dry off before putting on fresh clothes.
“I am finished. You may remove the scarves,” Valentin informed them.
“Was your bath relaxing, Master?” The dancer inquired.
“Far more than I had anticipated,” Valentin admitted, his eyes softened by the experience. “I have a far greater appreciation towards the art of refined bathing after this. I may have to do this more regularly.”
The courtesans looked at each other again before breaking into stifled laughter. They appeared to be brighter than they had been when Valentin first entered. Valentin tilted his head to the side with a questioning look upon his face. Were they laughing at his stark change in opinion? He supposed that he appeared quite foolish.
“You will be doomed to further misunderstanding in the future then,” the dancer joked with a quiet laugh. “This was one of the most atypical baths that I have been a part of. However, I think you will find that most would be happy to oblige.”
“Is there anything else that you need from us?” The musician asked after wiping a tear from her eye. “You have purchased us for the entire evening so, even if you have no need of us, we are not opposed to offering our services to someone else. Of course it wouldn’t hurt if they were handsome.”
Valentin furrowed his brows at the woman’s statement. He had every intention of dismissing them, yet he struggled to believe that they were truly fine with performing such duties. His own experiences seeped into his judgment.
“Is that so?” Valentin stated with disappointment over the gross misuse of his funds. “What were your impressions of the man who is standing guard outside my door?”
The courtesans drifted into thought to evoke the memory of Cathmor. If he did not meet their approval, he would end it there. There was no way he would go through all the trouble of procuring the entire roster of his warriors.
“He had nice arms and a rugged face,” the musician replied. “I don’t mind such a type as long as he is not a brute in all ways.”
“I will tell him to behave himself if he wants to be spared a beating,” Valentin stated sternly. “If he misbehaves, tell me. Thank you for the bath, it was something that I needed more desperately than I realized.”
“The pleasure is ours,” they said in near unison.
Valentin opened the door to see Cathmor leaned against the wall beside it. The man straightened out immediately in the presence of his leader, almost fumbling over himself in the process. Elise maintained her position on the opposite side of the door. She regarded Valentin with her cordial smile.
“You’re finished already, Deggan Valentin?” Cathmor asked, voice infused with surprise. “If it were me, then I may skip a meal to stay there longer. Not to judge your choices, deggan.”
“Calm yourself, Cathmor,” Valentin said, raising his hand. “The bath left me plenty satisfied. I have yet to eat today and it’s causing me a great deal of displeasure.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, deggan,” Elise apologized, accepting Valentin’s lie quite readily. “I shall bring you our nicest meals immediately.”
“Please do not concern yourself, Elise,” Valentin declined. “I intend to eat with my warriors.”
Elise bowed in acknowledgement, offering Valentin another courteous smile. Valentin returned the smile with some reservations. His uncertainty as to how the courtesans were managed made him naturally wary of the attendant.
“Cathmor,” Valentin addressed his warrior. “I’m pleased that you volunteered to take up the post guarding me. I know that you’d rather be doing anything else besides standing in front of my door all night.”
“It is no trouble, Deggan Valentin,” Cathmor replied uncertainly. It seemed that he was cautious as to whether or not he was being tested.
“In light of your selflessness and loyalty towards my deg, I permit you to spend time with the women inside while I eat. Please dismiss them and return to your post when you are finished,” Valentin instructed.
“Truly?” Cathmor asked with wide eyes. He seemed far more convinced that this was a test. “I could never accept such a gift.”
“This gift does not have hidden poison,” Valentin assured the warrior. “It was just that your appearance was…appreciated by the women within. However, I am sure that I do not need to tell you that you must show proper gentleness with such a gift. If I hear otherwise, you must prepare yourself for the consequences.”
“O-of course, Deggan Valentin,” Cathmor stammered. “I would never even dream of offending you in such a way!”
“Good,” Valentin said with a smile. He slapped the man on the shoulder. “Go on, enjoy yourself.”
“Thank you, Deggan Valentin,” Cathmor said with a bow before hurrying into the room.
After the door closed, Elise offered Valentin a knowing but non-judgmental grin. To any outside observer, it was clear that Valentin was purchasing greater loyalty from his warriors. However, there was no occupation that required more loyalty than a warrior to their leader. How many other professions required the employee to die for the employer?
“By the way,” Valentin said to Elise, “Where exactly did you get those women from?”
“The Temple of Arnesbourg, of course,” Elise replied with a look of confusion on her face. “The prostitute is a holy occupation as it was a whore that raised Ogaro. It is only natural that we offer our guests on the best kempt companions.”
“Right.”