Stray beams of midmorning light pierced through gaps in the thick gray blanket covering the sky. The largest of the beams cast a providential glow upon a town. A group of weary travelers looked upon the location with relief. After traveling for the better portion of a season, they reached the northernmost point of Strettia, Allbost.
The town of Allbost sat on the on the southern shore of Lake Telgrig. Once an outpost of the ruling Novesse tribe of the region, Allbost now served as an important trade hub on the north side of the country.
Upon entering Allbost, one would be right to assume there wasn’t anything particularly atypical about the town. Hovels and structures that you could find in any country lined the streets. However, if one were paying attention, they would notice that as the roads converged towards the center of town, the buildings would show subtle changes. All the buildings would be slightly taller than normal with doorways a head and a half taller than even the towering Cathmor. Long since discarded symbols carved into the stone spelled incomprehensible words made by reprehensible hands.
It was a town that lacked identity. A location that changed hands between endless warlords and nation states. Outside of the great city of Antellis, there were few cities that housed such a diverse population of tribes. While it is under the official jurisdiction of High Tiarna Bardon Echavin, the town was mostly left to its own devices as long as it paid appropriate taxes.
Most notably, Allbost was one of the few Strettian cities that did not destroy the Novesse ziggurat. Once a shrine to Oppressor Gods, the subsequent rulers of Allbost chose to repurpose the massive pyramid to show worship to the Mother and relevant spirits of their pantheon. There was no greater evidence of this change than the banners displayed a smiling woman, her neck covered with a scarf to obscure the decapitation wound beneath.
The sounds of clashing metal and shouts distracted the death tradesmen before they fully reached their destination. Several young warriors stood around practice fields and sparred while the rest cheered and howled on the sidelines while they awaited their turn. Numerous spectators in fine clothing observed the display from a wooden grandstands on the far side of the fields. Several banners with heraldry that Valentin did not recognize as noble hung from the roof of the barracks. However, Valentin could see numerous matching tabards amongst the group. Most of the children seemed to be wearing the same dark blue clothing.
The active combatants appeared to be newly acquired trainees while many of the onlookers appeared to be on the precipice of adulthood. The few grizzled veterans that were present watched the fights pensively, taking mental notes and hollering out brief commands to their respective fighters.
“Ah, I miss those days,” Mannix sighed nostalgically at the sparring.
“Are these the martial academies that you northerners brag about all the time?” Zoe chirped from her horse.
“Aye, this is where you truly learn how to become a warrior,” Mannix replied by pounding his chest once, completely ignoring his compatriot’s confrontational words. “It’s a shame that we had to circumvent Croismor, I would have loved to visit my old academy while we passed through and show everyone how well I was doing for myself.”
“This one seems to be doing quite well for itself,” Valentin remarked. “There must be near sixty warriors to be out there.”
“It a cross-academy tournament,” Mannix explained, eager to elucidate his leader on the practice. “An academy will host several other academies and pit their best students against each other for pride and recognition. Winning these helps convince parents to enroll their favored children there to learn as well as promote their specific combat style as superior. You know, Guain and I were the top of our academy and won numerous tournaments during our time there.”
Guain puffed his chest with pride at the memory of the recent past. Valentin knew that Ferron recently recruited heavily from these northern academies, but hadn’t realized the pedigree of his deg members.
“Tell the deggan what happened when my academy came to visit,” Kerwin suggested with a wide smile that told the result already.
“I underestimated you,” Mannix said quietly. “You were from some no name academy out of Braekken and all of your classmates lost terribly. How much did that place pay to have a monster like you attend anyways?”
“Oh, you underestimated me?” Kerwin cackled. “That implies that you’d fare better now that you know what I’m capable of. You should know better after out last four bouts that you cannot win.”
“You-“
“Enough,” Valentin interjected, raising his hand to take command of the situation. He could not allow a squabble to break out now that they neared their destination. “We have a job to accomplish. Let’s settle in and escort Zalavo to the temple.”
Deflated, the warriors obediently followed their leader towards the temple grounds. The temple owned much of the land in the immediate periphery. Their long-term lodging was found in the southeast portion of the property. A nondescript barracks and low ceilinged stables awaited them. A musty odor of assailed the noses of the newcomers and set a poor tone for the rest of the building. Tightly packed bedrooms contained short mattresses with small rips along the seams, allowing straw to poke in clumps from the tears. Water stains from a recent roughshod cleaning job showed the deference that their hosts had for them.
If it were arranged out of a lack of available buildings, Valentin would understand. Even negligence on the part of whatever administrator arranged it would be acceptable. However, considering the shape of the other buildings Valentin spotted so far, it was clear that this building was knowingly assigned out of malice. By virtue of Zalavo’s cryptic response in Croismor, Valentin believed unquestionably.
“What a shithole,” Caera said to herself at a volume loud enough for everyone to solemnly agree with her.
“Should we just camp outside the walls?” Gair asked nobody in particular.
Valentin frowned. Despite the slight shown to them, he saw an opportunity. His warriors had grown too accustomed to the luxuries that he regularly offered them. Only his veteran trio of Renne, Coralie, and Old Laud seemed unbothered by the situation as they had experienced far worse in the past.
“Never let your dissatisfaction be heard by our hosts,” Valentin ordered his deg. “We’ll try to salvage the place later. Zalavo, what do you need us to do now?”
“I need to report our arrival immediately. A smaller guard force would be ideal, three or four at the most,” Zalavo explained. “I would prefer that you choose warriors with strong control over their emotions. Leave your weapons behind.”
“Understood,” Valentin replied with a sigh. He briefly lamented that he sent his best option away on a different mission and had to choose amongst the rest of his hot-blooded deg. “Marotte, Coralie, and…Old Laud. You will be joining me. Renne, try to make this place more bearable by the time that I get back.”
Valentin’s hesitation in naming a third person dealt a strong blow to the warriors. There is little worse for the morale of a young warrior than to have their leader show little faith in them. As a result, the atmosphere quickly degraded amongst those that had not been chosen.
“Deggan Valentin, would it be alright if I observed the tournament?” Mannix requested his leader.
“For what reason?” Valentin inquired in return, narrowing his eyes. “Not to get out of work, I presume.”
“Of course not, deggan,” Mannix reassured. “I was thinking that I could give you a report on the most impressive students in the tournament. Perhaps, if they impress you sufficiently, we could use them to bolster the Armée?”
“Fine,” Valentin consented. “See if you can get any of them to spar you afterwards. As for the rest of you, do whatever Renne says. Only enjoy yourselves when he allows you to. If I come back to a shithole and hear that you all have been slacking off instead of listening to the Vice Deggan…”
Valentin’s unfinished threat was more than sufficient in enforcing discipline amongst his ranks. With a satisfied smirk, he turned and led Zalavo and Maeve away from the barracks. A small cobbled path weaved between several, far nicer, buildings before spitting them out on the main road leading to the entrance of the ziggurat. They integrated smoothly into the midday crowds that moved through the heart of town.
Instead of large buildings taking advantage of the central location, a garden occupied Allbost’s central square. Well-manicured fruit trees budded with color on either side of the road and shepherded all that approached directly up the stairs to the temple’s entrance. Unlike Verbosc’s holy building, Allbost possessed no signs of destitute individuals. Valentin could not help but to wonder where they all were. Even the smaller temples had at least a handful of beggars near their gates.
“In case I had not made it clear, you need to anticipate some hostility,” Zalavo briefed.
“What are we doing here?” Valentin inquired, remembering what the healer had admitted to on the way to Croismor. “Are you a wanted man here, Zalavo?”
“I have no bounty,” Zalavo unhelpfully clarified. “I do, however, have a poor reputation.”
Valentin shook his head and quietly followed Zalavo to the stairs. Although there was a significant line of parishioners waiting to enter the temple, Zalavo sidestepped the line and marched up the stairs unimpeded. The only thing that prevented him from being accosted from the frustrated believers was the two-lined druid that walked beside him.
A large opening awaited the group at the middle of the ziggurat. Armed druids stood at the entrance and filtered people in and out of the temple. The one stripe tattooed upon their face signified that they were only druid initiates by virtue of their martial prowess. However, that thin line of ink did bear a certain amount of spiritual privilege. A privilege that currently manifested by the guards moving to obstruct the entrance of a brisk moving healer and his entourage.
“Halt!” The lead guard commanded Zalavo. “You are not allowed to bypass the line. Go back down to the beginning.”
“I am here on druidic summons. I am joined with a two-line druid. I request that you do not harry us further,” Zalavo demanded with a complete absence of authority no more effective than squeaking like a rodent.
“That druid is not of our order,” the guard refuted and gestured at Maeve’s clearly different tattoo pattern. “Perhaps if she was of higher rank, it would make a difference. Outsiders looking to do anything but pray must go through the gray building at the base of the stairs.”
Valentin could feel at the rising feeling of schadenfreude amongst the crowd of waiting citizens. It was a comeuppance that was rarely seen by the common person. The arrogant line skipper had no choice but to abide by the same rules as everyone else. Mean spirited grins crossed the lips of many of the onlookers.
“Can I bust the teeth out of their mouths?” Marotte quietly asked her leader. “All I need is one strike to make them taste blood for days.”
“And then what?” Valentin whispered in response. He had hoped that Marotte’s quiet nature would make her an optimal choice for this task. He was wrong, Gélique was the right choice.
“I feel much better about everything,” Marotte answered shamelessly with a casual shrug. Her lack of any and all effort to obscure her true feelings was much appreciated by her increasingly frazzled leader.
“Absolutely not,” Valentin rejected. “If I wanted a hot headed skull cracker, I would have invited the entire deg.”
“I have a summons with Elder Carlan,” Zalavo informed the guard. “Please inform him that I am here, then I will stand wherever that you want me to.”
“Sure you do. I’ll go interrupt his sermon to tell him,” the guard said without a shred of belief. With a hand used to moving unwanted people away from the entrance, they reached for Zalavo’s shoulder to force the healer away.
The hand never reached the healer’s shoulder. Valentin’s intercepted the guard a hand’s width away from Zalavo. Despite Zalavo’s abrasive demeanor, Valentin had to ensure that the healer was not harmed. Valentin firmly squeezed the guard’s forearm and stared at them with an impassive visage. The guard attempted to wriggle free from the man that they were naturally manacled to but found no escape.
“There is no need to get physical,” Valentin calmly advised. “How about we all take a deep breath and try this again?”
“Release your hand this instant!” The guard commanded. “Or I will be forced to see this to a violent conclusion.”
The guard’s words spurred his comrades to reach for their weapons and Valentin’s warriors to take up an aggressive posture. The onlookers remained silent during the standoff. Strangely, not one possessed the initiative to call for help. Perhaps they believed that the armed druids would have little issue dispatching these rowdy outsiders. Either way, it provided Valentin more vital time to continue the standoff with a narrow numbers advantage.
“Let’s just be reasonable,” Valentin suggested. “I am more than happy to let go if you say you won’t strike this man.”
He squeezed even harder on the guard’s arm, using all of his natural power and a little favor to apply as much pressure as he thought he could without breaking it. The guard tried to yank their arm free but ultimately failed to overcome the arresting grip.
“The two of you will be detained and will stand trial for assault upon a member of the faith and failing to observe courtesy.”
Sounds of several pairs of boots stomping along stone floors caused the guard to look over their shoulder. A pained smile crossed the lead guard’s face and a chuckle slipped out between their gritted teeth. In their eyes, they had won. While it was unclear who, someone inside saw the situation and alerted reinforcements. Soon tens of druidic guardsmen would storm out of the opening to overwhelm the man gripping their arm. There was no further need to entertain his stupid games.
“Why are you smiling?” Valentin asked with a genuine tone. “If we don’t resolve things kindly, you’re the first one to die.”
“You wouldn’t,” the guard accused. They may have sounded firm, but Valentin could see that their eyes were wavering.
You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.
“But I will,” Valentin corrected, pulling the guard closer and whispering in their ear. He tried one last attempt in forcing the guard to relent. “What I’m doing to your arm can just as easily be done to your neck. When Elder Carlan hears about what happened, we will be pardoned to continue the business we were tasked to do while you will be ash. I am fine with that arrangement, but are you?”
Despite the bluster that many warriors show about bravery and honor, Valentin knew that such bravado only applied to worthwhile deaths. Murdered at your post by an unarmed trespasser was hopefully not worthwhile.
However, the lead guard remained admirably firm. Reinforcements burst forth from the opening like agitated ants from a hill. Their weapons already brandished and their chests already heaving from the dead sprint. They quickly swept around Valentin and Zalavo, separating them from the rest of the group. Valentin, now called on his bluff, released the lead guard.
“What’s happening? I heard that there was trouble,” the leader of the reinforcements asked the lead guard.
“Please escort these two to an empty cell,” the lead guard informed their colleague. ”They will be seen during the next disciplinary committee.
Valentin and Zalavo were willingly manacled and escorted inside of the ziggurat. An impassioned speech of druidic virtues assailed Valentin’s ears. Warm air struck Valentin’s face upon entrance. The mass amounts of people exhaling hot breath mixed with ferns and other greenery that hung from the sealing by hooks. This combination heated and moistened the interior stones and left the entire sermon space feeling muggy.
The guards kept their captives held close to the wall to not interrupt the atmosphere of worship within the room. However, they could not avoid everyone. Those that were shuffled against the wall to crane their necks to worship were gently moved out of the way of the guards.
A small staircase wound down to the base floor and below. Old, stale air filled Valentin’s nose. Light dwindled and disappeared in the corridors. Instead of lighting a torch to choke on the rising smoke, the guards descended steps with well regimented proficiency. While his balance was impaired through his arms chained behind his back, Valentin managed to match the steps without much difficulty. Zalavo fared far worse. Valentin could hear the healer stumble every few steps followed by the shuffling sounds of a guard yanking him back to his feet.
Light returned on the lowest level. They entered a space around fifty spaces across. Diagonal slits along the far side of the wall allowed some light to enter and smoke to escape. Partially occupied cells flanked the interior walls. The prisoners within regarded the newcomers with disinterested gazes.
A druid wearing a leather apron attended to a workstation at the far end of the chamber. A bucket full of water sat to her right. She shot a curious glance over her shoulder at the new prisoners, revealing to Valentin the three lines tattooed upon her face.
As Valentin and Zalavo were led jointly into the same cell, the druid ceased her task and wandered over to the group of guards. She pressed her face up the bars to get a better look at the men. While Valentin stood firm, Zalavo seemed to shy away behind him. An unsettling glee cross the druid’s face.
“Did you bring me heretics?” The druid asked one of the guards.
“No, criminals,” the guard answered plainly.
“Heinous criminals?” The druid countered, her enthusiasm greatly dampened by the answer she previously received. Valentin noticed a small, finger sized clamp in her hands.
“Petty criminals,” the guard replied, breaking the druid’s joy entirely. “They were causing a commotion at the entrance. The disciplinary committee will probably banish them from the temple whenever they reconvene.”
The druid released a childish sigh. She turned back towards her station to play with whatever she failed to finish from earlier. The guards quickly abandoned the room, leaving druid as the only being making any noise.
“What a disaster,” Valentin commented under his breath, not willing to attract the strange druid’s interest. He tried to sit on his rear, but the pull on his shoulder was too uncomfortable. For now, he rested on his knees.
Zalavo did not respond to Valentin’s comment, not that one was expected. The healer was turned away from the iron bars, opting instead to face to smooth stone walls of the ziggurat. He let out an audible exhale and laid awkwardly on his side. His left arm was pinned beneath his hip and forced him to shift his position to lie upon his stomach.
“Did your contact leave nothing to allow you to prove that you were meant to be here?” Valentin asked, questioning the professionalism of their client. “At the very least, this Elder Carlan should have left a representative at our lodgings.”
“Yes. I have the summons right here,” Zalavo replied, shifting on his side to show Valentin the front of his tunic. A small but noticeable bulge protruded from his breast pocket.
“If you had it the entire time, why did you neglect to show it to the guard?” Valentin asked Zalavo through the gritted teeth of frustration.
Zalavo did not respond to Valentin’s question, only further upsetting Valentin. He decided that he should have let Zalavo take whatever violence the guards wished to inflict. At the very least, Zalavo should have announced his strategy. No, that was far too much to expect. The blame landed solely on Valentin for not being better prepared for this sort of behavior from the beginning. He knew that’s what Ferron would tell him.
“It’s better if I am in custody,” Zalavo eventually explained. “It will be easier for our contact to meet us in secret if we are already inside. A small commotion at the front is nothing compared to what would be awaiting us if I were to be recognized. Though, I didn’t expect that you would make such a scene and find yourself down here as well. It seems you grown quite comfortable with using threats of physical violence to get your way.”
“Why bring us at all then?” Valentin questioned further. He found the entire situation foolish and contrived.
“I didn’t want you to come,” Zalavo answered. “It was at Ferron’s insistence.”
“So it was always your intent to separate from us.” Valentin said, filling in the blanks for Zalavo’s explanation.
Zalavo once again fell into silence. A shuffling to Valentin’s left caused him to spot a different detainee struggle to find a comfortable position on their stomach. Their eyes briefly met with Valentin’s before the quickly squirmed further away from him. Their bound hands revealed several missing fingernails. The reddened cuticles were caked with dust and grime from their cell.
The druid, finished with their work, took a bag from the workstation and left the chamber through a darkened exit that he had not seen upon entrance. He tried to stand to look at the workstation, but found it difficult to stand from the position he placed himself in.
He waited to hear any sounds that indicated that the druid would be returning. Some noises emanated from the corridor the druid exited, however, those noises never sounded as though they were getting closer to him.
“Is this related to Croismor?” Valentin finally asked.
“It’s not something that you need to know,” Zalavo dryly replied. “Now find a good place to lie on your face and get comfortable. We’re likely going to be here for quite some time.”
“Does Ferron know?” Valentin probed further.
He knew the answer to his question already. Zalavo was too valuable for Ferron to be overly fussed with his past. However, Valentin did not possess the same feeling of broad amnesty that his benefactor expressed. For him, there were crimes that he could not forgive. For the sake of his often strained respect he had for the healer, he hoped that it wasn’t one of those.
“Do you insist on asking stupid questions this entire time?” Zalavo groaned. “Ask him yourself next time you see him if you are so curious.”
“Perhaps I’ll ask your contact when we meet them,” Valentin mused. “I wasn’t expecting a decent story from you anyways. Theirs will be far more entertaining, I’m sure.”
A familiar silence fell back upon the cell. Valentin attempted to stretch out his shoulders and flipped his body to kick out his legs. If they were going to be down here for a while, perhaps it was a blessing that the non-talkative Zalavo naturally stretched on the conversation. Otherwise, they may run out things to discuss too quickly.
“Since you seem in such dire need, I will tell you a story of hubris,” Zalavo announced.
Valentin turned his body around to expectantly face Zalavo. Shadows from the iron bars lined his pallid face.
“There was once a boy who grew up on the north side of Lake Telgrig,” Zalavo began after clearing his throat a couple times. “His parents were poor, but devout, members of the community and instilled those values within their son. He must serve his community dutifully and help his fellow human regardless of circumstance. He followed his father everywhere to assist others. They mended broken fences, gathered herbs for the sick, and visited widows. It was a good life of good values. A life where poverty did not feel debilitating.
On his twelfth Killicia, the powers at be decided to bless his family for the kindness and offered him a stone with a healthy glow. No longer would his family need to scrape by to survive. His livelihood would elevate them to a life of comforts. While his parents were not thrilled with the prospects of their son becoming a warrior, they chose not to deny his destiny.
Instructors from Strettia and Norzyet were brought to determine where his talents lied. However, instead of creating sparks or chilling the air, he glowed. He possessed Siloran ancestry. His blood could heal the sick and close wounds. His powers could save lives.
Of course both he and his parents were thrilled with the result. He would not be a tool of death, but a tool of life. As you may know, being a descendant of the Siloran refugees is still not overly popular amongst some. However, the druids of Allbost understood how much good he could do for the community and the region at large. Day and night, they taught him everything about medicine and surgery and the best times to use his blood to not overexert himself.
His skills showed to be everything they hoped for and more. While he could not bring the dead back to life or regrow limbs, he could do just about anything else provided he had the proper ingredients. Of course, he did not save everyone. Some were too old, some were too late, and some were cursed. It wasn’t until he managed to cure a man’s blindness that his reputation expanded rapidly. The Holy Man of Allbost is what they called him. After that, infirm flocked from all four corners of Strettia and Norzyet to meet with him. Even people from Hetecis and Xanbo and Byrtelos showed up at the temple to receive the miracles of health.
There were thousands that needed saving and only one Holy Man. Donations flowed into the temple to determine the order in the lines. The Holy Man did not know, he was too busy frantically saving whoever was in front of him. The more difficult the ailment, the better he felt when he finally solved the issue.”
Zalavo halted his story for a moment. The groaning from down the hall had ceased and the sound of footsteps could be heard approaching their cell chamber. The three lined druid returned to the room, but did not stay long. Instead, she did a quick check of each of the occupants before climbing the stairs to the higher floors. The pair waited silently until the sounds of her boots could no longer be heard.
“So what happened to this Holy Man of Allbost?” Valentin asked, prompting Zalavo to continue his tale.
“Naturally, when his mother approached him and said that she was feeling unwell, the Holy Man of Allbost immediately rushed to her side. She complained of abdominal pain and fatigue. She had thinned significantly and did not possess much appetite. He tried numerous medicines and poultices to cure ailments that expressed similar symptoms. While none of them worked, he decided to use a medicine with a high concentration of his potent blood to solve the issue. Tell me, have you heard of a disease that causes growths within the organs?”
Valentin tilted his head at Zalavo’s question. “No, I have never heard of such a thing. How would you even know if someone has it without cutting them open and looking?”
“Those growths are not curses or a parasite,” Zalavo continued, not answering Valentin’s follow up question. “Blood doesn’t make those growths go away. It only makes them larger and more vicious. An ailment that would have killed his mother in seasons or cycles killed her in days. It was his blind faith in his own power that had done so.”
“So what did he do?” Valentin inquired, feeling that was not the end to things.
“He could not understand what had gone wrong or what happened to his mother. Before she was burned, the Holy Man dissected his mother to figure out the true cause of her death. That was when he found the growths in her organs. However, he still did not understand what the growths were or how they reacted to Siloran blood. All he knew was that they were the culprit.”
Valentin felt his skin crawl from Zalavo’s impassive and detached retelling of his past. The healer’s voice did not even waver when discussing the butchering of his own mother’s corpse. Valentin cast his eyes downwards reflexively.
“He needed to replicate his findings. He requested to the Elders that they brought him the infirm whose symptoms matched his mother’s in addition to his normal intake of patients. They agreed, arranging him a workshop in the basement of the ziggurat so that he could work in peace.
With the unshakeable belief that he was saving humanity by learning the inner workings of this mysterious disease, the Holy Man of Allbost began to experiment on those that arrived claiming the same symptoms as his mother. He gave them small amounts his own blood mixed into flavored water and checked for reactions. Most of them recovered afterwards, their ailments having nothing to do with the growths. Many lied about their symptoms as they had learned that saying they were afflicted with such things gave them an immediate path to the Holy Man. It was those that grew weaker that he took special interest in.
When the first of those patients died, he dissected them to find the same growths in their body. A man arrived saying that he had misshapen testes, same growths in a new location. The Holy Man was learning that these growths could be anywhere on a person, but he learned little from his deceased patients that he did not already know from his mother. So he decided to take it a step further. If these people were already destined to die, he should at least learn something from them.”
Zalavo stopped speaking again. He did not have to continue the story if he did not choose to. Valentin could easily infer the horrors that those diseased patients experienced to expose their living tissue to the desperate holy man. Valentin internally bristled against Zalavo’s perceived insinuations about him. His actions were in no way equivocal to such cruelty.
“Did he figure it out?” A voice from the neighboring cell wondered. Their dirtied face turned towards the chattering pair.
“What did you say?” Zalavo asked in response.
“Did it find out how to stop the growths?” The prisoner questioned.
“He did not,” Zalavo replied with a despondent sigh. “He learned about many other organs and body parts. He learned how to brew potions that could completely numb the body to pain and put people into comas. His medical knowledge grew tremendously and his healing became more efficient. Yet, he never found out how to kill those growths and so those sacrifices felt meaningless. He could no longer call those actions good or beneficial for humanity. He was simply a monster. And so he showed the Elders of Allbost what he had done so he could at least have some dignity when he died.”
“Was he executed?” The prisoner asked, unaware they were speaking to the culprit.
“No,” Zalavo answered. “At least not at the hands of the temple. The crime was too large for them to make a deliberation on without consulting High Tiarna Echavin. He had to stand in a private trial in Croismor. Then he wasn’t seen ever again.”
Zalavo ended the story at that moment and turned his face to look towards the wall. His flattened body seemed to shrink into the shadows and disappear entirely.
Valentin silently watched the healer for a time. In hindsight, criminal seemed to be a generous term for Zalavo. Yet Valentin could not call him monster. Were the kills Zalavo performed as a doctor more numerous than Valentin’s as a warrior? Did the lives he save justify or balance out those evils? At the very least, Zalavo could advocate that he saved people. Valentin had no such good deeds attached to his name. Each kill further lowered him in the pool of blood that all killers eventually drown in.
Yet warriors were talked of favorably. To enforce peace and eradicate enemies, it was spoken of as a noble endeavor performed by those that were delivered power by the Mother. If their bodies were not meant to kill, then why were their powers so suited to it?
Without Zalavo’s story to serve as entertainment, the time within the cell began to drag on. The hard floor and the sharp feeling of manacles digging into his wrists kept Valentin from relaxing. Fortunately, he could still tell it was day by the streams of light that streamed through the slits in the far ceiling. They had not been there for overly long and their contact could not yet be considered late. As Zalavo seemed unbothered, Valentin too should allow himself to relax slightly.
Cycling his favor helped with passing the time. The power obediently followed his will through his limbs with precision that he could not possess when he began. His old moves were clumsy and wasteful, exploding power off his body without any additional effect.
He slightly pulled his arms apart to test his bindings. The chains that bound his hands together creaked as the metal dug into his flesh. Pain pulsed from his wrists as he placed a small amount of favor into his arms. He could feel one of the links begin to deflect and deform from the pressure. Though it may break his wrists in the process Valentin was reassured that he could break free if the situation called for it.
When the light of Ortus no longer shone and only torches flickered, Valentin heard footsteps descended the stone stairs once again. He tensed up in anticipation of the first stimulus that occurred in some time.
Instead of the three-lined druid woman, a tall, bony man stood in front of their cell. His torch illuminated his mustached face and bald head. He possessed a hooked nose and high, pronounced cheekbones. Four tattooed lines advertised his position within the faith. He pushed his torch into the cell and inspected the occupants.
“How nostalgic,” the druid remarked.
“Hello, Carlan,” Zalavo replied without rolling over to meet the elder. “You said that you have need of me?”
“Reluctantly, yes,” Carlan replied with a fair amount of disdain. He unlocked the cell and swung it open. “I am ashamed to admit that we could not resolve this issue on our own and now have to rely open your expertise. I’m surprised you showed up at all.”
“I don’t care about your surprise,” Zalavo said impassively. “Just free us so we can go.”
“Us?” Carlan asked while he undid Zalavo’s manacles. His eyes drifted to Valentin. “Who is this, Zalavo? He has a potent spirit hanging from his waist.”
“A supposed bright spot of the future generation,” Zalavo droned, leaving Valentin not feeling particularly complimented. “The spirit isn’t truly in the mask, it’s buried somewhere in Verbosc. He also knows all the important information anyways. We will not need to tiptoe around him.”
Valentin felt the manacles behind him unlock and fall to the ground. His shoulder sighed in relief as he stretched out his body and tested his wrists.
“Follow me,” Carlan ordered the pair. “I will show you what plagues us.”