An instructor led Valentin and Caera through the Adharc Gorm student barracks. They passed the younger students that played in the halls or idled in their rooms. Childish curiosity attracted their attention towards the unknown guests before they quickly grew bored and turned back towards whatever it was they were up to already.
The end of the barracks reserved for the older students sat silent. What was normally a boisterous and lively area sat emptied of occupants. Open doors revealed cots devoid of bedding and possessions of those that graduated and waited patiently to be filled with the next crop of students. Whether the previous owners had a pleasant experience or a bitter one, it was not reflected in these barren rooms.
Towards the end of the hallway stood a solitary room with the door closed. Without so much as a knock, the instructor opened the door and peered in. Some rustling and a small yelp of surprise could be heard from within.
“Tara, you have guests,” they informed the girl inside before handing Valentin their lantern. They quickly turned and walked in the direction whence they came.
“They aren’t trying to hide it, are they?” Caera remarked as she watched the instructor disappeared around the corner. “I wonder if you can get reimbursed.”
Valentin, feeling dread that his impulsive behavior likely resulted in loss, ignored Caera’s comments and stepped into the room. Sat alone in the dark on the bed with a sling made of cloth cradling her left arm was the wilted Tara Killináth. The light of the lantern illuminated her startled face. Streams of tear-moistened charcoal snaked down her cheeks and her unkempt hair flowed down to her shoulders.
Her eyes viewed her guests with a mixture of rage and embarrassment. She tried to straighten her pose and harden her expression to command the respect she feared to have lost. In the face of Valentin and Caera, it was a pointless front. All that remained was pity.
“I wonder where the apothecaries are,” Caera prodded, taking an exaggerated look around the empty room. “I’m sure they’ll be back right away to tell us that she’s fine. I hope that the Academy Master hasn’t tried to sell us a race horse with a broken leg.”
“Who are you to walk in my room and demean me in this manner?” Tara demanded with a rumbling voice.
Valentin looked around the room. It was astonishing how quickly fortunes could change. Compared to adulation she received from the spectators earlier, the room she currently resided in felt barren and abandoned. A chest full of trophies and previous accolades sat tauntingly on the far end of the room. She was not even left so much as a candle to bring light into her room or any refreshments to dine on.
“My name is Valentin Guerros,” Valentin introduced with a cordial tone. He handed Tara the scroll of her contract. “Just recently, the Armée du Corbeaux won the bid to become your new employer. It’s unfortunate that you were unable to be involved in the graduation auction. I’m sure it was something that you were looking forwards to for a while.”
Shock spread across Tara’s face. She slowly rose to her feet to stand at eye-level with Valentin. Hope mixed with distrust as she tried to temper her expectations.
“T-truly?” Tara asked, her voice quavering on the verge of tears. “Despite my wound, you still wanted to put me into service.”
Valentin saw Caera look sidelong at him from the corner of his eye. Despite the brief warmth he felt from Tara’s joy, he was not in a position to be generous for generosity’s sake. Her expectant gaze caused him to falter. He did not wish to make her face the reality that all three of them could clearly infer. Valentin took a short breath, knowing that he needed to be the person to take responsibility for his own actions.
“Please tell me more about your wound,” Valentin requested, trying to broach the topic gently.
“They said it was a gruesome break,” Tara admitted nervously, the consideration to lie dancing in her eyes. “It would take some time for it to heal on its own and they’re not sure I’ll have much mobility in my elbow. They recommend that I use a shield in the future.”
Valentin contemplative bit at the corner of his mouth. He cursed inside of his mind that his gamble didn’t result in an ideal conclusion. Fortunately, it wasn’t as catastrophic as a break on her right arm. However, there was no telling when she was battle-ready again. With conflict so close around the corner, investments in a cripple’s future would only be irresponsible.
There was something that he could do to improve this situation, but Zalavo was already overwhelmed with this bizarre disease. Would he really pull away from his atonement to handle Valentin’s immature purchases?
“I can’t guarantee that you’ll receive treatment, but I travel with a renowned healer,” Valentin said. “Perhaps there is something that he could do for you that the healers here were unable to.”
“You’d do such a thing for me?” Tara beamed. If it weren’t for the injury, Valentin was certain she’d have tried to hug him.
“I advise that you save your gratitude until after I succeed in employing the healer’s help,” Valentin warned, taking a reflexive step backwards. “They are not only highly busy, but they possess a most displeasing attitude. You must temper your expectations and be prepared to receive unfavorable news.”
A shuddering sigh left Tara’s lips. A glimmer of hope faded as soon as it was shown. Valentin knew it was a rude thing to do after offering his hand, but it would be all the more devastating if he was unable to fulfill a promise.
“Of course, Young Master,” Tara pouted. “I got ahead of myself.”
“It is not something to be sorry for,” Valentin dismissed. “Are you able to travel?”
“I am able to walk or ride a horse slowly,” Tara answered. “I know it is inappropriate to make a request, but it would be better if I do not travel long distances for the next few days.”
“Let’s go,” Valentin instructed, turning towards the door. Caera opened it for her deggan. “I need to meet with this healer anyways. If we’re lucky, we can have your matter solved sooner rather than later.”
“Right now?” She asked in surprise. “But it is so late in the day.”
“Yes, right now,” Valentin replied. “He should be finished with his work for a rest. If you are unable to, then we will just have to wait for another time. Don’t push yourself.”
Tara kicked her legs out and jumped up to her feet. She followed Valentin out into the hallway with a brisk stride. However, once she got outside, she gave one final long look into her dark room. Valentin waited silently, allowing her to process whatever emotions and memories that flowed through her. The excess of those emotions spilled from her soul through her eyes to wet her cheeks once again.
“I’m ready,” she said with conviction.
They departed the student barracks and entered the stables. Overwhelming acrid scents of smoke filled their nostrils and caused them to cough. Valentin spit out bitter saliva and covered his mouth with a cloth. Despite the worrying smell, none of the people on the sparsely populated streets seemed to be worrying.
Vescal and Caera’s horses waited inside with the rest of the mounts. They anxiously stomped the ground and whinnied, even when Valentin took the reins. He had to stroke his steed’s nose several times before the horse calmed down enough to be led from its stall.
“What’s going on?” Caera asked the stable hand, placing a hand over her mouth and nose.
“Must be a funeral,” the stable hand remarked with a shrug. “The fire bells by the well haven’t rang yet.”
“I don’t think so,” Valentin disagreed, turning his attention from the needy Vescal to join the conversation. “Funeral fires don’t smell like this.”
The stable hand shrugged. As long as he wasn’t in danger, he didn’t seem to care what was going on. Valentin handed the man a few copper coins and led Vescal into the street. While Caera clambered up onto her horse, Tara stood awkwardly on the cobblestone. She looked between Valentin and the still skittish horse.
“Come here,” Valentin ordered, beckoning Tara to come to the side of Vescal. “I’ll help you up.”
Tara obediently stood before Valentin. Her stoic face made him feel self-conscious as though he were the only one feeling bashful about the situation. Shaking away stupid thoughts, he tightly gripped her waist and lifted her high enough to secure her left foot onto the stirrup and kick her right leg over the other side.
Valentin climbed up behind her and reached under her arms to hold the reins. Her lack of reaction brought him relief. His repeat interactions with Zoe and Caera had warped his expectations of interactions.
“Lean back into me,” he instructed as he flicked the reins.
Vescal, now no longer pent up inside the stable, cantered calmly down the street. Caera’s needed a few more moments of firm cajoling before it chased down the riding pair. Valentin could see Caera giving him a foolish grin. Despite his better inclinations, he still turned his head to look at her.
“I didn’t know you to be such an accommodating man,” Caera commented. “I thought you’d rather die than share your horse since you’ve never ridden double in the past. Don’t tell me she’s your type.”
“Must you constantly needle me?” Valentin questioned with an exasperated tone.
“Frustrating you is a hobby of mine,” Caera admitted. “Apologies that I struck a nerve earlier. It’s just common that men will give a reason for their behavior while hiding the true reason. I wanted to know if your previous rejection was really for the reasons that you stated.”
Valentin rode silently. He let Caera’s apology float for a while. Thankfully, Tara was not interested in the conversation or she had the good sense not to pay attention. The roads grew lonelier and lonelier as the smoke continued to suffocate the sky. He hastened Vescal slightly to get off the roads faster. However, he did not have much confidence that the barracks did much to keep the smoke scent from seeping into their quarters.
“And, do you now think it’s for the reason I stated?” Valentin asked.
“No,” Caera answered bluntly. “It still feels as dishonest as when I heard it the first time. I just realized that it’s not a reason that I can resolve easily.”
Valentin’s mouth felt uncomfortable and ashy. He scraped his tongue with his top teeth but felt no relief from the discomfort. His excuses were transparent and ineffective. He wondered if Zoe had seen through his excuse as clearly as Caera had.
“Allow me to apologize as well,” Valentin reciprocated. “While I have my own reasons for my views, I lacked patience. It is not something that I like to discuss openly, so it’s no wonder that curiosity seemed to get the better of all of you. But, since you’ve figured out this much, allow me to give you a plain warning. The only reward you will receive for discovering the reason is my scorn.”
“I will be sure to remember that,” Caera affirmed. “I understand that you are also sleep deprived. When my older brother first became a city guard, he had to work night patrol. I know firsthand how irritable someone becomes without any sleep. Black root can only do you so much good.”
Valentin nodded at Caera’s assessment. While he found her annoying often, he also appreciated her honesty and sensibility. She didn’t hide her thoughts. He rarely found himself uncomfortable or on edge in her presence and it was even rarer that that discomfort was something that she did knowingly. It was why he chose her to be his guard today, why he chose her over Cathmor to visit Tara.
“If you resolve whatever issue you are going through, will you accept my proposal just once?” Caera asked seriously.
A resolution. What such a thing possible? It sounded like a nice concept. For such feelings to be eradicated and he could be liberated to be as close as he wanted to whoever he wanted. He shook his head of those fantasies. Valentin felt that the thing that kept him away from others was now so inextricably tied to who he was now that he would not suddenly accept such acts anyways.
If he killed Morna, would these feeling go away? Could he be the same as everyone else?
“If there comes a day when I desire such things, I’ll go to you first,” Valentin replied, deciding to humor the warrior. “But, I better not hear about you asking for special treatment afterwards. I will give you no such favors.”
“I hope you’re not agreeing so that I’ll leave you alone,” Caera replied suspiciously, Valentin’s positive response unnerving her more than any amount of rejections ever could.
“Determine that on your own,” Valentin said with a non-committal shrug, secretly enjoying that the roles were reversed for once.
“You’re a more carefree group than the rumors suggest,” Tara observed casually.
Tara began to cough heavily from the polluted air and Caera quietly choked under her hand. Through the soupy smoke, the outline of the derelict barracks could be made out amongst its nicer neighbors. A lone figure stood in the training field watching the horses approach. They raised their hand and waved it towards the riders.
Valentin rode up next to the figure and quickly dismounted. Tara kicked her leg over the saddle and surrendered herself to be lowered by Valentin.
“Put these on, quickly,” Maeve’s voice muffled from the numerous cloth she was wrapped in. Three bloodstained wooden charms hung from strings wrapped around her finger. “They will help with the smoke.”
Valentin helped Tara put hers on before donning his own. The suffocating noxious air slowly dissipated until he could breathe normally again.
“Thank you, Maeve,” Valentin said gratefully. “I was worried that I would not be able to sleep tonight with all of this smoke.”
“You need to go with me to the ziggurat,” Maeve instructed, ruining Valentin’s hopes of sleeping anytime soon. “The Elders wish to discuss something of immediate importance and the warriors cannot agree to anything without your presence.”
Valentin sighed, looking deflated. Maeve, handed him the same root Zalavo gave him earlier that morning. This one felt far less effective than the first one. Invisible weights held down his body and soul, rendering him in a state between asleep and alert. He shook his head vigorously to startle his body back awake.
“Was Renne unavailable?” Valentin questioned, chewing obediently on the unpleasant root.
“He refused to make an agreement without you,” Maeve explained. “He said it was far too important a matter for him to assent to without your input. Please, we must hurry as the meeting has been at a standstill for hours now.”
“Does it have something to do with this smoke?” Valentin inquired. “Is it of a spiritual nature?”
Maeve nodded with a grave look in her eyes. She turned towards the direction of the ziggurat. The immense structure cast a hazy shadow within the infinite crackling gray.
“Be honest with me, Maeve, how bad is it truly?” Valentin inquired.
She stared at him. Her eyes drifted away from his, looking towards the ground and a guilty expression formed upon her face. Whatever it was that the temple wanted them to do, it was likely that they would not all return alive.
“It’s dire,” Maeve answered softly. “Worse than Concasque.”
Maeve’s expectant gaze met Valentin’s. He scowled and turned his back to her. To entertain it further would only be folly. If he lost his deg now, it would only cripple the war effort. He would not allow any softness in his heart to hamstring Ferron’s plans and dismantle his warrior’s faith in him.
“We must flee this place,” Valentin said to Caera.
“I am not leaving,” Maeve proclaimed, stomping her foot into the ground. “Neither is Zalavo. You will have to return without us.”
Valentin whipped his body back around. Frustration and confusion vied for supremacy in his mind. Maeve stood resolutely in place, her eyes full of righteousness and defiance. Her protest made Caera give an uncertain look to Valentin, silently asking whether or not she should proceed with the orders given.
“What are you talking about?” Valentin demanded, anger bubbling out of the cracks of his exhausted composure. “You know what happened with Concasque far better than I do. You watched it! You saw firsthand what it was capable of! How many of them came back? And you say that this spiritual disaster is even worse than that?”
“That’s why I want to stay,” Maeve argued. “Thousands will die if the temple falls. I would be unable to shoulder the guilt of surviving with the knowledge I could have changed something.”
“I will drag the both of you back with me if I have to,” Valentin growled a warning, an aggressive tone reverberating from his throat. “You wish for me to sacrifice my warriors for a folly. How do you plan on defeating such a spirit?”
“If you would come with me, you would hear their plans,” Maeve spat. “It’s not hopeless.”
The two stood at an impasse, both stubbornly holding on to their respective values. Prolonged exposure to the intensifying smoke made Valentin’s eyes water and his throat scratch despite the spiritual protection granted to him.
He knew that the guilt he’d feel from throwing his warriors to their deaths would far outweigh the guilt he’d feel towards hundreds of faceless strangers. His warriors were his responsibilities and sending them to pointless deaths would spit in the face of everything that he tried to be. His opponent was equally as rigid in her own views. Maeve was not beholden to his deg. She was allowed to take this idealistic utilitarian view.
“Please, just listen to what they have to say first,” Maeve begged, knowing that Valentin held the true power to decide. “If you wish to mend the imbalance of your deeds within your soul, you will come to this meeting.”
While Caera scoffed at Maeve’s begging, erroneously believing the druid referred to Valentin’s occupation, Valentin knew she targeted something far more severe. She plunged her words into the knot in Valentin’s heart, using the secret to its greatest effect. Sickening emotions of desperation and grief leaked into his emotions, wavering his resolve in the face of potential absolution.
“Will the Great Spirit care whether or not I possessed the virtues you claim this act will bring me?” Valentin questioned, the mountain of his resistance only possessing minor cracking. “For whom, for what reward, do I make this decision for?”
“Your own,” Maeve answered flatly. “You can only do it for yourself.”
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Valentin sighed. Maeve righteousness was better than his. It possessed depth and purity that he could never manage. He would never dislodge her from this city without critically damaging the positive relationship that they had.
More importantly, she was right. It was only for his own benefit that he sought to manage the anguish in his heart, for some purpose that made his actions justified. Turning his back here would only grow that blight. But would watching someone that he knew die for his own selfish forgiveness not obliterate him far more than turning his back?
He did not know. There was no way of knowing which path was the correct one, even in hindsight. He was doomed either way.
“I will go with you and listen to this proposition,” Valentin relented, his body relaxing from the release of the conflict within it. “However, if I am not confident in the plan provided, we will be leaving this place and you will be coming with us.”
“I would never make you commit suicide for my principles,” Maeve replied plainly.
“Fine, lead the way,” Valentin commanded before looking towards his newest addition. “Tara, come with us. The healer I wish to introduce you to will be there.”
Tara looked between Valentin and Maeve. The druid did not protest the addition. Talking too long had allowed the air to leave an ashy residue inside her mouth. Instead, she quietly walked towards the ziggurat.
Their ascent of the ziggurat were unimpeded. Hostile conditions had long since dissuaded most pilgrims and worshippers from ascending the marble steps. Only the infirm and their families attempted a feeble ascension for help they desperately needed. The higher they climbed, the more their lungs strained to take unlabored breaths. Several bodies lied collapsed upon the steps, a thin layer of ash covering their motionless bodies. Maeve did not stop to check on the vitals of the people, leaving Valentin to assume the worst of their conditions.
For those devoted, stubborn few that still tried to gain entry in the holy place were promptly turned away by a heightened guard presence at the entrance. Fortunately for Valentin, it seemed that the warrior druids were told to now respect Maeve and let them in without impedance.
The high ceilings of the temple’s main atrium did little to filter the outside air. Wisps of gray dust gently floated down onto the floor, leaving a layer of ash that clung to their trousers and boots.
Reprieve came through an entryway towards the end of the atrium. A short, down sloping hallways filtered much of the smoke from the air. A spiritually lit room awaited at the end of the hallway. Fur covered druids and nobles sat around a polished stone table. Pitchers of wine and ale sat on each end of the table.
Towards the right end of the table, Valentin made eye contact with Renne. The vice deggan gave a look of relief and stood from his seat.
“Please sit, Young Master Guerros,” Elder Carlan gestured to the now emptied seat.
As Valentin and Renne exchanged places, Renne pressed a scrap of parchment to Valentin’s chest.
“This is Tara. Take her to Zalavo,” Valentin instructed, pocketing the parchment.
As several unoccupied seats remained at the oversized table, Valentin pulled the chair next to him back to allow Maeve to take a seat at the table. As she sat down, Valentin peeked over his shoulder and watched his vice deggan escort Tara out of the room.
“I did not expect to be called back here so soon,” Valentin commented as he took his seat. The residual heat from Renne sitting there made him frown slightly. “Especially not after how you spoke this morning.”
“Just as the rivers do not follow a direct path from mountain to sea, we also must be able to bend and weave with the terrain of life,” Elder Carlan deflected through scripture. “Instead of speaking of things that are far behind us, let’s focus on what is in front of us. We shouldn’t allow petty obstacles to obstruct the flow, should we?”
Valentin nodded in agreement to Carlan’s words. A one-lined druid swapped Renne’s cup with a new one and poured a healthy amount of wine for Valentin. He took a swig of the drink, hoping that it was not the same as the auction. While somewhat more tolerable than what he had previously, he still found the taste unfavorable. The mild tasting wine possessed bitter tones and coated his tongue in a peculiar dry feeling. There was not a single well grown grape in this entire region.
He unfolded the parchment that Renne gave him. Hastily letters written in charcoal greeted Valentin with a concerning phrase.
Laud’s cursed.
“You have already met Elders Kalene and Dughall,” Elder Carlan spoke once Valentin settled in. “Allow me to introduce you to Elders Gorman and Onora.”
Two four-lined druids nodded in greeting towards Valentin. One with a clean shaven faced man, his long hair bunched into a pony tail. The other was an angular faced woman with shaven sides of their head. Thick braids of brown hair on the top of her looked like heavy ropes that fell in all different directions.
“It’s regretful that we did not have the opportunity to meet this morning,” Elder Onora apologized.
“Do not feel guilty at the lack of greeting,” Valentin dismissed with as much grace and serenity that he could manage. “After all, I was here at a time of morning that would be unreasonable to expect anyone to be awake during. In fact, I should thank you all for the hospitality. The lodgings the temple provided us has been more than comfortable.”
The Elders exchanged looks at Valentin’s comments. Valentin intently watched their reactions. He would need to know exactly how badly the temple required his cooperation to understand what to demand in return.
“We are glad that you approve of your accommodations,” Elder Dughall replied with a cordial smile. “Rest assured that we are capable of providing much better and much more.”
“I understand that time is of the essence,” Valentin conceded, temporarily abandoning his unnecessary questions. “Please, tell me what you are proposing to do about this spiritual smoke that has engulfed the city.”
“Once our remaining guests arrive, we will tell you everything that we know,” Carlan replied. “In the meantime, allow me to introduce you to the other attendees.”
Names of minor nobles were given to Valentin. Owners of burnt fields and dead livestock who assembled to petition to the temple and Tiarna Agren. Emblazoned on their coats were emblems Valentin did not learn. Their ambitious eyes investigated Valentin for his pedigree, for his value in being invited as a guest. Valentin found something homely in the calculated stares and probing questions.
Somewhere amidst the introductions, Marotte entered the room to stand behind Valentin’s chair. Without greeting, she stood in a statuesque pose, prepared for any threats that may arrive to confront her leader.
Before everyone could be announced, a symphony of boots and a chorus of chatter and coughing echoed from down the hall. A parade of strangle familiar faces marched into the room. Three bidders and a well-dressed observer led a small contingent of warriors into the room. Eyes of recognition widened in surprise before narrowing in indignation at the sight of Valentin. They all had quite enough of his presence just an hour ago.
“You, why are you here?” A stern faced man questioned in frustration.
“Nice to see you as well, bidder six,” Valentin said cordially. He took a quick swig of his wine and placed the cup on the table. “Likewise to bidders one and three.”
“Since you are already acquainted,” Carlan interjected, his age and wisdom allowed him the respect to mediate. “Tiarna Gaothaire Agren, Madame Amhuinn of Clan Echavin, Marshal Erinna Flogoran, War Leader Kyrvin Ulthaol of the Cosantóirí Aibhneacha, this is Valentin Guerros. From what I understand, he is Ferron Martelle’s ward and a direct clansman of the Marshal of Verbosc. Did I get that right, Valentin?”
“You did,” Valentin confirmed with a genial nod. “It’s good to meet you, esteemed people of the Echavin realm.”
Ferron’s infamy seemed to serve Valentin well. Expressions cleared of darkness and the newcomers took their seats without further complaint. They held out their cups expectantly for the junior druids to provide them refreshments.
“Elders, please explain to me why the city is suddenly buried in soot,” Tiarna Agren requested. “I could hear retching from the insides of homes all the way up the street.”
“What we gathered from our healers and wandering druids is that this smoke is not one of a wildfire,” Elder Dughall briefed as he wiped his brow with his glove. “This is of spiritual nature. The symptoms that we have observed in those that have fallen ill to inhalation as well as the effectivity of using fire resistant charms all but confirm it.”
“Do we know anything about the spirit causing this?” Marshal Flogoran inquired. “How feasible is it to fight it?”
“For that, we must consult a guest we have yet to introduce,” Elder Carlan answered before changing languages. “Prince Ostramir of Norzyet, if you would please.”
Heads towards toward a comely looking blonde-haired man. Early growth of a beard cropped up on his angular jaw. Sleepless, concerned eyes sagged in his skull and a thin application of reddish wax covered his lips. A great golden horseman charged up his dark blue jacket. A similarly dressed person sat to his left while a man wearing a wolf pelt sat to his right.
Everyone at the table stood up at the announcement. While foreign, royalty needed to be recognized. One of the people that accompanied the prince began to unfurl a map labeled with their local language.
“Please, sit,” Prince Ostramir requested in the Diplomat’s Tongue, the shared language of humanity. “Unlike Strettia, I am one of many of my nation’s princes. Now, if you would forgive me, I would like to bypass customs and move directly to what we know.”
As a region that sat on a major border, most of the nobles knew the language and sat down. Those few that did not, tried to sit as soon as they saw the rest to avoid any potential ridicule that could arise from the gaff. Meanwhile, Prince Ostramir directed attention towards a stretch of land between Allbost and a Norzyet fortress.
“We discovered the spirit’s lair here, within a cave around a day a half march from here and a couple hours away from Lake Telgrig,” Prince Ostramir informed the room. “We were unable to see the spirit during our observations nor did it respond to our calls to speak, however, using some of the devastated soil found in the land surrounding the lair our zhrets have divined that this spirit is of incredible power. I have brought Zhret Vanagas with me to help any spiritual questions that may arise.”
“There is little population there,” Marshal Flogoran stated. “How is it that a spirit go so powerful without anyone realizing?”
Ostramir nodded at the Marshal’s question. He turned towards the holy man and repeated the question in the language of their homeland. The zhret barked an answer back. Like the tones of northern Strettia, Valentin found the words of Norzyet to be just as mirthless.
“We lack an answer that will satisfy you,” Ostramir conceded. “However, I believe that the situation Allbost is facing is enough for you to believe our reports. The zhrets believe that this may have been a long dormant spirit that has been agitated in some way. In the best case, it can still be negotiated with provided we bring suitable offerings. In the worst case, it is a spirit that is close to ascension and will simply kill indiscriminately until it leaves this plane.”
Incited chattering cropped up in response to Ostramir’s words. Valentin looked towards Maeve to try to ascertain her opinion on the matter. She only nodded somberly to the assessment of the zhrets.
“Then should we not be calling for a purge?” Tiarna Agren asked with a voice that shook with the panic of responsibility.
“It will take at least the rest of the season to do so,” Elder Onora answered. “If we consider the increase in cursed patients and how quickly their health has worsened, we are looking at hundreds, if not thousands, of deaths before a sufficient force of druids are gathered. If things are left unresolved, Allbost will have to be abandoned entirely.”
“Abandoned?” Tiarna Agren shouted, slamming on the table. “That’s near thirty thousand people we would need to move just from the city alone.”
“The realm could not handle that many refugees so suddenly,” Amhuinn Echavin informed, her fingers pressed together to form a steeple. “We would need to rely on neighboring realms to shoulder some of the burden. The cost in favors would set us back generations in political capital. Not to even begin mentioning the economic burden.”
Silence came over the nobles of Echavin as they pondered the ramifications of their problem. Their eyes were steely and their mouths downturned in displeasure. They looked to either side of themselves, silently hoping that someone would give them a miraculous option to ease the difficulty. To challenge a spirit near ascension was akin to ordering their druids and warriors to commit mass suicide. However, if they failed to rally against it, they would lose everything.
“Prince Ostramir, what is your subjugation plan?” Marshal Flogoran inquired, finally forcing everyone to come to terms with the guaranteed losses.
“We plan call forth spirits of water to douse the terrain. We will mobilize every nearby member of our Royal Morozian Guard and burden the spirit with our favor of ice,” Prince Ostramir began to explain. “We hope to slow and impede the spirit enough for the zhrets to weaken its terrible power or disperse it entirely. In the worst case, we pray that our souls will be enough fuel to ensure its ascension.”
“How many warriors do you require?” Tiarna Agren asked. The look from Amhuinn Echavin told the leader of Allbost that cooperating with Prince Ostramir was the only option that he was permitted to choose.
“As many as you can spare,” Prince Ostramir answered. “At least one hundred.”
Tiarna Agren tapped the table with his fingers, a criminal who had just heard his sentencing. He bit his lip in frustration. No matter what he chose, he would be a loser in some regard. With a sigh of defeat, he drained a cup of wine and leaned back in his chair.
“Make it happen, Marshal,” Tiarna Agren ordered with a weary voice, the conversation fully draining him of spirit. “I will ensure that an evacuation will occur in the event of defeat.”
“It will be done, my Tiarna,” the Marshal said with a bow.
Both the Tiarna and the Marshal rose from their seats and moved to depart the room. They offered some generic goodbyes to the other attendees, their minds preoccupied with more pressing thoughts.
“I must depart as well,” Amhuinn Echavin informed the room. “I will return to Croismor on the morrow to notify the High Tiarna of the situation. I wish you all well in your endeavors.”
The relative of the High Tiarna scurried from the room with her full entourage in tow. Only the prince, druids, and mercenaries remained.
“Useless officials,” spat War Leader Ulthaol. “She certainly didn’t waste any time hurrying from the damned place. Shame the Marshal left, we could have jumped right into more detailed strategy right away.”
“We will not depart until the day after next,” Prince Ostramir stated. “We will have all of tomorrow and the march up to discuss the finer points of formation and troop allocation.”
“It’s a great relief that not all the great warbands of the region didn’t join the Northern Subjugation a few cycles ago,” Elder Gorman said in relief. “Two warbands with the reputation of yours and Young Master Valentin’s will be certain to elevate the morale of our regular troops.”
“Of course,” the War Leader replied with a sage nod. “Allbost is considered home to many of my forces. I imagine that, if I did not agree, many of them would have volunteered to the Marshal’s forces instead.”
Valentin tilted his head and narrowed his eyes at Elder Gorman’s assertions and War Leader Ulthaol’s lack of push back against it. He did not enjoy the assumptions of his participation, especially without any discussion of payment. Hovering embarrassment over disrupting the conversation to go against the flow temporarily held his tongue. However, his indignation over the verbal maneuver prevented him from remaining mum.
“Since when did I agree?” Valentin questioned indignantly.
Feathers of the important ruffled in response to Valentin’s outburst. Their passionate talks of patriotism were doused by the expressionless deggan at the table. Only Prince Ostramir seemed amused by the statement.
“You will not be helping us?” Elder Carlan asked, slightly taken aback.
“Not without acceptable compensation,” Valentin answered as politely as he could. “You ask me to sacrifice for a place my warriors are not from and do not offer anything in return? Please understand that I am a warrior for coin. Patriotism does not move me.”
“Whelp!” Elder Dughall exclaimed, slapping the table with his open palms. “It is not you or your puny force that we need, it’s the druid and healer that you travel with!”
Valentin scratched his chin. He had faced this sort of negotiation too many times. They always went after his youth to try to twist his arm. Regardless of his scar or the mustache that he grew to appear older, his youth was too plain to overlook. He was often spoken to as though he could be bullied around and talked into submission by those that had accumulated more cycles than him.
His jaw tightened. Worry about antagonizing the room fought ferociously with the frustration of being looked down upon. He hated that he could not tuck his tail and speak cordially for understanding. If he let them have their way, he’d receive a pathetic payment.
“The druid that your guards taunted for having two lines on her face and turned away at the gate yesterday? The healer that you have scorned since his entrance into the city and even voted to kill?” Valentin questioned petulantly, standing his ground against the raised voice. “I feel confused by your sudden change in words. Is this the same Allbost Temple that I visited yesterday?”
“You Southern bastards don’t know how to speak with respect,” Elder Dughall spat, his yellowed teeth bared in aggression. “It is only courtesy that we ask for your cooperation in using those you escort.”
“It is you who needs to evaluate your words more carefully, Elder Dughall,” Valentin advised the druid through clenched teeth, his blood beginning to boil. “Is it the custom of the North to steal wheat from their neighbor when they are met with misfortune? You forget yourself and you forget your position in this conversation. It is you who holds your empty palms out and asks that I fill it with my blood. It is of little consequence to me whether or not your skin blisters and you burn down to ash.”
“Valentin,” Maeve hissed silently.
Elder Dughall rose from his seat and Valentin did the same. While he did not have his weapon, Valentin would still take great pleasure in beating the old man senseless. Perhaps a few broken bones would teach him how to be civil again.
“It seems that you missed your stay in the cells,” Elder Dughall barked, the warrior druids stirring into action behind him. “This time, I will ensure that you receive proper attention.”
“Perhaps butchering all of you and offering you to the spirit would be the most humane solution,” Valentin returned the venom in kind. Behind him, Marotte silently drew her weapon with the full intention of fighting to the death alongside her leader. “Pity for you that I did not bring my weapon with me. I will have to dismantle you all by hand.”
Energy coursed through Valentin. Sparks twinkled from the tips of his fingers. His ancestor shook and brayed for bloodshed. Valentin decided his target would be the Elder’s shoulder. Maybe obliterating bone into dust would teach respect. Though they all were capable of speaking with the same tongue, violence was always the most effective language that one could employ. There was no duplicity in savagery.
Elder Carlan stumbled to divide the two parties. A disappointed look on the elder’s face moved from Valentin to his opponent. The other elders moved to intercept their warriors and keep them at bay.
“Cease this foolishness now! Both of you, hold your tongue and return to your seats,” Elder Carlan ordered, outstretching his hands towards both parties. “Elder Dughall, you are acting in a way unbecoming of a man devoted to the Mother.”
Valentin and Elder Dughall engaged in a standoff. Neither wished to retreat before the other. Any way that they could claim victory over the other, no matter how insignificant or petty, would be taken happily. Valentin could see in Elder Dughall’s eyes that the wretch had learned nothing from this. He had been spared before he could appreciate the danger he was in. Dissatisfaction egged Valentin on further, to deliver the blow that would cripple Elder Dughall and allow him to truly understand.
Valentin felt arms wrap around his waist from behind. He looked over his shoulder to see Maeve watching him with a severe expression. He was causing discord when she wanted peace. He could feel her arms weakly pull on him to drag him back towards his seat.
“It is my fault for overlooking such an important detail of your cooperation, Young Master Guerros,” Elder Carlan bowed apologetically in an attempt to appease the aggrieved warrior. “Please, sit down, and I will offer you suitable compensation for participating. I promise that you will not be disappointed.”
Valentin felt another tug against his clothes. A deep inhale flooded his lung with corrupted air and his mind tried to purge the anger he cultivated within him. He had heard the words that he needed to hear from the outburst. Albeit, not from the person that he wanted to hear it from.
As soon as Valentin broke away from the standoff, Elder Dughall did the same. The elder smirked in victory towards Valentin. A hot wave of indignation flooded his veins in fire. His hands clenched into fists. However, they were quickly restrained by Maeve. Her pleading look doused the flames of his pride and he finally obediently returned to his seat.
“What is your offer?” Valentin inquired.
“Even though you command a small force, we will offer you four thousand silver eagles,” Elder Carlan answered, relief ceasing the sweating on his forehead. “Additionally, if you are the greatest contributor to our success in subduing the spirit, you will receive one of our gold imperial coins.”
Silence enveloped the room and no sounds escaped from any of the open mouths. Even the stern War Leader Ulthaol looked visibly interested by the announcement. However, Valentin was surprised to see not a single elder or druid challenge Elder Carlan’s offer. It seemed that the payment was always available, they just didn’t want to offer it to Valentin. He took another deep breathe, flaring up again would only lose him face.
“You jest,” Valentin finally said calmly, emotions finally drained from his body. “A gold imperial is as much a status symbol as it is a payment. Does your temple truly not mind the exceptional loss?”
“What is a single gold coin in exchange for the thousands of cycles that this temple has stood for?” Elder Onora asked rhetorically.
“How will you determine who contributes the most?” Valentin continued to question. “If the zhrets and druids are responsible for restraining the spirit and Prince Ostramir will fight it, then what would I need to do to earn that coin?”
The elders exchanged looks while War Leader Ulthaol watched patiently. He, too, had much to gain if the criteria was doable.
“Unexpected things happen often on the battlefield,” Elder Carlan explained. “There will be opportunities to shine.”
Valentin looked impassively at Elder Carlan. What fool would feel reassured after such a lukewarm answer? If anyone was receiving that coin, it would be one of their own. That coin would be exchanged for a promotion or an advantageous marriage and returned quietly into their treasury.
“The gold imperial aside, I’d like to propose a modification to your proposal,” Valentin said.
“We are willing to hear it out if it is reasonable,” Elder Gorman replied.
“I am willing to take three thousand eagles,” Valentin stated. He saw temporary confusion spread on the faces of the elders. “However, I required this payment to be delivered before departure.”
Elder Dughall began to rise again, primed with choice words that would destroy the fragile peace Elder Carlan built. However, the other elders were more prepared, and Elders Onora and Gorman grabbed the man by the sleeves and pulled him back down to his seat. The sudden tug terminated the words directed at Valentin in exchange for anger towards his contemporaries.
“What is the matter with you?” Elder Dughall called angrily.
“Elder Dughall, please,” Elder Carlan requested.
“I apologize if the offer was offensive,” Valentin apologized disingenuously. “However, you must consider things from my perspective. If we lose and the temple is destroyed, who will pay the wages that my warriors are owed? And, if you are worried that I will run off with the money, I assure you that the loss in reputation the Armée would face would be worth far more than a few thousand silver.”
“You proposal is reasonable,” Elder Carlan agreed. His appetite for haggling was nonexistent. The stress of the looming threat and desire to leave this meeting made him compliant to Valentin’s request.
“We will be leaving the morning after tomorrow,” Elder Onora announced. “You payment will be there when you arrive.”
“I will take my leave then,” Valentin said, standing from his seat. “War Leader, Elders, Prince, have a good night.”
“Likewise to you,” Prince Ostramir bade farewell with an arching wave.
When Valentin slipped out of sight into the hallway, he body immediately slouched. His energy was fully depleted. Not even one hundred black roots could sustain his empty husk. As he stumbled, Marotte tucked herself under Valentin arm to offer her body as support.
“Marotte, make sure that everyone is available for a meeting in the morning,” Valentin weakly instructed.
“Yes Deggan,” Marotte answered dutifully.
Valentin’s body wavered. Not even the action of walking could keep his exhausted body awake. The offensive scents of ash no longer flared his mind to alertness. The dim lights and dark sky drooped his eyes and lulled him further. The cool air caressed his skin and he slumped further into Marotte.
Marotte dutifully did the walking for two. She did not tease him like Caera nor did she ask him tedious questions over his condition. Perhaps that conversation could have helped sustain him down the stairs and towards the barracks.
He tried to muster some small vestige of energy from the recesses of his body and mind. It was of no avail. In fact, it brought him closer to the brink.
“Marotte, if I collapse, please carry me inside discretely,” Valentin requested groggily.
“Yes, Deggan.”