“I wish to stress to all of you that your participation in this subjugation is not required,” Valentin implored from the stump he sat upon. A mostly eaten bowl of boiled oats sat in the grass between his feet. “Part of me hopes that none of you wish to participate in this. Those in charge offered me no confidence in their success.”
Valentin spoke of the events of the night before to his warriors in between bites of mush. While he slept for a considerable amount of time, not waking up until the midmorning, nightmares that he could no longer remember kept him from fully enjoying his rest. The smoke must have polluted his humors, leaving him susceptible to the terrors that preyed on his motionless body and fatigued mind. Black rings, the trophy of his suffering, outlined his eyes like make-up.
Unlike the morning before, there were no warriors unaccounted for. Zoe’s scouting party was predictably forced to return prematurely from the inhospitable conditions that blanketed the land. The quartet that toured the tournament grounds sat obediently in front of their deggan.
The only ones not in attendance were Renne, who already knew the plan, and his newest additions. Tara had not made the trip back from the temple and Daron went up earlier to fulfill his first shift of guard duty. Even if one was not heavily injured and the other wasn’t a coward, Valentin still would not have had them participate. A lack of relationship with the rest of the deg would only prove to be fatal in the most crucial of moments.
“Anyone that does not wish to join, please speak now so that I may ensure you are prepared to wait for us in Croismor,” Valentin invited.
A long silence awaited Valentin after his offer. Whether they were genuinely interested in a spiritual subjugation or if they were too nervous to speak up, Valentin could not yet say.
“You’re participating, Deggan Valentin,” Marotte stated.
“That is true,” Valentin conceded.
“And the reward is truly one gold imperial?” Cathmor inquired in disbelief. Such a thing sounded mythological to the young warriors, many of whom grew up in unfavorable living conditions. There was little that such a coin couldn’t buy.
“It is true that the one who contributes the most will receive a gold imperial as a reward,” Valentin confirmed. “However, you will have to perform extraordinarily in order to receive it. It may even come at great sacrifice to yourself.”
Excited faces over the prize completely removed any hopes that Valentin had over any opposition. While he hoped that at least one of them spoke up against the plan, he could not say he was disappointed in his deg’s decision. The rumored power of the target was too great, the reward was too enticing to turn their backs on. It was the dream of a warrior to have a great tale or exploit to hang their fame upon. To those that sought glory, there may never be another opportunity as reputable as this.
The lone exception to the divine joys of combat was Gélique. A nervous look overcame her. She looked around to see if someone else would voice their displeasure first. Those voices never rose. She was alone, and she remained silent.
“Kerwin, Mannix, you will remain behind,” Valentin ordered the pair.
Both the singled out warriors had looks of surprise on their faces. While Mannix’s was an embarrassment at losing the opportunity to participate, Kerwin looked as though he would leap at Valentin to tear out his throat at any moment.
Valentin met eyes with Kerwin and invited the confrontation. Enforcing his will on the headstrong warrior would be the most expedient way to have his orders followed. Kerwin, seeing that the challenge was open, but not believing in his chances, broke eye contact first. Instead, he stared daggers into the dirt between his feet.
“Why must we linger here instead of joining our comrades?” Mannix questioned, still possessing hope that he could negotiate his way out of this deliberation. “Would we not be of better use to the deg if we were side by side with them on the battlefield?”
“You would surely be a boon to our efforts, yes,” Valentin conceded without much resistance. “Since you are such boons, I have need of you elsewhere for an equally important task.”
“What could be more important than the subjugation?” Kerwin demanded from his lowered position.
“The two of you are tasked to guard Zalavo while he tends to the ill,” Valentin answered. “While he may be desired by the temple today, I do not trust that they will keep him alive when their use from him runs out.”
Valentin’s warriors gave him a look of confusion. He had forgotten they did not have the same insights into Zalavo’s history that he possessed. He touched his chin in thought. As of now, it looked like he was doing no more than blatantly punishing them severely for a transgression unworthy of response.
“All you need to know is that Zalavo and the temple have bad blood,” Valentin explained, trying to delicately separate what could be revealed from what couldn’t. “I cannot trust them not to try to settle their grudges once his usefulness is over. Besides, is it not also important to keep an eye on Laud?”
“Why us?” Mannix asked.
“You know well why it is you that has been assigned this task,” Valentin answered plainly. “Everyone here wants the opportunity to participate, but I do not have need for all of you. Considering that no one else made any errors, it would be poor judgment to punish someone else for your sakes.”
“What of Guain and Gair?” Kerwin asked. “Did they not also make the same mistakes as us?”
Guain and Gair gave hateful faces towards Kerwin before they gave reserved gazes towards Valentin. They did not wish to be dragged down with their comrades on account of Kerwin’s childish actions.
“Gair is from the region and I have need of his knowledge,” Valentin replied dryly. “As for Guain, participation is the prize he earned for suggesting the student I bid on. Just because I have assigned you this role, it does not mean that you are stranded here. If someone is willing to exchange places with you, then you may join us on our march.”
Kerwin stood and surveilled the rest of the deg, looking down upon them from his vantage point, he enforced his iron presence on the rest. He tried to leverage his pinnacle of the lower hierarchy to have someone break.
Valentin watched the minds of his warriors turn inwards and debate within themselves. It would be foolish and cowardly to give up their position on the raid, but denying Kerwin today may result in long term consequences.
He saw Gélique sweat, a twig that would break under the smallest pressure if applied directly upon her. But she did not speak out. Though Valentin could see she was afraid, she still had her own pride as a warrior. To capitulate without pressure would only create innumerable questions without comfortable answers.
Valentin debated himself whether or not he should step in or allow Gélique to collapse. Though she had never made errors during missions, she had never been placed in a battle as prestigious and highly profiled as this one. Could he risk allowing a mistake during the subjugation just to administer a punishment he found satisfactory? But, what message would he send if he relented and allowed Kerwin and Mannix on the mission? Would anyone ever listen to his rules again if they knew they were strong enough to be consider untouchable?
Kerwin finally made eye contact with Gélique. The shy warrior instinctively looked away from Kerwin’s harsh gaze, giving him ample opportunity to strike at her. Eyes of a predator narrowed down upon her. A hungry grin spread over Kerwin’s lips.
“It appears as though nobody has volunteered,” Valentin spoke up, preventing Kerwin from going after his prey.
“But, Deggan Valentin, I believe that there may be a few of us that are not in a proper condition to participate.” Kerwin argued, turning around in surprise at Valentin’s denial. “I understand that this is a prestigious mission that no one would dare miss. Yet I fear that some may be hiding poor health to avoid being overlooked on this mission.”
Valentin quickly moved to stand close to Kerwin. The warrior took a cautious half step backwards at his leader’s sudden movement. Regardless of the honey Kerwin applied to his words to make them more palatable, Valentin could not allow them to come to fruition. Valentin felt that letting things play out would only erode at his authority.
“Kerwin,” Valentin spoke in a low voice that only Kerwin could hear. “While you may believe I am only punishing you unfairly, I am also giving you an opportunity. Not only is it a chance to redeem yourself in my eyes, it also shows me that you can be trusted to handle missions independently of me. If you aspire for a station higher than your current place, then it would do you good to follow me appropriately. If you do not, then you are welcome to take Gélique’s place. But there will be no more opportunities.”
“I understand,” Kerwin replied through gritted teeth.
“It’s good that you do. If there is nothing else, I expect all of you to be packed and ready to march first thing tomorrow morning,” Valentin ordered.
“Yes, Deggan Valentin,” his warriors replied in near unison.
Valentin did not linger long amidst his warriors, instead opting to go for a brief stroll. As he walked through the training yard, he felt as though he were on a different, infernal plane. The gray smoke that slowly choked out the receding hours of the day prior settled firmly in the air on the morning. Only the strongest of Ortus’ light could dare break through the smoky barrier and illuminate the land. It left a disorienting feeling like the spirit who ruled time had relinquished control to fire. The morning looked the same as it would midday as it would look in the evening.
Deeper in the field, Valentin spotted Maeve sitting alone by the well. The druid was dipping wooden ladle into a bucket full of water. She inspected the contents of the ladle before pouring it back into the bucket.
“How long do you think it will take for the ash to leave Lake Telgrig?” Maeve asked, not looking up from her idling.
“Cycles, surely,” Valentin answered.
He sat down by Maeve and looked into the bucket. The ladle skimmed the gray-white scum that coated the water. Gentle motions of the handle created swirling patterns that tailed behind the tool. It would require several filtrations and boiling before the polluted water wouldn’t be poisonous to drink.
“At least the tanners and the servants responsible for laundry will have no shortages of lye anytime soon,” Valentin quipped to no response from Maeve. “The temple will need to bring us more wine and ale casks if they do not wish for us all to die of thirst.”
Maeve let go of the handle and allowed the ladle to plop to the bottom of the bucket. The agitated patterns on the water finally settled. She sighed a long tired sigh of one whose body had gone days with little rest. Her posture dropped and her downturned eyes hung half open. The dry air chapped her lips, creating small rips in the flesh. Her hands were cocooned in several layers of bandages, coated in cuts and scrapes from sacrifices made to sanctify the charms she distributed.
“I don’t like ale,” Maeve remarked petulantly. “Though, I like it more than death.”
“As most do,” Valentin replied.
“Some like it so much that it kills them,” Maeve commented in turn. With a meager effort, she rose to her feet and brushed herself off. “I think that with a proper offering to the spirit of Lake Telgrig, the water will be purified with haste.”
Valentin nodded half-heartedly at the suggestion. With all this talk of spirits, he would have preferred if the spirit of Lake Telgrig took some initiative and drowned the fire themselves.
“Have you visited Laud yet?” Maeve asked as she adjusted her hair.
“I planned to soon,” Valentin replied guiltily.
Valentin wrung his hands self-consciously over the question. Laud had been ill since around last midday and Valentin had not yet arrived to speak to him. While there were circumstances that prevented him from doing so in a timelier manner, he still worried that he missed the window for a visit that’d be considered sincere. The longer he waited, the more insincere he became until he thought it may be better to pretend to busy until they marched out and avoid the conversation entirely.
“It must be difficult,” Maeve said sympathetically, her hands wrung together in recollection of the sights she undoubtedly saw the day prior. “The last time you were there, you watched someone combust and turn to dust. It is not easy to consider such a thing happening to someone that you are tasked to lead.”
“I have worries,” Valentin admitted softly. Maeve, in her well intentioned words, opened Valentin’s mind up to an entirely new breed of thoughts and concerns.
“We can go together if you’d like,” Maeve offered, extending her hand towards Valentin. “Zalavo ordered me to rest. I’d rather walk with you than sit here for the rest of the day, inhaling ash and coughing my lungs out.
Valentin took the hand offered to him and pulled himself to his feet. He offered Maeve a thankful smile and began to walk, once again, to the ziggurat.
In the central square, the scene was grimmer than the day before. A roiling crowd of people flocked around several stands hastily erected in the grounds before the ziggurat. Wooden charms were wrapped around the vendor’s arms as desperate, soot coated fingers reached out to grab them.
“Fire charms blessed by the druids of the Allbost Temple!” A vendor screamed into the sea of people. “Ward away the burning disease! Only two silver eagles to prevent all that ails you and your loved ones! Limited supply!”
Coins flew over the counter as the chaotic mass were gouged for all they were worth for a small piece of carved wood. People elbowed and clawed and bit and trampled one another to get a little further up in the line. Beastly visages caused by burning lungs and fear drove them to attack those that they knew, those that they liked. When there was no certainty that there would be a divine charm waiting for them at the front of the line, personal histories mattered very little.
“Are any of those vendors legitimate?” Valentin asked Maeve as they skirted around the crowd.
“The Temple spent much of yesterday making charms to distribute,” Maeve answered, rubbing her own wounded hands. “However, only a few thousand were completed. The only thing sold here are false promises.”
Valentin stared forlornly at the madness that gripped the crowd. It would do no good to interfere. By acting a hero and denouncing the vendors as fakes, he would fail to save anyone. All he would succeed at doing is inciting a riot that would swallow the lives of even more. As long as the subjugation succeeded, then peace of mind could be sold for profit.
As they ascended the stairs to the ziggurat, Valentin and Maeve found grisly company in the dead and dying that cover the holy steps. The sick and their families attempted the arduous trek to treatment, only to fail somewhere along the numerous steps to the summit. Without adequate knowledge or charms, even the more hale pilgrims could suffocate on the poisoned air. Overwhelmed, the druids left the unfortunate to suffer and perish on their doorstep, their corpses collecting ash to appear like a mangled snowbank.
Even those strong and fortunate enough to reach the summit were not rewarded as they hoped. The grounds that they worshipped was lined with the infirm forms of their fellow citizens. Black-stained blood and spit streaked their near comatose bodies.
Somewhere, amongst the writhing mass, lied Old Laud.
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“By the Mother,” Valentin quietly prayed at the hopeless sight.
“Follow me,” Maeve said, taking an expertly-place step into the human maze. “I remember where he is.”
As they stepped deeper into the mass, Valentin watched the floor intently for any signs of the warrior. Lightless gray-tinged eyes stared back up at him. Some were swarmed with loved ones who lied around them while others were stuck in solitude. Whether they were abandoned, made it of their own will, or all that survived, Valentin would never know. Their faces were expressionless and unresponsive; unable to tell their story to him.
Overwhelmed druids tried to gingerly step through the unmanageable patients that covered their floors. The best that they could offer were diluted concoctions. Essential herbs fell into critically short supply and would never be adequately able to shoulder the strain placed upon it.
“Here he is,” Maeve commented, coming to stop in a seemingly random location.
Valentin marveled at Maeve’s memory. Old Laud lied in a spot on the floor that looked like all the rest. Devoid of landmarks of any true demarcations that could be employed for assistance. Laud slept as soundly as one of that constitution could. Slow, shuddering breathes rose and fell from his chest. He drooled black onto his shirt. He grew gaunt quickly, the muscle that took tens of cycles to cultivate withered in just as many hours. Thinning hair appeared to have thinned further as the top of his head became bare save a few stubborn wisps. His armor was doffed and stored who knows where.
“Zalavo believes that his age played some part in his condition worsening first,” Maeve explained. “Of course, there are many other things that could have contributed. Poor sleep, stress, nursing an injury, or just being unlucky.”
“What of the charms?” Valentin asked.
“It is my fault. I had yet to make any by the time he fell ill,” Maeve replied regretfully. She felt the need to shoulder some share of the blame. “Giving him a charm now would not change anything, so I let the druids here offer it to someone healthy who needed it.”
Valentin silently watched Old Laud struggle to breathe as he wheezed in pain. He could not help but think of when he visited Gervin after the battle against Concasque. While Gervin’s condition was far grimmer than Laud’s, Valentin felt worse for the aging warrior. Gervin had Min, he had the undivided attention of Zalavo, and he had the knowledge of his condition stemming from a noble battle. Laud possessed none of those things. He was simply one more body like all the others, taken down without any knowledge of what was happening. All who looked over him now was a leader that knew little about him and a druid that was only there to bring comfort to his visitor.
Did Laud have a lover? A child? What would he enjoy to cheer him up? Valentin knew none of those things. If anything, this visit was only to maintain Valentin’s image. Laud would find little comfort in such impassive care.
“D-Deggan,” Laud’s weak voice squeezed from his lips.
“Laud, I’m sorry it took me so long to visit you,” Valentin apologized. He awkwardly kneeled beside the infirm warrior. “How are you feeling?”
“As well as I appear,” Laud wheezed. “I know that you-“
Laud broke into a severe coughing fit. His body convulsed from the heavy spasms. Blackened spittle sprayed from his mouth and dripped down his chin. Valentin reached out his hands uncertainly, but stopped just short of touching Laud. An invisible barrier of Valentin’s own making prevented him from going any further.
The coughing ceased and Laud lied limply on the floor. His precious remaining vestments of life draining away after each convulsion. Hollow eyes met Valentin’s, barely maintaining consciousness. His gray tinged tongue scraped against his lips. A ragged breath escaped his mouth as words, but no comprehensible sounds left. Just cracks and wheezes were all that could be formed.
“Is there anything that you need?” Valentin asked, hoping to sooth his ailing warrior in a different way.
Laud’s hand reached towards Valentin. It shook horribly from the simple effort. A hopeless expression formed upon his face.
“W-water,” Laud replied. “-need water.”
Valentin looked over his shoulder to Maeve, but the druid only shook her head sympathetically. Ash and soot made water a rare resource. The temple, needing to supply the subjugation, already started significant water rations. All the people that burned from the inside all suffered from severe thirst. Their throats were chapped and burned, leaving even the act of breathing to be an aggravating and painful affair.
Valentin uncorked his own partially full water skin. He tilted it towards Laud’s mouth, slowly dripping the liquid between his cracked lips.
Laud groaned in discomfort. His damp tongue scraped the moisture along the insides of his mouth. The small mouthful only served to ignite the painful thirst. It was no better than emptying his water skin into the desert.
“Rest now, Laud,” Valentin said reassuringly to the ailing warrior. “I will see to getting you water.”
Laud’s expression clouded. Even the act of maintaining consciousness proved to be difficult for him to maintain. Only the sounds of laborious breathing could comfort Valentin that he stilled lived.
Valentin moved to his feet, visions of the combusting patient filling his psyche. This entire temple was filled with kindling. Even if it was not Laud that burst into flames, it could easily be someone next to him. Would Kerwin and Mannix be able to move him before he caught fire? His dry body would not last long against the voracious flames that would lick his flesh. To wither and burn in a foreign land, Valentin could think of no more fatefully cruel demise than that.
“Where is Zalavo?” Valentin asked.
“He moves restlessly throughout the entire temple,” Maeve answered. “If he is not in his room, then we will find him if we wander for long enough.”
Maeve continued to lead Valentin along a labyrinthine route through the writhing bodies of the suffering. Helpless misery surrounded Valentin from all sides. Wheezing and panting and wailing with no relief assailed his ears.
A hallway normally barred by a door greeted the pair. However, the hallway offered no respite from the sick and dying. People were tucked from the entryway all the way down to the glowing chambers inside. In this tight conditions, trampling the diseased underfoot was an eventuality. Valentin had to crush hands and legs to avoid causing irreparable damage to their torso. Moans and screams of agony croaked from the dry throats of the victims, causing Valentin to wince.
In the hallways, bathed in the sickly artificial lights, Valentin saw him. Hunched over like a crone, Zalavo administered his false panacea to one of the many invalids of the temple. He turned his head and looked forlornly towards the overwhelming amount of people in need of his help. He was fighting a wildfire with a thimble of water.
His mouth was dyed black from a constant supply of roots that kept the fires behind his eyes burning. Hands shook from exhaustion. He possessed the form of a wooden puppet whose string bound joints were about to snap.
Renne stood not far away from Zalavo. The rugged terrain of limbs kept him a few paces away from the healer. He offered a short nod to his deggan and shifted closer to Zalavo.
“When did you last eat?” Valentin asked, forgoing any greetings.
“When they last fed me,” Zalavo responded in his same emotionless tone. Somehow, it sounded more morose and lifeless than it normally did. “I drank when they last gave me water and I slept when they last offered a free bed.”
“Your wick has grown short, Zalavo,” Valentin commented at Zalavo’s ghastly appearance. “You look more spirit than man. You should rest.”
Zalavo scoffed at Valentin’s suggestion. Without looking up from his work, he poured another draft of his medicine and administered it to the next patient. Lips stayed dormant and most of the concoction ended on the person’s chin and jacket than in their stomach. Their torso dipped forwards, causing their head to loll and bob at an uncomfortable speed. A short groan signified that the patient still lived.
“It is interesting that you show such concern towards me, considering the work that you provide me yesterday,” Zalavo said derisively. “Did you believe the situation so stable and my powers so great that I could mend an arm destroyed by a strike used with favor in addition to this?”
“I only wished for you to look at it,” Valentin argued. “You were more than capable of turning her away.”
“If you thought I’d turn her away, you do not know me very well,” Zalavo replied.
The next patient received the medicine to similarly poor effect. More medicine wasted to uncooperative bodies. Supplies continued to dwindle and the population that demanded help only grew further and further. Valentin looked at the half-full pot that Zalavo drew the medicine from. It would not be long before they reached their final batch. Trying further seemed a pointless affair to Valentin.
“You treated her?” Valentin inquired, interested in the results of his gamble.
Once again, Zalavo made a dismissive sound towards Valentin. Their priorities did not match. Another scoop, another waste.
“I did what I could,” Zalavo confirmed. “Though I would not get your hopes up that she will ever be back to her original condition without extensive treatment. Her elbow is broken in several places and the muscle around it was damaged. She will be able to fight, but her left elbow will always be a little slower than her right.”
“I appreciate your help,” Valentin thanked with a short bow.
“Your thanks means nothing to me,” Zalavo said tersely. “If you wanted to show me thanks, you’d find a way to get me more herbs.”
“I don’t believe that there are any herbs left in Allbost,” Valentin observed as he glanced down both directions of the hallway. “Even if I did have what you needed of me, would it really make any difference?”
Zalavo stopped his distribution for a moment. While his expression remained devoid of emotion, coals of defiance and annoyance burned in his tired eyes.
The gaze made Valentin break eye contact for a moment. Unexpected passion forced him to reconsider if he had erred. Those unconfident thoughts quickly melted away. There were no medicinal breakthroughs; he would have been told if such were true. Herb procurement and a mass invitation of healers would have been discussed during last night’s strategy meeting.
“It is making a difference,” Zalavo argued tersely.
“If it were, then at least one person’s health would have improved by now,” Valentin pressed. “You would not have dismissed Maeve if administering this was so important nor would she have accepted your dismissal.”
While Zalavo’s body language provided no admission, Maeve’s downturned posture and mouth told Valentin everything he needed to know about the situation. Whatever that concoction did, it did not cure.
“Even if the medicine does not cure the cause, just the fact that they are getting something keeps them from despairing and giving up their fight,” Zalavo explained.
“You’re going to work yourself to death to keep up appearances?” Valentin questioned.
“Do warriors not do the same in battle? Do they not employ all manner of trickery and manipulation in unfavorable situations to keep themselves from routing and experiencing certain death?” Zalavo rebuked with questions of his own.
Tilting his head to the side, Valentin considered Zalavo’s question. While he had some training in martial subterfuge through Ferron and Julianna, medical subterfuge was not something that he knew about. He supposed that none would attempt to fight through such a painful ordeal if they had no belief they could survive.
“You speak sensibly,” Valentin admitted. “However, it will offer nobody peace of mind if you collapse and die in front of them.”
“I will keep that in mind,” Zalavo replied. “Loathe am I to admit it, but I need you to succeed as quickly as possible. It is the only way I know that will cease this madness.”
Just as the conversation began without greeting, it concluded without farewell. Zalavo’s medicine ran dry. The sound of earthenware scraping wood echoed in the muted hallway. With a sigh, Zalavo placed a red cloth on the patient he had fallen short of treating and rose to his feet. With reverent steps, he moved through the mass of people deeper into the shining brick maze.
“It’s all really fallen to shit, hasn’t it?” Renne asked, staying behind to speak to his deggan. “Even a medicinal knave like me can tell that everything is getting worse far faster than when we got here. Did you have a chance to see Laud?”
“I have,” Valentin replied. “Is it possible to get him some water?”
“No,” Renne answered shook his head. “They gave up on filtering the water this morning. All we can give him is ale. I have been making sure he gets an extra portion and we were fortunate to be able to prevent him from being moved to the lower floors. At least there, he will be able to feel the breeze.”
Valentin nodded solemnly at Renne’s words. He was grateful to his second in command for having the presence of mind for such consideration. While it was of little solace to be the best treated invalid, it was invariably better than being the worst treated.
“It always pained me how our deg referred to him as Old Laud,” Renne commented. “He only just passed his fiftieth cycle last Killicia. As the second oldest after him, I worry that they might start calling me Old Renne next. I’m only thirty four.”
Valentin smirked, appreciative of Renne’s attempt to add levity. He placed a reassuring hand on Renne’s shoulder.
“As long as you keep the complaints about your back pains to yourself, I think you’ll be able to stave off any inconvenient monikers for at least a few more cycles,” Valentin teased. “Who knows, maybe the title will give you more gravitas.”
“I better not catch you at the forefront of that trend,” Renne warned with a chuckle.
His smile did not last for long. Shouts from down the hall attracted their attention to a smoldering body being doused in dirty water by frantic druids. Wisps of smoke wafted from the motionless corpse. This macabre place that Valentin and Renne performed this amateur jester show was not a suitable conduit for joy. The pressing situation did not allow for even a moment of escape.
“Are the preparations complete?” Renne asked.
“I delivered my orders to all that will participate,” Valentin confirmed. “Once I visit my newest additions, all that will remain is the fight itself.”
“How did Kerwin and Mannix take the news?” Renne wondered.
“You knew that they wouldn’t take it well,” Valentin answered with a shrug. “But seeing how they behaved only tells me that I needed to exert my authority. If you exchange places with one of them, they’d be eternally loyal to you.”
Renne chuckled at the suggestion. He turned and pointed diagonally towards the far corner of the hallways.
“Our unbloodied blades are resting with the rest of the druids that worked throughout the night,” Renne explained. “I’ll wait here for Zalavo.”
Valentin and Renne offered each other a slight nod and separated. There were more gaps the deeper they walked. Puddles of sooty water and blackened stains on the walls told the stories of what was once there. The earliest patients, sequestered into these insulated rooms at the beginning of the outbreak had mostly been extinguished. A few stubborn, withered husks, drained of all moisture, continued to persist in the sooty hallways and side rooms. He attempted to gingerly step over and around these survivors out of fear that their bodies would disintegrate at the slightest touch.
As patients disappeared, exhausted druids took their place. Those that tirelessly worked the nights finally found respite in this tucked away corner. Their rooms, mostly repurposed for hopeless causes, forced many to sleep on mats in the hallway.
Amongst the sleeping tattooed faces of the druids rested two unmarked visages. A tall, muscular young woman in a sling slept against the wall while a lean, mousy-haired warrior sat beside her. The sounds of footsteps alerted him to the new arrivals. His eyes lit up in recognition and he quickly jolted to his feet.
“Deggan Valentin,” Daron greeted his leader. “What brings you here?”
“I wished to check on Tara’s condition,” Valentin answered. “Though it seems that she is not up for much conversation.”
“She only fell asleep a couple hours ago,” Daron informed sympathetically. “Her diagnosis troubled her greatly. She respected Roarke Agren as a rival and a warrior. To imply that he used favor to cripple her-“
Daron trailed off and looked over his shoulder. Seeing that Tara did not stir from a discussion that would only harm her further, he continued.
“You don’t think that it’s true, do you?” Daron asked Valentin with a hushed voice.
“You’re the one who knows him,” Valentin replied. “Does he seem like the kind of person that would cheat in a tournament and break someone’s limb? Was he a person that held ill will towards Tara?"
Daron’s mind began to drift away from his conversation. He appeared to be considering every conversation and interaction with Roarke, trying to uncover some aspect of guilt or innocence that he could use as definitive evidence.
“That was not the only reason I came. I needed to have a word with you,” Valentin stated, content with leaving his question as rhetorical. “I wanted to tell you about your mission.”
“What is it that you wish for me to do? I will perform it to the best of my abilities,” Daron answered and provided a cordial smile. However, the worry that flowed just below the surface betrayed any of the sincerity that he wished to display.
Valentin held a hand up to silence Daron. He already knew the war that played out in the young warrior’s mind. The struggle between his natural cowardice and his duty to his community was plain to see.
“You will be staying behind,” Valentin informed Daron, much to Daron’s relief. “You have had no opportunities to train with the rest of the deg and your participation will only be a hindrance. Your duty is to keep Tara safe until the subjugation is complete and to participate in any evacuations that may be necessary. However, if the choice is between escaping with both of you alive and saving people of Allbost, you must prioritize yourself.”
“Thank you for your consideration towards my position, Deggan Valentin,” Daron thanked with a bow. “I will not betray your expectations.”
“I cannot abide by that, Deggan,” a hoarse voice spoke from beside Daron. “I cannot abandon the place that I call my home just for the sake of my own health. If the need arises, the lives of the citizens are more valuable than an arm.”
While Tara spoke dutifully, she still appeared to be devastated by the news given to her the night before. A combination of pain and restless thoughts kept her up late into the night. Her reddened eyes held both sleeplessness and tears. Like Daron, she no doubt tried to delve the depths of her mind to find anything that could give her a hint as to what truly happened and whether or not she should despair at an unfortunate accident or rage at an underhanded attack.
Even though her attitude would complicate things, Valentin still found himself respecting Tara’s moral conviction. He thought that, perhaps, the life of a mercenary was not suitable for someone whose compass pointed as directly northwards as Tara’s.
“Your ideals are irrelevant,” Valentin stated. He knew that he could not overcome strong convictions. He would sidestep them entirely. “Your responsibilities lie first towards me and I am ordering you to rest and heal.”
“I cannot bear to be treated so preferentially,” Tara protested. “The Mother and Great Spirit did not bless me so that would turn away from my people.”
“You cannot use your favor to remove a spiritual curse from someone,” Valentin argued. “If Allbost must be evacuated, if you need to use your name and fame to help direct people, do so. Use your right arm if you wish. But you are forbidden from using your left arm until you are fully recovered. If you need both arms, use Daron’s.”
“Yes, Deggan,” Tara grumbled. It was clear she was evaluating every potential scenario that could arise that would require usage of both her arms. However, it was meaningless in the face of an order.
“The future is brighter when you’re healthy,” Valentin said reassuringly. He gingerly placed a hand on Tara’s shoulder and lightly gripped it. “Return to the barracks when you feel better.”
“Yes, Deggan,” Tara and Daron said in unison.
Satisfied, Valentin left the pair behind. While he knew that, if the need arose, Tara would destroy herself for others. However, he hoped that his words showed her how to show some restraint and rely on Daron instead.
“I don’t think I’ll be able to use a brazier in my rooms for some time,” Valentin complained after they navigated a couple hallways. “I think there will be soot in my nose until I die.”
Maeve did not respond to Valentin’s comment. It did not appear as she even heard his words. Instead, she seemed to be pondering her own mental puzzle. A look of deep contemplation covered her face.
“Maeve?” Valentin tried to get the druid’s attention. “Is everything alright?”
“Of course it isn’t,” Maeve answered curtly before an apologetic expression formed. “But I know what you mean. Since I came to this temple, something vaguely familiar has been on my mind the entire time. I can’t help but shake the feeling that we have encountered this spirit before but I cannot for the life of me remember where or when.”
“If you do know the spirit, maybe you can save us all diplomatically,” Valentin mused. “Mother knows I have no confidence in tomorrow.”
Maeve stopped abruptly. Her eyes looked down at another puddle on the ground.
“I’m sorry that I dragged you into this,” Maeve apologized. “I know that your decision has put people we know in danger, but I had no confidence that we’d succeed if you fled. If things don’t go well-“
“Then I’ll be taking you with me when I flee,” Valentin interrupted. “Don’t get any foolish ideas about martyrdom.”