“Welcome, heroes of Echavin!” High Tiarna Bardon Echavin announced loudly.
He sat upon a padded chair atop makeshift scaffolding that was erected overnight. All those who gathered in the market square had to crane their necks to see him. His position framed him in the center of ziggurat, his outstretched arms not enough to wrap around the immensity of the Novesse temple. Ortus’ midday position made it look like a blinding lantern sitting atop the highest steps of the ziggurat.
“You’ve done the realm a great service through your efforts and sacrifice,” High Tiarna Echavin continued to compliment those that felt like they didn’t deserve it. “Without your presence, everything north of Croismor would become nothing more than ashen wastes. Without your valor, Aoire would have continued to siphon the lives of our populace. I only shudder when I think about what you had to endure and what would have happened if you failed.”
A smattering of applause and cheers came out from the assembled crowd.
It had only been three days since the subjugation’s return from the battlefield. High Tiarna Echavin arrived on horseback leading a long column of carts laden with grain and lumber and barrels of water. Livestock were herded in the back, dogs chasing after the animals to prevent them from straying too far.
They began building temporarily structures in the market square before the funerals ended. The only reason that the city was even given a third day to grieve was that the day before was still too smoky for the High Tiarna’s liking.
Valentin could only consider the decision prudent, even if for the wrong reasons. This day had been the first that felt unmarred by Aoire’s presence. It would be difficult to raise cups and celebrate such a costly victory under the same smog that had suffocated the region only days before.
“And good people of the Allbost region, do not think I have neglected to notice your commendable tenacity and bravery,” High Tiarna Echavin chided jokingly towards the crowd. “What other realm, what other city, possesses people made of the same strong fiber as you? You endured, you continue to endure. Be proud that you have come to see today.”
Louder cheering cropped up. Despite the heavy-handed celebration and not yet mended wounds of the people of Allbost, the streets around the temple and market was flooded with people. Even if they were uncertain about the High Tiarna’s words, the offerings of food and drink were enough to coax the fence sitters and nay-sayers to attend regardless of their opinions. Being correct does not alleviate thirst and hunger.
“In these ways, I’ve been deeply moved by your sacrifices,” High Tiarna Echavin spoke graciously. “I have brought this feast and these comforts to you so that we may celebrate our victory and memorialize those that are not here. Please, revel to your heart’s content!”
With a flourishing motion from the High Tiarna, the pavilion opened to the ravenous populace. Just as one drops meat before a kennel of dogs, the denizens of Allbost assaulted the food distributors with a maddened fervor.
It would not take long before their stomachs, subjected to several days of severe rationing, would become bloated by bread and ale.
Valentin stuck to the outskirts of the celebration. He had no interest in joining the frenzy. He didn’t have any interest in staying in Allbost for this long in the first place. Only the need to acquiesce to High Tiarna Echavin’s invitation prevented him from departing.
As they were trapped for at least one more day, he allowed his warriors to do as they wished for the day. They had been lethargic since their return and rarely left the environs of the ratty shack that they slept in. Even if they had to drink to delude themselves into believing that they had succeeded, Valentin did not mind.
He slowly meandered towards Tiarna Agren’s estate. It would be a bit longer before High Tiarna clambered down from his perch and begun the private banquet.
As he went about on his jaunt over the dusty streets and parched lanes of Allbost, he noticed there were still a fair few amount of people that did not attend the High Tiarna’s celebration. They weren’t so brazen to bring their silent protests to the main throughways of Allbost, however, Valentin did not have to stray far off the main paths to find them resolutely sitting in front of their homes.
Beside their feet, stones of various sizes were embedded into the ground outside. Some had only one while others had numerous. Valentin’s curiosity drove him to inquire the people about the meaning of the stones, but their hostile gazes encouraged him to continue on his way.
A burly man squatted in front of his house. With his fields burned and his home still trickling with ash every time a breeze visited, he had all the time in the world to idle in front of his home.
“Hello, foreigner,” the man greeted unhappily, his bloodshot eyes trained upon Valentin. “Have you come to gawk at our misfortune?”
Valentin felt the looks of suppressed rage upon him. He hovered his fingers over the sword he had at his side. He had no intentions to get into any altercations, however, he was not so arrogant as to patrol around an unfamiliar city without any protection. The thin sharpened steel, the only discouragement from the people of the backstreet from taking their misplaced anger on him.
“I had little interest in attending the rest of High Tiarna Echavin’s celebration,” Valentin answered truthfully towards the antagonistic man. “I wanted to know what the stones by your feet symbolize.”
Hostility turned into caution. The answer provided enough hesitancy to keep them from regarding Valentin as convenient prey. Still outnumbered, Valentin kept his hand near his blade.
“Graves,” the man answered curtly. “Two for my parents, two for my wife’s, my older sister, and our youngest child.”
“Meager as they may be,” a middle-aged woman said from next door. “We wanted to show that, just a few days ago, there were many more of us. No amount of speeches of victory and sacrifice will change the fact that our families are decimated and our livelihoods turned to dust.”
“We watched them leave,” an elderly person, one of the few that still lived in the city, spoke up. “The woman from Echavin, the nobles. If we didn’t gather around their estate, Tiarna Agren would have left with them. Pitiful as it may appear to you, traveler, this is how we will show our dissatisfaction with our rulers. I may hate Aoire with every fiber of my being, but I may grow to love him if he set that estate ablaze.”
Valentin heard a small chorus of morbid chuckles sprout up from the unfortunate neighbors. He knew that a few of them lost loved ones due to the failings of the subjugation. His failures. A small voice wanted to announce his involvement to all those within earshot. If he told them what had happened, maybe their wounded souls inflicting their dissatisfaction upon him would make him feel a bit better about it. Though, he doubted they would stop with just a few words.
“I hope the ones that our gone find peace,” Valentin offered before departing from the street.
After his encounter, he stuck to the main roads. His curiosity had been sated and he didn’t want to expose himself to greater danger. The drunken revelers, after descending upon the food and drink like a plague of locusts, began to disperse back into the city. They would continue the party within the local taverns, silently mourning behind the joy that bubbled into their ale-addled minds.
It was not much longer until Valentin found Tiarna Agren’s estate. Several guards stood outside the painted iron gate that led into the courtyard. Inside, Valentin saw what should have been an impressive bloom of late season flowers. Instead, he found that the sprouts were wilted from the heat, leaving the impression of a place that had been abandoned.
To make up for the loss in beauty, Tiarna Agren seemed to have been hard at work to infuse color into their property by any means necessary. A long table sat in the center of the courtyard adorned with brilliantly colored cloths of fine material. Bouquets of the few flowers that maintained their luster were placed in small glass-blown vases. Goblets made of different colored glasses sat in front of each seat.
Whether the meal was being hosted outside because of the Tiarna’s vanity or practicality, it did not matter much. Valentin just wanted the interaction to be done with.
He was not accosted at the entryway, the scroll in his hand proving to be sufficient in allowing him entrance. Fortunately, he was not the first guest to arrive. Minor nobles, looking to make a good impression on the High Tiarna, arrived early to find seat closer to the guest of honor’s place. The fact that they sent others to fight in their place was enough to earn them an invitation.
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Finding the setting eerily similar to his least favorite parts of Killicia, Valentin found a seat further away from the madness. A servant quickly filled his empty goblet with wine.
Foolishly, he took a sip from the goblet. He winced from the assault of flavor. Even the Tiarna’s estate didn’t possess wine worth his attention. Still, the bitter swill was better than nothing. Valentin absentmindedly nursed his drink over the next few moments.
As soon as he set his goblet down, a servant immediately rushed over to fill his cup back up. Not wishing to create a scene by rejecting, Valentin offered a polite but weak smile of gratitude.
“Is this seat taken?” Valentin heard a voice ask him.
A woman of large stature stood next the seat across the table from him. Her shoulder length blonde hair framed her angular face and stern expression. She wore a black coat with silver inlay and, like Valentin, had a sword hang from her hip.
“Marshal Flogoran,” Valentin greeted. “No one would dare compete with you over that seat.”
“Erinna is fine for today. I don’t much care for titles at the moment,” Marshal Flogoran remarked with a nod as she took her seat. Somehow, the servants managed to service her cup faster than they had Valentin’s.
“Very well, Erinna,” Valentin adjusted his greeting. “You can call me Valentin for today. It would be too bizarre for you to refer to me as Young Master one-sidedly.”
Erinna chortled at Valentin’s response. She drained her goblet in one motion and welcomed the expeditious refill that she received. Watching her drink did much to teach Valentin why it appeared that the people of Allbost cared little for flavor.
“Sometimes, when you are only called by your title, you forget that you have a name as well,” she commented, downing another goblet.
Valentin quietly nodded in understanding, though he doubted that his title was as tied to his identity as the Marshal’s was. For Valentin, the designation of deggan was simply a step towards the destinations that Ferron envisioned. Erinna would be Marshal until she died. Those that remember her would still refer to her as Marshal Flogoran in remembrance long before they ever called her Erinna.
“When I was fresh out of the academy, I was assigned a deg responsible for guarding the southern gate,” Erinna began to speak in a low voice, the alcohol serving to loosen the muscles that kept such stories locked away. “We had a deggan, some old rusty blade we all called Grandfather, who stayed in the barracks to keep the rest of us new bloods in line.”
Valentin’s thoughts briefly drifted towards Hrost. He wondered how the old goat was managing; probably with a long list of gripes.
“We all had drinks our first night together with Grandfather and the senior warriors sharing stories about terrible shifts and embarrassing mistakes,” Erinna continued after yet another goblet. “Anyways, all of us new bloods go to sleep since we are too drunk to keep watch. I’m sleeping like a rock until I hear this terrible wailing. Sounds like someone getting stabbed. We flung ourselves from our cots only to find it was Grandfather writhing in his cot.”
“What happened to him?” Valentin asked curiously, his interest long since piqued.
“That was the problem,” Erinna replied. “There was no assailant nor did he have any wounds. We tried to calm him down but he began to flail at us. He was even using some favor in his sleep. Broke Odhran’s nose, blood was flowing out and he was crying about how he was going to strangle Grandfather. Someone eventually had the idea to douse him with water and bring an end to the situation. The strangest thing about it all was that Grandfather remembered nothing. Couldn’t recall his dream, didn’t feel his hand bash Odhran in the nose. Not a thing. Felt terrible about the whole ordeal.
One of our senior warriors came bursting in after a few minutes and helped plug up Odhran’s nose. She told us later that Grandfather served in the last war against Norzyet. It was some brutal protracted skirmish over some land around the northern part of Lake Telgrig. Nothing ever came of it and we haven’t fought since. She said Grandfather had been screaming ever since. Druids said that he’s haunted by the leftover remains of spirits that he killed and they attack him in his sleep.”
Valentin looked into his own goblet. His actions over the past few cycles would have earned him a fair few grudges from the spirits that he delivered to the beyond. Would a time come where he, too, would be plagued by those that feel injustice towards him?
“All that story was to say that, the past few days, I’ve been told I’ve been screaming in my sleep,” Erinna explained. “Though I don’t think it’s Aoire that’s haunting me. The ones that I led to their deaths must want their pound of flesh from me.”
“Why tell me all of this?” Valentin wondered in confusion. “Isn’t this something you should tell the Elders?”
“I don’t need word getting around that the Marshal is having nightmares. Not when the High Tiarna is calling the subjugation a success. There’ll be riots all over the city if the people find out what happened out there,” Erinna explained at nearly a whisper. Both her elbows were planted on the table and she leaned across to pass the words. “But I needed to tell someone. A person that may never set foot in Allbost again seemed the ideal person to saddle my burdens.”
“And you’re not worried about me sharing these details?” Valentin questioned.
Erinna looked at Valentin with cold eyes, evaluating how much of a threat Valentin posed to her city. With a tired sigh, she rescinded her probing gaze.
“There is already a growing story in the taverns and barracks about a mercenary that shot a thunderbolt from his fingertip. Some say that it was the deciding moment in the battle,” Erinna remarked. “I imagine the subject of that rumor will have their legacy tarnished if word came out. It would be irrelevant whether or not they even supported the High Tiarna’s assertions in the first place.”
“Appealing to my vanity?”
“What warrior worth anything isn’t a little vain?” Erinna countered. “By the way, how are you feeling? It’s rare to see anyone actually use that power.”
Valentin removed his left to show a discolored left index finger; still slightly bloated by lingering blood that pooled inside. Purple and yellow, it represented a blood sausage that had somehow gotten bad. The appalling color traced its way down his hand, into his wrist, and disappeared into his sleeve.
“Grim,” Erinna commented.
“It looks far worse than it is,” Valentin replied, wriggling the appendage for effect before slotting his hand back into his glove. “I can still feel it and I can still move it. As far as I’m concerned, a bit of discoloration only shows as proof that I succeeded."
“I suppose you’re right,” Erinna replied with a laugh.
“Marshal Flogoran,” someone Valentin did not recognize greeted Erinna.
Erinna’s amicable persona shattered, revealing the stern appearance of Marshal Flogoran. She offered a nod of acknowledgement to the newcomer who sat beside her. A conversation that Valentin had no interest in sparked up between the two, forcing him to stare mindlessly into the horizon to kill time.
As more occupants found their seats, the less talkative Marshal Flogoran became. Her authority prevented many opportunities to be open and this golden opportunity had now closed. If she spoke any more secrets, it was into the never ending goblet that she drained for an unknown time. Her cheeks grew rosy from inebriation.
High Tiarna Echavin waltzed into the courtyard with Tiarna Agren in tow. Frantic sounds of shuffling chairs from those eager to please pushed out. Valentin rose to his feet along with the rest and offered a bow of respect with the rest.
“Please, be seated,” High Tiarna Echavin permitted.
A confident smile wormed its way across High Tiarna Echavin’s face. His easy gait did not falter under the innumerable looks and expectations that crossed the courtyard. This was a person who was born at the top and still found immense joy in reminded everyone of his position at the zenith of the realm. Words levied at him to gain his attention was nothing more than the barking of dogs.
He lowered his body into the head of his host’s table as though it were the natural thing to do. The chair creaked as he asserted his will upon it, shifting it in ways that its master never did.
“Tiarna Agren, many thanks for hosting this private meal,” High Tiarna Echavin said in appreciation for his vassal. “Despite the difficulties that you are facing, you still have created a pleasant gathering.”
“Your words bring me much joy, High Tiarna,” Tiarna Agren said with a deep bow. He slipped into the seat on the opposite side of the long table.
“Please, please, you may call me brother in law, Tiarna,” High Tiarna Echavin corrected. “For your son, Roarke, will be marrying my sweet Keeley.”
Now that High Tiarna Echavin had become comfortable in his chair, food began to rush out to the table. Pigs and sheep and various gamebirds and fish came steaming out on large platters and arranged between the guests. Goblets were topped off with wine.
“As the leaders of this community and this subjugation, I must offer you special thanks,” High Tiarna Echavin announced. “For, without your contributions, we would not have had even the smallest chance against Aoire. As such, I thought it would be suitable to reward your for your participation and continued cooperation.”
Pairs of burly servants lugged several wooden chests into the courtyard. They were gently place on the ground spaced around the table. Inside, large piles of silver eagles peered out to greet the attendees.
“If you wish to remain friends of Croismor, please sat seated and enjoy a meal with me. You will be rewarded accordingly,” High Tiarna Echavin said graciously. “If you do not, I’d like to ask you to leave.”
Nobody rose from their seats. Some ventured questioning glances towards the High Tiarna. Most stared straight ahead. The message was abundantly clear.
“I’m glad to be surrounded by so many friends,” High Tiarna Echavin said jubilantly. “Please, eat. Make merry.”
Valentin silently dug his hands into the platter near him, appropriating the contents towards his own plate. He carefully selected the items that looked the most appetizing to him.
Like their skills with wine, the northern ability to cook food was also lacking to Valentin. Without access to the spices of the Ampoli Jungle and Southern Hetecis, the people to the north had no choice but to over-flavor everything with salt. His pheasant was boiled and heavily salted. Only a smattering of garden herbs and a miserly dusting of spices brought any additional flavor. Fish caught in the Crossways had a far more pungent taste than the abalone pulled from the nets of vessels on Bull’s Bay.
It was only when he dined on their finest offerings that Valentin fully appreciated the flavor of the alcohol. The bitter flavor served well to scrub the harsh flavors from his tongue; far better than any sweeter variety from his home could.
“Young Master Guerros.”
Valentin’s meal was interrupted by a familiar voice. He turned his head around to spy Elder Carlan standing a couple steps behind his seat. Much like everyone involved in the subjugation, the elder appeared to have been unfamiliar with peaceful nights as of late.
“Elder Carlan,” Valentin greeted with a nod. “What business does the Temple of Allbost have with me?”
“When you wish to leave the banquet, I’d like you to accompany me,” Elder Carlan answered. “There is someone that would like to meet you. Do not worry, we will ensure you receive your payment from the High Tiarna.”
“Is that so?” Valentin asked. He took one more bite and one last swig before rising from his seat. “Please lead the way.”