“Renne has not yet returned,” Kerwin informed Valentin.
Valentin’s deg were arranged with their carts and belongings, eager to put Allbost behind them. However, there was still one thing that kept them looking northwards in the hopes it would arrive.
Five days passed since Valentin agreed to allow his second in command to stay in Aoire’s battlefield. Neither he nor the one that he so desperately waited for graced the deg’s dingy quarters. His disarming laugh did not linger in the halls nor did his innocuous complaints reach Valentin’s ears. All that remained were some of his personal effects that he did not bring with him. They decided to pack his belongings and take it with them anyways.
He wondered how long Renne stood in that field for, if he went back to look for her further, or if he had even given up yet. Valentin knew that, while his deg was talented, they were not above certain immutable laws of the world. They were all still mortal. If he saw them both crest the horizon, if Renne cracked one of his classic dry jokes, Valentin would be overjoyed. However, they did not return. Just as Gair wouldn’t or Old Laud or Zalavo. He just hoped that Renne would leave that field and continue on, even if it was no longer with his deg.
“Vice Deggan Renne has deserted from the Armée du Corbeaux,” Valentin announced to his somber deg. “As of now, he is no longer a member of our warband. Forget about him.”
Unenthusiastic warriors led their animals onwards. Their carts traveled south, they creaked from the weight they were laden with. The weight that they had gained in coin almost matched what they had lost in life.
Valentin’s attention drifted towards his own possessions. Buried somewhere within, sat a coin more valuable than everything else combined. While he hadn’t had the chance to express it to Elder Carlan, he was ultimately grateful to have been rewarded so privately. Growing legend or not, an imperial was an imperial. He did not need opportunists dogging him the entire way south.
At the first chance, he’d give it to Ferron in exchange for a different reward. Something like this was far more trouble than it was worth. Prestige and status means nothing if you were killed before you could enjoy it.
It took over a half day of traveling before they finally escaped the full scope of Aoire’s devastation. Fields were divided in a near perfect supernatural line of ash and debris. Birds chirped again, livestock grazed fields without worried shepherds fussing over them.
Valentin took a deep breath. It was the first time in days that he felt like he was truly breathing in fresh air. He felt noxious air flow out from him in vapors, disappearing into the skies.
As soon as the skies cleared and the world brightened, Valentin spotted numerous people camped off the sides of the road. While the High Tiarna surely coaxed numerous families back to the city, some still remained to wait until they felt it was truly safe to return. Tarps draped over carts and pinned to the ground with stakes provided small tents for those that owned them.
It took a day further to reach the outskirts of Croismor. Since they circumvented the city by boat, Valentin did not have the opportunity to see the city proper. High walls of white stone loomed in the distance. Over the Crossways, Valentin could see the long bridge that conjoined both ends of the city, the secret to Echavin’s prosperity.
Croismor, the only truly suitable location to those fleeing southwards, had become inundated with people. Fortunately, most had either been able to file through the city gate days before Valentin arrived or made makeshift tents and slept under the watch of the wall. It was a blessing that this occurred during the warm seasons and the elements would not be able to claim any of them in their sleep.
Charged a few more silver than they would have appreciated, the deg progressed into the city. Once, they were two separate cities occupying either end of the narrowest part of the Crossways, the ancestors of the current High Tiarna underwent the ambitious project to span the water. It was said to have taken nearly eighty cycles to complete and it was only that short because the Storm Sovereign of that age wished it to be completed. Now, the High Tiarna of Echavin strips travelers from land and sea of as much of their wealth that he could. If he could tax the birds that flew above, he would.
Valentin could see as the endpoint of the northern side of Croismor was surrounded by a market square. One would need to be blind and deaf to miss the crazed calling and wild gesticulating of the merchants. Wares from all over the world were contained on these displays. It was the only city in Strettia where one could find silk from Xanbo, produce from Hetecis, and pearls from Byrtelos in the same place.
“Does anyone wish to stop a look around?” Valentin asked his warriors, understanding of the rare opportunity that they were presented.
“It is fine, Deggan Valentin,” Kerwin answered. “We should press on.”
Valentin looked at the faces of his warriors. It appeared that Kerwin spoke for all of them. Any that didn’t dared not show dissent. The banquet did little to remedy their melancholic outlooks. If anything, the events of the day prior had only compounded the issue.
“Are you certain?” Valentin questioned, offering his warriors a second chance. “If you don’t buy it here, it will be thrice as expensive by the time it reaches Verbosc.”
“I would like to stop to buy some things for the children,” Maeve replied meekly, feeling constricted by the group’s atmosphere.
“A fine idea,” Valentin said, grateful that someone had shown initiative. “Allow me to join you and pick out some things myself. The rest of you, we will be reconvening in two hours. Decide amongst yourselves who will watch the luggage.”
Valentin joined Maeve and walked into the market. He looked over his shoulder to see his warriors engaged in conversation. A feeling of vexation overcame him. He would need to figure out something to reinvigorate his group’s morale. Many more days like this and a regular conscript would be enough to slay them in battle.
He mindlessly followed Maeve through the crowded places. There was a contentedness to being stripped of the need to lead. He could look at a golden trinket from the East or swords from the North without any other consideration.
However, Maeve did not tarry long by any of those stands. Her focus was on the tailors and the toy sellers. She fussed endlessly over what would fit the kid’s tastes more.
Deliberations took place over whether to buy a toy warrior or a carving of a spirit cat painted black with white markings. She wondered if an orange or a green dress would make them happier. As she mumbled to herself, occasionally requesting Valentin’s unprofessional input, the owners of the stands would quite loudly declare the greedy option of ‘both’.
Unfortunately for them, Maeve was the least ideal customer. She never paid attention to the words of the merchants. The only words that she registered were the proposed prices. Her budget was limited, requiring donations from Valentin in order to make all the purchases she wanted. This also saddled Valentin with the arduous task of negotiating. Doubly unfortunate for the merchants, they had to haggle with a compatriot trained in the mercantile arts.
When they returned, it didn’t appear that any of his warriors had gone perusing the wares. The only exception appeared to be Daron, who was inspecting a ring very closely. Valentin did not bother asking and, instead, allowed them to sulk for a while longer.
The dismal mood almost soured his highly anticipated moment of crossing Croismor’s bridge. Valentin marveled at the three mile stone bridge that obsoleted naval travel. His joy was undaunted by the chorus of gulls that perched on the ledges or the congested road that forced them to move to a crawling speed. Truly, it was one of the greatest creations in all of humankind to allow Valentin to bypass the heinous shipping lanes that resided below him.
After navigating the similarly crowded market that awaited them on the other side, Valentin led the way down the main street of the city. He was eager to leave the city and travel less congested roads.
To his right, Valentin spotted an Academy for warriors. There was no training or spars occurring in the courtyard. It had grown late enough in the day that they were likely sharing a meal inside.
“Mannix,” Valentin said, gaining the warrior’s attention before they left the sight of the academy. “You said you regretted that we had to take a boat earlier. Would you like to visit with your old comrades tonight? We can spend the night here.”
“No thank you, Deggan Valentin,” Mannix replied regretfully. “I do not think they are around during such a suitable fighting season.”
“And you, Guain?” Valentin wondered.
“All the women I wish to be in contact with I already exchange letters with,” he replied with a shrug. “I we are going to Vessaire, I’d be very appreciative. I’ve been receiving quite provocative letters from my friend there.”
Valentin smirked at Guain’s response, a welcome respite amidst the dour days. He did not question Mannix further, the act would be utterly pointless. He would not be the one to feel regret it later.
Now that they had left Croismor, unfinished business would be the new focal of Valentin’s obsession. Aethin Wod awaited him and, with it, the hope of news from Médéric that would bring him closer to retribution. Perhaps this revenge, in a circuitous way, would prove to be the panacea required to set Valentin on the right path. The Bothair clan’s actions was not what ailed him, he knew this as fact. But, in a way, the actions of the Bothair was what ultimately drove him the night that continues to haunt him. Perhaps, by remedying this source, it would untangle the rest.
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As he tried to convince himself of those words, the words of the Madame attempted to disperse those thoughts. He was still uncertain as to how much stock he should place in the words of the brothel owner. What he could not discount was that she had met him head on at every turn and expressed a genuine wish for him to change.
He would need to decide, and soon.
Just as much of the travel so far had felt rapid, so too was their approach to Aethin Wod. The sight of the fortress on the horizon made Valentin’s fingers feel icy. The pair of silver spears emblazoned on black banners served as a symbol to channel his myriad emotions into.
Valentin led his warriors to the familiar Crossroads Inn.
Inside, Valentin spotted two men with square shaped torsos sitting at a table along the wall of the Inn near a Seren’s Strategy board. The one with a shapely beard held a book between two thick fingers and looked from his page by happenstance. He raised a hand in greeting to the newcomers. A friendly smile crossed his lips.
“Deggan Valentin,” Médéric called out, rousing his brother to turn and wave as well. “Please, take a seat while I order us a meal. I’d like to hear all about Allbost.”
Médéric rose from his seat and gestured towards the innkeeper. “Inn keep, we need seventeen portions of your special and just as many ale!”
“Fourteen,” Valentin corrected. “We only need fourteen.”
“I see,” Médéric replied with a furrow of his brow.
Dinner was mostly eaten quietly. Médéric asked questions about the subjugation while his comrades answered with their own experiences between spoonfuls of stew. They spoke about what they saw and heard during the battle. Most importantly, they spoke of their feelings of helplessness. Lament towards their own futile actions continued to wear them down.
“It is good that as many of you made it back as you did,” Médéric commented in an attempt to bring some silver linings to the dark clouds.
A chorus of noncommittal grunts were provided in response to his efforts to uplift his comrades. Sadness belied the frustration beneath. Their first true defeat was a bitter tonic to ingest and the young warriors had yet to learn to cope with.
“It is nice to meet you, Daron and Tara,” Médéric greeted, changing his focus from the rest.
“Thank you, it is nice to meet you as well,” Tara said with a short bow toward her senior. “I hope that you teach me all you know.”
As they continued to exchange pleasantries, Valentin looked at the rest of his warriors. While he did not yet know what to say, he knew that it was up to him to right the ship again.
From across the inn, a troubadour strummed out popular songs for the region. Most were ones that Valentin did not recognize. Songs about the sea or about enduring the harsh winters of the northern wilds. The songs of the North were songs that praised tenacity above all else. Those that survived grew stronger.
However, the troubadour now played a song about love with lyrics that Valentin had heard once before.
I left my love with a crown of blooms.
‘Fore I marched off to face my doom.
I remember the touch of their mouth.
While I fight for us in fields down south.
“Cathmor,” Valentin said to the hunched over warrior. “This is a song of Vessaire.”
“So?” Cathmor asked in a way that irritated Valentin.
“Aren’t we drinking together? Isn’t making merry between battles something that warriors do? Sing along with it for us,” Valentin ordered.
“I’m not really up for it, Deggan Valentin.”
Valentin sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. To grill them was its own form of hypocrisy, but he had to be the willing hypocrite. He needed to stoke the cold embers inside them and return the roaring bravados of their youth.
“How long are all of you going to sulk?” Valentin questioned his deg as he jumped up to his feet. “Have you never lost before in your life? I’ve been patient in allowing you to grieve and collect yourselves. But, you still continue to mope around and frown into your cups. This is the life. You celebrate when you win and you pull yourself back together when you lose.”
“But Deggan—“
Kerwin began to speak, but Valentin would not allow it. He raised his hand and his voice alike to stifle any dissention.
“There are no excuses,” Valentin proclaimed. “If you believe that you fell short, train hard at where you failed. If you believe that you were complacent, focus your mindset. You are alive, which means that you can do better next time. Continue to train with one another. We will see more death in a far greater magnitude in the coming seasons and cycles. Will you buckle under the weight of every loss that you face?”
Seeing only muted, submissive responses, Valentin continued his tirade. He moved his hand to point at the scar that traced along his cheek; the ugly reminder of his past weakness.
“See this?” Valentin asked the table. “I got this when I was fourteen in a duel against a deggan. I was outmatched and beaten half to death. Do you think I lied there and lamented while I wallowed in the dirt? No, I got up. I did what I had to do and, when I was done, I trained so it wouldn’t happen again. Do not let this be where you stagnate. With Renne gone, I need you all now more than ever. One of you will be Vice Deggan and this is your chance to prove yourselves once more. I need someone with the confidence to lead, even when things aren’t favorable.”
Valentin sat back down to tend to his stew. There was nothing more he could do to jolt them awake. Coddling by his loved ones only served to stunt Valentin’s growth and made him susceptible to the harshness of the world. He could not use soft hands on those who trade their blood for coins.
The table remained silent. He allowed them to remain reserved for one more night. There would be no miraculous change in them after a single frustrated speech. They needed the time to allow his words to truly seep into their mind. If they had not improved over the next five-day, he would have to do something far more drastic.
“Rest well,” Valentin bade farewell to his warriors after finishing his stew. He traded some coins for a room near the back of the inn.
Not long after Valentin lied in his bed, he heard a knock on the door. Rousing himself from his place of comfort, he moved towards the entryway to find the source of his disruption. On the other side, stood Médéric holding a candle.
“Deggan Valentin,” Médéric began. “I hope that it is not an inconvenient time.”
“It is not,” Valentin confirmed with a sleepy nod. “Come in.”
While Valentin sat back down on his mattress, Médéric remained standing. The warrior took one look down the hallway before moving into the center of the room.
“It’s the first time I’ve seen us in such a state,” Médéric commented. “Words don’t accurately paint a picture at how terrible it must have been.”
“Though they survived, they must have felt how close death truly was,” Valentin replied, wringing his hands together with nervous energy. “Even I would have had to flee if Aoire continued his fight. They saw people, strong people, turn to ash in an instant. Do you think a simple speech would be enough to overturn that fear?”
Médéric placed a contemplative hand to his chin and thought for a moment. Valentin hoped that the warrior’s lack of experience with anything from Allbost would offer fresh perspectives.
“The ones that need to respond will,” Médéric said thoughtfully. “The fact they had such high expectations of themselves that they thought they had a chance with a powerful supernatural force means that they have the proper ambitions to improve. Getting knocked down after a long string of victories hurts more than losing from the beginning. It also doesn’t help that you were the only one that did anything successful. The gulf in perceived talent on widens.”
While Valentin ruminated on Médéric’s words, the man pulled two items from a bag tied to his waist. In one hand, he held a scroll. In the other, a loosely bound book.
“I have two matters to discuss with you,” Médéric announced, lifting the scroll. “One is from the Armée and one is from me. Which do you wish me to start with?”
“Yours,” Valentin answered instinctively, ignoring the matter of how Médéric was given a missive while he was on an unrelated mission.
Médéric pocketed the scroll and thumbed open the book. He flipped several times to reach his desired page and gave it a quick read before making his report.
“The current tiarna of Aethin Wod is Athdar Bothair,” Médéric reported. “There is not much known about his condition of late. Rumor is that he can barely remember his own name and that most of his work has been spread out amongst his retainers and his heir. Nobody sees him leave the castle. Hasn’t left in over five cycles. Most say that he should just abdicate already, but there must be something going on that is preventing it.”
“What about Sloane Bothair?” Valentin inquired, disappointed the leader was an addled old man. Such people are worthless to take to task.
“A Vice Deggan in the Royal Investigators,” Médéric answered, his finger running down the page to find the relevant information. “Serves under his aunt, Eimear Bothair. Both have ears very close to the Storm Sovereign’s mouth and enjoy several personal benefits in exchange for their loyalty. They rarely carry out anyone else’s will. As for sightings, reports say they left for Vessaire to monitor the situation there. They won’t be back until Killicia at the earliest, if even then.”
“I see,” Valentin said with a sigh.
Médéric raised his finger. “Oh, there is one piece of information that may be of immediate use to you. The chosen heir of Athdar Bothair is his granddaughter, Rois Bothair. She is Eimear’s daughter and Sloane’s younger cousin. I spotted her a couple times. Brown hair, freckles, fairly attractive.”
“What do they say about her?” Valentin asked, interested in the potential lead he was being given.
More rustling of pages and more tracking of notes. Médéric squinted his eyes in difficulty as he tracked down disparate notes about the Bothair clan.
“Ah, here it is,” Médéric said, mostly to himself. “Rois Bothair is considered to be a kind woman and is highly regarded amongst the citizenry of Aethin Wod. She is well spoken, competent in her work, does not have any enemies amongst the retainers, and she often leaves the city to provide gifts and aid to surrounding villages. The village of Killikan is the most common destination for her. She visits around every ten days or so.”
“Lover?” Valentin asked, looking for something that he could use against her.
“No, Rou and I followed her a few days back. She typically travels with a small contingent of a couple guards and a druid,” Médéric replied. “There is a temple out there that she likes donating time at. As for why, it isn’t because she is sleeping with one of the druids.”
“What of the trail?”
“Fairly wooded,” Médéric answered. “Made it easy to pursue for a distance. We found an abandoned cabin not far off the road that we stayed on the way back. I could show it to you if you’re interested.”
“Depends,” Valentin responded in a non-committal tone. “What is business of the Armée?”
“We are requested to travel down to the Povia-Orso border and support Durant immediately,” Médéric informed. “Our opponent hired some mercenaries that recently returned from the East. Real veterans, you know. It sounds like we are mired and the enemies are willing to accrue payment and wait the cold seasons out. Our employer is less enthused to do so.”
“We cannot sit there and freeze,” Valentin commented. “Ferron will spontaneously combust when he finds out. What are we out there for anyways?”
“Marble contract,” Médéric answered. “It seems Ferron is creating some connections for after his war ends.”
“We can use it to craft a Novesse Mausoleum for ourselves if it goes poorly,” Valentin said in a dissatisfied tone. “Thank you, Médéric, I will offer my orders tomorrow.”
“It was of no difficulty, Deggan Valentin,” Médéric replied with a bow and slipped out of the room.
Valentin lied back down on the mattress in a huff. The Bothair clansmen that he wanted retribution from were not present. In their stead was an old man who forgets his own name and a young woman with a good reputation. Neither option for recourse especially appealed to Valentin. However, he could not stand leaving without anything to offer his clan or to the heirs like him whose lives were violently shortened.
What was the point of any of this if he did not act now? Just because Rois did not attack him herself did not mean that she does not know about what her clan has done. It did not mean that she did not benefit from his suffering. Her good reputation, the benefits that her clan receives, these were accomplished through incorrigible means.
He had to take something from them. He had to make them suffer.