Darkness fell upon the camp and the treaty remained unsigned. It was always unlikely that the orchestrators of this conflict would arrive the same day that the final battle occurred. To dash out at the first words of armistice was the action of the less dignified. They needed to look their best and bring their best when they met in this hillside between their towns. For, even if the martial portion was completed, the political was far from over.
The exact arrangements over the quarry weighed lightly in Valentin’s mind. The words that he heard yesterday from Morna were the ones that echoed within his mind. If she had not mentioned Bassett’s name, he would not have known that his old friend were here. They had made no moves to greet him nor had he seen him throughout much of the day.
Every instinct in his body gave him a dreadful feeling. The nature of Bassett’s mentioning during his confession to Morna alluded to information about his friend that Valentin was not yet prepared to admit. He needed to go see for himself.
There was only one difficulty to his intentions.
Once the indignation that spurred Durant’s prideful proclamation wore off, it did not take long for the acting War Leader to seek Valentin out. It was not as though Valentin was difficult to find, after conversing with Barth, he returned to his tent to draft up a report of the battle.
Durant and his riders rode up with the incarcerated Placite in tow, her hands now bound in heavy corded ropes reserved for draft horses. They had stripped her of her armor and any potentially hidden weapons. A displeased look crossed her face as she squinted to keep the light from her eyes.
“Valentin,” Durant addressed to gain Valentin’s attention. Due to the tent behind Valentin, Durant could not play the same shadow trick that he had done to Placite. “I have need of your assistance until the treaty is signed.”
“I thought you had no further need of me, Durant,” Valentin replied coldly, continuing to jot down the notes of his deg’s contributions.
Placite stifled a giggle while Durant clicked his tongue in displeasure. He nodded to his guard who untied the rope around his horse and tossed the end towards Valentin.
“Things said in the heat of battle are meant to be forgotten,” Durant cautioned. “I am tasking you with keeping watch over Placite until the meeting occurs. Since you managed to defeat her, I have confidence that she will not pose much of an issued unarmed.”
“No faith in my words, eh?’ Placite remarked to her captor. “I heard rumor that Ferron was of the most honorable War Leaders in Strettia. Perhaps you take more after your mother.”
Durant appeared as though he was going to lash out at Placite again, his face turned in the way that one does when they are about to scream. Instead, he gripped onto his reins tighter, the creases in his gloves becoming more pronounced. He sighed, allowing the fury to pass by him; a maturity that he did not often show.
“I have a meeting with Hubert,” Durant announced. “Watch her for the next three days and I will put in additional good word with Father.”
“I appreciate it,” Valentin said stoically. However it was the other part of Durant’s statement that caused him more thought. “A meeting with Hubert?”
“Yes, a meeting that will go late into the night,” Durant stated. “I have put Barth in charge of the night watch. Be thankful I gave you charge over one person.”
With that, the horsemen departed, leaving Valentin alone with the captured war leader. He let the end of the rope sit loosely beneath his boot as he continued to write in his journal. His passive disinterest appeared to intrigue the woman as she addressed the arrangement.
“How lax,” she observed playfully. “I may have surrendered, but that does not mean I find myself inferior to you. What will you do if I tug myself free?”
“All your warriors die,” Valentin replied calmly. “Is there some benefit to running at this stage?”
“Well,” she began with a thoughtful tilt of her head. “You may not be able to kill me without tarnishing your honor, but there are plenty of other things that you can do that I would rather not experience.”
Valentin stopped his scrawling. He turned his head and looked Placite. Her auburn hair was cropped short to frame her freckled face. While her expression was playful and her teeth were shown in a pleasant smile, he could see that her eyes watched him with sharpness. When stripped of her words, he knew that she was terrified of him.
“I’m not interested in humiliating you, War Leader Placite,” Valentin announced at the woman, much to her surprise. “All that will happen is that you will sit here until your employer formally surrenders, then, you will go. The only thing that you have to do is behave.”
“I can behave,” War Leader Placite agreed readily. She opened her palms and sat down. “As you bear no ill will towards me, I will return the favor. Though, admittedly, I am still acclimating to the courtesy shown between warbands. Out east, I would have been done like a dog in the field and made to walk around bare.”
Valentin raised his eyebrow at the comment. “I have heard that the rules are different in open war. Hetecis and Xanbo have no love for each other.”
“More than that,” Placite said with a laugh. “They pay more if you make the enemy suffer. Of course, once you do that, they begin to take things personally. All it takes is to be outnumbered once, outmaneuvered once, and it ends for you. Fortunately, I avoided such a fate and got away with a nice set of riches. Seeing where I am now, I should have been satisfied with it.”
Valentin nodded in agreement with the words. It was the folly of the mercenary, the folly of a human, to never be satisfied with what they already had. Great victories, instead of filling one with satisfaction, made a warrior hungrier for greater challenges and more riches. If currency could burn, all the war pyres in the world would be constructed with silver coins.
“Worse still, I only did it to test myself against the great Ferron Martelle,” Placite commented before scoffing. “Instead, I met his inept son…and you. Whoever you are to be so powerful and earn the ire of your leader.”
“Then feel relief that it was Ferron’s protégé that you fought to a draw against,” Valentin commented with a smirk. “Durant does not like me because he wishes that he were like me.”
“Daddy loves you more then?” Placite remarked with a roaring laugh that collected a few looks of approaching warriors.
Valentin’s deg, finished with the work from the battlefield, marched back into camp with the remaining forces. They offered a quick look of curiosity towards War Leader Placite before getting into their remaining work and starting their cook fires.
“I would advise against being so brazen,” Valentin said in a low voice. “I may not have any interest in you, but if someone were to take you off my hands because they heard what you were saying, you would put me in a difficult position.”
Placite only shrugged and made the face of a merchant that was called out for having poor quality goods. With Valentin stifling conversation, her overabundant energy sent her eyes in every direction throughout the camp. Every warrior that walked by, every tent, and what ingredients we were using to cook.
While Placite’s attention focused outwardly, Valentin’s was solely turned inside itself. His thoughts, predictably drifted towards Bassett and his own inability to leave his assignment. She may be unarmed, but at least three of his deg would have to watch over her to ensure that they weren’t overwhelmed and allowed a killer to blitz through the camp. Caera, Cathmor, and Kerwin would probably be enough.
But, were they ready for an assignment like that? Anything that went wrong would fall down on Valentin’s head.
“Maybe I should have continued to entertain you if I knew you were going to try to take stock of the entire camp. You may know the layout better than I do at this rate.”
“You seemed to have a lot on your mind,” Placite replied plainly. “What’s wrong? Experiencing some problems with your lover at home?”
Valentin scrunched his face. Emotion that he could not describe washed over his heart and left him with a feeling that he would only call uncomfortable. He believed that he knew what love looked like and the emotions that he felt towards Bassett was not love.
Unless, of course, it was a stunted kind of love; kept immature by his experiences.
“It’s not love,” Valentin said definitively, chasing away any measure of doubt from his mind. “There is just something concerning that I heard. I wished to go investigate it myself tonight but…”
“You were given ownership over me instead?” Placite asked with a wide smile. “Well, my honorable captor, I have good news for you. I have no intention of moving from this spot. So, go on. Go look at whatever it was you wanted to look at to your heart’s content. I won’t budge an inch because I respect you so much.”
As much as Valentin sought for any excuse to drop everything and sprint towards his own investigation, this offer was as good as an apple dropped from the Death Mother Tree. Sweet to the tongue and deadly toxic the next day.
“You talk well, Placite,” Valentin admitted. “But, that’s all I’ll give you. There is not enough between us to give your word credence.”
“Then, take me with you,” she suggested. “I would be dutifully quiet and compliant.”
“And allow you more knowledge over our camp?” Valentin asked and Placite stuck her tongue out tauntingly. “No, it will only cause more talking that I would get if I just tucked you in a corner and snuck away.”
“I guess you’re stuck here with me then,” Placite said with a shrug. “We may as well be chained together.”
Valentin sighed and hung his head. The pair of prisoners, by chain and by duty, sat in relative silence while the rest of the camp continued living without them. Ortus was mid-descent and the scent of meals grew more pronounced. Though, most of what remained was some salted bacon, rye bread, and some pickled vegetables.
“Deggan Valentin, we got you a portion as well,” Guain said as he offered his leader a wooden bowl full of assorted preserved dishes. “We traded for some eggs from Darcy’s deg so we have at least one fresh thing to eat. And, uh, we brought a bit for the prisoner as well.”
“Thank you much,” Placite said with a wide grin. “You’re a pretty one, aren’t you?”
“Oh well-“
“Guain,” Valentin spoke, causing Guain to freeze up. “Until her employer comes, this woman is our enemy. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Deggan,” Guain said loudly with a bow and returned to his position closer to the fire.
Valentin ate slowly, sure to keep one eye on his prisoner for the entire time. Placite, however, had no interest in Valentin’s attention and scarfed down the food provided to her as if she had been starved for days. Her hands dug into the bowl and took up large scoops of food to her mouth. Satisfied grunts left her mouth like a pig that got extra scraps in their trough.
“They feed you well here,” Placite complimented. “Even though you it appeared you were losing this entire time, you were better stocked than we were. A few more battles and we would have had to bring it to an end anyways. Look, you even have boiled eggs. Haven’t eaten one of these in about twenty…maybe thirty days.”
Valentin glanced at the unimpressive little chicken egg in his bowl. He took a bite of it. It was only flavored by a sprinkle of salt from the water and the vinegar that seeped into it from the vegetables. And, while he had a renewed appreciation towards the logistical efforts that his warband put in to keep him fed and happy, his mind pursued different avenues. Namely, the person who provided these eggs.
Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.
“Guain!” Valentin called out towards the rest of the deg. The warrior’s head snapped in Valentin’s direction so quickly he nearly snapped his own neck. “Did you say that these eggs came from Darcy?”
“Yes, Deggan,” Médéric replied.
“Médéric,” I need you to go to Darcy’s tent and request her presence. “I’d like to meet with her urgently.”
“Yes, Deggan,” Médéric said with a bow. The warrior set his bowl aside and slowly rose to his feet. After a short stretch, he departed in the direction of the deggan’s tent.
Some time went by as Médéric said whatever he felt like was necessary to coax the woman from her tent. Valentin’s boot tapped the ground rapidly as nervous energy conquered that singular limb. This plan would still lose him some grace among his peers, but it was better than sitting and not knowing for three more days.
“Deggan Valentin,” a feminine voice greeted from down the path.
“Deggan Darcy,” Valentin greeted back.
A small frown turned down in the corner of Darcy’s mouth. Out of her armor and into her nightwear, the blonde woman’s twin braids that draped down to her lower back swung into view with every step. She stood over Valentin’s back to impose herself down upon both him and his prisoner.
“Would you like to tell me why you so urgently requested my presence?” Darcy asked with the same tone of a mother who caught their child doing wrong and was giving them one final chance to be honest. “As far as I can remember, we do not have such a relationship where one of us can make bedroom calls to the other.”
“Is this your-“
“No,” Valentin responded, terminating Placite’s snarky question. “Deggan Darcy, I wish to request a favor of you.”
“That favor being?” Darcy questioned with growing impatience.
“I need you to watch the prisoner for me tonight,” Valentin replied. “There is something else that I must attend to tonight and Durant placed this job in my lap suddenly and without room for discussion.”
“Why not ask Barth?”
“I have a bigger favor to ask of Barth.”
Darcy went quiet in the face of Valentin’s words. His deadpan expression was a staple of his demeanor, yet, that also led greater gravity to his words.
“Does that favor pertain to the assignments for the campaign?” She probed with an exploratory tone. “I also heard word of who is intended to serve under you. Talk about spilling oil on a boat’s deck during a lightning storm. Ferron must secretly hate you or believe in you to a degree that I almost find annoying.”
“As such,” Valentin continued, brushing off the last sentence. “I would like for you to watch over the prisoner so I may begin some meeting to discuss strategy. I will not have you do it for free.”
“And what benefit could you possibly provide me?” Darcy questioned?
Valentin closed his eyes and silently asked his aunt for forgiveness and understanding for what he was going to offer.
“You are assigned to the Southern front, are you not?” Valentin asked in response.
“I am.”
“Then you must know that I am a member of the Guerros Clan and that my aunt is Yvonne Guerros,” Valentin followed up.
“Wait, you’re related to Yvonne Guerros?” Placite asked in shock. “No wonder you were so difficult to face.”
“Anyways,” Valentin said, continuing his previous statements. “What if I told you that I can write a letter to my aunt instructing her to treat you as she would treat me while you are in the city? I’m sure staying in the keep whenever you wish would be a better arrangement than whatever encampment you’ll be holed up in otherwise.”
“Is that something that you are able to give away?” Darcy questioned. She tried not to show it, but the proposition of luxury was one that struck her directly in the heart.
“Of course,” Valentin said with a nod. “I can draft up a letter before we depart. Provided that you take this woman off my hands for tonight and watch her closely. Also, no harm must come to her unless she attempts to flee. But, she promised not to do that. Isn’t that right?”
“I promise that I will be as well behaved as the meekest courtesan in the harems of Xanbo,” Placite confirmed with a grin and a nod.
Darcy placed a hand to her chin and narrowed her eyes. A deal perhaps too favorable, Valentin thought to himself. Anyone intelligent would be suspicious that there is a hidden meaning behind such great generosity.
“Get up,” Darcy ordered Placite. “You’re coming with me.”
“My appreciation, Darcy,” Valentin said with a nod.
“The only words I want from you are written down in a letter to your aunt,” Darcy said with a grin. “Will I get access to hot baths?”
“Everything that is provided to me will be yours as well,” Valentin confirmed.
Darcy’s face looked like it must have when she passed her Bloodstone Ceremony. A melodic humming left her mouth as she led Placite back towards her camp. With a motion of her hand, a few of Valentin’s warriors left their seats to assist in her transportation of the prisoner.
Without wasting any more time than he already had, Valentin jumped to his feet and took to the camp. The entire process had already brought the dying light of the day upon the camp. Most of the warriors were already cleaning their cookware and retiring to their tents for the night. A few card games and some drinking circles would persist under torchlight, but Valentin knew that his opportunities were growing short.
Valentin moved through the tents housing the warriors. He did not expect to see his friend amongst the games and drinking. He skirted around Hubert’s tent, knowing that Durant’s men would be guarding the entrance. He knew that being spotted would go directly into his adopted brother’s ears.
But, that was the tent that Morna mentioned. However, Valentin chose to deny those statements for now. If it was what his worst inclinations were, it would be difficult to stomach.
Difficult to not rush into that tent and kill everyone inside.
Instead, he altered his course and moved to the tents that the camp attendants slept in. There were only two sizable tents that housed the twenty or so non-combatant members of the warband. Some wagon drivers, some apothecaries, some villagers provided by the client; few enough that Bassett would be quickly found if he were here.
But, he was not here.
At the very least, Valentin did not see him around the tents. He poked his head into the one of the tents only to cause a bunch of half-dressed peasants to drop to their knees in deference to his station. Even if they did not know who he was, his equipment and the emblem pinned to his cape were enough to tell them all who they were dealing with.
“What can we do for you, Your Eminence?” One of the attendants asked. “Has something displeased you?”
Embarrassment rose in Valentin’s cheeks. He swallowed and cleared his throat. The faster he got this over with, the quicker these feelings would subside.
“Is this all of you?” Valentin inquired. “I’m looking for someone.”
“Everyone assigned to this tent is here,” the attendant answered. “If you telling me who you seek, I can find them for you, Your Eminence.”
Valentin hesitated to speak Bassett’s name. It would be made simpler, certainly, and he could tell these people not to speak a word of what he was doing, but that turns into gossip. He shuddered at what additional attention would turn his way.
“I can check the other tent myself.”
“Of course, have a good night.”
The second tent did not create any further leads and Valentin was left without any leads. If Bassett was not sleeping with the attendants, then where was he sleeping? Had Morna been telling the truth all along?
So, Valentin began wandering the camp aimlessly. He had already handed off his job at an exorbitant cost and now felt like an idiot hiding from the truth to spare his heart.
He exited the camp and sat on the fields alone for some time, long enough that the only sounds were coming from Hubert’s camp. Whatever meeting that he and Durant was having had long since turned into a party. A party that neither Darcy nor Barth found an invitation to. Darcy had an answer. Flirtatious as she was at times, Valentin did not think that Darcy wanted to spend the night alone with these men.
It was Barth that was the larger mystery. Valentin had assumed that he was a member of Durant and Hubert’s cohort. Barth was frustrated at Durant, but was that enough to forgo drinking and women?
Valentin sighed and rose to his feet. He made his way towards a water trough to wipe some grime from his face and refresh himself to stand watch over Hubert’s tent from a distance in denial that he would see his friend walk out of the bowels of whatever salacious event Hubert had planned.
As he reached the water, he saw that someone had beaten him there. It seemed that a woman in a fine dress was cleaning herself under the dim light of a distant torch. A small bucket was taken from the trough. She cupped the water with one hand and washed underneath her dress. A camp girl no doubt. They were close enough to town that some women would march into the camp in their nicest fabrics and mingle with the wealthier clientele.
She flinched at Valentin’s presence and stopped her cleaning. Valentin’s mind was not focused on her at all, instead dwelling within the thoughts that often held him prisoner.
“Continue as you were, I’m not here to bother you,” Valentin reassured, figuring that she stopped out of deference for his appearance. Even if she did not know his heritage, many prominent warriors were wealthier than town leaders and some nobles.
Valentin reached down and scooped some water in both hands. He rubbed the cold liquid on his face, washing away the dirt and sweat from the earlier battle that he had yet been able to wash away. The water freshened his face, but made the rest of his body feel even more disgusting in contrast. He would need to figure out a time to arrange his private bath lest he reek when the dignified sponsors of this battle came to sign their treaties.
He flicked the water from his hands back into the trough and straightened his posture. The woman had not moved since he had arrived. He didn’t find fault in her reaction; she was simply making herself as small as possible so that he would not notice her. Everyone knew just how mercurial people who looked like him. It was survival.
“As you were,” Valentin said to the woman.
But, now both of them were frozen. A look of grim recognition passed through their eyes and a wish that this was not the meeting place was silently spoken between them.
“Bassett, I did not recognize you,” Valentin awkwardly greeted.
“Hello, Valentin,” Bassett said in return. His voice had deepened since when they met as boys, but there was a concerted effort on his part to keep his voice an octave higher to remain on the more feminine side.
“You look different than when I last saw you,” Valentin complimented as much as he accused. “You look…you…that’s a nice dress. Where did you get it?”
“My friends gave it to me,” Bassett answered without explaining.
“Your friends,” Valentin repeated, mostly to himself. “I’d like to meet these friends of yours and thank them for taking such good care of you. Who is it?”
Bassett did not answer. Valentin could see that his muscles were frozen in place; not even his expression would change. The worst version of the answer entered Valentin’s head, fueled by Morna’s cryptic words the day before.
“Tomorrow night, wait near Hubert’s tent and see for yourself,” Valentin said, repeating Morna’s words. “So, tell me, Bassett, what am I seeing?”
Still no words. Instead, the shameful answer was written across his face in the form of smeared make-up and perfumes of sandalwood and juniper.
A silhouette appeared not far away from the tent and faced the trough to call out at the person that was meant to be alone.
“Bassett! Please don’t take too much longer freshening up. My heart and my loins ache for your quick return!”
No, this could not be permitted. These doubts and worries were not meant to be made manifest in the exact way that he had expected. No, not exactly as bad as he had expected. Worse, for now, another name had joined Valentin’s list of people that must die.
“Durant too!” Valentin roared as he turned to go to his tent.
He would grab Endless Hunger and he would feed it as much as it wanted upon the blood of all those that made him a fool. All those that participated in this broken promise. A promise that he should have doubted as soon as he grew up enough to understand that Hubert was not the type to put stock in a convent made with a child. That his words, that his actions all this time should have told him that his friend was never in good hands.
They all had to die. Ferron’s dreams be killed and buried.
“Valentin, please calm yourself,” Bassett pleaded, gripping soft hands around Valentin’s forearm. “Let me explain!”
There was no strength in those frail arms that could actually stop Valentin from doing as he pleased. A sapling trying to brave a hurricane. But, Valentin allowed himself to be placated for one final time.
“Do so, quickly,” Valentin ordered in a growling tone that made Bassett flinch in fear.
“Hubert came to be with a proposition,” Bassett said. “He said that if I become a chachal for him, then I would make a great deal of money. I was beautiful, I was young, and I had a figure that would fetch an incredibly high price. Enough to pay for the proper lives of these children. All I had to do was entertain him on the campaigns and he refer me to the nicest places in Verbosc, the kinds that buy you dresses like this, perfume like this, and coin like this.”
Bassett shook a pocket sewn into his dress to allow a heavy metallic rattle to spread over the hillside.
“Those kids were already meant to be taken care of,” Valentin said. “Maeve made an agreement with the Temple.”
“I’m not supposed to want more for them?” Bassett hissed. “Who do you think actually takes care of them? With Maeve traipsing around who knows where and studying under that healer from the North and Darri swinging a sword around in Mother knows where, who do you think was the one that watched over them and kept that Temple from exploiting them and made sure that they were not wanting for anything? Me, Valentin. This body and those acts that I have reclaimed for myself have made that possible. Hubert’s proposal made that possible.”
“Then ask me for money,” Valentin spat in response. “Do you know who my clan is? Do you know how much money gets taxed from that bridge every day? Do you know how much that I earn as an allowance? Do you know how much more I could have gotten for you if you had said something to me?”
“And rely on you for everything?” Bassett questioned. “With you gone all the time? With you shaping into Ferron’s right hand? I hear them talk about you all the time, Valentin. Durant hates you and Hubert wants you to know your place. I know that war in on our doorstep. Will your aunt spend her war chest in order to care for a few refugees? Will you even be around to advocate for me? No, what I am doing now will be the route to ensure the prosperity of those that I care about. You watch your own back and I will watch mine.”
Valentin clenched his teeth together in frustration. Why was he so caught up on prideful things like this? Why not accept a gift when it is available to spare yourself the suffering?
“Then what was the point of the pact?” Valentin demanded. “Allow me to take some responsibility for you as a friend. Let me save you from this discomfort.”
“Responsibility, huh?” Bassett asked playfully, taking Valentin aback. “If you’re going to pay me what they pay me, then at least let me earn it. I’ve learned a lot of interesting things to make these people bleed silver.”
Bassett got on his tiptoes and pressed his lips to Valentin. Valentin’s eyes went wide as Bassett’s closed. He froze in space for a moment, completely unable to manage what had just occurred to him.
But, he quickly regained his bearings. He pushed his friend away from him roughly, causing Bassett to recoil in surprise.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Valentin hissed. “Why did you think that’s what I wanted?”
Bassett turned his back to Valentin so that he could not see the expression that formed on his face. A mutual question had formed in their minds.
Where had it gone wrong?
“I’m sorry,” Bassett apologized, stepping further away from Valentin. “I have to go back.”