Chapter 35 - Past and Present
Magrath, Vanstead Dukedom of Augustein Year 995
Amara whistled to herself as she stepped back onto Magrath’s main road. She’d tied her axe to her bag, which probably wasn’t the most secure, but she figured it would do for now. She walked leisurely, turning her head every which way to take in the surroundings. Amara still found it fascinating how different the place was from Winrow despite both being located in the “shifting lands” of northern Vanstead. Even the simple sound of her footsteps along the paved road was unfamiliar to her, used to dirt paths as she was.
Amara waved to passersby as she passed, and more than a few gave her odd looks at the gesture. She chuckled to herself. Even with her scars covered, there were still plenty of ways to stand out, she supposed.
Her pace slowed as the buildings around her grew more familiar. She recognized the area up ahead as the town square, though compared to before the Aberration attack, it was significantly quieter. Many shops hadn’t reopened yet, and even the ones that had didn’t attract nearly as much clientele. Amara’s eyes lingered on a few others crossing the street, noting how many of them sped up slightly as they passed, eyes darting around the still half ruined square. She studied the area herself, and she saw that in place of the old island in the center, there was instead a small pile of flower bouquets laid atop the newly paved road, soft petals resting atop hard stones.
Perhaps, Amara thought, there was still some wariness about whether another attack would happen again. But more than that, it was likely that the memory of the incident had permanently altered the connotation of the place. It was much harder to freely sit around reading the news or shopping when those flowers constantly lingered in the corner of the eye. It was the same reason the Winrow villagers rarely passed by the old facility, and they hadn’t even had a personal connection to it.
Amara was about to turn around and go somewhere more populated to ask around for work, but she paused in her step. On the other end of the square, half obscured by a few leftover chunks of rubble that hadn’t yet been cleared, she could make out a few gathered figures. A majority of them wore the grey uniform of the watchmen, and they seemed to be working on clearing out the final bits of debris. Near the very back, however, stood three men in darker colors, who Amara recognized as Glenn, Kain, and Lord Alardice himself.
The two guards stood off to the side while Rygar appeared to be arguing with one of the watchmen. Amara frowned and moved closer, ducking under the shadows of a building’s overhang.
She was still too far to make out exact words, but it was clear that the noble was yelling at the watchman, who seemed to shrink further in on himself the longer the interaction went on. Her eyes darted over to the two guards. Kain looked bored, and he kept tapping his foot impatiently the longer they stayed there. By contrast, Glenn’s shoulders were drawn in a tense line of wariness. He kept his eyes on the interaction, jaw stiff, and stood so still that he could easily be mistaken for a statue.
The yelling grew louder, and Amara returned her attention to the argument just in time to see a flash of green emanate from a brooch pinned to one of Rygar’s lapels. In an instance, that glow enveloped the watchman in front of him, and Amara watched one of his arms rise free of his own accord like a puppet pulled by invisible strings. Except here the strings were motion magic.
A piercing scream echoed across the square as the arm twisted in its socket, bones wringing around as easily as a screw. The man fell to his knees, clutching his arm long after the glow had died down. She could imagine the crisp sound of bones snapping, and she distantly realized that Rygar’s magic aura was identical in color to his younger half brother’s.
The watchman’s voice grew hoarse, and he soon stopped screaming altogether. He lay curled in on himself on the ground, twitching occasionally in a motion reminiscent of a dying insect. The other watchmen stood around him, a few with their hands outstretched like they wanted to help, but their eyes remained wary and focused on Rygar’s presence.
The lord in question scoffed and barked out another order before turning away and striding down the street. Kain followed behind without a second glance, looking all too happy to finally be done with the situation.
Glenn, Amara noted, lingered a little longer, eyes falling back on the wounded watchman. Despite his hesitancy, however, ultimately he too looked away and trailed behind without a comment or a word of protest. Amara’s eyes traced the man’s back, and she hummed thoughtfully to herself. Interesting.
Once the three were out of view, she stepped out from under the overhang and ran over to where the watchmen were now gathered around the injured man, who seemed to have fallen unconscious from the pain. His arm hung limply like a rag doll’s as a few of the other watchmen carefully lifted him up.
“Is he gonna be okay?”
More than one watchman jumped at the sound of her voice. An older man spun around to face her, and his eyes flashed with recognition. His shoulders relaxed and Amara noted the bandages wrapped all around his left arm. They looked like the ones Joan had. A form magic user, she guessed, and one fairly far into his reserves if the cost had gotten that far.
“You. You helped during the attack,” the man muttered half to himself. He sighed and shook his head, his gaze shifting over to the injured watchman and back.
“He’ll live,” he said simply.
“Anything I can do to help?”
The watchman waved dismissively. “Nothing to concern yourself with.” He frowned, then added, “You’re a traveler, right? You be careful too. Best avoid getting Lord Alardice’s attention if you can.” One of the other watchmen carrying the injured man tapped his shoulder, and he paused to exchange quick words with her. Soon afterwards the watchmen carrying the man stepped away, likely to get him medical attention, Amara assumed.
“Is he usually like that? Lord Alardice, I mean.”
The man blinked. His forehead creased, and Amara could tell with certainty now that some of his other features also seemed a little distorted, drooping more than usual. The consequences of form magic usually manifested as “melting” or “crumbling,” and it seemed like this watchman was dealing with the former. He spoke slowly, eyes darting around as if to ascertain that no one was listening in.
“Lord Alardice is a temperamental man,” he said carefully. “He can be somewhat unpredictable. Some days he’s rather difficult to anger, other days the smallest hair out of place will set him off.”
Amara thought back to the dinner and Glenn’s words of caution. Looking back, perhaps they’d gotten lucky and spoken to the man when he was in a better mood, otherwise she couldn’t imagine him being so accommodating of Isolde’s thinly veiled demands. She returned her attention back to the watchman, noting the visible weariness in the lines of his face that had been dug from more than simple age.
“Sounds like you all have it rough,” she commented. That got a smile out of the man.
“No worse than any other watchman working close to a noble.” He shook his head, watching idly as a few of the other watchmen resumed clearing the last of the rubble, continuing their work as though nothing unusual had happened.
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“I’ve served in Magrath since I started,” he continued, eyes clouding with old memories. “Lord Alardice’s father was no better.”
“What about Glenn?” Amara suddenly asked, remembering the way the man had followed behind Rygar, silent and without argument. The man blinked in surprise.
“Glenn? You mean Lord Alardice’s younger brother?” He frowned. “I don’t know him very well, but he’s always been courteous, at least. I used to see him and Lord Alardice around town together back when their father still lived, before he was sent away to the Academy.” He snorted. “You know, back then we all thought Rygar would be an improvement. Turns out he only needed to get older for the temper to appear.”
Amara’s eyes lingered on the road the three had disappeared down, imagining them walking up the hill leading to the imposing doors of the Alardice manor. She hadn’t detected much closeness between the two brothers, but then again, she supposed she didn’t really know what siblings were supposed to be like. A few of the other kids in the cell had had brothers and sisters, but she herself had no memory of one. Colm was the closest she knew, but it was hard to gauge how similar their behavior was to that of “ordinary” siblings with no real reference point.
“Young lady, did you have something else you needed? It’s a bit odd to be around the square right now.” The watchman’s words pulled Amara out of her thoughts. She turned around again, and she felt her axe move with the motion. It didn’t fall though, which was what mattered.
“Oh, right! I was gonna ask around and see if anyone needed wood chopped.” She gestured vaguely at her covered weapon, and the watchman raised an eyebrow.
“You’d have better luck checking the southern parts of town.” He gestured at the rubble and dark store windows around them for emphasis, and Amara scratched her hair.
“Yeah, I figured. I just saw what was happening and came by to see.” She dropped her hand again. “Thanks for explaining stuff, by the way. You’ve probably got better things to do than answer some random stranger’s questions.”
The watchman waved dismissively. “It’s no trouble at all; feel free to ask whatever you need. I’m not so crass that I can’t show some basic hospitality.” He smiled slightly. “I do love this town, for the record. It’s hard not to when you’ve served a place for so long. I only hope you don’t let Lord Alardice’s behavior cloud your judgment of Magrath as a whole.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.” A thought flashed in her head. “Actually, if you’re fine with it, I do have something else I was wondering about.”
The man nodded. “Of course. What is it?”
Amara reached a gloved hand up and tapped her cheek, just below her left eye. “Levent. How long’s he been here? Did he always work for the Alardices?”
The watchman furrowed his brow. “Levent? Who—” his voice cut off, and his eyes widened in realization. “Ah, you mean the battery—excuse me, the source.” He frowned. “I’m afraid I don’t know much there. He appeared one day in Magrath three years ago, and he was already working for Lord Alardice by then. But last I heard, he used to serve as a source in Aeramire before signing a contract here.” He shook his head. “He keeps to himself, that one. Not that I blame him. I can’t imagine dealing with Lord Alardice on a daily basis.”
Three years wasn’t terribly long ago, Amara thought. Moving between dukedoms, though, was rather unusual. Traveling was expensive and often dangerous. Someone from another dukedom wouldn’t be used to the Warped Forest, for example, while someone from Vanstead wouldn’t know how to deal with the plague of stillness in Chaunton or Aeramire’s infamous weather patterns. For many, it was simply easier to stay where you were born.
“Hm, okay. Thanks.”
“It was no trouble.” The man smiled wryly. “I realize it may be too late for this, but welcome to Magrath.”
Amara smiled back.
“Happy to be here.”
—
The watchman’s directions turned out to be correct, and after some asking around, she found someone who agreed to pay her to deliver chopped wood. The woman had injured her leg, and her two children were both too young for her to feel comfortable letting them traverse the forest alone. The pay was fairly modest, but Amara hadn’t really cared about the exact sum to begin with. It was just nice knowing that there would be some use for all the inevitably fallen trees.
Now that that was taken care of, Amara strode back to the inn, admiring the rosy hues of the sky and how well they highlighted the hard edges of the buildings. She nodded at the receptionist as she stepped inside and thumped up the stairs. When she reached the inn door and knocked, it opened almost immediately, revealing Isolde on the other side.
Amara grinned at her and waved. “I’m back!” she said cheerily.
Isolde just raised an eyebrow, the corners of her mouth tilting upwards slightly as she stepped aside and let Amara through.
Amara didn’t hesitate to toss her bag down, and the axe soon followed, though she was slightly more gentle with that. She sighed and plopped down on her bed, peeling off her gloves at the same time. Her eyes scanned the room idly, and she paused when her eyes fell on the table in front of the fireplace.
Resting on top of it were two plates, and in their center sat a larger platter covered by what looked to be a flower blooming on its surface. Tightly wound leaves fanned outwards from a vibrant core, filling the plate with a soft gradient that went from orange and yellow in the center to dark green around the edges. Amara pointed at it.
“What’s that?”
“Dinner,” Isolde said simply. She shut the door and strode over to sit at the table, gesturing for Amara to do the same. “A restaurant owner recognized me from the battle and offered a special discount. You haven’t eaten yet, correct?”
Amara didn’t answer, too busy staring at the plate.
“I didn’t know you could eat flowers.” She paused, then corrected herself. “Or at least not flowers like that.”
For a second Isolde was quiet. Then, a soft chuckle filled the room. Isolde picked up a fork and stabbed it into one of the “petals,” pulling out what looked like a carefully cut carrot piece. “It’s not actually a flower,” she said. “It’s simply decorative. These sorts of dishes are fairly common in Arcvale.”
Amara’s eyebrows rose, and she sat down herself, stabbing her own fork into one of the green sections and finding a carefully folded leaf that unfurled itself once it was pulled onto her plate. The center of the blossom, too, turned out to be filled with chunks of meat.
“Holy shit.”
“It’s really not that impressive. It—”
Amara held up a hand to interrupt her. “Hang on, I’m kind of having a moment right now.” She used her fork to nudge aside some of the “petals,” seeing that all of them had been cut and placed carefully to form the correct shape. The things that couldn’t be made into the right form instead had other vegetables or leaves placed on top to hide them from view. She couldn’t imagine having the patience to make something like this, especially not something as temporary as food.
When she looked up, Isolde was watching her with a raised eyebrow.
“Okay, I’m done. We can eat now,” she said. The other woman chuckled, but she picked up her fork all the same, and the two began to dissect the ornately decorated plate. Amara found it weirdly satisfying to take the thing apart and see just how it was made, pretty though it was.
“Were you able to find someone?” Isolde asked. She nodded at Amara’s axe.
“Yep.” Amara swallowed a forkful of the leaves, vaguely wondering if the flavor was as good as its appearance. Isolde, unfortunately, showed no reaction, so it was a little hard to tell. “I’m all set for tomorrow.”
“As long as your injuries are alright. We’re in no rush.”
Amara raised an eyebrow. “Aren’t we?”
“Well, the ore Lord Alardice provided will last us quite long. We will eventually have to acquire more, but until then, I see no problem with remaining in Magrath for now, assuming you’re also alright with it. I do recall you saying you wished to travel around Augustein. Leaving is also an option.”
Amara bit into one of the pieces of meat, chewing it slowly. Her eyes drifted over to the window, where the town was visible through the open curtains. Far in the distance, she could just barely make out the solid silhouette of the Alardice manor sitting atop the hill, a shadowy mass that swallowed even the surrounding forest. Her gaze returned to Isolde, and she swallowed down the food and leaned over to grab more.
“Nah,” she said. “I’m fine staying here a little longer.”