“Nranhana’s armpit!”
A wooden bucket skids past 11 as Safir kicks at it. “It was all a trap!”
11 goes back to staring at the cracks running down the prison walls. “I wonder if goddesses have body odor,” she says.
“The Guild must be in on it too!”
“Sure.”
“They’re going to trial us as traitors!”
“Perhaps.”
She listens to the dwarf’s footsteps as he comes close. “What’s wrong with you, lassie?” he asks. “You’ve been like this since yesterday. Talk to me. We need to come up with a plan to get out of here.”
11 wraps her hands around her stomach. Their captors were at least good enough to provide blankets, but the coldness inside her doesn’t seem to go away. “I can’t,” she says. “I don’t want to talk. Please don’t make me.”
“Why?” asks the dwarf. “Are you just admitting defeat?”
“No…”
“Then why are you moping around like a soggy rag? It is unlike you.”
“I’m not moping,” 11 snaps. “I… I saw a ghost, alright? So just leave me alone and let me be in shock. Please.”
Safir softens his tone. “Was it one of the knights who spooked you?” he asks. “Those scallywags were rough. I don’t deny that I was slightly shaken meself.”
11 doesn’t answer. She turns around and goes back to staring at the wall. Safir starts to say something else but she ignores him, so the dwarf finally gives up. He leaves her to her corner, grumbling under his breath.
He tries the iron bars again. “I can freeze through these,” he says, not waiting for 11 to answer. “No. I’ll never get it done in time before the guard comes back around.” He turns to the walls, giving them each a good kick. “We can blast through them,” he observes. “The foundations are strong but the damage has already reached it.”
11 remembers her fight with Hikari, how she crashed into the cellars at the end.
Where might we be right now if I fell into the dungeons instead?
Safir is trying to climb up to the single window near the ceiling now. There is no light coming into the slit in the stone, but it is the only other opening in the cell. Carefully, the dwarf wedges the tip of his boot into a crack and uses it to heave himself up. But the wall is too slippery and he doesn’t get far before falling back down.
“Lassie,” he says, groaning as he gets up from the floor. “Come here and give me a lift up. Those bars seem-”
A screech of metal signals the opening of the dungeons. 11 turns from the wall, feeling the pit of her stomach churn.
Aralyn?
Sharp footsteps echo down stone steps as light floods down the hallway.
Safir extinguishes his ball of magical light and comes to stand next to 11. “Never show them you fear,” he whispers. “It will convince them of your guilt.”
A knight in shining grey armor stops in front of the cell door, holding a lantern. “That’s them, acting Lord Commander,” he says and steps aside.
Danton Ralish emerges into the lantern glow. He’s wearing the same purple doublet and gold cape he wore during 11’s interrogation, and stubble has grown under his chin.
He peers into the cell with tired eyes.
“I should’ve known it was you,” he sighs. “Come on, then. Let’s see what exactly you and Censa are plotting.” He signals for the knight to open the gate.
“Sirs,” Safir says, stepping up. “I believe it is the law of man to trial his peers justly. We should be given time to gather our own defense for any alleged crimes we are accused of.”
Danton waves him away. “Save your speech for another day, dwarf,” he says. “Your accusations have been dropped.”
“You speak truthfully?” asks Safir. “Has someone already spoken for us? Who?”
The acting Lord Commander looks disdainfully past Safir at 11. “Who do you think?” he asks.
They are brought back to the camp as free individuals.
The camp is mostly the same as when 11 left, but some things are different. There are more tents set up on the eastern side, likely for workers judging by the array of tools stored outside. A stable has been set up near the gate, and a proper wooden barricade has been erected to encompass the field.
“This way,” says the knight as he guides 11 and Safir to the entrance of the camp. They pass by banners of the two gates that have lost their captains, and 11 studies them to keep her thoughts off of Aralyn.
Pythons of the North Gate. Lions of the East.
“Did the South Gate captain make it?” she asks no one in particular.
"If you mean Sir Jernal," says Danton, walking in front. "Then yes."
"A tragedy," says Safir. "They say the woman was framed."
11 notices Danton’s shoulders tense. “They?” asks the acting Lord Commander. “Pray tell dwarf, who is spreading such damaging rumors?”
Safir chuckles. “I know not their names, my lord, sorry to say.”
They turn down a row of neatly lined tents. Four armed knights stand guard outside the last and largest tent. One of them parts the tent flap to allow the group in.
The tent is as spacious as a hall and richly decorated. From every animal-skin wall hangs the banners of the Lord Commander, a chimera of all four creatures of the gates, but 11 notes that between every second chimera is the banner of lions.
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
He wants to control his old captain’s seat as well as the Lord Commander’s.
“Take a seat to your fancy,” Danton instructs 11 and Safir as he sits at the head of a long table. “The thorn in my side should be here soon.”
Safir looks to 11, then pulls out two seats for the both of them. They sit facing the acting Lord Commander.
“I’d like to ask something,” 11 says.
Danton sighs wearily. “Not now, girl.”
“The mage who was transporting us,” 11 says. “Where is she now?”
“I do not keep tabs on those not in our ranks.” Danton signals for some wine. It's brought to him in a silver goblet.
“So Ara- the mage isn’t a Kesrockian Knight?”
“No,” answers Danton. He swirls the wine and takes a sip. It seems to improve his disposition immediately. "I take it you are acquainted with her?" he asks. "Quite the nasty surprise to have her take part in your capture, isn’t it?"
11 looks down at her hands. She doesn’t know how to put a label on what she’s feeling. On the one hand, she’s glad Aralyn isn’t formally a part of this organization. But on the other, the elf girl didn’t look at all disturbed when transporting 11 into the dungeons.
In fact, she didn’t even seem to recognize me.
Voices come from outside. The tent flap opens and Censa strides in, followed closely by three of her Amazonian bodyguards.
All eyes are focused on the gorgeous woman as she breezes to the table, her slender legs sliding out from within the folds of her silk blue dress.
One of her guards pulls out a seat at the other end of the table. She sits, flashing a smile at Danton.
“Quite the improvement you’ve done to this place, acting Lord Commander,” she says. “Much better than those stuffy chambers you used to have. I’d say this disaster has turned out to be a good excuse for a renovation, wouldn’t you say?”
“Lady Thornrose.” Danton gives Censa a polite nod of his head. “After the headquarters is rebuilt, I shall have you as our first guest, if you would be so kind to grace us with your presence then.” He signals for his servant, who hurries to serve Censa wine in a similar goblet.
Censa giggles behind the back of her hand. “You are too generous, Danton.”
Safir clears his throat.
“I see you have freed your heroes,” Censa says, glancing at Safir but strangely not 11. “I am pleased to know you hold my words to the truth.”
“I’d never doubt the Lady of the League,” says Danton. “But please explain, my lady, why you pronounce these two as anything but suspects? They were found with the evil sorceress at the time of her capture.”
“I believe you know my grunt already?” Censa says, gesturing to 11 but still not looking at her.
“Aye,” says Danton. “This is not the first time you have stood on this girl’s side.”
“You would too,” says Censa, “if you knew she is the bastard offspring of the late Sir Gregorn Tigarn.”
The entire tent goes silent. Danton launches off his feet. “This… what an absurd claim to make, my lady!” he cries. “Lady Thornrose, surely you cannot be jesting about the dead?”
“I have the documents to prove it,” says Censa. She raises a finger and one of the Amazonians next to her draws out a bundle of parchments and places it on the table.
Danton eyes it suspiciously. He orders one of his knights to take it. Leafing through it, 11 watches the expression on the acting Lord Commander’s face turn from disbelief to restrained anger.
“I see,” he says, placing the parchments carefully back down. “If I may ask, Lady Thornrose, what would you ask me to do with this... new information.”
“I am simply asking for your understanding at this time, my lord,” says Censa. “I agree that under normal circumstances, being a bastard of a late captain is nothing worthy of being fussed over. However, Elevena Windborne has shown incredible loyalty to this city that deserves public recognition. For one thing, she orchestrated the secret mission of capturing the Mistress of Mischief, Hephoene.”
Censa waits a few seconds to let the information sink in.
11 tries to melt into her seat and doesn't look at anyone.
"Please explain," says Danton.
Censa continues. “Using the guise as someone in need of the Mistress’s dark magic, Elevena ascertained the location and carried a discrete beacon with her. It was only thus that you were able to transport your knights to the right place. Such a feat is one for the bards to sing about, no?”
11 feels sick. From the corner of her vision, she sees Safir looking at her in shocked horror. She doesn’t dare show any hint of emotion back. If she denies what Censa is saying, there is no doubt they will all be sent back to the dungeons. But if she doesn’t say anything, the dwarf may really think he was used.
Danton sips on his wine. Everyone is silent, waiting for his response.
It comes in the form of a dry chuckle.
“I admit, I am a fan of a simple bard song,” he says, resting his goblet on the face of the documents. “Lady Thornrose, I may be young, but you injure me to treat me like an infant.”
Censa laughs brightly. “I would not dare say such things if they were not the truth, my lord,” she says. “It is understandable to have doubts. This is a heavy secret after all, one that Sir Gregorn took great pains to keep hidden.”
The lady's smile is charming, too innocent for the lies coming out of her mouth. “Unfortunately for our sweet old knight, his girl has been touched by the goddesses. No secrecy can keep her from fate's call. She has a general's head and her blade is touched by light. You will see for yourself tomorrow at the tourney.”
The tourney. 11 has forgotten all about it. Cold chills run down the length of her back. She wants to leave. She needs to leave. She knows she should not mess up the cards Censa is playing, but with Yue’li being taken further and further away, she cannot afford to sit here nestled in lies and deceit.
She looks up and opens her mouth to ask to be excused, but Danton is already standing from his seat.
“I see you have made every preparation to back your claims,” he says to Censa. “So I shall not waste time here disputing them. I will have my men scrutinize these documents and any other you may have. If this is really true, then I suspect you would like the King to royally officialize her as well then. Naturally, I expect no veils or mirrors on your part, Lady Thornrose.”
Censa rises, her goblet sitting untouched on the table. “I leave this matter in your capable hands,” she says with a flirty wink. “It’s been a pleasure as always, acting Lord Commander.”
A carriage waits for them outside the tents this time. Censa climbs in, then signals for Safir and 11 to join her.
Once they are out of the Knight’s camp, Safir turns to 11 and asks, “Was any of that true?”
11 starts to answer but Censa speaks first.
“I see Elevena has a habit of making friends with non-humans. Who are you, dwarf?”
“Safir Silverbeard, m’lady,” says Safir. “And I would like a word with your… grunt.”
“I don’t see how I can stop you from doing that,” says Censa. “Other than reminding Elevena of the promises she’s made.”
"Yea, yea," says 11. "Here. Have your beacon back." She takes out the now empty jewelry case and shoves it at Censa.
"Keep it," says Censa. "You'll have something to keep in it soon." Without elaborating more, the woman yawns, covering it with her hand. Then she rests her head against the window, closes her eyes, and starts to nap.
The carriage shakes slowly along the cobblestone streets of the city. Sounds of children laughing can be heard from the curtained windows. The city has recovered well.
Safir begins, “Lassie-”
“I don’t want to lie to you,” 11 says quickly. “I’m sorry but there are things I cannot talk about.”
Safir clears his throat. “That’s fine. Can I at least ask what you tend to do about Yue’ling? It’s a stretch to expect you’ll be able to leave right after a tourney. And if you win…”
“I have to win,” 11 says. “I promised I’d win.” She plants her face in her hands. “I’m so sorry, Safir. I thought we’d be out of the city by now.”
Safir’s frown is deep, carving his forehead with wrinkles. "I don’t follow. Did you plan to just run away or... what? What's the plan here?"
"I..." says 11. "I... don't know. I tried to forget about the tourney."
"We can still leave," says Safir. "No disrespect to your um... lady friend here, but methinks a life is worth more than a chance to show off on a horse."
11 lets out a weak groan. "It's not that simple. I made Censa a promise."
"Can you not break a promise for someone’s life? For little Yue’ling’s life?"
11 clutches the roots of her hair. “Don’t make me choose,” she begs. “Please. I promised. You cannot go back on promises. You just can’t. I can’t. You don't make promises you cannot keep.”
“That’s ridiculous,” says Safir. “We’re talking about saving Yue’ling, lassie. How can you still be so adamantly clinging to such benign-”
“I said I can’t!”
11 recoils at the shrillness of her own voice. It sounds desperate, cornered. She controls her breathing, trying to quell the terror inside her. Something hurts. In her head. It feels like a parasite is trying to burst from her skull and drench the world with pieces of her brain.
It's just like that time I left Aralyn. Only this time, I'm damning my own soul to follow my own rules.
Safir turns to the window, his lips white with anger. Censa continues to nap or pretend to. No one says anything more. After a moment, 11 wipes her eyes with the back of her hand and looks out over Safir's shoulder, at the sharp pinnacles of the Guild's castle rising over the rooftops.