The grey clouds lazily drifted apart, almost reluctantly, to reveal a pale morning sky that spoke of the potential of a productive day ahead. The rain had stopped during Ben and Ainsle’s slow, tired stroll from the then-tilled field, yet their feet still squelched in the saturated mud. Ben walked with his halberd held in one hand, haft resting on the soggy shoulder of his gambeson, and he brushed a damp lock of black hair that irritated his brow.
The pair had walked in a comfortable silence for most of the trip until Ben turned his head to face the short Berserker next to him. Ainsle’s high bun had come undone sometime during the spar, and her shoulder-length hair was matted down to her head and neck. A slight smile of contentment occupied her lips where the mocking grin had always been. He regarded the woman and thought her disheveled state made her look older, and he shivered at the thought of her mortality.
The Berserker had displayed ridiculous strength and speed during their spar, yet he knew that she hadn’t fought with the intention to kill. A part of him was frustrated at the fact that she had pulled her punches, yet his logical mind chided him for the careless thought, as the alternative would see him as paste strewn across the dirt. The old woman had appeared to be in a state of bliss as they danced in the rain earlier, and the memory of her laughter and playful taunts warmed his heart.
“Hey,” he said, and the old woman turned to face him with a raised brow. “So, have you thought about your plans for the future?”
Ainsle’s mocking grin returned. “Sorry, honey, I’m spoken for,” she teased.
Ben let out a chuckle and shook his head lightly. “It’s just… I.” he hesitated while trying to formulate coherent words. “Were you serious about retiring after we got here?”
The old woman’s grin wavered for a heartbeat, and she turned a thoughtful gaze to the garishly pink walls of the port city. “We only planned a year’s tour during the Great Invasion… Willy and me. That eventually turned into five years. It wasn’t so bad. Willy was happy that he was doing good for the people and all.”
She paused, lost in recollection.
“Anyways, one day, our squad was tasked to capture an enemy keep near the Karillian steppes. The night attack went well, and we only lost one of the boys to a freak accident. The poor cunt slipped off a rampart while taking a piss.” Ainsle grimaced. “Turns out the little shit was a son of none other than Frederick Vasylius, Jor’s uncle, I think,” she leaned closer, miming a whisper with a hand held up to her mouth. “They like to keep it in the family if you know what I mean.” Her cold tone at the mention of Frederick was a contrast to the jest.
Ben’s shoulders stiffened slightly at the name of the raven-haired Archer. Ainsle straightened and continued:
“So, yeah. Naturally, someone had to be responsible for the bugger’s death, and Willy was ‘stationed’ at the outpost in the Vale of Moons as punishment. That was a year ago.”
“What were your plans after the one year of service?” Ben asked.
Ainsle shrugged. “I would’ve been happy to fuck off to a quiet life in a small coastal village. But Willy found Iorilai, and he wanted to repent for our sins,” her nose briefly scrunched up in a snarl, and she spat the name of the Goddess. The old woman took a deep breath and exhaled; the roiling resentment seemed to be expelled with the air from her lungs.
She stopped, and Ben turned to see her gaze at the dark Scar in the sky above the jagged mountain peaks.
“As for now… there are many orphans our band left behind. I don’t have much time left, but I think Willy would’ve wanted me to try to look out for them, at least. I’ll fight for him and the little ones.” She turned to Ben with an impassive face. “Fuck the Gods, and fuck those cunts who run the Empire.”
They walked, boots squelching on the muddy ground, without further conversation. As the pair approached the main gate of Honeydew, a Guardsman jogged out to meet them. The stocky man carried a long, simple bardiche, and his visor was lifted to reveal a greying-brown, tangled beard. He stopped about three paces before them and saluted with a fist to his shoulder.
“Miss O’Seighin, there’s folks from the capital asking about you and a tall skinny man with a shaved head. Just thought I’d let you know,” the man said with a tone of deference.
The short old woman’s brow furrowed as she looked up at the man. “Jonno, I told you it’s Ain,” she sighed. “Where are the bastards now, and what do they want?”
The man relaxed his stiff posture ever so slightly and glanced at Ben sideways before addressing Ainsle. “The boys say they’re asking around the city, but they’ll probably end up at the embassy, as those Capital types tend to do.”
“Yeah, wouldn’t want to dirty their immaculate arses in a filthy tavern, hey,” Ainsle replied with a shared sentiment. “Thanks, Old boy,” the Berserker said as she gestured for them to walk. “How’s Lily doing, by the way?”
The Guardsman’s chest seemed to swell with pride at the name, and Ben swore he saw his cheeks blush as they approached the gate. “Ah, the girl is doing well. She’s working under a diplomat for the Yelts. She’ll be nineteen summers next month.”
Ainsle smiled. “That’s good, Jonno. Tell her Aunty Ain says hi.”
He dipped his head and regarded the young man. “Miss O’Se- Ain, is this your apprentice?” he nodded to Ben. “The lads and I had a bet going, and I reckon you are. You move the same way the lady does.”
If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.
The young man returned the nod before looking to Ainsle, who spoke. “Bah, you know I’m no good at teaching. Remember what happened to Ol’ Pat?”
The Guardsman grimaced. “How could I forget,” he coughed before addressing Ben again with a wink. “Ah well, too bad we couldn’t find anyone who matches the description. You’re too tall, and I don’t see a shaved head, and the cu- ahem- I mean, the gentlemen said nothing about a beard.”
Ben nodded gratefully at the man’s implication. He wondered who had been looking for him and Ainsle. The memory of a short, well-groomed man in polished steel plate brushed his mind. Ben felt a sudden heat of anger flush his cheeks as he recalled how the Inquisitor intended to harm his Keeper. He instinctively closed his eyes and searched for the blonde woman's presence. He found her radiating warmth coming from somewhere near what he guessed to be the main market street. He relaxed and exhaled.
As the trio approached the gate, Guardsman Jonno bid the pair farewell and turned to his colleagues who were lazing on benches under the massive archway of the gate.
“Seems the suspects are nowhere to be found. Probably left for the northern tribes, right lads?”
Ben heard grunts of agreement from several guards as they walked through the main street. There were stalls set up, and a light bustle hummed in the air; however, it was a far cry from the activity he had witnessed upon their arrival two months prior. As soon as the pair were out of earshot of the Guards, Ben turned to Ainsle.
“I didn’t know you were so popular. Is he an old friend of yours?” he asked.
Ainsle’s mocking eye regarded the young man. “There’s a couple of lads who ran with the band here in this city.” She shrugged before tucking a lock of grey hair behind her ear. “I don’t see what’s so great about this city. Sure, it’s far from the capital, and it’s got some nice views, but it’s too…”
“Pink?” Ben guessed.
“Bloody spot on!” Ainsle smiled before tilting her head to the side with a raised brow as if considering something. “I suppose you could get used to it.”
Ben shook his head with a grin. “By the way, shouldn’t we be hiding? You know, from the Inquisitors.”
Ainsle frowned. “Why would we do that?” was all the old woman said as they approached the street of Bertram’s eclectic shop. The old woman glanced up toward the sun and indicated with a pointed finger that they should take a side street away from Red Maiden’s Trinkets and Baubles. Ben followed and wondered what the woman had in mind.
“We have about a bell till we got to meet Sunshine back at the store. I’m thinking we deserve a little soak after that rough and tumble out in the field,” Ainsle said with a low rasp as she placed a hand on her lower back and winked suggestively.
Ben’s eyes widened at the teasing of the short, disheveled woman in pure-white full-plate armor carrying a ridiculously large implement of chaos on her back. A cough drew his gaze to a middle-aged woman in a plain beige dress. Her black hair was neatly braided, and her soft, brown eyes regarded the pair with a welcoming smile.
“Would you two care for a bath? Our girls can have your armor and clothes cleaned and dried in half a bell. Today, we have a two-for-one special, only one mark.”
“Only one mark…” Ainsle grimaced as she muttered under her breath.
Ben recalled his coin pouch that he had forgotten to bring with him from the store, and he regarded the old woman with slanted brows.
Ainsle sighed. “Ah, fuck it. We got cause to celebrate anyways. It’s not often that a man can handle me as well as you did earlier.”
The bath worker smiled and nodded knowingly.
Wait, what?
The pair were led into the nondescript building made of the same pink stone as its neighbors, and Ben wondered how people found their way around the city. He recalled seeing a small wooden plaque depicting a drop of water above the entrance, yet he had to squint to make out the carving.
Ben and Ainsle walked down a long narrow hallway dimly lit by fluttering lanterns. Their host, a young girl with long blonde hair in a similar beige dress as the woman they’d met outside the store, stopped and opened a seemingly random door and gestured that the pair enter.
“Please leave your apparel in these baskets,” she gestured to several wicker baskets on shelves in the steamy, dimly lit room. “We’ll send someone to fetch them once you’ve settled.” She dipped her head and left without further ceremony.
Ben turned to survey the room clad in smooth wooden panels and found a large dark pool elevated from the ground to occupy most of the space. Thick steam lazily billowed from its surface, and he shivered at the pleasure the bath promised. Something bothered the young man, yet he couldn’t pinpoint exactly what it was. He turned to see the source of his worry to find the old woman getting undressed as if he weren’t in the room.
“Be a good boy and unstrap this for Ol’ Ain.” The Berserker indicated with a thumb over her shoulder to the straps he had fastened for her before leaving Bertram’s store. She noticed Ben’s hesitation and tilted her head toward him. “Relax, lover-boy. It's not like you haven’t seen tits before.”
Ben cleared his throat and strengthened his resolve. He complied wordlessly and unstrapped the belts on the white plate armor. Ainsle slipped out of her gambeson yet had the grace to leave two linen garments that protected her modesty before unceremoniously climbing into the raised bath with a splash. He saw a lean muscled body with uncountable faded scars, some of which were worse than the intimidating one on her face.
The thought of the blissfully hot water soothing his bruised body strangled his prudishness, and he climbed into the bath next to the Berserker after placing his soggy gambeson, trousers, and shirt in the basket next to hers. He sighed in pleasure, eyes closed, and the old woman regarded him with a grin, her submerged body reclined lazily in the hot water.
“You did well today,” she said without her characteristic sarcasm or mocking tone.
Ben opened his eyes and frowned at the raw compliment. “But?” he asked with raised brows.
“But nothing. You told me of your fight with that bastard, and one thing stood out to me.”
“What’s that?”
“You didn’t control the power. You let it control you. But in saying that, I think you were right to hold off on calling that concept at first; my Rage is more or less the same cause it leaves me fucked if I don’t kill enough things to feed the hunger.” She paused to close her eye and roll her head in a circle; the satisfying click of a stiff neck prompted Ben to interject.
“So, it’s not great for duels, then?”
Ainsle grinned and opened her eye before winking. “It’s bloody great for duels. Not so much for everyone else watching, though…” she trailed off. “Anyways, I felt that you’re aligned well with your concept now. Calling on it should be easier, and the power you draw should be more potent with less shitty side effects.”
Ben considered the woman’s words and agreed with her assessment. He had only used the concept twice before their spar earlier, yet he drank deeply of the intoxicating essence, and his fatigue wasn’t much worse.
“Thanks, Ainsle. It means a lot. Really,” he said as he closed his eyes and sank deeper into the steamy water's heavenly embrace.
The Berserker hummed in reply, and the pair soaked in silence for a moment. Ben felt a prickle in the back of his throat, and his eyes snapped open.
No. No nononono…
A muffled argument was heard from outside, and Ben made out a few words as newcomers approached the door to their room.
“I am Inquisitor Edas Crell. I advise that you do not obstruct the hand of the Council of Blades.”