It had been an exciting morning for Harrow. He sat on the table in the fancy room as some maids scrubbed the floor and disposed of the burned carpet. He glared at any guard who dared try to approach the sleeping cot he'd ordered brought—or the couple that lay cuddled together on it. "Fucking mess." It wasn't the first time he'd said the words in the last ten minutes, and he wasn't sure it would be the last, but he did say them with a smile. "Shouldn't take death, resurrection, and that much magic for a man to see reason."
The maids, when they were done, had left only the barest hint of burned blood smell. The rest of it they had done a fantastic job of cleaning from the big chair that Richard had sat in as well as the scattered mess that had been left around his former brother, Jace. Even the ashes and lye they'd used had been cleaned off—though the chair itself needed some restoration.
Harrow wouldn't let anyone else in yet. The Prince and his savior, he had decided, needed some rest.
When Elanor finally woke, she did so with her eyes practically glued closed by tears. Warmth and coziness were nonetheless supplanted by an awkwardly uncomfortable bed, but the quality of the bed was less important than the soul she could feel pressed against her own.
She gazed down at the city from above it, watching all the people going about their day. She heard them talking; followed countless conversations about "all the noise at the castle" and "the maids gossip," but it was "did you hear a prince came and killed the bastard and his brother?" that had her attention.
It didn't make sense to Elanor how she could see and hear like this, but it was happening and she could hear a warm purring somewhere that reassured her she wasn't doing everything wrong. Struggling with her real eyes, she unglued them and was looking into Prince Stewart Gallant's face that was barely half an inch from her own. When his eyes opened too, she fell into twin pools so deep she found herself trying to remember the water affinity spell she'd been taught when younger.
"You saved me." The words had fallen from Stewart's lips, but truly they came from his heart.
"By my count, you had six talismans." Had was the right word. They'd burned up in the combined fire she, the kingdom, and Sandwalker had used—consumed at the moment his body stopped living, but unneeded. "Here."
Feeling her hand moving between them, Stewart's eyes widened a little when Elanor held up a talisman.
"The priestess who gave this to me wouldn't refuse you, nor would it matter since everyone is already paid for." Elanor waited for him to take the slip of paper and then, hearing a louder purr echo in her ears, leaned forward and kissed him.
"About time," Harrow said when he judged them both having enjoyed the kiss for long enough. "There's business here to take care of. With the help of the wolves, I've kept the vultures at bay as best I could, but one of you is going to have to get up and announce to the people here what you've done."
Jerking upright, Stewart looked around for Harrow and saw him cleaning his nails with a knife. "We haven't done anything yet. We're still wearing clothes—" The huge grin on Harrow's face told Stewart he'd just fallen for a setup. "Yes. Of course. We executed their baron."
"And shot his brother more times than strictly required for defense, but I doubt anyone would argue with you there."
Elanor could remember that moment of fury with perfect clarity. The feel of divine justice and the revenge of a city meted out through her was different to what had happened in Hearthhome. Here, she knew for a fact that the man deserved it. "How did I shoot so many times? I… I should have emptied my gun twice over."
"The actions of a city's avatar are only limited by the will of the city and whatever gods may be watching. You're a priestess of Sandwalker, a god not known for their tolerance of fools." Stewart's eyes scanned the room, seeing the two wolves laying against the door along with a slight movement from Snipsnap hanging above it. When Elanor sat up beside him, Stewart put an arm around her and pulled her close for another kiss—she didn't resist his advance.
Looking over at the guardians who'd defended the room from intruders, Harrow nodded to them and walked over. "Can one of you make sure they stop to breathe at some point? I'll go and tell the gossip mongers outside to get ready for a speech." Talking to two big wolves and a scorpion shouldn't feel so normal, but Harrow knew being in service to the Prince wouldn't be a normal guard job.
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The city wasn't huge, but its square was filled with almost every single person within its walls at that moment. Stewart, who was used to addressing crowds, stepped up to the impromptu wooden stage and looked around the people gazing back at them. Softly, to Elanor just beside and behind him, he said, "I'd love to know who isn't here. They'd be my picks for Richard's people."
Taking a slow, deep breath, Elanor reached out to the city itself, and was answered. "Show me again, please." Closing her eyes to the feeling of vertigo, Elanor was drawn out and upward to gaze down on the people of the city. As well as the folks gathered, there was a meeting nearby; plus a man on horseback at the southern gate.
The meeting, after a momentary focus and listen, was about how they would handle their hold on the city being broken, and that they hoped their courier would get through. They weren't doing anything, so she instead reached out to the man about to leave the city.
The rider was easy to focus on. He carried a message pouch and had a second horse at his side. Stretching her own power, Elanor used the magic Travis' class had given her and Inspired the horses—Throw Him Off and Run.
Far Reach, for the first time in over a year, felt a deft hand guiding its actions, and expending their own power through the link. It trilled in joy, and wreathed Elanor's right hand in flame again.
Clearing her throat, Elanor said, "A rider at the south gate. He lacks a horse now, but still has the message with him."
The gasp from the crowd and silence as they stared at Elanor didn't surprise Stewart. The city had made its choice, it seemed, and showed it for all to see. Murmurs of "Avatar" spread through those assembled, and some made gestures of platitude to gods or even held up holy symbols in thanks.
"Two blocks away," Elanor said, the words echoing through the deathly silent square, "are the accomplices of Richard the false baron. Do not raise your hands to save them. Do not offer them water." The city wanted her to kill again, begged her to do so, and Elanor prepared herself for the task. When Far Reach shared with her a vision of the room, she channeled her Inflict Pain spell through it—and Sandwalker added their own burning heat to the working.
Pulling her attention out of the building, Elanor heard the gasps of the crowd and followed their gaze to where a billow of smoke rose from within the city. She only hoped that there were no nearby buildings in peril, and sent a request for that to the city, which filled her with warm reassurance. "You don't mind that I usurped your judgment, Your Highness?"
"If anyone ever questions it, I will swear an oath I asked you to dispose of the conspirators." Clearing his throat, Stewart raised his voice. "Good people of Far Reach, I believe you already know of the Lady Elanor, chosen of the city, and the dispenser of my justice?"
The cheer that rose made Stewart smile, but he needed to regain control of the situation. "The former baron was found to be involved in a plot to kill the Earl of Hearthhome, myself, and other respected citizens. Lord Jace, the former guard captain, shot myself in the neck while being read his own charges. The rats, as it were, have been cleared out of your city and Far Reach itself rejoices." He paused, letting the crowd cheer themselves out once more.
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"I would have any master craftsmen, heads of trading houses, and senior officers of the city guard attend upon us immediately so the city's people and the city itself can finally have the leadership they deserve."
Stepping down from the stage, Stewart tried to ignore the cheers from the crowd. He knew the person they'd vote for and he knew whom the city wanted. Long distance relationships didn't work as well when each of you were tied down to entirely different cities. Kings rarely traveled and neither did city avatars. He looked for the highest ranking guardsman nearby, and explained the issue of the horseman at the south gate—and their need to be brought to the castle.
Trying to extricate herself from what was becoming a celebration, Elanor had to rush to catch up with Stewart. "Once we have this settled, we're going to Northridge?" The jerk in Stewart's step wasn't lost on her, which prompted her to push further. "Is something wrong?"
Turning his head, Stewart looked at Elanor, but he saw the group of people following them and had to bite-off what he was about to say. "Yes, but let's not talk here." His tone was sharper than he intended, and though he wasn't angry at Elanor, he could see confusion and hurt in her eyes.
Resuming their walk, Elanor felt the people behind her crowd up a little. She opened her mouth to ask them to give her some room.
"Lady Elanor, you will need our support, of course, but we wanted to ask w-what taxes you'd favor?"
The question caught her off-guard, but she knew she dared not stop or they would mob her and demand more answers. Replying with an answer, too, would be a bad idea. While she pondered what she should say, another question came.
"Lady Elanor, what will be your policy on the city's dungeons?"
And another.
"Lady Elanor, will you be applying quotas on individual organizations' railway access?"
She realized they already assumed she would be taking over the city. Her feet stumbled a little, and she saw a future play out where she said yes. Travis could probably be coaxed to open an entrance in Far Reach. Its walls would rise higher and it would gain the same benefits as Northridge. The three barons of Northridge and she as Baroness of Far Reach. Travis would be okay with that, she knew, but she wouldn't.
Jerking back from the wonderful, velvet-lined trap that she now saw she'd jammed both feet into, her mind raced for a solution. By the time she was walking on a fresh rug in the keep's main hall, she was starting to get an idea of what she wanted to be.
With Elanor following him up behind the desk that Richard Westerfield had used, Stewart reached for the chair to pull it out for her, only to have her brace her foot against it as she walked past to stand in the same beside-the-chair place opposite him.
Looking upon the assembled heads of their fields that had followed her to the keep, Elanor steeled herself to navigate her way out of the trap. "You'll have to pardon my bluntness," Elanor said, "but I am not fit to sit in that chair." She didn't want to point out that the chair wasn't the fancy one Richard had sat in, but clearly a more modest replacement. "I am not a stateswoman, nor have I been trained to govern."
Waiting for the shocked exclamations and requests for clarification to settle, Elanor held up a hand to speed the process before continuing. "Even Far Reach can attest that when I called on the power to save the Prince's life, every city in the kingdom replied." It was a moment that Elanor remembered clearly. The kingdom, stretching out in three great arms from the capital, had risen to save its future king. "I am thankful to Far Reach for establishing the bond between us, but my service is far wider now."
Stewart saw where she was going with her speech. He could feel her sincerity. What he wasn't sure of was how the city would respond. Great powers, perhaps as powerful as dungeons in their own right, cities could be cruel to those they required to function—possessive too.
"Far Reach"—Elanor could feel the city listening to her words and her heart—"you were in need of a strong and sure warrior to free you, but you aren't the only city suffering. Though they all answered my call when I needed the power to fight, some felt weak and others added missives of their own. The corruption within you has been excised, revealing a clean wound that can heal with the right leader—but I am no leader. I'm the exterminator the cities of the kingdom need to get rid of nobles who dream of conquest."
Just like the citizens of Far Reach, Stewart stared at Elanor. Her right fist burned with flame while the rest of her seemed to radiate comforting warmth. He fumbled mentally to come up with something to say, but one of the city's people beat him to the punch.
"Does Far Reach agree with this?"
Closing her eyes to focus on the city, Elanor could feel the conflicted emotions of it rolling around and through her. It wanted to keep her, to hold her out and use her to crush any other noble who thought they could control the city by murdering its chosen, but it too had sensed its siblings in peril. There was a chain of cities in the west that felt worse than it had. It agreed, but it didn't want to. "Far Reach understands, but it will need a fair, honest, and loving leader quickly. Can you send a message to Hearthhome for the Earl to send someone worthy?" she asked Stewart.
Nodding, Stewart ran through his thoughts at how this changed things. "The Earl has several family members who would be good picks. Perhaps I could instruct her to send three such for Far Reach to choose from?"
At first Elanor only felt interest and what she sensed to be the city's thought processes chewing on the idea, but its approval came after that. "Far Reach likes the idea of having a choice. I will consult further on how it would express its own mind without relying on an avatar, but I believe having a choice will suffice?" The rumble of agreement from Far Reach shook the room.
"Was that Far Reach?" Stewart asked, noting the rapturous looks on the townsfolk's faces. Elanor's smiling nod was enough for him. "Then it is settled. Far Reach, if you are not satisfied by any of the Earl's candidates—let Elanor know. She has my authority to send them back and request more." He nodded to Elanor.
Closing her eyes, Elanor touched Far Reach again, imagining herself hugging the city. Can you call me at a distance like the other cities? Far Reach replied with more than a little uncertainty. Then we can test it when I reach Northridge. If you can't talk through Northridge, and I don't hear from you in a week, I'll come back and check on you. Okay?
Far Reach sensed the sincerity of Elanor's mental words and her heart. Despite the loss of her not staying, the city could see the logic in her dedication to the kingdom as a whole. Straining against its still limited growth, it stretched and spoke its first words: "Thank you."
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Snow was hitting her in the face. The blizzard that had swept over the mountain, though, was Hilda's best friend. She couldn't talk to any of her party, barely a hundred and fifty soldiers, because the wind ripped the words from her throat. One shoe forward, then the other. Two thick hoods were pulled over her head, her helmet piled on top, and combined they let her glare out through the vision slits into the blinding white.
One shoe forward, then the other. Horses would be less than useless in this. Nursing animals over the cold mountain would have needed more food, frequent rests, and stopping whenever the blizzard got worse. So, on netted snowshoes, her people marched on.
The gold they'd hauled back had pacified the kingdom enough that they'd found warm fires for everyone, but it had led to a careful warm season she'd spent in the north. The riches had also purchased her time to find friends and carefully discuss her plan with them.
Some had taken the news of mercenary work well. The previous winter had left many with the realization they might not have a home during the next winter—so she found herself gaining allies willing to try a season or more in the south.
But, not all held honesty behind their smiles. An army dogged them, even now, but where an army needed to haul supplies to reach them, fight, and return, her people only needed enough to reach the strange home that a dragon had promised her.
They had lost some, of course, going over the mountain. Coming down the other side had been easier since they had swapped the snowshoes out for skis. When they had left the snow behind, many had thrown shoes and skis to the side and cursed at the mountains behind them.
Hilda, though, had just been relieved to make it down the mountain with some supplies and people unfrozen. "Headcount!"
Voices called out, the few sergeants she'd brought took tally and brought her the news. Of the nearly hundred and fifty men and women she'd started with, one hundred and four remained. Nodding at the news, she looked back at the mountain and bared her sword, pointing it up into the white peak. Bringing her left fist up, she bashed at her padded breastplate with it—a salute to a worthy enemy.
After enough time to count off each of the soldiers that it had taken, she slid her weapon back in its sheath. "Come, it should be no more than a week to reach the city."
No cheer went up. Having lost almost a third of their people, everyone knew somebody whose bones would forever be part of the mountain. They'd known the risks, but it still hurt to lose so many.
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