Chapter 15
Behind
General Scarv stood at the end of the war table with a look between disgust and disappointment. Just a few hours ago two people had been critically injured and one killed. Burned through the head like a fish would be harpooned. In all of his years as general, he'd never witnessed such a disaster. Thirty bows trained on a single man in the center of an uncluttered road, and the only thing that managed to be struck was one of their own men. Granted, the fellow had throttled himself alongside the incoming wave, but this by no means should've resulted in Kimers escape.
He had thought better of his men, and of Heathgrim most of all. A man he'd seen fight off a wave of Jorinian alone in the heat of battle during the Primrubble Stand. Scaled beasts like small dragons tearing through waves of men, stopping before Heathgrim as he bellowed his warcry. He'd only see that energy in one other man, and he was in the medical bay with several arrow wounds. Thanks to Heathgrims failure.
"I fail to find adequate words to express my distaste for this outcome. I expected better of you." Scarv held back the bitterness in his voice, leaving it to the words themselves to deliver his message. And the message was received promptly. Heathgrim who stood at the other end of the war table bowed his head. "It seems you've been full of blunders as of late, Tilmore." The General added with a flutter of frustrated blinks.
"Kimer looked straight through the lie, he must know what the relic truly looks like."
"What does it matter anyways. You expected you could just walk our army into their camp? Hand them the false relic and rain arrows down on them? You failed to properly evaluate our foe's capability despite dozens of hours of interrogation!" It was rare that Scarv raised his voice, so much so that Heathgrim physically recoiled briefly before composing himself. And instead, he felt only angry.
"You mean torture."
"I mean whatever had to be done to keep this city safe. And these people who rely on us, look up to us. If they feel like at any given moment some mad man can just waltz up to our gates and slaughter our people, then we are doing something terribly wrong. Right now every latch, every lock is sealed tight. The people are scared. And we have but one duty, and that is to ease those doors back open, and get our people back on the streets of the city they hold dear." Scarv jammed his finger down onto the open map. A new black pin had been placed where the Ruiner camp supposedly was. They had managed to convince the Ruiner in captivity to give more detailed directions. Of course, there was always the possibility of a trap.
Heathgrim was at a loss for words. His lips parted, motionless, but quickly sealed. Sometimes it was best just to say nothing. Nothing often saves your life.
"Regardless. We must focus on moving forward. Kojok, we are leaving you with the responsibility of watching Tavernkeep while the Oak is away. That is, in the likely event that this was a ploy to drag the Oak away from the city for an attack. We leave it to you to decide how to effectively dispense defenses." Scarv motioned toward the other captain who stood perpendicular to them. He had remained quiet during Heathgrims scolding, though he wanted to come to his aid. Heathgrim took no offense in his refraining, the last thing he wanted was for Kojok to be dragged into the mess he'd created.
"Of course, General." Kojok saluted with a half bow.
"As for you, Heathgrim, Scarvs icy gaze drifted back to the captain. "You will be joining Celstrum as one of the scouts." There was a moment of silence as the words racked around in Heathgrims brain. For a moment he was confident he'd been hearing things wrong. First, the implication was clear that Scarv was going to be leading the army himself. That of course was nothing special or surprising. When conflicts were taken outside of Tavernkeep the torch was often passed to him. But delegating him as a scout of all things seemed eerily close to a punishment. Furthermore, was the name mentioned beside his.
"You can't mean Arethor." Heathgrim stated, rather than asked. This made Scarv twitch with annoyance.
"I can, and do. The king believes it's a good opportunity for him to expunge himself of his inevitable…frustrations." Scarv responded cooly. Heathgrim couldn't hold back his scoff.
"He was just struck by half a dozen arrows!" His voice raised, and before he realized it Scarv had slammed his fist down onto the war table, causing figures to fall over.
"And the Conduits managed to heal him to full recovery. The same can not be said for his sister, unfortunately. All the more reason he is being given the opportunity to avenge his…!" Kojok could hardly believe what he was seeing as Heathgrim interrupted the general.
"So he can lose his temper and ruin the operation, and possibly get himself killed? Arethor isn't some tool you can utilize when the conditions are opportune!" Heathgrim stopped as an unsettling calmness befell the general. In his confusion, Scarv took in a deep breath and sighed with his eyes closed. Had he broken him?
"While you are out of line for your outburst…I can empathize with you, Tilmore. You are correct, Arethor is not a tool to be used. He is a man of flesh and blood. Of mind and soul. But you of all people should know, from experience, that Arethor works best under immense pressure. Often mental, above all else. He has the unique ability to transfer his hate, his pain into a magnificent display of power. And most importantly, control." Scarv spoke slowly, the words rolling off his tongue like honey. "I was there when Arethor returned to hear of his mothers passing. How she had taken her own life in their absence. How his father left while he was away, gone without a sight. By all means this would bring most men to their knees, to make them forfeit their life. But Arethor clung onto one thing, something that mattered most above his own pain. His sister. Who too was grieving the loss of all she'd ever known. Who needed Arethor in those dark times. And that one thing just had a hole burned through her throat. And the woman who he loved bleeding over her head." He paused, giving himself a moment to breathe. It wasn't a secret that Tolo and Arethor had been lovers for decades, centuries even. Most would've looked the other way from the taboo subject of Oaken love, but yet they still obeyed.
"All the more reason to believe Arethor is an avalanche waiting to happen, General Scarv. I implore you to reconsider." Heathgrim pleaded, leaning over the table, his face glowing in the low lantern light.
"An avalanche we can direct right into the bowl our enemies sleep in." Scarv retorted with thinly pressed lips. The words brought upon a dense chill that both captains felt. It was callous, cruel even. But no one could deny Arethor the justice he would no doubt be seeking. As much as Heathgrim detested the idea of using his sorrow as a weapon, it was still Arethors decision to make.
"I would like you to find your scouting partner, and inform him of this opportunity. If he declines, we will find someone else. But something tells me he won't be doing so." Scarv then grabbed his helmet, slipping it under his arm and making for the door. But not before looking over his shoulder one last time. "We leave in two days."
By the time morning came, the numbness hadn't left. Still none of it felt real to him. A feeling he often had when he'd first joined the Oak. After battle, Arethor would stand there for hours staring blankly across the battlefield in awe. Had he truly been a part of that chaos? Contributed to the blood seeping into the soil?
He'd felt that way the first time someone he'd called a friend had been killed beside him in battle. His arm cleaved off, his eyes frantic as his last moments were spent screaming before a sword was rammed through his eye. Arethor had quickly avenged his friend, but had no time to dismantle his killer's body before being thrown back into battle. And yet, this was not the same feeling he was experiencing then. Because then he could've saved his friend. But there was no saving Tolo. If he had jumped as he did beforehand, Kimer would've killed them. If he tried to sneak around, it would've taken too long. No matter how many times Arethor played it out in his mind, it always ended with that damn hole in her head. The smell of burning flesh. And all he could think was: how is that fair?
"Bloody hell, Arethor! Are you alright?" A voice interjected, shaking Arethor from his hazy trance. He hadn't even noticed the tears forming in his eyes. Running the back of his hand through them, he nodded.
"I'm alright, Hemm. Thank you for keeping everything orderly here, again." The elf looked around the tavern. He had wished he could bring Amber home too, but she needed to spend some more time with Conduits as they attempted to do what little they could to help her recover. He had every intention of checking on her later that evening. But for now, he stood with Hemm in the center of his empty tavern. News had spread fast of what had happened at the gates. And no one was going to risk being caught in an ambush like those who'd died in the library.
"Of course, brother. Tis my job. I was worried sick when you didn't come back last night. Arethor…I'm so sorry to hear about Tolo. She was a fine lass." Hemm lowered his head. He had seen Arethor go through hard times, but never something like this. It wasn't something one could truly ever prepare for. And he didn't even have the usual business of his tavern to distract him from things.
"I just…" Arethor held up a finger with a wince, the words clogged. "Just tell me something good that's happened, damnit." He finished, slowly finding a seat at one of the empty tables. Though the Conduits in the med bay had healed his wounds completely, his body still ached. It would take a few days for that to fully subside. He was familiar with the feeling.
The young mylian frowned, thumping his chin with his finger in thought as he hummed. He had been practically running the entire tavern the last month alone, and had seen and done some wild things so far. One of the many good things of working in a tavern was the faces you'd see, the wild characters you'd come to know. It was what drew Hemm to Arethors door step in the place. And while the elf had been reluctant to take in an apprentice at first, Hemms' bubbly attitude and thick accent made for a welcoming face that began to draw in business. Arethor wasn't quite sure how the boy did it, but he was nonetheless impressed and kept Hemm around longer. This would prove to be the right choice, as a few years later Hemm had become an icon for the tavern.
Strumming his lute, bellowing his songs, the mylian would dance around the room and stir the masses into a frenzy almost every night. Kegs would be run dry, and Arethor would be scrambling from one end of the bar to the next throughout the evenings. It was a feeling unlike anything he'd ever experienced. A rush that didn't require spilling blood. A sense of purpose that wasn't backed by revenge or hatred.
"I tink I saw Lordely and Rihet holding hands, I did." Hemm said with a grin, leaning against one of the wooden beams. This brought upon a hearty laughter that made Arethors chest burn.
"I'd sooner believe you saw Hyvale doing a handstand." Arethor said between fits of laughter. How could he possibly be laughing right now? Stupid boy, she's dead. The smile quickly faded from his face, and his laughter was choked out. There was a moment of silence as Hemm realized what must be going through the elf's head.
"But honestly, I'd have to say I'm just glad Tadpole fixed those damn floorboards, I am." Hemm gestured not too far from where Arethor sat. There, several much noticeably cleaner looking floorboards were surrounded by darker, older wood. The ground had been hollow beneath it, and was a broken ankle waiting to happen. Ironically, it was the same spot that Arethor had been getting that feeling. Something eerily close to the Connection, but not quite. It seemed to be quiet at the moment, but if he focused hard, he could almost hear its thumping. Like a heartbeat.
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"Tadpole?" Arethor muttered, his eyes still drawn to the spot.
"Yes sir. Fixed it right up, and for just a few pints of the Remedy. Fixes the soul, it does. Reckon he needs a bit of that." Hemm shrugged, waltzing over to the spot and stomping on it a few times. The boards held firm, though the rest of the building seemed to shake. There was much more that needed to be done, something Arethor was eager to tackle eventually. But with where his head was at, even getting a glass of water seemed monumental. "Bastard came in here swinging the boards around like he'd already stopped at every other bar on the way down the Arch!" The mylian added, before settling back down across from Arethor. Hemm picked up on the solemn mood, though, and bit his lip.
"Ya know, I've got a weird feeling I'm going to die in here." Hemm said randomly. This managed to pry Arethors eyes away from the spot, and looked at his friend in confusion.
"What?" He huffed.
"I just mean…if I am going to die, it better be here. By the fireplace, with an ale and my lute in hand." Hemm said with a smile, his gaze distant as if imagining it in his head. At first Arethor felt it in rather poor taste to say something like that, but after a moment the thought became relaxing. He understood what his friend meant. If he couldn't control how he died, he wanted to at least choose where.
Before he could respond to his friend, there was a sudden knock at the door. The two looked at it simultaneously. Hemm was quick to get to his feet and make for the door, swinging it open brazenly, the light flashing in. Standing there, armorclad, was Heathgrim. He looked somber, and yet alert. Arethor could already tell what was about to happen. Reluctant news.
"Arethor, I figured you'd be here." Heathgrim said, trying to smile. His short lived anger towards the captain had diminished overnight. As much as he wanted to pin the blame on him, there was nothing Heathgrim could've done. The arrows bent around the damn man after all. Even if he'd sent the volley before the attack, there was no guarantee Kimer wouldn't have still tried to kill Tolo and Amber. In fact, Arethor was confident he'd have still tried. As even when the arrows rained down over him, he didn't so much as flinch. Not even when Arethor was hurtling toward him with a sword.
But he knew Heathgrim. He knew he would still think that Arethor hated him, that he wanted to tear him apart for having let Tolo be killed. And while he wanted to just outright say he didn't, and relieve the captain of the burden, he couldn't find the words. All he could do was give him a look. A slow blink of the eyes. A sign of understanding, of acceptance.
There was a visible tremble from Heathgrim, and a long breath escaped him. He seemed to shrink a few inches before nodding ever so slightly in return. All that needed to be said, had been said.
"I just needed to get out of there. I'll be going back to check on Amber later." Arethor attempted a smile in return, a pained one at that. "Please, come in." The elf gestured to the seat across from him, to which the captain quickly obliged.
"Hemm, could you fetch us both a Remedy?"
"That's alright, I'm on duty." Heathgrim said begrudgingly. A Remedy sounded more than pleasant at the moment.
"Right, sorry. Water then. Thank you, Hemm." Arethor said with a smile. The mylian nodded happily and went off behind the counter. Heathgrim had not been to the Whine nearly as much as he would've liked, but knew of its customs in great detail. It had been ages since last he'd been inside, but it looked all the same.
"Well, there's only a few reasons you could be here, Captain." Arethor said bluntly. "Either I'm being arrested, or being recruited." He finished, even more bluntly. The captain had a pained expression that reminded Arethor that he most likely hadn't wanted to be the one to deliver whatever message was coming his way. He kept that in mind as he braced himself.
"I wish you were wrong, for once. But you're right. You have every right to decline, and are under no obligation, but you are being called upon for the counter-assault. More specifically, you're being asked to be their scout. Alongside me." Heathgrim said with as much of a straight expression as he could muster.
"You? A scout?" Arethor asked, a smile forming.
"What? That's what you put into question? Not you being summoned?" Heathgrim looked genuinely perplexed, which only added to Arethors minor amusement.
"If I'm being honest, Heathgrim, the moment I saw that man standing in the road I knew that this conversation was going to happen. Regardless of the outcome. I suppose it only makes sense that the Oak wants to use my anger against them. It's smart, really." Arethor shrugged, leaning back.
"I strongly advised against it myself. Not that I don't think you're capable, I just don't appreciate them using you like you're some oil keg they can roll down a hill and shoot flaming arrows at whenever they need to make a crater." Heathgrim grew noticeably more frustrated. Arethor couldn't tell if it was on his behalf, or something else was bothering the captain. Either way, he appreciated his unwillingness to let him be manipulated. Unfortunately for Heathgrim, he was prone to doing what the Oak asked. It was better if they thought they had him eating out of their palms, rather than see him as a liability.
"I'm doing it." Arethor said matter-of-factly. Heathgrim seemed to be stunned, only a slight squeak coming from him for a brief moment.
"I can't recommend you doing that, Arethor. Just think about it." Heathgrim started, only for the elf to shake his head.
"I've been thinking about it all night. And I'm telling you I can, and will do it."
"They don't just want you to scout. If everything is clear, and they set up the ambush, they want you down there as they are smoking them out. They want you to find and kill Kimer, personally." Heathgrim couldn't stress the point enough, leaning forward with his arms flat against his knees.
"If the Oak wants to do target practice on me again, so be it. But I'm going to kill Kimer." Arethor said calmly, his expression nearly neutral.
"You aren't thinking straight, this is a Deadspeaker we are talking about. One that is clearly more powerful than the rest in his cult." Hemm had long since placed down their waters and stepped back to listen. As much as he wanted to express that Arethor should stay, he refrained from saying anything.
"Heathgrim, I understand where you're coming from. And I can assure you I am thinking straight. I know the Oak is using my vulnerability against me. I was doing that myself long before they caught onto it. It's just one last time. Not just for spite, not even just for Tolo or Amber, but for anyone else he may threaten or hurt if I don't do this." Arethor leaned forward. "I'm not going to kill Kimer because I want to. I'm doing it because I have to." There was another moment of silence as Heathgrim processed the information. He had only ever seen Arethor lose his composure once, on that damn rock called Greyholde. And even then the elf managed to get them off the island alive. Truly, if there was one person he would place all of his faith in to save his life, it was Arethor Celstrum.
"I hate it." Heathgrim muttered, looking defeated.
"Great, use that. It seems I'll be teaching you how to scout." Arethor said with a smile, suddenly feeling much more natural.
"Scouting is grunt work, I did that in my early days in the Oak. I'm doubtful I need lessons." Heathgrim scoffed, to which Arethor could only chuckle.
"Riding a horse around in open fields is hardly scouting. You need to learn to become your environment, to meld with your surroundings. That is, while still being as swift as the deer that run through them." The elf had spent many years as what was known as an Advance Scout, or an AS. A scout that, in theory, was never seen by anyone. Even the men he was reporting back to. At least, not until the AS wanted to be seen. Some considered them spies, while others just glorified scouts. To Arethor, it was an art.
"Right. Well, we leave in two days. Best square away any business." Heathgrim said as he stood back up. "Any questions you come to me, okay? And you can back out at any time." He assured the elf, who did not intend to back down in the least bit.
"Wait, Heathgrim. There is just one thing I'd like to request, if possible." Arethor added with a smile.
No. Amber wrote, frantically pointing at the paper.
"They need me, Amber. And you know I'll be okay. Besides, I got us a house in the Green." Arethor said with a smile. He had been sitting beside his sleeping sister for awhile, debating whether or not to tell her what was happening. Theoretically he could leave, do the mission, and be back long before Amber would be sent home. But when her eyes opened and he was met with her weak but loving smile, he couldn't imagine lying to her face. Or worse, dying out there and not having given Amber a clue as to what had happened until someone told her. He couldn't do to Amber what their father had done to their mother.
The Green? Amber wrote curiously.
"They want my services, I'm going to charge them." Arethor said with a shrug. "It's a nice one too. Not too close to the farms, but still about half a mile from the roads. Two stories, a basement. More room than we'll need."
How can you afford that? Amber scribble with the raise of a skeptical brow.
"Fully paid for, silly. I didn't just get the slot, we're getting the whole house." He said, almost proudly. The Green was a massive area surrounding Tavernkeep within the Marrow forest. It was where the more expensive and isolated cabin houses were constructed. In fact, Tadpole was one of the many in the Green Capretry Guild that helped build them. The one that Arethor had demanded as compensation for his temporary return was one of the newer houses that had been built. These were houses that once bought were then bound to a family name. Meaning whoever bought the house, unless their entire bloodline was wiped out, their family would own it for eternity. If some long lost relative across the Deadsalt was the only remaining soul in the family, they'd be immediately notified that the house was now theirs. The city couldn't sell the house unless they knew for a fact that there was no one left to claim it. They were also known as Legacy Homes by some.
It was not something a tavern keeper such as Arethor could ever hope to own. Even with the cryys he's accumulated from his time in the Oak. He was honestly rather surprised they were so quick to give up the house. It made him wonder why they believed in him as much as they did. He was a good soldier, sure, but he was certainly not the best there had ever been. In fact, he was confident that Heathgrim was on par with his abilities. That is, when it comes to combat at least. He could not say the same for his scouting skills.
We already have a home. Amber blinked, confused. Arethor nodded, and placed a hand on hers comfortingly.
"I have some changes I wish to make once I return. Things I need to start thinking about as I get older." Arethor frowned as he saw the confusion in his sister's face. She was so calm despite everything. Most likely still in shock just as he. But Arethor had learned how to shove down those deep dark feelings when someone he loved died. Tolo was different, though. He couldn't just blink those tears away, or push it aside. He could feel it festering in the corners of his mind. And whether he liked it or not, it would push itself into view, overwhelm his senses.
Just not now.
You're not old. Amber said with a blank stare. Her brother couldn't help but laugh.
"I'm getting older. I'm a third of the way through my life, if I'm lucky. It seems like a lot of time left, but things are going to change. So much happens in the life span of an Elder. I've seen the rise and fall of entire empires." He paused, mulling over his words. "There's a good chance we will see Tavernkeep fall in its lifetime. But the Legacy Homes were built to be hidden. It will keep us safe. But for now, I'm going to try and keep our city safe. To keep you safe." Arethor said with a somber gaze. He already felt like he'd failed his sister, the words hollow and meaningless. Did she even trust him to keep her safe anymore? He wouldn't blame her if she didn't.
Tavernkeep is strong, like you. Amber wrote. As sweet as it was, it only brought tears to his eyes. His sister always made time for jokes, never letting a moment grow too dark. It was heartbreaking alone to see such a serious look on her face. The innocence in her gone.
"I was too weak to save you. To save Tolo." He choked on the words, his head dropping between his knees as he wished to hide his face. After a moment of scribbling, Amber slowly lifted his face by the chin, forcing him to look at the paper.
You were struck with six arrows trying to save me and Tolo. Not a single damn soldier followed you. 'Arethor' and 'weak' should never be uttered in the same sentence.