Chapter 17
Dew
Myis watched as the Ruiner jogged down the side of the bowl and settled beside a group surrounding a fire. The human saw it light their faces, and he could hear their idle chatter. T'var grunted beside him as he watched, unpleased as always.
"They don't have it, I imagine." T'var spoke softly.
"What makes you say that?" Myis snorted, shaking his head frustratingly.
"They would be dancing, or something. I don't know. Whatever it is these freak cultists do." The mylian responded, running a hand through his long slicked back black hair. They had been watching the cultists for days, looking for any signs of change. So far, they'd only watched who they assumed was their leader come and go. Whatever news he gave to them seemed to rattle the Ruiners, though, as the camp waned uneasily.
"We should probably be ready for when the Oak arrives." T'var had reasonably assumed that was what had them on edge. Myis wasn't so sure, as the camp didn't seem to be preparing for any sort of assault. So either they were half-witted, or extremely confident. And neither of those things boded well for them, not when they hadn't got what they wanted yet.
"Be ready how?" Myis posed, looking at his friend with a raised brow.
"They will no doubt send scouts. Perhaps we can inform them that the cultists are lacking defenses." T'var had always been more practical. "It would be best to keep them on our good side, I would think." He added. The Oak was known for its creative approaches to combat, whether it be through stealth or some new technical advancement. Either way, the Oak was coming, and probably soon. And it might be too late for them to get what they came for.
"Too bad Arethor won't be with them. He'd bail us out." Myis said with a smirk.
"He'd probably shout at us. Understandably so. We are far out of our depth this time."
"Nonsense, remember the Moonstalkers? We handled that like professionals." The human scoffed. He began to inch away slowly from the edge of the bowl, with T'var quickly following. It had been a few years since their last endeavor, and their fortune was beginning to run thin. Mostly thanks to Myis' gambling.
"Those were wild beasts, these are insane Splinter-slinging cultists." T'var argued. The two now stealthy made their way through the forest, making sure no Ruiners happened to be passing by. They had equipped themselves with two black robes that matched the cultists, in case they were caught. They figured it would be worth a try to pass themselves off as Ruiners before resorting to the sword.
"That man still gives me the chills, though. What was he doing out there? And completely covered in swamp mess. He looked like he was made of algae and rotten logs." Myis remembered with a sour look, ducking beneath an unruly branch.
"Probably some backwater fool snorkeling for dimroot." T'var's lip flared as he recalled that day. Drenched head to toe in swamp water. But they had secured the moonshards hidden in their shells.
"Ah, forget it. Let's just let the Oak do its thing. If we're lucky they might give us a reward for the assist."
"Not like you to give things up to the authorities, Myis. Are you feeling well?" T'var mused with a grin.
"Just not in the mood for a hole in the head."
The forest was particularly unforgiving during the turn from autumn to winter. Leaves were beginning to paint the ground, and their footfalls rattled out like a mousetrap springing off. When they got closer to the camp, they would eventually have to leave the horses behind. Of course, Arethor wasn't going to do that until he absolutely needed to. But from the look on Heathgrims face, Arethor could see the captain was growing anxious.
"Not feeling talkative?" Arethor nudged, swaying gently on Judas as he braved a hill.
"I figured you'd tell me to shut it." Heathgrim blinked.
"To you, captain? I haven't forgotten my manners since I've resigned." The elf smiled. Since Arethor had gone through the ranks faster than most in the Oak, he was never given the time to become pompous or full of himself. He took each promotion with a salute, and a gesture of good will. He had even still addressed those he newly outranked with extraordinary formality. It just wasn't in his blood to be disrespectful. Though he felt he'd gotten to a point with Heathgrim where he didn't always need to straighten his back at his presence.
"Of course not, I suppose I just don't know what a scout would talk about anyways." Heathgrims eyes trailed behind him. The Oak had long since disappeared, not even the sounds of their marching to be heard.
"It's not like it's a completely different occupation. Just talk about what's on your mind." Arethor said with a grin, amused by his friend's aimlessness. But he could sympathize with him, after all. Both of them had risen through the ranks of the Oak faster than most, and they skipped a lot of the steps most other Oaknights would have to take. In fact, neither of them had ever actually had the title Oaknight officially. Arethor had gone from Wall Guard to Scout, then straight to Spymaster. While Heathgrim had gone from Wall Guard to Wall Captain to Captain. Similar paths, but with different goals.
"What, like my feelings?" Heathgrim asked.
"Sure."
"I guess I'm anxious. I've seen now what these people can do. I'm not so sure we're making the right choice just walking in like this." Heathgrim cared deeply about the Oak, and the men who were risking their lives to save Tavernkeep. He wouldn't be able to forgive himself if he walked them into a trap. "But Hyvale knows we must do something. I've never thought the Deadspeakers to be evil, but their delusions will be the end of us."
Arethor debated telling him what Otis had discovered. But he remembered that the only reason Otis had discovered the information was from peeping on Heathgrim. Perhaps that wasn't the wisest of things to do. He would need more proof before throwing such a thing at him. Besides, Arethor wasn't even so sure about it himself.
"They aren't evil. Deadspeakers I mean. I've met many in my life, all have been pleasent people from what I can remember. I'll always wonder why the Purgers did what they did. Had we been missing something?" Arethor hadn't been alive for it, but he was there in the aftermath of it all. The world had still been healing.
"No point in looking for the logic. They were just monsters." Heathgrim grunted. It had always been a touchy subject to him, having lived through it himself. He was young, yes, but even as a Wall Guard he saw things that would end most men from the madness it caused. Of course, he had been on the walls themselves when they'd been blown down, having barely survived. Heathgrim always resented Malar for that. For throwing away their opportunity to keep their heads down and remain untouched.
"I won't disagree there, it just seems too random to be random. I mean, so does the Green War."
"Oh, Gods, don't tell me you believe that nonsense?" Heathgrim blurted out. The reaction caught him by surprise, and Arethor silenced momentarily.
"The pieces are all there, Heathgrim." Arethor started.
"Some lizards got hungry and crawled out of their caves, that's all there was to it. This talk of relics, Moonkings, and the return of long since dead people is just…" Heathgrim paused, sighing deeply as he shook his head. "Distractions." He finished. Arethor thought to push further, but restrained. He’d already ignored his own advice of saying nothing.
“Look, let’s forget it. We got more important things to worry about. Though…I do have a personal question.” Arethor spoke slowly. This seemed to peak Heathgrims interest, who turned to look at his friend.
“Ah, I see. Ask away.” He seemed happy to move away from the previous conversation.
“Have you ever felt the Connection?” Arethor prompted.
“Yes, with my wife. Did you not with…” He paused as he realized it might be too soon to ask such a question. But Arethor understood. It didn’t feel like she was gone yet, anyways.
“No. Though I don’t think that means we weren’t meant for each other.” Arethor shrugged.
“Of course not. People often mistake it for a sign that they are soulmates. But I’m pretty sure it just means that they’ll have some sort of significance in your life, good or bad.” Heathgrim had met his wife during the Green War, and the Connection that sparked between them nearly blinded him. He immediately fell in love. Sweet Fina, how he already missed her.
“Have you ever heard of someone feeling the Connection with an object? Like, something not alive?”
“An object? I can’t say I have. Though I wouldn’t be so quick to say it’s impossible. But I certainly wouldn’t consider my wife an object.” The two laughed.
“I’m sure she appreciates that.” Arethor said with a smirk.
“What makes you ask?” Heathgrim asked. A dense patch of bramble separated them for a moment, giving Arethor time to think of an excuse.
“Just curious.”
After a few more hours, and no sign of Ruiners, the two found a spot to rest and set up a camp as the rest of the Oak caught up. They’d inform Scarv that so far things seemed clear, and they most likely would rest for the night. As the sun was quickly slithering away beyond the horizon.
Once the Oak came into view, the two gave the pleasant news and camps began to spring up all around the area. They only built a few fires though, so as to not alarm the Ruiners if they were close. Hopefully they would think it was just a few passerby’s.
“We reconvene in the morning?” Arethor asked, tying Judas to a tree. Heathgrim had been in the process of shaking loose pine needles from his boots, looking up at the elf.
“What, are you not sticking around the camp?”
“No. Thought I’d move up a bit, keep an eye out.” Arethor looked over his shoulder at the seemingly infinite forest. The camp they’d set was between two hills, which Arethor did not like. What if the Ruiners did exactly what they were planning to do to them?
“You need sleep too, don’t you?” Heathgrim raised a brow. His face was illuminated by the light of the fire. A strong, stoic face. But one that softened when it wanted to. It wasn’t always so serious, despite what Heathgrim may have people believe.
“I’ll sleep when sleep comes.” Arethor nodded before waltzing off into the woods. The captain had thought to follow him at first but refrained. He was worried for the elf, and yet, he wasn’t quite sure how to comfort him. Arethor had dealt with more death in his life than most anyone else he knew, what could he possibly say to make him feel better?
The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
He tried to imagine someone killing Fina, and what could be said to make him feel better. But it only wound up making him mad at the imaginary scenario. He just knew he would slaughter anyone who hurt her. Anyone who even breathed rotten breath in her direction. He wondered if Arethor felt the same. What carnage could be going on in his mind. Suddenly, he became rather afraid. And for a brief moment he was glad he could no longer see the silhouette of Arethor.
“Captain. Celstrum told me you’re doing some good work out there.” Scarv suddenly appeared from a group of men. He still wore his armor, though his mask was hanging loose beside his face. He had that look about him that let him know he could afford to be more casual with the General.
“Oh, did he? I feel like a pup following their mother around. I’m older than him, damnit.” Heathgrim sighed.
“Two sides of the same battlefield can look very different, captain. But the war ends the same for both of them. You have your skills and he has his own.” Scarv shrugged before sitting himself down on a log across from him and the fire. It flared angrily, glowing against his oily skin. "I hope you don't see your position as a punishment. While I am indeed disappointed with how things had gone, I can recognize when something is out of our control. We are dealing with a partially unknown enemy. The men are not wavered, but still I can feel their nerves." The General looked behind him, the Oak stretching out far beyond the hill that lay behind them.
"Of course not, sir. I take this position with pride, if not with a tinge of confusion." Heathgrim spoke honestly, as he knew Scarv had come to expect.
"In all honesty, captain, it's because I trust you more than anyone else. I have reason to believe that some of the Ruiners could be within the Oak. A disturbing thought, I'm aware, but entirely plausible. Arethor and you have proven yourself time and time again. I trust you wouldn't alert the enemy of our presence." The thought was indeed disturbing. But it would be naive of them not to consider it at the very least. But so far, no one had so much as stepped out of formation to relieve themselves. And the Oak had been told to keep an especially close eye on one another to account for such.
"Your trust is appreciated. And I can't express enough the guilt I feel for the life lost that evening." The words felt bitter in his mouth. Reminding himself again and again how he had failed to convince Kimer. How he let Tolo be murdered, and Amber maimed. He wasn't sure how Arethor had it in his heart to forgive him so quickly. Then again, he was sure that the elf was just pushing everything down. Waiting for the right moment to let it all come up at once. Right on top of Kimer.
"Guilt won't get us anywhere, redemption will. And you, and all of Tavernkeep, will soon have it. Just keep your head on straight and we'll be marching back the other direction before we know it." Scarv actually smiled, if not faintly. It was comforting to see from the general, who didn't show that side to anyone that didn't closely match his rank. This was seen just as an Oaknight walked over, saluting against his chest. The smile faded and the general gave the boy a hard look.
"Report?" Scarv asked.
"Yes, sir. Smoke a few miles north. Seems to just be one fire, most likely a small fire pit. Shall we douse ours?" The Oaknight was young, but knew all the right ways to present himself. Scarv thought it over for a moment, rubbing his chin before shrugging to himself. They had the more agile men climb trees to get an overlook of the forest, where they must have spotted the smoke.
"No. We are still a good bit away from where the camp should be. Probably just some hunters." The general nodded, and the Oaknight was dismissed. Turning back to Heathgrim, he scoffed.
"We end this nonsense tomorrow."
"I can't believe you turned your back on your people there, T'var. I'm sure they would've taken you in with open arms." Myis teased, trailing close behind the slender mylian.
"Quiet, human." T'var spat back playfully. A call back to a simpler time.
"Ah! Haven't heard that since we first met. When was that?" Myis began to rummage through his satchel. Of all the useful tools he had jumbling around inside, he pulled free his pipe, and packed it with dinleaf. Lighting a match, the human took in a few drags of the smoke. It tasted and smelled sweet, and the head rush from it was even sweeter. It was like caffeine but smokable. And though it had no chemically addictive properties, it was damn near impossible to put down.
"Too long ago. Makes me feel old." The mylian tried to relax, though his nerves had been shot. "I keep track by all the jobs that have gone wrong." T'var added smugly, looking over his shoulder at his friend who's smile was filled with smoke.
"Why, 'cause there are so few?" Myis chirped cheerily.
"Sure." T'var shrugged, looking forward. They had been walking for a good few hours at that point and it was getting hard to see. All they had was moonlight and the charged cryy's they had strapped around their waists with strips of leather. Curiously enough, the crystals would glow for extended periods of time when submerged in water long enough. The longer they sat in it, the longer and more powerfully they glowed.
A different kind of light caught their eye though, one more natural, that of a flame. It was small, but the shadows caused could be made out flickering against trees sitting atop a hill. The two eagerly scaled the small hill to find a man standing alone. Suddenly, swords were being drawn.
"By the Gods, Arethor? Is that you?" Myis shouted with a laugh, putting his sword away in a flash. The mylian had a hand to his chest, having started a prayer subconsciously, while Arethor stood with a stunned expression. "What in the Orange Sands are you doing here?"
"I think you know why." Arethor said, his eyes now squinting with suspicion. "Perhaps I should be asking you instead." The elf added.
"Well, you see-!" Myis started, only for T'var to slap a hand over his mouth and drag him backward.
"We heard what happened to Tavernkeep, thought maybe we could get a few cryys if we found the camp and turned it in." T'var slowly pulled his hand away as Myis nodded along with his friend's half-truth.
"Precisely." Myis chimed in.
"Right. And?" Arethor looked beyond them to see much of the same forest he'd been seeing so far.
"And they are only a half day's journey away in that direction. They seem woefully unprepared for any sort of invasion, I might note." T'var had seen Mission camps more fortified than the Ruiners. This set off all sorts of alarms in Arethors head, who bit his lip in thought.
"That could mean a lot of things. Either they are truly oblivious, or they have some sort of ambush set up." Arethor leaned against a tree, an opening in the branches above them providing them with much needed moon and corrlight, that being the orange glow produced from Coreterras surface.
"We stood right at the edge of their camp, walked all around its perimeter, they didn't even have guards on duty." T'var said, recalling just how barren it had been. They had wondered if they themselves had walked into a trap at first. "But, Arethor, what are you doing here? Did you not retire?" The mylian insisted. At first Arethor wasn't sure what to say. Would he sound like a gambler, or perhaps an alcoholic if he said it was just 'one more time'? Or would they truly believe him? It hadn't been the first time the Oak required his assistance for something after he'd retired. But it was almost always just an opinion on something diplomatic or tactical. Never had they asked for him to pick back up his sword.
"Just doing someone a favor. It's the least they deserve." Arethor muttered, hoping it was satisfying enough an answer. The two men looked at him understandingly, and decided it was all they were going to get. "Now, what are two Relicers like you really doing out here?" Arethor turned the heat back to them, to which T'var seemed too stumped to respond.
"He's twisted our fingers, T'var! We might as well confess!" Myis blurted out.
"You dumb fool." T'var hid his face in his palms and sighed.
"Listen, we heard these simpleton cultists were holding a relic of some sort. It was a crapshot in the dark but we are desperate for another hit. Figured it was worth a try." Myis shrugged, his honesty always being one of his greatest strengths and weaknesses. Being a Relicer was not the business to be an honest man in, T'var always tried reminding him.
"Well wherever you got that information, you either didn't hear it right or they lied. The Ruiners don't have the relic. As of right now it looks like it doesn't even exist. They attacked Tavernkeep because they were convinced we have it." Arethor said bitterly. T'var raised a brow, resting his chin in his palm.
"And you don't?" T'var asked, which earned another squint from Arethor.
"No, we don't. At least, we aren't sure." Was he about to do it? Was he going to try and tell them what Otis had to him? He felt compelled to, even if he didn't truly believe it himself without some form of proof. But the lines connected scarily well, and the last thing he wanted was his two friends winding up in more danger than they'd already gotten themselves into.
"There is, however, more to this." Arethor said slowly, unsure of how to phrase things. He decided it was simply best to explain it the same way his friend had in the stables, which had damn near convinced him on the spot. And it seemed to be convincing the two Relicers as well. And though Myis was fully enveloped in the tale, T'var of course still had his skepticism to latch onto.
"I'm sorry, you say we know that Uttral survived the Purge? How is this exactly?" T'var pointed out blankly.
"He was a famous Deadspeaker for Torchill for several decades. He was better at making clear, touchable connections with the dead than anyone other. And above all else, he was extremely recognizable."
"Handsome, you mean?" Myis interrupted.
"Some would say, sure. Long, jet black hair, a gentle yet authoritative face, illustrated and dispersed throughout the world in several famous novels. People were not quick to forget who Uttral was. Which is why it was notable when there were hundreds of reports of him appearing across the world during the Green War." Arethor remembered seeing the drawings of him, in such great detail too. Him standing in the Grand Hall of Fort Kiltek as he brought forth an image of General Cladius The First with a massive audience surrounding him. It was ironic that it was that very city that turned on him when the Purgers came.
"No, no, it makes sense, T'var." Myis started. "Think about it. How likely would it be that the Jorinian would go undiscovered for so long? I mean, sure, they could've lived underground but how would they eat? They would've been spotted looking for food eventually, that is, thousands of years ago." The human wasn't a complete dunce, he only acted like it when he felt he was in control of a situation. This was very much not in anyone's control.
"I suppose. It does make sense. And we have seen relics with great power before, such as the Everdial. It's not completely unlikely that something like this…Celspawn, as you say, could exist. But if it does exist, why are they under the impression that it is in Tavernkeep?" T'var asked reasonably. Of course, this was still one of the many things that were unknown to them. But Arethor was glad at the very least that they didn't think he was completely insane.
"It won't matter. We've come to wipe them out. Then we figure out if it's truly in Tavernkeep. If it's not, then we can sleep easily." Arethor rationalized to himself.
"And if it is?" Myis asked the obvious question, which frustrated Arethor ever so slightly.
"Then we destroy it, I would think. No one should have that kind of power." That seemed the only right answer. A simple answer too.
"Right, well perhaps you wouldn't mind some company then? And perhaps a reward for said company?" Myis suggested with the nudge of his shoulder. T'var sighed at his friends desperateness but surprisingly it made Arethor laugh.
"I've been offered more than enough cryys, and a spot in the Green for my cooperation. I can spot you two a few. I'm sure the Oak won't complain about having more help too." He wasn't actually sure how Scarv would feel about bringing on a couple of no-name Relicers. But a good part of him knew that Scarv would trust him. He'd never given the man a reason not to, after all.
"Sounds wonderful." T'var grinned, suddenly on board. "What are you doing so far from the Oak? Scouting at night doesn't seem all that efficient in the forest."
"You'd be right. I just needed a breath. They're about a half mile back. Figured I'd keep watch out here for tonight. You can join me if you'd like." Arethor said, pointing to a small fire he had at a low burn just down the hill. The two happily joined the elf, indulging in flat bread and dried meat as they talked. T'var even began to warm up a kettle of tea from Stimroot, which would keep them aware.
"It was in Skylorn, yes? I was still a young Relicer. My biggest find at the time had been a Scalbone tooth. It was about the size of my middle finger." T'var flashed his middle finger at the two, who rolled their eyes.
"You two almost made me lose my position in the Oak, it's kind of hard to forget." Arethor recalled, having helped the two chase down a wild Thinrunr through the small Skylorn village. It had been the first time he'd ever been to Rifnallia, so high over the ocean. The floating landmass was infamous for its flat plains and cottage villages. At the time, Arethor had been Malars Spymaster, and had been working to figure out the leak coming from Skylorn. Little did he know he would run into the two Relicers for the first time, who had been trying to capture the beast for a week at that point.
"Was worth the trouble, I'd say." Myis said as he poked the fire, embers spitting upward.
"I'm sure it was, for you! I was dragged over to Riftorn by your damn yulewing!" Arethor said, perhaps too loudly for someone trying not to be heard. The two Relicers erupted into laughter, though, and it was hard not to do the same. The three talked a bit more before dousing the fire, and getting some sleep. If everything went according to plan, tomorrow was going to be a big day for everyone.