by Kody Boye
By the time the final man—the mayor—stepped before her, Carmen was ready to collapse.
“Mister mayor,” she said, beginning to rise.
“It is not you who should be rising for I,” Claymus Rothenburg said, “but me bowing for you.” He removed his intricate top hat and bowed at the waist before taking her hand and offering a kind squeeze. “Tell me, Miss Delarosa, that you have had nothing but goodness given on this day.”
“There was some sadness,” Carmen said, “but it was all out of thanks.”
“I am happy to hear that.” He took a step forward and gestured her to seat herself on one of the many loveseats, atop which were piled the various gifts that had been brought from all sides and corners of the city. “I must warn you, Miss Delarosa, that word of your actions will spread quickly. You have already seen how the town has gathered under such short notice.”
“I have,” Carmen said, crossing her arms beneath her breasts. “But I don’t understand. Why are you telling me this?”
“You are likely to be bombarded with attention. Writers, poets, bards, businessmen, historians and scholars alike will want to speak with you regarding your battle with the infamous drake. Why, I can even imagine the king will want to speak with you.”
“Oorin?” Carmen asked, flabbergasted. “Why me?”
“Though I can only speak for myself, I would be incredibly thankful that a member of my kingdom took it upon themselves to slay a creature that has wrought such destruction. The drake has affected more than lives, Miss Carmen. It has affected trade between the cities, commerce, the economy. Ehknac will likely see many visitors once your name spreads to every man and woman’s lips.”
“I don’t want to be famous,” Carmen said.
“Most heroes don’t,” the mayor agreed, “which is why I would like you to take it in stride. Accept gifts if you wish. Donate them to those less fortunate if you do not. Auction them for a good cause if you are so willing. Regardless, you are now in the public eye, and must be wary of your every action.”
“I understand, sir.”
“Before I go,” the mayor said, “I do have a gift—a token of my appreciation, if you will.”
He drew, from his coat, a series of stones, within which the power of the sun grew.
“Sunstones?” Carmen asked, accepting the near-priceless treasures with little thought. She stared at the three gems in her hands—all no larger than the size of a large Dwarven coin—before turning her attention back up to the man. “I cannot accept these.”
“Sister Griffa says you’ve a glowworm to light your way,” the man replied. “Consider these an offering to the little one who has assisted you much in your journeys.”
Leaning forward, the man took hold of her hand, lifted it to kiss her fingertips, then released his hold and turned to walk toward the temple’s broad double doors. “Thank you for your service to the city of Ehknac, Miss Delarosa. Your actions will not be soon forgotten.”
With that, the man opened the door and departed the temple, leaving a very-stunned Carmen to only sit and stare.
“Well?” Sister Griffa Stonesinger asked as she appeared from near the back of the room—looking upon not only the clothes and satchels of food, but the parcels filled with coin. “Would you like me to have these things gathered and returned to your home?”
“I don’t need clothes,” Carmen said. “Or food, or coin. I have everything I need already.” She looked down at the sunstones and curled her fingers about them. “I will take the gift from the mayor, but would like the rest to be donated to the less fortunate.”
“Charity is a virtue many do not have in this day and age,” Sister Griffa said. “You are sure you wish to part with your treasures?”
“There are people who need them more than I.”
Besides, Carmen thought as she once more looked down at the sunstones in her hand.
She had a feeling she would soon be speaking with people far better off than the inhabitants of Ehknac.
- - -
She slept of the company of Gods. Blessed within their presence and feeling small beneath their altars, she dozed fitfully and tried not to dream of the thing that had almost claimed her life.
Its fire.
Its eyes.
The way its teeth had been bared to swallow her whole.
She tossed, she turned, she kicked out at one point and threw a punch the next. By the time she fully woke the following morning, her body was covered in and smelled of sweat.
“You were restless during the night,” Sister Griffa said, lighting the candles upon the altars and pressing her fist to her heart before each. “Did you not sleep well?”
“I had nightmares,” Carmen said.
“Oh Keteva, great keeper of dreams, allow this child to rest easily, for within your heart she is strong, and within hers you are kind. Amen,” the sister said.
“Amen,” Carmen replied. She pushed herself up to her feet and wandered to grace the altar before which the sister stood, taking note of the creature’s arachnid facade as within a stone web it weaved its visions. “Sister Griffa.”
“Yes, my child?”
“I believe I will return home today, if you feel it proper.”
“Honest did say that you were free to leave once you were able to stand on your own two feet,” the sister said. “And to me, it appears you are standing just fine.”
She was still sore, for sure, but no longer did Carmen feel as though she would fall over at any moment. If anything, she simply felt tired—in need of a long day’s rest upon her bed within her family home.
“Were my things delivered during the night?” Carmen asked.
“Your personal affects have been returned to the mailing slot outside your home,” the sister replied. “You may find them there at your convenience.”
“Thank you, Sister.”
Carmen leaned forward and wrapped her arms around the woman—not sure of, but knowing it was the right decision. Her touch was gentle, her skin smelling of soft flowers and honey. Her presence as Carmen drew away was calming, and that alone was enough to make her feel she had been blessed by the holy woman’s touch.
“You do not need to thank me, Carmen. Go forth and live your life. I imagine there will be many people happy to see you come time you are fully recovered.”
“Thank you,” Carmen said.
With one final bow, she turned and walked toward the double doors.
Outside—in the cool, fresh morning—Carmen breathed in a lungful of air and sighed as it passed between her lips.
Though life would certainly be an adventure now that she was a hero, she looked forward to any challenges it may offer.
- - -
She was pooling over series of letters sent from the surviving families of the lost caravaners when a knock came at the door.
Having not expected company, Carmen had yet to dress for the day, and as such wore little more than nightclothes.
Who could that be? She wondered, standing.
She drew a shawl about her shoulders, positioned it to where it would cover the majority of her body, then drew toward the door. “Hello?” she asked as the person knocked once more. “Who is it?”
“A messenger, ma’am.”
Carmen slid the bolt free of the door and opened it a crack to face the man. “Bearing what message?” she asked.
“That the mayor would like to meet with you this afternoon to discuss official correspondence from the king.”
The king? Carmen thought. How could he know already?
She knew that the Dwarves were pioneering systems of communication that did not require the use of advanced magics, but she could’ve never imagined hearing word this soon.
“This afternoon, you say?” Carmen asked, turning to look at a dial hung upon the far wall, which showed that it was only just past dawn.
“Yes ma’am.” The messenger bowed with his arm crossed over his abdomen. “G’day to you.”
He t
hen turned and walked away.
Carmen, unsure what to think, merely closed the door, then locked it before spinning to place her back against it.
The king had already sent correspondence regarding her actions?
How? she thought.
Was it through the new telegraph system? Was that how they were doing it? Or had they sent a whirligig to brave the mines? It wouldn’t be unheard of, but most oftentimes than not, whirligigs had trouble maneuvering the Deep Roads due to their often-erratic behaviors and abilities to spontaneously jerk from one side to another without the driver’s mandate.
Knowing in the end that it didn’t matter, she turned, made her way back to her desk, and began to pool over the series of letters again.
One had come from the next settlement over, another from beyond there.
If word was spreading this quickly, then surely the king could’ve already heard.
She turned to look at the mace, hung properly on its place above the fireplace mantle, and sighed, wondering just what the king would have to say that could not be sent in a letter directly to her.
- - -
“The king requested that this be delivered to you personally by a member of the city council,” Mayor Rothenburg said—passing, from one gloved hand, an intricate papyrus scroll to her. “Oorin stated that he would have sent this to you himself, but that he wanted it to be delivered with discretion.”
“Not very often you get mail from the king,” Carmen agreed, admiring the golden seal and the beautiful red ribbon that had been used to bind the scroll. She debated whether or not she should cut or untie the cord, then chose the latter before drawing it open.
Inside lay the king’s crest, an official notice of government business, and a wax seal whose paint glimmered a pale gold to mark its authenticity.
This is the real deal, Carmen thought as she lowered her eyes to scan the scroll’s contents.
To a Miss Carmen Delarosa,
Daughter of Madeline and Brutus:
You are cordially invited to attend a summons with High King Oorin, 27th of the Dachtieene line, to discuss matters relating to the King’s Watch and your potential enlistment within its ranks. Please respond in-line with your stated reply. Should you wish you attend this summons, a troop will be dispatched to accompany you on the journey to Dorenborough.
Sincerely,
A member of the High Parliament
“How did this get here so fast?” Carmen asked. “Was it printed within the city?”
“I imagine the king telegraphed his request to our local judicial office and it was printed there,” the mayor replied. “Note the signature of the individual who addressed the letter, as well as the wax seal unique to the city of Ehknac.”
“He wants me to audition for the King’s Watch,” Carmen said, lifting her eyes.
“There are few people who are offered such an honor,” the mayor replied. “This is something you should not consider lightly.”
“Not consider lightly?” she laughed. “Are you out of your mind?” She paused when the severity of her words sunk in. “I mean… not that you’re out of your mind, sir, or that you have been or ever will be, but—”
“Carmen,” the man laughed, raising a hand to stop her. “I understand you’re excited. Please—continue.”
“I was going to say,” Carmen replied, “that of course I’m going to respond, and of course I’m going to say yes to the summons.”
The King’s Watch was unlike any organization within the Dwarven military. Hand-picked by the king himself, it featured only the strongest, the most clever, the most cunning and most able-bodied of warriors. She’d seen them once as a child—when, upon a grand tour of the Dwarven kingdom, they’d stopped in Ehknac to acknowledge the people and all their worth—and in their eyes she’d seen something amazing: a stalwart notion of honor that could not be defied by title or purpose. These men and women—they’d been exceptional—and to think that she may soon be a part of them was absolutely phenomenal.
Don’t get ahead of yourself, she thought. You haven’t even been picked yet.
Still—a summons! How amazing was that?
Carmen eagerly reached for the piece of charcoal and began to scribble out her reply—a simple yes and that it would be her honor to attend. She signed her name, kissed the papyrus, then rolled the scroll shut before returning it to the mayor. “I suppose you’ll deliver this for me?” she asked.
“It would be my honor,” the mayor replied.
Carmen could only grin.
Soon, she would be departing for the capital of Dorenborough not only as the Drake Slayer of Ehknac, but as a potential candidate for the King’s Watch.
She couldn’t wait.
Chapter 2
She began to pack almost immediately upon returning home. Knowing that it would not be much longer before an official declaration was made and a notice would be given, Carmen went to work packing all of the essentials—including, but not limited to: the clothes she would wear upon the trip, the armor that would adorn her body throughout her time in the mines, and her father’s mace, which from the mantle she retrieved with the utmost care.
Days ago, it had been used to slay one of the most wicked creatures known to Dwarvenkind. Now it might possibly be serving the king.
But don’t get your hopes up, she was quick to remind herself.
It was likely that her abilities would be deemed average compared to those who had dedicated their entire teenage years to warfare, and as such she would be conscripted to Ehknac’s walls once she returned on that fateful journey home. Not that she’d mind being a wall guard. In fact, the idea of solitude was somewhat appealing. But the fact that she was so close—so exceptionally near the chance of a lifetime—was enough to make her giddy.
She continued to pack, shoving odds and ends into one bag and personal items into another. She saved the items she would leave last in her bag—most particularly: the razors she used to shave the fine blonde hair on her skin, as well as the handheld mirror she looked into to examine her reflection. She didn’t think herself awfully pretty, by any respects, but as she caught a glance of herself in the mirror, she could see what the men had seen in her.
Pretty eyes, she thought, big lips. Cute dimples. Round cheeks.
She smiled, a trait that had often been called her prettiest feature, and found it fading not long after.
It came often in times like these—when happiness, so close to the threshold of claiming her, would simply slip away.
She had just remembered that she hadn’t returned to her mother, father and little brother’s graves.
They won’t mind, her conscience said. They’re watching. All of them. Mama in Valhalla, Papa and Tono in Folkvang.
The thought was enough to bring tears to her eyes, but she quickly wiped them aside, not wanting to dwell on the feelings of remorse any longer than she should.
Sister Griffa had once said that the grieving process lasted forever—that it would not get better, but only less painful as time went on.
As incredibly fresh as her family’s passing was, it hurt to think that she could even be happy about anything.
But I am, she thought.
“You would be so proud,” she then said aloud, looking to the pictograph that the photographer had taken only the previous year—when she, seventeen, had stood with her well-dressed parents, all gussied up in fine clothes and makeup, holding her baby brother in her arms, looking into the face of an object so benign and alien she couldn’t even imagine what result it would give.
The pictograph had taken nearly an hour to process, but by the time it had finished, it was nothing short of glorious.
Them—together, forever, in one small, isolated moment of time.
Carmen reached up to wipe the single tear from her eye.
She would go visit their graves before the night was up. That she promised.
- - -
“Hi everyone,” she said as she settled down beside
her family’s headstones. “I guess you’ve heard that I’m back already.”
She’d seen the people coming and going from the cemetery when returning home from the temple—most sad, some relieved, a choice few with joyous expressions on their faces. It wasn’t hard to imagine that they had come to say what was ultimately their final goodbyes, and give their last hurrahs to the family of the woman who had slain the creature that had killed their loved ones. For that reason, it wasn’t hard to imagine her parents—lingering, presently, within another realm, but possibly still somehow present in this one—had heard of her accomplishments—and were, as such, proud of what she had done.
She traced her mother’s tombstone, ceremonial in its dagger-like edge to mark her as a warrior, then pressed a hand to her father’s, crafted as a hammer to mark his living work as an architect and blacksmith. She did not touch Tonomoto’s grave—because she knew, somewhere, he already lay, and that she would never truly get to be next to him again.
“I miss you all so much,” she said as she bowed her head, paying her respects with silence in the moments that followed.
The deep breeze that circumvented the caverns stirred her hair, reminding her for one brief moment of the way her mother had parted her hair from her eyes once upon a time. She’d always worn it in a ponytail, but always a few stray pieces would brush aside, masking her face and the features her father said were beautiful. You look just like your mother, he would always say. So young. So beautiful. So pretty.
“The King has sent for me,” Carmen said as she drew her hands away. “Mama… he wants to meet me to see if I may join the King’s Watch.”
Though her mother had never been part of such an organization—and had only served in the military for the ten years required under the Dwarven government—she had served as a gate guard and had walked the walls of Ehknac often, armed to the tooth and nail with axe and sword. She’d been a brilliant warrior and an even better person, so Carmen could only imagine what she would think of this news—in Valhalla or wherever she may be.
