Servants and Followers (The Legends of Arria, Volume 2)

by Courtney Bowen

  “They could not have escaped,” Goga muttered to himself, marching about his quarters in the barracks where he had gone to think. “The gates were shut. No one could have gotten out through them. My head hurts. The posterns were guarded as well. No one could have gotten out. They must be hiding somewhere, waiting for their chance to slip out. I will not let them slip out.” He coughed, already developing a cold, he was certain.

  Hava sighed, writing down warrants of arrest for the guests that had escaped, and for the woman who had helped them. Goga had woken him up, and ordered him to get to work on these papers. Goga just loved ordering people about, Hava thought to himself.

  “I will find them.” Goga said to himself and sniffed.

  All night long, the guards searched for the youths, poking about every corner of the castle grounds, even in the western bailey, and raided every room, even those belonging to the noble guests that had been invited to stay over at Coe Aela for Lord Fobata’s birthday celebration. Even Lord Fobata had been kindly asked to step out of his rooms so that the guards could search, and the Duke of Coe Aela impatiently waited as the guards ransacked his room, wondering if Captain Goga had gone too far over the limits of his command. It was time to have a talk with him again.

  The guards also rounded up the serving women, crying and screaming as they were taken from their beds or from the tasks that they were set to perform at these late hours, not knowing why, and friends and family members pleaded for these women to be released. But the guards ignored them and sent the women down to the dungeon cells below to wait for whatever reason Goga had for doing this. Goga impatiently waited for word that the guests were here, found, but the guards returned to him, negative on all grounds.

  Goga growled. “Fine. Organize the search party. We will be leaving in the morning.” He coughed. His head was pounding.

  “But the men have been up all night, sir.” One of the guards said. “Can we not rest a few hours?”

  “Rest? What is this word?” Goga asked before he sneezed. “Now do as I say! I will see those women you have captured for me.” He said, striding out of the room and wiping his nose. “Hava!” He called back, raising a finger. “Come with me and bring the arrest warrants with you!” He cried.

  Hava sighed, and followed after the captain of the guards out of the barracks, and across the back lawn towards the castle. “Sir, is all of this really necessary?” Hava asked, knowing he would be punished for his insolence.

  “Yes, of course it is, Hava,” Goga said, rolling his eyes and sniffling. “We cannot let these children get away from us that easily. I admit I have thought that these children were next to nothing, when I wondered why we were supposed to have been watching out for them in the first place, but Lord Fobata and I, it seems, have vastly underestimated them.” He said as he threw open the back doors into the castle.

  “Despite being trapped here, they managed to find a way out, even if they had some help here from a servant girl, and one of them had the Black Sword.” Goga said, as servants and guards alike scattered before him. He stopped to sneeze. “The Black Sword, Hava, do you know what that means?” He asked, turning to his secretary.

  “Knights of Arria?” Hava asked uncertainly, for that was what the the Black Sword, and other Swords of Arria, were associated with.

  “That’s right, Knights of Arria,” Goga muttered, continuing on as he started to descend the staircase into the dungeon. “We cannot let them get away from us. They will bring down destruction on everything that we have worked so hard for.” He huffed.

  “But how can you be so sure that they are…the Knights of Arria died years ago!” Hava cried. “Centuries! Millenia!”

  “They are the Knights of Arria, or the closest thing we will get to them in our lifetimes.” Goga said, turning on Hava at the bottom of the staircase. “The Knights of Arria might have died, but they left a legacy behind them that has lasted all of this time and will be picked up by others, you can almost guarantee that. There may even be some truth to the rumor of a Knight of Arria in Coe Kiki already, if you can believe that.” Goga muttered, turning away. “Generations have been raised on the stories! Millenia! Of course someone is going to pick up the bloody Black Sword when it falls into their hands,” Goga said, as he entered the dungeon with Hava right behind, “Who could resist that?” He finished.

  The guard on duty turned to Goga, as several women started cursing Goga loudly from within the cells where they were all jammed in together. Some women pleaded to be let out, but many were just remained silent and sullen. “Sir,” The guard said, raising his voice to be heard over the clamor, “The ladies are waiting to be inspected.”

  “Ladies,” Goga muttered, going from cell to cell and, at a safe distance to avoid the hands trying to reach out and strangle him, peered in to see if any of them might have been the one to attack him. “No. No. Maybe. Too old. Not enough hair. Too young.” Goga said, wiping his nose with a handkerchief from his pocket. “She was shorter. Taller. Fatter. Skinnier. Maybe a bit older. Possible. Turn your head to the left. No.” Goga said.

  Goga continued, narrowing down his suspects as Hava wrote down their names and descriptions. “All right, I think that’s enough.” Goga said, nodding to the guard before he asked Hava to tear off the piece of paper from his ledger and hand it over to the guard. “Here, round up these ladies from their cells,” Goga told the guard. “And prepare them for an investigation. I will be with them shortly. Hava, come with me.” Goga said as he left the dungeon behind.

  Hava panted, going up the staircase, “Where are we going now?”

  “To Lord Fobata. I am sure he wants to talk to me by now,” Goga said, climbing. “And I have a few words I want to say to him. Plus we must have a conversation with Marlo and…what was the name of the servant Marlo had spying on the group?”

  “Janus?” Hava asked, shocked as he stopped just befoe the top of the stairs.

  “Precisely.” Goga growled, emerging into the back corridor just as the sun rose above the eastern corner of the rear curtain wall, visible through one of the windows. “We must have a conversation with him.” He said.

  Habala had started cooking breakfast for herself and her husband, as well as for a few guests that had arrived last night to see the Oracle of Mila, and her husband was out chopping wood in the stableyard for the stove, though he did not need to. Habala was using her magical fire powers to light and heat the stove. Habala had yet to confess to him the full extent of her fire power, which she was still exploring after ‘rediscovering’ them. In a sense, she had not completely forgotten her powers; she had just tried to block them from her mind for all of these years. The last time she had used her powers, really used them to the full extent of her ability before burning down her clock workshop…she did not want to think about that horrible night when Dorvina, Geda’s and Smidge’s sister, had died.

  Brigga rushed into the stableyard from the street. “Geda! Habala!” The woman called, as Habala poked her head out from the kitchen, and her husband stopped chopping.

  “What is it?” Geda asked quietly, lowering the axe and wiping sweat off of his brow.

  “The mayor’s back, out running naked on the main street again,” Brigga remarked, pointing towards the road. “Something has got to be done about it.” She said, heading for the water pump to wash her hands.

  Habala and Geda glanced at each other, as they heard the mayor singing a bawdy song on the street in front of their inn. “I’ll take a look,” Geda sighed, putting his axe away before he headed in that direction.

  “Thank you.” Brigga said, smiling as she pumped. “I’m so glad. I hope that you can talk some sense into him, Geda. Not that I’m complaining, but that’s not the sort of sight we want to see every time he gets the fancy.” She added, rinsing her hands.

  “I quite agree there.” Habala laughed. “Take care, Geda.” Habala said, wiping her hands on her apron. “It’s the third time in a month that he’s done this.”

  “
I know. I think he’s losing it.” Geda sighed. “Not that I blame him one bit. He’s got a lot to deal with sometimes.”

  “Do you two think he’ll get re-elected this year?” Brigga asked them, drying her hands.

  “I don’t know. I don’t think so.” Geda chuckled. “I can’t imagine so, not with his behavior getting so bad, and so visible. I suppose...we’ll have a new mayor this year.” He stopped, astonished by his own words.

  “A new mayor, the first in fifteen years.” Habala said, marveling to herself. “Can you imagine? You know, Geda, maybe you should run for mayor.”

  “Me? Run for mayor? No way,” Geda said, shaking his head. “I wouldn’t do a thing like that, not if…no. Don’t ask me to do that.” Geda said, striding away towards the main road. Habala and Brigga had asked too much of him in recent days, especially with Smidge leaving.

  “But it’s a great idea!” Brigga cried, turning towards him, yet he had already gone. “Habala?” She said, turning towards her friend.

  Her friend. It had been so long since she and Habala had been friends that it still felt strange to think of them in that term. But ever since the other night, when Smidge had left The Smiling Stallion inn, and she had shared her secret with Habala, in spite of Habala’s reluctance to believe Smidge could be a Follower of Doomba, they had gotten close again. Now it seemed that they were working together as friends, although there was no mention of Smidge in their conversations. He seemed to be personally avoiding them, and Habala wanted to avoid the topic of Smidge altogether, especially when it came to him possibly being a Follower of Doomba. Brigga followed Habala’s taciturn example in this case, as it was the only sore point they had at this point, but one of these days she knew that she would have to pursue the topic again, if only to prove that Smidge was one.

  Habala sighed, shaking her head. “There’s no point trying to talk him into it, Brigga, he won’t listen to you.” Perhaps she should not have suggested that Geda should run for mayor, Habala thought, when Geda was not in the mood to try anything bold or new, in a sort of depressed state disguised as business as usual. But she thought that Geda could make a good mayor, possibly the best mayoral candidate that they had in this town. It was difficult for things to get back to normal between her and Geda, with the boys and Smidge gone, but perhaps a change, something to live for besides the inn, something to give them hope, might stir their hearts again. She shouldn’t have burned down the old clock workshop awhile ago, that had just made things worse between them.

  “You could probably talk him into it.” Brigga remarked.

  “I know I could, but I’m not sure…” Habala sighed. “Perhaps we shouldn’t discuss this. Come on inside here, and help me finish breakfast,” Habala said, moving away from the kitchen door. Would he even listen to her? Would he be willing to believe her? Perhaps the boys and the inn were all they had keeping them together for all of these years, and now that the boys were gone…the inn was not enough, it would never be enough to protect them. They were falling apart.

  Habala wiped her eyes as Brigga entered the kitchen. Brigga had been of great help to them these past couple of days, taking care of some of the boys’ chores along with Smidge, and then after Smidge left; things were almost back to normal when it came to operating and managing the inn. Almost.

  Besides the Oracle of Mila worshippers, there was also Mirari the healer staying here, as she usually did during the Plig and Suma seasons, but she said that she had come earlier this year to get a start on taking care of some of her patients. Habala had not quite understood that, but she supposed that it was a good thing when Mirari was such a good healer, and sometimes there were accidents when people started plowing up the fields, or the river started to flood with the thaw in the Reda season. She would not start to question everything else in her life, or else things would start to fall apart even more before she knew what was happening.

  Habala shook her head and went back to cooking breakfast alongside Brigga, waiting for her husband to come back to help serve. He would come back.

  Lapo the merchant was walking down the main road with his wife Mawen after having picked up some breakfast food from the general store, when the mayor raced by them naked. “Third time in a month,” Mawen remarked, shaking her head with disappointment. “He doesn’t even look that good. Do you think people are going to stand for much more of this?” She asked her husband slyly.

  “No, I don’t think so,” Lapo said, shaking his head. “Third time in a month? Why even stand for it one time? People deserve better than this.” He said, already giving a campaign speech to his wife. “Might be time for a change.” He smiled.

  “Oh, my dear Lapo!” Mawen laughed, clapping her hands. “I knew you would have it in you! People deserve better than this, and you’re the best that they’re going to get in a town like this! You deserve to win, and you will. No one will stand against you.”

  “I can think of a few people who might,” Lapo said, staring after Geda racing to catch up with the mayor.

  “Oh, him? No, he’s nothing.” Mawen said, nodding. “No one will vote for him except for a couple of drunks. You’re going to win, my dear. The majority loves you, they respect you, and you’ve earned that love and respect. You’re going to win.” She said as Geda caught up with the mayor, and managed to grab him, though gingerly to avoid touching any private areas.

  “Thank you, my dear Mawen,” Lapo said, kissing his wife. “I will be certain to give you that inn you’ve always wanted once I’m elected.”

  “We’re going to win, and crush The Smiling Stallion inn!” Mawen laughed, and kissed him hard with a foot raised behind her. The mayor was escorted by Geda back to town hall.

  “‘So away with ye, away with ye, do-we-do-we-do-we!’” The mayor sang, “To the land flowing with’…uh, what goes there, Geda?” The mayor asked, “What finishes the song?”

  “Uh, sounds like something with…milk and honey, although that doesn’t make much sense.” Geda said, shaking his head. “Where does milk flow like water, and honey? Preposterous, I say, it doesn’t seem right.”

  “It’s a song, it doesn’t have to mean anything.” The mayour said. “Something’s got to flow, might as well be…beer! Beer and milk, does that sound better?” The mayor asked. “Or…wine! Wine, women, and song! Now that does sound better, doesn’t it?”

  “Whatever makes you happy.” Geda sighed. He was used to dealing with drunkards at the bar inside his common room, he had spent almost 30 years of his life dealing with their messes, tirades, and rages, but Geda didn’t want to have to deal with their drunkenness in the morning as well. He was getting a little tired of it. The trick was to keep them happy until they departed, full of beer until they passed out, sober enough that they would stop drinking after awhile, or just to cut them off entirely. The third and fourth options were perhaps the easiest, and sometimes the least taken options by the innkeeper with the real drunks, especially when it meant less beer sold to them. On the other hand, it did mean less drunkenness for him to deal with as well.

  “‘Away with ye, away with ye, where are we going, Geda?’” The mayor asked in song.

  “Back to the town hall, mayor, I don’t know where you live.” Geda said, thinking it was a real question.

  “Balderdash balnor! I don’t want to go back there! I’m bored, sick, and tired of being straight-laced, white as a feather, clean and…blah. Leaves a bad taste in my mouth.” The mayor stuck out his tongue. “Sick and tired, plagued by every problem that this town has got to offer, and then some, with the factory owners, the baron, and Lapo’s influences. I want to be let loose, and run free!” The mayor cried, nearly running off again before Geda grabbed him. “Let someone else take care of these problems!” The mayor said.

  “Someone else will! Mayor, I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to learn how to control yourself, or else we’ll…I don’t think you’ll like being forced to step down from office.” Geda said as the mayor stopped walking. “I know t
hat you’re complaining about it right now, but you’re drunk and crazy, and deep down inside, I know that you still must like being the mayor of Coe Baba, or else why would you keep running for the office?” He asked.

  “Because no one else would take it!” The mayor cried. “But this is just perfect! Someone else can take the office right now and deal with the mess and balnor that I once had to! It’s off my plate, I can run free…”

  “No, you can’t, mayor, not just yet!” Geda said, restraining the mayor from running yet again. “You’re not out of office yet, you’re still mayor until someone else is elected. And then you have to abide by the rules like an ordinary citizen, and that means no running naked through the streets of Coe Baba, not out in public! But you can still run free inside the privacy of your own home, or in the woods where no one can see you.” Geda said, where he couldn’t see the mayor’s ‘glory’.

  “Good to know.” The mayor said. “By the way, are you considering running for mayor yourself?”

  “I don’t.” Geda said.

  “Don’t do it!” The mayor cried. “Worst mistake I ever made in all my life. I got saddled with all of these problems, and then I had to roll over for the baron and Lapo and the factory owners. They chewed me up and spit me out! I wasn’t strong enough to handle everything, too fragile to resist their pull on me back and forth, and then I broke, it all just fell apart. Don’t do it, Geda, you may regret it.”

  “I won’t.” Geda said, hesitating. “But mayor, surely you would miss it, won’t you? Being in office, you’ve been there so long, surely there is something you might miss?” He asked.

  “Geda,” The mayor sighed, and then stopped a moment to think. “I’ll tell you something, Geda, if you do consider running for mayor. You have got to be strong and tough, flexible and relenting. Prepared to bend the knee, and not yield at all to those who would prevail against you. You have got to struggle with the worst, kindest, happiest, best, meanest, toughest, nastiest, strongest, luckiest, highest, lowest, wealthiest, poorest, bravest, smartest, fastest, slowest, dumbest, smallest, largest, gentlest, roughest, most gallant, fiendish, courteous, energetic and daring people you have ever met, and they are all your people! All of them! Even those didn’t vote for you! You have to accommodate them as well as yourself! You have to give them everything that they need and want, and don’t give them anything at all. You have to give them what they deserve and what they don’t deserve, or nothing at all. You have to decide who is lying and cheating on you and your people, and sometimes you have to lie and cheat your people as well. You have to…”