by Kim Wedlock
"About three days' ride," Garon said, nodding to himself in satisfaction and choosing not to ask what had changed his mind, accepting that he'd won with little effort. "And enough to cover your living expenses for five years. However much or little that might be."
Surprise broke Rathen's severity and faltered his step. Clearly he hadn't expected such an offer - which only made Garon wonder further at what had convinced him in his absence. But those thoughts were silenced as the mage's expression sobered once again, and his eyes became graver than Garon had yet seen them. "You knew where to find me," he said, his voice dropping low, though no one was around to hear him, "and you know who I am. So you must also know--"
"I know the details of your banishment," Garon interrupted, raising a hand to both silence and assure him, "I know of the Order's previous expectations of you and that you failed to meet them, I know you had only a brief childhood, I know about Elle - I know everything I need to know about you, including that this wasn't a matter you were truly going to turn away from." His eyes softened, and almost revealed a trace of sympathy as he noted the flash of grief in Rathen's at the mention of the woman's name. "I've read your file. You fit the position of sahrot perfectly, and I believe that you still do. But," his eyes hardened again, solemnly, not unkindly, and held the mage's gaze with heavy assurance, "should the need arise, I am prepared to take any action that is necessary."
Rathen said nothing. He stared at the officer, scrutinising his eyes for any trace of misunderstanding, any hint of underestimation. But there was nothing beyond a dauntless determination. He was more than aware of the weight behind every detail he'd presented. He was an inquisitor - of course he was aware.
Rathen sighed and gave a single, satisfied nod, though his posture stiffened despite the easing of his shoulders.
"I'm readyyy!"
The small, sudden, sing-song voice caused Garon to jolt in shock, and he spun around to find a child hurrying out of the door, a bag much like Rathen's slung over her back, though it seemed to be distinctly empty. She jumped to a stop between them and beamed with big, blue-grey eyes, and while his flicked searchingly to Rathen, the mage simply returned her smile and pulled the door closed behind her, clearly thinking nothing of it.
"What--who is this?!" He managed as he fought to reclaim is composure, but the girl's grin only widened.
"I'm Aria!" She declared proudly. "And I'm really looking forward to this adventure!"
His head shook vigorously, though his neat, dark hair barely moved, and he looked back to Rathen in urgency. "She can't come with us. It's not safe!"
"She'll be fine," Rathen promised as Aria's expression changed quickly back from disappointment to cheer, but he offered the inquisitor no explanation, though he could clearly see that he wanted one. He may seem to know 'everything he needed to' about him, but he wasn't at all surprised that this detail had slipped by. "I won't let her out of my sight for a moment. And anyway," he added tactfully, "I can hardly leave her here, can I?"
Garon sighed as his eyes dropped back to the girl. He thought quickly, but knew there was little point in asking if there was anyone who could take her. She wouldn't have been with him at all if there was. "Fine," he yielded at last, clearly unconvinced, and turned back to the mage as he stepped past him, already setting away from the house with the child on his heels. "What about the goat?" He asked as he followed, the creature still bleating nearby while the girl made a cooing beeline towards it.
"Oat will be fine."
He frowned at the careless tone, as well as the unimaginative name, but he didn't object to either. The sooner they were on their way, the better, and the moment the goat fell silent with a surely-imagined air of contempt, they left the relative openness of the rocky clearing behind and descended at last into the dark and imposing woodland. Garon had thought he'd manoeuvred through it skilfully before, but as Rathen and the child navigated its treacherous steps, slippery surfaces and sharp, tight squeezes with long-practised ease, he was forced to re-evaluate that assessment.
"So where are we actually going?" Rathen asked once they'd cleared the scowles some twenty minutes later, his steps faltering as hesitation dropped like lead now that he was faced with simple sloping woodland, no rough and towering rock faces in sight. Aria must have sensed his change because she took his hand and squeezed it, offering him a supportive smile with wisdom far beyond her years before rushing off to busy herself with the flat land that so unsettled him. She hurried back immediately, however, when Garon untethered two horses from the shadows nearby.
He frowned at the beasts. "You were that certain I'd say 'yes'?"
"I told you this wasn't something you would turn away from, and I was prepared to argue you down." The over-confident inquisitor handed him the reins to a grey-dappled mare while Aria approached the tan with both caution and awe. Garon noticed the smile on Rathen's face as he watched her, any trace of his previous, perpetual bitterness eradicated.
"We're heading to Silverwood," he continued, hoisting himself easily into his own saddle as Aria reached out to gently pat the horse's nose, wary of its tusks as she did so. She giggled as it huffed against her skin. "But we're stopping in Edam first. We need an expert."
Rathen frowned further, finally looking away from the girl in growing dubiety as he ushered her over to what was apparently his horse. "In what?"
"History."
His doubts in his hard-fought decision to join the inquisitor deepened as he lifted Aria up into the saddle, and they were only further unbalanced by this new and cryptic detail - one he'd been suspiciously silent about the previous evening. But though he opened his mouth to question it, or perhaps to revoke his involvement, the words caught in his throat and he found himself climbing up into the saddle behind her. His heart hammered as the inquisitor urged his horse forwards, and when his own obediently began to follow, as it likely had all the way there, he watched, paralysed, as his last opportunity to turn back slipped away.
"It's fine, Daddy." He looked down at Aria as she turned him one of her beautiful, encouraging and almost magical smiles. "I'm here. You'll be okay."
He managed to smile back, though his brow remained furrowed. "Promise?"
"I certainly promise," she grinned, then turned forwards and eagerly grasped the reins as the horse carried them away from familiarity.
He forced a deep, steadying breath and took hold of them behind her. It had been his choice to come out here, to step back into the world. The decision hadn't come lightly - he'd thought over everything a thousand times that past night - and though he was still far from convinced, in the end it had all boiled down to one simple fact: he was never going to let anything happen to Aria if it was within his power to stop it. And if leaving the safety of his home for a few days was necessary towards that end, then so be it. She was and always would be the only thing that mattered - even if stepping back into the world after eleven years of isolation terrified him.
His chest drummed as his anxiety grew. He forced another deep breath. 'Panicking will only make it worse.' So Kienza had said, more times than he could count, and now he found himself hearing her voice repeat the same snippets of simple, irritating advice again. Though, since she wasn't around, he took them more seriously this time. Because, of course, she was right.
And just as his mind was generous enough to provide the reminder in her place, so too did it present the facts of the matter - once again, in her voice: even if they ventured into town, no one was going to recognise him. His face had changed over a decade; it had aged, of course, and become further lined by his hardships - though Aria had encouraged a few smile lines - and if he was 'dead', not even those who had known him in his previous life would think to make the connection. So at least breaking his sentence would go unnoticed. Not that that was a great concern, but he dared not give his true fret a thought.
His eyes flicked towards the back of the inquisitor's head. Garon had already said he'd do whatever was necessary, and given th
e training required for his position, both tactical and martial, he had to accept that that was enough and trust that he could handle it. Because Rathen knew he couldn't.
It was mid-afternoon by the time they found Edam's old, cobbled walls, though doubt, anxiety and the silence broken only by Aria's singing and cooing to the horses had made that time drag by to the point that it surely should have been midnight.
Rathen has sat rigid throughout the entire journey and endured that discomfort without a word, but now they rode towards the stables that stood just outside of the town - the busy, populated town - he somehow managed to grow tenser. His head already throbbed, but fortunately found that he didn't have to think. His body followed the inquisitor's actions and dismounted from the horse on its own, catching Aria as she insisted on getting off of the giant beast herself, and followed him away from the stablehands for a quiet word after she had said goodbye to the horses and promised them they wouldn't be long. He smiled sadly. She, at least, was enjoying herself.
They drew to an abrupt stop beside the gates, where Garon turned upon them a look of such command that they could both have been unruly children. His harsh tone did nothing to correct it. "Listen to me: you are to stay with me at all times unless I say otherwise - both of you. Though you accepted the task, you are here ultimately under the Crown's agreement, and in my custody. I am personally responsible for your every action and anything that may come of your presence. You are not to wander, cause trouble or stray from the task at hand, and if there's anything you need to do, you will ask me first. Do you understand?"
Rathen stared at him flatly.
"I'm obligated to make this clear."
He cocked a single, black eyebrow. "I understand. Tell him you understand, Aria."
"I do, I understand. I'll stay with you both." She crossed her heart.
He looked back to the inquisitor and smiled with satisfaction, but a sigh of reluctance escaped by itself as his eyes drifted to the settlement behind him. The sooner they found this historian, the sooner they'd be away from people and back in sweet, peaceful, empty woodland. "Well, lead the way, Inquisitor."
It didn't take long for the group to be swallowed by Edam's bustle. It was market day, to Rathen's misfortune, so the streets were far busier than they should have been, but though he concentrated his efforts on remaining calm as they moved deeper into the throng, when Aria grasped his hand for her own comfort, he was surprised to find her face was somehow still alight with wonder.
There were people everywhere, of all kinds of sizes, buying and selling a rich variety of wares from pots and vases to clothing and jewellery, and more colours than she'd ever seen before assaulted her sight. Food was the most popular product, and a jumble of aromas tangled in the air, some wafting from stalls selling fresh cuts of meat, others from those offering carefully baked breads and cakes, and the most fragrant drifted from the most colourful stalls, which supplied expertly picked and ground herbs and spices.
Aria pulled this way and that as she wrenched herself around to see absolutely everything, to follow every scent, and she pointed, shouted and giggled every few moments, all while maintaining her tight and certain grip. Rathen would have enjoyed her merriment had he himself not been so knotted inside.
But Garon paid neither any attention. He led them doggedly through the crowds to wherever he sought to find his next 'expert', just as keen to get them away from the market-goers as Rathen was to escape them. The streets were still busy when they were finally free from the packed square, but at least Rathen felt a small sense of ease at the transition - though it wasn't to last, he discovered, and vanished entirely when they began turning down darker, narrower streets.
The buildings weren't tall, but so tightly packed they eliminated sunlight and made the alleys and backstreets seem all the more hostile, and though they were still far more spacious than the routes within the scowles, at least he could be certain that no one was hiding within dense rock faces. That was the trouble with buildings: they concealed people. Streets were never empty of watchful eyes, be they bored or malicious, and though many might view the scowles with the same fear and uncertainty, they were Rathen's own definition of sanctuary.
He tightened his hold on Aria's hand and looked down with a reassuring smile as she squeezed it back, but it disheartened when he noticed the familiar anxiety that had suddenly crept over her, obliterating her initial excitement. Only then did he realise how quiet she had fallen, and how close beside him she walked. He frowned sadly. Of course. She'd never been in a place like this. They only ever met traders in the open, waiting at specific points along forest roads just beyond the edge and safety of the rocks; they never ventured to populated areas. She had no experience in a world like this, and he felt the strike of shame for worrying mostly about himself.
Mercifully - though he was surprised to consider it that way - they soon stepped back out into wider streets that glowed in the reach of sunlight, where the buildings became almost welcoming and the people were in less of a hurry. Their leisure eased the two forest-dwellers, allowing them both to breathe a little easier and the smile to return to Aria's face, which soon widened into a grin when she heard lilting music in the distance. He knew she wanted desperately to find wherever it was coming from but she didn't dare to ask, so instead she returned to spinning around while squeezing his hand, looking this way and that, trying to find it so that, perhaps, they could go back when they were done.
Though he silently wondered how she'd managed to hear it at all over the din of the city. He had to strain to notice it - and so it was in that concentration that he didn't notice the clamour of raised voices and hurried footfalls growing louder nearby, even as Garon stopped to pinpoint its source. It was only when he came to a close stop behind him and was struck by something both heavy and red that it was brought to his attention, and of course by the time he'd hit the ground, it was too late.
The haze that muddled Rathen's head took an age to pass, during which he heard Aria shout 'Daddy', another female voice utter a curse, and Garon's voice booming above them both. When he finally looked up he found the inquisitor easily wrestling a much larger man to the ground, and Aria looking nervously at a young woman who was pushing herself up from the cobbles beside him, a smile on her face even as she caught her breath and patches of crimson spread over her skin and soaked into her clothing.
"You get back here you wench!" The man growled from face-down on the road. "You set me up!"
"It was a fair fight," she declared as she found her feet, and though Rathen's head still swam, and his confusion only slightly abated when he noticed he'd foolishly stopped at the mouth of an alley, he pushed himself up with Aria's help while her eyes remained glued to the woman, her blood red hair and the arming sword sheathed at her hip. "You just underestimated me."
"You tricked me!"
"I did no such thing. You knew who you were challenging."
The man bellowed, and he bucked so suddenly that he knocked Garon off of him. He scrambled to reach her, seizing his opportunity while blinded by rage, but she didn't recoil from his furious advance. In fact she showed little concern for it at all, even though she was clearly struggling to stay on her feet, and as he leapt up and reached out for her in a swift and powerful movement, she took an easy step back and slammed her knee up into his jaw, just as Garon fell back upon him. The attacker dropped to the ground like a sack of bricks and howled in further pain as the inquisitor wrenched his thick arm behind him. After being imparted a few choice words, he reluctantly calmed down.
The woman straightened, still finding her breath. "I'm sorry," she said to Rathen, "and thank you," she said then to Garon, but as she tried to turn and limp away, satisfied that her pursuer was unable to continue after her, her footing slipped. Rathen was close enough to catch her, and saw the extent of her wounds as he did so. He frowned in concern, his daze forgotten as guards finally arrived to take control of what little remained of the situation, inclining their heads r
espectfully to Garon as they did so. "You need medical attention."
The woman shielded her eyes from the sun and looked up at him to reply, but her expression twitched into uncertainty as she noticed the unfriendly creases in his face.
"I can help."
"I'm fine, thank you." She pushed herself up and out of his arms with such haste it was as if she believed he could only worsen them. "I can manage."
"There are no medics here," Garon said as he walked over to look at her wounds himself, "and you do need patching up." He turned his stern grey eyes to hers. "I suggest you let him help."
The young woman looked back at him dubiously until Aria spoke up from beside her. "It's okay," she smiled shyly, the cheer usually so present in her young voice replaced instead by caution, "my daddy looks mean and scary, but he isn't. He's fixed lots of cuts." She showed her the bandage still wrapped around her hand and the woman smiled at her with puzzlement, but as she looked back to Rathen, her hesitance returned.
"Fine," she said eventually, though he suspected she'd been convinced by pain alone. "Thank you."
She was unable to walk by herself, and though she sought either to spare her pride or simply keep a wary distance from Rathen, she had little choice but to accept his help and lean awkwardly on his shoulder as Garon lead them away.
A tavern stood on the corner of the street, one fortunately empty for that time of the day; there were no more than a handful of people within and each kept to themselves, barely paying any attention to the slight creak of the door nor the spilling light as they entered. They chose a quiet corner table, and as she sat uneasily in front of him, Rathen began to look over the wounds while Garon asked the barkeep for necessities.
Her bared left arm was easily his priority; three cuts marred her skin, two superficial and one of concern, while the blood-beaded line across her cheek needed only a clean. Her right arm, covered by a long, loose sleeve, seemed uninjured if the unmarked or damaged fabric was any indication, but blood had soaked into the side of her blouse and Rathen couldn't yet tell if it was from her wounded arm brushing against it, or from another injury beneath. Otherwise, none of it was beyond the reach of his experience.
