by Alex Aguilar
“Who were the new soldiers?”
“For fuck’s sake, give the girl some room!” Valleria pulled her aside for a seat.
Young Thomlin was there, wide-eyed and eager to see the princess again, as was usual of him. “Learn anything?” he asked.
Magdalena looked far too puzzled, so much so that even the stubborn prisoners had huddled around her, among them the curator Sebastien Swanworth and the forgotten Lord Olfur of Yulxester.
“He’s a madman…” Magdalena said in a mumble.
“We knew that much, girl,” Valleria scoffed. “What did you see?”
The princess exhaled sharply.
If I told you, you would never believe me…
“Those soldiers weren’t here to rescue us, were they?” someone asked from the darkness. Instantly there were several mumbles and groans of despair within the chamber.
“No… They were not,” Magdalena said. “They were here answering a call… Baronkroft’s call…”
A few among the crowd began sobbing, while others hissed and grunted angry words into the walls.
“He plans to gather an army large enough to attack Gravenstone. Soon he will have thousands of soldiers,” the princess went on, and with every word the stares became more and more troubled.
“And what about us?!” Valleria hissed.
“With more soldiers that will soon arrive, the work will only grow,” Magdalena guessed, and Valleria kicked a nearby bucket angrily, causing a messy splash of fluids in a darkened corner. For a moment, the princess swore she could see the fumes of rage rising out of the woman’s ears.
“So the bastard will work us to death ‘til we can’t work no more?!” she growled.
“We must not dwell on such negativity…”
“More soldiers means more mouths to feed, stupid girl!” Valleria shouted with angry tears in her eyes. “More rags to wash, more armor to smith, more whips to lash us!”
“And more time!” Magdalena argued back.
For a moment, Valleria’s gaze narrowed in thought.
“Time for what?” she asked doubtfully.
With a sigh, Magdalena took a moment to look around her. Every gaze clung onto her for an answer. Every face, young or old, had hardly any hope left in it. Realizing the moment to plant that last hope was now or never, the princess rose to her feet again so that she towered over them all. Nearly a hundred prisoners were in the room that night, most of them drained and overworked. For a moment, the princess seemed uncomfortable at the thought of being the cleanest person there. But she swallowed back the fear and looked at them the way a proper leader would.
“None of you saw what I saw!” she said, the fear vivid in her eyes. “With every day that passes, that man out there grows more powerful… And he…” she struggled through her words all of a sudden as the haunting image of the floating dagger crawled back into her mind.
“He can… do things… things that no man should be able to do…”
“And that scares you, does it?” Valleria asked scornfully.
The princess knew that the mercenary woman wasn’t asking it to be cold, but she shot her a glare all the same.
“Of course it scares me,” the princess said. “Hundreds of men have done unspeakable things, but… but none of them could do what I saw Baronkroft do…”
When she looked around again, Magdalena could see the fear in all of their gazes. And she tried desperately to push them all to use that fear to their advantage.
“That man out there has imprisoned us all like hounds!” she said. “He has broken us all and stripped us of our humanity as if it was his right… But every single one of us in this room has one thing in common… We’ve survived him this far… And if we’ve done it this long, we can go on a bit longer!”
“Look around you, girl!” the curator Sebastien Swanworth scoffed. “How much longer d’you think we all have left?”
“Longer,” the princess argued. “We’re not alone in this! There are more chambers out there. More prisoners like us.”
“And more soldiers arriving to make sure the peace is kept,” someone else argued back.
“No…” the princess insisted, nodding her head back and forth. “No, he has blackmailed them all. There are more coming, yes, but they have no say in the matter. They’re here because Baronkroft threatened them.”
“And what d’you suggest, girl?” Valleria asked doubtfully. “That we blackmail ‘em all, too?”
“We don’t need to… We have something better.”
At that moment, the princess turned towards the peasant boy Thomlin, who was beginning to catch on to the princess’s plan.
“The sapphires…” the boy smiled. A sudden silence followed, as every pair of eyes began to slowly light up with hope.
“I know soldiers,” Magdalena said. “My father has thousands of them. And I know how to speak to them. Baronkroft has blackmail. But we’ll have sapphires. Who do you suppose the soldiers would be more inclined to lend an ear to when we need it? Or when we need one of them to turn the other way?”
“And how do you propose we get to those sapphires before Baronkroft’s men sniff ‘em out?” Valleria asked, just as doubtfully as before.
“I don’t know…” Magdalena hesitated. “We come up with a plan. Bit by bit, we can fetch them out.”
“What, so we bash a hole in the wall?!” someone asked.
“Wouldn’t have to be a big hole,” Thomlin spoke out, standing loyally next to the princess. “I could climb in there, no problem…”
“And where do you suppose we hide them all?” someone else asked.
“What if we get caught?”
“What if the soldiers won’t fall for it?”
“All right, enough!” Magdalena shouted suddenly, and then the mumbling died down bit by bit as she glared at them all. “Do you want to stay and die here?! Or do you want to get out there and live?!”
The silence lingered…
With hardly any food in their bellies, the prisoners knew they hadn’t long to live. Some had days left. Others had mere hours. And that haunting thought was the one thing that gave them that last shred of hope.
“I’m sick of this!” Magdalena shouted abruptly, her eyes narrowing and her jaw tightening with fury. “I’m sick of sitting and waiting to be rescued… Waiting for a chance to be free… I will not wait, not anymore! I’m getting the bloody hells out of here and I’ll do it with the help of two people, five people, or a hundred people. I will do anything and everything until I see it done. And, mark my words, I will never wait to be rescued again.”
The prisoners stood there, far too stunned to speak. In the distance, they could hear muffled shouts, captives being dragged out of their chambers to be tortured. And it only echoed the princess’s fury.
“Who’s with me?” she asked suddenly, her eyes glancing all around the prison chamber. Nobody moved at first; they simply glanced at one another with fear and hesitation. Magdalena’s chest was pounding furiously, her mind once again haunted by the image of the floating dagger. If she had to work alone, if anything at all went wrong, she could only imagine the horrors that would await her if Baronkroft caught her.
“Very well, girl,” said a voice that brought joy to Magdalena’s chest.
It was Valleria, stepping up valiantly like a true warrior.
“So tell us… What exactly is your plan?”
* * *
A nearby fire was flickering, and it was the only sound filling the uncomfortable silence between the traveling trio and the Wyrmwood guards. Even Gwyn was getting restless and uncomfortable, groaning and muttering insults under her breath. The farmer looked ordinary enough, but every now and then Gwyn would make eye contact with Hudson or Syrena and her eyes would narrow, as if she was trying to figure them out.
“So, uh,” she cleared her throat. “How do ye know toothpick?”
John, Hudson, and Syrena glanced confusedly at one another. “Who?” the thief asked.
“Cedric,” Gwyn clarified.
“Oh!” John chuckled. “Well, uh… we’re old friends.”
“Acquaintances,” Hudson added.
“Hey!” growled one of the guards. “No talking!”
“Oh, calm yer pits!” Gwyn snapped at him.
Hudson and Syrena grinned at each other, a hint of subtle admiration towards the woman’s grit. They eyed her from head to toe, examined the many scars over her arms and face. They stared at her knife belt, at her choppy blonde braids, at the black war paint smeared over her eyes and cheekbones. It was baffling to think that such a woman would ever befriend a bashful little peasant like Cedric.
“How do you know him?” John asked curiously.
Gwyn smirked, the hint of a dimple on her pale cheek. “Like the lad said… ‘tis a long story.”
A few of the nearby guards leapt to their feet as if an authoritative figure was approaching. The rest of the soldiers in the camp were dispersing as a diverse crowd of humans, elves, and gnomes walked briskly towards the camp’s entrance. The crowd was being led by three figures, none of whom John could recognize from such a distance, but he was left speechless at the sight of such an assorted troop within human realms.
“Will you look at that,” Hudson grinned.
Once the crowd was close enough, John Huxley realized exactly whom he was staring at. The regal image of the Golden Eagle of Vallenghard was still there but it had blurred, almost as if the knight had died and resurrected as a new man entirely. He was still Viktor Crowley, strong and fit for a man in his mid-forties, ruggedly handsome with blue eyes that were both welcoming and intimidating all at once. But his appearance had vastly changed; he was merely a shadow of the man that had marched out of Val Havyn. His silver armor was now gone, replaced by dark mercenary leathers, but his red cloak was still there, red as bright as blood, the same color as the banners of Raven’s Keep. Viktor’s face was no longer clean shaven; his scruff had started to grow into beard territory, and it was just as blonde as his greasy long hair.
Well cursed be my eyes, John smiled at the sight of his knight commander alive and well.
Viktor was walking hurriedly, his face lighting up as he got closer, his eyes blinking repeatedly as if making sure they weren’t deceiving him. To his left was a knight dressed in dark steel armor with ebony-colored skin and a neatly-trimmed layer of fuzz on his head. To his right was a pale silver-haired elf that could have been male or female or neither. Cedric was also with them but he was falling behind, unable to keep up with Viktor’s eager pace. And behind them all were the dozens of recruits, marching closely together like a flock of birds.
Hudson and Syrena both leapt off their horses and stood next to John like a pair of guardians.
“Stand back,” the Wyrmwood guards ordered.
“It ain’t these three ye should tell that to,” Gwyn mocked them, and then made way for the incoming crowd. Viktor didn’t even acknowledge the two soldiers; his eyes were fixed on the three misfits, grinning at them as if he was staring at the faces of old friends from Val Havyn’s royal guard.
“At ease, gentlemen,” Percyval Garroway said to the Wyrmwood soldiers.
John tried his best to stand firmly and confidently in the presence of his knight commander. “Greetings, sir!” he said. “By the gods, it’s so good to see you agai-”
Viktor placed a hand on John’s shoulder and pulled him in for an unexpected hug. “You tough little bastard,” he muttered into the farmer’s ear. “I never thought I’d see you again…”
John knew not what to do, and so he simply stood still until the man let go of him. “Thank you, Sir Crowley,” he cleared his throat and smiled nervously.
“Just Viktor,” the man corrected him, and then took a surprised glance over at the thief and the witch. “Well,” he approached them with an expression on his face that was difficult to read. “Hudson fucking Blackwood and Syrena of Morganna… I never had you two pegged as the type to follow through on a promise…”
Syrena remained silent, giving Viktor nothing but a friendly grin.
“Hello, old mate,” Hudson stepped forward, reluctant to admit that he was mildly glad to see Viktor still alive. “You look different, have you finally lost some of that extra weight?”
“Careful,” Viktor replied in a similar form. “I’ll still beat the shit out of you.”
Viktor held a hand out, and after a moment of hesitation the thief took it.
There was a silence, as everyone watched the two men locked in that handshake.
“Good to see the tree nymphs didn’t get you, old mate,” said Hudson.
“Likewise,” Viktor nodded.
As the Woodland recruits gathered around them, there was a sense of comradery that caught John off guard. He recognized almost no one from the crowd except for Viktor and Cedric, and eventually he spotted Thaddeus Rexx amidst a cluster of elves. But despite their strange faces, they all welcomed the traveling trio with smiles and pats on the back as if they had been a part of the troop all along.
“Percyval!” Viktor called. “I’ve a task for you, my friend.”
“Say the word, my brother,” the man stepped forward. “And it shall be done.”
“I must send a raven before we march south.”
“A raven?” Percyval asked. “Where to?”
Viktor grinned, his chest overflowing with hope and grit.
“Val Havyn,” he said.
* * *
Aevastra, the orcess from the Woodlands, had proven to be a lot more resilient than people thought she would be. Aharian scorpion venom was horribly lethal and could kill the average human within the first 12 hours. Aevastra, however, had held onto life for two days after being struck with the poisoned arrow.
Two days, Adelina Huxley told herself as she wiped a cold tear from her cheek. The wind blew the hairs away from her face, giving her a chill that made her bundle the orc child against her chest. The soil beneath her feet was loose and damp, and Henrik, the helpful farmhand, was able to dig up a grave within minutes. Aevastra’s body had been loosely wrapped in a white sheet, and she was resting just inches from Adelina’s feet, awaiting burial.
Two days, you knew her, Adelina… So why does it hurt this much?
In the back of her mind, however, she knew the reason. She was holding it in her arms.
When Henrik and another farmhand lowered the corpse into the pit, a stiff green hand fell out of the sheet. The farmhand stumbled back in shock and the sheet slipped from his nervous grip. Adelina felt a sting in her chest at the sight.
“Settle yourself!” Henrik barked. Once they settled the body inside, he reached for the shovel.
I’m so sorry, Adelina wished she could say to Aeva. She wished she could have given the orcess a proper burial, but she hardly had any coin left to feed her children, let alone purchase an actual casket. When Henrik shoveled the first pile of dirt over the sheet, the woman turned her gaze away. And when she did, she suddenly wished she hadn’t.
There it was, the pile of black rubble that used to be her home, now unrecognizable and reeking of smoke and ash. Another tear dribbled down her cheek and this time she allowed it. She and her husband had built that cottage with their very hands, when they were nothing more than a pair of young naïve lovers. Long before John. Long before Robyn and the twins. Long before she became the Huxley widow.
Now she had nothing…
Without anyone to tend to the farm, the crops would soon rot, if rodents and thieves didn’t get to them first. She’d have to sell the sheep and the horses just to make enough coin to survive through the winter. And then what? Was she to rent a room in a Val Havyn inn with her two children and a motherless orc child? They’d all be killed before anyone allowed it, she knew.
“We’ll take care of it, Missus Huxley,” Henrik said. “No need to stay and watch.”
She nodded and gave him what could pass for a smile. “Thank you, Henrik…”
She was walking towards O
ld Man Beckwit’s cottage when she felt a sudden tug on the back of her dress. “Mum?”
“What is it, dear?”
Margot aimed a finger into the distance. “Look…”
With widened eyes, Adelina handed River to the young girl and walked hurriedly towards the approaching carriage. It was a black majestic carriage with curtains and a roof, reined in by two men in armor, nothing like a farmer’s cart. It was rare for such elegance to ride through Elbon, at least when it wasn’t the autumn festival. One of the guards was Hektor, Adelina realized; he raised his hand to salute her from afar and then opened the carriage door.
Lady Brunylda Clark always looked regal, with her flowing gowns and abundant jewelry.
On this day, however, she didn’t just look regal… She looked like a queen…
Her black hair had been styled and tied back neatly and gracefully, revealing a pair of royal blue earrings that hung a good inch below her earlobe. She wore a brand new corset, the same color as her teal gown, embroidered with a floral design that was fit for royalty. What was most different about the woman, however, was her glistening silver crown. And when the Lady approached the Huxley farm, her neck was as stiff as ever, as if she were balancing a delicate bouquet over her head.
The crown suited her splendidly. Not only did it match her silver rings, but it reacted beautifully against her dark hair and the two grey streaks that she refused to dye and instead worked into her hairdo.
“M’lady,” Adelina took a bow. “By the gods, you look…”
“Exhausted?” Brunylda asked.
“Beautiful…”
The Lady was unsure of how to respond. Her head felt unusually heavy and it wasn’t helping her headache. For the first time in a long time, she did not have a drink with her morning meal and it made her feel strange and out of sorts. There wasn’t enough black tea that could have awakened her the way her liqueur did.
“So… this is what’s left of it?” the Lady asked after a brief silence. “Your farm?”
“It is, m’lady,” Adelina glanced at the rubble. The roof had collapsed entirely, and there was only one wall left standing, stained entirely with black soot. “My apologies. I would ask you in for tea, but…”
