by The Ranger
Richard glanced in the battlemaster's direction, wondering if he had ever felt bitter when dealing with nobles, or even working with Lucian. After a moment or two of self-reflection, he realized he had, and he felt a diluted sort of shame ramble through him.
Before he could ponder on it for much longer, his senses rang through his mind, and his attention flew elsewhere.
"There might be trouble nearby," he murmured. "I sense a small pack of Seekers wandering near the barracks; it seems like someone is injured and trapped within."
"Hmmm," Finn wondered. "Might've lost themselves in the chaos, went to find the guards, but they were already gone. I'll keep the people moving, but why don't you split off and go see to that?"
"Yes, I'll pull him to safety," Richard agreed. "I'll be as quick as I can. Be cautious, Finn."
He turned and broke off towards their left and watched as half of the boy-archers flinched when he ran past them. He felt discomfort stir in his stomach as he looked upon the plain fear on their faces, but a few seconds later, they were out of view, as most of the procession was.
Richard pounced around the street corner and forced a thick vine to sprout through the cobblestone road on its way to the bumbling Soul Seekers. It rammed them against the barracks' sturdy wall and grouped them together for an eager slash of his blade's flames. They crumbled apart as the fiery wisps seeped through their dark bones and formed cracks within their cursed bodies.
He took a breath as he scanned the area, there were a few more of the monsters aimlessly trudging a substantial distance down the path, but they would be inconsequential. He paid them no mind as he approached the barracks and saw the door had been replaced since his last visit. He edged it open and marched within, glancing around the room as he did.
The entire place was in complete disarray— weapon racks were sprawled across the floor, a few clothes items were thrown near the armorer's room, and a quiet rattle rang across the structure as a hand lightly rapped across cell bars.
It took only a moment for recognition to spark in Richard's mind.
"Varen," he muttered as he strode closer to the cell.
The former captain turned to look at him and groaned as he slowly came to his feet. He looked much like he had before, except his hair was loose and scruffy, and he dragged his leg along as he walked. The spot where Khora's spear had torn through it seemed partially healed but had grown splotchy and green-tinted along all sides. Richard recognized it as the same type of infection that had claimed Finnegan's arm years earlier.
"Ah, you're still alive," the prisoner groaned. "Well, you'll do— I had begun to think you people had forgotten about me. Leaving me stranded here in the middle of a sacking, of all things."
"I have no intention of setting you free. Had I known it was you, I might have just opened the door and let the monsters wander in."
"How incredulous," Varen groaned. "But you won't leave me here; I can see it in your eyes. I won't be trapped much longer."
Richard frowned, knowing that he was indeed tempted to break the lock and help him back towards the rest— even if his wounded leg may pose a problem in herding him along with the others.
"Why aren't you in the dungeons?" he questioned. "Last I heard, that's where criminals are meant to be kept."
"That wasn't my place," the man answered. "I wasn't meant to be there with the rest of the condemned rabble."
He pointed a finger at the disease that ravaged Varen's leg before returning to meet his gaze.
"But, you are condemned," he explained. "I've seen that sort of rot before; it was devastating and horrible— and it hadn't even spread as much as yours has."
The former captain spared a glance down at the filth that lived within his leg but scoffed as he turned to look at Richard.
"It looks quite nasty, I'll admit, but I've come to know a great many apothecaries in my time and have even heard tell of the powerful elf healers in Syvon," he admitted. "Before my… crimes, I served the king quite well. I am certain he'll allow such a faithful soldier to receive the care that I so deserve."
Richard felt anger throb in his chest as he watched the careless and unworried face that stood before him. It was a bitterness made greater by the fact that he did not wholly doubt the man's words.
"I mean, Lacerne is quite easily exploited— you should know this well. Seeing how your own father, a crude bronze, found his way among brilliant gold."
"Don't you speak ill of my father," Richard muttered. "He worked hard all his life and gave it in service of—"
"He was a lowborn miscreant," the older man cackled. "Just as you are, standing here in front of me, poised like a hero, and knowing nothing of your station. You remind me of him, actually— he held such little reluctance in crawling to Lacerne's side once his Sworn Defender died, and because of that… both of you found yourselves besides kings and princes."
"Enough," he growled, stepping forward to slam his hand against the iron bars.
The prisoner smiled for a moment at his frustration, and it deepened when his eyes fell on the sword fastened to Richard's side.
"With all that bravado, and you're just a failure just as well. A clan established by blunder after blunder. Oh yes, Lacerne chose an exceptional boy to protect his child."
Rage seeped into Richard's bones as he glared at Varen and saw nothing other than distaste and callousness on his face. However, he forced himself to take a breath— it was obvious to him that the former captain was attempting to incite a reaction from him.
"It doesn't matter what insult you sling my way," he groaned. "I won't stay here for you to change my mind. Someone will come to you when it's all over, and maybe they'll let you out of this cage."
He turned to march away and was nearly past the door when a low tut-tut sounded through the room.
"Is that how Prince Lucian died? You couldn't be bothered to actually do your duty?"
"You know nothing of what happened," Richard countered, his back to the cell.
"Well, frankly, I can't rightfully blame you. He seemed like such a fool to me. Lucian was always going to get himself killed, no matter the situation. Really, in a position like yours, I couldn't be forced to deal with such a petulant child. I would've done him in myself."
Richard turned back and crept forward, allowing his hand to fall to the hilt of the blade at his side.
"Oh, please, I know of your kind," Varen grumbled. "Virtuous, stalwart defenders of honor and justice. With a life like yours, virtue is all you can cling to, oh-so-desperately, while you try to make your way to greater heights."
"You know absolutely nothing of who I am! What I had to do," he hissed. "Of what he did! For me!"
He pulled the sword from its sheath. Even in the limited light of the room, it shone brightly.
"That means little," the prisoner whined. "None of it would have transpired if a dullard like him hadn't been charged to protect this place."
Richard felt the pull to strike him down— simple and clear; however, conflict danced through his mind as he looked ahead. As much as he wanted to lash out and claim it was justice made real, he fought against the thought while his enemy stood in front of him. That turmoil began to subside when he looked into Varen's eyes and found familiarity within them.
He could see it there, clearer than a summer's day; Minatir's indignation, Brennan's cowardice, and… Maru's indifference.
The former captain scowled when the edges of the sword began to glow, and fire sprang from their surface. It illuminated the room, casting dark shadows across the corners of Richard's face as he kept his eyes on the prisoner. He could feel fear pierce the room and mingle with the magic that had begun to do the same.
"Y-you can't simply execute me," Varen laughed. "I've been seized, and I await judgement from the king— not some failed warrior tightly clutching a scavenged weapon…"
His words trailed when Richard raised the blade into the air, and the latter remembered precisely who he was. A chosen and traine
d protector of the people— and the last person Prince Lucian had tasked with defending their home.
"I may be a failure, and I may have not been meant to judge you," he whispered. "But, I am the only one who is here to do it."
"Wai-wait! Yo-yo-you're not-" Varen tried to plead, falling silent when he saw the shimmer of flashing steel.
Richard shouted out as flames shot forward, cutting through iron, flesh, and bone— and leaving nothing in their wake.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Eren
A sliver of broken stone bounced along the road as Eren kicked at it while he walked. He had found a cracked pocket of loose rocks and poked it with his foot until one came free; for the last few minutes, he had kept knocking it further and further as he marched. It was a simple pastime, one that saved his mind from the monotonous task he had been assigned.
He had been walking along peacefully, chatting with Khora and Edmund, and savoring the fresh moment of peace, when a young archer zipped towards him with instructions from Finnegan. He was meant to march over to the barracks and see if something had gone wrong with Richard's objective. His former battlemaster had sent him for some errand, and it seemed he had yet to return. With their procession drawing closer to the gates, it was only a matter of time before they needed their magic-wielding man.
Eren complied, albeit reluctantly, as he knew full-well that Richard was among the most reasonable and responsible people he had known in all his life. It was far more likely that he was simply being thorough rather than having encountered some problem. Still, the young man saw an opportunity for contemplation as he walked the streets he hadn't walked in years.
His mind drifted away from the present; it wandered towards an old friend from his adolescence. His name had been Arlin, and he had been a short, intelligent boy, one who had a habit of outsmarting his antics at every turn. He had been training to join the guardsmen just as Eren had, and the latter befriended him when Richard moved into the castle to continue his schooling. It was a fast friendship, one that had remained in his heart in all the time since. However, it was not a friendship that lasted through the years.
Where Eren pursued a life of service to his home, his friend discarded those thoughts and left behind the duty he had almost sworn himself to. Instead, he became an apprentice to his grandfather, himself an ironworker.
Even though he had not thought of him in ages, Arlin was not someone Eren could simply forget. While he had been walking alongside the marching Azrians, he had caught sight of a short blonde boy, and the image carried him to the past, to the memory of his dear friend, and to the choices he had made in the time since they parted ways.
He thought of his uncle, Vernon, who had always looked down on his decision to follow in his father's footsteps. He had called it "work for the stupid and hopeless," Eren recalled. Back then, his uncle remembered a not-so-distant past where many of Azra's young men fell in battle and wanted no such fate for his only nephew. He owned a leatherworking shop in an outlying town and had offered him an apprenticeship dozens of times. Now, as he walked along the road — having been almost killed three times in less than a day — Eren thought of how different his life may have been had he just done as Vernon wanted. Just as his mother and sister had wanted.
He wondered if he would have faced similar obstacles in that strange, new existence or if nothing of what he had endured would have persisted beneath a different fate. It was a line of thinking that faded to dark the moment his footsteps stopped, and he raised his head, only to smell the lingering stink of seared meat.
Eren thought of investigating the stench when the door to the barracks flung open, and Richard stumbled out. He doubled over and wretched onto the cobblestones in front of him, leaving a mess of muck and bile to trickle through the road. He coughed and wiped his mouth, only then turning cautiously to meet his friend's gaze.
"E-Eren?" he stuttered, steadying himself as he wobbled over to him. "What are you doing here?"
"Finn, he thought you were taking too long, had some brat tell me to come look for you," the young man explained, scanning his friend carefully.
"Y-you're talking normally again."
"I am," he nodded, presenting the Viper he held in his hands. "I started feeling better when we fought Torfir and again when we picked off the Seekers here along the roads. Khora thinks this thing is lending me its 'vitality,' or something like that to help me heal faster."
He took a step closer to show Richard the flail, but the moment he did so, he was slammed with a repulsive odor that snaked into his nostrils. He covered his nose and stretched his mind in an attempt to identify the putrid stench that wafted all around them. He met his friend's eyes while he sought an answer, and he found recognition there. He had smelled this same foulness in the Ashlands during Lucan's battle against Danis and his forces.
"What did you do here, Richard?" he asked, trying to move closer to the door.
He was stopped by his friend's quick reaction, though, as he held his arm in front of the barracks.
"Eren," he whispered. "Don't."
He glanced at Richard and scowled a bit before allowing a short, stifled chuckle.
"You're right; I probably don't want to go in there. You've got nausea smeared across your pretty blue eyes, so that makes me think I'd rather not see whoever's in there."
"Whoever?" he repeated. "W-what do you mean?"
"That smell. I know it's burnt flesh. I caught enough of it in Marinia to last me a lifetime."
He seemed to hold his breath for a moment as the words reached his ears.
"You're right," he whispered, guilt crossing through his irises. "It is."
He frowned but quickly stepped away from the door, as if in welcoming him to inspect the place himself. However, Eren did no such thing.
In the past, he may have marched past Richard, taunting him while he did as much, but something felt different now. There was no compulsion to sate his curiosity, no desire to clamber into the building, no drive to mock and scold. There was, merely, hallowed confidence.
"I see," he muttered. "Well, it's probably best we get back to Finnegan. Otherwise, he's liable to send a search party if we take much longer."
He started back down the road, taking a few short, quick steps away from the barracks before turning back to glance at Richard. He was standing still, in the same spot he had been before, with an incredulous look hanging low on his face.
"Aren't you coming?" Eren poked.
"That's it? 'I see?'"
He retraced his steps, trudging back towards his friend.
"Yes," he accepted. "Whatever happened here, Rich… I'm sure you made the right choice."
"How can you be so sure?" the young man exclaimed, his nostrils flaring as he shouted his question at him.
Eren took a step back in response to his friend's sudden outburst. He was beginning to see more than guilt on his face— he thought he could see skepticism.
"Because I trust you," he returned, narrowing his eyes as he answered. "Because I lost faith in you once already, and that cost us. I was wrong to do it then, and I won't do it now."
"No… you shouldn't say that. I don't— I don't deserve the confidence you have in me."
He felt surprised by the sudden dejectedness in his voice, and he looked at him intently as he began to speak again.
"But, you're wrong. You deserve that and so much more. I've never met anyone more… stupidly loyal than you are… or more steadfast in the defense of others," he whispered, eyes on his closest friend. "There's no one in this entire damn world I'd rather have at my back than you, Richard, and for that… you'll always have my faith. No matter what comes our way— my trust in you is unshakeable."
Richard was quiet for a moment before he laughed and began to shake his head slightly at the compliment.
"Thank you," he said, a glimmer of relief shining through his smile. "Really, I mean it."
"Well, it's the truth. I know I'm not the only one who feels
that way. Edmund, Khora — even the Prince, letting you use him like a weapon and all — we're with you, Rich. It's time to finish this; let's rip Lucan from this place, root and stem and all."
"Yes, we should… we should get moving," he agreed, taking a few steps forward before slowing to a stop.
He froze in place, furrowing his brow, as his face quietly crawled towards confusion. It took only a moment for him to take hold of this sentiment and turn to look at his friend.
"What is it?" Eren asked, glancing over him one more time.
"You just reminded me of something," he muttered. "Something Tala told us in her cave."
"Tala? The nature spirit?"
"Yes… she… she talked about mortals being… so self-assured of our place in this world…" he murmured, remembering his encounter with the Ancient. "Deceived… by delusion."
Richard trailed off. He was quiet for a moment, taking a second-and-a-half before turning his attention back to Eren, almost as if waiting for him to add to his thought.
"I've got no idea about any of that," he muttered. "I never met the nature spirit; I only know what all of you told me about it."
Richard raised his eyebrows and seemed to think for a moment.
"That's right," he murmured, seeming almost more perplexed than before. "I don't know why I said that; it's… it's just her words came back to me a moment ago. Or maybe… her memories of them. I-I'm sorry for that."
"It's fine," Eren overlooked, beginning to stare at him. "Did you… did you want to talk about it or…"
"N-no," his friend whispered, shaking his head. "There really isn't time now for that. People are waiting for us. The entire kingdom is waiting for us."
Eren nodded as the pair made their way back towards the procession. He felt a quiet curiosity course through his mind, but Richard did not offer any more thoughts. Instead, he remained silent as they ran towards Finnegan and the task that stood ahead of them.
The gathered soldiers moved aside as their seniors joined them at the procession's front. They had assembled around Finnegan and stood silent as he stared ahead, scanning the empty roads.