by Alex Aguilar
The Lady smiled, genuinely admiring Adelina’s vigorous strength. She didn’t seem to mind the mud beneath her elegant shoes much; in fact, she made way towards the filthy debris.
“Come, woman,” she said. “Walk with me.”
Adelina allowed the Lady to take the lead, following just a step behind as was customary for those of lower status. She was no longer intimidated by the Lady’s presence. If anything, she was starting to enjoy her company; it had been too long since she had anyone to talk openly with that wasn’t her children or Old Man Beckwit.
“The crown suits you, m’lady,” she said warmly. “Truly, it does.”
“No need to flatter me,” the Lady chuckled. “No one can hear us at the moment.”
They walked around the rubble and towards the cornfields. The soil was starting to become riddled with loose ears of corn, becoming more infested with worms and bugs by the day. Surprisingly, however, there was no unpleasant smell. As they walked along the green fields, the Lady seemed almost refreshed as she took in the spring aroma.
“I’ve come to share the news,” she said abruptly. “A raven arrived this morning from Halghard. A raven sent by Viktor Crowley himself.” Adelina felt the hairs rise at the back of her neck as the Lady came to a halt and faced her directly.
And?
The Lady’s expression remained blank and steady. “It would appear there was an incident, during which John Huxley was separated from the company, along with the thief Hudson Blackwood and his witch companion.”
Adelina’s heart raced. She wasn’t entirely sure where this was going, but she resisted the urge to press the Lady about it.
And?!!
“He’s a rather interesting man, your John,” the Lady raised a brow, her lips curving into a subtle grin. “It would appear he somehow managed to convince both the thief and the witch to follow through with the voyage… They were reunited in Halghard as of yesterday. They march to Drahkmere as we speak.”
Instantly, Adelina released a sigh of relief, pressing a hand to her mouth as the tears swelled in her eyes.
Thank the gods… He’s alive… My John is alive!!
“Thank you, m’lady!” Adelina said joyfully. “D-Did he mention anything about my girl…? About Robyn…?”
There was a brief silence, during which Brunylda’s grin faded slowly.
“I’m afraid not,” she said. “But if she’s anything like her mother and brother, I’m sure there’s hope yet…”
When Adelina smiled, she felt the warmth overwhelm her chest, for these were desperately needed good news. “Thank you!” she said again. “May the gods bless you, m’lady… Thank you!”
“Bloody hells, woman,” the Lady said. “You’re too kind, it’s repulsive. Stop that.”
But there was no stopping Adelina’s smile. It was so contagious, even the Lady couldn’t help but smile with her. They walked around the rubble and back towards the barn, where Henrik was still shoveling dirt over Aevastra’s grave.
“It’s quite an honorable thing you’re doing here,” Lady Brunylda said, referring to the burial. “Not everyone would be willing to bury an outsider within their grounds.”
“Yes, well… I don’t exactly have the coin for a caravan to take her anywhere.”
At this last comment, the Lady glanced at one of her guards and signaled him with a gesture. “Hence why I’m here,” she said.
Adelina raised a brow as Hektor approached them with a rolled parchment in his hand. “Pardon me, m’lady?” she asked.
“You don’t think I came all the way to Elbon just for the scenery, did you?” the Lady scoffed, much friendlier than her remark made it seem. “He really is a remarkable young man, your John. Truthfully, now I can see why…”
The Lady smiled at her again. As Hektor walked nearer, Adelina couldn’t help but feel a mild sense of discomfort. Never did she imagine she would become acquainted with someone like the Lady Clark. Never did she envision them walking through her farmgrounds side by side. And most of all, never did she think the Lady would be treating someone as warmly as she was that morning, much less a peasant.
“Before he left, John Huxley made an arrangement with me,” the Lady confessed. “He was to be paid 5,000 yuhn in silver for his services, just like everyone else. And, believe me, they all took every single coin… All of them, except John Huxley. He took only what he thought would be sufficient for the voyage, which was 500 yuhn.”
Hektor began unrolling the parchment.
“He asked me to look after the rest for him,” Brunylda went on, as she took the parchment from the guard’s hands. “He requested that, in the case of his death, the money go to his mother and siblings… As of yesterday, we know he’s alive and well, but…”
The Lady took another glance at the rubble that used to be the Huxleys’ cottage.
“Considering the circumstances,” she said. “I believe you’re more in need of the money than he’ll be, should he return.”
She handed the parchment to Adelina, who felt an instant rush up her back when she saw the drop of blood. The woman could hardly read, save for a few simple words. But she knew her family name when she saw it. And there it was, right at the bottom of the parchment, next to the blood.
A contract, she realized. And among other things, she saw her own name listed next to the sum of 4,500 yuhn. It wasn’t a tremendous amount, but it was more coin than Adelina ever had all at once. She looked up at the Lady, her eyes stunned and her lips quivering. “M’lady, I… I don’t know what to say…”
“There’s nothing to say,” the Lady remarked, as she took the contract back and handed it to the guard to keep safe. “This is your family’s coin. I trust that it should be more than enough to compensate for the damage those filthy monsters caused you.”
Adelina fought back the tears, mostly out of coyness.
“Thank you, m’lady,” she took another bow.
With a hand gesture, Lady Brunylda sent Hektor back to the carriage.
“For safety’s sake, I’ll have your silver stored in the palace. I’ve notified the vault guards that you are permitted access to it whenever you please. I’ve also asked Brie to draw up a list of potential hires for the hard labor. In just a few weeks’ time, I trust you’ll have your cottage back. And possibly more, should you play your cards right and arrange a few trade agreements.”
“But… I-I’m no businesswoman,” Adelina stammered. “I’ve have no idea where I would even start.”
“Well… I’ve never been one to provide counsel free of charge,” the Lady said, a grin forming at the edge of her lips. “But give it a few drinks and gods know what sort of tips I might just happen to spew out.”
Adelina felt she could have hugged the woman, but there was no way she would ever act on it, especially now that she was the Lady Regent of Val Havyn.
“I cannot possibly thank you enough, m’lady…”
“Try,” Brunylda said warmly. “Good day to you, Huxley.”
And with that, the Lady turned and headed towards the carriage.
Adelina remained in place, still flustered and thrown aback. Margot and Melvyn were, by then, running towards their mother, curious and wide-eyed.
“Is something the matter, mum?” they asked.
Adelina looked down at her children and smiled at them warmly, caressing their faces the way she would do every night before bed.
“Nothing, my darlings,” she said blissfully. “Nothing at all.”
* * *
Viktor Crowley led the way through the Falkbury trail, a Halghardian country road that ran through a vast hillscape of green. Behind him marched his new company of mercenaries, the first in centuries to be comprised of both humans and nonhumans. And as they headed towards the southern shores of Halghard, a trip that would take them a week with good weather, the former knight was slowly recovering from his fateful fall.
His days of knighthood were behind him now.
Even if he did rescue the pr
incess and escape with his life, King Rowan wasn’t known to be a very merciful man. At best, Viktor could regain his honor in Halghard. He’d made an ally out of Percyval Garroway, a man with ties to the kingdom, a visionary with hopes of bending the law.
But Viktor was a realist; a hopeful one, but a realist all the same.
Even as they rode on, Viktor knew the troop was gravely at risk, and it was picking at the back of his mind like a blade. They passed villages and forts along the trail and every time, folks looked at them all as if they’d just witnessed a massacre before their eyes. Inns closed their doors on them, merchants turned their backs, and children would stare and throw stones from afar.
To the peasants of Halghard, the troop was a walking abomination.
It made no difference that Halghard had two sanctuary villages or that more nobles and people in power were starting to think more broadmindedly. Because, no matter the effort, the smallminded would always be stubbornly set in their ways. To them, the elves and gnomes were trespassers, no better than the common criminal. They were the muck at the bottom of the barrel, the filth that humans’ ancestors had fought so hard to cleanse the world of, a walking pile of unworthy scum here to permeate their land.
Viktor Crowley was well aware of it all, and still he’s taken them all under his wing. He’d been blindsided by hope, the fool. He’d promised them freedom, something that wasn’t in his power to endow. The rescue of the princess of Vallenghard in exchange for the right to leave the Woodlands for good. Many were hesitant to join, some even fled while they had the chance, but a good hundred of them had stayed. It was a smaller company than it had been at first but it was a hell of a lot more than a dozen, Viktor figured.
“Do you think they’ll be safe?” John Huxley asked one morning, riding alongside the man he once saw as his superior. Truthfully, there was hardly much of a difference between the two of them now, save for some twenty years or so.
“I can’t promise their safety more than I can promise yours,” Viktor said honestly.
John kept glancing back. It was remarkable for the farmer to see the comradery between the hired swords and their elven counterparts. The gnomes kept to themselves mostly, but they rode alongside others who greeted them with a handshake rather than a glare.
“Are they… permitted?” John asked reluctantly, as if asking whether or not a wound was lethal and dreading the answer.
“They’re not marked, if that’s what you’re asking,” Viktor remarked. “It’s only been days since they left the Woodlands.”
“I see… And what’s to stop a posse of guards from detaining them all?”
Viktor thought about it for a moment. And, once again, he chose the more honest and direct answer. “You think a hundred blades will be enough to stop them? I certainly think so.”
John raised a brow. “But sir…”
“John, old boy, what did I say?” Viktor asked with a friendly grin. “I’m not anyone’s ‘Sir’ anymore. Call me Viktor.”
John understood then… The doubt that was hindering his conscience was well grounded, after all. What they were doing was unlawful. Viktor had, in a sense, become a fugitive of the kingdom. And John was surprised to see the man so at ease about it. Every meter they marched was forbidden, every step they took was another reason to sentence them all to a hanging. Whether he liked it or not, the fact remained… John was marching alongside a traitor of the crown…
Viktor must have realized the perplexed look on the farmer’s face, for he reached over and gave him a pat on the shoulder as if to wake him from a trance. “Something on your mind, lad?” he asked, but the look on his eyes was an affable one, like a mentor looking after a fellow pupil. “Go on, then. Speak. What troubles you?”
John fought through the sour feeling in his gut. “It’s just… Won’t there be consequences?”
He glanced back again, though the look of wonder in his expression had suddenly faded.
Viktor gave it a moment’s thought; his eyes left John and moved towards the landscape. “Don’t let your mind get carried away, John,” he said finally. His tone had shifted, however; he sounded almost as if he was speaking to Jossiah Biggs all over again. “The time will come someday when you’ll find yourself making the hard decisions. Whether it’s leaving home or deciding the fate of a man behind the tip of your blade. Or, perhaps, doing something that your kingdom’s law forbids because you know it in your gut to be the right thing.”
John looked at the man, hardly recognizing him behind that new façade. He was still Viktor Crowley, but he was changed, much like a prisoner changes after years of captivity. Viktor’s edges were rougher, his mannerisms were less like a soldier and more like a sellsword. He was more distant now, and there was even a hint of cynicism behind his grin.
But John didn’t blame him. He’d heard what Jossiah Biggs had done. He’d heard it from an elf, a nimble elf with unbelievably striking features that had grown to be rather close with the former knight.
Jossiah, Viktor’s lifelong friend and comrade, had fled and left the man to die…
And John could only imagine what such a betrayal could do to a person…
“I would never force you to follow in my footsteps, old boy,” Viktor went on. “Nor will I speak your name to anyone, should you choose to part ways and head home… You’ve been loyal to the company’s cause since day one, and for that I owe it to you. But I do hope that you will stay. And I hope that you see what I’m trying to accomplish here. Not just for me, but for the rest of these folk…”
Viktor took a moment to turn his horse halfway. There was a good twenty feet or so between them and the rest of the troop. The formation didn’t reach too far back, about a half-mile at best. And he realized then that, while the company was his, he hardly recognized more than a dozen faces or so.
He saw Percyval and his second-in-command Antonn Guilara in front of the mass of horses.
He saw humble young Cedric riding alongside the gutsy mercenary woman Gwyn.
Next to them were Hudson Blackwood and Syrena of Morganna, possibly the only two that didn’t look entirely out of place among the Woodland mercenaries, like leather next to darkened steel, one suitable with the other.
“If it’s all right with you,” John cleared his throat, then turned his horse halfway as well.
“Go on, lad,” Viktor gave him an approving nod.
John trotted behind, casually sliding back into the formation next to the thief and the witch. Viktor found it intriguing, the way fate had played their cards. When the journey began, it seemed probable that John and Hudson would murder each other in the dead of night. And weeks later, there they were, riding next to each other and bantering like lifelong comrades. And the witch, Viktor had distrusted almost to no end, yet when he looked at her now, chainless and free, he couldn’t have been more pleased to have her back.
You did one hell of a job there, John Huxley, the former knight thought, wishing he could say the same about himself. Percyval Garroway and Antonn Guilara approached, each trotting at either side of Viktor.
“Spirited lad, that one,” said Percyval, glancing back at John.
“That, he is,” Viktor remarked, though not as lively as he was before.
“You look troubled,” said Antonn.
“Yeah, well,” Viktor sighed. “Can’t remember the last time I wasn’t, unfortunately.”
“Patience and faith, Crowley,” Percyval said affably. “The gods will lift you from your troubles if you allow them to.”
“Enough about the damn gods,” Antonn grunted, wiping the sweat from his black brows.
“One shouldn’t speak ill of them, brother,” Percyval smiled. “They’re always listening, always watching over us. Even as we speak, they’re marching with us.”
“To fuckin’ Drahkmere?” Antonn mocked him.
“Aye, brother. Even there. The gods will protect you ‘til you reach your grave. You need only open your heart to them.”
“There
’s only one god,” Antonn said. “And trust me, he’s not in fuckin’ Drahkmere.”
“Enough, you two,” Viktor said with a grin. Riding with both knights at his side made him feel safe again. He’d lost his closest friend, whose name he’d refused to speak again. But, in return, he’d gained more friends than he could have hoped for. For once, the world appeared to be giving him the upper hand, he simply needed to be wary and play his cards right, particularly when there were already a few souls in his company that were questioning his honesty.
One of those souls, unfortunately, was John Huxley. The farmer rode his horse quietly and pensively, observing the trio of knights from afar. His whole life, he’d thought of Sir Viktor Crowley as the man he hoped one day to become. Only now, he wasn’t entirely sure. His image of the man had shattered, replaced by a sudden doubt, an inevitable qualm towards the man’s intentions.
Were they, in fact, for the good of the kingdom? Were they his own?
Or were they for the good of the Woodland recruits?
What does it all mean anyway? For the good of anything?
Who’s to say what’s good and what’s bad?
John felt, in a sense, awakened. The fear he had back at the Huxley farm, the dread of one day becoming a man like Hudson Blackwood, had vanished. He’d seen the man behind the hat, after all. And he learned that perhaps the cunning thief wasn’t as radical as he thought. Perhaps Viktor was just as flawed and perhaps there was no right or wrong to anything.
People were simply people. And it hadn’t been so clear to John as it was now.
He was no hero… Hudson’s words had never struck him so brusquely before…
This was not John’s story. It wasn’t anyone’s story, in fact.
John was just another blade in the masses, lucky enough to have been roped in the middle of it.
Or unlucky, perhaps? Only fate would tell.
“What’s wrong there, mate?” the thief brought him back to his senses.
“Nothing,” John shook his head. “Nothing at all…”
“You look as if you’ve eaten rotten kale.”
“Piss off,” John grinned.