Chương 11: Back at Camp

[Strix] Bunch o' fuckin' idiots, the lot o' them. Strix fumed as she worked the edge of a horribly notched blade along the portable grindstone, peddling with her foot to keep the machine turning. Who hits a tree with a fuckin' sword? She knew the levies were just farmers and industrial workers with weapons shoved in their fists rather than real soldiers, but really, who thinks to use a sword to clear underbrush around a camp?

They had machetes on hand for that purpose, and the men and women of the levies were surely used to scythes and sickles and such. If anyone should know how important the right tool for the job is, it should be fuckin' farmers! Strix shoved the newly sharpened blade— for the second time in as many days! —back onto the pile of similar items, where it clanked and slid off. She watched it for a time, just laying there in the mud, before sighing and getting up to clean and secure it properly.

She might be rightfully angry about the way her work was treated, and perhaps even a little grumpy—alright, she could admit it, a lot grumpy—but still… That was no excuse to leave good steel out to rot. Rust. Whatever. Strix was many things, but wasteful, she was not. Grunting, she levered herself to her feet and looked around. It was late in the morning, with the regiment having set camp for a few days.

Small fortifications were erected, latrine trenches dug and a small palisade built around the permitter from the corpses of the forest that had been cleared around them. Considering the work she'd spent the entire morning doing, it was entirely possible the levies had had a hand in that task and all used their fuckin' swords for it, too, the bastards. She sighed again. This was unbecoming of her. She'd been drawn to a life of blacksmithing because of the peace she found in the craft.

To get so frustrated like this was unusual. But then, she knew why. She was just lying to herself because she didn't want to admit it. She needed a distraction, and she'd promised Talia she'd look in on her sister, so she packed up shop and headed to the healer's tent. It was a proper tent this time, the grass beneath, where it hadn't been churned to mud by the healer's constant back and forth shuffling, was blessedly dry.

She found Tansel quickly, the woman sleeping peacefully in one corner, leg still heavily bandaged but otherwise looking relatively healthy. She didn't have much competition in fairness, considering her surroundings, but still. Just as Strix approached though, Tansel gasped and convulsed. Her eyes snapped open, mouth wide in a wordless scream, and as Strix reached hesitantly out towards her, the soldier rounded on her.

"We have to get to her!" Tansel gasped. She was already leaning forward, trying to push herself up and off the little cot she rested in despite waking only seconds prior. Strix blocked her easily. A lifetime working the forge and hammering iron had provided her more than enough strength to hold down a slight, injured soldier.

"Calm yerself, Tansel. Get who? What's goin' on?"

"My sister!" She cried.

"She's in danger. I don't know what's coming, but something is. Something's happening and I'm not there and I have to warn her and­—""Hey, hey. Easy now. Sit up and think for a minute. You just woke up, thing's are all fuzzy. Take a second, then tell me what you know." When Tansel still looked at her like a half-panicked deer, Strix gripped her by the shoulder and looked deep into her eyes.

"Talia's a good friend. If there's anythin' that can be done, I promise you that I'll do it. Collect yerself." To her credit, Tansel did. After a few heaving breaths, she scrunched up her face and focused. A minute or two trickled by, then she blinked and looked up at Strix, her face clearer, though no less anguished.

"Yesterday Talia left on a scouting mission into the hills with a small group—a few of her apprentice rangers, a sergeant, and Asgar. Something happened last night, and she was injured. I don't know what. It was bad, but she got through it. Now though, it's worse. They're in trouble, Strix. I don't know how but…"

"How can you know any of this?"

"I'm blessed. Talia received a blessing from Avarron while training with the rangers, and when she did, I manifested my own. We've always been close, and God must have… It doesn't matter. Just trust me when I say I can feel what she does, in brief flashes. Sometimes." Find this and other great novels on the author's preferred platform. Support original creators!

"Can you feel anything now?" Strix asked hesitantly.

"No, it's involuntary. Mostly when we're both unconscious."

"Maybe she's just sleeping then?"" Unconscious," Tansel said, eyes hardening.

"You don't just suddenly pass out in the midst of fear and stress. My sister definitely doesn't. Something's chasing them, and it just caught up." Strix held her gaze for a while.

"Come on, then. Up! We'll speak to Sergeant Orson."

[Valentia]"Wine please, Stendar," she said, brushing into her tent. She'd already swept her senses through as she approached and confirmed that none save her attendant were present inside. He'd been with her for three years now, and the young man was a diligent study. He knew what she needed, and after handing her a small wooden cup of the dawn-wine she loved so much—a 38 vintage from the Deepfold Elves in Glamorigan—he bowed politely and retreated, closing the tent's flap behind him.

Once she'd confirmed his presence gone, and swept once more for any listening eyes and ears, she relaxed back into the practical chair, snuggled into the wolf-fur throw, and sighed. The Lance—she absolutely refused to call him bloody Rupert —wasn't going to be pleased when they next met. She'd foiled a second attempt on Lord Finley's life just last night, and it was becoming increasingly clear that the air-headed young heir to great house Finley was being targeted by someone of significant means.

She had suspected that his near death to a band of orcs a week ago hadn't been the result of poor positioning alone, and this second attempt—arcane poison around the edge of his favourite chalice—only confirmed it. If not for the timely intervention of that gormless levee… well, thank the gods he was there. Although, perhaps not all of them, she supposed. Her thoughts once more returned to that brave farmer. Those burning eyes in an otherwise placid face. One might even say honest, if one were being generous.

Or empty, if one weren't. There was something off about him, though, and not just his class. Piddlebottom, he'd said. Now why did that ring a bell? She sighed and took another sip, enjoying the bitterness. No surprise, given what she knew of the elves. Most couldn't handle such a vintage, but Valentia wasn't most. How many more days in this backwater? How many more pointless conversations with stubborn fools and bitter rivals arguing over the most trivial distinctions between their meaningless houses.

She was interrupted from her­—frankly unproductive­—musings by figures hurrying her way. She hurriedly dismissed the fae lights that had begun circling around her, banishing the spiritual beacons back to whatever realm they hailed from, and stood to greet them. A sergeant ducked in through the tent after announcing himself and waiting a beat for her invitation. Orson, she thought—one of the more competent leaders in this regiment.

Behind him trailed a young woman dressed in simple clothes, though with the bearing of a soldier. Now she was striking; tall, elegant, almost elvish features, dappled in freckles and with gorgeous hazel eyes. She'd do well enough at Glamorigan. Behind her loomed her opposite. A blacksmith by the looks of the soot stains on her forehead and the muscle sheathing her forearms and shoulders.

"How may I help you?" Valentia asked pointedly. Sergeant Orson coughed and bowed stiffly.

"Apologies for the unexpected visit, my lady. I've spoken with Captain Strand and he advised you might be interested. A scouting party departed into the Haunted Hills yesterday, with Ranger Nascandel leading the mission. This here is her twin sister, Tansel, and she believes she can… sense that something has befallen the group." Sergeant Orson slowed his report, glancing uneasily to the young woman. To Valentia's relief, she then stepped forward and took up the explanation herself.

"We've got a bond," the woman said.

"As sisters. We're both blessed, and I can feel—""By Averron?" Valentia interrupted.

"I… Ye—yes." Not particularly convincing. Interesting. Valentia listened to the rest of her explanation—more a desperate plea, really—and then thought for a few moments.

"But you don't know exactly where they might be?" Tansel shook her head.

"I can feel the rough direction they were fleeing, and I caught glimpses of strange rocks."

"Rocks?"

"Great stone spires," the young woman said, closing her eyes.

"There were shrubby little bushes, too. Snaggly, the kind that rip at your shins. It smelled of… of… Like minerals. Rain on fresh rock, if that makes sense?" Valentia was already unrolling a scroll from its oiled case. She spread the map across her little table, moving her cup of wine to perch on the edge of her travel trunk out of the way—with some sadness, it must be said—and then scoured the map.

"You said east?" she asked, tracing a finger along the edge of a valley. It narrowed into a canyon further along, and she looked up to catch the soldier and the blacksmith waiting eagerly, eyes flaring with hope. She sighed.

"Sergeant Orson, instruct another two wings. Experienced rangers leading both, please. They are to depart within the hour. Sweep and retrieve. I want them back before nightfall." The man hesitated.

"Lord Hendry has requested he be involved in all assignments for the first and second companies, my lady. He will want—""Thank you, sergeant. Leave that with me." He nodded gratefully, and then ducked out of the tent, holding it open for the other two before bowing and leaving. Valentia was left to frown down at the map. A link between two souls, that could share experiences and even locations? That was intriguing.

Coupled with the attempted assassination of an heir to a great house, however paltry, and then the puzzle of that young farmer, too… Perhaps this escort mission would be of more interest than she'd initially believed.