Chapter 11: Decisions (Patreon)

“When the knight-lieutenant arrives in Sumeris,” Alys continued, “he will face a full tribunal, as well as the judgement of the prelate. They will ask for a statement from the victim, to aid their deliberations. You may say what you wish, to help inform the punishment.”

Royce kept his eyes on the stone floor.

“Oh,” Elliot said, feeling lightheaded again as his muscles unclenched. I need to get out of here. “I see.”

Staring at the man kneeling on the floor, Elliot wanted so badly to smack him in the face. He still felt dirty, and raw. He’d been scoured against his will as deeply as he could imagine. He wanted to have the knight beaten, or thrown in jail.

Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath. You’re okay now. It’s okay.

“I offer no excuses, goodman,” Royce said softly, head still bowed. “I will accept whatever you say, and carry it faithfully to the prelate.”

“Just…” Elliot winced, squinting up at the glowstone crystal in the ceiling. He didn’t like how angry he was. It didn’t feel like him. It was like he was still being affected by the damage to his soul, despite Alys’ balm. Royce was an ass, but he’d been trying to do the right thing. And Elliot’s story had been about as suspicious as stories came. “Just say I understand you were trying to do your job, and I hope they’ll take it easy on you.”

Royce’s head snapped up, eyes widening.

“You would speak on his behalf?” Alys asked.

“I don’t know,” Elliot said, hands clenching the edge of the stool. “I’m tired, my sister was taken, my home is gone.” The weight of it all felt crushing. It would be so satisfying to say he wanted Royce thrown to the wolves, to feel like he had power over someone else for a change. But it wouldn’t be right. “He was trying to help people. I get it.”

Alys’s brows knitted together. “Some of the worst acts ever committed were done in an attempt to do the right thing. Are you sure of this? It may substantially reduce the severity of his sentence. The victim’s state is taken into significant consideration. You may feel generous now, but think about what it would mean if he did this again to someone else. Maybe someone who ends up sharing secrets more compromising than yours. It is considered a grave sin for more reason than just the discomfort it brings.”

“Well,” Elliot said, feeling exhausted. “I guess you can tell them what you want. That’s how I feel about it, either take it or leave it.”

Her face softened. “You are kind.” She shot a look at Royce. “I hope you will not make him regret this.”

The knight was trembling. “I swear I will not. I will remember your mercy, given when I did not deserve it.”

Elliot waved a hand, feeling uncomfortable. “Don’t worry about it. I’m going to leave now, if that’s still okay.”

“Of course it is. Also—” Alys paused, a complicated expression flitting across her face. “Please do not interpret this as a threat, for it is no such thing, but I would advise you to consider moving on from this place as soon as possible. There is trouble brewing, and although I had initially thought to have it rapidly in hand, circumstances are shifting. The situation may deteriorate beyond what we are prepared to contain. I would ask you not to speak of what you learned here, although that is not a compulsion.”

“What kind of trouble,” Elliot asked, “and what do you mean ‘this place’? How far would I have to go, and how quickly should I get there?”

“Leaving sooner would be better,” Alys replied. “And leaving the wilds will most likely be far enough. If things go poorly, however,” she hesitated. “All I can say is it would be better to travel as far as possible.”

Well I don’t love that. “I’ll bear that in mind.”

“I know this must sound empty given that I have denied you once already, but if our paths cross again when I am not bound to a task, please ask for anything you need. I will be here for the next few days and then on to Tular, the next freeholt north. I consider myself, and the Sunsguard as a whole, greatly in your debt.”

“Thank you,” Elliot said. “I’ll remember.” He’d surely need something at some point, unless it was possible to just take a caravan south as far as he had to travel.

The sun had reached the apex of the sky as Elliot left the guardhouse, his eyes tightening to adjust to the new brightness. He walked slowly, thinking.

What a mess. Not an auspicious start to his time in civilization, but at least he wasn’t dead or in a dungeon. And he had more supplies coming his way, with a map. That was something. It wasn’t so bad. He shivered. Everything is fine. Just don’t think about the soul scraping.

He had to decide what to do about Alys’ warning. Even though he’d just arrived, it was glaringly obvious that something here was very wrong. Part of him wanted to know more, but it was overshadowed by the much larger part that wanted to avoid complications, get some gear and directions, and get moving.

Once he received the supplies and the letter of introduction it should be easy to set off. 

Except—It didn’t feel right to leave Breka and Hadrian with no warning. They were barely more than acquaintances, but Elliot liked them, and Breka had let him stay under her roof. If there really was that much danger coming he was going to warn them, secrets or not.

His jaw tightened. But what if they were the Talessi, whatever the Talessi were? It didn’t take an incredible amount of cunning to see they weren’t normal travelers. Strange people, new in town, acting vaguely suspicious. Breka was somehow able to tell when he was lying, which seemed to be a high-level ability if the Sunsguard needed to call in someone special for the service. It would fit.

Breka had seemed pretty cavalier about the guard’s suspicions, though. Would she have been so relaxed about being made to look suspicious by Hadrian if she actually was an invader?

Starting down the set of stone stairs ahead, he took a breath. At the end of the day, it would have to be a guess. Either he assumed they were Talessi, thanked them for the bed, and headed off on his own, or he trusted his instincts and warned them of the danger. Weighing the evidence, it was hard to make a case for telling them. Hadrian had held a knife to his throat. Breka had put him through her own interrogation.

And yet. Breka had let him stay under her roof, and hadn’t pressed him for more answers once she’d determined he wasn’t a threat. Hadrian had interrupted his training to distract Elliot when he’d been about to break down. And Breka’s questions hadn’t seemed like those of an infiltrator. Her focus had been on the risk of Elliot being an aggressor, not him being an impediment to some hidden plan.

Also, he liked them. Maybe Rowan would tell him he was being stupid, but they just didn’t seem like bad people. It felt worse to risk their lives by keeping the threat hidden than it did to risk his safety by telling too much.

When he arrived back at the round and windowless stone house the door was open, and the sound of off-key humming announced Breka’s presence to the world.

Entering, Elliot gaped. Everything had changed.

The four-poster bed and large round table were gone without a trace, and in their place was a massive brown canvas tarp completely covered in sundry items. There were bundles of herbs, figurines, pots and pans, knives, books, a bronze set of scales, and a large pillow embroidered with yellow butterflies. And that was just what he saw at first glance.

“Ah, boy, you’ve returned. Excellent. Come help an old lady with her sorting.” Breka had a large ceramic vase under one arm and clutched a crate that appeared to be full of cheap looking teapots with the other, dragging it towards the canvas from the back of the room. Behind her was a three foot tall pile of goods waiting to be moved.

“But,” Elliot spluttered, “where did the bed go? And the table! How did you even get them through the door? Do you have a spatial ability?”

“I am not so blessed as you, no. The pile in the back is part of a bulk order we just traded for, and now you’re here I’m going to stick to organizing. Take these.”

She jerked the crate of teapots in his direction, and Elliot hurried over to grab it, along with the vase.

“I’ll pick out the good stuff, hand it off to you, and you find a spot for it on the floor. And be gentle! Some of these things are valuable.”

He wheezed as he strained to keep hold of both items. The vase must have been forty pounds at least. What was it made of? And how had Breka been hoisting it like it was made of paper?

“Put the vase over by the corner, go on now, then the crate can just be over by the pots, no need to unload it.”

He moved slowly, not wanting to chance an accident. Breka had returned to the pile at the rear, muttering as she dug through it.

“If it’s not a skill, you must have some kind of spatial item then,” he said after easing the crate into the designated spot. “That’s a thing, right? Magic items? There’s no way you could fit them out the door otherwise. That bed was huge.”

She shot him a look. “Of course enchanted items exist. But having one I could pop the furniture into? Don’t make me laugh. They’re far too expensive for one thing, and for another they’re like bonfires in the ethera to anyone with decent senses. If you wear one of those you’d better be ready to kill or die, unless you’re safely behind castle walls.” She hadn’t paused her furious sorting.

The carrying and organizing continued for a few minutes, Breka loudly dictating her instructions and Elliot hurrying to enact them. They entered a brief lull when the old lady got distracted trying to assess the provenance of a dusty set of glassware.

“Breka,” he said tentatively, “how long are you and Hadrian staying in Bastogne?”

“Eh,” she replied, squinting at the stem of one of the wine glasses, “a few more days, a week, we’ll see. You don’t have to worry, if you don’t know what to do by then we can take you with us for a short bit. A freeholt isn’t the best place to start off.”

Hadrian had used the same term last night, when implying the guard didn’t have the right to bar their entry. “What’s a freeholt?”

“It’s a settlement funded by the crown at the edge of the wilds.” 

“So it’s what, royal property? Are we in a kingdom right now?”

“No,” she waved a hand around over her head in a vague gesture. “We’re in the Gerrwood right now, which is the wilds closest to the Broken March, but not a part of any one nation. The king in Remmir, the closest kingdom of the March, would love to claim more of its resources for himself. So, he pays for a group of citizens to build and settle by something valuable—here it’s the mountain quarries—and then in a few decades when the town is built up it becomes a real trading hub. The citizens get money to start, aid with building, and preferential trade agreements, and the crown gets to take advantage of the resources being drawn out of otherwise inhospitable wilds. They get to levy taxes and buy rare materials without dealing with the risky and expensive process of driving roads through monster-infested woods. Slowly but surely, Remmir extends its reach out into the Gerrwood. All the March does it, not just here.”

“I see,” Elliot replied. “But the guards here would still answer to Remmir as their authority?”

“Yes. But part of the deal with the freeholts is that they’re free—technically.” Her lip quirked. “The guards get funding and training from the crown, but they’re still locals, without much oversight. It doesn’t pay to get on their bad side. By the letter of the law, they can’t turn anyone away from the freeholt unless they’ve committed a crime. In reality…” She shrugged.

Elliot teetered on the edge of asking another question rather than committing to the real conversation, then decided to just go for it. “Do you know anything about a Titan That Sleeps?”

Breka stopped sorting, turning sharply to pierce him with her silver-green eyes. “Now I’d be willing to bet good money you didn’t know that name last night. What have you been up to, boy?”

He took a breath, then told her everything. Baird coming to get him, the Sunsguard, the inquisition, and the danger he’d been warned of.

“And I just left the guardhouse five minutes before I got back here. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t spread any of this around, since I think they’re hoping I keep quiet, but I wanted you to know it’s not safe to stay here.”

The old woman eyed him silently for a good minute, clearly thinking. Then she sighed, and slowly levered herself down to a cross-legged position on the floor, taking out the same pipe from last night from a pocket of her robe. “You were worried about us being Talessi, weren’t you?”

Elliot’s face reddened. “Well you do act a bit strange. I don’t even know what you’re supposed to be doing here. I assume some kind of trading based on this mess, but it seemed like it was a pretty big deal for the Sunsguard to have me interrogated, and you could tell that I wasn’t lying last night without any effort at all. Baird is suspicious of Hadrian, who was definitely acting like someone with something to hide, or at least someone who has enemies. Who assumes a random traveler with a weird story is a hidden enemy rather than just crazy?”

Breka snorted. “Well at least you aren’t stupid.” She waved the pipe through the air, setting it alight, and began to puff. “It means something to me that you would tell me this, despite not knowing us well, and despite our rough introduction. And no, we aren’t Talessi. I do know about the Titan That Sleeps, and I intend to save lives if I can.”

Well that’s something. Unless she’s lying. But I don’t think she is. “What are the Talessi anyway?”

“A force that opposes the Broken March, and that’s all you need to know. You’ll be clear of all this soon. Unless…you know, hmm.” She paused, tilting her head to the side. “Actually, yes, that could work. I think—yes, no that could be interesting.” She laughed, leaning forward. “Good news, boy. I’ve just had an idea.”