Just Cause Draft 01 CH 14 (Patreon)

“Raise your mug to our guest,” The Praetor said, standing and lifting his. He motioned the men, women, and children seated at his end of the long table. “The residents of the Isauricus farm have agreed to accept our hospitality that they can get over the turmoil they suffered. The Rhumbar farm has agreed to see to their harvest, so they will be able to focus on resting.” The man motioned to the end of the table. “And to their rescuers, The men, and women who serve all of us.”

The legionnaires stood, and Michael followed suit after Joran pulled on his arm. He forced a smile and nodded toward the Praetor. He hadn’t wanted to be part of the celebration, but Granius had convinced him it was good for the citizens and the legionnaires. The people at the other ten or so long tables got to see who protected them, interact more directly with them. The legionnaires got to feel appreciated; which was different from being told they were.

The responses to the toast merged in a sea of gratefulness that managed to make Michael smile. Once it subdued, they sat.

“While we celebrate, let’s not forget what brought this about. Let’s not forget that we live in a dangerous world; that any time we believe we have tamed it, something like this can occur. That we can never be too vigilant. That monsters and creatures will find a way through our sentries. But let us not take this vigilance be all that we are. We will tame this world. We will make it safe for all on it, so tonight we celebrate one such victory. To us!”

Another explosion of responses and the Praetor sat.

The food was excellent, the drinks possibly better, and the evening progressed, Michael found himself pulling into conversations as people changed tables freely, ask about his exploits rescuing the farmers, taking on the Gnolls, a few even knew of Windfall, not that Michael considered that much of an exploit. More his utter ignorance at play.

Even as he felt himself become drunk, something that surprised him, considering his endurance score, he kept anything from before his arrival in Cosconius to himself.

Before too long, he had no choice but to admit he was enjoying himself.

* * * * *

His head hurt.

Michael tried to remember the last time he’d had a hangover. A few years ago, on leave with his friend. They’d celebrated the night away and paid for it in the morning.

“Good morning,” a soft voice said, and Michael smiled.

“Morning Beautiful, since when are you this pleasant at too early O'clock?”

The laughter was light and airy, nothing like Lisanne’s.

Michael sat up and groaned. His head felt like it was going to split open. How had he not healed his hangover during the night? He healed anything else. He forced his eyes open. The bedroom was spacious, with tapestries on the wall depicting feats of battle. The woman standing next to the bed wore a robe that didn’t hide her stockiness, which contrasted with her soft voice.

“Drink this.” He offered him a clay mug.

Michael was in a bed, he pulled the covers up, naked in a bed large enough for two, with the other half clearly slept in. He covered his face with a groan to his the blush he felt coming as he remembered the end of the previous evening.

“Was I that horrible?” she asked, managing to sound like she was smiling. Which she was, Michael saw.

“No.” The night had been amazing. She’d been amazing, but. “It’s just hat I’m mar—”

Only he wasn’t. Lisanne had divorced him, taking Mary with her. He wasn’t even on Earth anymore, so he didn’t have to feel embarrassed about getting with a beautiful woman for the night.

“It’s been—” He took the mug, his face still feeling hot. “I’m not used—” He chuckled. “I’m not even going to try to explain it.” He took a long swallow, expecting water, and choked on the taste. “Dear God, what is this?”

“A draught to help with the headache.”

He finished it. “I didn’t think I could get those anymore.”

“Proclaiming yourself a master drinker?”

“No, it’s just…” He gave a wry smile. “You know what? I have no ground to base it on. I haven’t drunk much since getting here.” He handed the mug back. “And I hope I won’t sound crass, but if you told me your name, I don’t remember it.”

“Vibidia.” She placed the mug on the side table. “And you are Michael Rostov, hero of the battle of—”

“Please don’t. I’m not a hero. I’m just a soldier.” He forced the smile back. “The Praetor toasted all of us, not just me.”

She inclined her head.

Michael looked over the edge of the bed, then grabbed his pant. They were of supple hide. Granius had insisted he dress in something other than his legionnaire uniform, and Joran had taken him to a tailor who’d dressed him in the pants, a shirt of fine wool with an overcoat of coarser wool. It was dark blue with light blue trim, which the tailor said suited him. Michael had simply nodded. He’d always let Lisanne buy his clothes, much to her annoyance; but it was that, or she had to endure him dressed in jeans and a white t-shirt all the time, which she couldn’t stand.

He put the pants on under the covers, which amused Vibidia.

“I should get going,” He said, hoping he didn’t sound dismissive of her. “Training will start soon.”

“Didn’t the Praetor give both your units leave?”

He had, and because Granius knew Michael well, he’d informed him he wouldn’t be allowed on the training grounds. He searched for something to say; for an excuse to leave that wouldn’t sound like an excuse.

She chuckled. “Is where you are from so formal there is a protocol to end our encounter?”

“No, but I’m not used to it. I don’t even remember which one of us initiated it.”

“You introduced yourself to me, you were inebriated enough I could tell it wasn’t something you were used to do, but I suggested we retire to my home. I suppose it makes it a joint decision.”

“Then do we both have to agree it’s over for it to be official?” He tried to make the question light, and her laughter said he’d succeeded. He grabbed his shirt and pulled on.

“No, it’s over because one of us decides so.”

Michael sighed in relief, realized what he’d done, and barely stifled a groan.

“Is it not so where you come from?”

He considered how to explain it, recalling the number of his friends who’d gotten entangled with a girl on leave and it had come back to make their lives difficult. “Encounters like this can lead to complications.” He didn’t want to even think of having gotten her pregnant. Did they have condoms?

“You do not have to worry, I was not looking for anything more than a pleasant encounter, and you did provide me with that.”

“I’m glad.” He laced his shoes and stood. “I’m sorry if I’m making it feel like I don’t want to be here.”

“There is no need to apologize.” He escorted him out of the room. The other room was larger, a seating area on the left with a fireplace on the right with a pot hanging over glowing coals.

Had she expected him to stay and eat with her? Should he ask?

She opened the door. “I had a wonderful night, Michael. If you want to do this again, maybe both of us being sober will avoid making the uncomfortable.”

Would he, should he? Had he been that uncomfortable when he’d spent the night with a girl, a woman? Way back in his early twenties, before Lisanne.

“There are no formalities to complete before you leave,” she said.

He kissed her cheek. “I had a good night. I’m sorry I’m making this awkward.” He left before he could say or do anything to make this even more uncomfortable.

The room where his contubernium slept was empty. With being on leave, the others had gone back to their families. He only knew where Joran lived. After that visit and how it left him pining for his daughter, the life he’d had before Carpenter’s mission, he’d avoided asking about the other’s families. He knew about Lierin’s parents because being half-elven had brought it up, but he knew nothing more of her family life.

Someone left shirts and pants to be mended, and he did that, then tidied the common room, then copied the older maps of the city he’d made. which brought his map drawing skill up a level. Still rough, nowhere near Octacilia’s level, but he was improving.

* * * * *

The leave ended and, with great relief, Michael went back to training and his patrols through the city.

A few days later, instead of arriving for their afternoon training in his leathers, Granius stepped onto the field in his uniform of office, all find cloth in black and gold accompanied with an older woman, who Michael recognized as the one who led the farmers he and the others rescued.

“Michael,” the Praetor called. “You remember Emell of the Isauricus farm.”

“Ma’am,” Michael greeted her. He looked healthier. Almost two weeks of rest, and being looked after by the clerics had done much to help her.

“She and her people will be returning to their farm to supervise the rest of the harvest.”

“I hope you have an uneventful trip back,” Michael said.

“I wanted to thank you personally for rescuing us,” She replied. “I don’t want to think what those creatures would have done to us if you hadn’t shown up when you did.”

Michael nodded. “I’m just sorry we didn’t get there any sooner a prevented the losses you did suffer.”

“I promise you,” Granius said, “that you will not have to fear as you did ever again. Where ever the creatures who escaped fled to, they will be found.”

She inclined her head. “I have no doubt you will keep us safe Praetor. Thank you again, Prefect Roslov.” She turned away and Granius followed her.

Michael went back to his training and put her and those events behind him; they were dealt with.

* * * * *

Hostus opened the double doors for him and Michael entered Granius’ planning chambers.

It was three days after Emell thanks him, and Michael realized on seeing the Praetor with two of his military advisers that the situation hadn’t been dealt with as he’d hopes.

“Michael.” Granius motioned him to approach.

“Praetor.” He looked at the maps, all on paper, various sections of the territory, only one he recognized as the Isauricus farm. That confirmed it. “It isn’t over,” he stated.

“The farm is safe, Michael, you need not worry about that.” He took a larger map showing more of the area around the farm. “But this is related to it. The scouts I sent followed the trails here, here and here.” He traced three paths leading to the edge of the map. The forest was larger than Michael had thought. “Those they dealt with themselves, but there’s another trail.” The one went east, and he tapped a point halfway to the edge. “Where they met up with another group of beastkins.”

“Are they setting up for another attack?”

“It doesn’t look that way. At least no of these farms. They’re moving away according to the last report.”

“But there is still the village of Rockland,” the woman said, pulling a map out from under end to show a point. “If this group doesn’t change trajectory, they will reach it before we can do anything.”

“There is not outpost nearby?” Michael asked. “No magic to send a contubernium there faster?”

“Unfortunately, or more probably fortunately, considering the danger having an army just appear at our gate would cause,” Granius said, “Advanced magic, in general, is not a simple thing to perform, and travel magics are even more complicated. I may have enough mages to sent one contubernium but I have no idea what state it would leave them in, the mages, and the legionnaires. Travel magic isn’t kind on either. As much as it pains me, you may have no choice but to deal with the result of the beastkin reaching Rockland when you get there.”

“You want me to go after them.” Michael wasn’t surprised. He’d fought some already and had demonstrated he was stronger than most of the other legionnaires when fighting the Gnolls.

“You aren’t happy about it.”

He was the perfect choice. “I’m not happy it comes to this.” He forced a smile. “Which I think is better than looking forward to any reason to fight.” He looked at the map again. “How many beastkin are there?”

“The last estimate the scouts sent put their numbers at around a hundred.” The other adviser said. “That’s more than have even been seen in one place.”

“The scout also reported infighting, so there may be less when you reach them,” Granius added.

“Why the infighting?” Michael asked. “I saw that too when we rescued the farmers.”

“Beastkins are clannish by their nature,” Granius answered, “staying to their own kind unless forced to work with others.”

“You think someone is forcing them? An Outlander?” She had said she’d be back. That she would make him pay for her defeat.

“That’s possible, we can’t know until you find them, but regardless of the reason, they are a threat. They’ve killed cattle and one group of travelers. I need you to stop them, Michael.”

Quest Protect Cosconius, 5 Type Path, Continuation

The beastkins are assembling for some unknown purpose. Whatever it is, it cannot be good for the citizens of Cosconius. Praetor Granius needs you to stop them once and for all.

Do you accept this quest?

“I won’t let you down, Praetor.”