DF238 - Part Time Lover (Aris) (Patreon)

They managed to get a full day’s march in before Alaric said something stupid. They had been walking at the head of their small column—well, Aris had been walking, Alaric had been riding. Aris had thought that a little unfair, since they were supposed to be co-leaders, but she didn’t want to sit behind him, or ride her own horse, so she hadn’t made anything of it. Aris had been asking him questions the whole way, and he’d grown progressively more irritated.

Which isn’t something I should worry about, right? Aris was here to learn, and she wouldn’t learn anything if she didn’t ask questions. Alaric was a pretty good leader, as far as Aris could tell. The soldiers accepted his orders with a brisk nod or a salute, and they went about them with alacrity. Aris could hear the conversations all along the column, and none of them was a complaint about their captain.

If he had a flaw, it was that he didn’t explain his orders at all, but that seemed to be a deliberate part of being an officer. Soldiers didn’t need to know why; they just needed to do what they were told. Giving them reasons was inefficient. Aris knew that, now, because she’d asked a question about it. She wasn’t sure she agreed with the theory, but at least she knew it wasn’t incompetence.

They were just starting to make camp, and Aris had asked Alaric if there was some reason this site had been chosen, or if it had just been where they happened to be when the day had ended. Still sitting on his horse, he drew himself up further.

“I do not appreciate having my authority undermined every time I make a decision, woman!”

Aris looked up at him. “Aren’t we equally in command?” she asked.

The man’s eyes bulged. “I am a real knight-captain!” he all but shouted. “I am in charge here, not some girl who thinks she can command just because she is the King’s mistress!”

Some of the soldiers nearby started to look nervous, but most of them ignored the argument, busying themselves with getting the camp ready.

Aris narrowed her eyes. “I’m level twenty-eight,” she stated evenly. “Top of third Tier.”

“As if that were possible! You’re too young for that to be the case!”

Ah, Aris thought. This is Erase Presence’s fault.

Back when Anton had been first Tier, she had been intensely jealous of Delver’s Discernment. Still was, really. Classes that gave Traits capable of supplying specific information like that were rare. Nobles had Nobility’s Privilege, and merchants had a slew of analysis Traits that gave values for goods, but most information Traits just gave you an innate sense.

Aris found Sense Freshness very useful. She’d never suffered from eating bad food. But it was so very limited compared to the Traits of other Classes. For soldiers, they tended to have senses that warned them of danger. Some Traits warned of danger to the owner of the Trait; others worked for and against entire units.

All of them were entirely negated by Erase Presence. It wasn’t the sort of Trait that was always on. It was like a muscle, it could be flexed or relaxed. Aris mostly kept it at least a little bit flexed. Most things were easier when people were less aware of your presence. It seemed that commanding wasn’t one of those things.

Aris relaxed her Trait. As one, most of the soldiers whipped their heads around to stare fixedly at her. Aris was the highest level of anyone here, and she had weapons that routinely killed creatures and people of higher level than her. Suddenly, everyone was aware of that fact.

“How? That’s not possible…” Alaric stammered, pulling his horse away from her.

“I’m not Anton’s doxy; I’m his companion,” Aris stated firmly. “I fought beside him, and I like to think I got pretty good at it. Now, will you—”

“Hey, now, hey now!” Zaphar interjected, clapping his hands with every word. “All this talk isn’t getting the camp made, is it? And all this walking, it has made my feet very sore.”

“Zaphar,” Aris greeted the rogue. “Today would have been a lot less awkward if you’d marched in front like the rest of us.”

Zaphar grinned and twirled his sea-green cloak. “But of course it would! But the things you were talking about were so very, very boring. I had a much better time at the back of the line. Do you know, there are so many forms of alcohol in this country that I haven’t tried?”

“You probably shouldn’t take drinking recommendations from soldiers,” Aris laughed.

“Perhaps, perhaps.” Zaphar winked. “Many of the drinks are said to be poisonous, but their adherents assure me that the blindness is only temporary.”

Aris laughed again. “You’ve really grown into that Class of yours,” she said.

Zaphar’s smile grew a little thinner. “I’m not sure I had much of an option. When dropped in the ocean, the only choice is to swim.”

With a simple, graceful move, Zaphar launched himself in the air in the direction of Alaric’s horse. The horse shied away from him, but Zaphar seemed to have anticipated that, landing lightly on the horse’s back, behind the knight-captain. Zaphar had an arm around Alaric’s shoulders before the man could react.

“My friend. We are friends, yes?” Zaphar asked the question, but didn’t give the man time to respond. “Yes, of course we are. I would lower my voice, but you know, Aris has hearing that is very, very good, so it would do no good, you understand?”

This time, Zaphar paused just long enough for Alaric to catch up with the stream of words. As soon as he opened his mouth, though, Zaphar pressed on.

“Aris is a sweet girl, and won’t hold words said in anger against you. She won’t even tell her husband that you said them. But the others…”

Zaphar squeezed Alaric’s shoulders in a friendly hug. “There were so many others that heard you say that. Are you so sure that all of them like you as much as I do? I worry for you, friend. All it would take would be for one of them to go running to the King, thinking they would be rewarded for reporting on you. And where would you be then, my friend?”

Alaric was looking worried now.

“If that were to happen to you, my friend, you would need people to speak up on your behalf. And I would, my friend, of that you can have no doubt. But the King, he does not always listen to me. There is someone here, though, to whom he always listens. You understand me, do you not, my friend?”

Alaric took a deep breath and bowed his head. Aris was half-expecting Zaphar to start talking again, but he let Alaric take his time.

“I apologise unreservedly, My Lady,” Alaric said in a formal cadence. “My words were both mistaken and rude, unbecoming of a knight or a noble.”

Zaphar smirked and pushed himself off the horse, landing lightly at Aris’s side.

“That’s fine—I mean, I accept your apology, Sir Alaric,” Aris said. “I still have a lot of questions about leadership, though.”

Alaric’s eye twitched, but he controlled his expression. “Of course. It would be my honour to help your ladyship in any way I can.”

Aris wasn’t sure how to end polite conversations, so she just nodded. Alaric gave a half bow and wheeled his horse away.

“I can handle these things myself, Zaphar,” Aris whispered to him. She knew his keen ears would pick up her voice. “I don’t need to go running to Anton.”

“Mmn, yes, of that I had no doubt. But would the good captain be alive at the end of it? We want to preserve the lives of those on our side, after all.’

“I wasn’t going to shoot him,” Aris protested. She wasn’t sure what she was going to do, but she didn’t need to say that.

“Perhaps,” Zaphar said doubtfully. “But in any case, he needed to be reminded that you are not just a terrifying warrior on the cusp of Tier Four, but that you also have the backing of the core of the new court. Especially if you take up that Captain of the Guard position.”

“Is Anton trying to push a job onto you as well?” Aris asked, deflecting the unstated question.

“There is talk,” Zaphar admitted, “But nothing can be decided until we know the fate of the Rose Circle spies. I think Kelsey and the green one have other ideas for me, anyway.”

*

Aris thought about Zaphar's words when they got to the fort. Specifically, the part about saving the lives of those who were on their side.

“We should be able to take them without any difficulty,” Alaric said. He had been a lot more polite today. “They don’t have enough archers to seriously impede us, and the walls are wood.”

Aris nodded. The numbers and specialties of the defenders had been given by the undead Prince Driecht, and nothing they saw here contradicted what he’d told them. They had enough elevation to see partway over the walls, and the fort was packed full of storage wagons. There simply wasn’t enough room for them to hide more men.

As for the wood, even Aris understood that wooden walls weren’t going to stop a serious assault. Most soldiers had strength progressions, after all. Aris might not be strong enough to rip a log out of a palisade, but any second Tier soldier was going to be stronger than her.

She could just jump over the wall, though. And she could snatch arrows out of the air.

“If we show a white flag, that means we want to talk, right? It doesn’t mean we surrender.”

Alaric gave her a long look. “If the defenders flew a white flag, the assumption would be that they wanted to talk about surrender. If we don’t want to fight, we can just leave.”

He paused, waiting for her to respond.

“Do we want to talk with them?”

“I think so…” Aris said slowly. “Would that hurt us, militarily?”

“No,” he said immediately. “The only risk would be to the treaty party.”

“I’ll go alone,” Aris declared. Alaric winced.

“King Nos would not be happy if I allowed you to be injured.”

“He wouldn’t,” Aris agreed. “But I can take care of myself. And you can lead the assault if I fail.”

Alaric closed his eyes. Aris imagined he was running through a private argument in his head. He must have lost, because he opened his eyes and nodded.

“I’ll get you that flag,” he said wearily.

Shortly afterwards, Aris was walking down the slope carrying a spear with a white cloth tied to the pointy end. They did have a banner, but it wasn’t to be used for such purposes. A spear had been used so often for these things it was practially traditional.

The first arrow came when she reached shouting distance. It plunged into the ground a few feet ahead of her.

“That’s far enough!” a man called from the wall. Aris shrugged and kept walking. Another arrow sliced through the air, this one aimed to fly past her. But not hit her, so she kept walking.

“Stay where you are, damn you!” the voice shouted again.

“I came here to talk, not shout!” Aris yelled, and kept walking. More arrows came, but all of them were aimed to miss. Aris kept an eye out and readied her spear to bat them out of the way if they came in on target, but none of them did. Eventually they gave up trying to intimidate her, and Aris found herself at the foot of the wall, looking up at the shouter-in-charge.

“Talk, then,” he said. He sounded grumpy.

Aris felt her Class surge up within her. For the first time, she was doing the exact job that it was made for. Wondering what the result would be, she let the words well up from inside. She spoke.

“I’m here to tell you,” she said, “That the King is coming.”