Story Interlude 2: Bad Comfort (1/2)

Cecelia was far, far from Reason, and she hated it.

She had her plate, at least, enchanted with the same heating runes that kept her warm in Central Sylvania's chilly spring, and a covered wagon to ride in to spare her legs and back, but she really, really wanted to be inside a ton of steel and more esoteric components forged by her own hand.

“You've got that look again,” Morris said, grabbing the wagon's tailboard and hopping up into it, moving easily in his own armor. “That look like you just sat on a hedgehog. Why the resting bitchface?”

The bastard had hit level 25 recently, and loved showing off one of his top skills that let him move around like his armor was weightless. Cecelia ignored that, and answered his question. “I miss my Steam Knight suit.”

“Fff. No way you'd get that to the front in one piece. Even if you had the coal to make the trip, the rangers would be on it like Zara on a cute noble boy. Better to let them ship it piece by piece with the waystoners.”

“Like they could do anything to me while I was wearing it.” She muttered.

“They can, Dame Ragandor.”

Cecelia sat bolt upright, twisted around and snapped her fist to her chest with a CLANG as gauntlet met breastplate. “Sergeant Sir!”

“At ease.” Out of his helm, Sergeant Tane's face was solid and square, with a crooked nose broken long ago and never set right. Framed with blonde hair, rapidly receding from a high forehead, the man resembled nothing so much as an old lion. His eyes flickered as he glanced around the four trainees, now full knights, that rode in the back of the wagon.

Behind him, the cloth separating the teamsters from their human cargo was loose, and Cecelia could see the horses, and between them, the road ahead, misty and muddy from the rain that had been falling for the last two days.

“They don't hit you where you're strong,” he said, keeping his voice low so they had to strain to hear over the raindrops. “They come in the night, or in weather like this. When you're sleeping, or exhausted from slogging through mud, or out taking a shit just past the perimeter. That's when the arrows come, or the blades flash, and if you're a soft target you're dead, and then they're gone as quickly as they came. You can't touch them in the woods, you can't find them when they want to hide, and they would love to bring home the head and helm of one of His Majesty's Knights.”

Next to Cecelia, Lana tensed up. “Don't we have scouts? I thought they were good in the woods.”

“Yeah. Which is why you have to be a top scout to be a ranger, along with some other stuff nobody knows except for them.” Kayin spoke up. “That's the rumor I heard, anyway.”

“And none of our scouts are at the top of their field anymore,” Tane confirmed. “When the traitor Jericho deserted almost five years back, he took our best and brightest assets in that job with him. The ones we've trained up since get targeted by his resistance. So never assume that you're safe, not here in the wilds, not in camp, not until you're at the front. Keep your eyes open, keep a buddy in sight at all times, and whenever you're out of armor I want Always In Uniform up.”

“I've got some scout training, sir.” Cecelia offered. “I could take an extra shift, borrow a horse and ride perimeter-”

“Absolutely not,” Tane said.

Cecelia blinked. “It wouldn't be any-”

“Did I stutter, Dame?” His eyes bored into her. Cecelia met them...

WILL +1

...and managed to keep from looking away.

“You know why, Dame Ragandor,” Tane said, his voice barely audible enough to hear.

She did. It was because she was her father's heir. “Yes sir. Doesn't mean I like it.”

He smiled then, grudging respect in his eyes. “I do. Have patience, your time will come at the front. As you were, knights.” He returned to the front of the wagon, buttoning up the cloth separator as he went.

As it turned out, her time came way sooner than that.

*****

Cecelia's eyes snapped open, and she didn't know why. Then training kicked in. “Always in Uniform.” She sat up, feeling the air solidify around her, and peered around the tent. Firelight shown through the walls of it, flickering in the glow, and for the second, all seemed still.

But the flap was open. It hadn't been, when she went to sleep. She sat up, sliding a dagger into her hand as she went-

-and her face brushed against something crinkly.

Paper.

She froze, as it rustled against her face, then felt with her free hand, groping into she had it. A tug pulled it away from the thread it was tied to. Cecelia could just make it out in the firelight, a crumpled wad of parchment.

“Appraise,” she hissed. No traps showed up. It was a simple parchment note. She tucked into her sleeping bag, taking the note with her, and said “Glowgleam.” It took a bit to dial down the light to where it shouldn't be visible from her tent. (And also to keep it from blinding her too badly.)

The note was very simple. It said

GO SOUTH TO PADS VILLAGE IF YOU WANT TO SEE THE TRUTH OF YOUR KINGDOM, DAME RAGANDOR

Cecelia's breath whistled between her teeth. She read it again, just to make sure she was understanding it correctly, then killed the glowgleam.

Wide awake now, she pushed out of the tent, dagger in hand, peering around-

-and then the screaming started.

“Fire! Fire!”

Three of the wagons burst into flames, and for a second there were glowing red stars falling out of the night...

Flame Arrows.

Mordecai had told her about those, once. An archer skill. Fire arrows coming out of the woods meant-

“Rangers!” She shouted. “We're under attack! Able bodies get those fires out! Noncombatants take shelter! Go go go!” She didn't know where the officer in charge was, and it didn't matter. They'd order the same thing, she was sure.

Then the horses screamed, as the falling arrows swept toward them, and she gasped as she saw the caravan's steeds fleeing for all they were worth. But how? They'd been tied earlier, she'd even helped-

She thought back to the paper in her tent. That was how. She shut up and helped with the bucket brigade, until Sergeant Tane relieved her, and told her to go suit up. “We're keeping watch until dawn. You can sleep in the wagon.”

Unquestioning, she headed out to the perimeter, whispering “Keen Eye” as she went. Which is why she spotted the body first.

In the morning, the tally was final, and devastating. A third of the horses had been lost in the night. The two wagons worth of food had been mostly burned, doused with oil before the flaming arrows fell, less than a quarter of their ration boxes could be salvaged.

And of the seven scouts and three mercenary guards who had been tasked to keep the perimeter, two were corpses and the rest were gone like they'd never been.

*****

“Haven't you slept yet?” Graves asked, concerned. He was the oldest of her squad besides Sergeant Tane, a thickly-built man in his early thirties. He kept a white-streaked goatee, a neatly-trimmed mustache, and a friendly smile on his face at all times. “You really should turn in, it's bad for your pools.”

It was easy to forget he'd transferred in from the necromancer corps, after some hushed-up-but- probably horrible scandal. But he was a knight now, and he'd sweated harder than Celia to get into shape and survived the proportionately-harder tests that Tane threw at him, so none of that mattered to the squad. It was pretty certain that Graves wasn't his real name, too.

“I've got a scout skill that helps me not sleep,” Celia replied, scanning the road to both sides as she tucked the little metal device back into her pouch. The rain was still falling, but it had slowed. So had they, though. Most of the remaining wagons were down to one horse apiece.

“Must be nice. I could do all sorts of training if I never had to worry about sleep.” He smiled. “Figured I'd end like that eventually, I suppose. I thought I'd be a lich someday. If they exist, I mean. I was going to be the one to discover it.”

“It's not perfect,” she confessed, leaning against the backboard, feeling her armor settle against her spine. “Every extra hour I spend awake now I pay for later. Going to crash hard.”

“Does the Sergeant know you're doing this?”

“I cleared it through him first,” she sighed. This wasn't the first time one of the Squad had asked her this question, and she found their lack of faith disturbing. She ran her fingers along her black plate helm, before sliding it back onto her head. The rain pattered against it, instead of her sodden hair. It'd take a fair amount of polishing, when she was finally out of it.

“Mm,” Graves grunted. He coughed, spat into the mud. “Listen. I've... asked the others. Now I'll ask you.”

“Ask me what?”

He nodded toward the back of the wagon, and she followed, unbuttoning the blanket and leaving the weary teamster to do his job.

“I've got a skill. From my old job,” Graves said, stretching out his hand, palm up. “Soulstone.” A solid black crystal materialized.

Cecilia nodded. “Me too. Appraise.”

“Enchanter, right? I was going to learn that one at some point.”

“Among other things.” She looked it over. “It's empty. Level one crystal? Huh, Gemcutters could get some use out of it, but...”

“Yeah. It shatters if it's used in crafting, unless it's full.”

“So what-” The answer came to her. “It holds souls. Of course it does. Why are you offering it to me?”

“Well...” Graves chewed on his lip. “I was going to pitch this to the squad at the front, before we went into battle. But we've got rangers after us now, so... look. We might die here. If they're serious about killing us and we slip up, we're dead.”

She thought of her tent, slit open in the night, and a piece of parchment that had been left behind.

They don't want me dead, she knew. But she didn't know why.

Then the second part of the answer came to her. “Wait. You want to catch our souls in those if we die?”

Graves nodded. “I do.”

“Why?”

“I've got another spell that lets me and anyone around me speak to spirits. It'd give you a chance to say goodbye to people, and wrap up any last-minute business you've got unfinished.” He shrugged. “Not everyone gets that opportunity. I've spoken with a lot of undead that got themselves ghosted because of dying regrets. I don't want to see that happen to any of you. Let's be honest, we may not entirely be friends, but you're the closest thing I've got these days.” He smiled.

“What are soulstones really used for?”

“Sorry?”

“I know enough about necromancy to know most of it isn't very nice. They've got to have other uses.”

He sighed. “They do. In a pinch, if there's a corpse or remains but no spirit hanging around, I could use a soulstoned spirit to power it instead. That would use up the spirit, put it in the undead.”

“Would it be me in there? If that happened?”

“If it were a wight or a mummy, maybe, but I'm only twelfth level. You'd be stuck in a lesser undead's body, unable to control it or do anything.” He blinked. “If I did that. Which I wouldn't.”

His eyes flicked to the side as he said that.

“Did you tell the others about that part of it?” Cecelia asked, staring into his eyes, leaning in closer. “Or did that little bit get left out?”

Graves blinked. “They... they didn't ask. Look, if you don't want to, okay-”

“How many accepted?”

“Half the squad.”

“Go tell them.”

“I... what?”

“Go tell them about this part of it. See if they're still okay with it then.”

“What? Why? I wouldn't use them as zombie fodder, that's just... you don't...”

“Tell them. I'll go with you.”

He hesitated, and sweat rolled down his face, a drop at a time.

“We tell them now, or I tell the Sergeant,” She guessed, fishing for a reaction.

She got one. The man blanched. “Fine.” Graves said, his smile long gone. “Come on, let's get this over with.”

They did, going from Renick, to Lana, to Morris. Lana blanched, then thought it over. ”Sure, okay. Just promise me it won't come to that.” Graves did.

Morris shrugged and laughed. “If you zombify me just put me outta my misery quick, okay old man? Dead's dead.”

Renick just smiled, and patted Graves' shoulder. “It's fine. I trust you.”

That had almost floored the older man. He simply nodded, and his mouth worked a bit, before he thanked Renick.

As Graves walked away, Cecelia walked with him. “I didn't expect that,” Graves finally managed.

“Yeah. And my answer's yes.”

“What?”

“Yes, you can soulstone me.”

He stared at her. “I thought you wouldn't... why did you...”

“You're used to not being trusted, I get that. It's why you left out some of the details that would make your suggestion sound sinister. I know you're not going to torment us or do something stupid like that. I trust you. But I wanted to make sure you trusted the others enough to give them the full story. This doesn't work if we don't all trust each other, if we don't have each other's backs, Sir Graves. And now they know you have theirs, and more importantly, you know they've got yours.”

Besides, the cynical part of her added, If you stick me in a zombie my father will fucking kill you.

But that part she didn't share with him. Graves smiled, and thumped his chest with a clang that made the nearest drovers jump. “You're going to be a hell of a queen someday. I look forward to serving you, milady.”

And that drove it in.

She WOULD be Queen someday, if she didn't die first.

All this, all these people, all this land... she'd have to worry about it. Rule it.

Her father had unlocked Ruler for her, recognized her as his heir, but asked her to refrain from taking the job just yet. And she had obeyed, as she'd sworn to. She'd thought it was because he didn't trust her with it yet. Because he thought she couldn't handle the responsibility.

But what if it was because he was sparing her from the full weight of it? What if he was giving her what time he could? What if it was his version of mercy?

Her thoughts a whirl, she gave Grave's pauldron a light punch, smiled, and headed back to watch the perimeter while they settled in to secure the camp for the night.

*****

She woke in the back of the wagon, feeling like she'd just been through winter as a bear. The aftermath of Wakeful Wandering was always like that.

In the distance she heard Tane's voice rising through the rain. Stretching out the kinks, feeling like she'd been tumbled down a hill, she slid down from the wagon and waddled her way through the mud. The Sergeant nodded at her as she joined the rest of the squad, and saluted. The others didn't spare her a glance, which told her right away it was serious.

“To sum up, for our late riser, we've got five days of travel and one day of food left. We're out in the middle of nowhere and we aren't far away from the last ranger ambush to risk foraging. They haven't hit us since, but the Captain's assessment is that they won't pass up a chance to pick off more personnel if split up and try to hunt. Which leaves requisitioning food from the local villages. The rangers don't involve civilians in their treason or put them at risk, so that should be safe. It'll delay us, but there's no help for that. Dame Ragandor, are you rested well enough to lead a three-man task force?”

That surprised her. Then her stomach growled. Loudly. Morris fought to keep from laughing, and Zara failed completely, snickering through her visor. “Yes sir. I ah, could use a ration beforehand. If we can spare one.”

“Very good. You've got the Northern road then.” Tane's face was stonier than usual. Was he trying to keep from laughing? “I'll take the other three south-”

South, the parchment had said. “Actually, sir, do you mind if I take the southern route?”

Tane raised an eyebrow. “The hell difference does it make?”

“I think I might know someone down that way. If we're where I think we are.”

“And where do you think we are, Dame?” Tane's voice gave warning. He hadn't liked being interrupted.