15/5/919/9E, before the trolls
The Daggered Spine
Sav
This might be one of the first “mornings” since she’s arrived here, out of time and place, that she’s woken up feeling mildly hopeful. Even the sombre moment before the pyre of the two Relickers hadn’t taken that away. It probably wasn’t a good sign that one of the Dreamers was dead, but until she knew more about what these dreams even signified, it was hard to say whether it meant they were all doomed, or if the death of one of them was only a setback.
Change, yes. But not always loss, not all the time, or at least not as sweeping and final as it had initially seemed.
The air bites cold and the snow crunches underfoot, muffled slightly by the sound of the ever-present wind skirling overhead through the treetops, but it isn’t quite yet deep enough in these ravines for Sav to ponder whether it’s time to build some more snow shoes. Rae—no, Mosrael now, she’s grown up and not using her kid nickname any more—has gone ahead with the cranky old man Dreamer and some of the other Relickers to scout the way, while the big blue fur-man and some of the other stouter folk have fallen toward the back, keeping an eye out for unwanted followers. As usual, Sav keeps to the middle, in a position to see both fore and aft and react to anything that might come.
That there is an “as usual” to fall back into has them looking almost content as they crunch up beside Squire, taking advantage of a moment where he walks unaccompanied, out of earshot of anyone else. They say nothing at first, just giving him a nod and a half-smile that reaches their eyes more than their mouth, muffled as they are in wraps and fur-lined collar.
It takes a while for her to say anything—perhaps an excess of caution, perhaps just simply being rusty at talking after weeks of being on her own. Traveling with Mosrael and Proserpina—no, Peach, it’s Peach, apparently, going the opposite way of Mosrael and turning to a shorter name—for a few days hadn’t done a lot to change that, given as Peach could and would prattle on for ages without input needed. After a few minutes, though, she pulls down the scarf just enough to speak freely and says, lowly, “Noticed there wast no argie-bargie in the morn, just packin up an headin west wi’out much palaver.” Besides the old man grousing, of course. “Wha’d ye say t’ your man there, then?”
Squire
The sun hung low on the horizon, bathing the northern face of the mountain in permanent twilight. Any sunlight, no matter how anemic, was welcomed. In the shadows, temperatures plunged from miserable to outright hostile, the stinging winds made worse by heightened senses. Death lurked in the darkness—not just the threat of it, but the dead themselves. People whispered that the undead roamed beyond the sun’s reach, emerging from The Black. Merrick had confirmed as much.
So they traveled in the sunlight; most people did.
Weeks ago, when the group diverted from its initial destination and began following Vesper’s visions into the mountains (instead of due south toward the realms of permanent night), ‘Squire’ felt relieved. He had very limited experience with the undead and had little interest in learning more about them.
Now, as the group traveled, he found himself grappling with the sudden return of so many figures from another lifetime. Why now? Why after fifteen years had so many returned? What connection did they share? Would more return? What did it all mean…?
He was lost in thought as he shuffled along toward the middle of the group. Typically, he was ever vigilant, but traveling with very old friends allowed him to be a little lazier. The Relicors were capable fighters, but none possessed the incredible magical abilities of Sav, Bax, or Talith. The others, the new ones, appeared to be similar. They could fight.
Sav appeared beside him, asking after his conversation with the Relicors. Hearing her unique accent, ‘Squire’ was filled with a warm, familiar feeling. He’d heard dozens of accents and various languages—her Common was still among the hardest to parse. He smiled. It was a very welcome challenge.
“Caspiad? Or Merrick?” he asked, then decided he might as well explain both. “Caspiad’s worried about how ‘treasures’ will be divided. These guys have pinned nearly all their hopes on securing a trinket to get into ‘heaven.’ They’ve sacrificed a lot for those hopes. He doesn’t want to lose his share. Decent guy, but he can be a bit of an ass. I tried to reassure him—made no promises, though. I think I bought a little time, but if we find anything valuable—magical stuff—it’ll come up again.”
He exhaled, shifting his attention.
“As for Merrick… I’m still trying to figure him out. He’s strong—really strong. A great fighter. But I have no idea who he really is or what he wants. He says he wants the same as the others, ‘same as everyone else,’ but I don’t know. I think there’s more to it. I think his beliefs and relationship to the Church are a bit more complicated. Him being a taciturn enigma wasn’t a problem before all of you showed up. But now… well, now I’m caught between two worlds, trying to stitch them together without too much friction.”
Sav
At the mention of treasures, Sav, as though unable to help themself, glances back toward Aloysius. Or more precisely, toward the panniers he carries. It’s a wing-flicker of a look, but the brief tightness of their eyes as they drag their gaze forward again says it wasn’t a coincidence, though they’re doing their best to hide it.
Aloud, she says cautiously, “This is the first I’ve heard of that sort of … custom. Buyin one’s way intae ‘Heaven’ wi treasures. Be it … real? What sort of hings are they lookin for?
“But aye. ‘Twas Merrick I was speakin of, gi’en as how we were jawin over how or if ‘twas necessary tae persuade him to forge deeper intae the mountains ‘stead o’ turnin south toward Night, as wast the original plan before your Dreamer came along, so’s that ye wouldnae have tae split from us again soon’s as we’d all been reunited. I s’pose it turnt out not tae be necessary, then? Or did ye marshal some cunnin’ plan tae bring him about?”
Her eyes tighten again, but this time with more of a measure of amusement. “Oh aye? Tryin tae connect one circle an another wi’out gi’en awae the game tae either side, is’t again? Cannae imagine that’s a hing you’re used tae dealing wi’.” She’s definitely smiling now, but a moment later it fades. “‘Less your life has changed greatly in the last … 15 years? ‘Tis a long span in truth. I suppose I ought not make any assumptions of who or what ye are now.”
Squire
After a surreptitious check to ensure they had relative privacy, Squire took each question and tried to answer in order.
“Oh yes, the practice is very real. For the right price—a magic item—anyone is allowed into the lands beyond. The thing is, no one knows for certain if an item is ‘good enough’ to get someone inside beforehand; each item is judged by a member of the Church just outside the gates.
“Merrick has been turned away more than anyone I’ve ever heard of, despite offering items rumored to be quite impressive…
“The Church mostly seems to be interested in magic items. Beyond that, I don’t know. I’m not sure anyone really knows.”
Squire paused.
“Well… I suppose there are some people who might have a better idea than others.” He shook his head, dismissing the thought for the time being.
“Anyway, I told Merrick about the shared dreams. That you all dreamed like Vesper did. And I told him I knew some of you from a different life and vouched for you. That seemed to be enough for now. I don’t know how that will play out in the long run, but I’m betting it’s better to be a ‘bridge’ in the short term rather than try to predict things I have no way of knowing for a time that may or may not come.
“It could be a mistake, but…” He shrugged. “The situation is fluid, as they say.”
He considered the next question for a few paces, trying to remember who he had been at twenty-three—the person Sav had known.
They had met about a year after Garbon was killed and the remnants of his little family were scattered. Over that year, Ethan spent his days carving out a place in the city streets, transporting contraband as the ‘Blind Baker’—baking in the early mornings and getting roughed up as an easy mark in the evenings. By night, he often posed as an eccentric but affable nobleman, ingratiating himself with Leon Silverun, a legitimate and powerful nobleman. The end result was the crew where he and Sav had first crossed paths.
Sav was present to witness his family coming back together only to be violently torn apart again and again as their little band of ‘witches’ struggled to stay ahead of the Baroness and her forces. One desperate move led to another in an escalating campaign of violence that left dozens—if not hundreds—dead or wounded. It had all culminated in the Baroness’s death and the rightful heir, her brother, replacing her..
And then things got weird.
“Same person. Different world,” he offered a bit absently. “I’d like to think I’ve matured some…” His gaze flicked toward Talith and his silver-streaked hair. “Maybe not that mature, but…”
He stared ahead thoughtfully. He had more to say but knew he couldn’t condense their time apart to an extent that would satisfy her. He offered her a friendly jest, hoping it would offer some semblance of reassurance in place of his personal biography.
Slipping into a surprisingly accurate semblance of accent mimicry, he offered, “…perhaps ye’d say I’m a wee bit less of a bastart noo?”
He shot Sav a gentle, wry smile.
Sav
A brow lifts at the pause and shake of the head, and Sav regards him curiously to see if he’ll elaborate on whatever passing thought that had been—but after a moment, when nothing comes forth, she lets it pass rather than pry further.
She has other questions, anyway. “I suppose ‘twould be hard to keep the dreams an’ the shared connection secret for very long, an we keep travelin together,” she says, pursing her lips momentarily in thought. “Especially as seems some folk havenae any practice keepin their lips sealed.” Maybe secrecy wasn’t necessary here, even secrecy about unusual abilities like oddly prophetic dreams, but… habits of a lifetime, born even before they’d begun to practice magic in a land that despised it, were hard to shake.
“That bit also seems a wee bit different from the lad I knew, extendin’ a measure o trust wi’out a clear idea if twould be returnt,” she adds, brows quirking upward again. “But then again… how long hast ye been travelin wi’ this crew? Soundin’ like ye may have knownt them longer than any of us non-villagefolk on that ship. I suppose when it comes down t’ it, in the proper measure, we’d not known each other full long.” Felt like years, sometimes—certainly some days had felt like they stretched on for Turns—but time was tricky, as she’s come to learn.
They do a double-take at the surprisingly-accurate imitation, face squinching in laughing dismay. “Och no, gonny no dae that, that’s just pure queer comin’ outae your face,” they protest in half-heartfelt, half-mock outrage. “Queerer than hearin Rae talk proper-like! It tak ye that long tae be able to pull that up?
“As for bein less of a sleekit bastart—I’ll be the judge of that, thank ye.” They smile back, but the smile slips away after a minute.
“Speakin’ o’ queer. All these dreams, relentless as they are, every night, an’ ye never in them e’en though many of the folk what knew ye are havin’ them. I’m gonny guess that ye never had them neither?” She doesn’t even wait for an answer before moving on, confident in her guess. “That bit wouldnae fash me if it weren’t for what ye’d described in—” she tries not to glance around too obviously, but does have a quick look, “—the city. I’d think whatever hidin’ quality ye have would still be in full-force, save for that they were able to sense ye, somehow. An’ alas, most of the detectin’-type works I once knew fell apart here, so I cannae think o what tests I could dae to see if your protections have fallen apart as well.” She frowns, a little peeved at this. “I’ll come up wi’ somethin. Maybe not soon but might be good tae know, for the eventuality.”
She doesn’t ask the question that’s really on her mind, largely because she’s pretty sure he has no answer for it either: what does it all mean? What are these dreams, and where are they leading them? Why this rag-tag assemblage of some known, some unknown? It would have been less puzzling if it had only been the folk who had been up on the Octurne—that would have been an obvious link. Or even only those on the Octurne and those who had known Esmund Clockwright, had been there when Peach said he’d triggered the unmaking of the world. But Mosrael, and the dead Vesper, and this old man knight?
Her brows knit, and she huffs out a breath that plumes in the air. “…that time o travelin alone might ha’ been pure lonesome, but at least it made for less worry-causin’ questions hangin in the air,” she mutters, but knows the complaint is more half-hearted than anything else. Even with greater issues beginning to breach out of the water ahead, fretting in company is better than peace and quiet alone.
Squire
Of all the responses, the one noting a potential shift in who he is and the perspective of time spent together stuck out to him the most. Twice she’d noted the potential for change, brushing against a theme, ‘who are you now?’
“Same lad…” Ethan says with a faint smile, though the energy behind it is dimmed now. He hesitates, searching for the right words. The words he hoped for eluded him, so he settled on the ones he was able to find.
“I’ve done a lot since we last spoke. A lot. But none were more dangerous than getting into the stronghold at Galoring. What did we have? Two weeks? Less? To break into the most heavily guarded structure in the entire barony?” He shakes his head. “We could have had a year to plan, and I still would have been nervous.
“The point is, we didn’t have enough time. Not even close. And we definitely didn’t have time to spare.”
His gaze flickers, searching her face.
“But we made some anyway.
“Because you needed it.
“Because you asked for it.
“We got that theater signed into your name after that bastard cheated you and your mother out of money that should have been yours. And even back then, stupid and impatient and focused as I was, I didn’t give you grief for it. I didn’t demand to be convinced.
“You asked for my help with something that mattered to you, and I gave it.”
He exhales, measured.
“Because I knew that you understood what we were attempting. I knew you understood the stakes. I knew you understood how little time we had. And you still asked.
“That was enough for me.”
He glances toward the Relicors, snow crunching beneath their boots as they march in either direction.
“I know them,” he says, tilting his head slightly to indicate the group. “We’ve traveled together for fourteen months, and I trust them… enough. Enough to keep watch. Enough to fight beside me.”
“But do I trust them enough to put everything in the world on hold without explanation?”
A pause.
“No.”
His voice is quieter now, but firm.
“I’ve been playing this game for a long time now. And I can tell you—there are few people I trust more than this genius street urchin whose gold standard for friendship is to be careful with her trust… because she’s afraid of offering it, and rarely forgives those who betray it.”
“So, no, I didn’t ‘offer trust without knowing for certain if it’ll be returned,’ Sav. Those guys can’t hurt me. The worst they could do would be to kill me. If they try, I’ll be surprised, annoyed and a little disappointed.
“But you? I trust you. Because I think you’re a good person. Because I don’t think you’re motivated by all the shit that turns people evil. And if you fucked me over… well, that one would hurt.”
Attempting to put some distance between the earnesty he felt stuffing up the air around them he tried trading it in exchange for weak effort of levity.
“And if you somehow need more proof… hell, I spent months on a boat listening to you snore your ass off every night, giving away our position up and down that river to everything with ears within a mile, yet we’re still friends. I think that says it all, really…”
Sav
It might take Ethan a few steps to realize he’s suddenly walking alone, as Sav has stopped in their tracks. Then a flurry of crunch-crunch-crunchas they resume their pace, hurrying to catch up. They fall abreast with him once again, head bowed, assiduously fiddling with their scarf and coat collar to pull it over their head and face, apparently affected by some of the cold breezes that filter down from above. By the time they stop fussing with their head-coverings (ending up mostly in the same arrangement they’d been in before, perhaps pulled down a little further over their face), their cheeks and nose are just red from the cold, surely, eyes squinted and wet only from the whipping wind.
“First, as I remember it,” they start, raising a finger, “we needed that money to help supply an bribe folk tae carry out an alternate plan once we thought everyone else has jist vanished from the face of Isendel an’ ‘twas only us three—you, me, Ringo—left tae finish hings. An besides, ye ended up wi’ a nice house out of it, as I recall.” Not that any of them really got to enjoy the city, in the end.
“An now I know ye’re a liar an’ still have got shite patter tae boot, ‘cause I got Aloysius around an he’s no gonny hold back on bitin me if I’m disturbin him wi’ snores.” She punctuates this with a friendly mock-punch to his arm. “Sure but that your memory’s not startin’ tae go, auld man?”
Then, more quietly, almost inaudible behind the wraps, “Ye do no needtae remind me of whit ye’ve done for me. I havenae forgot. It’s been only a year for me, even though it may be more like 15, 16 for ye.” An arrow to the chest of one she’d once called a friend, so that she herself wouldn’t pass that unrecoverable line. Taking on the stories of ones she’d once cared for, bonded to before they were all killed, the only memorial she could give them. Extracting some measure of justice from a man who’d cheated her mother out of a life she could have had. And balanced against that, being used as a chess piece toward the greater objective they’d all been aimed at. Here she finally looks up at him, locking gray-green eyes with red-veined brown. “An’ I have no forgot neither what I said once—if ‘tis ever my aim tae leave or otherwise fuck ye over, I’ll tell ye tae your face before I dae.” She lays a hand on the arm she’d just punched, a light press that drops after a second. With a canted smile, she says, “But unless ye’ve alignt yourself wi’ the Twisted King, I reckon it unlikely tae happen. So ye may be stuck wi’ me for a whiles yet.”
More briskly, the smile turning more wry, she adds, “Should be mair cautious wi’ the words ye toss about, if ye keep callin me a genius I’m gonny start thinkin’ ye mean it.”
Squire
Ethan shrugs casually but responds directly. “I do.”
Sav
“Ah, haud yer wheesht—” Sav starts to say, as they crest the rise of a hill and see a large valley spreading below them. Figures, small at this distance but growing rapidly with the speed of their progress, chase one lone figure very nearly as large as them, with the added mass of the pack on the figure’s back. Eyes narrowing, they finish the thought with a simple, “—for I hink these uns will no be impressed by kind words.”
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