Bryn accepted the bowl of
mushroom stew. It was piping hot, a wisp of steam rising from it. The cook
quickly turned away, clearly busy with other tasks. After all, the whole small
tunnel of a tavern was now blockaded with hungry heroes, ready for their own
celebrations after the parade.
It was a small building,
tucked under lodgings, with a low roof. Bryn could see the colours of different
hero companies, all crowded together.
Fireplace light illuminated
Golzar across the room, seated at the bar table. She was surrounded and
shadowed by the other Miscreants. Officially, they were called the Grey Hound
company, but Miscreants was fine in the taverns.
Richard, a blond cavalryman,
clapped Golzar on the shoulder. “And that’s why no one messes with you in a
duel, Commander!”
Tanya, who was sitting next
to Golzar like a squire would her knight, pumped her fists. “Yeah! I knew it
was a good idea to get that story outta you.”
A grin, somewhat strained.
Golzar turned back to her bowl of stew and took a sip from the front of her
spoon.
Bryn saw Tanya’s gaze flit
to Golzar’s expression. The kid’s voice was even brighter when she next spoke.
“Hey – I didn’t tell you Richard’s growing out his chest hair again, right?”
Golzar choked on her soup;
beside her, Richard sputtered and flushed strawberry red.
When she had recovered,
thumping her hand against her chest, Golzar turned around to face Richard.
“What, after I told you to shave it off? The lice will come back, you know?”
“Yeah,
Richard! I don’t want you to be all gross and lice-y! We still share a dorm and
all,” laughed Tanya. With Richard standing up indignantly, the conversation
seemed to have moved ahead of the duelling situation.
Bryn frowned to themself.
They stirred their mushroom stew around, watching the little brown chunks float
in the broth. The duels were starting to grate on people's nerves, beyond the
Miscreants. For one, they knew Thornston's men weren't happy. The Lions were
balled up on the opposite side of the tavern, near the back entry, where they'd
usually be mixing with everyone. It was humiliating, and people didn't take
lightly to humiliation.
There was a moment, where
Golzar was turning her head round to look at them and smile. They stared
silently. They should say something. After all, they were second-in-command
now, right? But then the moment slipped by, and suddenly Bryn found themselves
staring into the stew again. Their feet felt frozen to the ground, as the noise
of the crowd washed over them.
--
The air in the infirmary
was suffocating. When the healer's attendant slipped in to open a window,
Gerhard smiled and nodded at him in thanks. With a pop and a creak, the glass
swung open, the rivulets of black framing flitering the afternoon sun in a
different way than before.
As the boy turned around
the face him, Gerhard noticed he was balancing a tray in his hands. On it there
was a teapot and two cups. The boy looked between him and the door with an
uncertain expression, setting the tea set down on the long bench beside the
bed.
The attendant spoke in a
soft voice. "Are . . . are you?"
"Hmm?" Gerhard
tilted his head to one side. He pulled the blanket up to his mid-section; it
would do a newcomer no good to see the gruesome injuries of war.
"Nothing!" The
boy bowed his head and fled from the room. How strange.
Gerhard sighed. He raked a
hand through his mess of chestnut hair. On the wall opposite from him - a sight
the boy could not have missed - was a battered shield, inscribed with the
grey-and-black coat-of-arms possessed by the Grey Hound Company. The hound sigil
had sharp, pointed eyes, gazing out at whoever crossed it in battle. There was
a chink in the shield that went down to the hound's left cheek. Almost like a
scar.
When the knock came, he was
just about done putting up his hair. "Come in, William."
A head of greying brown
hair poked in shrewishly, before the body it was attached to fell in behind,
like a comical puppet strung up for a street performance.
“Indisposed, but not
incapacitated.” William trilled.
Gerhard kept his voice
level. “I suppose you’re here about me stepping down from the Council.”
“I’m here about you leaving
the Miscreants in the hands of your stowaway.”
Gerhard bit his tongue.
Sure, he could deny Golzar being a stowaway, but William was still Guild Chief.
There had to be something he could say in her defense without outwardly putting
himself and by extension, the whole company in opposition with that man.
“Why not take a seat, sir?”
Gerhard gestured with an open palm towards the chair next to his bed. He
watched impassively as William stalked around the bedframe to sit down,
crossing muscular but wiry arms. A sigh escaped him as he looked the older man
in the eye. “Well, I think Golzar will be good for the Guild.”
“Good?” William trumpeted.
“How?”
“She’s fresh blood, and – “
“Fresh blood is exactly the
problem!”
Gerhard’s eyes widened
slightly. He took a deep breath. Keep a cool head. He had to. Even if William
was a bursting drum on a daily basis.
With a steady hand, Gerhard
poured a cup of tea, the hot liquid breaking the silence in the room as it
sloshed into the carved wooden cup. Then he offered it to William.
The man glared at him for a
second, but he accepted and took a sip. William’s usually beige and cool cheeks
were flushed red.
“Don’t s’ppose she knows
how’ta run a Council meeting, “ he said, looking away. “Or any o’ our
traditions, for tha’ matter.”
“S’not something you can’t
learn,” Gerhard replied. He folded his hands in his lap, atop the white linen
blanket.
“Well.” William harrumphed.
“The inauguration dinner will be in a few weeks. We will see how she does
there.”
His eyes glinted. “There
will be noble names, landed folk.”
Gerhard smiled, though
inside his gut churned. Yes, nobility would be present. And William was wrong
to presume it would necessarily be just Golzar having a problem with that . . .
“We’ll do our best, Chief.”
Something told him that was
not what William wanted, not one bit.
-
In the afternoon, they left
the tavern. She clapped Robert on the back as he followed his brother out of
the low-roofed room single file. He yelped in surprise, but hurried onward.
“Right, boys! See you at training!”
“Aye!” they all chorused,
including Tanya.
Golzar watched them walk
down the street. On either side, there were large stone walls, rising up to
cast great dark shadows across the lowlier cobbles on the path. The surfaces
were carefully scraped of any mould or greenery. At some points, the stones at
the top even reflected the white flames of the sun.
From behind her, Bryn
coughed lightly. She turned around to see them looking at her expectantly,
their usual black cloak switched out for a grey mantle, which let in the spring
breeze. They averted their gaze, shifting the wooden clip that held the mantle
together. “We’re seein’ ‘im today, aren’t we?”
Golzar nodded. She slung
one arm over their shoulder. Together, they turned and began walking towards
the infirmary in the opposite direction to the other troops.
The sunlight turned the
cobbles golden from this direction, like a honeymilk washing over the street.
As they walked, Golzar pointed out the various activities among the serfs and
freepersons going about their day.
A craftswoman was sitting
atop a short stool by the side of the path, spinning a spool of thread. Beside
her, an attendant was readying a large bucket of green dye and dipping the
already-done threads into it.
On the other side of the
road, a group of children waved at Golzar and Bryn as they passed. The little
ones were playing amidst the rubble of a broken-down storehouse, building a
castle out of chipped pebbles, glued together with ash. Bryn stopped, turning
to her with a meaningful look.
Right. Golzar should
probably tell them to scram. The repairs of the city were proceeding slowly, as
one would expect immediately after the war, and children didn’t know danger
when they saw it.
Before Golzar could call
out to them, however, there was a voice from the other end of the road. When
they heard it, the children immediately started to disperse.
“Hey! Gerhard!” Golzar
grinned, as her mentor approached, walking stick clacking against the cobbles.
At the same time, Bryn
exclaimed, voice unusually loud and shrill. “H-hey, what are you doin’ out of
the infirmary?”
Gerhard was the oldest
member of the Miscreants – in two senses. He’d been out questing for longest,
and he’d been birthed the earliest as well. Golzar noticed the dark circles
deepening around his eyes as the years passed, though despite his complaints
and insistence that he was aging, she’d yet to see any wrinkles on his still-young
forehead. His complexion was slightly dull and ashen still, Golzar noted, but
there was a bit of copper in his cheeks. “Goddess, I – needed – the fresh air.”
He looked between them and
huffed. “Come on in then, if you want to keep me indoors so badly.”
-
Gerhard led them into a
sitting room in the infirmary. With the door shut, there was still a flood of
orange evening sun from the windows, which were all prised open to let in an
abundance of spring air. Golzar pressed her lips together. Her gaze flitted to
Gerhard for a second, but she quickly looked away.
In the corner of her eye,
she saw Bryn do the same.
The floor was hard-packed
dirt, as it was in the main rooms of most houses here. Golzar remembered rumours
during the war, especially in the countryside areas of Witchfield, that every
house in the capital was furnished with at least thin rushes. Rumours often
said more about their speaker than their subject.
They each dragged out a
chair from around a squat wooden table.
As he sat down, Gerhard
threaded his hand through his hair, a nervous gesture, as though he was going
to undo and retie it – but then he stopped himself. Golzar watched him. She
realised her back was tensing, as if getting ready for a fight. Steel grey eyes
narrowed at Golzar. “Why were you picking fights with the Lions again?”
“Ha! I knew you would bring
that up – “
Bryn, the snitch, looked
between the two of them.
“ – what, did Thornston
come crying to you again?”
“N-nevermind who told me,”
said Gerhard. He folded his arms. “I know you do this every time, and so why
would it be different this time? Either way, we need to talk about this.”
His voice dropped. “You’re
a commander now. People are watching you.”
As if they hadn’t been
watching before. Golzar scoffed. She knew she was mirroring his posture,
crossing her arms loosely as she turned away from his burning stare. Suddenly
even the open windows weren’t giving her enough air.
Gerhard went on. “Don’t you
think you’ve been too reckless? I know it’s not easy, but we’re not at war
anymore. They won’t let things slide so easily now that they don’t need us to
fight their battles.”
By ‘they’, Gerhard meant
the nobles. Golzar could see a couple of expensive hooves trotting down the
street through the windows just then. White mares with gold-tipped horseshoes
that shined in the sun. Her two companions turned at the sound of clopping. She
continued to stare. Who were these people to come running into the square when
much of the city had been ruined to rubble?
“Golz’, you okay?” Bryn’s
voice was low and unusually earnest.
Golzar turned to look at
them. She quirked the corner of her lip. “I am in excellent shape.”
“But y’know Gerhard – “ she
said with a false casualness, canting her head to one side “ – maybe I want
them to see me.”
The knot in his eyebrows
deepened. “What do you mean?”
“I mean someone needs to
teach these guys a lesson.” Golzar narrowed her eyes. “You’re right. The war’s
over. And now all the nobles see is a bunch of mercenaries left to run loose –
chevalier or not.”
“Nobles?”
“Don’t tell me you don’t
realise they’re the ones pulling all the strings. If they influence the Queen
enough, they could get her to revoke anything the heroes have earned for
ourselves – including our freedom.”
Bryn stared at their lap
quietly throughout all this.
“And besides,” Golzar went
on. “I don’t like what some of the troops think they have the right to. If it
were up to me, I wouldn’t let them go on like this. And given I’m in the
Council now . . . ” Her tone of voice inclined upwards, almost anticipatory.
Bryn let out a sigh,
beginning to twiddle their thumbs. “Why d’ya hide in a backalley then.”
“Hmm?”
“If you wanted them to see
you.”
A silence passed among the
three. Golzar’s gaze was downcast. She glared at a chip in the table’s edge.
“Well. Because they’re not ready.”
“You think they ever will
be?” Gerhard folded his hands on the table, leaning forward. Before he could continue,
though, Bryn interrupted.
“S’long as we don’t get
into too much trouble.” Hazel eyes glanced away from the two. Then, as if
pushing further, Bryn turned around in their chair, resting both legs on the
side and leaning their elbow on the wooden back. “Didn’t sign up for this just
to get thrown back into serfdom.”
Golzar opened her mouth to
speak, but Gerhard raised a hand. Out of habit, the both of them fell back into
old patterns, their old relationship as commander and captain.
Bryn crossed their legs,
trying to act casual. “I mean, if ya’ ask me, I’d take the troops and run,
y’know? Now we’ve got enough loot to spare us.”
Golzar felt her lips twist
into a scowl at the suggestion. No one was looking anyone in the eye. A window
creaked, blown by the wind.
When Gerhard spoke, it
broke the silence. “Before all that . . . remember we’ve that dinner to plan.”
“Dinner?” Golzar and Bryn
said simultaneously.
“Your inauguration dinner?
You’ll have to host it at our new quarters – I mean – our halls.” Gerhard
rolled his eyes.
“Oh. Pleasantries.” Golzar
smirked. “No worries, Gerry. I’ll charm them well enough.”
“They’re not just
pleasantries, Golzar.” Gerhard’s stern grey eyes met hers earnestly. Seemingly
out of nowhere, he unrolled a scroll that spread over the table and then
spilled over the edge.
“What,” Bryn said, turning
back to him, a glint of engagement in their eyes. “That your list of fans?”
“No, this was my action
plan from when I hosted my inauguration dinner some years back.”
“You’ve kept it all this
time?” Bryn almost groaned.
“Heh – resourceful as
always, Gerhard!” Golzar appraised the neat handwriting. She remembered how
she’d taught Gerhard to write late into the night at camp, the candle
flickering over the thin sheets they used for messages in war. Ever since then,
Gerhard filled in scroll after scroll of lists, inventories and, sometimes,
names.
“I didn’t tell you back
then because I didn’t want to cause you worry, but the inauguration dinner is .
. . crucial. For determining who in the Council gets to stay and who leaves.
William is very particular that Councillors can show up the nobility on their own
turf. You understand me?”
Golzar nodded, a thoughtful
frown coming across her features.
“And if you want a good
name in the Council, you’re going to have to do more than not mess up,” Gerhard
said. “You’re going to have to impress. Gather . . . supporters, even at this
stage.”
“What do you mean by
‘supporters’?” Golzar asked, arching an eyebrow.
“Loyalists, at best.”
Gerhard’s voice did not falter, even with the rasp that had worsened through
the years of war. He cleared his throat. “I . . . just want you to be secure
before you start anything. I know you don’t always want to listen to me, but .
. .”
“Yeah. Yeah, I understand.”
Golzar chipped in quickly, before things could get awkward. She reached out and
patted one of Gerhard’s hands, smiling.
Soon, Bryn excused
themself. Said they were going out for some air. Night time had fallen, and the
keys jangled at the door, marking the return of the healer. Golzar bid Gerhard
goodbye, the scroll tucked safely under her arm.
Midway on the cobblestone
path, she turned around, and she saw that Gerhard was still standing at the
window watching her leave. He raised an arm and waved. A solemn, sad little
wave. Golzar waved back.
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