"I'm afraid I don't even know your name," Daron said.
"You can call me Leif, sir. It's what the other's have called me long enough."
Daron drug over his own chair, and eased himself into it. His muscles groaned with the effort, worn from the fight. A lamp flickered fitfully on the table, throwing stark shadows about the tent.
"It's hard to say much, my lord," Leif said, scratching at his scraggly beard. "They came at sundown. Most of us were enjoying our evening meal with our families. They kicked in the doors and had us chained in the back of their wagons before we could finish chewing. Not many of us have any experience at fighting. A few of us put up a good tumble, but they got knocked around pretty quick." He paused, drumming his fingers on the table. "I saw perhaps two dozen when they rolled us away."
"Did they say anything? Any indication to their purpose there, or make any demands?"
"No, sir. They barely spoke at all, except to order us around or tell us to keep the young ones quiet."
"I promise they'll be repaid in full for what they did," Daron said gravely. Leif nodded, troubled. It was evident the man wanted nothing more than to be away from there, and Daron could hardly blame him. They knew nothing useful, and questioning him more was pointless. He needed to get them to safety, and maybe ask some questions later.
Daron rose, and offered his hand to Leif, who shook it with a timid and shaking grip. He tried to smile as reassuringly as possible, but it likely wouldn't matter. They'd gone from one armed group to another, Justice or not. They had little reason to feel safe out in the woods, with only three to protect them.
Most of the common folk regarded Justices with a mixture of awe and fear, Daron knew. A force created by the gods to do their will, submitting to no higher authority. A Justice could judge you guilty of your crimes and hasten you on to meet the gods. It was only done to criminals, of course, but that didn't change the way people looked at them. Respect and fear.
He and Leah had already searched the tent, finding very little useful. It was clearly only intended for sleeping, and not some sort of command center as he'd hoped. Why were they camped out here, away from whatever group they were a part of? No clues were anywhere to be found, though Daron did find a small sketchbook full of charcoal drawings. The pages were packed with depictions of a regal looking building, surmounted by a dozen squat towers and a rounded dome, the walls carved with statues of powerful looking men and women. The final page was less artful, being nothing more than a series of meandering hashed lines, which seemed to Daron to have no purpose. He stuffed it into a pocket.
It didn't take long to get everyone ready to move. They'd fed on what little there was, and despite being exhausted from their ordeal, the thought of staying longer gave everyone enough energy for the walk ahead. It was nearly ten miles back to Upper Terrin, and with everyone tired and underfed, along with the elderly and children, it would probably be a five hour or more journey. His own eyelids felt heavy and leaden, but it would be a long while before he could find some solace. Duty first.
He stepped back out and fixed the last remaining sentry with an icy stare, while stifling a yawn. It wouldn't do to show how tired he was while questioning the man. Squatting down, he regarded the man in silence. Blood crusted the lower half of his face, and each breath was a wet half sob. He could feel Leah close at hand behind him, likely with her sword at the ready.
"Now what am I going to do with you?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper. He hoped he sounded threatening, but likely sounded more tired than anything.
"You broke my nose, you damn bastard," the man snarled. Pink spittle flew.
"That's not making a good impression," he chided. "We could have easily killed you like your companions."
"Not too late for that," Leah said.
"I can't just leave you behind, you see. If you're discovered before we come back, you'll be given a weapon again and that's just one more I have to cut down later."
"Cripple him," Leah suggested. "He won't be holding a sword if we take one of his hands."
Daron wasn't sure if she was joking. If he wasn't sure, and then likely their captive was just as clueless. He smiled grimly at her statement, and made an air of pondering it seriously.
"Which hand do you use?" he asked cheerfully. "If we hacked off your good hand, you won't be sticking me with a sword later."
Eyes wide, the man glanced between Daron and Leah. Daron could see his thoughts working frantically behind them, weighing options.
"A foot as well," Leah said, sliding forward past him. The man fixated on the blade in the flickering fire light. "We can't have him walking back to the others and flapping his lips."
"It seems it's in your best interest to talk," Daron said.
"We were just guarding the villagers," the man muttered. "I don't know what for."
"You're not making a very convincing argument. You're certainly not giving me any reason to let you walk out of here. Tell the truth, now. I can tell if you're lying."
For emphasis, Daron slid his sword from its scabbard with agonizing slowness, letting the rasping sound linger in the air. The man flinched away as Daron muttered a prayer, the blade flaring into brilliant white light. He laid the tip carefully against the man's shoulder.
"It was for some ritual," the man snarled. "Kerris has some magic he needed them for."
Daron focused, and the light flared, washing through the camp. He could feel all eyes of the villagers on him, watching in hesitation. Respect and fear, he thought. The light was blindingly painful, but he kept it up. The prisoner squinted his eyes closed and shifted away, but Daron put the slightest pressure on the blade, biting through his shirt and drawing a fine line of blood from his shoulder.
"What sort of ritual?" He didn't need to fake the ice in his voice. He'd never heard of any magic that needed the living, but nothing his imagination could conjure was good.
"I have no idea," he howled, toppling to one side. Hands tied behind his back, he rolled forward and landed on his cheek, drawing a painful sob as the shock ran through his broken nose. Daron let the light fade away and slid the sword away.
He grabbed the man roughly by the shoulder, right at the cut. It wasn't more than a scratch, but the man flinched anyway. Daron shoved him forward, pushing him along and into one of the open cages. Slamming the door shut, he stalked away back to Leah.
"They'll likely find him and free him," she said. Her eyes bored past him and into the caged man.
"I'm not going to kill an unarmed man," he said, shaking his head. "He's not the one we need to be worrying about. We've got to get these people out of here."
She nodded, but her gaze lingered on the man as he collapsed down to the iron floor of the cage, curled into a ball. Her face was clouded, deep thoughts swirling within. Would she have killed him, if he'd asked? It wasn't as if the man's hands were clean of this atrocity. Did she see the men that killed her uncle in him?
He'd take the man back to town to be judged for his crimes, but the villagers were a priority, and there was no way he could safely march the prisoner back alongside the villagers. He motioned for Leah to follow, and headed towards the bedraggled refuges.
The group moved out, moving through the forest at a slow crawl. The only light they had was the lantern from the tent, which had been snatched up by Leif. Daron considered using his sword for light or causing something else to glow, but feared the display of such abilities would only cause more anxiety, so they walked in subdued light.
Leif lead the group, lantern in one hand, with Daron and Leah a few steps behind. It was best to let them be led by one of their own, he decided. It wasn't long before Martin caught up to them, huffing slightly as he fell into step beside them.
"We should have you home shortly," Daron told him.
"Oh, I don't live in Mediya," Martin said. "I just had the appalling misfortune to be visiting."
Daron nearly stopped in surprise. He threw a sidelong glance at the fastidious man.
"For what reason were you visiting, if you don't mind me asking?"
"This area is the longest continually habited land known," Martin said. His voice took on a clinical, almost lecturing tone. "There are ruins dotted around these parts that were built in the dawn of our history. I came to study them."
"Study ruins?"
"I am somewhat of a historian, with a dash of archaeologist mixed in," Martin said with pride.
Daron blinked. "What now?" Leah snickered.
"I study human society, mostly through old texts and ancient ruins," he said, deflated that Daron hadn't recognized his importance. "This area is positively littered with ruins, though some are little more than fallen stones and oddly marked rocks. A lot of the farmers in the area still churn up a piece or two of interesting stonework every decade or so. It's sort of frowned upon by the church, begging my lord's pardon. They feel any interesting history would have been written down or divinely inspired."
"Where do you hail from, and then?" Daron glanced back as he talked, keeping an eye on the assembled mass behind him.
"Takaria."
"You're a long ways from home, and then."
Martin paused for a moment. "I had a bit of a falling out with some important people," he admitted. "I decided to pursue my scholarly calling a bit more, ah, vigorously at that point."
"That must be an interesting tale," Daron laughed.
"Not as much as you might think, but perhaps someday I might tell it." He yawned, and shook his head lightly. "I'm going to walk at the rear for a bit. Keep an eye out for anything unusual." He threw a quick glance at Daron, and added, "Or your friends, of course."
"It would be appreciated."
With a flourished bow, Martin retreated into the shadows. Daron plodded along, focusing on making sure each step didn't send him sprawling to the forest floor, and glanced at Leah out of the corner of his eye. Her face was withdrawn and brooding, barely keeping note of the path they walked. A few times she tripped on a root or rock, stumbling a step, but hardly seemed to notice.
"You're awfully quiet," he commented. She looked up at him and blinked, as if seeing him for the first time in a while. She nodded absently.
"Just thinking."
"I hope they're good thoughts."
She shrugged, and lapsed back into silence. He sighed a little more loudly than he'd intended, and trudged through the forest. He hoped this was the correct direction. They'd followed wagon tracks in, but he hadn't thought of trying to follow them back out.
A murmur ran through the crowd behind him. Daron stopped, the entire mass of refugees shuddering to a halt. Carefully he drew his sword. After a moment of disorientation, Leah stared at him, and yanked her own blade free. He could hear footsteps jogging along towards him.
Brynn burst into the flickering lantern light. Daron grinned openly as he saw her, relief washing away the exhaustion that gnawed at him and the worry he hadn't realized was there.
She glanced around and frowned. "Jarod and Aiden aren't with you?"
"I haven't seen either since you left for your flank. Excellent job, by the way. They never knew what hit them."
She waved the comment away. "There were other sentries in the darkness. One ran, and I gave chase. When I'd taken care of the loner, I made my way back to the camp, expecting to meet them there. Imagine my surprise when I found it empty."
Daron frowned. "Something else must have caught their attention. Another patrol, perhaps." He refused to give words to the growing feeling of dread in his stomach.
He couldn't just leave the rest of his team alone, possibly in danger. Nor could he just abandon the townsfolk. If there were further thugs in the woods, they'd just be recaptured, or worse. He tried to think of what Jarod would say.
"We've got to make sure these people are safe first. We're taking them to Upper Terrin."
"Good plan," she said, nodding. He decided not to tell her it had actually been Leif's idea. She fell into step beside him, though her gaze always wandered to the darkness closing in around them, desperately seeking any sign of the others. None came.
It was past dawn before Upper Terrin loomed into view. True to Leif's word, two dozen had stayed behind in Mediya, too stubborn to head to the safety that the sprawling city offered. He offered words of encouragement, but prayed silently for their safe keeping. He wished he could offer something more.
Upper Terrin had once been surrounded by an imposing wall, soaring above all but the tallest of buildings. Over time the city had grown outward, first with tents and simple wooden buildings, eventually giving way to actual streets and proper brick buildings. Another wall had been built around this expansion, more for the look than any actual defense, as it had been many thousands of years since the city had been subject to a siege.
The outer gates were wide open, with only a token show of guards keeping watch, nodding encouragingly at people as they passed. Daron doubted the gates could even close any more, the machinery that managed it likely rusted away by now. The guards didn't even blink as Daron led the bedraggled group of villagers in, which put his already sour mood closer to outright rage. Did no one care for the common folk here?
Already a decent amount of traffic was beginning to move in and out of the city. He knew little of the layout of the city, but guessed that the better part of town would be behind the old walls, where the rich and powerful would likely claim the oldest parts of the city for themselves. An inn there would be pricey, but would at least provide ample solace and warm food for the remaining villagers. It was the least he could do, especially if the Order was going to pay.
Even so early in the morning, thick soot clung to the air, mixing with the fog that swirled about the morning streets. They passed over the Nolis bridge, a monumental structure spanning the river as it swept through the city, a series of great arches tall enough for even the largest of steamships to power through. It was wide enough for eight carriages to cross side by side. It was a marvel of engineering, though he was focused resolutely on the task at hand and barely glanced at the craftsmanship.
The Gilded Gavel was a beautiful four story inn, pristine whitewashed walls free of soot. Likely it cost a fairly good lot of silver to keep it so clean. Daron tried not to think of the name and its implications, given how justice worked in the land. He held the door open as the villagers piled in.
The innkeeper was a tall and angular man, sporting a charcoal suit jacket and a look of near astonishment at the crowd that filed in to his common room. Daron pushed himself through the refugees and approached the man, drawing himself up to full height despite a twinge of protest in his back.
"Good morning, friend," Daron said. His tone was anything but friendly. "I need accommodations and food for this lot."
The innkeeper glanced across the huddled mass of villagers, their simple and dirty clothes a stark contrast to the resplendent richness of the inn. Vivid oil paintings lined the walls of deeply stained wood. Daron spied a copy of the painting that adorned the halls where he'd given his oath, beside a beautiful standing clock, taller than he was.
"I would be happy to..."
"Do you have paper and a pen?" Daron interjected. He was in no mood to haggle. The inn would put up the villagers, and he would hear nothing more about it.
The innkeeper blinked, his eyes flicking down to the sword on his hip. Without drawing it, it looked like any other sword, and Daron had no markings that proved he was from the Order. The man nodded slightly, and produced a few sheets of crisp paper and a fountain pen from behind the counter.
Daron penned a quick note, and then paused. "How much for a dozen rooms and food for three days?"
"Seven silver crowns, sir." The man didn't hesitate in his calculations.
Daron tried not to let his shock show. That was an absurd amount of money. Maybe a smaller inn on the fringes of town would have been better. No, after the ordeal they'd been through, he needed to do something for them, but so much money from the church coffers would come back to bite him, he was sure. He jotted down the amount.
Signing it, he fished around in his coin pouch for his ring. It was a silver circlet, beset with the hourglass and flame that represented the Order, twin in sigil to the ones on his cufflinks, one of the oldest symbols mankind had. He never wore the blasted thing, as it was a tad too small. Likely because it had been sized incorrectly, he told himself, rather than from growing too large for it.
"Wax?"
The innkeeper produced some sealing wax from his store of items behind the counter, and a candle, lighting it with a long match. Daron dribbled some on the bottom of the note, and pressed the ring into it, stamping a perfect imprint of the logo there.
"Bring this to the nearest church," Daron said, sliding it across the counter. "They'll recompense you for the expense to your exceptional establishment. And a little extra for your troubles, of course."
The innkeeper snatched it up, his eyes flicking across it. He leveled Daron with a calculating stare. He could feel his age being analyzed. Young or not, he was a Justice of the realm. He waited with as much patience as he could muster while the man decided on a course of action.
Bowing, the innkeeper carefully folded the note and stashed it away behind the counter. Given the amount of a tip Daron had added in, the man should be overjoyed at having these new patrons. Daron would be in the fire when it came time to justify the expense, but that was a problem for another day. For now, the people had a modicum of safety.
He said a hasty goodbye, shaking hands with a few of the villagers and clapping Leif on the back, assuring them they'd be safe there, before pushing his way back out into the city. Daron stood for a moment, steadying himself on the door frame. He'd been awake a full day now, not counting the short nap he'd managed after the fight. It was getting hard to form even the simplest of thoughts.
Leah, Brynn and, to his surprise, Martin came out after him. The historian gave a slight embarrassed smile, tugging on the sleeves of his jacket to straighten them.
"I thought I might continue along with you, for a little while," Martin said.
"You're welcome to join us," Daron replied. "But why are you eager to head back out into that?"
Martin shrugged. "Boredom?" Daron managed a weak grin. The man was nothing if not entertaining.
"What's the plan now?" Brynn asked.
"Why am I the one with the plan?" Daron replied.
"You're the one that got promoted to Justice based on ingenuity," she said, flashing him with a flattering smile. "That makes you the decision maker here, for the moment."
He pondered for a moment, through the haze of fog filling his mind. "We get a carriage and head back to Mediya," he said slowly. "Try and find any sign of Jarod and Aiden in the daylight, and go from there."
It seemed such an obvious thing to be saying, yet the other three simply nodded. Was this what authority felt like? Stating things everyone already knew? He glanced between them and saw a mixture of worry and fear in Leah and Brynn, though Martin seemed to be excited at the prospect. He sighed inwardly and pushed away from the door frame with a shake of his head.
Daron wasn't entirely sure where to find a carriage in the sprawling urban jungle, but a few polite questions gave him the answers they needed. As they threaded their way through the meandering crowds, Daron slid to a halt in the street. Brynn yanked him out of the way of a carriage as he stared dumbly at the building to one side. The driver rained down curses on them as he passed.