Meanwhile, on the Road to Pesti, four hours prior When the Delvings arrived at the first barrier, it was clear that the Sergeant was not exaggerating.
Thorns and vines, and roots and more prickly barbs that made words plant and violence didn't sound very unrelated at all. Even the most lighthearted of them all recoiled when she tried to test the jutting pricker with her fingers.
"Ouw!" "I said, stand back! Why are you not listening?!" Barked Silas, facepalming before turning to one of his lieutenants who just returned from a light recon duty.
"What you've got?"Whoever planted these things was sure meticulous," answered the lieutenant.
"The wall stretched far into the woods, and I couldn't see the edge of it without risking an hour or two to observe further. Sir, suggesting to take a detour perhaps?" Silas looked up to the sky. The wind was picking up and the storm he saw earlier is still raging in the distance. He had been a seaman for years, and reading the weather was something he had mastered. He knew how and when a hurricane would form, down to the exact location and hour. But this one was different; it was too erratic and formed in a place where it had no business to appear. It looked...very unnatural and the forming was all too instantaneous, like something conjured by a man.
The question was, who did that?
"We are running out of time, Lieutenant. But I will consider it.' The word was calm, masking the swelling anxiety that was building inside him. It was surprisingly easier compared to finding the answer to his immediate problem; The thick hedge that seemed sturdier than any city wall he ever encountered.
A slash to an overreaching vine severed it clean, but his saber barely make any overall damage to the wall when a new branch sprouted down from the severed stalk and refortify it.
He slashed again, this time with his power imbued to his blade, it cut as cleanly as before and this time the sprouting halted. But to imagine how many swings needed to get through, Silas had to rethink for a better solution.
Should they really use tallows and burn their swords red?
A sound of metal swinging in the air alerted him, and to the extent, his subordinates as well, but they found no enemy. It was just Kirsten who stood in a steady stance, facing the ever-growing thicket with her large blade drawn. It was easy to dismiss her charade as immature things someone did when bored, but when the golden glow illuminated her zweihander, everyone suddenly remembered that she was still a Delving.
The first swing cut a swathe of thorny vines like wet noodles. The maid advanced forward, swinging the second strike as she entered deeper into the wall, more swings followed in rhythmical but powerful onslaughts. Embers ignited and died out in every stem she severed, but the plant shriveled and died soon after. When she nearly reached the end of the wall, pieces of dried thorns could be seen sticking into her maid uniform, but her long, leather boots provided ample protection to keep her footwork remain undisturbed until she completely waltzed through.
The maid barely broke any sweat when she greeted her brother and smiled triumphantly.
"I win this one!" ***
With Kirsten in the frontline, the second barrier of thorns proved to be a trivial obstacle for them to reach Fanghorn. Silas remembered how menacing it looked compared to the one that blocked the road to Pesti, but Kirsten mowed down everything on her path with no problem.
It was a simple trick, he told to himself, part of it served as a consolation. The same power Kirsten used was also the power he had been mastering for years, the difference was, he didn't have the endurance and stamina to reliably swing that slab of steel Kirsten had been lugging every day for the last ten years. Really, his father didn't give her enough credit. How on earth she was a maid?
It was raining hard after they passed the second thorns, but then it stopped not long after. All quiet when they reached the Fanghorn outskirts, and it was strange. The province might be underdeveloped, but its people had to make a living one way or another. Yet here they were riding through an empty road. The field was deserted as well, and every house closed its door and windows. Not even a single livestock could be seen loitering around.
Riding closer to the walled city of Fanghorn, the place looked like it just survived a siege. The destroyed bridge could be seen before they entered the gate, and Silas' heart raced when he noticed charred stains on almost everything, and the chilling aura despite the sun shining through the cloudless sky from the western horizon.
The damage to the peak of the tower was apparent as if it had been stricken by dozens of thunder. From up here, Silas saw a man hunkering on its ruined rampart, watching carefully as the party rode slowly toward the gate.
Only after entering the city, Silas began to see some activity from the local populace. Naturally far from rejoicing at his arrival, they were lamenting, either for their injured or deceased loved ones or damaged dwelling to the lost belongings. He couldn't help but shake his head, though his concern was more on the political aftermath rather than an empty as a human being.
"What... what happened?"That question brought a pang like never before. Indeed, this was too much, this was not something he agreed to help. Would his father condone this unnecessary damage? Who would be responsible for this?
"I don't know. Let's keep moving." He didn't know, yet knew at the same time. It could be the work of the Wizard his father hired. No matter how sagacious they presented themselves to be, the mage's intelligence lies in the tomes they read and nothing else. They were as witless as peasants next door when it comes to political savviness and this... this was what he was talking about. A foolish endeavor, so excessive, and could bring forth a political calamity.
Then, there was the second cause. The more their horses trotted, the more he thought about it, and the more Silas felt his heart sink deeper into his stomach.
Baker's words suddenly echoed in his mind, and the wailings of the villagers sounded eerily clearer in his ears.
This could be a glimpse of what a King can do when he felt betrayed. A picture of his siblings, his family, and his home appeared before him.
When a powerful man got desperate, his anger would burn indiscriminately. Then that very image faded in a smoky haze.
Save your family from this madness!Shaking his head off from that terrible thought and back to reality, the Admiral realized that the tower was ahead of them now, all they need to do now was to dismount and climb the grassy hills through a muddy path.
"He is still up there," said Kirsten, trying to keep up the pace.
"I wonder who is he..." Again the Admiral offered no answer. The sentry was likely to be the King's Agent, and it was apparent now that what he feared was real. However, the Admiral refrained from saying anything that would color this enterprise with a more depressing tone.
"Don't look at him. Keep your wits about you and just follow my instruction. Let me do the talking. Trust me, this mission calls for deliberate and appropriate actions, our family's status is at stake here." And without elaborating further, the eldest of the Delving siblings took the final steps toward the courtyard of the tower. The place no longer had a door fitted, but he did not forget his mannerism; stopping right on the threshold, he called politely.
"Well-met, fellow Kingsmen." Looking at Mitalda, Silas lowered his head in a slight bow.
"And, Milady Matilda." There was nothing for a while but a cold wind howling into the room. Silas observed the people in front of him; some of them he recognized; Beside Matilda, there was Yvonne from the Rosenving clan and The King's Secret Bodyguard whose name he did not know. The unrecognized rest were an unconscious man that seemed too ordinary, a white-haired young man with a perpetual wolfish grin, and a tall, yet slightly hunched gentleman wearing a very pronounced attire.
"I believe our meetings were not a mere happenstance. Can I speak to the Baron of the House? May I enter?" As far as Silas was concerned, he had chosen his words carefully.
