They had talked that morning, after Joy had freshened herself up but before his spirits had been crushed by the realities of traveling North in a cart designed to carry all of his necessities and then some. Ennis had tried to make the conversation as pleasant as possible, but he quickly learned that the prepped pageantry of his polite proposition did not work well with the woman. If anything, it spurred and provoked her, sending the hungover woman into a tirade of graphic threats that made Ennis truly thankful that he had confiscated her arms the night before. Inevitably, his hand was forced to cast one of his spells; thankfully, he had a memory of just the right one. Joy’s threats were turned into the dribbling goos and gahs of an infant. The sound of her voice speaking in tongues threw her off of her verbal assault, allowing enough time for Ennis to make his point. In short, they needed each other.
During her rant, she had called it blackmail. Ennis hated that word. He had said it was not blackmail, really, but an act of mutual cooperation. He needed someone who would be loyal to him, someone who could watch his back, and, with the absence of his steward Yan, someone who would help him to, bluntly, live. Ennis could hardly take care of himself in civilization; he would not know the first step of survival when traveling in the wilds and he did not fool himself that the Sentinels would care about the well-being of a H’kelan Ambassador. He knew they wouldn’t actually let him die, or at least he believed that, but he doubted they’d care about him maintaining a certain proper quality of life. And he needed someone to cook for him, too, but enough of that. In short, he needed someone to guard him.
He felt that Joy was the ideal person to do so. Not because she looked the toughest (that honored would belong to the large and foreboding Shadar) nor because she seemed the most sympathetic towards him (she actively seemed to despise him the most, actually, although he doubted the others were thrilled about having a H’kelan with them). No, Joy was the right candidate because she needed him as much as he needed her. Ennis, after all, was guarding the one secret that could spell the end to the woman’s life, or at least her happy reunion with the Serio family. And she did have a certain talent for avoiding danger that would prove useful. Ennis had personally witnessed the woman escape death by a squad of the Kirun’s guards after a botched attempt to burglarize a lone traveling merchant.
So, in short, if Joy kept Ennis alive then her secret career as a bandit was kept safe with him; if she allowed him to die than a copy of his will would certainly find its way to the Queen of Barcea, complete with an expose on the former bandit. As long as he was alive, they both won. So, mutualism, not blackmail. Besides, she was a wanted criminal in the Kirun. As its future ruler, her life was rightfully his to control. Ennis was pleased to see that Joy was much more understanding once she was able to form proper sentences again. And then she had taken whatever feeling of satisfaction he held and stomped it underfoot.
His back hurt. His hips ached. His stomach growled in pain. He was dusty. He was dirty. The road ahead seemed to lead on for miles, and although they were heading up into the allegedly chilly North the sun beat down on him and drenched him in sweat. He stunk. The horses stunk. The outdoors stunk. Life stunk. He gave the woman next to him a look of pure malice. She showed no signs of his weariness. This was her fault; a final act of defiance against him before she fully submitted to their joint beneficiary argument, perhaps? Ennis pulled his hat off of his head, his blonde hair falling loosely around his face as he furiously fanned himself. As they passed by sacked village after sacked village he would make a sound of quiet disappointment. At first it was a simple, quiet whimper. By the third village it was a loud, exasperated, and overly dramatic groan.
“Whining will not make any of this easier, Cade,” said Joy, tersely.
The woman did not look towards Ennis, but he knew there was contempt on her face. Truly, it would be so much easier on the both of them if she just accepted the situation that they were in. He was quite a likable fellow once you took the time to know him, or at least Ennis thought as much.
“I don’t see why we could not have taken the carriage until we got to Gurata,” said Ennis, huffing and grunting between each word. Although riding horseback was not as relaxing as it seemed, the pace they were keeping was not one that would tire any normally fit traveler. An out-of-shape pencil pusher like Ennis, however, felt like they should have rested every hour. Gurata wasn’t going to disappear if it took them a day longer, and if it did, well, they had bigger problems on their hand than a war.
“Carriages attract bandits,” said Joy.
“Not ones guarded by a gaggle of Sentinels, some recruits, a death crawler, a...,” he paused, still not having a proper word for describing Shadar yet. Perhaps if he did not immediately pass out once they made camp he’d have the opportunity to get to properly know the man. Assuming of course he didn’t distract himself with a little bit of innocent flirting--his eyes glanced between Diana and Lyrena. He heard Joy scoff next to him.
How did she!? He shot her a nervous glance, but she was looking towards the horizon.
Just my imagination then, he thought. “And my personal guard,” he added with a ribbing smile. He still had not learned that Joy did not appreciate humor. “Although I suppose you would know first hand.”
“I may not know magic,” said Joy. “But I know how to make a man stop talking.”
“If I’m not mistaken, making sure that my tongue continues to wag is part of your duty now, Vesta.”
Using her old name, her real name had been his idea. He had recognized her by her face, but he knew that others could recognize the bandit by her moniker. There were plenty of Joys in the world, sure, but not nearly as many walked with a limp and armed themselves to the teeth. There was only one Vesta Debove, and she had the respect and admiration of Barcea’s royal family. A far better identity to have on the road than a shared nickname with a H’kelan and Guratan bandit.
“Then you should listen to me. The carriage was a bad idea,” said Vesta.
“Fine,” he said with a resigned sigh. Silence lingered between them as their horses continued to trot side by side down the road. Ennis looked around at the group--the one H’kelan in a bunch of Barceans and, well, wherever Shadar came from. While there was sparse conversation here and there, they all seemed like a rather somber bunch. It was quite understandable, he imagined he would not have been chattering like a schoolgirl if he was traveling by the newly formed ruins of his fellow H’kelans. He had overheard from someone that Calypso and Etsuko would not be joining them on their trek North. He was disappointed by that bit of news. Having a fortune teller would certainly have been advantageous, and the two were certainly more pleasant to look at than the smoldering villages and dirt road.
“When are we going to rest,” said Ennis a short while later after the previous ruined village disappeared from the horizon.
“When we find somewhere that your people haven’t destroyed,” said Vesta, her eyes still glancing around the horizon.
Ennis sighed. “You’re not very fun to talk to.”
“I was only speaking the truth,” said Vesta.
“Yes, but you could have said it nicer,” offered Ennis.
“What is the point in hiding the truth?” she said.
“I’m just saying...wait, was that a joke? Aha, coming from you I...I didn’t...I.” Vesta shot Ennis a crippling glare. He bolted upright in his saddle. She was not smiling. “Oh.”
“I’m going to scout ahead,” she announced loudly to the group.
Ennis held up his hand to command his newly appointed guard to wait, but the woman spurred her horse and bolted ahead of the group before he, or anyone else, could say anything.
Joy Vesta
She felt a tinge of guilt surge through her as she rode past the Prince. She should have spent the half day of riding in the front with him, learning what she could about him, his sister, and his men. Instead, that rat bastard Ennis had insisted that she ride in the back at her side. After all, she was his quote-unquote man now, and it would be best if they got used to each other. Like she would want to ever get chummy with a H’kelan dog, especially one that was a Cade. Was this some petty revenge for humiliating his brother nearly two decades ago? The boy wasn’t even old enough to remember that. Was he truly so self-righteous that he felt it was his responsibility to punish her for the crimes she had committed in the past? Vesta gritted her teeth. The other shoe had finally dropped. She knew the Cades. They were cutthroat. The minute she stopped being useful, he would reveal the information about her past to the Serios regardless of their deal. H’kelans were without honor, or so she thought.
It felt good to ride; it distracted her from ache in her head. The constant tightness in her wounded knee was replaced by an oddly pleasant ache. She unpinned her hair, allowing the wind to whip it freely as it blasted coolly against her face. She urged her horse forward faster and faster. It was a good horse, she could tell already. If she had to give H’kelans one compliment, it was that they knew how to raise and train thoroughbreds. She’d break ahead for a few span, and then she would let the horse rest while the others caught up. There would be nothing of interest to report; she doubted Cyril would want to hear about another destroyed village if she came upon one anyway. Just ride, escape, feel free for a moment. She smiled; laughed. It sounded strange.
Running away again, Joy? Can’t even handle an idiot boy pretending to be a man?The smile on her face faltered. Was she running away because of Ennis? She may have been accepted by the Serios, but that didn’t change the fact that she was still a coward. She had been fleeing for years now; the childish adoration of a few orphans wouldn’t change anything. So what if Ennis revealed her history? What would she lose if she was no longer revered by a bunch of children pretending to be rulers?
Everything comes to mind, she thought.
I...I need a drink.A mirage appeared out of the haze on the horizon. Vesta blinked; her vision focused. It was a village. Surely, it should be destroyed by the others, but this one appeared to be fine. She could see the tiny, moving bodies of villagers going about their business. No piles of corpses. No clouds of ash. No sulfuric smell of the dead. It was no illusion. One of the villages on the H’kelan war path had made it. She spurred her horse forward towards the village. Do not fool yourself into thinking that she went out of the desire to return a report back to Cyril, or to warn the villagers about the possibility of a H’kelan attack, or to see how they somehow managed to be unharmed. No. A village usually meant a tavern, and a tavern meant a momentary relief from her Ennis-shaped pain in the neck. Just a few drinks. No harm could come from a few drinks.
Ennis
“Oh thank goodness,” said Ennis with a huff, falling in behind the Prince as the crowd began to form. Civilization at last. He dismounted and gave a stretch; his body screamed in opposition. That meant they could rest, have a lunch, perhaps spend an evening listening to some fine folk music. The villagers of Barcea might have been simpletons, but he had been surprised by more than one in their skills with a lute. He doubted this place had a hot spring, but perhaps they had a bath. A bath would be nice after a hard day’s ride. The realization of what it meant for there to be an actual village standing on this road after the previous three disaster sites was a slow, dawning one.
“Thank goodness this one was spared,” he said slowly, correcting himself. The word spared would stick out like a sore thumb, as if the man did not believe that the H’kelan regulars would have possibly been defeated by these bumpkins. In actuality, he was just thankful that there was a chance that the H’kelans had stopped their onslaught. The more damage they did now, the harder he’d have to work to mitigate retaliation to his country later. “Thank Danmun.” Another poor choice of words. The ambassador was too exhausted from the road to properly censor his bias to something more appropriate for the sensitive Barcean ears.
Ennis listened with bated breath as the Prince brought the crowd to a silence with one sentence. Finally, one woman stepped forward. Ennis’s eyes lit up in amazement as he noticed her ears and tail. He had seen nonhumans before, but the experiences were few and far between. He nodded with a childlike enthusiasm as she told her tale. And what a tale it was. A wry smile formed on his face as she explained that two “angels”, well, Divineborn had intervened on the behalf of this village to stop the H’kelan army. His youthful amusement shifted into adult annoyance as she continued describing how the two Divineborn had beaten the army back without actually defeating any of its men. By the time she was done, his arms were folded across his chest and his wry smile had shifted into a condescending frown.
How ridiculous.“You’re quite a storyteller,” said Ennis, beating the Prince to a reply. His voice was no heavier than usual and did not lack his general politeness, but one look at his face revealed that he was anything but appreciative. He looked at the woman with the same face someone would look at the bottom of their boot after stepping in a cowpie, his dark eyes burrowing down his upturned nose through her. “But this isn’t a pub, and your Prince did not ask you to spin him a yarn” There was an emphasis on the word
your, hinting towards Ennis’s actual feelings on Cyril. “Perhaps the less fantastic version time?”
“Sod off, Cade,” spoke Vesta, leading her horse through the crowd. She stepped between the ambassador and the Prince. She gave Cyril a nod. Ennis frowned. That woman was getting very good at showing up out of nowhere to insult him. “Sorry for not returning sooner. I can verify her story. I’ve heard at least ten versions similar enough to it from others in town.”
To his credit, Ennis took little time to reverse his position. Roses blossomed on his cheek as he tore off his hat, placed it against his breast, and bowed deeply to the nonhuman woman. He winced as a pain shot through his spine. Damn horses.
“My deepest apologies, Miss. I meant no insinuations by my statement, and to say that I am exhausted from the road--while true--would not excuse my rudeness, nor should it. I do not deserve your forgiveness, although I do ask of it. Ah, let’s start again,” he said, straightening himself up. “My name is Ennis Cade, and I meant it as a compliment when I said you’re quite a storyteller. You have a fantastic way with words. I was absolutely enthralled by your telling of this...well, not a story. Encounter? Yes, this encounter.” The groan that escaped from Vesta was uncharacteristically loud. “Vesta, manners please, introduce yourself--no, never mind, I’ll do it, you’d just make me look like a fool.” And Ennis was already doing a good enough job of that alone. “This is my man, Vesta Debove.” The woman reflexively bristled at being called Ennis’s man.
“May I ask your name, Miss?” said Ennis, stepping forward. Any hints of disdain were now completely gone. “You wouldn’t happen to be a minstrel, would you? Oh, not to imply that you’d have to be a minstrel or a--” Ennis wisely shut his mouth and gave the woman an apologetic look. He was rambling again.
“What an asshole,” muttered Vesta under her breath.
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Antlers,
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ML,
Simply Not Real,
Cosmic,
NoriWasHere,
Blizz,
Passable Writer,
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