Of Gods and Warriors ✓

Chapter 12

"Oh, Valerius Linder, you say?" said Karles to the night-archer, then began ushering the other two along toward the garrison. "Come on, I know him. We were in the same training squad, Valerie and I."

"'Valerie'? Quite a nickname, that." Farren gave him an amused smile, "he an old pal?"

"Strange, you never told us of him." Rendarr rubbed his red-rimmed eyes as he ambled along. "And he's posted not far from Kinallen, too."

"We uh, sort of drifted apart," said Karles after a moment of hesitation. "Last I heard of him, he was to join the Byton city watch, at the capital. Mind you, that was some six--no, seven years ago."

"How come your Valerie ended up here in Brittlerock, then? It's nowhere near the capital," said Farren, tapping her chin as she looked up to the upper storey window.

There, framed by a backdrop of gloomy lamplight, a tall silhouette regarded them silently as they approached. Although it was hard to make out a face through the haze, Farren felt a steady gaze pierce right through her. As soon as their eyes met, the figure lurched out of sight, followed by a clatter which sounded like several things falling and hitting creaky floorboards.

The stairs squeaked beneath her boots as they climbed, fine coal dust rising in tiny clouds with each step. Looking as though on the verge of collapsing from exhaustion, Rendarr knocked at the door. A moment of silence. Then some rattles and clunks.

"It's unlocked," said a calm, deep voice.

Farren ran a hand through her mussed hair in an attempt to look somewhat presentable, but to no avail. The rough winds had moulded it into an untamable bush.

The smell of coffee and old books, with a hint of coal-dust welcomed them as they stepped into the cramped room.

Sergeant Linder stood at the window with his back to them, watching the first wagons of coal being loaded near the pit. Tall and broad-shouldered, his long, dark hair was worn in a half-up fashion, an old custom among Midaelian warriors-- which much flattered his stature.

For a moment, Farren thought the night-archer outside must have mistakenly directed them to an officer of the vampires, for the black and silver cloak draped on his shoulders was of the sort in fashion in Valston city up north for its cold climate; a notion proven wrong as he turned to them. His eyes were not crimson, but a dark grey.

And he was looking directly at her.

"So," he said with the air of a man who had evidently practiced his lines. "We meet again, Clearstrike."

Farren didn't think she had met this man, ever, in her life.

Of course, she decided to play along.

"Oh please," said Farren with as much smugness she could muster, "it was meant to be. We have unfinished business."

Perhaps. Did I swindle you in some pub, sir?

It was clear from his look he was not convinced. "What unfinished business? Our business was quite clearly finished when I arrested you."

"Oh," Farren could only manage. "You did?"

She glanced at Karles and Rendarr, who seemed to compete against each other on who could wear the utterly-bewildered expression better.

While her arrest was no secret to perhaps the entirety of Kinallen's soldiers, her thief's brand being quite self explanatory; who would've thought an old buddy of Karles had been the guard who did so?

Linder began to make his way across the room to reach her; what he clearly intended to be a menacing stride marred by how cramped the room was.

He had to dodge the paper strewn desk, shuffle past a stack of empty coffee cups precariously balanced on the floor and with an outstretched hand, stop a huge ledger about to fall from an overstuffed bookshelf. Then finally, he stood towering before her.