Of Gods and Warriors ✓

Chapter 13

On Sarge's command, the crossbow-wielding vampire from the watchtower, whose name they learned was Rohana, found them a place to rest in one of the quarters of the garrison and thankfully, some breakfast.

Ah yes. Bread.

Rendarr crashed on a bench immediately afterwards and woke up around midday, not knowing what year it was or why they were in Brittlerock to begin with. While Karles filled him in with the details of their discussion with Linder, Farren swaggered out the door.

"Where're you waltzing off to?" Karles called out.

"Why, for a walk, of course," she said, "places to be and people to see." Things to reclaim.

"Don't end up in prison," said Rendarr.

"Roger that," said Farren. Then waved her unmarked arm, "Though I can probably take another branding. I think."

"Farren!"

She stepped out into the weak sun. Around her, Brittlerock bustled with activity-- miners in grey tunics on their way to and from their shifts, hooves clattering, wagons of coal wheeling past, sending plumes of dust rolling onto the air.

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The walk back from commander Del's office was not a peaceful one for Valerius Linder for two reasons. One, after seven years of being stuck in a mining settlement and with the responsibilities that came with it, he'd finally got something that piqued his interest, but the attack wasn't particularly good news. Two, the sudden re-entry of Clearstrike in his life; that had troubled him from the moment he spotted her outside the window.

Oh, and three, he'd nearly run out of coffee.

Now came the fourth-- someone collided right into him.

"Oh, I'm so, so sorry, Sarge," said Farren, disentangling herself from his cloak, then taking a step back. She was clearly not sorry, if the cheeky grin on her face was any indication. "Almost didn't see you there."

Why, of course, the one figure swathed in black among this pale sea of grey would be almost unnoticeable.

He grinned back. "I'll make sure to hang a plaque from my neck next time, dear Corporal."

"Much obliged, good sir."

"What're you doing out here, anyway?" He frowned.

"Looking around. That much is allowed, yeah?" she said, looking up at him. When he still kept squinting at her, she shook her head, coppery waves swinging.

"Frown any more and your face will get stuck that way. Or perhaps it already has," said Farren, "but I have more pressing concerns than your face. How did you end up in Brittlerock, for instance? You were in the Byton City Watch."

He fought back another frown.

The nineteen year old, fiercely righteous city guard he once was, who had chased her down all those years ago would never engage in conversation with such a crook. That version of Linder believed he was cleansing the city from the illegal magical dealings that went down in the dark alleys of the Silver Knife Square.

And that the act would bring him glory, recognition -- a chance to be chosen among the finest warriors of the king's very own Royal Guard.

He'd been ever so wrong.

His eyes found hers again. Though she looked every bit as swindling and cheeky she was back then, things were not quite the same. Nor was he nineteen anymore, and the years at the mine had diminished the edge from his foolish idealism, leaving only questions. Many of them.