Of Gods and Warriors ✓

Chapter 57

When Farren heard that some city-dweller young sorcerer had barged into the main hall, uttered a single sentence to Ryffin and wilted like a potted plant face-first on the floor, it did not surprise her too much.

Compared to her past couple of days with the mercenaries, this was rather tame, thought she as she descended the stairs with Hilda in tow.

Only last night, she'd witnessed the ceremony of a God getting officially enlisted in a group of his own worshippers.

And oh, what a night it was.

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It turned out, Captain Walric's heart was of something far more tougher than steel, for she had them march through the frozen woods in the chilling night, where winds blew harsh and frost bit the bones.

They had walked through parts the soldiers of Kinallen garrison had never ventured into, for those fell far to the north. The young lad about to join the band strode in the lead with the captain for obvious reasons, but hostages such as Farren were not exempt from the ordeal either. Hilda had followed along.

By the Gods, that woman has sorcery in her lute!

The glacial air quivered with the ethereal tunes, sounds Farren had never expected to arise from the strings played the hands of someone who had been drowned in the strongest liquor mere moments ago, so much so she had found it hard to gain her footing. Truly, she had thought the bard would trip over herself after a few paces, or kneel behind some bush, retching.

Yet Hildegard of Goldcrest seemed to find herself when the lacquered, ornate lute adorned her hands, her steps brisk and graceful. Farren followed, a bemused listener.

Boots moving in sync with the mystical melody, the group of twenty cleaved a way through thick foliage to a clearing where stood a circle of standing-stones. A haze hovered in the air, moonbeams falling through it in silver columns across the grass.

Xenro stood between the standing stones, in his woebegone clothes with which he had emerged from Draedona's realm. Sword strapped to his back, tousled hair in a knot, he looked like the survivor of a devastating war. His circlet would have given him the perfect air of a fallen king-- but he had apparently stowed away that piece of ornament somewhere long before.

"Do you swear to serve the Nameless One, in this world and the other?" shouted Captain Walric from where the mercenaries formed a crescent around Xenro. Farren waited, crouched on a rock on the far left--nearest to him, with a rather grand view.

He threw Farren a subtle smile. "Aye, I suppose so," he told the captain. "Da's last wish and all that."

"Jest no more, young one! This is a time-old tradition, and simple as it might be, it must not be taken lightly," snarled Captain Walric, and repeated her question. "Do you swear--"

"I do. Solemnly at that."

"Do you pledge to wield your blade against all evil and provide protection to those in need?"

"Frankly, everyone ought to do that, eh Captain?"

"Fair point. Yet you'll be surprised to find that the world is, in fact, filled with arses. And I'm about to kick yours unless you stop interrupting me."

"Pretty sure that counts as blasphemy," added Farren quietly, to which the God laughed. The captain glared daggers at them both.

"Alright, fine. Get going with your rites, my mouth is sealed," he said at last.

"Swear by your blood-- er--" Now Captain Walric interrupted herself. "What's your name? Never caught that, oddly enough."

Xenro looked even more smug. "Glad you asked. Was beginning to think my Da named me just 'lad' or 'feral child'. Call me Xenro. Xen, if you are feeling particularly affectionate."