Of Gods and Warriors ✓

Chapter 78

One day left till Spring Fest commences.

We're here, people. Glasswolf city beckons.

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Once the heat of the sudden rush of martyrdom wore off, bitter bile rose to Farren's throat, as though thousands of live maggots writhed inside the heavy armour of the Vasaen she'd put on. With the visor slammed shut and her face hidden in the iron confines, an awful sensation crept on her-- that of being trapped within a decaying corpse. The gauntlets seemed crusted with black blood, no matter how many times she tried to wipe them off.

In her hands she bore the pale green flag of Drisia, riding alongside Xenro as the standard-bearer.

The others rode in silence-- Rendarr and Gray, Lieutenant Evander and Klo, and finally Captain Walric with a handful of battlemages bringing up the rearguard.

Upon the road, trade caravans, common folk, and peasants with herds of cattle gave them a wide berth, calling to their patron deities when the dark shadow of the company crossed their paths. The less afraid of them muttered curses and shook their fists.

The undead may have earned great power, but at the cost of their honour.

They rode through the tall gates in a canter. The guards lowered their spears and gave way to the dust-cloaked squad of scouts coming through.

So far so good.

A voice called out to Farren in Drisian, the dialect so thick she could not hope to understand even with her schooling. A city guard came riding up, asking a question from the tone of his voice.

Her hands froze up around the reins of her horse. What little she'd been taught about the Drisian language during her training had long since faded in her mind like old lettering upon a headstone. Farren blamed it on lack of use rather than poor academic skills, though Gods knew it was the latter.

The guard repeated his question, angrier this time.

She shook her head in response, hoping a yes would suffice.

It did not.

The guard looked alarmed, and went off into a rant about something, the foreign words mingling together into an incomprehensible mess in Farren's head out of panic.

A clear voice answered in her stead, and now Farren could catch some of the meaning.

"Saw him heading toward the roadside inn," said Xenro in Drisian.

Muttering what Farren knew was a foul curse, the guard stomped away toward the direction Xenro gestured, but not without throwing her a strange look.

"I told you to keep it shut," muttered Xenro as they moved onto a rather crowded avenue.

"I didn't even say anything!" she said, her own voice reverberating within her stuffy helm. The spring air was warm and gentle, but inside her armour the heat was sweltering.

"It's in your blood," said Klo, grinning for the first time in days. "So much as look in the wrong direction and you raise chaos."

"You folk are so dramatic," Farren drawled, then looked over at Xenro for support. "It wasn't that bad, was it?"

"The fellow was asking if Draedona had dragged off his cousin by the feet because he was late for his shift," Xenro said.

"And I nodded...yes."

Needless to say, Farren dared not even look in any other people's direction, staring dead ahead as they made their way through the city. Here Lieutenant Evander took the lead to guide them well, so that they would not appear suspiciously lost in a city they were supposed to know like the back of their hands.