The Tales of Miriela: Shadowborn

Chapter 23: Vicar Alaine

At the Western Gate, Sir Vicar remained, on foot and waiting for his men to return. It had been some time now, perhaps the wells required a longer distance to be traveled than Sir Vicar had expected. He sat on a stool near the West Gate with the two Vanguard captains he ordered to remain behind, Sir Welstion and Sir Brinston.

Sir Vicar had led his men into every battle the Vanguard had fought. But this was no war, this was no battle. It was a simple task for his men, yet it felt strange to sit, awaiting the Vanguard's return. A stir of restlessness and anxiety coursed through Sir Vicar's veins, and like a strong coffee, it prevented him from staying still.

"How long does it take to bring a damn rat out of the sewer?" Sir Vicar mumbled aloud, as he turned from the Vanguard Captains and stood from his seat.

"These are the best soldiers in all of Miriela, Sir Vicar. A small band of peasants will not stand in their way. Give them time, that is all they need. Here, come, drink with us Vicar." Captain Welstion pulled from his satchel a flask of Whim, a whiskey said to have been made for the Giants, strong enough to render any man free of his senses.

"Giants' Blood. I see you've brought some Whim along, Captain Welstion. Let us drink, gentleman. We shall drink to the fall of the Revolution, and the strengthening of The Realm; to the true King, first of his kind, King Kline Wullmont. Hells, we'll just drink to drinking itself." Captain Brinston was a large man. He was tall and much stronger than any man in the Vanguard. He leaned back in his chair as his loud and thunderous laugh took him over.

Captain Welstion opened his flask of Whim and drank from it, then passed it over to Captain Brinston. The two drank from the flask back and forth.

"Vicar! Sit with us. Drink. It is a long ride back to Ferenor, after all," Sir Welstion said to Vicar, who stood facing towards the city from the Western Gate, uninterested in drinking.

"Best have a drink or two Vicar, the ride home will not be a scenic one. An entire faction of men, bearded and unbathed, and a sewer rat to join them. Surely sounds like Hell, if you'd ask me! I've never seen this Morione myself, but I hope to the Gods she's worth looking at." Captain Brinston leaned back and laughed another thunderous drunken roar, as his large black beard bounced back and forth.

Sir Vicar paid no attention to the two as they drank. He was more concerned with his men. They had been waiting for hours now. He had expected Alina Morione would have been captured by this point, that they would have already been riding back to Ferenor.

Unable to remain still, Vicar wandered over to the well that sat near the Western Gate. While Whim was unwanted, Sir Vicar felt that some fresh water may settle his soul. A cool breeze ran through Vicar's blonde hair, and pushed it off of his shoulders, where it normally sat.

He pushed the well's seal away, and readied his empty flask. But to Vicar's surprise, the well was dry. It had been full to the brim earlier that morning, but was now empty. Vicar could see to the bottom, there was no water at all.

He paused, as thoughts ran through his head. Four wells, four tunnels. One which was full, now empty. Vicar dropped his flask, and sprinted back towards the two Captains, shouting.

"To the stable! Now, to the stable! We must ride, now!" Sir Vicar ran as quickly as he could, projecting his voice as far as his lungs would allow.

The two seemed more drunk now than Vicar could ever remember seeing them. Captain Brinston began to laugh so hard that he fell from his stool, and slammed against the dirt.

"What in the Hell? A sight I'd never thought I'd see. Vicar Alaine running from a well!" Captain Welstion took another long drink of Whim.

Vicar reached his men, as he gasped for air. "This is a command, you are to make way towards the stable, now. We ride West." Sir Vicar commanded his men with a tone of voice he had only used before on the battlefield. Even in their drunkenness, the command cut through the Captains' distortion, and they stood to their feet, as best they could.

"Vicar, look, our men," Captain Welstion said.

Sir Vicar turned and looked behind him, to see if Sir Welstion's words were true. In the distance he saw a small group of men making way towards them.

Just then, the sound of bells pierced the air, church bells. But it was no time for church bells to be ringing. The Oaksguard bells only rang at night, any man in Miriela knew of that.

"Those are not our men, Captain Welstion, and they are not here to offer us the rat." Sir Vicar turned back towards his men. "We must ride now."

Vicar ran for the stable, to retrieve his horse. His captains, struggled to keep their balance as they attempted to follow. It was as if the ground had grasped them both and would not let them up. Vicar looked back to see they had both fallen, and indeed they had. They each looked up from the dirt, as a group of Oaksguard soldiers, sprinted towards them.

Vicar freed his horse from the stable, and mounted it quickly. He began to ride back towards the gate from the stable towards the Captains, who he last saw just over the hill. They were still as he had left them, laying in the dirt in a drunken stupor. He rode towards them, as fast as the horse could move. But the group of men who approached were now much closer.

Vicar knew he would not reach them in time, and if he were to live, he needed to change his path and ride for the Western Gate. With regret already in his heart, Vicar Alaine altered his course, as he watched his Captains, brothers of battle, get slaughtered in the dust. He rode through the Western Gate to return to Ferenor, alone. And for the first time in his life, Sir Vicar Alaine fled from battle, defeated.