From the Ruins

Chapter 7

Vaal was knocking on his door just after the sun breached the horizon. Luc had already been up for an hour or more, gathering his gear. He was clasping his cloak around his neck when Vaal opened the door, dressed in full guard uniform.

"Gods above, Vaal, you are not walking into Droskyn dressed like that. Don't you have any other armor? A set that doesn't scream 'I work for the Princess' maybe?"

Vaal frowned. "The only other armor I have is the Empire armor."

The archer sighed and marched them out of his room. One would think that after being the Captain of the Royal Guard would give Vaal enough to buy a discreet set of armor. Hell, he was friends with Garin, and Garin does almost anything for his friends. Luc led Vaal all the way to the animal pens near the kitchens, a mud pit for the pigs wet and ready. Just what he needed.

He turned and faced Vaal, holding out his hand. "Let me take your cloak."

The captain eyed him, slowly taking it off. "What are you–?"

Luc ripped the cloak out of his hands and shoved Vaal into the mud pit. "Hate me later, but this will save your life."

Vaal lay in the mud shocked. If it weren't for the serious expression on Luc's face, he would have thought this a joke. That didn't stop him from being a little peeved about being covered in muck.

"Luc, how is this going to save my life?"

The archer gestured for him to rub more of the grime over his shining armor–the very armor he was now going to have Luc clean when they got back. "Just get the stuff all over the plating, it'll make the sigils and what not harder to make out."

Vaal begrudgingly did so, shooting glares at the man on the edge of the pit. "Most of this will flake off while we are flying."

Luc waved a hand. "Then we will find more and give you a fresh covering. I'm not letting you get killed because you don't have anything stealthy."

"I'm the Captain of the Royal Guard, Luc. I am supposed to be seen." He stood up and sloshed his way out of the mud pit. He was grateful the pigs were still in their pens and not out yet.

His backside was soaked, coated in the wet dirt nearly from head to toe. If he started chafing, he was going to have Luc do his laundry for a month. Riding a dragon with wet clothes was amongst the least comfortable things one could do.

The archer smiled, not the least bit apologetic. "You'll thank me when it saves your ass. But you might want to hold off on putting your cloak back on, don't want this soiled either."

Luc knew that the captain's cloak had been a handpicked gift from the princess shortly after Vaal flew in and saved them from a nasty group of Athal raiders. They had been so backwater, that they hadn't recognized Vaal or Sycra when they arrived. Easy work for Vaal and his large dragon really. Luc had heard that he had barely broken a sweat by the time he was done. And thus, a week later, a pretty black cloak with silver embroidery was given to Vaal for his valiant efforts, along with an offer to become part of the Royal Guard.

Vaal wiped off his gloves, slapping them against his thighs to try and clean them off. He could hear Sycra rumbling through their bond, amused at his predicament. Luc was grinning, some of the seriousness slipping away Vaal continued to glare at him.

He sighed and stalked past Luc. "Let's get this over with."

Luc snickered behind him but followed.

. . .

The flight to Droskyn's Keep was uneventful. The wind was with them, making their progress much faster than they had anticipated. Normally, it would take close to five hours by dragon to reach the place, but they arrived shortly after three. It put Luc on edge considering it was still fairly early in the day. The midday hours were when Droskyn woke up, most of its inhabitants hungover from late night drinking or sore from rough sex. Brothels and bars lined the streets, both men, and women selling their bodies. Luc had spent more than enough time in Droskyn to know the people always had blades of some sort on them. Vaal's broadsword would be intimidating, and he had knives placed throughout his person, ready to strike at a moment's notice.