From Iron and Ruin

Halirimal

Unedited

Chapter 14: Halirimal.

It didn't take long for Matthaeus to settle into the rhythm of things in Adotlan. Like Gwen, he seemed to become an instant addition to the inner circle, not privy to the inner workings of the Legion as Mahon, Fyr, Kohen and I were, but there to be relied upon.

Despite his warm demeanour, he was a ruthless and vicious trainer. Though I had been trained by the Dratlan Elves, he exploited my weak-points with ruthless efficiency and then grin and hold out a hand as I lay in the dirt. When I could not suck air into my lungs or when I felt the burn of my breakfast in my throat, he kept pushing.

I loved it.

It was a break from the ever-growing pressure of my role. There were always visitors longing to speak with me, merchants eager to use me as a figure to sport their fabrics and their goods. It made little sense–what did I have to gain by wearing a dress with too many ruffles and not enough room to kick in, with?

Every day that passed, the numbers in the Legion grew. I could wake and stand on my balcony in the morning and listen to the hum of the people. With every new person who joined, the weight on my shoulders seemed to grow. It was so different to before in Haaling.

People stopped here to speak with me. They cleared space for me when I walked, even when I tried to tell them not to. Eyes watched me and they were so trusting. So hopeful. As if I had it in me to solve all their problems.

That day, after training with Matthaeus at the crack of dawn and then preparing myself for a day of meetings with lords and enduring talks about money and showing face at parties–which I always denied–I tried to dodge messengers to no avail.

"Seeker. Magister Fyr is asking for your report on the transcriptions?" A messenger hurried along beside me as I yanked on my gloves, covering the faintly pulsing marks.

"I have it here somewhere..." I glanced down at my pack, filled with reports and notes. I always seemed to forget that I wasn't required to deliver these myself. There were people in Adotlan who collected notes and delivered them on request, which seemed so odd to me, but the others never batted their eyes at it.

"Seeker!" Another one popped out from a darkened hall. "Master Kohen has several messages from towns that need your attention."

Doesn't Kohen answer those for me? I forget.

"Also," the first one spoke again. "Miss Feldspar has her reports from Master Agate about the southern ramparts and the outer watchtower, which was givin' us trouble for the past few weeks."

I took the report as another figure appeared. "Seeker Birchwood. The smiths are complaining about how slow the supplies are arriving into Adotlan."

"That is not something to concern Seeker Birchwood about," Fyr slipped around the messengers, settling a hand on my shoulder. "There is a system for such things."

"But the smiths want her to know."

Fyr took a breath. "That is because if she gets bothered by it enough, then their concerns will get solved quicker. That is not how it works here. Adotlan has many problems to patch up and people cannot be impatient about it."

Fyr hounded the messengers away, pulling me away with surprising strength. Since she had begun training in earnest with the other Magins, her arms had filled up with muscle and every day her blows got harder and harder.

"The messengers are like hounds today." I huffed as the corridors emptied. "Like flies around a rotting carcass."

"But what a beautiful carcass you are." Fyr hummed, unbothered by my foul mood. Glowering, I let her lead me into the Map-Room where the others waited for us.