"Oh, Valerius Linder, you say?" said Karles to the night-archer, then began ushering the other two along toward the garrison. "Come on, I know him. We were in the same training squad, Valerie and I."
"'Valerie'? Quite a nickname, that." Farren gave him an amused smile, "he an old pal?"
"Strange, you never told us of him." Rendarr rubbed his red-rimmed eyes as he ambled along. "And he's posted not far from Kinallen, too."
"We uh, sort of drifted apart," said Karles after a moment of hesitation. "Last I heard of him, he was to join the Byton city watch, at the capital. Mind you, that was some six--no, seven years ago."
"How come your Valerie ended up here in Brittlerock, then? It's nowhere near the capital," said Farren, tapping her chin as she looked up to the upper storey window.
There, framed by a backdrop of gloomy lamplight, a tall silhouette regarded them silently as they approached. Although it was hard to make out a face through the haze, Farren felt a steady gaze pierce right through her. As soon as their eyes met, the figure lurched out of sight, followed by a clatter which sounded like several things falling and hitting creaky floorboards.
The stairs squeaked beneath her boots as they climbed, fine coal dust rising in tiny clouds with each step. Looking as though on the verge of collapsing from exhaustion, Rendarr knocked at the door. A moment of silence. Then some rattles and clunks.
"It's unlocked," said a calm, deep voice.
Farren ran a hand through her mussed hair in an attempt to look somewhat presentable, but to no avail. The rough winds had moulded it into an untamable bush.
The smell of coffee and old books, with a hint of coal-dust welcomed them as they stepped into the cramped room.
Sergeant Linder stood at the window with his back to them, watching the first wagons of coal being loaded near the pit. Tall and broad-shouldered, his long, dark hair was worn in a half-up fashion, an old custom among Midaelian warriors-- which much flattered his stature.
For a moment, Farren thought the night-archer outside must have mistakenly directed them to an officer of the vampires, for the black and silver cloak draped on his shoulders was of the sort in fashion in Valston city up north for its cold climate; a notion proven wrong as he turned to them. His eyes were not crimson, but a dark grey.
And he was looking directly at her.
"So," he said with the air of a man who had evidently practiced his lines. "We meet again, Clearstrike."
Farren didn't think she had met this man, ever, in her life.
Of course, she decided to play along.
"Oh please," said Farren with as much smugness she could muster, "it was meant to be. We have unfinished business."
Perhaps. Did I swindle you in some pub, sir?
It was clear from his look he was not convinced. "What unfinished business? Our business was quite clearly finished when I arrested you."
"Oh," Farren could only manage. "You did?"
She glanced at Karles and Rendarr, who seemed to compete against each other on who could wear the utterly-bewildered expression better.
While her arrest was no secret to perhaps the entirety of Kinallen's soldiers, her thief's brand being quite self explanatory; who would've thought an old buddy of Karles had been the guard who did so?
Linder began to make his way across the room to reach her; what he clearly intended to be a menacing stride marred by how cramped the room was.
He had to dodge the paper strewn desk, shuffle past a stack of empty coffee cups precariously balanced on the floor and with an outstretched hand, stop a huge ledger about to fall from an overstuffed bookshelf. Then finally, he stood towering before her.
"You don't remember me, yet you decide to play along as though this is merely a game."
Locks of his wavy hair fell over his eyes as he peered at her with an amused smile.The flickering lamplight dancing on his sharp-jawed face looked eerily attractive, almost otherworldly.
But Farren was not one to get flustered easily. She gave him her most heart-winning dimpled smile, though not sure it looked quite as dashing with her windswept appearance. "Now, now. How am I supposed to remember one face, while some half a dozen city guards caught me, their helmets on and visors down?"
"I put you in handcuffs, if that helps," he said, freeing his other hand from beneath his cloak. "Recognise this, Clearstrike?"
Perched atop his long-fingered hand was a wooden mask. The face of a smiling woman was carved upon it in exquisite detail, a pair of glass lenses in the eye holes. The face was of Quarleen, the Goddess of Stealth.
Like all those unfortunates who frequented the infamous Silver Knife Square in the capital, thugs and commoners alike, Farren had once possessed a mask just like that.
And it was taken from her seven years ago when a group of city guards captured her. Or rather, she let herself get caught.
Although she had a spare, it would not hurt to have her old one back. As she reached for it, Linder held it out of reach with a teasing smile. "Ah, not so fast, Corporal. We do have unfinished business."
There was something about his words that made Farren go red in the ears.
"It's good to see you again, too." Linder gave Karles a nod. He straightened and addressed them as one. "Let's hear the reason for your arrival, shall we?"
✦✧✦✧
For a sleep-deprived man surviving almost solely off caffeine, Sarge was rather patient and calm as they recollected the series of confusing happenings of the previous day.
After that botched performance of 'I have been expecting you' sort of reintroduction, Linder did not bring up Farren's past, nor did he show any animosity she had braced herself for.
As they talked, he took out a large raven feather quill and noted it down. The way his quill flew across the parchment, Farren half-expected his writing to be an illegible scrawl, but was proven wrong. It was a neat cursive, she noted with some envy.
On his desk lay a recent copy of The Foreseers, a complete weather forecast of different regions of Midaelia that The Dark Saints Diviners published weekly.
Farren flipped to the page showing Kinallen, then Brittlerock.
'Mostly sunny and cloudless,' it said on both places, and most other regions.
"Strange, isn't it?" Linder said, still scribbling, "first time in my life The Foreseers have been inaccurate."
When he put his quill down at last, Rendarr had fallen asleep in a chair beside Farren.
"What do you make of all this, Valerie--us?" said Karles.
"Ah, hold on. I gotta process this," said Linder, taking a bottle from the shelf, then pouring some of its contents into his coffee. The notorious Goldcrest whiskey.
"You're gonna die so, so fast," said Farren with a wince.
"I wish," said Linder, and downed the formidable mixture.
"Some people, nah, scratch that --the whole of Drisia is after this package, which supposedly holds the answer to whatever this undead shite the Drisian army is cooking up. That much is clear. But this assassin business in the middle of it all muddles it up," Linder said, "Alastair Henris, a noble-born assassin set out to kill Commander Karyk?"
"Apparently. Who woulda' thunk?" said Farren. Rendarr's head slumped onto her shoulder.
"You should've seen his skills, my friend," said Karles, "you'd think the man can aim with his eyes shut."
"And he made sure to flaunt it," said Farren begrudgingly.
Linder folded his fingers together. "That's where it doesn't add up. An assassin wouldn't be so forthright with their skills, would they? They'd try to blend in with the rabble, be one face among many, unassuming ones."
"I like your way of thinking," said Farren with a sly grin.
"Who was the other one, again? One who reported about Alastair?"
"Dion Edsley. And a night-archer," said Farren, "seems Alastair attacked the night-archer when they caught him, then fled. And Dion ran to the lieutenant carrying the wounded man with him."
"What did the night-archer say?"
"Not a word," said Karles, "shot through the throat."
"Arrow tipped with Glikayne," said Farren. Then after a pause, "doubt he'll make it."
Rendarr's snores punctuated the silence that followed.
Thin hands folded upon the table, Linder smiled wistfully. “So I'm destined to untangle this mess?”
“If His Majesty so wishes,” Karles said in a drawl.
“Oh, I certainly do. For it is as the ancient texts say. When the lands are in chaos, they enter the fray," he said. “The ancient Gods. They awaken from their slumber.”
“Getting cocky, are we?” muttered Farren.
The words seemed to reach him nonetheless, for he rose with a flourish of his rippling black cloak, wearing a rather noble expression. “I do not refer to myself. I have not known slumber for as long as I can remember.” He drained the last drop of his coffee-whiskey concoction. “I just wonder what it'd be like to cross paths with a God in the middle of all this. Like the olden days of the Great War when they walked these lands.”
“Oh,” she said with a smile. “You don't want to know.”
The empty cup joined the other ones on the floor with a clink. "I must ask of you a day's time to secure supplies and talk to Commander Del. We need to send word to the capital first. Meanwhile you may rest, as you clearly need it. We leave for Kinallen tomorrow."
He then hummed, a smile playing on his thin lips. "When we get there, I think we need to have a little chat with our friend Dion Edsley."