The horse still pulls us along the road when my eyes open to the darkness of the carriage. Sore muscles protest movement, but I sit up regardless. Blurriness sharpens to reveal that I am alone. The princess is gone again, not even Borso remaining this time. The white blanket, though, greets me. That urgency, that fear, that anger races in my heart once more. She has been taken, yet we still move. Hijacked. God damn bandits. But, then, why was I not removed and discarded into the roadside brush? Why did they leave me? Was it out of spite for what I had done to their kidnapping comrades? Maybe I was the target this time, captured and meant to be taken to their base for punishment. Despite the concerns, it would be a good fight.
Opening the door, trees blur as we speed down the road. The sun sinks in the sky, letting the stars have time to show off their beauty. A few shine in the waning light. I turn in the doorway and pull myself onto the roof of the carriage. The smallest bumps in the road threaten to buck me off, but a wide stance steadies my footing. I inch forward, ready to draw out Lavender if at all necessary. Approaching the front, I gaze down upon the hijacker. Only a dash of disappointment mixes with my relief upon seeing Torvald's yellow dome. Evalina, bouncing Borso in her lap, sits beside him with rapturous laughter.
"Faster!" she commands.
"If we go any faster, Mr. Horsey will get too tired and won't be able to run anymore," he reasons with her, a smile in his voice.
"Go! Go! Go!" she screams with glee.
Seeing them like this, not a care in the world, free, having fun... the thought of running away returns. Only this time Torvald would come live with us. Though a naive fool at times, the boy has a good heart and the will to learn. We could find a bit of land somewhere back home and build ourselves a home. Or we could head to another country entirely, one with whom none of us have ties. It would be peaceful, easy. Kym could be there too, having put down her dagger for good this time. What a life that would be. Farming our own crops, taking care of our own animals, calling no man king and no woman queen. How perfect.
Getting on my belly on top of the carriage roof, I let my head poke out above the two of them. My feet dangle over the edge at the other end.
"Faster, Torvald!" My order makes them both jump.
The princess shrieks, clutching onto Borso with all her might. The boy's frightened screech rivals hers in pitch and surprise. The reins, tight in his hand, rise to his chin. The horse gives a startled sound of its own as its head is pulled back for a moment, and its pace slows in a quick few seconds. I hold on tight to the little ledge under me, doing my best to not slide off. Their scared faces look up to me once we have stopped. I flash them the biggest, most genuine I am capable of making. For a moment, it terrifies Torvald further. But the little one's bright and infectious laughter kicks up again. I join in with a low chuckle, and even the boy offers a light-hearted smile.
"Is Torvald keeping you company?" I ask the princess. With enthusiasm, she nods her little bow.
"She seemed to wake up not long after we left," the boy explains. "I was just driving the horse and I heard someone knocking on the wall behind me. So I stopped, and checked on you two. You were out like a deadman, and the little lass needed to go potty again. So I thought I'd let her sit with me so you could get some sleep. You seemed to really need it."
A thousand ways for any piece of the story to have gone wrong flood my thinking (another ambush, her getting lost as she relieved herself, a stealthy archer with impressive accuracy, any number of wild things in search of the next meal, her simply falling off, et cetera), but I build a dam. Everything seemed to turn out fine. Perhaps the last of our pursuants provide scavengers a meal back in that clearing.
"About how far are we from Lower Yellowberry?" my attention goes to the boy.
"Not too far," he says, the horse trotting once more. "Just around the bend up ahead."
My eyes go to the road before us. The dirt curves south, trees thinning on either side. Further to the south, beyond the trees, lies the Great Pond of Yellowberry. And to the north rests the burgeoning ridges of the Walteria Mountains. Up above, several candles light Upper Yellowberry, a place of prosperity and privilege. Nestled at the foot of the mountain, its own lights twinkling in the growing dark, is Lower Yellowberry. Both a port and a mine, the town is a friendly place of humility. I've spent a few nights in both Upper and Lower Yellowberry, as well as a few nights that have faded from my memory.
"Let me know when we arrive," I tell the boy. "And keep a sharp eye out for anything suspicious. I've had enough action today."
"Yes, Sir," he nods.
"And you, little one," I say to the princess. She looks up at me, a curious look on her rosy cheeks. "You and Borso keep an eye on him. Don't let him get into any trouble."
"Otay!" she squeaks, beaming her toothy grin.
Sliding back toward the door, I reach down and open it. I ease myself over the edge, my feet finding the doorway. A bump in the road nearly loosens my grip and sends me rolling in the dirt, but I slip into the carriage just in time, closing the door behind me. I stretch out, my heels resting on the opposite seat once more.
We slow to a stop not long after. A voice, its words lost in the distance between themselves and the carriage.
"Good evening," Torvald replies, polite and confident. The change in tone from what I'm used to is surprising, to say the least. A tiny seed of pride plants itself in me. "I'm looking for a friend. Do you know where I can find Vicar Senthia?"
There is a long quiet then. I cannot hear the stranger's voice if they speak. Torvald says nothing for a minute, finally offering a word of thanks. We move again, and through the wood I can feel curious, leering eyes on me. The feeling disappears after a moment, the carriage turning left and right a handful of times. When we stop again, I step out and round on the boy.
"Is everything alright?" I ask. Neither he nor the princess seem to be harmed or scared. Could be a spell of calming to lure us into a trap. The friends could be following, ready to strike. I take a quick glance down the road, but find only townsfolk going about their business.
"Of course," Torvald responds, a humored grin cracking across his face as he dismounts. "Why wouldn't it be?"
"You were talking to someone," I say.
"Oh yeah, that was Harold," he tells me. "Good man. See him all the time when I come down this way."
"You two went quiet for a bit." Evalina holds out her arms to me, and I pick her up without breaking my eyes from the boy.
"Directions," he shrugs the thought off. His smile spreads more as he points behind me. "Look."
Turning, I find the cathedral. Though massive and towering, it exudes an atmosphere of peace. Its stained glass windows show depictions of many of the gods. The woman with long, flowing yellow hair and a featureless face draws my eye. The doors, sitting atop a stone staircase as wide as the building itself, are open and welcoming to all those who wish to come. Tonight, that includes us.
"Harold said that she's usually here, so it's a safe bet we'll find her inside," Torvald explains. He gives the horse a few pats before joining the two of us on the stairs.
The ceiling rises high, balls of light dancing slow amongst the rafters. Where they cannot reach, a cluster of candles offers its brilliance. Doors line the walls, each with a different symbol carved and painted on it. The image on my medallion appears on one such door. Figures in robes of brown and grey wander the great hall, conversing in a variety of tongues with each other or to their way to the back, filing through a doorway there. And others lounge in the very center of the area, exchanging ideas and philosophies with those around them.
The Glorious Temple of the Novhina, they call it. Known throughout the lands for housing shrines to more deities than any other place, the monks and priests here allow the worship of all but the darker gods. Ever since taking up the sword in the All-Mother's name, my fellow Order members have told me to visit this sacred place. None of my jobs until now had brought me this way. I can understand the appeal. Perhaps I'll stick around for a little bit once the transaction is complete.
An older gentleman, as old as time itself, approaches as we look around. A ring of silver hair covers the sides and back of his head, but the top is smooth and bare. His beard of the same hue seems to have been grown over the entirety of his long life, the end reaching his hips. He wears a brown robe, tied by a well-used thin rope at the waist, as well as a happy grin. Despite his age, he stands straight and has no need for a cane.
"Hello, friends," he says once he is close. "I haven't seen you here before. My name is Birgir. Do you need any help?"
"Yes, thank you," I say to the old man. He does not notice, or he does not care, the state of my armor. "We were told we could find Vicar Senthia here."
The name sparks recognition in him. The smile under the silver whiskers grows.
"Ah, indeed, she is here," he beams. "If you would follow me, I would be happy to take you to her."
Birgir turns, setting off for the doorway at the back of the lounging area. We do not hesitate to fall in line. Through the simple wooden frame, we enter a room less grandiose, more humble. The ceiling is not nearly so high, the room not quite as brightly lit, the robed denizens not as talkative. More doors line the wall to our left, symbols I've never seen marking each one. We turn left at the end of the hall, pass through an empty yet warm kitchen, and stop at a door. Birgir raises a wrinkled hand, placing his palm on the wood. Something clicks and the door opens; it shuts itself once we enter the new hallway. Small balls of light, much like the ones in the common area of the Temple, illuminate the narrow space. At the end of the hall sits another door. It bears no special mark, no door knob, not even a peephole. We stop, several feet away from it.
"Diaet recisin siverata zurpava," Birgir says, hands held in the air, palms aimed at the door. I do not know the spell, or if it even is one. It could be an unknown tongue to me. If it is a spell, it is not one in my small repertoire.
Out from the wooden thing steps a figure draped in golden cloth. It flows down from head to toe, the face concealed. A rope of red is tied loose at the waist, and a headband of the same crimson holds the cloth in place there. Their frame is thin, a mystery under the cloth. They hold their hands underneath the loose and large sleeves. The head moves, looking from Birgir to each of us.
"Welcome, friends," her voice comes, soft as a breeze yet slow and chilling to the bone. Vicar Senthia bows lightly, and we return the motion. "We have been expecting you. We were not sure when you would arrive. Please, enter my chambers."
She turns back to the door, stepping through as if it was not there. I look to Birgir, his ever-present smile washing away my hesitance a little. He gives me a nod and motions to the door, sensing my doubt. Despite my hesitance, I enter.