Book 5: Chapter 24: Travel Accommodations

Book 5: Chapter 24: Travel Accommodations

After the skirmish with the Ridonne and his squad of stealthy assassins, everyone, especially Rellia, agreed it would be wise to return to the encampment; her luxurious send-off dinner was canceled. After they’d all reaped their rewards in post-battle Energy, Victor helped the other high-tier members of their party secure the surviving Imperials, gagging, binding, and hobbling them with magical rings and chokers that Rellia produced from one of her storage containers. When that was done, some thirty enemy combatants lay or sat helpless before the carriage, stewing in the blood and fluids of their vanquished comrades.

“Edeya, you and Darro will stand watch over these prisoners while we return to camp and send out an escort to bring them in.” Rellia mounted the first step into the coach as though the matter was settled.

“Is that wise?” Victor asked, frowning. “What if the Ridonne returns or whatever sneaky asshole who killed the driver? Nah, I’ll wait here with the prisoners, and after your escort picks them up, I’ll head into town for some last-minute shopping.”

“Shopping?” Lam asked, her wings twitching briefly as she wiped at her face with a damp rag, trying to clean away the remnants of combat.

“Yeah. I need some better accommodations for the trail. You know, a big tent, a bed that fits me, stuff like that. I’ve got plenty of storage space; I might as well load up.”

“I’ll stay with him,” Valla said, folding her arms and leaning against the carriage.

“And if we’re attacked on the way back to camp?” Rellia pressed, moving to stand before Victor, trying to lock eyes with him. “It’s clear Borrius was the target . . .”

“The soldiers are dead or captured. The Ridonne ran away, licking his wounds. I think we’re fine for the night,” Borrius said, enunciating his words in a languorous drawl.

“Are you bored, sir?” Rellia scoffed. “Was this bloodbath too small to garner your attention?”

“Not bored, but this is hardly the first time someone has tried to assassinate me, either. Come, Rellia, let’s return to camp. We’ve much to discuss.” With those words, the matter was settled, and soon Victor and Valla were left alone, standing over the broken soldiers, the stench of shit, guts, and blood heavy in the air. Victor jerked his head, indicating he wanted Valla to follow him, then he moved a dozen yards upwind of the battle site. He folded his arms, watching over the huddled survivors.

“I’m surprised they weren’t tougher,” he said after a while. “There were close to a hundred, all told, and you guys held them off for a long time.”

“Most of them are probably tier-two. Lam is tier-four, and Rellia and I are tier-five. They fought bravely, madly, even, and I believe that’s what the Ridonne was counting on for their success—insane disregard for their own safety. I won’t be surprised to learn that a Mind Caster conditioned these troops to fight to the death. It’s a testament to your ability to evoke fear that you made them break. If the negative effects of your banner are as potent as the positive, then I pity the poor fools.”

“You felt it, huh?”

“When you came close, and that light shone on us, it was as though the battle began anew. My arms didn’t ache, the wind returned to my lungs, and I thirsted for the glory of combat. Then, when you began to maul and slaughter their rear ranks, I couldn’t help but want to reciprocate. Lam and Rellia responded similarly. Let’s not forget to mention those enormous hounds of yours. Ancestors, Victor! They were terrifying!”

“Yeah, things worked out all right. Still, that Ridonne was a lot tougher than I expected to face here on Fanwath. If the Empire is openly moving against us, we might have some trouble ahead.”

“I’m not so sure they are. These men aren’t marked with any Imperial insignia, and the Ridonne was careful to escape. Tell me, do you think he could have kept fighting?”

“I thought he could, yeah.” Victor rubbed at a spot of blood he’d missed on the back of his hand. “Surprised me when he bolted.”

“So, he might be acting in an unsanctioned manner. We can hope, at least.”

Victor stewed on those words for a while, watching the prisoners and occasionally glancing in the direction of the camp. After a while, he got bored and walked over to the nearest of the bound Imperials. He reached down and pulled his gag loose, then asked, “What was the name of that Ridonne?” When no answer was forthcoming from the man, a Shadeni with short, black horns, he tried again, “I already beat his ass. He’s not coming to save you. What was his name?”

“I cannot answer.” The man spat a wad of blood from his battered mouth. He’d lost an arm in the melee and looked to be in great pain.

“I’ll give you a bit of healing if you do.”

“Even if I wanted to, Milord, I cannot. I’ve geas upon geas upon my spirit. I’m doomed as it is.”

“Leave him, Victor. It will take Rellia’s Mind Caster days to unwind the spells binding them—if he can.”

“Huh,” Victor muttered, stuffing the gag back in the soldier’s mouth. He looked up sharply at the sound of approaching riders and, within moments, he and Valla were surrounded by twenty heavily armored legion soldiers, all riding roladii clad in red chainmail barding. The biggest roladii Victor had ever seen was being ridden by none other than Polo Vosh, and when he jumped down, Victor clasped wrists with him, truly glad to see the man’s smiling, furry face. “Polo!”

“Victor! I heard you tousled with a Ridonne! It’s all over the camp already.”

“I did! I think I learned a thing or two during our duel; he was skilled with the sword. Have you been holding back on me? I’m asking ‘cause it was a lot more fun than our sparring sessions.”

“Fun!” Valla almost choked on the word.

“Hah! Of course, you’d think it was fun! Tell you what, Legate, when we make camp tomorrow, let’s put what you learned to the test. I’ll do my best to keep it interesting.”The initial posting of this chapter occurred via N0v3l.B11n.

“It’s a deal!” Victor clapped him on the shoulder and then turned, getting ready to summon his Mustang.

“Did you bring me my mount?” Valla asked, looking around.

“Oh? Well, then, you should have said so sooner! Come with me.” Chori slid off the stool and motioned for Valla and Victor to follow her behind the counter and through the rear door. “My travel homes are in the next room; it’s something of a showcase.”

“We should hurry, Valla,” Victor said, suddenly struck by guilt. Should he be shopping around in Persi Gables while the Ridonne conspired against his army? Shouldn’t he be there in case the army was attacked? Who else could stand against those weird, powerful Imperials?

“We’ll ride your Mostrang back; it’ll hardly take a few minutes.”

“Mostrang? He’s a Mustang, Valla!” Victor laughed, shaking his head.

“Excuse me!” Valla feigned a look of outrage. “How many names have you butchered? I hardly ever corrected you!”

“Yeah, you got me there.” Victor gave her a nudge, urging her forward through the swinging wooden door. She went through, and he followed to find they’d entered a room that seemed too large for the structure that housed the shop. The ceiling had to be thirty feet high, and the walls of the square room were twice that in length. The ground crunched as he stepped in, and Victor saw it was covered in loose, pale, cream-colored gravel. Shelves lined the wall to his right, dozens of objects filling them. Some were small, literally resembling matchboxes, and others were bulky, like large, boxy backpacks.

Chori stopped ahead of him, her hooves sinking into the gravel so the hem of her navy-blue smock brushed the ground. She turned to Valla and asked, “Does he want something easy to carry or something bulkier? He’ll have servants, no? Don’t those Legates have dozens of underlings to order about?”

“He’ll want something easy to carry,” Victor answered, done having Valla speak for him. “He’s not planning to spend the rest of his life as a Legate.”

“Oh, clever one, is he?” Chori winked at Valla, then walked over to the shelves, bypassing the backpacks, satchels, larger boxes, and wheeled contraptions that resembled medieval rolling suitcases. She paused before a shelf lined with smaller boxes, some that might fit in the palm of his hand, ranging to the size of a shoebox. She looked over her shoulder, narrowed her eyes at Victor, and asked, “Budget?”

Victor thought about the treasure he’d yet to go through in Karnice’s ring, the treasure he’d accumulated in Coloss and, even before that, from Boaegh and ap’Horrin. He shrugged and said, “Money’s not a concern.”

“Well, then,” Chori picked up a shallow, green stone box about two inches by four and carried it over to him. “I have a lovely leather case for this that will fit comfortably on your belt.”

“What is it?”

“It’s a travel home. I’m ashamed to say that My father crafted this one. It’s been here many a year, waiting for the right buyer. He traveled to Tharcray to learn his craft. Did you know that?” She directed the question at Valla.

“Um, no, I don’t think I did.”

“Yes. While there, in order to graduate from the Vessi-Ridonne Artificing Academy, he had to prove his skill. This was his performance project, his proof of competency.”

“Vessi-Ridonne?” Victor asked, unsettled by the reminder of his recent troubles.

“The Vessi bloodline is extinct. They were the Ardeni equivalent of the Ridonne,” Valla said, shrugging.

“Only Shadeni can be Ridonne?”

“That’s right,” Chori said, “Though I think they’re extinct too. I only ever hear rumors. Have you ever met someone who’s seen one?”

“I, uh . . .”

“Good question, Chori,” Valla laughed, interrupting Victor and saving him the trouble of explaining how he’d just done battle with one.

“Anyway, to graduate, my father crafted this. We haven’t sold it because it’s made from Whel Jade.”

“Well jade?” Victor frowned.

“Whel,” Chori repeated, enunciating the first part of the word heavily so Victor could hear the h. “It comes from the world of Whel, distant from Fanwath, carried here by a rare traveler to Tharcray. My father bought it at auction, nearly bankrupting his family. He says it was worth it because this treasure he crafted won him top honors from the academy, and he made back his fortune a dozen times over the years.”

“Okay, so why can’t you sell it?”

“Oh, I didn’t say we can’t sell it. We haven’t sold it. It’s very dense material and holds more Energy than any ore on Fanwath; I’d only part with it for the right price and for the right person. I’ve turned away a buyer or two in my day.” She set the little box down in the gravel a dozen feet from Victor and Valla, and then she tapped it lightly with her pointer finger. The box began to rattle on the stones, then hopped, and when it settled, it was twice as big. It rattled again, jumped, and then it was the size of a trunk. This repeated several times, and the box grew each time until, with a final rattling thump that shook the building, it rested before the trio, a jade-green rectangular box the size of a single-wide trailer.

“Woah . . .” Victor began, but the jade structure flared brightly, limned for a brief moment in luminous green Energy, and steps with a railing sprouted from the side, windows, complete with shutters, formed in the walls, and a doorway came into being, all crafted from a reddish-brown, satin-smooth wood. Victor saw glass in the windows, but they were opaque, faintly green, and shimmering in a way that reflected any attempts to peer through.

“The space within is four times that of the exterior, and there is a second level below ground just as large,” Chori said proudly. “Currently, it’s partially furnished, but I can remove the objects within if you’d like to install your own belongings.”

“Does that mean you’d sell it to me?” Victor asked, his voice betraying his enthusiasm.

Chori looked at Victor for a long while, then she looked at Valla, and a certain sort of lightness entered her expression, a kind, almost fond expression. She nodded quickly and replied in a soft, faintly tremulous voice, “I would sell to you, aye. Shall we talk about the price?”