Chapter 18
Lanston
A letter laid folded open on Elmira’s desk, her ring laid down beside it.
The letter was from Cid:
My Dearest Elmira
You would probably have heard news of the coming war before this letter reaches you. I’m afraid our life together has been dealt another blow, for as you well know if I am to retain any dignity and influence I must fulfil my duty as a soldier on the new frontier. I am weary of this struggle and I suspect that you as well might have reached a point where you think it better to back down. Sometimes there is no shame in surrendering. I would like to think that as a friend I could advise you on how your life would be so much better if you indeed married Fredrere.
But that is not what I want to say. Rather there is a point in longing for another where one’s love in fact becomes selfish. I want the best for you, but being selfish I would beg you to endure for me one last time.
This war presents opportunity as well. If my influence were to steer the war for triumph, then I’m sure to be granted favour by the Kingdom. I will then ask for one thing only: your hand with the Kingdom’s blessing. If it has indeed become all too much for you, then take my blessing and be wed to Fredrere. If not, I’ll ask you to fight, to fight like only you can. Stave off this marriage, repel your father’s wishes. Flee if you have to… because I will return for you.
I love you.
Cid of Rogana
Elmira had read the letter everyday for a week, as though the letter was going to change its message and maybe tell her something more of Cid’s current predicament the more she studied it. The war could not have come at a worse time and she really didn’t need the worry of Cid being in danger again all the while.
The ring as well did not escape her grasp. She would pick it up and turn it in her hands while she remained in thought obsessively. Obviously her fear of her father made her reluctant to wear the ring, so she rather stashed it away. The prospect of marrying Cid was rewarding in itself, but she wished so she could share her engaged status with someone close. At the moment not even her mother knew, and it was altogether better this way.
Mother used to be supportive, but she always follows father’s lead.
Late in the morning Elmira was still fiddling around the house. The colour and the opulence of her new room had become lost on her. Father has always been rich, but recently business with Fredrere’s family had seen them expand the house twice this year.
It all meant little to Elmira. Instead she felt that the bright canvasses around her bed posts and the stuffy cushions propped into every chair and every corner was a mocking entity. Worst of all was the ornaments, the useless vases and stone headpieces of people she didn’t even know.
All the comfort you can buy and yet she could not come to rest. What was at first a way to move beyond the constant mindfulness became a daily routine. Every day she would wander aimlessly, first around the house and then in the city, pretending to have interests in the shops, and pretending to listen to her friends’ gossip, her wishes of steering her own life not spoken or heard.
Cid is out fighting a war again and I’m stuck playing house as usual. She could not bear the pretence; bear the fake happiness that she had to bask in:
“She has everything,” people spoke as she passed. “Her father’s rich, she has her mother’s beauty, she is to be wed to a noble”.
It was a strange Elmira thought, that the only people who remotely understood her as a person were men running around in sweaty armour with blood smeared swords. Now, one of those men, old Commander Bennam, was dead.
Elmira knew better than to condemn the city, because she loved Lanston. She did however become cynical of the city’s façade; the wealth, the marvellous buildings and the pleasant smells of food stalls and perfumes. Worst of all was the open ridicule she faced when she had so blatantly declared she would be wed to no one else than Cid some weeks before. Her father was outraged, Fredrere and his family disappointed, and the city displeased. They all said the same thing one way or the other; “the girl is stupid, she does not know what she’s throwing away.”
Elmira however would not be swayed by popular opinion. She had her own way of looking at things; in the city everything boiled down to convenience. The walls and the city guard protected, the wealth bought what was needed, and the beauty of the city itself inspired goodwill and love. Cast the populace out of the city though, hit them with plague or famine, and everything would change; people would tear each other up just to survive and all the fake notions of loyalty, respect and admiration that were so falsely cultivated in a perfect city would fall away when things got even a little tough. Again Elmira thought on how the only men she knew who would remain true in the most dire of circumstances were the soldiers.
She had known for a long time now that Cid was the man she wanted to marry, the man she could spend her life with. Out on the battlefield Cid was a magnet for triumph because of hard work and preparation, not because of inheritance. Out there, men followed Cid unquestionably because of their trust in his integrity and compassion rather than just having wealth or bearing a title of nobility. Cid would protect them as they would him, and Elmira knew that Cid would give his life to protect her.
A sharp rap on her window wrenched Elmira from her reverie. She spun to look; just a bird, pecking at its own faint reflection. She then realized she had been digging her nails into one of the useless cushions. She threw the adornment aside and shook her head at herself.
Time for some fresh air.
Walking outside in the streets Elmira knew she had been much too harsh towards Lanston in her thoughts. She knew many good people in the city and some who even supported her notion of marrying a war hero. Even her father, the instigator of this whole mess, was at his most sociable when joined by Cid for an evening drink.
Yes, father used to adore Cid’s company. Yet Elmira knew that her father was much more enticed by the status of House Sagril. The business interests to be adjoined after the wedding between Sagril and Merrigil might’ve been insignificant enough for her father to shake, and prioritize Elmira’s choice for Cid. The whole thing however stood no chance against Elmira being accepted into nobility. As her father had put it, “your decedents might even be heralded as King one day.”
The idea held no favour with Elmira, she’d rather have her sons and daughters raised by a man like Cid than have them of royal blood.
Elmira was dressed in a light blue summer dress and wore a straw coloured hat with a peachy ribbon. She locked out as many stares as there were people in the streets. It was a facet of her life she both loved and loathed. Getting attention was something she had grown up with and wasn’t ashamed to admit that she thrived on it every now and then. There was an edge however to being the focus of everyone that she deeply disliked.
She couldn’t place why exactly, but she suspected it had much to do with how she felt about the city, about how easy they would forget the pretty woman when things turned ugly. She surmised this because of how her life had changed since she started seeing Cid. The soldier had, quite frankly, turned her world upside down, just like she had his.
He admits it often, she thought fondly, I never do…
Now, the only real approval she sought was that of her husband-to-be and there was little limit to what she’d admit if only he was here now.
Her tour through the city was random at first, walking helter-skelter past all her favourite sights and shops. Lanston, like all Kingdom cities, was predominately divided into private properties. Only the King and his closest family could interfere on the matters owned by the general populace, and they rarely ever did. The principal of the common man owning his own land created the very ambition that drove the Kingdom economy, being the legal cornerstone that fashioned one of the most powerful nations in the world, and ultimately the freedom and opportunity the system insinuated made people all the more amicable toward an all powerful King in any instance.
The
fabric of all the cities were owned and maintained by the Kingdom itself; the walls, the fortresses, hospitals, parks, banks, memorials, waterways and the roads.
All of these were part of what was called the “frame”, and barring the roads, were quite identifiable as they were mostly enshrined with polished sandstone here in Lanston. The walls for example were really built with granite for strength, its façade however was covered by the sandstone so that it appeared in likeliness to the Castle or banks.
Some of the walls ran an intra-city pattern, smaller, but more decorate than their perimeter counterparts, depositing easygoing yet strategic thoroughfare arches where it intersected with the main roads. These stubby wide walls served as a vantage for patrolling town guard during peaceful times and, dressed in their Lanston armour, you would write off coincidence when seeing the pale gold of helm and chestplate against the backdrop of sandstone. Elmira had long before this day noticed that it wasn’t just the soldiers, but much of the populace coordinated themselves around the frame even when given a choice; from people’s outrageous new fashions to remodelling houses, everyone accepted the frame as their orientation.
Of all of it Elmira enjoyed the city-view of the towering castle most, the showpiece of Lanston no doubt. The foremost of her childhood dreams was being be able to see it on the inside one day. Though just like any normal citizen she could not really appreciate its splendour given the proximity issues.
Getting past the Castle perimeter was a privilege granted to very few and even fewer made it past the doors and into its hallows. Ruling the city from the Castle as their homestead was the Dauflon and his family. Each city had a Dauflon, a cousin or some other close family to the King. The King himself resided over Asheva, the capital city of the Kingdom
So rather, whenever Elmira wanted to see grandeur up close she would go to the city’s central bank. A giant square greeted the masses into the very nexus of the populous’ wealth. Bordering the square was a building with a titanic face as the eight steps that led up to its elevated entrance were fifty feet from side to side with a set of bronze stair rails every ten feet. At the top of the stairs a great trio of pillars stood at each side of the entrance, supporting the protruding roof overhead. Elmira had been inside with her father many times as a child, watching him talk to the bankers while she stood aside, bored as hell.
One of her favourite cafés though was just across from the bank on the other side of the square. She would sit there with her girlfriends under an umbrella and drink freshly squeezed juice or brewed coffee while watching hordes of people move about to do their business.
In the centre of the square was a fountain encircling an island of statues proportionate to the size of the square. Ironically, it was never the rich merchants or nobles who were captured in these statues even though they paid for it. Legends of ages past stood watch in exaggerated size over the square as water flowed their sword points and the mouths of their steeds and into a shallow, but giant round pool.
Cid isn’t one of the statues… yet.
Elmira was way too restless to bother sitting down at the café, so she made her daily trip to the fountain. Beggar children were plentiful in Lanston and although she cared, she also hated being ambushed by guilt tactics.
The fountain also served as the city’s symbolic wishing well and by making her daily wish she killed two birds with one stone; she’d flick a meaningless copper coin into the pool, make her wish and then later some crafty homeless child would scurry around the pool gathering the coin at the bottom to buy food. She stood at the pool edge, not sitting down at a bench like she’d used to. She opened her purse, got out the copper coin and flicked it, watching it sink to the bottom.
Just bring him back safe to me.
This was all she could really think off. Too many times she has wished for a happy life with Cid. Things had gone wrong now to the point that she suspected the best she could ask for was for Cid to survive. She smiled by herself. It was strange; as a child and even as a late teenager she would come here to wish for wealth, beauty and a prince to marry so that she could live in the Castle. While marrying Fredrere would not grant her living quarters in the Castle, she would most likely be married in the Castle chapel and then-after attend many a banquet for noble families within its dining hall. Now of course she wanted none of it, or at least nothing that did not include Cid.
Not wishing to linger Elmira turned and left the square. Her route remained random for a moment more until she decided she might just as well go to her final destination; the post office. She did not expect much letters from Cid given that he was now on active duty, but even the possibility made her compulsive to check every day.
The post office was quiet as Elmira knew it would be. People seriously expecting letters came in early, especially on the turn of the week. Now was neither. The building was a short fat tower. The messenger birds were held and kept in the upper stories and the mail was sorted into the family cabinets on the first floor. Elmira had her own personal cabinet nowadays, courtesy of living in her own place of residence, though it still be behind her father’s walls.
She got out her key and unlocked the cabinet. Sliding open the small drawer, she was surprised to find a letter; she had been so prepared to see nothing.
Hastily she pulled it out, immediately spotting the military seal. She tore it open and unfolded the letter carelessly. It wasn’t from Cid - it was short and formal and written in a very deliberate writing style.
Her eyes scrambled over the words again and again. Only a few words penetrated her thoughts:
…regrettably… war… Cid…Rogana… ambushed... deceased… in action… sympathize… body not recovered… honour his memory… military burial…
Elmira could not accept it. At first a wave of sorrow and shock swept over her, her first instinct to suppress it, to sweep it aside. Yet she became unsteady on her feet, overwhelmed.
First Bennam… now Cid!
This is wrong, this can’t be right, they’ve made a mistake!
Her mind grabbed at possibilities, denying every word in the letter. Yet she looked over it again, and again. The date caught her eye…
Somewhere in her mind a piece of information was tucked away that made her ruffle through her purse. She pulled out Cid’s letter, checking the date.
It was written the day right after she left the barracks. The letter claiming Cid’s death was written just the next day after.
Impossible. The army would not have marched so soon and far less have been in any kind of peril at that time. There was only one other alternative;
thinking about Bennam and wondering whether someone was taking out the leadership of the Lanston army, murdering its commanding officers. Then again, that would have been city-wide news as well.
The entire operation would have been stopped!
No matter what this letter said she needed to make sure Cid was safe, she needed certainty. Body not recovered… if he was in danger then Elmira had to do something to get him out. As quickly as she could she wiped away the tears and steeled her resolve.
This is not over yet! Cid cannot be dead!
By the time she left the post office she knew exactly what she needed to do.
Chapter 19
The Summoner
A strange man was hovering over the soldiers’ bodies, exalting himself as healer to these men. He worked tirelessly to keep them alive, using all his skill to stop the bleeding and seal the wounds, mindful of infection.
A scattered collection of scrolls lay around him, bold-pressed foreign numerals of power written on them. Lighting the darkness was a lively campfire, a tiny pot of boiling water placed snugly in the coals on the side, its scent telling of herbs of some kind.
The man focused on one soldier in particular who had taken a crossbow bolt in the chest, his face deathly pale. That however was partly because of the healer’s arts. Upon realizing their rapid loss of blood the man placed their a
lready unconscious bodies into an even deeper sleep; a cold one, so that everything could slow down. He did this for all except for the Colonel, who had taken but a light flesh wound and a big knock to the head.
The healer’s supplies were growing thin though, the Oltaisa syrup he used to create synthetic blood already spent. Should more wounded arrive the healer feared they would be beyond help if they were severe cases.
The man turned as he heard a soldier behind him groan. The Colonel was waking.
Cid woke, his head throbbing intensely for a few seconds and then dulled to a mild headache. Muddled at first, he sought to clear his senses and distinguish what his last coherent memory was. He opened his eyes.
Campfire and several sleeping bodies. Cid nudged himself upright with his elbows to sit.
Out of sight and near a cave, this is good. Grey stone… this must be Pale point. We’re far from the canyon though. Pretty deep into the forest actually…
Still disoriented Cid wondered where all his men had gone.
Three… there were but three soldiers lying around the fire. One of the men was Alex thankfully. Where are the others? Cid could see at least a dozen personal packs strewn around their rocky camp. Why did the group split?
A mage was attending the three sleeping soldiers’ wounds, and as the man moved on to Alex, Cid realized that he was not outfitted in the Lanston cloths. There was a foreignness about him that was unsettling.
Taking a closer look he saw that the healer wasn’t administrating the standard set of herbs and salve either, which laid suspicion in Cid’s mind. Till now the mage hadn’t even given him a single glance.
A Shadow Priest!? The thought rose suddenly and without merit - Cid quashed it. He was much more likely a wandering mage, albeit a strange place to wander. Sitting motionlessly, feeling tired, Cid studied the man’s method. For now he was merely dabbing at the raw boundaries of Alex’s arrow wound with a cloth soaked in a substance that stabbed at the nose.