12. While You Were Gone

Bright, foamy waves crashed against the San Aria waterfront, slopping over like ale in merry tankards. The sea breeze goaded sea and stevedores alike into a lively frenzy, the dockworkers racing to unload their cargo before the storm came.

For the moment, the dark clouds sat brooding on the horizon, allowing the sun its time to shine. Today, its heat was a welcome presence, drying the backs of any sailors who'd been caught by a particularly eager wave. They tottered like scarabs, weaving their way across the slippery, tilting deck to haul crates onto the dock.

The foreman watched their progress from his position on the docks, scratching his barrel chest with great satisfaction. Raising his voice, he cajoled them with a raspy shout.

“Come on, lads! When the storm hits, I'd rather be drinking grog, not rainwater, eh?”

Their response came as a ragged chorus of cheers and heckling, but he beamed nonetheless. The day’s work was nearly done. And well it was, because it was only getting hotter. The foreman sponged his forehead with a grubby handkerchief, cursing the heat, as a welcome shadow fell upon his back. A shadow too swift to be the movement of a cloud.

The round man turned, blinking up at the colossal figure blocking the sun. The man was a stoic silhouette, glare forming a radiant halo around his head. Half an arsenal of weaponry spiked, winglike, from each huge shoulder.

The stranger cleared his throat with a noise like rocks rolling down a mountain, then rumbled in a commanding baritone: “The new boy.”

It took the foreman some time to identify the proclamation as a question.

“Aye,” he said, dazed. “We took on a new lad a couple of weeks back. He’s down there.” He turned, summoning the aura of command that had gone into hiding in the giant’s presence, and called down to the men on deck.

“Lukas!”

The new boy looked up, shaking sweat from his bronze curls. Like the other dockworkers, he was shirtless and shoeless, wearing only short trousers - practical for scrambling around a ship freely. His skin was toasted golden, and tiger-striped where rivulets of sweat had carved through the day's grime.

The only parts of the boy that weren't painted in earth tones were his eyes - pools of aquamarine that were so deep you could've sworn fish swam in them. He was half the size of the next biggest man on the crew, but the foreman knew well that he packed a deceptive strength. A good lad, if a little dream-headed.

At the sight of them, the boy broke out in a radiant smile.

“Hello, Mr Valerios!” he cried, waving up to the impassive knight. “Wasn’t expecting to see you down here.”

The giant’s moustache twitched with an emotion that the foreman couldn’t place.

“Long time no see... Lukas.”

From the way he said the name, there was more than a measure of doubt behind it, and the foreman was suddenly curious. What could this enormous knight want with one of his best workers?

Whatever he was expecting, it wasn’t what happened next. With one swift movement, the knight drew a longsword from his belt and hurled it overarm. It crashed down to the deck, embedding itself into the top of a barrel with a thunk that nearly overbalanced it. The other workers scrambled back, but Lukas only laughed, stepping forward to draw the sword free.

“Hold on, now,” the foreman protested, his parsimony momentarily overtaking his sense of self-preservation. “You can't go around making holes in my cargo. You'll have to pay for that.”

Lukas flashed a mischievous grin. “Don't you worry. He'll pay.”

The giant grinned back, his teeth like rows of anvils.

“You've been spending too much time around him. You’re starting to sound alike.”

Sword in hand, Lukas leapt like a monkey into the rigging, swinging easily to grab the giant's outstretched hand and be hauled onto the dock. No sooner were his feet solid on the flagstones than he ducked into a fighting stance, sword up and ready.

Laughing, the knight plucked a glaive from the armoury on his back, holding the shining blade aloft.

“At arms, boy. Show me your best.”

The foreman had spent a career dealing with smugglers, pirates and privateers. He took one look at the pair and leapt into the safety of the ship’s rigging.

The glaive cleaved through the air, but Lukas danced away, tracking his opponent with the point of his sword. The giant advanced. Inexorable as an iceberg, he pressed the advantage of his greater reach, harrying the lad back with a series of long swings until he was cornered against a tall stack of crates.

Just as it seemed he was trapped, the boy scrambled up the side of a box, balanced as a cat even as it swayed beneath him. The huge man considered him for a moment, then charged.

Lukas leapt clean over his head, neatly evading the unwieldy swing of the glaive as it struggled to redirect its charge. He landed heavily behind the man, sword held aloft to intercept the strike bearing down on his head. There was a resonant ringing of metal on metal, and a golden flash. The top half of the glaive clattered to the ground.

Lukas lowered his sword quickly, all trace of aggression replaced with flustered concern.

“Sorry!” he cried, bending to retrieve the fallen blade. “I didn't mean to break your-”

As soon as he knelt, the giant rapped him on the head with the broken haft - without malice, but hard enough for Lukas to yelp and rub his head, annoyed.

The knight shook his head, sighing through his prodigious moustache. “So much training with the Dancer, and he hasn’t taught you about fighting dirty. You relaxed too quickly, boy. When you think the fight is over - that is when your guard should be highest.”

The boy shrugged, embarrassed. “Well, hells. Guess I didn’t think.”

A gauntleted hand landed on his shoulder. “Indeed. It is a lesson I hope you will remember.”

Turning, the huge man called back to the foreman, who was trying to regain his bravado in front of his crew.

“I am taking this boy.”

The foreman, too alarmed to protest, nodded vigorously.

The giant turned back, lowering his voice so only his companion could hear.

“Lukas?” he asked, eyes twinkling.

Lux shrugged. “Things are straightforward here. Didn't want to stand out.”

Valerios chuckled. “You never stood a chance.”

—

Lux had been glad to find that growing up in a fishing village gave him common ground with the denizens of San Aria’s port. He’d been welcomed into their ranks these past few weeks, immersing his burnt mind in the cooling waters of repetitive work. It had been a relief.

But now, as Valerios steered him towards a patch of welcome shade, he had the feeling that that peace might soon be shattered.

“The work is doing you good,” Valerios acknowledged gruffly. “You've grown tough. And whatever foolishness that Dancer is teaching you must be paying off, because you have fine technique.”

Lux brightened at the compliment. “Coach - I mean, Rose - is pretty handy with a sword for someone who never uses one. I’d love to see you two spar.”

Valerios snorted. “As would he. Perhaps it may come to pass. I would take that untempered ego down a few notches.” He seemed pleased by the prospect.

Lux grinned at the image, then frowned, rubbing his forehead with a grimy hand. “What have you been up to, anyway? Apart from Rose, I haven’t seen hide nor hair of the… others.”

The older man thumped a huge fist into his palm. “I would have come to see you sooner. However, I have spent the last two weeks in a cell.”

“A cell?!” Lux squeaked. He tried to picture what would have been needed to get Valerios into a prison cell. Twenty men and heavy earth-moving equipment, perhaps.

“The Council of Twelve received me politely, at first.” Valerios bristled at the memory. “Too polite, they were! As soon as I alerted them to our discoveries, their welcome froze over. All smiles, no answers.”

“Then, suddenly, I am acting disorderly. Need to ‘cool my heels’. A clear declaration of war against a foreign head of state! I shall overlook it, since I was only imprisoned for ten days. Such a short ordeal is not worthy of my energies.” He shook his head.

It appeared to be bothering him a lot for something so ‘unworthy’, but Lux let it be. “What happened after ten days? You bend the bars?”

Lux had been expecting the braggadocious knight to rise to his joke, but Valerios only looked up sharply, as if jabbed between the shoulder blades by a memory,

“No, there was a man...” he began, slowly, as if working something out in his head. “He was the one speaking when I burst in on their little meeting - quietly told me not to make a scene. He came to apologise to me in my cell, and unlike the others, he wanted to listen to my story.”

Somewhere within Lux, the embers of curiosity flared. “Who was he?”

“I think he was a banker.” Valerios sounded surprised at his own recollection. “They called him Councillor Gwill. He was interested in our tale, but asked me to keep my discoveries to myself. If I could do that, he would secure my release.”

“A few days later, young Miss Freija came to pay my bail. Apparently, she'd been alerted to my capture by a letter bearing the mark of a black serpent.”

Lux shook his head, unable to dislodge his growing intrigue. “Mighty nice of her. What's she been up to?”

Valerios snorted. “I asked, and she said she had been doing ‘Hot Girl Things’.” He spoke the three words like an eldritch incantation.

“I have hardly seen her since...” He stopped, looking at Lux with a cautious tenderness that ill-fit his craggy features. “How have you been sleeping?”

Lux took a long gulp from his waterskin, buying himself time to consider the question.

“Better,” he said, finally. “Still get nightmares sometimes, but… I get the good dreams, as well.”

The memory of last month's tragedy still ached like a torn muscle. For a few days Lux had been a wreck, relieving the events over and over again in his dreams, until he'd finally cracked and begged Valerios for help. He hadn’t known what the battle-hardened soldier would suggest, but the plea had revealed a new dimension to his friend.

Valerios had considered the matter for a while, then, rather than proscribing physical exercise or simple self-belief, asked Lux about his dreams. Not the nightmares that haunted him night after night - fire and screaming, jagged teeth descending as Caela shattered into dust - but the good ones.

Stumbling at first, Lux had recounted the dreams that seemed important - his guiding light, glinting far away, and that warm, distant voice that sometimes entreated him to “stay the course”. He’d been surprised to hear that Valerios had these dreams, too. This voice, Valerios had told him, was part of their respective oaths, a divine guide on their personal journey.

“I dream of a crown, Lux,” he had said, pensively muttering through the smoke of the campfire. “I dream of a shining city, surrounding a great tree, and myself on its throne. If I trust in my oath, it will come to pass.”

He'd left Lux with some strange-smelling unguents to help him sleep and, soon enough, the nightmares had been veiled by a golden curtain, the screams replaced by noble mantras.

Lux hadn’t seen Valerios since, but even now, weeks later, he felt the gratitude light a fire in his chest.

“I am glad you are doing well.” Valerios nodded brusquely. “The people of this city have been softened by lack of hardship, but you... you have taken on too much, too quickly.”

Having circled the sensitive topic for as long as they could bear, he quickly changed the subject.

“I did not come just to check on you,” he rumbled. “We have been invited to a social gathering.”

Lux raised an inquisitive eyebrow, and Valerios coughed self-consciously.

“By the wizard.”

Lux stared, confusion wrinkling his brow. “Professor Johannes? Is this…”

He stopped, dropping his pack as he stepped away. Valerios' earlier attack had provoked less of a fear response than this.

“No, no. If this is about...”

He was unable to say the words. Valerios barrelled through his hesitation.

“It came by way of Miss Freija. I have already informed Rose. And, gods only know, perhaps the wizard even got a message to that thief somehow.”

Hellebore had disappeared shortly after their flight from the burning basement, as had the two-tongued wolf. Their departure had precipitated a general dissolution of the party, and it had fallen to Lux and Rose to deliver the all-but-dead Zora to her mother.

They'd been quietly dreading the reunion, but Vyne’s grief over her daughter's mutilation had quickly been washed away by relief and floods of thanks. Rose had returned to check on the younger medusa more than a few times since then, and Lux had begun to suspect that the grappler was motivated by more than medical concerns. Not that he was complaining: Zora's rescue and blossoming romance with Rose had been a bright spot in a very dark time.

Valerios clamped a hand on Lux's shoulder, breaking him from his recollections and pinning him in place. He lowered his wide face to Lux's, and for a moment Lux saw a glimpse of the unbreakable will that drove the older paladin. Is this the power of your oath? Lux wondered.

“Lux,” Valerios intoned, maintaining his gaze. “You once told me you wanted to protect people. Is that still true, or will you continue to play sailors forever?”

Lux gritted his teeth, breaking eye contact. “I… want to protect people.”

“Then be brave.”

—

After a deep clean at the Feisty Fish and an hour with a very snobbish tailor, Lux looked the picture of respectability. Vyne had paid them handsomely for returning her daughter, which was just as well - the only treasure they'd managed to retrieve from the lab was a handful of indecipherable notes, and they'd been too scared of further betrayal to return to the Mages’ Guild. After all, they had been the one to send the party on their ill-fated expedition.

The two paladins trotted along the eastern road from San Aria, both on horseback - although Lux's pony and the warhorse Hayl could hardly have been called the same species. Lux had scrubbed himself until he was shiny and bronze, fitted in a gleaming new set of armour. He'd defended himself from Valerios' wilder customisation ideas, eventually settling on a trim of shining brass.

The boy hadn't ever had the means to be picky about his clothes, but somehow, the suit of armour felt right. He understood a little more about Rose, for whom being a hero meant looking the part.

The paladins made good time on the road, but the storm made better, racing over their heads to set up a layer of clouds for their arrival at the lodge.

Their approach took them through a gate in a lush hedgerow to a house where a tantalising glow spilled from several stained-glass windows. With three storeys of dark wood capped by a steep thatched roof, it was far nicer than Vozloc's sham cottage. Lux wondered if Johannes had been overly humble about the wealth of a self-taught wizard.

The old man stepped out to greet them as they tied up their steeds, clapping his hands sharply. On cue, a dozen lanterns burst into life from within the undergrowth. Lux couldn't help but return the mage's proud smile at the trick, exchanging friendly greetings as they were ushered into a comfortable living room.

“Are we the last to arrive?” he asked, seeing several familiar faces already gathered.

Freija, even more elegant than before, was swathed in a shimmering material, cyan hair braided with flowering creeper vines. She was dangling a meaty bone over the head of the wolf - who, as soon as Freija was distracted by the arrivals, took the opportunity to snag his prize and set to gnawing.

Lux was even more surprised to see Hellebore, who had been cornered by Rose below a window already spattered with raindrops. Lux's mentor swept the masked thief into a bear hug despite their squeak of alarm. “Helle! I'm so glad you came! It's been too long - what schemes has my favourite cat burglar been up to?”

The thief squirmed from his grasp, brushing themselves off. “Get away from me, you oaf,” they muttered irritably - though, as they hadn’t drawn a knife yet, it seemed to be their form of a friendly greeting.

Lux took pity and intervened, clasping Rose’s hand.

“There’s my boy!” Rose said warmly, throwing a tattooed arm around Lux’s shoulders. The artwork of ink had been elaborated, the vines now twisting right down to his wrists. Lux had sat by him for the hours-long ordeal, trading Rose’s outlandish tales for his own humble experiences, which still seemed to keep him amused.

“Sorry I had to skip our training today,” Rose said airily. “Hope you enjoyed the rest.” He jostled Lux’s shoulder with his own.

The boy grinned back. “Rest? I was working the docks again. What about you? More physical therapy with your patient?”

He may have imagined it, but Rose’s sculpted cheeks seemed to redden. He waved a vague hand as if to waft away the question.

“Muscle atrophy is a serious business,” he blustered. “Zora’s mostly recovered, but I thought I’d check in to be really sure.”

Lux decided to let Rose off the hook, turning to the thief observing their banter.

“It's nice to see you again, Hellebore,” Lux said stiffly, finding that he really meant it.

“Yeah, well,” the thief rasped, working at the floor with the toe of their boot. “You asked, and after everything that happened to you, I thought I owed you one.”

Lux gave them a puzzled smile. “Huh? No, I didn’t ask. I only found out about this today from Mr Valerios. The Professor organised this - it's his house, after all.”

“What?” Freija hurried over to join them, confusion interrupting her greeting. “No, it's not.” She waved over Johannes, who brought his conversation with Valerios into their huddle.

Johannes nodded, adjusting his tie. “That's right. Freija and I were just supposed to use a little magic to get this place ship-shape for the evening. I was under the impression that one of you lived here?”

Quizzical faces looked at each other. Even the secretive Hellebore seemed uneasy. As one, they looked at the two-tongued wolf, who had made an appearance for the first time in weeks. It had dropped its bone and was staring past them, ears alert.

Rose attempted to break the tension. “What?” he asked in a strained chuckle. “Don't tell me he lives here?”

“Sort of.”

The voice tickled the backs of their necks, cool and dry like wind whistling between headstones. The assembled guests spun around as a figure stepped from the shadows, which had been empty a moment before.

The room was briefly illuminated by a flash of lightning, the house rattling under the thunderous boom that accompanied it. As if on cue, the woman standing before them brushed a strand of void-black hair from her pallid face, revealing a grey scar across her cheek. It spiderwebbed across the right side of her terribly familiar features like cracked stone. Under their disbelieving stares, a nervous smile brought the blush of life to an otherwise pale visage.

“Hello, everyone,” said Caela.

13. Ex Lapide >>