Herald of death

Sylas gasps for air, trying to breathe in the cold waters that take him. He opens his heavy eyes to see Liliana standing next to him, an empty bucket of cold water in her hands. He looks down at the book, fearing that she watered it. It has moved away to a far corner of the workbench, away from the water.

"I told you to be on time," she says, exasperated. She throws the bucket back next to the large barrel of water. Her gaze falls on Righteous Edge, resting in its sheath along the workbench. She grabs its handle; while she can pivot it on its tip, it's too heavy for her to lift. "Is this why you look like you didn't sleep?"

"It is," Sylas answers. He stands up and grabs the blade, attaching it to his belt. He closes the book and places it under his arm. "My gear is upstairs. You can wait for me outside."

With a scoff, she leaves through the front door, passing the shop's earliest customers. Sylas removes his drenched shirt to squeeze out the water it holds.

Leaving the smithy, Sylas notices that he's calmer this morning; seeing Liliana doesn't overwhelm him with shyness. The lingering sense of dread seems to have vanished as well. His body aches as he steps upstairs to his apartment. He spots her, watching him from behind a corner.

Sylas finds his door unlocked, not by force but by someone who used lockpicks. He pushes it open and enters his home. He places his book in a satchel, along with spare clothing, his coins, and the harmony shard he dropped. "Everything I own takes so little space," he mutters to himself.

He changes into dry, clean clothes and clads himself in his guard attire. A knot forms as he tightens his chest plate. He does it all so fast, as if he wants to go out there as a soldier. He sits on the bed, glancing at the room.

He lets out a long sigh, taking in the sight of his small apartment. The silence hangs heavy; he rubs his temples, trying to push away the fatigue and worry. He stands up slowly and heads outside.

Liliana is waiting at the end of the stairs, looking impatient. Sylas descends to her level. Getting closer to her, he notices that she seems sleepy, as if she woke up a few minutes ago. "Not a morning person?"

"Clearly," she answers. She motions for him to follow her before guiding him through the streets. "You scared me; I thought you were gone when I found your home empty."

"So, you are the thief who picked my door," Sylas mocks. "How unbecoming of a guard."

Liliana smiles lightly. She explains, "I started the job by investigating crimes in the city. It’s a good skill to have when you need to investigate a suspect's home without alerting them."

As they near the north gate, Liliana takes a turn into a small alley. She stops before a large yard with a cobblestone fence. Children are cleaning leaves that have fallen from an oak tree that sits in the middle. An old woman clothed in an ample dress bearing the effigy of Seraphel approaches.

"To what do we owe the pleasure, Lady Eirlys?" the woman asks, her voice soft and respectful. Children look at them, stopping their tasks as they listen to the conversation.

"I have something for you," Liliana says. She pulls out a pouch from her satchel, coins clinking inside. The woman moves her hands to protest, but Liliana pushes the pouch into her hands before she can speak. "I'm only a courier from my mother; she wouldn't let you refuse. Well, mostly; I added some of mine to it. I hope it will get you a bit farther."

Liliana unties the pouch in the woman's hands, revealing a top layer of gold coins. By the size of the pouch, it must contain around a hundred coins. Opening it here could endanger the place by attracting muggers and thieves; the woman must understand that as she closes it hastily.

"Thank you for your generosity, Lady Eirlys," the woman says. She hides the coins in her robe. "It's a wonderful gift. It will help us keep them warm and fed this winter. And it will allow us to pay teachers to come more often."

"I'm glad to hear it. I'm afraid we must go; our troops are waiting for us," Liliana says. She offers a small bow and walks back from where they came; Sylas follows her, and soon they reach their troops waiting near the gate.

A Corporal steps towards them, straightening into a salute. He informs them, "Sergeant Eirlys, Sergeant Heartwell. We are loading the last of our supplies as four others are fetching the horses. But we are missing someone, ma'am, sir."

"Who?" Liliana asks, glancing at the soldiers. They are loading crates and bags bought from shops, adding them to their spare spears and camping supplies.

"Osric Dunleigh, ma'am, sir."

Sylas unfurls the parchment holding all their names and finds his along with the address of his home. It is written that he lives with his parents. He hands it to Liliana, pointing at the correct row. He mutters, "My name is Hartwell."

Liliana smiles lightly. She whispers, "You should say it louder, or he will get it wrong again."

Sylas looks the soldier in the eyes and reiterates, "My name is Hartwell, not Heartwell."

The Corporal tenses. He stammers, "My apologies, sir. I'll not make that mistake again." He stares at Sylas as if expecting something – something he dreads rather than anything else.

"It is usual to order physical exercise as punishment for small mistakes. It helps them remember," Liliana whispers. She hands back the parchment to Sylas.

"Go back to your men," Sylas orders. He tries to make his tone as authoritative as possible. "Do not get it wrong again."

"Leadership leveled up."

"He will do it again," Liliana whispers. She motions for Sylas to follow her, and he does as such.

Sylas retorts, "Perhaps, but then he will have been warned of the consequences. Are second chances not a thing in your world?"

"You don't get a second chance when someone stabs you," Liliana answers.

They move through alleyways until they reach a small house, cramped between two others. Liliana knocks on the door, the sound echoing back outside. She demands, "This is the guard. Open your door."

A long silence follows. Sylas moves around, looking through the windows for any signs of movement. "He could have missed his squad, waiting at the garrison. And his parents must be at work."

"Is that the most likely reason?" Liliana asks. "Can you think of another?"

"He could have been killed or kidnapped on his way. His family could have been murdered in their sleep, or he could have deserted," Sylas humors.

"Perhaps. We have a duty to find him, as he could be in danger," she says. She kneels before the door and uses lockpicks to open it. It clicks as she turns her tools, and she stands back up with a smile. She pushes open the door. Someone pushes back, slamming the door shut.

"Let me," Sylas says, approaching the door. Using Strengthening, he kicks the door, breaking it open. A man flies from it, crashing into a table and its chairs.

Liliana enters, placing her thin blade under the man's throat. She asks, "You look like your son. Where is he?"

Something moves in the shadows – a woman swinging a pan at Liliana. She swings her blade, hitting Sylas' as he parries her and grabs the woman by the wrist.

"He wanted to be a city guard. He would have earned a good wage without risking his life every day. But you wanted to send him to fight Orcs!" the woman screams.

"Where is he?" Liliana reiterates, placing her blade back under the man's throat.

He answers, "He left a note last night; we found it on his bed. We don't know where he is."

"He deserted then," Liliana says, removing her blade. "You'll be questioned. But," she turns to the woman, "attacking a guard is an offense that will carry a prison sentence."

The woman falls to her knees, tears forming in her eyes. A guard arrives at the door, alerted by Sylas breaching the door. He asks, "Do you need assistance, Sergeants?"

"I'll let you handle it," Liliana says, heading further inside the house. "I'll make sure he isn't hiding under a bed and try to find something to track him down."

The guard looks at Sylas, waiting for orders. He glances at the scene, understanding what is happening with ease.

"Take them into custody," Sylas orders. "Do not harm them; they only need to be interrogated about the desertion of their son, Osric Dunleigh."

They turn their heads to Sylas, surprised by his words. The soldier guides them outside; they offer no resistance. Liliana reappears in the room, looking furious.

"It wasn't your right to decide what to report or not. She attacked me and should bear the consequences of her actions," Liliana says. "You don't get to judge them; it isn't our role."

"She acted in anger and confusion; you weren’t harmed, and neither was I. Hadn't I stopped you, you would have killed her; you aimed at her throat," Sylas retorts, his voice growing louder. "I am not one of you. And if becoming like you means killing scared mothers, I won't let it happen. You don't get to tell me what is right; this is mine to decide."

Liliana recoils as Sylas unconsciously steps forward. He realizes he's scaring her and lets it go, leaving the building. She exits after him, her face etched with several shifting emotions. It is not fear, anger, or disdain, but rather worry, as if she was the one who said something she shouldn't have.

"Intimidation leveled up."

"What will happen to him?" Sylas asks, breaking the silence.

"If we had caught him in his home, he would have been sentenced to a short period in jail," Liliana answers. They reach their soldiers as they secure the carts. "But now that he has fled, the sentence will likely be death."

A soldier guides a horse to her, and she climbs onto its back. The stallion wears leather and iron armor covering his head, neck, and chest. Sea snakes garnish blue cloths attached to the armor, yet it bears a larger, iron molding of a wyrm with fins and scales.

"I'm guessing this horse is a personal addition to your gear," Sylas says, a hint of jealousy in his voice.

"Envious?" Liliana mocks. She bends to the side, making sure only Sylas can hear her. "You can mount behind me if you want. But I doubt it will improve how the soldiers see you."

"I'm fine walking," Sylas says, blushing. He leaves her to place himself at the end of the formation while she takes the lead. As they pass the city's gate, his mind turns into a storm, thoughts colliding and scattering. The stress gnaws at him, making his head throb, as if his skull were trying to hold a flood of worries and fear.

As he walks, and as the landscape turns into unconquered wilderness, a shroud spreads in his body, releasing the tensions. It is as if his body has reached a point where it ignores the stress that is still all too present in his mind.