Unfought Wars [Time loop Action Fantasy]

The lights of Tenorsbridge paint the horizon blue. Its spires rise above the treetops, black silhouettes against the sky. We are ushered in, but there's no parade. I was starting to suspect that might be the case, and I'm relieved I was right. Yarn has been quiet for the rest of the trip. Finna got pretty riled up about the Sir Lictor thing and told him to shut up. I think she really scared him.

Yarn takes us through the roads, where life seems to be going as it always has. I've seen the streets of Tenorsbridge only a couple of times and always very briefly, but no buildings are in ruins, nothing has been burned. People laugh and shout inside taverns, and the Tenorsbridge guards patrol the streets, relaxed and easy. They nod their helmeted heads at Yarn, and he waves back at them.

"Most people don't really know that there was a problem with magic," Yarn says, waving for us to turn right at the next street corner. "So there's just a small gathering being held at the Hall. The Council will want to thank you personally and there will be some relevant people invited to attend. A small social gathering, they called it. I bet everyone will be there." He sighs, sounding like he isn't invited.

"Hmm," I say. There's not much else to say. Returning to Tenorsbridge feels surreal. The city exists to me only as smoke and mirrors, figments passed through on Rides. Now I walk its streets for real.

We walk past the Wily Wizard. The mage winks at us from its plaque, swinging lazily in the wind. "Wait," I say. "I want to take a look."

I walk away, pushing the door open and taking a look inside. The table at the corner is empty, even if the rest of the place is absolutely packed. There are people wearing robes and conical wizard hats, metal armor and clothes like Liam wore in his office. I take one more look at the empty table and close the door, sighing.

"What was that about?" Finna asks.

"I wanted to see if any of the Janitors happened to be there. Or if they are still reserving the table," I say, thinking back.

"How do you know about the reservation?" Yarn whispers, eyes wide.

We leave Yarn, Hearn, and Lirn in the entrance hall. A group of wizards circle Hearn, each carrying a notebook. I worry they will start brawling over who gets to talk to him first. Hearn has been quiet for most of the trip. He is probably still processing his new life or the life he lost. I didn't have the heart to talk to him about it. Maybe I should have, but all of us had enough to think for ourselves.

We're taken to separate rooms and given new clothes. The clothes resemble the ones I already had, only clean. I finish changing fast and walk out of the room, only to see Hearn still completely surrounded by wizards waving their notebooks at him.

I push through the wizards, elbowing my way through. They grunt and yelp as I step on one's toes, my boot landing on the pointy velvet slipper he's wearing.

"Hearn, how are you holding up?" I ask.

The old jonungaard looks up at me, red eyes grateful on his white face. "Barely," he says, smiling sadly.

"Let's get you somewhere to take a breath," I say, offering him my hand.

Hearn pulls Lirn up from the floor, where he's sitting, and grabs my hand.

The wizards start shouting and protesting, but I push through them, shoving one back with my other arm. He stumbles back multiple steps, and another wizard grabs on to him to stop him from falling over. I didn't mean to push him quite that hard, but the wizard was lighter than I thought. Maybe I'm just stronger.

"Sorry," I say, making my face hard. I don't know if wizards can smell fear, but I'm still not going to show any. I chuckle at the thought, before lifting my gaze and stopping for a moment. "You can continue this later," I say loudly over my shoulder.

Hearn lets me pull him to the room I changed clothes earlier. He's very quiet as he guides Lirn to sit on one of the couches. The young jonungaard's eyes move across the furniture and the gilded decorations on them, but otherwise there's no sign that he would be recovering from whatever the mana did to him.

"It's true, you know," Hearn says. "I won't be going anywhere. Jonun is as lost to me as it is to the world, if not more so."

I pull him into a hug. I'm not much of a hugger, but there's nothing I can say to him, and I can't just stand and watch him look like that. He pats my back softly. Lirn watches us, unblinking, equally simple and unknowable. The hug lasts for a long time.

There's a knock on the door. "Sir? It's time. The others are already waiting," a voice says.

"Go," Hearn says. "I will be fine. I've left before. There were no guarantees."

I watch him for a moment, making sure.

He sighs, slapping his hands together. "Please. I'll go and speak with the wizards, you do what you must. And maybe one day we'll search for Jonun together."

I'm swallowing back the tears as I get out of the room. Finna and Rworg stand waiting, wearing new clothes as well. I think we've been dressed like what wizards think adventurers look like. Finna squirms and nudges at her clothes, like they don't fit right. She looks really good in them, but it's partly because these clothes lack all the grime and mud and blood.

I wipe my face with my sleeve. The rest of our gear is packed and placed neatly to wait at the side of the entrance hall leading to the council chambers above. The circle in the ceiling is open, and I hear voices talking above. The party must have started already.

A guy in a black uniform hands me a new visitor's pass. I can't resist showing off and explaining how to use it to Finna and Rworg. The guy looks at me in confusion and then wrinkles his nose, almost like he's offended I know about the passes.

Finna rotates the badge around in her hand and squints at it.

I lean toward her. "Can't take them out from here," I whisper. "Wards."

She scoffs and stuffs the badge into her pocket. "Whatever. Thanks."

I manage to get the hovering right this time, hitting the circular opening directly. A mage helps me down, and I land softly to stand on the marble floor. Below me, Rworg slams on the ceiling so hard I feel the impact in my feet.

The white marble chamber is full of people. Marek is there, eyes like quicksilver and smell of ozone wafting around his massive hat. Corum stands to his right, equally tall, almost as scary. They wear what must be ceremonial robes, thick and decorated with blazing silk and heavy muslin. I remind myself that I haven't met either of them. It doesn't make meeting Marek's eyes any less unnerving.

Astaroth has a smirk on his face, and he taps his nose at Finna as she floats up through the opening. The women wear long gowns and the men shiny outfits of silk and brocade. Even Mona is there, standing in her full Janitorial uniform among the others. The overalls look out of place, but the rune-laden cloak compensates for their simplicity. She nods at me, smiling in a way that makes me blush. Finna sniffs next to me, and I look quickly away from the Janitor, just in case.

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

I'm worried there will be speeches and ceremonies. I'm not sure what I would like to be doing, but it's not listening to wizards talk and talk about things they weren't involved in.

Finna is tense like a pulled bowstring. Her face is hard as her eyes scan the crowd, fists clenched at the sides of her legs. "He's not here," she says.

He isn't.

I don't know why. Maybe Lictor wasn't invited, as he's not a Janitor anymore. But why did Yarn call him Sir Lictor? Maybe all old Janitors are called sir.

I don't have time to consider it further as Marek approaches us, hand outstretched. "I wanted to thank you all personally," he says. He speaks softly, but all discussion dies down in the room. His voice feels like a drum, so deep it doesn't matter he speaks quietly. I hear the sound through my body more than through my ears.

Marek shakes hands with Rworg, saying something in what sounds like Kertharian. A look of surprise flashes through Rworg's face, and he responds in kind, grasping Marek's hand with both of his. The handshake looks so serious and solemn, I wonder if Rworg will start to cry.

Marek moves to Finna and bends to shake her hand as well. His eyes sparkle, alive in his parchment-like face. "You can pick a gift as a personal thank you from me," he says, letting go off her hand.

"This one ok?" Finna asks, lifting a golden ring with a blue gem in front of Marek's face.

A smile plays on his lips. "Knew you'd pick the most expensive one, you bastard," he says, turning his hand over to look at it and the one finger without a ring. He winks at her and straightens his back, towering over her.

Finna chuckles and I could swear she blushes. That old goat.

I forget the thought as Marek locks eyes with me. "I understand you are to thank you for the plan working, Folke," he says.

I lick my lips. Oh, right.

Oh, damn.

He holds my gaze for a moment. Finally, he extends his hand. "Thank you," he says, his features softening. Sparks zap and sizzle, running up his hat. He smells like an old man and ozone. His grip is strong and firm as he shakes my hand. "Who knows, maybe it is for the best," he says so quietly, I don't think anyone else hears. "Now, the Time Gem. I still have use for it," he says, still as quietly.

I hesitate for just a moment, then raise my hand to touch the pouch sitting under my tunic. He reaches his hand to pat me on the shoulder. I feel his fingers move, but it happens so quickly I don't realize what is happening before the knot comes loose. He lowers his hand back down and pulls the pouch from under my shirt with the same movement.

He winks at me as he turns to talk about our deeds to the people watching the show. People clap politely and turn back to continue their conversations. The party continues, like nothing had happened.

Rworg moves among the people like a bull among sheep. He seems to know some of them, and he shares a hug with Corum. That's new. He beckons me over, and I walk slowly toward them.

"Folke! No reason to be shy!" Rworg bellows, making people flinch and look his way.

Corum chuckles. She's almost as tall as he is, standing straight, steel in her eyes even here in the middle of the party. "We haven't met," she says, offering me her hand.

I hesitate for a fraction of a second before reaching for her hand.

She raises an eyebrow. "Ah, but who really knows, these days," she says with a lopsided smile.

Rworg and her exchange some more pleasantries before she excuses herself, moving to talk to Marek.

"Impressive woman," Rworg says, nodding. "So, hunter, what are you going to do next?"

"Me?" I ask. "I should be asking that of you. Where will you go? What will you do?"

"Home," Rworg says. He lifts his chin and lets out a long breath from his nose. "I will feel the sun and sand on my skin. Meet my family."

"But they…" I begin, but stop.

"I know," he says.

The silence stretches, the party around us unnaturally loud in comparison.

Rworg pats me on the shoulder. "I will eat. You should do the same. This party is not for us, but at least there is food."

I watch him wade through the crowd to the corner of the room, toward a large table laden with platters and platters of fancy food. What does he mean this party isn't for us?

The rest of the night is a blur. People come to meet me, slap me on the back, ask me what I'm planning next. No one says anything about what we did exactly, but everyone seems to know. Ral and Lille talked about the city being a dangerous and complicated place, and maybe they meant this.

I pick up things at random and realize one of the small chunks is snake meat. The one we ate in Kerthar was better. Mandollel cooked it for us. No one has said anything about him, pretending like he didn't exist in the first place. I grip the fork in my hand so hard my knuckles go white. I should—

Mona clears her throat, making me look up. "Welcome back, Folke."

I swallow and relax my grip on the fork. It's almost as intimidating facing her as it was facing Marek, but for an entirely different reason. She somehow makes the Janitor uniform look more glamorous than the robes or gowns any of the other women wear.

"Don't worry. I will see Mandollel returned. No one will forget his part, but politics are politics," she says.

I wipe at my mouth to hide the sniffle. This is still too much. Why did we have to get brought here directly? I still don't know how far the Kertharians got, what happened to Velonea while we were lighting up the sky.

Mona places both of her hand on my shoulders. She has a sad smile on her face as she looks into my eyes. "I know, Folke. I know." She pulls me into a hug, wrapping her arm around my head. I have my nose pressed into her shoulder, but she still doesn't smell like anything. "I better let you go now," she says, then turns her head to look at something at her side. "Oh, and there's a letter for you. For Rworg as well."

She lets me go, and I notice Finna standing next to us. I step quickly away from Mona, as she takes out a folded piece of paper from the pocket of her overalls. "It's from Lictor. He's sorry he couldn't be here tonight."

Finna's mouth turns down and she scowls. She takes the paper, scrunching it in her fist into a tight, angry ball.

Mona watches her do it without blinking an eye. She only nods, like she confirms or approves what happened. "Astaroth wants to speak with you. Don't offend him by taking his first offer."

"Like I would," Finna says with a scoff.

"You might be surprised. It's a pretty good offer," Mona says, raising an eyebrow. She glances over her shoulder. "Now excuse me, I have to defuse a situation." Mona winks at me and turns to walk away, her golden hair swishing in the air, revealing her alabaster neck for a moment.

I feel Finna's eyes move toward me and snap my mouth shut, compose myself. "So… I wonder what Astaroth wants?"

Finna scoffs and shrugs. She still has the scrunched paper in her fist, but lets it fall to the ground. "I'll find out," she says, walking off.

I don't know what I expected. Pretty much this, I guess. The pants really make her look great.

Rworg clears his throat, making me twitch. Everyone keeps doing that to me tonight.

"She is a fine girl," he says. He holds one of the platters from the table with a pile of small meatballs on it, picking three at a time and throwing three of them into his mouth. "Will make a great mother. Strong," he says, munching at the same time.

I glance at Rworg and my face starts to blush immediately. "Um, ehm," I manage.

"Hah!" he laughs and slaps me on the shoulder. His hand leaves a grease stain on my new tunic. "Never forget to enjoy life, Folke. Now, I am called."

I look to where he's looking and see Mona beckoning him over. She has her other hand on the Ponytail Guy's back, like she's talking to one friend and wants to introduce them to the other. I remember him. Ponytail Guy, Kattam Lombarte, who was part of the War Faction and the plan to kill all Kertharians with Marek. I saw him stalking Marek earlier, so maybe that was the situation that Mona needed to defuse. Kattam's face is almost as red as his ponytail, pulled so tight it looks like his face stretches backward.

Serves him right to have to talk to Rworg and get slapped on the shoulder a couple of times. I rub at my shoulder, still tingling and smarting.

Marek is making his rounds before leaving. He nods at people, shakes hands and smiles at everyone. "Please, stay and enjoy yourselves," he says, his voice rumbling over the general hubbub. He bows at me and Finna and Rworg, each separately. He leans on Corum's hand as he does, the hat looking like it might top him over otherwise. "Once again, thank you."

Marek walks toward the corridor leading to his office, supported by Corum. Some people approach with their hand outstretched or some remark or question on their lips, but Corum glares at them in a way that makes everyone close their mouths and take a step back. Marek smiles and shrugs at people, like he's apologizing for his niece's behavior. The sparks running up and down his hat are going wild, the stench of ozone wafting to the other side of the room.

I move slowly to watch them as they go. The moment the edge of the corridor shadows them, the imperious look on Corum's face falls away and is replaced with worry, brow furrowed and mouth slightly parted. She reaches her hand to take the hat off Marek's head, and the tall wizard slumps, leaning heavily on her arm.

I sigh. Politics, winking, old wizards and shifty merchants. Tenorsbridge is as bad as I remembered.

I want out.