Chapter 83
"With everything going on, I didn't get a chance to ask you what you thought about the deal I made with Falen."
Allora looked up from the fruit she was eating for breakfast. Beside the small platter of berries and the local equivalent of grapes, called bashos, there was also a small bowl of a porridge made from a grain similar to barley. Mitchell had become fond of it right away. The one this morning had been prepared with athi and some root vegetables.
Since Lethelin was off this morning with Falen putting the final bits of preparation in place, and Allora was still confined to their basement hideaway, the two of them finally had a moment to themselves. The fact that she hadn't brought it up was something that Mitchell wasn't sure was a good thing or a bad thing, but now was likely the last quiet time they would get before everything kicked off.
Upon hearing his question, she paused mid-chew and gave him her signature flat look. Mitchell held his breath, ready to endure her anger at letting a known edrokii have the services of the palace, even if the crime lord in question was an old acquaintance. The moment stretched and then a most surprising thing happened. Her face softened and she started to chew again. Mitchell immediately felt the knot of fear in his gut begin to unbind itself. He had learned to read her expressions well enough by now that he could tell she was not about to go off on a rant.
Finally, she spoke.
"I will admit that I did not like it," she said, her voice measured. "My first instinct was to forbid it, and I nearly had to bite my tongue to keep my mouth closed."
Mitchell grunted, but remained silent. That was as expected and, despite himself, he was prepared to argue the point. Then, she surprised him yet again.
"But, that is not my place. You did not ask for my council and, had you done so, I would have likely said you should not make such a deal with him. If word got out that the palace was in league with one of these edrokii, it could be very problematic. You will rule by right of the bond with Awen, but the support from the nobility is still vital in the management of Awen's land."
Mitchell nodded his understanding.
"However," she continued, her tone softening, "It was you who salvaged the situation that was very quickly going down the dragon's throat. If Vras had gotten ahold of Falen's men, I do not think we would have made it out of the warehouse alive. You bargained with the only currency you had and I know you would have done otherwise if you could have. And, if I am being very honest, I did not have any better idea for how we could get out of that building without either most of them dying, or us. I could not have done better, nor do I think Lethelin could have."
Allora paused, as if she was choosing her next words carefully.
"I trust your judgement, Mitchell Allen. It was a good deal and I think it saved our lives."
She smiled at him then and reached across the little table to grasp his hand. Mitchell could feel the callouses of all her years of hard training that had forged her into a weapon that could make even the strongest and bravest warriors hesitate. That he had earned the love, trust, and respect of such a woman was at times difficult for him to comprehend.
Mitchell felt a warmth spread through him at her words. He thought back to his early days here, how helpless he'd been, unable to even speak to anyone. He was like a baby in so many ways, jumping at shadows, unable to contribute or offer advice. He couldn't even aid in his own defense. His memories of that first battle when they'd been freed and how he had had to sit it out entirely, letting others fight for him, made him ashamed. Telling himself that--realistically--there was nothing at all he could have done was cold comfort. Not only had he been weak, beaten, bruised, and half starved, he didn't even know how to hold a blade back then. Nothing beyond the understanding that the pointy end goes into the other man. And here he was now, about to lead a rebellion to reclaim a city and Allora and Lethelin were going into combat beside him.
"Why are you smiling?" Allora asked him popping a slice of gawan into her mouth.
"I just feel lucky, that's all."
"We are hours away from a battle to retake the palace, vastly outnumbered and we stand a good chance of death or capture, and you feel lucky?" She chuckled at the absurdity of it all. "Maybe that word means something else on your Earp."
Mitchell laughed, too and--choosing not to correct her pronunciation of his planet -- poked at the food on his plate.
"I'm right where I'm supposed to be and with the person I'm supposed to be with. Maybe we will die. But if so, I will know that I died fighting for something worth dying for."
When Mitchell looked back into her eyes, he saw they were wet with tears and she was smiling.
"Thank you, Mitchell."
***
"Name's Khardin, my lord, aye. Khardin De Drakehorn. I was first sergeant of the third mountain division oh, about forty years back, it was, aye."
Mitchell looked the old dwarf up and down. He was wearing regular worker's garb, but his military bearing was unmistakable. He was broad across the shoulders, nearly twice as wide as Mitchell, and a squat five and a half feet tall. His face was broad, flat, and filled with crags that looked like cracked clay. His once-red trinket-filled beard was now shot through with streaks of gray and white and his nose looked to have been broken several times. Shale-gray eyes glittered out of his tan face and they appraised Mitchell right back.
"Stollar's blessings upon you, sergeant," Mitchell told him, trying to mimic the formal speech he had heard Allora use. "Thank you for returning to aid us in this fight."
Khardin grunted.
"Truth be told, my lord, it was no struggle to return, aye. Once I heard the call, I came with all speed. We'll drive out these dirt-licking clanless sons of fishwives, aye, we will!"
"We will," Mitchell nodded. Then looked to the next Onyx Knight.
"Vanthella Ne Astin, my lord Mitchell. First Lieutenant of the palace guard before I left the service roughly twenty years ago. I am honored take up the blade once more."
Recognizing the signs now, Mitchell could recognize Vanthella as a half-elf. She was handsome more than beautiful and looked to be in her fifties as far as humans measured such things. Although, Mitchell admitted, he didn't know what that would mean for a half-elf. She had long auburn hair, also streaked with gray, pulled back into a tight ponytail that went midway down her back.
She had a small web of crow's feet around glassy, pale-green eyes and a scar running down the left side of her face that began above her eye and continued to her jaw. Laugh lines framed a full mouth that was now flat and firm. Although she was wearing what appeared to be little more a sturdy traveling dress, she stood as if in full plate armor, tall and proud.
"I am honored to have you at my side," Mitchell told her sincerely.
And so it went as Mitchell greeted the three others that had shown up with Gilriel at The Mighty Nine that afternoon. Besides Vanthella and Khardin, there was a halfling named Hackett and a pair of twin elves, Eldrick and his sister, Elrin. All of them were at least middle-aged, but looked to have kept up their physical training. Each walked with a firm step and stood tall in simple clothing, none with their weapons.
