Chapter III - Southbound
The low, dull rumbling of distant thunder was almost-but not quite-loud enough to occasionally drown out the sharp clopping of steel-shoed hooves impacting against the ancient, worn stones of the Kingsway. The trio of riders, clad in tightly-drawn travel cloaks, hurried south towards the border of the Kingdom of Nocturne-a much darker prospect these days than it would normally have been.
"I should have had someone place a waterproofing enchantment on my cloak," grumbled Captain Balthus Crick, shifting in his saddle as he moved to tighten the thick covering around his torso. "Probably would have cost me more than the damn thing did when I bought it, but I daresay it would have been worth the investment."
Master Jakobus, the vampire mage, laughed from the saddle of his own steed to the Captain's left. "Would that you'd said something before we'd left Braelon, friend, I'd have done it free of charge!"
"Don't suppose you could do anything about it now, then," Balthus grumbled.
"I'm afraid not," the vampire replied with a shrug. "I didn't think that I'd be called upon to enchant anything while on the road, therefore I neglected to bring any of the necessary tools for the job."
"Well, hopefully I don't catch pneumonia before we've even crossed the fucking border."
"What's the matter, Captain? It's only wind and water! I imagine you've faced worse than this pitiful squall!" From the Balthus' right, the smug, grinning face of Mattison Rhaeg, the Master's assistant, had never appeared more deserving of a swift backhand. Balthus glared at the young vampire.
"As I've told you already, boy, never mistake my discomfort for weakness-or you just might find out what my right hand can really do."
The younger vampire threw his head back and laughed gaily. "And you probably think that I can't take a light-hearted jab! Come now, Balthus, lighten up!"
"It's 'Captain' to you, whelp," Balthus snarled.
"As you wish, 'Captain'." His snarky tone was as irritating as a mosquito bite.
"Enough! We've been at this for over two days now, Mattison, and I tire of your insolence! We're still nearly a week from Grayspire proper, and I tell you now, I refuse to listen to your snide commentary for the duration! Now, make yourself useful and keep an eye out for danger, you fool!"
Master Jakobus' sharp reprimand immediately cowed his assistant, Mattison choosing to sulk quietly rather than argue. Grateful for the reprieve, Balthus gave the Master a look of gratitude and a barely-perceptible nod. Jakobus' responding smile had been faint, but Balthus had seen it all the same. In his heart, he found himself feeling increasingly grateful for the Mage's presence-for, around them, the landscape was becoming less friendly and welcoming all the time.
The terrain had given way from the softly-rolling hills, flat farmlands and lush groves of central Ralleah to the much rougher moors and rocky outcroppings which dominated large swaths of the Kingdom's southern landscape. The dips and rises of the Kingsway became more pronounced over time, almost giving Balthus the feeling that he was cruising over a series of long, tall ocean waves. Granted, he'd only been to the ocean itself once (Ralleah being landlocked and all), but it still brought back clear memories of his sole trip to the M'zaeran coast during his early twenties. Three, but the sight of scantily-clad (and sometimes entirely nude) M'zaeran women prancing through the surf and lounging upon the warm sands near the water had been one to remember...
Yet here he was now, riding through the wet, gloomy gray of late winter toward what he feared might be doom itself. He didn't like it one bit, though he felt a dirty hypocrite for feeling this way, seeing as he'd freely volunteered for the damnable mission in the first place. Was it paranoia? Perhaps it was just his soldiers' intuition acting up (he wouldn't allow himself to even entertain the possibility that it came down to simple fear of the unknown). No matter what the truth was, there was still so much uncertainty to contend with, especially after what he'd seen at the Fessely farmstead-and Balthus didn't like uncertainty, no matter how skilled and capable he was. He would have to be even more careful than he usually was, that much was certain. But such was the life of a soldier: he was here to serve his Kingdom before anything else, and this was how he himself had chosen to do it. He wouldn't cower or run, for he could never live with the shame of doing so. That was not it the Rallean Army's way of doing things-and it certainly wasn't his, either.
"You look worried, Balthus."
The Captain started, snapping out of his worried funk. "What?"
The Master Mage sighed. "Something is clearly on your mind, Captain. Speak now, there is no need to hold your tongue. Such things are unhealthy, after all."
"I-well, I was just thinking of my troopers," Balthus admitted half-truthfully. "Our mystery lunatics struck only scant miles from our Outpost, killing multiple innocents in the process, and while my people are perfectly capable-"
"Yet you still fear for their safety," Jakobus finished for him with a nod. "It is only natural, Captain. All good leaders care for and worry about those who follow them, you know this. Tell me, do you trust your second-in-command?"
"Sergeant Lowell? Yes, absolutely. He's a strong, capable man-chose him for the position myself, as a matter of fact."
"Do your people trust him?"
"So far as I know, yes."
"Then they will be fine, Balthus. They are stationed at an Outpost, after all, where they have walls, arms, and plenty of provisions. They have received extensive training from some of the finest commanders in the Western Kingdoms, and-most importantly of all-they have each other. Should any of our 'mystery lunatics', as you call them, show up at their gates, your people will either repel or outlast them-of this, I have the utmost confidence. Again, you know these things, though I understand that worry clouds your mind all the same."
"It's funny, you know," Balthus said with a sigh and a wry smile, "because I told Sergeant Lowell the exact same thing before I left the Outpost, and yet here I am fretting over trained fighters like a nervous father. Still..."
"You cannot help but be concerned-again, I understand. But I insist that you try to not to think of it. Trust in your people, Balthus. They will still be there after this strange mess has been sorted."
Balthus remained unconvinced, but thought better of expressing his misgivings. Jakobus was only trying to help, after all, and it would not do anyone-himself included-any good by arguing with the Mage. He decided to carry his worries on his own, and simply hope that nothing would go awry in his absence-as difficult a prospect as that was proving to be.
*****
Late morning eventually gave way to afternoon, and with the afternoon came more rain. The squalls were growing longer and more frequent the further south they journeyed, the chill of the wind working its' way deeper and deeper into the Captain's bones with each passing hour. He found himself almost beginning to envy the two vampires, in a way; one perk of being only technically among the living and closer to the dead, he thought, being largely impervious to the elements. At least they didn't have to worry about catching their death of cold...
He pulled his traveling cloak in tight, the dampening cloth doing only the bare minimum required in order to warm his powerful body. The Sun seemed perpetually obscured behind dense, impenetrable clouds that seemed to mock his mere mortal's flesh. What I wouldn't give for my fireplace, my robe, and a mug full to the brim with strong M'zaeran black, he grumbled to himself. He wouldn't complain out loud, though; he wasn't about to give that sneering Master Mage's assistant any more satisfaction than he already had.
Around the small party, the only sounds which penetrated the quiet took the form of the soft raindrops upon the stone slabs of the road, the rustling of the pale grasses which seemed to stretch away for eternity upon either side of it, and the ever-present low moaning of the wind. The irony had not escaped him in that conditions were exactly the same as they had been only a week before, when he'd stepped through the ruined doorway of the Fessely farmhouse and beheld the obscene and gory sights contained within it. And here he was, riding headlong into another mission that seemed almost certain to end in even more blood. The worry tacked to this feeling seemed very nearly palpable, Balthus had been thinking to himself as Master Jakobus called out some time later.
"The border is only a few miles from here," the Master Mage said, suddenly pointing a long, slender, pale finger at an upcoming signpost, which stood tall to their right. "Yes, yes, I know precisely where we are."
"You ready for what we might find, Jakobus?"
"That would require some level of clairvoyance, Balthus-one gift which I sadly do not possess. All I can do is remember what I know, and hope that it helps me kill my enemies before they kill me!"
Balthus smiled; the Mage's dry sense of humor always seemed to bring it out of him. As they passed the weathered signpost, the Captain noted the sole arrow which jutted to the south read 'Nocturne - 5' in the bold, white lettering so typical of Western Kingdom signage. That was good; they were making progress, at any rate, even if the most dangerous part of the journey likely still lie ahead. Balthus could not help but slip his hand down to the hilt of his sword, just to make sure that it was still exactly where he needed it to be. Just in case, that's what he'd always tell himself when he found himself performing one of these checks. Just in case, that's all.
The next five miles seemed to trickle by at a snail's pace, but eventually they did find themselves approaching another sign, a modest one made from a dark, weather-worn plank with the words 'Welcome to the Kingdom of Nocturne' etched and painted upon its' face. At its' base was constructed what appeared to be a meager shrine constructed from pieces of rough stone and scrap wood, all of which had almost certainly been scavenged from the surrounding moors. It sported two crude shelves, the bottom of which was packed with a strange variety of objects. They included a number of wilting flowers, various coins, as well as a small collection of stoppered bottles and vials filled with what appeared to be blood, though Balthus did not care to stop and examine them more closely.
