Chapter 50: 46 – We Christened Few

Eileen and Cammy slept like logs together until morning. I had to wake them up before the tavern girl was late for work— not that it mattered since she's already at the tavern. 

While we're having breakfast downstairs, several of the patrons are whispering about last night's incident. Word travels fast in this cozy city, taking not but a single night for even the tavern keeper Barco to catch wind. Especially when the topic of discussion is a demihuman.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" Eileen stumbles out of the backroom, apologizing profusely. 

Barco is red in the face, not even minding that the other patrons are watching. "Sorry ain't cutting it. Everyone in Lotherain is talking about my inn being a festering ground for monsters"

"It's a little too early to cause a ruckus," I chime in.

He points a meaty finger in my direction, no longer bothering to hide the repulsion in his voice. "It's bad enough that you brought that thing in here. The sooner you finish your business in this city, the better. As for you, Eileen, consider your employment cut short."

"What…" she meeks out.

"Bad business to be seen with a demihuman, let alone sympathize with one. I'll be lucky getting even half of my patrons back after your stunt."

Barco snatches the tray from her hands and returns to the back, leaving Eileen in shock. I go over to take her hand. This was my fault. I knew bringing Cammy here would cause trouble, but I didn't think I would end up devastating someone's life.

The moment I guide her into a seat, Eileen buries her head into her arms. No tears, no whimpering, just despondent.

"It's not your fault," she assures, as though sensing that I was about to speak. "Maybe it's better this way. Barco paid me in chicken feed. I just don't know where to go next, or if anyone will even take me in after last night."

I put a hand on her back. Cammy sees me do this and mirrors my action.

"Even so, it's my responsibility. I let Cammy out of my sight and put you in that terrible situation. Let me make it up to you. What do you say about becoming my apprentice?"

Eileen jolts from her seat. "Do you mean it?"

"Of course! We can easily build you a home, it's just—" Now that I think about it, she would also be living with a bunch of horny demihumans, and be under threat of rogue witches. The flip side would be leaving her here to fend for herself, which isn't ideal either. "It might be a little overwhelming at first."

"I can do it! I want to be more than just a tavern wench. Please make me your apprentice."

Overwhelmed by her enthusiasm, the two of us shake on it. But the moment is ruined by Barco coming back to sour the mood.

"Still here? I'm losing patronage from you just sitting there," Barco's irritation wipes the smile from Eileen's face.

"I don't believe she has to listen to you anymore," I warn, standing between them. "Why should someone not under your employ listen to you? Eileen is as much a patron as the other folk in the tavern."

And just for good measure so that he doesn't get the last word, I shove four gold coins into his hand. It's more than what he deserves, but enough to make up for our time here and placate him.

"My company would like something to eat and drink," then I lean in to whisper, "This witch would be disappointed if there were foul play in the food."

Barco swallows the words stuck in his throat, snorts, and disappears into the pantry.

"I'm sorry you had to do that for me," I hear Eileen say behind me.

"Oh, psh. You don't have to apologize for every little thing. It's only natural I protect my apprentice."

Rio plops himself on top of Eileen's head and purrs, stirring a bit of jealousy from me.

Heavy footfalls approach from the front entrance. Guard-Captain Jerome is accompanied by a party of guards.

"His Majesty, King Marcus will see you now. We are to escort you to his manor." He then glances at my dryad. "But we would like to request you leave your non-human companion here."

"I was hoping to demonstrate to King Marcus that Cammy, like many demihumans, are of no danger," I say, dejectedly.

There goes my plan. I can't exactly force them to accept my condition to bring Cammy along. I'm still bound to the king and his orders.

Eileen tugs at my robes. "It'll be alright. I'll stay here and watch over Cammy until you come back— ahem, Mistress."

I have to cover my mouth to hide my stupid smile. Being called mistress by a junior, not my usual bedside partner Gurk, couldn't make me happier. 

"In that case, I'll be counting on you until I return, Eileen."

***

King Marcus' residence lies at the top of the hill overlooking the rest of the city. He doesn't reside in a castle like the many wealthier monarchs of the northern and western sovereignties. His home is humble manor, large in size compared to his peers in the upper wards, but by no means excessively vain.

Several maids and groundskeepers tending the courtyard bow as we come through the gate. What this place lacks in material wealth and statues of figures long dead, is made up for by a beautiful garden of flora from many parts of the world.

"Has the king always had a green thumb?" I ask my escort.

Jerome takes a gander across the many fields of flower and brushes. "He has no wife or children, so he spends most of his time in the gardens as though it were his offsprings."

"I had no idea King Marcus was such an enthusiast."

Despite his grisled demeanor, the king of Parthun is a surprisingly gentle man. A rare thing for people in power such as himself.

A chamberlain opens the door and gestures me inside. Jerome comes no further, and remains at the bottom steps of the manor. 

I head inside, and the first thing to welcome me is Magistrate Semyon's scowl, "His Majesty is waiting. I expect a witch to at least know proper etiquette when meeting with him."

"Lucky for me you aren't the king," I remark, strolling past him.

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I'm led up a series of staircases until we reach the third floor. Along the way, it occurs to me how little King Marcus owns. There are no paintings or busts depicting a long, storied lineage. No armor or weapon stands to tell of his past as a warrior. The manor is, for the most part, empty. There is no other word to describe it than 'lonely.'

Semyon pushes open the mahogany double-doors, revealing a much larger chamber within. A modest throne room with many shelves along the wall serving as a repository of potted plants. King Marcus sits in a chair by the window, not even on the throne situated at the center of the room.

As soon as he sees me, he puts the book down and says, "Leave us, Semyon."

"But, Your Majesty— I'm always in attendance—"

"Not this time," King Marcus says.

Semyon is reluctant to leave, but has no other choice than to obey his king. He bows, clicks his tongue in my direction, and shuts the door behind him.

"I apologize for my magistrate's impertinence. I invited him into the post not for his manners, but for his efficient work ethic. If something needs to be done, he'll have it done the next day. Semyon is the one who arranged many of the meetings that kept you waiting."

King Marcus slides the book into a drawer. He looks a lot worse than he did when I last saw him. His cheeks are sunken, and the bags in his eyes suggest nights of unrest. 

"Your Majesty, you're unwell. I actually brought a gift that can help you with that," I say, procuring a stamina drought and a restoration potion for him to drink.

He eyes the vials curiously. I shouldn't be surprised if he is being cautious. It must have reached far and wide that the King of Randover was poisoned by a witch. A false accusation, but even unsubstantiated hearsay is enough to put anyone on guard.

Just as I think he is going to reject my offer, he drinks both of them at once and stares into the empty vial. His eyes widen with astonishment that it isn't poisoned.

"Perhaps I should have kept you close by after all," he chuckles. His amusement is quickly replaced by a frown. "Juna has turned down my request for aid."

"Your Majesty, I've given it some thought, and I do believe evacuating your people to the Weeping Expanse is the best course of action."

In the event the Council of Kings launches an invasion, the forest can serve as a natural deterrent. At the moment, no one knows more about the forest than myself and Eudora. To others, especially Headmaster Anora, it is uncharted territory with hidden dangers.

He ponders the plan quietly, but eventually shakes his head. "It is far too great an undertaking. Could you feed and look after a kingdom of twenty thousand citizens?"

"I… that's true…"

I didn't consider the logistical nightmare that would be. What if they were to—

An explosion rocks the mansion.

Something outside robs King Marcus' attention. He glances through the window, and immediately stumbles back. I catch him before he falls over, consequently witnessing the same terrible sight— Lotherain is in flames.

Jerome bursts through the door in a panic. "Lotherain is under assault. Knights more equipped than our armies stormed the gate without warning and started slaughtering everyone."

His words are so outrageous, if the city weren't on fire before my eyes I wouldn't have believed him. 

"Where is the army? Why are they not defending the city?" King Marcus maintains his composure, but it's not hard to hear the trepidation in his quivering voice.

"They're nowhere to be seen. I have the guards scrambled across the city, but we're spread thin. The fighting has reached the upper wards."

My mind races trying to come up with an answer. Who could be attacking? Why? What kingdom would risk drawing the Council of Kings' ire? How was an army large enough to besiege a city slip through unseen?

Unless… It was done through magic.

"Guard-Captain, whose banners did you see outside?" I ask.

Jerome hesitates to answer. Through clenched teeth he says, "Juna. There is another I do not recognize. It is of a bleeding fist, clutching a sword."

Both King Marcus and I understood at once. 

The Council of Kings has in their arsenal a force dedicated to the annihilation of witchcraft in the unlikely event of another Crimson Wars. Descended from witch hunters, decades of waiting, itching to do battle— The Order of Piety.

"Rally the guards to the upper wards, and do everything you can delay their advance," the king orders. "We must prepare to evacuate east."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

I'm terrified. I'm so scared, I can't even think straight. 

When did things go wrong? Why did the Council of Kings move forward with the Rite of Cleansing?

"Farrowghast," King Marcus reveals the scroll that has me bound to his will, subservient to his every order. 

He's going to use me as a pawn to fight The Order of Piety. There's no way I can win. Not against them. Do I die today? What will happen to Cammy and Eileen?

However, the king does the unthinkable— he rips the scroll down the middle. Energy ripples across the room, a thousand church bells go off in my heads, ringing so loud I keel over. But in the next instant, I'm fine.

"It seems it was never my destiny to rule. I long suspected after High Saquin, after Randover, the Council wanted these rich lands for themselves. You are free now, and I can only hope you will do me one last favor— avenge Parthun."

Even while his city burns, his words are not filled with hate. Instead, it is tortured with sorrow. 

The doors burst open a second time, but it isn't Jerome who comes through it. A tall knightess in full plate armor strides in, followed by an ocean of golden hair that collects around her cloak. What truly captivates us— whether in terror or awe— is the mammoth greatsword propped against her shoulder. Magic courses through its shaft, reminiscent of a familiar's magic signature. Yet, unlike a familiar, the magic feels perverse.

To our horror, she clutches Jerome's severed head in her other hand. 

I take a step forward, raising my staff in preparation to defend the king, but the knightess halts her approach. She tosses the head to my feet, and lets the slab of steel drop, embedding itself upright on the ground. Then, she takes a knee before King Marcus.

"The Order of Piety, Aurelias LaRouge. Among my fellows, I am christened— Humility. By the Rite of Cleansing, we have come to liberate Parthun from the threat of witchcraft."

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