Chapter 5: Part 5: The Shadow of What Could Have Been

Eventually, Sebastian did manage to get himself into the saddle and back to what passed for the main road.

Not much better than a goat track, honestly. About what you would expect from the small villages that were his bread and butter these days. It meant you had to travel further and saw fewer jobs, but they weren't usually large or prosperous enough to rate their own mage or a Paladin visit either.

Hah — like Paladins weren't just jumped up Relicts themselves, only with better gear and the might of the entire Church of the Arc behind them. Even made the same way as a Relict, according to the texts Sebastian had been set to read as a trainee, aside from the whole Vows deal.

Didn't have to go through Graduation like Relicts did either, did they? Probably even got given a packed lunch and a pat on the head before being sent on their merry fucking way, practically skipping along the Path.

During his training when he was much, much younger; Sebastian had often wondered — had often enough wished —

What if the Levy had taken him to become a Paladin instead of a Relict?

What if he had been born in Folester or Corego or any of the other Church-bound countries, instead of in mage-bound Thorn? Somewhere he was Relict-bound just as soon as his sorry excuse for a father had offered Sebastian up, almost before the Jarl's lawspeaker and her men had even arrived at their door?

Wouldn't have to put in half the work just to convince folks to hire Sebastian to take on their monster problems, that's for sure. Just show up in his shiny armor and the townsfolk would be practically falling over themselves to give him the damn job.

He would be paid better too, cheered and toasted by the locals for each successful hunt. Respected even — almost on the same level as a journeymage.

Sure, they had to serve the will of the Church, but they didn't do so alone. You never found one far from their teammates; reinforcements for the jobs too big to take on by themselves, or when things got rough and they needed an extra set of hands after.

Sounded real fucking good to Sebastian right now.

Someone to watch his back, maybe help stitch him up when he got in over his head like today. Even just…even just someone to talk to, outside the confines of his own damn head.

He had never seen much purpose in this "lone wolf" bullshit his Order preached. It felt like half the reason townsfolk didn't seem to trust them these days.

Not fashionable anymore. Not safe.

Not like those impressive Paladins and their courtly manners, or those oh-so-nice mages with their fancy clothes and their fancy words and their fancy Towers.

Not that Sebastian really expected to see Paladin all the way out here. Not that he would want to — not anymore.

Those were the dreams of children. And Sebastian hadn't been a child in a long, long time.

At least a stray journeymage would be a Relict's only real competition in these parts, aside from the odd other Relict that might cross his Path.

But another Relict would understand, maybe even pitch in. Another Relict wouldn't swoop in and steal the job outright like a mage would.

Not that there were many jobs now, with both the true monsters and beasts like this djävul getting fewer and farther between every year.

But then…even a mage wouldn't try and round up the local population against him. Wouldn't go and try to make it their holy mission to see him hung or burned, like those Relicts working the eastern territories had to worry about if they were unlucky enough to happen too close to the borders and run afoul of the Church.

Poor bastards.

Seemed like their influence was spreading further westward every day too. Towns that he used to make a fair bit of coin in back in his early years now grown tight-lipped and stingy soon as they caught sight of his eyes, his runegloves.

And if it wasn't the Church's influence, it was that of whichever local magelord held sway, which amounted to much the same as far as Sebastian was concerned.

Don't trust the Relicts, those heartless profiteers of misery. Beasts, brutes; more monster than man. Thieves and thugs, all. Hire a mage, hire the Church — turn and burn the Relicts away.

 

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*****

 

It was an uncomfortable trip back into town. Sebastian could feel every minute sway and jostle, every twitch and hoofbeat. All of it made every inch of his body feel lightning struck, his rib catch fire, and the pain in his head flare something fierce.

Not that the latter took much. Even the brightness of the sun was making his head ache.

Finally, the alderman’s cottage came into view. Its entrance was nearly hidden by the climbing roses clustered thickly over the green front door, a charmingly pastoral vision that was in stark contrast to Sebastian's increasingly foul mood.

By this point, he was almost wishing he had just stayed on his back in the dirt back with the djävul. But this town was big enough to support a healer judging by the little sign he thought he had remembered seeing hanging outside one of the cottages when he was taking the job.

That would be his next stop. Just as soon as he had turned in the djävul's antler to the alderman as proof the monster wouldn't be bothering the town any longer and gotten his payment for the hunt.

*****

Sebastian greyed out a bit dismounting in front of the alderman’s house, needing to hold on to the saddle a few moments while the world around him sorted itself out again and stopped swaying so damn much.

He tried to focus on the immediate area around him instead to ground himself while it did. It was an old trick his instructors had taught them, useful for whenever they found themselves waiting for a potion to work its way out of their systems.

Sight — Well, that was out until the world stopped spinning. Next.

Sound. He could hear the clang of the blacksmith’s anvil down the road. And not too far away there were children playing, Sebastian grimaced as their shrill laughter grated on his sensitive ears. It sure wasn’t doing the pain in his head any favors at all.

What else?

Birds — randy little fuckers looking for a mate. Bees buzzing drunkenly in search of flowers.

Next was scent. He could smell himself and his horse of course, coming in perhaps a touch too strong. Maybe he had let them both get a bit too pungent lately, long due a dip in the next clean stream he came across.

He could smell too the leather of his saddle, and some of the spirit oil that had seeped into his gloves from when he had been hired to clear out those draugr a few jobs back. The baker nearby busily plying his trade; a dozen homes with supper bubbling away on the hearth.

Touch was all too easy. It felt like he could feel the barest breeze across his injured face. The leather of his gloves clenching his horse’s reins tightly in his hands. The ache in his head, in his chest, in his shoulder; the lingering nausea in his belly warning of every injudicious movement.

And taste — The iron of blood from where he had split his lip during the impact.

Sebastian took a deep breath, and — centered and in control of himself once again — he tied up his horse to the hitching post near the alderman’s house. He even managed to walk up the little flower-bordered path without weaving too badly, instantly regretting the loud knocks he rapped against the wooden door.

 

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Author's Notes:

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