Valkyrie's Shadow

Chapter 3

“Welcome to Kalinsha, Captain.”

“It’s been a while, Sanchez,” Gustav nodded. “How have things been out here?”

“Busy,” Sanchez replied as he turned and led Gustav into the office. “Too busy. I don’t suppose you have two dozen or so of our brothers to spare?”

“I don’t even have two dozen or so Squires to spare,” Gustav chuckled helplessly. “We’ve gone from one hell to another.”

It was a different sort of hell than the one that visited the Holy Kingdom of Roble the previous autumn – the type of hell that couldn’t be overcome by force of arms. In the aftermath of Jaldabaoth’s invasion, the northern territories of the country were in ruins and they were far too short on hands for a speedy recovery. Too few Nobles to administer the lands; too few Paladins for the judiciary. Too few soldiers to police the country and resource shortages everywhere in the face of impending famine.

“I heard about your promotion to Grandmaster by Prince Caspond,” Sanchez said. “I suppose congratulations are in order.”

“King Caspond,” Gustav corrected him. “And it feels more like a punishment than a promotion, if you ask me.”

Sanchez only shrugged and smiled slightly. Gustav knew the senior Paladin to be a stern disciplinarian and a stickler for the rules. Caspond’s sudden, arbitrary ascension had not only upset many of Roble’s aristocrats, but also many of those who upheld the kingdom’s order. In their eyes, it was a step towards absolutist tyranny.

Gustav agreed with that notion, but, at the same time, a devastated kingdom without a king at the helm would have problems agreeing on a path to recovery. That belief was probably the reason why Gustav had been promoted to Grandmaster and not Sanchez, who was a member of Roble’s Nine Colours.

At least that was what he believed a month ago. Now, it seemed the direction that the country so sorely needed was rapidly accelerating its ruin. Maybe he had been appointed to the post because he was too willing to bend.

Speaking of which…

“Anything new to report?” Gustav asked.

“Nothing that you don’t already know, Captain,” Sanchez said. “Which feels strange, in hindsight.”

Gustav nodded in silent agreement. A year ago, reports from Kalinsha would contain all sorts of new ‘developments’ – mainly dozens of Demihuman raids and the associated casualty counts. Now, the fortress city was no longer needed as the command and supply centre of the Great Wall, and the lack of that need clearly showed.

Kalinsha remained in ruins; the resources that would have normally been prioritised for its repairs were instead allocated to Hoburns, Rimun, and the other western territories. Ironically, the great eastern citadel of the Holy Kingdom had been brought low by the lack of the very thing that it had stood for so long to defend its country against.

“Our gaols need clearin’,” a civilian aide noted from the side. “Another day or so and they’ll be spillin’ over.”

“There is that,” Sanchez conceded. “Would you mind, Captain?”

“We’ll have to join the highway patrol for the extra eyes,” Gustav said, “but that shouldn’t be a problem. Oh, and we’ll need provisions for the penitents.”

“And here I thought we could build up more than two days’ worth of supplies,” Sanchez replied ruefully. “You’ll have your provisions, Captain, but over half of those prisoners aren’t penitents yet.”

“That’s something I can help with, at least. Have any extra offices that aren’t in shambles?”

“Third door to the right. I had it prepared for additional staff, but they never showed up.”

Gustav snorted at Sanchez’s sardonic tone. It was the same everywhere, really. The Holy Order had fared significantly worse than the aristocracy, losing nine out of ten of its members over the course of the war. Additionally, the practice of mandatory military service had been suspended in favour of dedicating manpower to the country’s recovery efforts. The army’s numbers were at an all-time low and they barely had enough soldiers to keep the lands from falling into chaos. Needless to say, next to no one was stationed on the Great Wall.

A girl that would be about the age of his daughter if he had one came into the office and deposited a small box of documents atop the room’s simple, wooden desk. Gustav took a seat at an equally simple wooden table, perusing the crate’s contents.

“Let’s start with these.”

He placed the folder that was sitting at the top of the pile between them. The girl opened the folder, picking up a sheet and peering at it with an intense look of concentration. Gustav wondered if she could actually read or had just memorised the layout of the form.

After she left, he glanced between the folder and the crate it came from. Given the shortage of staff, it probably hadn’t been properly sorted. The top of the pile would be the latest prisoners to arrive. It was too late to call the girl back, though.

Well, let’s just get this batch done and go in order after that.

The first prisoner brought before him was a skinny man who was in sore need of a shave. That wasn’t saying much considering that most of the men in the country were starting to look like that. The man glanced furtively at the nearest window as if considering how he might be able to escape.

“I’m Captain Montagnés,” Gustav said in a warm tone, “what’s your name?”

“P-Paul.”

Gustav nodded and scanned through the man’s form. There wasn’t any easy way to confirm his identity; making sure who he claimed to be matched what was recorded was all that they could afford to do.

Theft – scavenging without a licence…at least it looks like people are getting brave enough to go beyond the wall. Brave, or desperate.

“You’ve been charged with theft by one Reynaldo de Silva,” Gustav said. “Just so we’re clear here–”

“I ain’t no thief!”

Paul’s escorts placed their hands on their sidearms at the man’s shout. The man turned and backed away in a panic as the two soldiers came forward. He bumped up against Gustav’s desk. Gustav placed a hand on Paul’s shoulder.

“Relax,” he said.

“I don’t want to die!”

Paul sank to his knees, disappearing in front of the desk. The silence of the office was filled with his sobs. Gustav shared a look with the man’s escorts, who shook their heads unknowingly in return.

“The sentence for theft isn’t death,” Gustav leaned forward over the desk. “Not even if you steal from the Holy King.”

“B-but it’s death for poaching…”

“Alright, you’re not wrong about that, but you weren’t poaching. The report says that you were scavenging with a fake licence.”

“It’s not fake!” Paul protested, “I paid good money for it!”

Gustav furrowed his brow at the man’s claim.

“Who did you pay for it?”

“Just a guy I know,” Paul said. “I-I can’t read. He’s a good guy. He gets stuff like this for people who can’t read.”

Gustav sat back in his chair with a sigh. He picked up the ‘licence’ attached to Paul’s file. It was clearly invalid. It wasn’t even a licence at all. Someone had gotten their hands on official documents, but the document in question was an application form. Paul’s name was even written in the appropriate field, along with a few other details.

Not that someone who can’t read can tell. They can only judge by how official it looks.

“Have a seat, Paul,” Gustav said.

The man sat down, sending a lost, helpless look across the desk.

“You may have been cheated,” Gustav said, “but the fact remains that you committed a crime. You have two options. The first is that you help us find this man who cheated you. The second is that you serve out your sentence in a labour camp. It’s good, honest work and you’ll be fed and provided a place to sleep.”

“I’ll work.”

Paul’s answer was immediate. The corner of Gustav’s mouth twitched downward at the firm response. Wouldn’t one normally want to bring the ones that victimised them to justice?

“Are you sure about that?”

The man nodded.

“So be it,” Gustav said. “We’ll have you assigned to a local labour camp. What did you do before the war?”

“I lived in Mercia. Worked on the docks or any odd job I could find.”

“You mean you were a wharf rat.”

Paul nodded again, looking down at his lap.

“There’s no shame in that,” Gustav said. “In your case…how does working at a shipyard sound? We’re rebuilding the one on the coast north of here.”

“I’d like that, m’lord.”

Great, I’m a ‘m’lord’, now.

No matter how times changed, there were always people who tried to ingratiate themselves with those they thought would benefit them. The smallfolk almost did it by reflex. Gustav wasn’t doing the man any favours, though – he was just trying to place people in positions according to their experience whenever he had the chance.

“Then you’ll be going out with the next caravan,” Gustav said. “Behave yourself until then.”

“I will m’lord. Thank you, m’lord.”

Paul bobbed his head several times before he was led out of the office.

Gustav stared down at his desk, trying to keep a sour expression from taking over his face.

“How many ‘m’lords’ do I need to receive before an Inquisitor comes calling?” He asked.

“We don’t have any Inquisitors in our order, Captain.”

The boy who spoke was one of the few Squires to join the order after the war. Gustav knew his parents well. He had taken up his father’s sword during the fall of Hoburns and somehow survived to join the resistance after that.

During Jaldabaoth’s invasion, Roble’s citizens experienced the futility of fighting the Fiends and their Demihuman minions. As a result, barely anyone wanted to join the Holy Order. Worse yet, barely anyone wanted to join the army that could once rely on mandatory military service to fill its ranks.

Something’s gotta give at some point.

He suspected that the army would break down first, and evidence of its growing ineffectiveness at keeping order was a clear sign that things were headed that way. Figuring out how to turn things around was in the hands of the Royal Court, however, not his.

A knock sounded at the door.

“Come in,” Gustav said.

A young man – he looked a few years younger than Paul – was led in. He had the same, grimy look as the man who came before him and a cringing posture that was all too commonly displayed by the common folk as of late.

“I’m Captain Montagnés,” he said in the same, welcoming tone as before. “What’s your name?”

“Liam,” the young man replied without looking up at him.

Gustav glanced over Liam’s file. He appeared to be part of the same group that Paul had been in.

“You’ve been charged with theft by one Reynaldo de Silva,” Gustav told him. “For scavenging without a licence, specifically.”

“I do have a licence,” Liam told him.

Do I have to go through the same song and dance with all of them?

He glanced at the pile of papers on the table. How many were there, anyway? Gustav flipped the page over to check the attachment. To his surprise, he didn’t find a half-filled application form, but a real licence.

“Where did you get this, Liam?” He held up the licence between his fingers.

“From the town hall in Mercia,” Liam replied.

“You can read and write?”

“The people in the town hall helped me.”

Of course they would.

It was common sense to Gustav and Liam, but it hadn’t been to Paul. The man was willing to trust a stranger to get him what he needed instead of going straight to the people who were supposed to help him. He couldn’t for the life of him figure out why that was.

“How did you become acquainted with Paul and the others?” Gustav asked.

“They were doing the same work,” Liam answered, “so I joined them.”

“Did you know that Paul didn’t have a licence?”

“No.”

“Isn’t that something you’d confirm, normally?”

“If you show off something important,” Liam replied, “someone’s going to steal it.”

Gustav fell silent, taken aback by his answer. Maybe their common sense wasn’t as similar as he thought it was.

Paul would have instantly realised that his licence was fake if he had just compared it to Liam’s. More importantly, only one person in a group needed to have a salvage licence. One would only bring others in to work for them if it was worth it, after all. If they had all worked under Liam, they probably wouldn’t have been brought in in the first place.

Gustav mulled over the odd series of disconnects involving Paul and Liam. If he had to choose, Liam was the stranger between the two. He behaved as if he lived between two worlds.

That’s not all that’s strange about him. His diction is too clean. I can’t pin any accent on him, either.

He couldn’t immediately tell as a Noble, Bard, or Sage might have, but Gustav’s work brought him into contact with enough people that he gained a sort of sense for those things. The only time someone sounded so ‘clean’ was if they weren’t speaking in a language that the listener understood.

Gustav leaned forward, folding his hands atop the desk.

“You’re not from around here, are you?”

Silence.

“Where are you from, Liam?”

Several moments passed before the young man visibly relented.

“Re-Robel.”

“How did you end up here?”

“A ship hired me on,” Liam said. “It was my first voyage. We were in Rimun when the Demons came.”

Gustav set down Liam’s file.

“In that case, would you like to go home? You were apprehended in error. For that, the Holy Kingdom owes you an apology. I’ll see to it that you can return to your family on the next vessel to Re-Estize. I’m sure they’ll be relieved to see that you’re safe.”

“I’m an orphan,” Liam said.

“…I see,” Gustav said. “But surely you’d like to return home?”

“One day, maybe,” Liam replied. “Maybe not. There might be no work at home. Plus, my little sister came with me. We were split up in Rimun. I have to find her.”

While more technologically advanced and prosperous than Roble in many ways, Gustav noticed certain problems when Roble’s delegation travelled through Re-Estize. Unfortunately, those problems were also starting to take hold in Roble despite every effort taken to counter them. Simply put, things were getting more desperate and that condition was beginning to be reflected in the behaviours and attitudes of the people.

The young man was trying to earn a living while looking for his sister in a country half filled with people on the verge of starvation. It would make for a compelling tale, but the fact that it was reality only made it tragic.

“In that case,” Gustav said, “why don’t you work for us?”

“For you?”

“For the Holy Order, I mean. We’re short on hands and could use someone with your background to help with a few things. You’ll probably have much better luck finding your sister with our connections.”

While they were employed for judiciary duties and general policing in peacetime, Paladins were, for the most part, holy warriors. They didn’t have the skills of a Ranger or a Rogue and Roble’s Holy Order obviously didn’t ordain those types. The Royal Army did, since everyone had to serve their time in the military, and it was usually through the army that the Holy Kingdom leveraged the expertise of those types in everyday law enforcement.

Except no one’s joining the army anymore and what few soldiers we have left with those skills are already swamped.

The young man before him represented a unique opportunity to bring in someone with a skill set that was sorely needed to face the Holy Kingdom's mounting challenges. Just as important was the fact that he had demonstrated proper respect for official procedures that the average citizen increasingly gave no thought to.

A bitter realisation came over him when he understood that he could no longer trust his own people. The citizens of Roble didn’t trust their government, instead going to shady individuals to get government work done. They didn’t trust each other. The government didn’t trust them.

I will m’lord. Thank you, m’lord.

People only invested in those who were indebted to them or those that they were indebted to.

Just when did that happen, and where was I while it was happening?

He already knew the answer. Gustav Montagnés, Grandmaster of Roble’s Holy Order, was in the Holy Kingdom when it happened. He had been there every step of the way.

In that case, how can we call ourselves the shield of the people?

They had been fighting against Demihuman raiders for so long that the other aspects of their ministry were left woefully underdeveloped. It was time to address that gross neglect.

“So,” Gustav looked across the table at Liam in all seriousness, “what say you?”

“…I’ll give it a try,” Liam replied. “But my sister comes first...and I need to make a living.”

“You won’t have to worry about the latter,” Gustav smiled. “We take good care of our people. As for the former, I think the one you’ll be working with will empathise with your situation.”

He drew a fresh sheet of paper out of the desk, pausing to consider how might word his missive.

“Where are you sending me?” Liam asked.

“Hoburns,” Gustav answered. “That’s where most of the work is. I wouldn’t be surprised if you end up travelling all over the country, though. You’ll be working with a long-time colleague of mine. She can be a bit hard to get along with sometimes, but, rest assured, she’s a good person, and she’ll be glad for your help.”

I’m in.

Liam wasn’t exactly sure how it happened, but there it was. He had gone from hunting for scrap outside the Great Wall to working for the organisation with the greatest investigative authority in the Holy Kingdom. How his superiors had predicted that would happen was beyond him. Mrs Linum always said that opportunities abounded for those who could recognise and seize them, but he was pretty sure she didn’t mean to say that they would just fall on his lap. Not that he was complaining.

#8 Windblade Way…

His eyes went back and forth to the letter in his hand and the sign over his head. The writing didn’t match. At this rate, he would lose the daylight before he figured out where he needed to go.

After he accepted Captain Montagnés’ offer, they went their separate ways. The Paladin captain had to escort Kalinsha’s prisoners to the shipyards north of the city, which would take the rest of the week. Liam was sent ahead to Hoburns to meet the captain’s colleague.

Unlike Kalinsha, Hoburns was well on its way to repairing the damage it had suffered during the war. People claimed that it looked no less beautiful than before, provided that one ignored the sprawling labour camps surrounding the city walls. Liam thought that they felt far more organised than the refugee camps he had seen months ago in Rimun, but they had the same dangerous feeling to them that he sensed everywhere since his recent arrival.

The camps were filled with Pauls and Corrines – the same thugs and noblemen, too. They were cities in themselves, divided into places for the poor and the privileged and he wasn’t sure whether the laws in the camps were the same as the laws outside of them. He was glad that he would be reporting to someone in the city…at least if he could figure out where they were.

“Hey,” Liam called out to a boy walking by with a crate full of bottles, “can you tell me where Windblade Way is?”

The boy set down his crate and stuck out his hand, palm upwards. Liam frowned down at him.

Seriously?

“It’s for the kingdom,” the boy said.

Liam dug out one of the few copper coins in his possession and deposited it into the boy’s awaiting palm. After informing Liam that he was standing on Windblade Way – it was the other street on the intersection – he picked up his crate and walked away with a perfectly straight face. He was so nonchalant about the whole exchange that Liam wondered if Ijaniya would start recruiting informants from the Holy Kingdom.

He wandered around for a while longer, trying to figure out which way the numbers went. After going halfway around the Prime Estates – the high-class district of Hoburns – he found himself in front of a huge manor that was larger than the mayor’s residence in E-Rantel. Though it was mid-afternoon, he could see that the interior was well-lit. No footmen were guarding the gate, so whoever lived inside either decided that they were more useful elsewhere, confident in their personal strength, or both.

Draped over the walls on either side of the gate were the banners of the Holy Order and the Temple of the Four Great Gods. Liam took a deep breath. More than anything else, it was that part that he was the most wary of. Maybe wary was too strong of a word. As a follower of The Six, the teachings of the Temples of the Four and the ways of its followers always tempted him to say something or at least make a weird face.

After settling his nerves, he reached up to pull on the chain hanging beside the gate. A disappointingly normal-sounding chime sounded from somewhere within the manor.

“I got it!” A woman’s voice called out, “I said I got it! Just do whatever you were doing just now.”

Liam frowned. He couldn’t recall ever hearing something like that coming out of a Noble’s manor before.

The manor door opened and one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen in his life emerged. Her pair of plain brown pants and simple, short-sleeved tunic didn’t detract from that beauty in the slightest. A sharp brown gaze pierced him from under a bob of brown hair, which was held back from her glistening forehead by a nondescript white band. Her sweat-slicked skin tickled a distant memory that Liam couldn’t quite put his finger on.

“Hey.”

He blinked as the pommel of a sword tapped against his forehead.

“Oh. Uh…”

Liam felt around for the letter with his right hand until he realised he was holding it with his left. The woman received it with a dubious expression, which turned even more so as her eyes scanned the page. Her face returned to its pleasant look from before by the time she lowered the letter.

“So they’re finally saddling me up with a Squire,” she said. “I guess I’m getting around that age.”

“A-A Squire?” Liam’s jaw dropped, “Captain Montagnés never said anything about that!”

He didn’t have anything against Squires, but he was a Rogue and an Assassin. A Ninja, too, if he worked hard. He would be the un-squiriest Squire that ever squired.

“Didn’t you read this?” The woman waved the letter in her hand.

“…I can’t read,” Liam replied.

“The Royal Army has classes for career officers,” the woman told him. “They’re pretty much empty these days, so we can go and register you for one right now.”

She grabbed him by the arm and looked like she was about to set off down the street, sweat-soaked shirt and all. Liam tried to pull away, but he may as well have been trying to stop a Soul Eater.

“Wait!” He said, “I still never agreed to become a Squire.”

“What else would you be but a Squire?” The woman crossed her arms as she turned to face him, “The letter says that you’re going to be working for the Order and you’ll be training under me. That’s basically a Squire.”

Liam focused his gaze on the letter in the woman’s hand – if only to keep it away from her partially-transparent shirt. Had he just been swindled? It was something that he expected out of the country’s common folk, but not out of a Paladin. Unless that Paladin’s name was Alessia.

“What Captain Montagnés told me was that you needed help.”

“Yeah, we all do. There’s twenty times more work than the Order can handle right now, and it’s getting worse by the day.”

“He also said that you could use someone of my background,” Liam said.

The woman looked down at the letter in her hand. She flipped it back and forth, then checked to see if any pages were stuck together.

“It doesn’t mention that part,” she said.

That guy…

“It’s what I agreed to,” Liam said. “Captain Montagnés said I’d have better luck finding my sister if I went around helping the Holy Order.”

“Your sister?”

“We were separated during the war,” Liam told her. “She’s the only family I have left. I have to find her.”

The woman’s sharp expression melted away, replaced by one filled with so much care and compassion that Liam started feeling guilty about what he had said. It was the truth, but it also wasn’t as if Saye would get in trouble or anything.

“Is that so,” she said softly. “Well, let’s get you set up in your room, first. Grab your stuff and…where’s your stuff?”

“In my pockets,” Liam replied.

Liam fidgeted a bit as the woman placed a hand on her hip, rubbing her nose as she examined him from head to toe.

“Alright,” she said. “Change of plans. We’re going shopping.”

“Sh-shopping?”

It seemed that this woman was the type to charge off in straight lines whenever she made up her mind about something.

“Shopping,” she nodded with an air of finality. “Since you’ve been assigned to me as my Squire, I have to take care of you, yeah?”

“I’m not a Squire,” Liam told her.

“Whatever,” the woman waved a hand dismissively. “Give me a minute to get dressed. Ah – you don’t have to worry about helping me with that this time around. I don’t think I got your name, by the way…”

“Liam.”

“Liam, huh? My name’s Remedios. Remedios Custodio. ‘The White’, if that matters to you. Since we’ll be together for the next few years, I’d rather you just call me Remedios.”

With that, she vanished back into the manor, leaving behind the scent of her sweat and olive soap in the air. Liam finally realised where he had seen her before. Back then, the warm, caring face covered by its sheen of sweat was instead slicked by the rain and twisted in outrage.

He sighed as settled against the wall just inside the manor gate, wondering what he had gotten himself into.

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