Chapter 284 - The Cursed Cavalier and the Lovely Lich III
The vacation went swimmingly. After enjoying breakfast in one of Vel’khan’s finest establishments, the party hopped back on the road and sped to Sielleux for lunch. And it was there, in the famous city-state, some three hundred kilometers away, that they spent the remainder of their trip. Sielleux was a unique settlement, located between the powerful nations of Graton and Crechaux. It literally toed the line, with its city hall built directly atop the border and its sprawl growing equally in both directions. Many years ago, it had belonged to at least one of the two tiny nations, but with neither willing to yield or resort to war, it soon grew independent, becoming a self-governed territory with obligations to both and neither.
Despite its bizarre political climate, wherein both nations’ most patriotic were annoyingly vocal, it was a famous tourist trap. Its accessibility was a key factor in its success. The city was located in shallow water; the ocean floor was just a meter or two beneath the surface. There were tiny islands scattered throughout the settlement, forming small breaks in the sea with precise details always in flux. Few were large enough to host a building, and those that were often found themselves returned to the water or swallowed by trees at different times of the year. But while the fiercely natural islands were certainly as beautiful as they were famous, the midocean city was hardly known for its scenery. No, the visitors that entered its walls were far more invested in its absurdly high-class cuisine, too busy gorging their stomachs to care for something as tasteless as the view. For all anyone cared, Sielleux could have been built atop a dump.
The Ryllian Sea was always a popular destination for food. It produced the best chefs across both its neighbouring continents. And as far as the hungry were concerned, Sielleux was its shimmering capital.
It was not strictly just the quality of the food that drew consumers, but its availability as well. Restrictions in the city of chefs were so lax that it was the only Ryllian settlement where it was impossible to tell if a given Kelpfin restaurant was run by sentient sharks or specialized in their preparation.
Goods considered illegal in many other nations were also freely available in the former pirate sanctuary. And while there was certainly the ability for some buyer or other to inebriate himself with deadly narcotics, it was for use in medicinal dishes that they were often sold.
And that was the crux of the local government’s strategy. With so many ships using it as a central port to rest and repair, a monopoly on rare materials, and low fees on import and export, Sielleux had an endless supply of exotic ingredients to work with. Celebrity chefs ventured from all around the sea to leverage its peculiar circumstances. Their gathering fueled an endless cycle. As more prestigious cooks arrived, the imported goods would be better tailored to their needs, both factors that would attract more of their kind. And so began the endless spiral.
Five hundred years of repetition was all it took to create a cultural aberration. Sielleux had become the sort of place where the various carts and stalls lining the streets sold better food than the royal courts of many major powers. Chefs of all levels came to the city to study, to hone their skills and better themselves through careful, constant practice. Even the city's bums were reputable cooks; there was even a prominent homeless man who brewed in his boots the most delicious ale to have ever seen the light of day.
Delicious food was quite literally present at every corner, with every twist and turn filled with the faces of passionate artisans and content consumers.
And it was in that revelrous elysium that Claire and Co spent their vacation. For a full two and a half days, they gorged themselves, eating and eating, and eating away. It was not with the power of their digestive systems that they dealt with their excessive consumption, but Sylvia’s magic. Each time someone ate too much, she would open a rift in their guts and immediately do away with the problem. Of course, while it took up most of their time, the tourists were engaged in more than just mass consumption. They lounged by the beaches, swam through the sea, and shopped in the plaza. They paid each major destination a quick visit, staying for just long enough to get a sense of the food and relaxation that came therewith.
But alas, fun as it was, all good things had to come to an end, and the vacation was no exception. They left on the third night, after their seventh dinner, and set out for Vel’khan. With Claire at the helm, the trip was not instant. She couldn’t quite pinpoint the location of Arciel’s domain. But even with every fourth portal necessitating some time for recovery, they soon found themselves in the sky above the massive white castle.
The guards were not at all thrilled by the forty-meter-long moose’s sudden advent, but enough of them recognized her to prevent any notable commotion. Claire returned to the sky after four of the seven passengers disembarked and slowly drifted her way home. Her mood at a high, she slowly looked down at the city and took a moment to observe its near-empty streets.
It was precisely because they were so empty that her eyes caught a flicker of motion. There was someone running through the alleys, their shadow growing and shrinking as they fled from a group of winged pursuers. The centaurian hunters were flying low to the ground as they often would in dealing with anti-air defenses.
Neither Sylvia nor Boris were awake enough to notice the commotion, but Lia snapped to attention. Her hands shot to her waist and her back, but both weapons were missing; they had failed to accompany her on their trip.
“Claire.”
“I don’t really feel like it,” said the lyrkress, with a yawn.
“It’s your knight,” said the cat. “They’re going to corner her soon if you don’t step in.”
There was a brief pause, with the flying moose tilting her head and nearly throwing her passengers into the sky. It took a moment, and raising her ears, to determine the root of the claim. “Nymphetel isn’t my knight. And he’s a man.”
“Oh, shush. You know what I meant.”
“Not at all.” Claire eyed the elf as he scrambled onto Main Street. Her telescopic sight soon confirmed that he was bleeding all over. His tunic was ripped in at least a dozen places. One of the blows had landed on his face and torn out an eye, while another had broken an ankle. His shoulders were even worse off. His back was filled with arrows; from a distance, he had looked more like a humanoid porcupine than anything even reminiscent of an elf. And yet, he had continued to run, a glowing orb cradled in his hands and his chest violently heaving.
Turning lyrkrian, and eliciting a silenced scream from the cat, she halted her wings and plunged into an alley. A few moments later, she was on Fourth Street, just in time to magically seize the elf and force him to turn. He panicked at first and drew his blade when he noticed the snake moose, but lowered it when she shook her head and silently pointed at the shop. No words were exchanged—the enemies’ spies could easily enhance their hearing and catch the interaction if they spoke—but he bowed his head and ran inside.
Natalya followed the elf into the building and reached for the sword under the counter, but her mount discouraged her with a shake of a head. When that didn’t quite convey the message, she threw her vectors into the mix and quickly disarmed her.
She closed the door and quickly lit one of the lamps before the pursuers could make the turn. She even scattered a few papers across the desk and placed a bottle of ink beside them. The set was perfect but pointless. The elf’s pursuers no doubt had the Tracking skill or an evolved variant, and they would know that he was being sheltered. Still, the lyrkress remained confident in her success.
A violent knock came almost immediately, with several soldiers bursting through the door before the residents could answer. The advance party consisted of five winged horses, the tallest of which immediately began to speak.
“There is a fugitive taking refuge at this location. Surrender her immediately.”
“Stand down, soldier,” said Claire.
It took a moment for the warriors to determine her identity, their eyes flashing with recognition as they glanced upon her ears. They were no noblemen, but they hurriedly composed themselves and bowed, with their hands to their chests.
“L-Lady Augustus!? What are you doing here?” cried the man in front.
“I work here,” she said. “Might you be Sir Pollux’s men? Whyever are you doing something as rude as barging onto private property?”
“Forgive our discourtesy, Princess,” said the leader. “We are in the midst of pursuing a heinous criminal. Might you have seen an elf with long orange-red hair?”
“Whether you are pursuing a fugitive or not, that is no way to behave.” She imitated Sylvia as she spoke, inflating her cheeks with an obvious pout. “To answer your question, I have not, and I will not permit you to search the grounds.”
“Princess! Please do not be so unreasonable!” begged the soldier. “The fugitive has taken up residence in this build—”
“Stand. Down. Soldier,” she said, with a huff. “I’ll report you to Father if you keep making me repeat myself.”
The man looked awkwardly to his comrades, who shook their heads and shrugged. It was not a predicament that they had expected. As non-commissioned officers, they had been briefed that the princess was in town, for some reason or other, but they lacked the security clearance to be given any information regarding her location. There were a few that occasionally came to the shop, but Claire had always made sure to hide immediately upon spotting a centaur.
“Evenin’, Princess.” The bulk of the pursuers caught up as the advance party debated its approach. The second group was led by one of Pollux’s highest-ranking officers, a miniaturised horse by the name of Fausta Silvanus. Unlike the other centaurs, who were dressed in armour, the tiny, flightless pony was wearing a loose uniform. It was not inferior to the armour by any means. The spiggerin threads used in its weaving offered even more protection than a standard steel suit.
“Good evening, Lieutenant Silvanus!” said Claire, with an amicable smile and a bubbly giggle. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Let’s not have any of that, yeah?” said Fausta. “You already know what we want. Give us the elf, and we’ll be out in a flash.”
“I am terribly sorry, Lieutenant. I have not the faintest idea what you are talking about.” She stuck out her tongue. “We have many sensitive documents on hand and I cannot allow these soldiers to inspect them.”
Fausta crossed her arms and tapped a hoof against the floor. The stare lasted for a few minutes before she spun around and led her men back out the door. They shuffled after her in spite of a lack of orders, with some casting glances in the princess’ direction, and others whispering questions to their friends beneath their breaths.
“They left? Just like that?” asked Natalya. She blinked as she looked between the lyrkress and the door.
“They knew they would die if it came down to fight.” Claire shrugged. “And that I would’ve been happy to engage.”
The catgirl smiled awkwardly. “Right. Cadrian.”
“Exactly.”
Magically closing the front door, the lyrkress walked across the lobby and opened the entrance to the infirmary. Further pushing open a set of curtains, she revealed Nymphetel collapsed on one of the beds with his wounds yet to heal.
It was purely on a whim that she had aided him. His fate was no concern of hers—their relation extended only as far as having escaped from the same man—but she was curious. He may have been a Blackroot with typical elven beliefs, but he was hardly enough of a fool to needlessly leave himself exposed to danger.
“Thanks,” he mumbled. “I owe you.”
Claire didn’t bother acknowledging the gratitude, only staring coldly as she sat down by his bed. “Why haven’t you fled the country?”
“You make it sound like I haven’t tried,” he said, with a grimace. “The damned count’s men make it impossible for us to leave. They’ll always cut us off, no matter where we try to go.” The elf massaged the bags under his eyes. “We even tried hitching a ride on the ocean liner, but it was a no-go. They bought out the whole thing the moment they caught onto our plan.”
“Shouldn’t they have caught you already if they can read that far ahead?” asked Lia.
Nymn bit his lips. “They probably would’ve, if the old bastard wasn’t so twisted. He’s toying ‘cause he thinks it's fun.”
Claire nodded. “Sounds like him.” She pointed at the lich, or rather the core that was supposed to exist in the pit of her stomach.
“Is she alive?”
“Yeah. Just tired and out of mana,” said the elf. “We’ll be out of here as soon as she wakes up. We managed to contract a group of traffickers. They might be able to smuggle us out tomorrow morning if we’re lucky.”
“Don’t bother,” said Claire. “Knowing Pollux, he probably already has them in his back pocket.”
Nymphetel grimaced. “It’s not like we have any other choice. We’ve tried everything else.”
There was a brief moment of silence, with the cat soon stepping forward. “Do you have any experience with paperwork?”
The elf raised a brow. “Of course. I may have been a squire, but I was still technically a knight.”
“Then you ca—” The sentence devolved into a squeal as the cat was made the victim of a vicious pinch.
“Not a good idea,” said Claire.
“Why? Is there something wrong with him?”
“You’ll make an enemy of the marquis.”
Natalya met the lyrkress’ warning with a smile. “Don’t worry. I’ll deal with him when it happens.”
Claire was hesitant, but eventually released the cat’s cheek and stepped away from the bed.
“You can just stay with us,” said Lia. “It doesn’t look like they’re willing to do anything to you with Claire here, and we’ve been looking for more people to help us with documentation. It’d probably be best if you stayed in our house, and it just so happens we’re lucky enough to have the spare rooms to host you. As for the pay, how does a silver a month sound? Given that lodging is included.”
“We’d be glad to expand the scope of our responsibilities if you’d raise that to two,” said the elf. “I put on a pathetic showing just now, but I’m good for more than just deskwork.”
“It’ll have to depend on the specifics. What kind of responsibilities…”
Claire’s mind wandered as soon as they began exploring the details. It took only a few dozen words for her brain to totally shut down and fly above the Cadrian sky.
Chapter 284 - The Cursed Cavalier and the Lovely Lich III
The vacation went swimmingly. After enjoying breakfast in one of Vel’khan’s finest establishments, the party hopped back on the road and sped to Sielleux for lunch. And it was there, in the famous city-state, some three hundred kilometers away, that they spent the remainder of their trip. Sielleux was a unique settlement, located between the powerful nations of Graton and Crechaux. It literally toed the line, with its city hall built directly atop the border and its sprawl growing equally in both directions. Many years ago, it had belonged to at least one of the two tiny nations, but with neither willing to yield or resort to war, it soon grew independent, becoming a self-governed territory with obligations to both and neither.
Despite its bizarre political climate, wherein both nations’ most patriotic were annoyingly vocal, it was a famous tourist trap. Its accessibility was a key factor in its success. The city was located in shallow water; the ocean floor was just a meter or two beneath the surface. There were tiny islands scattered throughout the settlement, forming small breaks in the sea with precise details always in flux. Few were large enough to host a building, and those that were often found themselves returned to the water or swallowed by trees at different times of the year. But while the fiercely natural islands were certainly as beautiful as they were famous, the midocean city was hardly known for its scenery. No, the visitors that entered its walls were far more invested in its absurdly high-class cuisine, too busy gorging their stomachs to care for something as tasteless as the view. For all anyone cared, Sielleux could have been built atop a dump.
The Ryllian Sea was always a popular destination for food. It produced the best chefs across both its neighbouring continents. And as far as the hungry were concerned, Sielleux was its shimmering capital.
It was not strictly just the quality of the food that drew consumers, but its availability as well. Restrictions in the city of chefs were so lax that it was the only Ryllian settlement where it was impossible to tell if a given Kelpfin restaurant was run by sentient sharks or specialized in their preparation.
Goods considered illegal in many other nations were also freely available in the former pirate sanctuary. And while there was certainly the ability for some buyer or other to inebriate himself with deadly narcotics, it was for use in medicinal dishes that they were often sold.
And that was the crux of the local government’s strategy. With so many ships using it as a central port to rest and repair, a monopoly on rare materials, and low fees on import and export, Sielleux had an endless supply of exotic ingredients to work with. Celebrity chefs ventured from all around the sea to leverage its peculiar circumstances. Their gathering fueled an endless cycle. As more prestigious cooks arrived, the imported goods would be better tailored to their needs, both factors that would attract more of their kind. And so began the endless spiral.
Five hundred years of repetition was all it took to create a cultural aberration. Sielleux had become the sort of place where the various carts and stalls lining the streets sold better food than the royal courts of many major powers. Chefs of all levels came to the city to study, to hone their skills and better themselves through careful, constant practice. Even the city's bums were reputable cooks; there was even a prominent homeless man who brewed in his boots the most delicious ale to have ever seen the light of day.
Delicious food was quite literally present at every corner, with every twist and turn filled with the faces of passionate artisans and content consumers.
And it was in that revelrous elysium that Claire and Co spent their vacation. For a full two and a half days, they gorged themselves, eating and eating, and eating away. It was not with the power of their digestive systems that they dealt with their excessive consumption, but Sylvia’s magic. Each time someone ate too much, she would open a rift in their guts and immediately do away with the problem. Of course, while it took up most of their time, the tourists were engaged in more than just mass consumption. They lounged by the beaches, swam through the sea, and shopped in the plaza. They paid each major destination a quick visit, staying for just long enough to get a sense of the food and relaxation that came therewith.
But alas, fun as it was, all good things had to come to an end, and the vacation was no exception. They left on the third night, after their seventh dinner, and set out for Vel’khan. With Claire at the helm, the trip was not instant. She couldn’t quite pinpoint the location of Arciel’s domain. But even with every fourth portal necessitating some time for recovery, they soon found themselves in the sky above the massive white castle.
The guards were not at all thrilled by the forty-meter-long moose’s sudden advent, but enough of them recognized her to prevent any notable commotion. Claire returned to the sky after four of the seven passengers disembarked and slowly drifted her way home. Her mood at a high, she slowly looked down at the city and took a moment to observe its near-empty streets.
It was precisely because they were so empty that her eyes caught a flicker of motion. There was someone running through the alleys, their shadow growing and shrinking as they fled from a group of winged pursuers. The centaurian hunters were flying low to the ground as they often would in dealing with anti-air defenses.
Neither Sylvia nor Boris were awake enough to notice the commotion, but Lia snapped to attention. Her hands shot to her waist and her back, but both weapons were missing; they had failed to accompany her on their trip.
“Claire.”
“I don’t really feel like it,” said the lyrkress, with a yawn.
“It’s your knight,” said the cat. “They’re going to corner her soon if you don’t step in.”
There was a brief pause, with the flying moose tilting her head and nearly throwing her passengers into the sky. It took a moment, and raising her ears, to determine the root of the claim. “Nymphetel isn’t my knight. And he’s a man.”
“Oh, shush. You know what I meant.”
“Not at all.” Claire eyed the elf as he scrambled onto Main Street. Her telescopic sight soon confirmed that he was bleeding all over. His tunic was ripped in at least a dozen places. One of the blows had landed on his face and torn out an eye, while another had broken an ankle. His shoulders were even worse off. His back was filled with arrows; from a distance, he had looked more like a humanoid porcupine than anything even reminiscent of an elf. And yet, he had continued to run, a glowing orb cradled in his hands and his chest violently heaving.
Turning lyrkrian, and eliciting a silenced scream from the cat, she halted her wings and plunged into an alley. A few moments later, she was on Fourth Street, just in time to magically seize the elf and force him to turn. He panicked at first and drew his blade when he noticed the snake moose, but lowered it when she shook her head and silently pointed at the shop. No words were exchanged—the enemies’ spies could easily enhance their hearing and catch the interaction if they spoke—but he bowed his head and ran inside.
Natalya followed the elf into the building and reached for the sword under the counter, but her mount discouraged her with a shake of a head. When that didn’t quite convey the message, she threw her vectors into the mix and quickly disarmed her.
She closed the door and quickly lit one of the lamps before the pursuers could make the turn. She even scattered a few papers across the desk and placed a bottle of ink beside them. The set was perfect but pointless. The elf’s pursuers no doubt had the Tracking skill or an evolved variant, and they would know that he was being sheltered. Still, the lyrkress remained confident in her success.
A violent knock came almost immediately, with several soldiers bursting through the door before the residents could answer. The advance party consisted of five winged horses, the tallest of which immediately began to speak.
“There is a fugitive taking refuge at this location. Surrender her immediately.”
“Stand down, soldier,” said Claire.
It took a moment for the warriors to determine her identity, their eyes flashing with recognition as they glanced upon her ears. They were no noblemen, but they hurriedly composed themselves and bowed, with their hands to their chests.
“L-Lady Augustus!? What are you doing here?” cried the man in front.
“I work here,” she said. “Might you be Sir Pollux’s men? Whyever are you doing something as rude as barging onto private property?”
“Forgive our discourtesy, Princess,” said the leader. “We are in the midst of pursuing a heinous criminal. Might you have seen an elf with long orange-red hair?”
“Whether you are pursuing a fugitive or not, that is no way to behave.” She imitated Sylvia as she spoke, inflating her cheeks with an obvious pout. “To answer your question, I have not, and I will not permit you to search the grounds.”
“Princess! Please do not be so unreasonable!” begged the soldier. “The fugitive has taken up residence in this build—”
“Stand. Down. Soldier,” she said, with a huff. “I’ll report you to Father if you keep making me repeat myself.”
The man looked awkwardly to his comrades, who shook their heads and shrugged. It was not a predicament that they had expected. As non-commissioned officers, they had been briefed that the princess was in town, for some reason or other, but they lacked the security clearance to be given any information regarding her location. There were a few that occasionally came to the shop, but Claire had always made sure to hide immediately upon spotting a centaur.
“Evenin’, Princess.” The bulk of the pursuers caught up as the advance party debated its approach. The second group was led by one of Pollux’s highest-ranking officers, a miniaturised horse by the name of Fausta Silvanus. Unlike the other centaurs, who were dressed in armour, the tiny, flightless pony was wearing a loose uniform. It was not inferior to the armour by any means. The spiggerin threads used in its weaving offered even more protection than a standard steel suit.
“Good evening, Lieutenant Silvanus!” said Claire, with an amicable smile and a bubbly giggle. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Let’s not have any of that, yeah?” said Fausta. “You already know what we want. Give us the elf, and we’ll be out in a flash.”
“I am terribly sorry, Lieutenant. I have not the faintest idea what you are talking about.” She stuck out her tongue. “We have many sensitive documents on hand and I cannot allow these soldiers to inspect them.”
Fausta crossed her arms and tapped a hoof against the floor. The stare lasted for a few minutes before she spun around and led her men back out the door. They shuffled after her in spite of a lack of orders, with some casting glances in the princess’ direction, and others whispering questions to their friends beneath their breaths.
“They left? Just like that?” asked Natalya. She blinked as she looked between the lyrkress and the door.
“They knew they would die if it came down to fight.” Claire shrugged. “And that I would’ve been happy to engage.”
The catgirl smiled awkwardly. “Right. Cadrian.”
“Exactly.”
Magically closing the front door, the lyrkress walked across the lobby and opened the entrance to the infirmary. Further pushing open a set of curtains, she revealed Nymphetel collapsed on one of the beds with his wounds yet to heal.
It was purely on a whim that she had aided him. His fate was no concern of hers—their relation extended only as far as having escaped from the same man—but she was curious. He may have been a Blackroot with typical elven beliefs, but he was hardly enough of a fool to needlessly leave himself exposed to danger.
“Thanks,” he mumbled. “I owe you.”
Claire didn’t bother acknowledging the gratitude, only staring coldly as she sat down by his bed. “Why haven’t you fled the country?”
“You make it sound like I haven’t tried,” he said, with a grimace. “The damned count’s men make it impossible for us to leave. They’ll always cut us off, no matter where we try to go.” The elf massaged the bags under his eyes. “We even tried hitching a ride on the ocean liner, but it was a no-go. They bought out the whole thing the moment they caught onto our plan.”
“Shouldn’t they have caught you already if they can read that far ahead?” asked Lia.
Nymn bit his lips. “They probably would’ve, if the old bastard wasn’t so twisted. He’s toying ‘cause he thinks it's fun.”
Claire nodded. “Sounds like him.” She pointed at the lich, or rather the core that was supposed to exist in the pit of her stomach.
“Is she alive?”
“Yeah. Just tired and out of mana,” said the elf. “We’ll be out of here as soon as she wakes up. We managed to contract a group of traffickers. They might be able to smuggle us out tomorrow morning if we’re lucky.”
“Don’t bother,” said Claire. “Knowing Pollux, he probably already has them in his back pocket.”
Nymphetel grimaced. “It’s not like we have any other choice. We’ve tried everything else.”
There was a brief moment of silence, with the cat soon stepping forward. “Do you have any experience with paperwork?”
The elf raised a brow. “Of course. I may have been a squire, but I was still technically a knight.”
“Then you ca—” The sentence devolved into a squeal as the cat was made the victim of a vicious pinch.
“Not a good idea,” said Claire.
“Why? Is there something wrong with him?”
“You’ll make an enemy of the marquis.”
Natalya met the lyrkress’ warning with a smile. “Don’t worry. I’ll deal with him when it happens.”
Claire was hesitant, but eventually released the cat’s cheek and stepped away from the bed.
“You can just stay with us,” said Lia. “It doesn’t look like they’re willing to do anything to you with Claire here, and we’ve been looking for more people to help us with documentation. It’d probably be best if you stayed in our house, and it just so happens we’re lucky enough to have the spare rooms to host you. As for the pay, how does a silver a month sound? Given that lodging is included.”
“We’d be glad to expand the scope of our responsibilities if you’d raise that to two,” said the elf. “I put on a pathetic showing just now, but I’m good for more than just deskwork.”
“It’ll have to depend on the specifics. What kind of responsibilities…”
Claire’s mind wandered as soon as they began exploring the details. It took only a few dozen words for her brain to totally shut down and fly above the Cadrian sky.
