Chapter 41: Rallying & Retreats

Roxy:

Eyes roaming as I stood stock still, I did my best to take in the almost cinematic scene around me. Not that I could tell Aisling in case she teased me, but I was micro-gesturing snapping screenshots and recordings as I drew upon musical scores from memory to work out what would best fit the scene.

That and saved another potential environment for my pod home-space.

And I would need all the images and footage I could get. I knew I had no chance of doing this scene justice if I tried to describe it verbally or in writing. I had to give the dev-AI (...and SAI) credit where it was due, it was like they had taken something right out of the fantasy novels or movies I loved and brought it to life. 

I mean even more so than the rest of the game, it felt like I was taking part in a critical event in a story not just adventuring in the background and in a sense I was.

Just in front of me, the blue silk and canvas of the Duchal party’s pavilion rippled, loudly snapping taut as a cold mountain gust blew through it. Standing respectfully lined up with me at the rear was El (in their more androgynous form, straight backed and looking dashing as ever in their black Prussian officer inspired uniform) Gael (once again back in maid dresses) and Aisling (ears flicking against my coat as she attempted to burrow into my side to hide from the wind).

Watching the road ahead as we waited under a flag of parley with the official Duchal Party ahead of us under the pavilion’s shade.

Waiting for the arrival of our guests and seated behind a long heavy negotiating table was the Duchess Blaiddcalon (or Wolfheart as it turned out when translated out of Welsh), her steward Gofannon Trahern, the Lady Commander of the Blaidwyven Knights Mair Beynon, and Commander Iefan Hanmer of the Duchal Army. With how thick the heavy wood was, I could only imagine it would make good cover for the Duchess when flipped on its side if the talks went the way of explosive diarrhea. Captain Scurlock of the Santarriral Guard had been left behind, charged with the city’s defense until the Duchal party was safely back behind the capital’s walls. 

We were about to witness a major lore event unfold that had far reaching ramifications for not just the city, but the Duchy and even possibly the entire Island that made up the former Kingdom of Parcosia (and even as utterly exhausted as I was, I was barely able to keep myself from vibrating with excitement!!!). 

Hopefully any minute now Baron Redwood’s party would be arriving and the negotiations would begin. It was only afternoon, but it felt like it had been longer. Today had been one development after another and I could hardly believe barely twelve hours ago we had been on the other side of the Duchy fleeing the Haverhill’s Pagutum allies’ landing.

* * *

Fleeing into the forest from the beach we’d had a slight head start (once out of arrow range), as the Pags unloaded from their landing-craft and secured the beach. But not as long as we’d have liked or anything that could be construed as a clean getaway.

Obviously wanting to prevent any word of their landing getting out and probably revenge for their fallen comrades from the first wave, they’d begun their pursuit within minutes of our escape.

Once again our guide, Salt led us deeper into the pitch dark forest, pausing only to set up the occasional ambush that would pick off the lead pursuers and with each time leave the rest moving slower and more cautious in their chase. In the dark and as chaotic flight was, our route back felt unfamiliar with no recognizable landmarks or signs of our earlier passage. 

Flicking open the augmented reality interface and glancing at the compass it became instantly clear why, rather than following the stream we’d traveled alongside eastwards to the coast, we were heading north-west instead of west. Salt was leading us north of the ravine leading into the caves.

It was at the next rocky stream we finally turned west and splashing as we trudged down along the middle of the stream to hide our tracks and scent. Sand from the beach that had worked its way into our boots in the turmoil of the battle was rubbing and squelching its way between our toes with every step as stream water slipped between gaps in the leather.

All of which made the kitten beside me miserable as we followed the stream west until we were way past the ravines entrance before doubling back south-east. And the only cure for that was handing off our belongings to my new emotional support zombies Sergeant Bootlicker of Haverhill and Sir Warcrimes of Pagutum, and wearing her like a backpack once we reached the ravine.

By the time we had reached the tunnels her complaints had turned to purring rumbles as exhaustion and the bounce of my gait had rocked her asleep.

* * *

There was no rest waiting for us when we finally returned to the resistance’s cavern. 

Gael’s report on the Pagutum landing had barely escaped her lips before like a spark to black powder, the cavern erupted into a cacophony of panicked shouting. Waking my slumbering luggage with a start that had her painfully climbing up my back. 

Louder and louder, the shouting grew as the cavern's occupants continued to raise their voices to be heard over noise, until…

“SILENCE!” a feminine roar came cutting through echoing thunder of voices like a lioness asserting her command over the pride. “I will have order! Park your asses and be quiet before I feel the need to bring you to silence myself,” ordered Alaïs, bringing the cavern to heel via mere, abet impressive, force of will.

“While this indeed dire news, it is not unexpected,” the retired knight soothed. “We had already suspected that Baron Haverhill was augmenting his forces with those of a foreign ally and that he had sold out or Duchey to said ally. This is nothing new, merely now witnessed.” 

“Proven by eyes I trust,” Alaïs added with confidence taking in both Gael and our party as well as El who was standing off to the side leaning against a stack of crates.

Calmly pacing amidst the crowd as spoke, every eye following her, she emerged from the throng and in two smooth steps climbed up onto a table using a stool as a stepping stone.

“A large invasion force landing however is reason for alarm and something our Duchess and indeed the entire Duchy needs warning about urgently,” she agreed, giving some credence to the cavern’s fears and turning to again face the crowd. “But it is also nothing that affects our organization in the immediate nor does it affect our day to day affairs, one does not wield an army to root out an infestation of rats. That said we will be biting at their heels and despoiling their supplies.”

“Beyond that our best hope for victory is for this civil war to end and for the factions to unite by whatever means necessary to drive these invaders and their traitorous lap dogs into the sea. To which end we will be sending both warning and all necessary evidence of Haverhill’s treasons ahead to the Capital. And I…” She paused for effect. “I will be placing my trust in my Duchess and our messengers.”

“Gael, I will need your party’s mirrorstone to contact her Grace. Mages, I need you to begin preparing our end of a set of paired ritual circles large enough for six. Everyone, you have work that needs to be done. For Parcosia, Duchess and Victory over mutual enemies!” she rallied.

“Now get moving, I have a letter to write.”

* * *

The rest is history. Or it will be once player and npc historians record it. 

Contact was established with Santarriral and the Palace via the Mirrorstone and as soon as a circle was prepared on their end, the Duchess’s Chief Arcanist Bélise Aveline was performing the ritual necessary to tear us through the Cauldron’s firmament from one circle to the other. At the other end it wasn’t rest waiting for us, but a storm as we were dragged off to report to the Duchess, before we were forcibly bathed, dressed and fed on our feet as preparations for the parley were made before the sun had even risen.

And then there was half a day of waiting, ready to leave the safety of the city’s walls at any moment for the parley. Sitting and resting as best we could without beds or rumpling our best clothes, until we were rushed out to stand behind the tent of parley and wait for Baron Redwood’s embassy to arrive.