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Arc 8-121 (Robert)
🕑 Added 2025-12-18 00:25:07 +0000 UTCThe sky reflected the people working hard beneath it, growing brighter as it shrugged off the gloom of winter and embraced a fresh spring. Like the green shoots pushing through the earth, the people of Quest were full of energy and determination. With each day, more found ways to contribute to the city’s renewal and with each milestone they reached, they became more focused. Only the saints knew if they could return to the carefree days of the past, but their efforts infused the people with hope.
It warmed Robert’s heart to see them. It was what he toiled for. What he bled and sweat for. It was the ultimate reward for heroism and though he was only a small part of realizing a better future, he took great pride in his role. As a boy, when he thought about his future as a hero, he imagined glorious battles, chests overflowing with gold, and, though he never admitted it, the admiration of beautiful women. But for heroes to exist, there had to be tragedies to save others from. Having witnessed them, having endured the suffering alongside others, he knew the “rewards” meant nothing. Who cared if people praised his legend if they starved to death a week later?
He'd happily trade no one knowing he existed if it meant he never had to witness twenty men sleeping on top of one another because circumstances forced them to live in a room smaller than the wash closet in noble homes. He was prepared to dedicate himself to the city for years, his entirety at the Hall and beyond; he wouldn’t be able to sleep comfortably if he abandoned the city before it got back on its feet.
Though it appeared his determination wouldn’t be put to the test. When Robert imagined the city’s recovery, he thought of his hometown, where new construction was handled by whatever men had enough extra time and wanted the coin, toiling with mundane means. The kingdom’s magic capital had far more skilled laborers at hand with nothing else to occupy their time. With the aid of magic, the clean-up was proceeding at an astonishing rate, nearing completion. If construction moved at the same pace, a new city would emerge from the rubble in no time, mayhap even before the next winter.
The only true concern was resources. The miraculous plant given by the elf man, something that still seemed fantastical despite Robert personally witnessing Orum walking through the camp, solved the lack of food and each day lessened the burden from a lack of shelter. What the city lacked was everything beyond the bare necessities. Soap, salt, and sugar. Fabrics and rope. Medicine and wine. The things that made life comfortable and pleasurable. Humans weren’t beasts that could be satisfied scrounging out a living. They needed more.
The presence of the royal knights gave him hope. From the mutterings of the learned men in the camp, the show of faith should be enough to entice merchants to return to the city. They grumbled that it could take years though. And that was assuming their efforts weren’t derailed by the villain that had claimed the city like the historical tales of draconids nesting in the middle of ancient capitals, destroying settlements with utter disregard for the innocents that had called the land home for generations.
“You’re making that face again.”
Robert glanced sideways, taking in his friend. Cecile Guinness didn’t belong in the camp. Her lustrous brown hair and glowing skin made her stand out like a colorful bird gliding through a flock of ravens. Her clothes were in a simple style, but their quality could be seen at a glance and her boots were only covered by a thin layer of dust. She was a picture of health and prosperity, a sight that had irked the refugees more than once, reminding them of what was lost.
To Robert, she was a welcome sight, comfortable and familiar. “What face?”
“The one you make when you’re thinking about things you shouldn’t be.”
“I don’t make faces.”
“Yeah? What were you thinking about?”
He sighed in lieu of a response. Telling her that his mind had wandered to Lou would only intensify the concern he could hear in her tone. Rather, it was the only tone she used with him lately.
Robert couldn’t fault her. He gave her good reason when he fainted while walking toward a class. From then on, she’d started volunteering at the camp, though her “job” mainly consisted of keeping an eye on him. It was a bit embarrassing needing a woman to remind him to eat and wash his face; he wasn’t a boy. Yet, if she didn’t, the simple things tended to slip his mind. In the end, he couldn’t bring himself to resent the care.
Especially after she snapped and shoved an unbuttered roll down his throat after he hadn’t eaten for nearly two days. It didn’t matter that she immediately apologized, tearful with regret. He didn’t want to risk another outburst; Cecile was still fragile after the events of the qualifiers and there was no telling what she’d do under stress.
“Don’t tell me you’re thinking about—”
“Just wondering about the announcement,” he said hastily. And he was. It wasn’t the first time that the powers that be had called the camp together to deliver important news but it was the first time attendance was mandatory.
“Probably something about the rebels. There’s been rumors they have the leader in custody.”
“Those are true.” Robert had proven himself to the people. In turn, they trusted him with problems, knowing he’d be there to help should it be necessary, though he became more aware of how little power he had with every passing day. “But that’s an open secret. Not worth all this trouble.”
“Unless they execute him.”
It wasn’t beyond possibility. Public executions were an old tradition, a practice that was born in times of war but had fallen out of favor during peace. He was taught that punishing criminals was a favorite tactic of leaders needing to boost morale. The saints knew Quest needed some.
“You think so?”
“…it’s unlikely. If the crown really wanted to fix their reputation, they’d send food. Maybe soap. More death isn’t going to impress anybody. Especially when there’s rumors that they didn’t even catch the guy.”
She winced as soon as she finished speaking, knowing where her words would take Robert. His mind conjured the violet gaze, full of dark amusement and disdain. He knew from experience that she didn’t take kindly to people touching what belonged to her. He wouldn’t go as far as to call it a redeeming quality, but he was reasonably assured that she would look after the city’s interests.
So long as no one insulted her. Or got in her way. Or looked at her wrong.
“Hey!” Cecile said quickly. “I managed to talk with my aunt.”
It took him a minute to summon a name. “Maxine, right?”
She huffed. “No, and I wouldn’t try. She’s not known for doing favors. I mean Aunty Mar.”
The name meant nothing, despite his best efforts. Details were hard to hold onto after a long day. “Is the Guiness family going to do anything about the material shortage?”
She shook her head regretfully. “Grandfather won’t get involved until there’s money to be made. But Aunty Mar says they’re working on it. She’s isn’t cutting her losses, which means she thinks it’s going to work out.”
“For who?” the ragged young hero grumbled, imagining dark futures. A merchant thinking she could make money didn’t mean there would be opportunities for everyone else. “Has she heard of the CFQ?”
The group had been making waves; they were loud and irreverent, an attitude that the downtrodden refugees found themselves gravitating toward. He didn’t know what to make of them. Their message was one of hope but their aggressive tone reminded him too much of the rebel-sympathizers.
“She has. They’re official, or what passes these days. I mean they’re an organized group with goals, not madmen trying to make the situation worse. More importantly, they’re willing to play by the rules. Something…You-Know-Who is trying to encourage.”
“If they’re in league with her—”
“No, they want to make sure the guilds don’t resurrect. Something she would appreciate for obvious reasons.”
“Can they do that?”
“They can under the new charter.”
“New charter?”
“Aunty Mar got a peak at it. You-Know-Who didn’t take kindly to the way things were ran and set down several new laws. I got a look at the book; it’s thick. I’d think it was a trick to confuse others if she weren’t being so open about its contents. Aunty made it sound like anyone with enough motivation can have the power to decide fates. Given the number of people with a grudge, I imagine the guilds’ futures are grim.”
“And what of the woman responsible?”
“Quin…you know there’s nothing to be done.”
He did. That didn’t make the truth any easier to swallow. “No one’s going to risk themselves.” Otherwise, there’d be no need for heroes.
“It’s not that they don’t want to—”
“Really? I thought your grandfather would take exception to anyone interfering with his prize.”
Cecile scoffed. “No one in the family is holding their breath about that. All he has to offer is money and she doesn’t need it, not when she can take what she wants. The Company has shifted its focus to remaining friendly, but don’t mistake that for recognition. You-Know-Who is chaotic and uncontrollable, two things that are bad for business. If grandfather could do something, he would.”
Robert grunted in acknowledgment. If he was the same man that had flown into the city on the back of his winged friend, he might have looked down on the noble for such an attitude. Now, he understood the practicality born out of helplessness all too well.
He quickened his pace, hoping to escape his dark thoughts. Near the center of the camp, where there was a small square of space between the shelters, earth casters had raised a short rectangle of earth to create a stage. In front of it, in a bid to entice those with mixed opinions about the powers that be, were tables of food serving a late lunch. Dozens of hungry people stood around them, with more eating along the periphery.
Robert didn’t feel his hunger, not really, but he was conscious of the void in his gut and the need to fill it. He stood in line without comment, returning only the greetings directed to him and sending off the speakers with curt well wishes. Cecile was more comfortable with the impromptu conversations, juggling the strangers with the ease that came with years of instruction.
They received their simple meal in short order and Robert preoccupied himself with it until movement caught his eye.
Two royal knights stepped onto the stage, their golden armor unmistakable and gleaming under the sun. A third moved in front of the stage, the spear in his hand a quiet but poignant deterrent to future trouble.
Within their protective triangle, two figures took center stage. He knew the first; an older woman with unnerving eye-shaped gold in her face. What she was and what she wanted remained a mystery. She arrived with royal knights, which meant she, at the very least, had a connection to the crown. Unfortunately, he never witnessed her doing anything, so he couldn’t narrow down her role.
The second figure was far less vague and even more recognizable. He imagined most of the crowd recognized the white hair that denoted the royal line. Prince Sebastian stood before the refugees the king, his father, had left to the figurative wolves and he did so with aplomb, his broad physique made more impressive by the power in his spine and the nonchalance in his figure.
Robert was swallowing down the last of the watery stew, when he nearly choked on a piece of vegetable.
A third figure walked onto the stage, also recognizable, mayhap even more than the prince. No one in Quest could see the unreasonably attractive face with its strange violet eyes and the matching highlights in her dark hair and not match her appearance to the hundreds of stories told about the fall of the city. Like Cecile, Lourianne Tome didn’t belong in the camp. While his friend was too clean, the noblewoman was too comfortable. Even the prince was affected by the growing tension in the area. However, her easy smile said she could care less at the wave of hatred radiating from the people glaring daggers at her.
Dread pulled in Robert’s gut.
Where Lourianne Tome walked, trouble followed.
But it was too late to escape.
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Henry Rybolt
Tftc
