Chapter 212: Merchant or Martyr

Myrna’s hands felt like ice, even through her gloves. Despite that, the road was clear under the recent snowfall, horses puffing through knee-high drifts while the carriage glided through behind them. Overhead, the early morning sun was creeping its warmth down the hill above her.

Another hour, and she’d probably stop shivering. So long as one of the few clouds up above didn’t get in the way. Beside her, Phol was faring little better, rubbing gloved hands desperately together like it might do something.

“W-wish we could ride inside,” he groused.

“Me too. It says a damn good lot about nobles how their drivers get to freeze while they lounge in comfort. Not that it’d be a lot warmer in there right now.”

A sudden gust up the valley made both of them shiver. But there’d be no wind inside, neither of them felt like saying.

“Why’re we taking food in such a nice carriage anyway? Two wagons’d be better than one and this carriage. Can’t even sit inside.”

“I wondered that, too. Probably the same reason this job paid so well—high s-stakes. N-no one’s gonna knock over a noble’s carriage if they know what’s good for ‘em. Not worth the risk. Or maybe,” Myrna took a breath to calm her chattering teeth, “there’s no one but us stupid enough to go to Astrye or whatever this place is called in winter. I didn’t even know anyone lived on the other side of these mountains.”

Phol was silent for a minute. “You think this might be a trap?”

Myrna shook her head. “It makes no sense if it is. We got to look through the cargo, and we picked this up at the duchess’s estate for Dhias’s sake. But there’s definitely something else going on here.”

“I think the Gelles Company’s up to something.”

“You don’t think they tapped us for this just because we’re the best, cheapest duo in the business?” Myrna flashed her partner a smile, knowing it’d be lost under her ice-encrusted scarf.

Phol rolled his eyes. “Let’s just get there and get some hot food before some enterprising bandits decide that a fancy-looking carriage is worth it.”

“Any bandits up here’d be dead by cold. We haven’t seen a soul on this pass.”

“Except the f-footprints. Looked like an army marched through.”

Myrna frowned. “Probably just the crew who cleared this pass. Did a damn good job too—no ice under this snow.”

“Y-yeah. P-probably.” Phol chuckled, then sucked in a breath. “Damn cold. This’d better be worth it.”

“It will be. Can’t get any crazier than the last trip south, right?”

Phol looked over at Myrna. “You think she’s got anything to do with this? Apparently she was back in Gedon right before we got into town.”

“D-damn,” Myrna swore, before forcing a smile. “She might. Least it’ll be warm when we get there if she does.”

The pair chatted for a little while longer before falling into quietude as the morning sun’s warmth finally fell over them. Their peace didn’t last long, however, as around the next bend, and over the crest of a rise, they saw nothing less than a small army marching toward them.

Immediately, Myrna could see Church vestments behind a hodgepodge of either mercenaries or militia that were carrying flags of the Duchy of Norgath.

“Plan?” Phol asked, glancing back at the fancy carriage.

Myrna took a deep breath to steady her voice. A stutter could mean everything here. “Play it straight. We’re just delivering aid, and there was a battle, people are gonna need it.”

Phol nodded, and mouthed, “Demon?”

Myrna shook her head, then forced a smirk. “No idea. But what kinda merchants would we be if we abandoned a delivery?” She turned back to the approaching forces, and pulled the carriage and wagon to the roadside.

Deep snow made the path narrow, but whoever had cleared the pass had also kept a few turnouts. In fact, the army ahead of them might’ve done it. They were certainly the source of all the footprints the pair had seen so far.

“Hail!” Myrna shouted.

She received a reply back, and two runners moved ahead of the army to meet them: one from the Church, and the other the duke’s forces.

“By the order of the Duke of Norgath and Marquess of Astrye, Ludwig Reynard, you and your passenger must retreat from Astrye. A demon is unlawfully occupying the territory ahead.”

Well, shit. That complicates things. Play it cool, Myrna.

“Passenger?” Myrna tilted her head toward Phol. “You mean him or the carriage? There’s no one in there unless you count potatoes, dried meat, wheat, and winter vegetables.”

“We’ll need to inspect it then, ma’am. If you’re carrying supplies, my apologies, but the duke’s army requires them. We’ll ensure you’re fairly compensated.” A few armed people from the militia-looking group moved forward, weapons not drawn yet, but hands hovering near.

Yeah, right, like they need all this. Bastards.

Myrna watched them, glad that Phol’s hand stayed well clear of his own weapon. Any fight here wouldn’t end well, and they were far, far away from where the duchess’s authority could help them. “Go ahead and look, but if this convoy doesn’t reach its destination, Duchess Arina Kapel of Gedon won’t be pleased.”

She hated to mention the duchess; it would only hurt them right now. But if the crest was recognized, she could get in even more trouble if she wasn’t careful.

The approaching militiamen looked again at the carriage, and she knew they must know the duchess’s family crest. Unfortunately, Myrna also knew that Duke Ludwig Reynard hated the duchess and would want his cronies to take any chance they could to hurt her.

So she looked to the Church representative. He was young, clean-faced, and his eyes were wide and far away. Plus, the Church behind him outnumbered the militia by probably 50%. Not to mention they doubtless had mages amongst them.

“What happened in Astrye?” Myrna asked the Church’s runner as the bulk of the armies drew closer, marching with a steady trudging of feet. “Duchess Kapel is sending aid to the region—was the demon the cause?”

It wasn’t hard to guess the demon was Zarenna, even if it meant she’d picked up the ability to fly. She matched the description of the demon seen in Gedon recently. Plus, this whole mess seemed like something her altruism would cause.

The scout looked past Myrna, over her shoulder, seemingly lost in thought. Behind, the militiamen had wrenched open the carriage door and were moving inside. Right now, the best hope for both Myrna and Phol was to let them take everything, then see about being left to either walk toward Astrye or back down the pass toward Linthel.

But there was a slim chance the Church would intervene. Legally, they couldn’t here in Edath, but Myrna knew damn well that legally only meant something when the right eyes were looking. And unless Dhias was watching from up above the clouds, no one else was here.

“Sir?” Myrna prodded.

The Church acolyte started, then composed himself. “My apologies, miss. What did you ask again?”

Back in the carriage, the first crates of food were being carried out. Shit. “What happened in Astrye? We’re here to deliver aid to the region on behalf of the Duchess. Something about a severe food shortage and impending starvation.” Sell it, come on sell it!

“Food… oh. Astrye. Yes, there’s a demon who’s taken the city and has tricked the populace into following it. We fought the demon and its allies, but we were not successful in slaying it. Please, miss, you must turn back. It isn’t safe ahead.”

“But the people there,” Myrna pitched her voice a little louder, hoping someone more aware amongst the approaching Church forces would hear her. “Is it right for the people of Astrye to starve? Do you know of their food supplies?”

The acolyte runner shook his head. Myrna shivered as something seemed to wash over her.

“She’s not corrupted,” a gruff voice said, approaching from the column. The man was battered, his tabard singed, but he looked up at her on the driver’s seat with clear eyes. “You should turn back, lass. Or you’ll end up the demon’s thrall too.”

Play to sympathy. “Then should we leave them to starve?” Beg the question; their food’s got to be running low, he can make that connection.

The man was probably a paladin if the gleaming armor under the singed tabard was any indication. And he looked at the looting mercenaries with disdain, brow digging a deepening furrow across his forehead. And when he took a longer look at the carriage and the heavily laden wagon behind it, a scowl darkened his face.

“Leave the rest!” he barked. “I know of the duchess, and she’s a good soul, damnit. This is her carriage, and this is her charity.”

Someone from the duke’s forces spoke up. “So you’d aid the demon?”

“I’d aid the people suffering.”

“Oh, ’cause staying alive under a demon’s thrall for longer is better, aye?”

“Because hope”—the paladin took a menacing step forward—“never dies. Now stand down. Take only what you and your poor planning need to make it back across the pass and leave the rest. If this merchant wants to sacrifice herself to give the people of this land a fighting chance until we can get Berethiel himself here to cleanse the demon’s blight, she should be commended, not halted.”

“So you think she’ll make it?”

“The demon’s using false kindness, it won’t kill its thralls just yet.”

Myrna watched the two face off, a half dozen crates and bags of their precious cargo piled haphazardly on the road. She dared a glance at Phol. The young man looked resigned at first glance, but his eyes gleamed.

In the end, perhaps miraculously, the two of them and the vast majority of their cargo were let go, and the haggard armies passed by. The paladin from earlier, and a cadre of acolytes, escorted them throughout the day, only turning back at dawn. They didn’t speak much, and their presence was stifling.

They could probably confirm all the conjecture Myrna had used to convince herself not to turn around and run away. But if she asked, there was a high chance they could turn on her. So she and Phol kept quiet, lending credence by pure accident to the paladin’s self-made narrative that they were marching toward martyrdom.

He even took their names, to “ensure that their sacrifice, should it be one” was not forgotten. Blessedly, they left the next morning, and Myrna wanted to scream the moment they were out of earshot.

Instead she yelped when a weight settled next to her on the driver’s bench. Phol was inside the carriage, riding with the cargo in the space that’d been made by the militia’s theft.

“I thought they’d never leave!” a high-pitched voice chirped from right over Myrna’s shoulder.

She whirled, and when she turned back, she jumped at the sight of a small lupael girl in a maid’s outfit sitting next to her. Her blue eyes glittered, and she was kicking her stockinged legs casually.

“Boss!” Phol shouted, wrenching open the carriage’s front window. “What—the hell?”

“I’m Shyll!” the strange lupael chirped. “Marchioness Zarenna’s maid.”

“She has a maid now?” Myrna asked while Phol kept his hand on the hilt of his sword while hanging halfway through the window.

“So you know her then?”

“Zarenna Miller, right?”

The lupael rolled her eyes. “Yeah because that surname ever narrows things down. What’s she look like?”

“Shouldn’t you know?”

“Shouldn’t you?”

Myrna held back the urge to slap the infuriating maid; something told her that would be a very bad idea. “Tall, really tall. Red, four arms, bad puns. Naive. Ring a bell?”

“Ding ding! Yep, that’s the one. So how’d you meet?”

“She and her friends traveled with us as guards on a trip from Lockmoth to Gedon.”

“Huh, maybe she mentioned you. I didn’t really pay attention. Anyway, I couldn’t get close enough to hear everything, but it looks like you’ve got food in that fancy carriage?”

Close enough how? Ah shit, she’s probably a demon. “...Yes.”

“Great! They need it something bad I’ve heard.”

“You’ve heard?” Definitely a demon. Myrna shot Phol a look and shook her head. He pulled himself back into the carriage, eyeing Shyll through the still-open window.

The maid blew him a kiss and shrugged. “I guess that means someone ought to escort you. Oh, wait! You’re that aid caravan the boss mentioned, right?”

The boss… all Myrna could think of was that kazzel friend of Zarenna’s, but the accent was all wrong.

“From Duchess Arina?” Myrna ventured.

“That’s probably it!” Shyll stood up in a flash on the driver’s bench, cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted up into the clouds “Hey angel wings!”

Angel wings?

Myrna looked up and watched as what looked like a large bird descended from the high-floating clouds. Except it grew far larger, and far redder. Soon, Myrna could make out silver hair and a human-looking body in the middle of a pair of immense, crimson-feathered wings.

The angel-looking woman landed in front of the caravan. A ways ahead and to the side so the horses didn’t startle. Immediately, Myrna recognized her.

“Seyari?” she asked.

The angel-looking figure jogged toward her, and Myrna noticed sharp black nails on her hand when she waved. And when she spoke, her teeth were more than a little sharp. “Myrna? Wait, are you delivering the duchess’s aid?”

Myrna nodded. “What happened to you?”

Seyari laughed. “Oh this is perfect! I was wondering who it was who could talk their way through those assholes! I almost dove down when I saw them taking boxes out; glad I didn’t. As for my wings…” She flared them proudly, like a preening bird. “I got them back when I married Zarenna.”

“You married—”

“You can escort these two, right?” Shyll butted in.

Seyari growled at her, but smiled anyway. “Yes. Now go catch up to the army.”

Shyll stuck her tongue out. “Fine!”

Myrna blinked and the lupael disappeared.

Seyari waved a hand as she walked closer. “She’s a lust demon. Capricious bitch if you ask either of us, but it’s not a compliment coming from me. Anyway, she’s trustworthy enough—somehow. And she mentioned two of you. Does that mean your guard, Phil, is in there?”

“Phol,” Myrna corrected.

Seyari hopped up onto the driver’s bench next to Myrna and she was suddenly surrounded by red feathers and warm air. “Phol, right. Sorry—anyway, we should catch up.”

“Sure…” Myrna stared at the reins in her hands, watching her fingers unclench as all the tension from her uncertainty melted away. “But I want to hear what happened first—armies and all that. And what’s got you in such a good mood.” It’s Zarenna in the south. I’m safe.

“Oh!” Seyari laughed, showing even more uncannily sharp teeth. They weren’t like Zarenna’s, but they also weren’t human. “Same reason for both. I feel a little bad for it since I know Renna hates killing, we lost some people, and I shouldn’t enjoy fighting, but damn. We killed Mordwell and sent the Church packing, so I can’t think about anything else.”

Myrna let out a long sigh of relief and looked up into the clouds. “We’ve got time; I can hear it all if you want to talk.”

Seyari kept smiling and started talking. As the carriage trundled onward toward Astrye, Myrna felt the edge of winter’s chill dull and disappear.