Chapter 22.

  One life to another

  Theodren gently placed Reina and the child on a nearby pew as he gathered his belongings off the floor from where the Mayor had dropped them. The Mayor seemed focused on collecting his religious garb more than any of the rest of Theodren’s belongings. Rumor amongst the townspeople was that the Mayor was no Mayor at all.

  One day he had simply arrived in town in suspiciously I'll fitting and ragged clothing and carrying a modest bag of gold declaring his station to the townspeople. No one had questioned his origins despite his duplicitous nature. The town was rife with people escaping their circumstances to start anew, that was, until yesterday.

  Perhaps the Mayor was planning to pose as a priest elsewhere, certainly Theodren was the only man in the village with clothing that would fit Sylverworm’s portly frame, and no one would dare question or assault a priest on pilgrimage. As far as Theodren was concerned, the robes of a priest of the Golden Order were no longer his to wear. He left them there on the floor with a mixture of melancholy and disgust confusing his emotions as he scanned the disheveled interior of his quarters.

  The Mayor had managed to grab most of Theodren’s clothes, trousers and tunics littered the ground, along with the fine cloak and boots Theodren’s mother had given him for his journey south. Now, he would wear them home. His books and chair lay scattered on the ground, thrown about in the Mayor’s mad dash to freedom. He stepped over them as he grabbed a modest hunting bow and quiver of arrows from the dusty corner of his room. He had not needed to hunt for his food since arrived in the village three years ago, but the journey north would change that. He would need to hunt, dry and preserve as much meat as he could along the way. Once they were out of the forest, there would be precious little game until they came to the Yormungand. He used what privacy the moment allowed to pull the tattered robe of his priesthood off of his head with a sense of finality.

  He no longer belonged with the Golden Order, and these robes no longer belonged to him. The garment was soaked in the blood and gore of yesterday’s battle, and he wrinkled his nose as it fell to the ground in a heap. Inspecting himself in the bronze polished mirror that hung crooked on his wall. He noticed an odd smoothness to his skin where all of his many wounds and scars should have been. He chuckled as he remembered Yggdrazil fussing over him in the nave. He searched for a clean enough tunic when his vineling caught his eye. Retribution had doubled in size. It shifted ever so slightly as he poked at it, seemingly asleep on his arm.

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  Before It had been merely a circlet about his arm. Now it would rival even the broad, silver arm bands his father would bestow on his more worthy warriors. Theodren chuckled as he remembered the boisterous feasts his father would throw for the giving of armbands.

  loud singing and booming laughter would mix with strong mead and tender meats. His mother seemed completely at odds with the chaos surrounding her at these celebrations. Always keeping a serious and dignified demeanor, even as earthen mugs and legs of mutton sailed through the air. For all her manners and poise however, he could still hear her singing the jaunty tunes of his father’s bards when she thought no one was listening. And while no one seemed able to recall seeing her drink, she would end each feast with rosey cheeks and several empty flagons surrounding her.

  Thoughts of home filled his mind as he emerged from his quarters, garbed in sturdy trousers, boots and a padded leather jerkin he had not worn since he had left for the conclave 8 years ago. It was stretched tightly across his chest and shoulders but it would do.

  As he approached the dried husk that was once the mayor. He considered what ought to be done with the body. Reina’s words echoed in his head. He had known. He had known that the Inquisitors were coming, He had known that there would be death, and he had chosen to do nothing. And so, he would respond in kind. Theodren pushed the husk aside with his foot. As he did, a jingle of coins rattled from within its pockets.

  Theodren grinned, He reached into the dead man’s pockets until he found a hefty bag of gold that almost overflowed his hand. He would have to count it later, but the weight of it spoke to a healthy sum. certainly enough to pay for room and board at many taverns along the road north. He tucked the bag away into his belt, turning his attention back to Reina who sat, mired in her sadness and shock, on the pew where Theodren had left her. Yggdrazil’s flower remained steadfast behind Theviana’s ear as she slept in the woman’s arms.

  Theodren had seen this kind of shellshock before in the eyes of warriors who had returned, broken by some unspeakable trauma. He lifted her gently by the arm as he guided her out of the church and toward the horses the Mayor had so thoughtfully prepared for them. One was loaded down with bags of silver plates, candle sticks and other ostentatious homegoods. Theodren snorted as he pulled the bags of baubles from the horse, letting it fall with a clatter to the damp ground.

  While such things might be sold for decent coin, he had neither the time nor the contacts to sell such things. Turning to Reina, he grabbed her by her slender waist to lift her into the saddle. She stiffened at his touch, only for a moment, before relaxing, allowing him to place her on the horse. Theodren followed shortly after, climbing onto the bigger of the two horses. He grabbed the leads from where they sat, untouched on Reina’s saddle and coaxed the horses into motion. It was time to go home.