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It is the only way.
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The next day, we interview the citizens of Aquilar before packing up and moving out to Kingsbury, the next big town on our list to tour. As discussed, we will go there next to survey the damage. Our caravan moves slowly, weighed down by the wagons of necessary relief supplies Pellia brought with us.
Still, though I know it is necessary, it makes me antsy. I want to move faster, go through this farce as quickly as I can, and be done with it.
For her part, Pellia chatters happily at my side, as if nothing happened between us last night. Still, her smile does not quite reach her eyes and I feel, for the first time, that she is playing a part around me. I have hurt her with my rejection. She doesn’t understand that I am the one broken, that I can never trust her.
I respond only in short answers and grunts, but it doesn’t seem to dissuade or stem her cheerful observations. She is determined, it seems, to follow the plan and show the rest of the caravan that we are close and flirtatious. But the longer the day goes with her false cheer and mechanical flirtations, I grow more and more tense. This is not the Pellia I have come to know.
Usually she appears so . . . genuine.Maybe she is, whispers a rebellious voice inside me.Maybe she has been exactly as she appears and you are too stubborn to believe it.Maybe if you allow yourself, you can trust her.
I barely keep myself from riding away from the caravan, pushing my warbeast to his fastest speed to escape this hell. Pellia’s insistence at stopping in each of the smaller villages further slows our pace. We take stock of their damages and pass out food and blankets.
I tersely order my orcs to help, so that these charitable efforts go faster, so that we will arrive at our destination sooner. I hang back and watch, doing nothing to change the glower on my face. My patience is being tested to its limits.
Pellia either doesn’t notice my foul temper or doesn’t careabout it. Whenever we stop, her genuine smile is back on her face as she listens to each person’s needs and gives them what we can. I am orc enough to admit that seeing her real smile focused on others after a day of false happiness focused onmenettles even more.
Finally, late in the evening, we arrive at Kingsbury. It is nowhere near as bad as Aquilar, but the countryside is still dotted with burnt fields and houses, a sight that is already becoming commonplace in our travels. We get to the town proper and are greeted by the Kingsbury’s magistrate.
“Welcome,” the man says, his words less than sincere as he stares at me and my orcs with pointed suspicion. “I am Kade, the magistrate. We are happy to receive a delegation from the capital to put an end to these fires.”
“That is why we are here,” Pellia returns, cheerfully, addressing the human as if he had been genuine. “We also bring aid for those that were affected most by the fires and food for whoever needs it, since the harvest has not been what it should have been.”
The human man perks up slightly at the mention of aid, his eyes passing over the wagons behind us with a sort of desperate light. “That will be most welcome,” Kade replies, sounding more unfeigned in his sentiments. “Some that have lost their farms barely have enough food to last through the week, let alone the winter.”
Pellia goes to respond to the man again, but at that moment the wind changes direction and the acrid smell of smoke greets my nostrils.
“There is a fire,” I announce, my orcs around me tensing at the same time I do.
The beautiful regent to my right looks startled. “A fire? But I don’t see smoke. Is—?”
A bell clangs in the distance, an alarm. Shouts of “Fire!” float toward us on the breeze.
Sure enough, soon there is a large, dark billow of smoke in the air, coming from the other side of town.
I bark an order and my orcs move, grabbing blankets from the wagons and then moving with all the speed our orc strength grants us toward the fire.
“Get our mage and the one that was assigned here!” I shout, then spur my warbeast forward into a run, heading in the direction I am led with my eyes and nose.
I am soon greeted by a fast-spreading fire, faster than is natural. Magic? Or some other mischief? Some other smell greets me under the smell of the smoke, though I cannot place it. I leap down from my warbeast, pull the heavy cloak I wear from my shoulders and begin beating in at the flames, attempting to smother them. Other orcs appear at my side, working with the blankets to smother the blaze.
To my left, I can see that the humans have formed a long line of bodies. They are desperately passing buckets of water from the town well to the field, throwing bucket after bucket on the growing fire.
It is useless. The fire moves like a thing possessed, consuming everything in its path. Even with all our efforts combined, this field of grain is going to be lost.
“Where are the mages?” I demand, desperately beating at the flames. If this fire is magical, we’ll be lost without our own magical interference.
“Here, my lord!” I hear the yelled response and an older human male scurries next to me, accompanied by a younger man. Air moves unnaturally around them and I glean that their Aspects must be air. Pity that. Water would be more useful.
“Do you sense a magical source to this fire?” I demand, rounding on the older mage. He is smaller than I am, his shoulders hunched as if he were more used to pouring over ancient tomes than being out in the real world.
“Yes!” he says, yelling over the din. “There’s a spark of magic in the air, something alchemical feeding the flames. Heinrich and I can try to pull the air away from the blaze and starve the fire, but if we are to stop it, it must be contained. Otherwise, our magic won’t be able to work fast enough to douse the inferno!”
Throwing my cloak down, I shout to my orcs, “Find shovels and run to the edge of the field! We have to dig a fire break so that the next field doesn’t catch! Hurry, we must contain it for the mages!”
My orcs scramble to follow my orders while I run around the blaze, smoke tearing at my lungs as I breathe.Was this on purpose?I wonder.Did the perpetrators light the fields just as we arrived as a message? A warning? Or to make us look guilty?
