Chapter 26: Trust and Love

Ronan was ushered away from Maritza the second he stepped through the door. Clove and Ike, both well into their cups, each grabbed Ronan by one of his hands and led him to a feasting table. He enjoyed a goblet of fine red wine along with a heaping plate of roasted steak and potatoes.

As he bantered with drunken Trainees too intoxicated to hold a proper conversation, he exchanged the occasional glance with Maritza, who was seated at a large table overlooking the banquet. She was seated beside Lord Wallace and his slicked back black hair and cold, smug face, along with several Elders in hooded, purple cloaks. Kneeling before the table of Masters was Alfred with his hand over his chest.

The leather strap securing Alfred’s white mask to the back of his head slid up and down as he spoke. Whatever he was saying was making Maritza’s lips curl in disgust.

“Don’t look so grim,” Ike slurred with a laugh. He wrapped his arm around Ronan, and Ronan caught him before he toppled to the floor. For a second Ike went limp, and his hip smacked into a goblet of wine on the table. With a loud clunk, the goblet splattered red wine onto the stone floor, and the Trainees all cheered and laughed.

“Alright Ike,” Ronan said with a chuckle, “I think it’s time we get you to bed.”

Clove wobbled over smelling of vodka. Her hair matted at the ends, she said with a sparkle in her eye, “Yes, I think bed would be a good thing right now.”

Together, Clove and Ronan managed to get Ike up the flights of stairs to his room.

“I’ve got it from here,” Clove said. She teetered in the doorway and her shoulder nudged against the door’s frame.

“You both be safe,” Ronan said with a nod.

“You’re the one we hope is safe,” Clove said. She kept only one pale blue eye open, and looked as though she might fall asleep on her feet. “We get to sleep off hangovers tomorrow morning. You’re setting off on a monster mission.”

“Don’t worry about me,” Ronan replied. “I’ll be deployed with Maritza.”

Clove sparked upright. “Maritza will be your partner, eh?”

Clove reached a hand out to Ronan’s leather sword strap around Ronan’s chest, and reeled him in a few inches closer.

With a deep smile and a wag of a finger, she said, “Keep your eyes on the mission.”

Then a loud snore startled the two of them. Ike’s face was smushed into his pillow, and with each snore he blew the flowing sideburns on his cheek up and down. The long hairs from his muttonchops entered his mouth, clogged his throat, and Ike coughed himself awake.

“Clove, are you coming to bed?” Ike asked innocently, running a finger to his sleepy eye.

“Yes, dear,” she said. She turned back to Ronan and giggled, “Isn’t he just so funny?”

“He is,” Ronan said, watching Ike flop back onto the bed.

The smile faded from Clove’s face.

She got very serious and told Ronan, “We’re all wacky in one way or another. But it’s actions that matter, not any of this expensive jewelry or regal clothing.”

She checked over her shoulder at Ike once more, and said, "If somebody is not 100% in your corner, then there’s no place for them in your life. At all.”

A shiver crept down Ronan’s back.

“I agree,” he said, the words echoing in the back of his mind.

Of the people in his life, who could he truly rely on besides himself?

“We will always be there to support you,” The Shroud whispered.

This time, the voices seemed to travel from the Hellblade itself, sheathed soundly on Ronan’s back. He shook the words away along with a raking feeling along his spine. Clove swayed and blinked heavily, noticing his discomfort.

And yet, a strange chill hung in the air as the two friends said goodnight and parted ways.

Ronan returned to his quarters. He set the Hellblade beside his bed as he had done the day he first received it, and he stared at it and the sword’s intense, black blade. Eventually, he drifted to sleep, and for the first time since he’d arrived at the temple, Ronan had a sound, peaceful sleep.

He didn’t even dream.

A knocking at his door woke him before the rooster’s crowing. Darkness still infiltrated his window when he rose from bed to answer the door.

Maritza stood before him with bags under her beautiful and bloodshot green eyes. Her leather cuirass was askew on her chest, and the sleeves of her white blouse cuffed and wrinkled. She wore soft-beige leather pants and long, mahogany colored boots with a white fur trim along the tops of them. Her normal arrow-straight posture was lacking, and Ronan suspected she hadn’t slept at all.

She tossed him a large leather traveling satchel and he caught it.

Maritza cleared her throat and said, “Inside you’ll find all the basic trimmings for an expedition. A bedroll to sleep on, some rations to snack on, a blanket, mug, and simple healing kit. I’ve packed it lightly, since we’re only going outside the temple to Augustate.”

She collected herself, winded from her explanation.

“I appreciate this, thank you,” Ronan said. “But are you sure you’re alright?”

Maritza perked, regaining her straight posture. “Hm? Yes, of course.”

Ronan raised an eyebrow.

Maritza sighed. She respected Ronan too much to lie to his face.

“There’s been a lot of drama with The Elders last night,” she said. “Nothing I can get into details about. But I’m beginning to feel overworked and under-appreciated for all my research on The Black Blade Army.”

“Is that what we’re calling the Hellsworn now?”

Maritza waved a hand, as if she was acting silly. “Oh, yes. We’ve been trying to classify these new threats. The Hellsworn are all the evil entities. A Corrupted is a creature that’s been infected by Hellsworn magic.”

“Like the Slaug I fought in the streets?” Ronan asked.

“Exactly so. Finally, there’s the Black Blade Army that attacked The Temple of the Serpent.”

“Sounds like The Elders are finally starting to take that threat seriously.”

Maritza exhaled deeply through her nose. “You could say that. Anyway, if you’re ready to set off, we’ll make for the dining hall, then take our leave.”

Ronan glanced at the Hellblade. He felt the urge to grip its handle between his fingers.

“I’m ready,” he said firmly.

He gathered his sword and boots, then changed into a black doublet and gray hunting trousers. Maritza was gone by the time he shut the door behind him, and he made his way to the dining hall.

But he was stopped by an all too familiar belting voice emitting from the forge.

“Before you leave,” Farrier shouted, sipping on a tankard of steaming coffee, “don’t forget your masterpiece here!”

Farrier held the gray dragonscale armor up, and Ronan retrieved it.

“Of course,” Farrier said with a shrug, “I revised some of the more rookie stitchings so that the garment doesn’t fall apart mid-battle.”

Farrier winked and said, “But all in all, you did an excellent job.”

Ronan smiled. “You treat me too well, Farrier. I appreciate this deeply.”

Ronan slipped into the dragonscale armor, and secured the Hellblade’s strap across his chest.

Farrier smirked.

“Now you look like a proper Nightblade,” he remarked.

Then Farrier shooed Ronan away. “Alright that’s enough, I’m still seeing double from last night’s drinking and need to lay back down! But trust Ronan, you are in good hands with Maritza.”

Ronan grinned and walked away towards the dining hall, where Maritza sat at a table by herself with two plates of food and two mugs of coffee in front of her.

She waved him over, then spread out a parchment map. He watched her tuck a loose strand of curly blonde hair over her ear, and he knew he would need to fight to maintain focus on the mission while traveling with someone who mystified him to no end.

Maritza set a finger down on the map, looked at Ronan with her illustrious green eyes, and said, “Now, let’s discuss our target.”