Chapter 35: Lover's Lake

The three laughed as Ronan chewed like he had glass in his gums.

After swallowing, Ronan perked up and said, “Wow, that’s actually amazing. It’s like pork rib!”

Ike gave a small bow, and the group all shared a laugh. Green Essence surrounded Ike, and it entered his shoulder, filling the progress bar under his Mark of the Butterfly.

The ladies enjoyed their cakes, and the men ate their skewers, and the horses hounded down a second pot of Ike’s concoction.

When they were fully restored, the group saddled up, and made their way down the rest of Loner’s Crag.

For a day, they traveled at a brisk pace, staying slow enough to not tire the horses, and fast enough to feel as though they were avoiding the Butterfly Nightblades, who they all believed had stopped pursuing them.

It was the dead of night when the group reached Lover’s Lake and felt the pangs of hunger in their stomachs once more. The Lake was huge and sparkled from the starlight, and small shadows could be seen swimming around. Some shadows approached where the water met the land, as if they were observing the group of traveling Nightblades.

Around the lake were several thick, sturdy trees hundreds of years old, and giant boulders that had rolled down from the massive, grassy cliffside.

“Right there,” Maritza said, aiming a torch on the water’s edge, “there’s a cove or some kind of natural inlet over there.”

Ronan squinted and added, “It’ll be a lot warmer in there than out here. Let’s camp there for the night. Ike, Clove, maybe you two can see if there’s something to eat around the lake’s edge, and Maritza and I will clear the cove of critters and set up camp.”

“Deal,” Ike said excitedly, swinging his leg off the beige horse and taking his torch by the lake and searching for things to scavenge.

“Look,” Clove exclaimed, “Up in the distance! Are those lights?”

Miles away, the stone garrison of a temple perched on the cliffside shined with an assortment of fires and smoke. The cliffside overlooked a dark, deep ocean, and the four heard laughter, applause, and the faint sounds of singing.

“It sounds like they’re celebrating,” Ronan said. “Whomever they are.”

“Celebrating?” Maritza asked. “We’re the ones who should be celebrating!”

She jumped up and down, restored with hope, and hugged Ronan tightly. “That’s the Temple of the Seahorse! It wasn’t destroyed after all. You were right, Ronan. We did make it.”

Maritza noticed that Ike and Clove were grinning as she hugged Ronan, and Maritza swiftly straightened out her back, tucked some loose strands of curly blonde hair behind her ear and cleared her throat.

“We should make for the temple right away!” she said.

Ronan took her hand. “Then we press on.”

The horses neighed, as if in agreement.

And then a cheerful voice came from inside the cove.

“Not so fast, travelers!” the voice slurred, sounding a tad drunk.

A man with a swagger to his strut exited the cove, and on his shoulders was a double-sided steel lance. Hung on the metal tips of the lance were lanterns, and they illuminated the man, showing his long, indigo colored hair underneath a red, embroidered bandana. He supported the lance with a single hand, and in his other he clutched a rum bottle, which by the looks of the gleam in his eye, he was working well through. His indigo hair was braided into thin strands in areas, but mostly hung loosely to his shoulders. He wore a gray tricorn hat, and beneath his frayed brown leather trenchcoat was a tan wool shirt, and black pants. One leg of his pants were ripped at the knees, and it revealed a tattoo of a seahorse along his shin.

“I’m Scindo of Sayling,” the man said, “and that there is my temple.”

Suddenly, Lover’s Lake glowed a bright yellow, and the shadows swimming inside the lake all lit up like candles. Their outlines were of seahorses, and they whizzed about, as if providing Scindo an audience.

As Scindo got closer, the lanterns on the lance lit up his face, and the group saw that despite his charming smile, his face had scars at the cheek, and his hands were rough and solderiesque.

“Scindo of Sayling,” Maritza said, “we are Nightblades from The Temple of the Butterfly. We seek help. There is a threat so dangerous that it--”

“I don’t normally interrupt such a beautiful woman,” Scindo said with a charming grin, “but there is no way you could possibly be from a place as far as The Temple of the Butterfly.”

It was clear from his pattern of speech that Scindo was rather drunk. Yet, despite his drinking, he maintained a sophistication to his words.

Clove turned around and displayed her Mark of the Butterfly on her shoulders.

“Hmm,” Scindo said, waving the lanterns back and forth to get a good look at the four. He took a long swing from the rum bottle.

“For Nightblades, you look, well, you seem a bit soft is all,” he chuckled. Ronan sized him up.

“We’ve been traveling for days,” Ike said. “We could use some aid, if you’re willing to offer.”

“Sounds just like the theatrics of the last group that came through these parts,” Scindo slurred. “We don’t get many visitors on this land, and when we do, more often than not, they’re the lowest of the low.”

“Allow us to prove that we’re truly here to help,” Clove said.

Ronan still glared at Scindo cautiously. Each Nightblade he met was different than the last, and he aimed to determine what Scindo fought for before he brought his friends along to The Temple of the Seahorse.

“How about a little test?” Scindo asked. He raised his lance, then slid both lanterns off and to the ground. He spun the lance in three circles, then struck a fighting pose where the lance rested near his shoulder, ready to thrust a hole into anyone or anything.

“We aren’t here to fight,” Ronan said seriously.

“That’s what the last group of brigands said,” Scindo responded, “before they made for my people.”

His entire demeanor shifted, and it was clear that he meant business.

Then Scindo made another charming grin and said, “If you’re really Nightblades, then it’ll become clear in our spar.”

He spun his lance around again, twisted off both sharp metal tips, and threw them to the ground by his feet. They impaled the dirt, and Scindo tossed up the tipless lance, caught it on a fingertip, then balanced it.

“There, now there’s little I could do to harm a group of such talented young Nightblades,” he remarked.

“We’re not fighting you,” Ronan said protectively.

Scindo took notice of this and respected it.

“Use the blunt end of your sword, if you must,” Scindo said to Ronan with a chuckle. “But let’s see what you’re made of. One versus one, honor combat. Just you and me.”

Scindo took another long swing of rum.

Ronan drew his Hellblade and it flowed blacker than the night. The seahorses in the lake squeaked and retreated into the deeper water.

“My sword has no blunt ends,” Ronan said.

Scindo smiled, as if entertained. “A killer’s weapon, just like a brigand, or highwayman!”

Scindo flicked his thumb, and the lance spun on the tip of his finger.

“Don’t fight him, Ronan,” Maritza said. “That’s not what we’re here for.”

But Ronan sensed something different in Scindo.

“He’s one of us,” The Shroud whispered to Ronan.

“I accept your duel,” Ronan said. “Just you and me, and I fight for the respect of my friends.”

“Aren’t you a gallant gentleman?” Scindo asked with a chuckle.

Before Ronan could say another word, Scindo threw the lance into the air, spun into a flip, and kicked the lance right at Ronan.