Leyrvallti was a city so ordinary that Ise could almost forget Loclain was locked in permanent conflict for years beyond decent contemplation. It was distant enough from Gairnite domains to be mostly removed from raids and territorial conflicts. Lichen-stained stones bore the toll of centuries, and the thick stone blocks of the walls, too, had stood for centuries, age-weathered but robust. Ise wondered if it had been tested in the past, if times were ever so dire that the Host had advanced so far.
Open gates awaited them, unguarded. They were seen by guardsmen stationed within the gatehouse, but they demanded no toll, nor an inspection. There is no danger coming from this direction, after all. If they found anything at all unusual about half a dozen women traveling together, they didn’t show it. It was for the best. In the past the Blossoms could expect an honored reception from cities they visited, heralded well in advance, but discretion was all too necessary now that having the full might of the Red Rose behind them no longer meant much. The Dawners had no such facility, with their distinctive tricornes and violent reputation, so they were scrutinized more thoroughly, and the Blossoms moved on ahead of them.
The roads turned from dirt to stone within the city, widening and splitting into several directions. Signs pointed to market, to food, to accommodations, though no doubt they would be concentrated on the eastern side of Leyrvallti. That side faced the rest of Loclain, while here it was quieter, denser with hovels and kennels on the edge of the streets that were choked with weeds and started to spill onto the cobblestone. Ise stepped gingerly past them, following Sieglinde as she led them towards the inns promised by the sign.
“I have longed for the feeling of sleeping with softness underneath my back,” Erika said. “The comforts of civilization are all too easy to take for granted.”
“I expect we shall linger here for some days,” said Sieglinde, “so find rest when you can, without forgetting our purpose. The tanner, Galm, should know enough about the activities of the Gairning Host to be useful. We had best tread carefully, however, that our presence does not affright him.”
“I think that’s a waste of time and effort,” said Yawen. “He will speak when we skin him and cure the wounds with salt.”
“We would rather extract a confession that is not being shrieked in the throes of agony,” said Sieglinde.
“Suit yourself. Your hands shall be clean and pristine as you come to understand that savage plunderers and brigands speak no tongue but violence. Then you may come to me for help.”
Sieglinde did not respond. She led the Blossoms further east, the streets leading to market, their stones never twisting towards the more destitute quarter of town, wooden homes cramped like sloppy, shameless lovers that a spark might reduce to ashes. When Ise remarked on that danger, Erika said that perhaps incineration would be an improvement over life in such bed-and-baskets. She probably didn’t notice Triella glaring at her.
Countless Loclainites gathered in the market square, but the area was spacious enough that even such numbers did not render it thronged and tumultuous. The colors in the stalls, gleaming under the sun, the clinking of coins and the cries of merchants, the smells of fresh fruit and salted meat, all bore proof of how Loclain, despite everything, was not a land of penury, but at times even of abundance. Only the tales of war spread to reach Tawarasato, naught but the kingdom’s reputation as a land besmirched by blaze and steel, but the plain truth, of course, was that no land so barren as what Ise had imagined could ever hold such bounties to beckon a history of plunder.
“It is not always a lack of food that makes people go hungry,” Stel explained after noticing Triella’s amazed gawking at the variety of victuals on offer. “Our lands are fertile, very much so. Even Gairnites, who think themselves above the plough and seed-drill, have fields of their own, manned by their war thralls and heireslaves,” Triella asked for clarification, which Ise was grateful for, as she was similarly unaware. “Like begets like. Only those descended from Gairnites are brought into the Host’s clutches, just as the children of any prisoners they take are born in bondage. For that is the only understanding they have, the only law they follow. Ownership, where all that is material and immaterial is ultimately just a thing that belongs to someone. To them, of course, is what they mean. For they are not servants, they are not laborers and sowers, but the only men to be free,” she scoffed. “This is the birthright given to them by their Mother Dusk, Nus-Oris-Nik, and is that not so very expedient?”
“When we allow people to dream up their gods,” Yawen interjected, “they contrive indulgent fathers to whom they are favored sons, who tell them that all in the world is theirs by right, and that by chance their habitual demeanor is precisely what so pleases their sire. But do go on.”
“The northern ports are the principal centers of commerce in Loclain,” Stelmaria continued. “And from them ships depart carrying the greater part of our crops, towards all Siodrune and western Shimbasse. Leyrvallti is the largest settlement in the southlands, and when it was founded it must have served Agaepsonia greatly, but even after the castle was deserted, the nearby mines and farms have continued to draw people.”
“Aye, Loclain is wealthy,” Erika said, “so wealthy that it could be quite powerful, enough perhaps to make the Empire uncomfortable, so close to its own borders. My, my…”
“Say what you mean, Chantesse,” Sieglinde turned sharply towards her.
“Our Rose has had more than enough time to smash every last Gairnite against the rocks, from the lords of their Great Sects to their screaming whelps,” she said. “But that has never come to pass. It would be easy to think that it’s the folly of mercy, of allowing our enemies to regroup, rebuild, gather strength and numbers again, but it is not so. A unified, prosperous Loclain could consolidate enough power to challenge Rosavor’s grasp on power, or at the very least, the nation wouldn’t entirely lack the leverage needed to no longer have to trade its goods at what is ultimately a pittance, and acquire from abroad refined wares at greater cost.”
“We are not here to spew conjecture,” said Ise. “Our task remains the same whether or not the Gairning Host is aided by this speculative backer.”
“Or backers,” Erika said, smirking as she did when she thought she was saying something very clever, even when no one else was impressed. “I do hope that we are not hindered by such impediments, while doing our duty.”
Fouler smells came from the city’s rookeries, whose paths the Blossoms avoided. They were not lawgivers of Leyrvallti, so it was not their concern if the dregs of society gambled and shambled blindly in a benumbed daze towards a liss den. They were not so far from market that these activities were done out of sight, but neither guards nor travelers seemed to pay them any mind. And the scent of burning liss was sufficiently anodyne that these wretched quarters actually did not smell as foul as the more homely streets where people opened their windows to empty chamber buckets onto the streets below. Home is where you hurtle your shit and piss, it would appear.
They arrived at the inn right as the smells of cooking were becoming enticing. Sieglinde made arrangements for the Blossoms’ accommodations, while the Dawners would sleep elsewhere. Ise was soon seated, famished for a decent, warm meal. A platter offered hunks of thick dark bread, and plates were set for them with slabs of bacon and poached eggs. They were even served some coffee, and Ise shuddered at the thought of how pricey a meal this was shaping up to be, so she ate eagerly, gratefully, too hungry to care about the spilth of yolk that had dripped on her shirt. Soon, only Cecilia was still eating as all the others finished, as only Kleinfeld could remain so prissy after weeks eating bread with the softness of a pair of boots. Even Yawen had finished her meal, though the taste of coffee did not agree with her and she demanded water instead.
“I had forgotten food could be so savory,” said Stel. “I have missed Loclainite cooking more than I realized.”
“I do believe we’ve all earned this indulgence,” said Sieglinde. Then, after a brief regard of her surroundings to be certain they were not being observed or listened to, she continued: “Lady Mycroft has provided us with an abundance of ryals, enough to last us a lengthy expedition. The Northron Bank has a branch in Leyrvallti, so I’ll procure more funds today. In the interim, I’ll ask that you divide yourselves to investigate and observe. Locate Galm, but without drawing attention to yourselves. He has contacts within the Gairning Host, and I don’t believe he is their only asset within Leyrvallti. Learn what you can before we wring from him the Host’s other secrets. Let us meet together here come evenfall. Eat, rest if you must, but remain vigilant and dutiful.”
Ise hadn’t the slightest desire to rest. Leyrvallti was dense and peopled enough that the Blossoms might go unnoticed for a time, but caution was paramount. We are everywhere, the Gairnite had said before Yawen silenced him evermore. His words could have been lies to frighten the Blossoms, an attempt at earning him mercy, but until contradicted, they had to be presumed true, which meant they had enemies everywhere, and not all of them bearing weapons. We are everywhere… Her eyes met those of the innkeeper, that small woman who knew where they slept, the eyes of her daughter, who had served them their meal. Outside a man was watching passersby, and Ise had assumed him to be a guard, but now she was not so sure. By pillage alone the Host would not have endured for so long, and though Ise knew little of the history of these leeches, Stelmaria was always willing to answer any and all questions about the Host. Before departing, it was best to have some direction and notion of how to carry out their investigation.
“Why do they exist?” Ise asked. Triella and Cecilia remained seated, curious to learn, while Sieglinde had affairs to deal with, Erika scoffed, convinced that she did not need any teaching, and Yawen… Ise tried not to think about what Yawen meant to do. “I mean, there are brigands everywhere, always do men turn to violent means, but they don’t hold territories, they don’t control cities, they don’t have the false grandeur of the Host. Is it a religious dispute?”
“Among other things,” said Stel. “The centuries have seen the Rose stifle most of the heresies, but that doesn’t mean people have always accepted the extinction of their beliefs. That is true in Tel Ubaitha as it is true in Loclain, under the sunless gloom of Graufor’s wealds where trees are fed blood, or in the bone temples of the undines… Adherents of less violent blasphemies were brought into the fold by the Rose’s justice, long ago, or were culled and vanished, so the remnant godheads and cults are those that took up arms to resist, those who were strong enough to govern land of their own, to raise armies.”
“They believe they’re fighting to uphold their way of life,” Triella remarked. “Their… Their Mother Dusk, their false deity. I suppose that any belief so strong as to define one’s own existence is not so easily quelled. They would fight even though there might be no victory. Forever, if they must.”
“It matters little that their way of life is barbaric,” said Stel. “They will fight to the end for their right to be sub-human degenerates, and it seems we must grant them their death desires.”
Ise just nodded. She wondered how it felt to live with such caitiffs plaguing your home, to lose so much to them, to know that this has gone on long enough to be history, even legend. Tawarasato had its share of problems, but none such as this. Once, Ise had been horrified to see how swiftly Stel could go from being a gentle, articulate woman to snarling with hatred. Now she understood such feelings more than she had ever wanted to.
“What a nightmare,” Cecilia remarked. “In the face of such evil how can one even dream of peace?”
“Princess Judithe dreamt of peace,” said Stel. Her voice became so strange when she spoke of her lost princess, or of Prince Lauryn. It was a voice laden with reminiscence, warm with longing and cold with loathing. “Aboard a ship flying a flag of peace, she was killed, fed to the depths. She had arranged a meeting with Gairnite lords, joined by her brother against their better judgment. They were careful, of course, or so they thought. They were to meet for negotiations and the forging of a treaty only when they had sufficient assurances of their safety. Hostages were held, captured in war, kin to leaders of the Host’s Great Sects, and they would only meet the highest authorities of the Host. And yet they were betrayed, butchered, because they dreamt of peace but their enemies did not.”
“What happened?” Triella asked. Ise would have asked, too, but she didn’t dare.
“The Sects always fought among themselves,” Stelmaria said with a scornful, cruel smile. “The hostages, their own leaders, they were no impediment to their treachery. A thousand Gairnites perished, too, their own vessels set ablaze that the spark might ignite my princes’ ship as well. I don’t even know what was done to the hostages afterwards. Certainly their own kinsmen cared not for their fate. You see, their one unbreakable principle is the self. No bonds of blood or fellowship are so firm that greed cannot fray them. That is our fault, not understanding that,” she got up, her body tense as her hand sought the pommel of her sheathed sword, only then abating. “Now you understand, too. Now you won’t be fooled. Now you know that when your enemy seems to beg for death, you give it to them. You give it to them good and hard, and never give them the chance to rise.”
The Rose's Torn Petals 