The Auric Insignia Read online

  It was a child, that much was clear. The long dark hair, matted and dirty from neglect, led Marielle to also assume that it was a girl. The girl was attempting to lift the two buckets, filled to the brim with precious water for the dogs. The buckets however, proved to be too heavy for the girl’s thin arms and just as Marielle was approaching, the girl’s frustration got the better of her juvenile patience. She let go of the handles and proceeded to kick one of the buckets in her anger. Her leg and foot, being no more sturdy than her arms, just ended up hurting whilst the bucket remained still.

  She cried out in pain as she hopped around on one foot, tears threatening to start running. Finally, she sunk to the ground, sobbing into her hands. The reaction seemed overly sensitive to Marielle at first, but then she recognized who it was that was crying in front of her. It was the girl from the cave hall, the screaming, crying child that had lost her mother. The girl who had refused to leave her dead mother’s side, even when Racka had ordered it. Her stubbornness and pain had gone so far that she had had to be carried away, screaming at the top of her lungs, by the other women. It was this behavior that had probably landed her with the task she was now currently trying to perform. Tending to the pack, the least desirable position for a servant keen on living a long life. Marielle watched the girl’s face, seeing her grief and anger on involuntary display.

  And there it was, what Marielle had been searching for. A desperation, a hatred, and perhaps, perhaps, the folly and guts needed for what Marielle had in mind. Wasting no time, she moved in on her prey. She squatted down beside the child who had, up until now, thought she had been alone. Looking up from her hands, she recoiled when she saw the woman sitting beside her.

  - Hey, hey, it’s okay. It’s fine.

  Half expecting to be beaten for her unauthorized break from work, the girl reacted with confusion to Marielle’s kind words.

  - Hey, my name is Marielle. What’s yours?

  Marielle sold her words with the sweetest of smiles, not sure if the girl knew who she was.

  - I’m Offa.

  - Why are you crying, Offa?

  Rubbing her swollen eyes at the mentioning of her tears, Offa assumed a defiant expression.

  - I’m not crying.

  - Okay.

  Marielle sat down in the gravel next to the girl with the puffy cheeks.

  - But if you were, I’d understand.

  - You would?

  - I would. I would also understand that it’s not because you hurt your foot.

  - You would?

  - I would.

  They sat in silence, Offa making shapes in the gravel with her bare feet, Marielle patiently waiting at her side. On the other side of the courtyard, the stableboy was finishing his task of putting out the hay, after which he ran off to get his breakfast.

  - I hate him.

  - Who?

  - The lord.

  - I get it.

  - I hate him, I hate him so much!

  Offa dug her heels into the ground even harder than before, her feet leaving deep tracks behind them.

  - What if I told you there’s a way to hurt him, hurt him like he hurt you?

  Offa’s feet stopped moving and she looked up at Marielle with eyes showing the determination of someone older.

  - How?

  She had, like Marielle had guessed she would, taken the bait. Now, the only thing Marielle had to do, was to reel her in.

  - What, in this keep, is the most valuable to the lord?

  Looking around, Offa racked her brain for the correct answer, when something caught her eye.

  - The dogs?

  - Good, Offa, very good. Now, tell me, do you know what Water Hemlock is?

  Suddenly looking concerned, Offa shook her head.

  - That’s okay. Water Hemlock is a plant that grows in these marshes. It’s the one with small white flowers that grows in bundles, it also has purple spots on the stem. Do you know it?

  - Yes! I do!

  - Great, you see, Hemlock is poisonous, so if you pick some of them, the roots are the best, and give them to the dogs, they will die.

  Marielle saw a sliver of doubt flare up in the girl’s eyes and quickly set out to extinguish it.

  - I would do it myself but they’re watching me. Besides, you already work here at the dog yard, so they won’t suspect anything if you were to give them anything, or put something in their water trough. But if you’re not up for it....

  - I am, I promise I am!

  - That’s great, Offa. See if you can collect some today so you can give it to them with their evening meal, that way nobody will notice until tomorrow.

  - Okay, I will.

  - Here, I will help you with those buckets.

  - Thank you, Lady.

  Marielle took the buckets and went up to the large cage like structure where most of the dogs where still sleeping. When she stopped to pour the water in the trough, two familiar shapes jerked up their heads. Rugeux and Braise looked up at Marielle, waiting to see if she would issue a command, but after a while, when they saw that that wasn’t the case, they relaxed once more.

  - And remember, you can’t tell anyone about this, it will be our secret.

  - Our secret, I promise.

  Seeing that people were starting to enter the courtyard, prompting Marielle’s departure from the kennel, she left Offa the girl, and the kennel behind her. Like a stone splitting a stream, she cut through the mass of people passing her inside of the main entrance. Sticking out in the flow of monotony and weariness that most of the workers emanated, the young woman that had been assigned as her maid, came rushing up to Marielle.

  - I am sorry, my lady! I didn’t think you would be up so early, please my lady, it will not happen again!

  The corners of Marielle’s mouth went up, playing her part as it needed to be played.

  - I was just going for a walk. Was there something special?

  - Oh yes, I’m so sorry, my lady! The lord sent a message to your quarters, requesting that you join him for breakfast in the dining hall.

  - Okay.

  And with that, Marielle left her nerve wreck of a servant behind as she started to climb the stairs. Making her ascent, Marielle could hear her maid calling out to her, asking if Marielle wanted her to join, or if the lady would like help changing before she ate. Marielle however, did not answer, her mind was preoccupied with other matters.

  The dining hall, set up in accordance with the rest of the keep, was gloomily lit. Marielle was let in by another faceless servant standing vigil outside the hall. The room was dominated by a long table, made out of the same robust, dark wood that most of the keep’s furniture was crafted of. The table was filled with the food Marielle had seen as it was being prepared in the kitchen. The food, going with Racka’s constant strive for humanity, lacked the torn up carcasses of cows and sheep that one would expect someone like Racka would consume. In their place stood platters of silver, filled with everything from sliced fruits, roasted meats, and pies, baked to golden brown perfection.

  On the far side, facing her, Marielle saw the lord of the keep. Not looking up to acknowledge her, Racka’s eyes never left the grilled turkey that was currently lying in front of him, awaiting consumption. She saw that something had put him in a bad mood, even though his normal state was hardly calm. Nonetheless, she was not like the pitiful servants who scurried about the dark corridors like rats, she would not cower before such power plays. Walking up to the table, she sat down on the short end closest to the entrance, as an equal, a notion that wasn’t lost on her host. Like shot from a bow, the old servant with the missing hand, emerged from the shadows where he had been waiting for a signal that his presence was requested.

  - My lady, the lord had made arrangements for you to sit further down.

  He gestured down along the table, towards a spot where cutlery had been put out in anticipation for her arrival. Without taking her eyes off Racka, she answered the servant loud enough so that there would be no doubt
about who she was talking to.

  - I’m fine here.

  Like lighting had struck, a bang bounced off the walls as Racka bit down on the leg of a turkey, crushing the thick bone inside. The servant jumped at the sound but Marielle didn’t flinch. Even though Racka’s sickening visage matched Marielle’s intensity, he did not object, and after some time, when he was sure he wouldn’t be punished for doing so, the servant hurried off to fetch the cutlery for Marielle. When he had moved them, he eagerly retreated to the shadows, and once more, there were only the two, the lord and the lady, left. Having conceded the first round, Racka was eager to lash out and proceeded to try his best.

  - So, Marielle, I hope the quarters given to you proved, suitable. I made sure you would have the finery fitting of a lady such as yourself.

  Marielle, as the superior player, saw his obvious attack and did not bite back.

  - Yes, they were perfect. My lord.

  She could see the madness spark as he failed to retaliate, going, almost like ripples through his body. Pretending like this was like any other breakfast, Marielle started to fill her plate with various treats. She ate the food like she didn’t have a care in the world, watching insanity incarnate across the table, trying to keep up his facade. Continuing her role in their play, Marielle guessed that Racka’s vexation had not stemmed from her choice of seating, but instead from something else. Something that pertained to that which to Racka, was the most holy, the master.

  So, as Marielle finished her meal, she nocked her metaphorical arrow, drew, and let loose.

  - Yesterday, while I was enjoying the comforts of the quarters you so generously had made available for me, I got a message.

  Racka tensed up, angry, jealous, and filled with an almost uncontrollable curiosity.

  - A letter, carrying the auric insignia, but you probably already knew that.

  Marielle washed down her last bite with her drink, emptying her goblet, after which she rose to leave. Racka, seeing this, couldn’t restrain himself any longer and rose quickly, turning over the chair behind him.

  - What did the master say!?

  Halfway on her way to the door, Marielle stopped and turned around.

  - He said to give his regards to you, the master’s most loyal.

  Walking out the door, Marielle heard the spark she had seen before, catch fire as Racka, screaming to himself, tore the room apart.

  ***

  I thought I had everybody fooled

  He bit in, but instead of parting before his teeth, the raw, slimy meat had a spring to it. Almost gagging, he tried to block the, to him, unnatural feel of his meal. A meal consisting of bitter leaves, simple raw leaves that his companions had assured him were edible, and the milky pink flesh that even the shadiest butcher in the world wouldn’t have sold. It had come from some swamp critters that Roarke had never seen before they had set down for camp, the night before.

  The two sitting next to him seemed to be able to stomach the unconventional cuisine considerably better than Roarke, with Ama swallowing his meager ration in no more than two bites. Since they had entered the marshland, both flora and fauna suitable for consumption had become scarce. If there indeed was a keep hidden in these bogs, Roarke guessed they would have to have some sort of supply line set up to be able to feed everyone. Since they had heard of the keep, and its proximity, they had taken extra precautions. They moved with greater care, not knowing if guards patrolled the area, and when they had stopped for the night, they had not even made a fire, hence the raw meat. Even if they had wanted to make one, Roarke wasn’t sure they would have been successful. He was as good as anyone at starting fires but he didn’t think he could locate one strand of dry grass, or one useable twig in these parts, even if his life had depended on it. Like Staffan had said, it didn’t rain but still, everything around them was wet. Even beyond the actual waters of the swamps, everything alive was soaked and sour, and everything perishable was in some stage of rot.

  They ate in reticence, the general mood subdued, as if the gray drabness of their surroundings had seeped into their minds. Since yesterday, they had moved away from the road, walking to the east of it where the ground was slightly less saturated and where their journey was more covered. The environment was not suited for swift travel, and if they were to get caught unawares, it would be bad to say the least. Roarke coughed and beat his chest in order to manually force down the last gooey bite. The Megin armor kept on surprising, as Roarke had noticed that beyond it protective capabilities, it was also highly efficient at keeping his body dry. As he was standing up though, the only part of it made mostly for flair, the cape, reached the end of its sparse usefulness. Soaked and caked with mud, it made him feel like he had a child hanging from his neck, swinging slowly with every step he took. So as they were readying to go, Roarke tore off the once radiant cloth, now dirty and soiled, throwing it in a nearby pool of water and then stood by watching, as it slowly sank from the surface, down into oblivion.

  Tired, dull and constantly irked by the stench, they started moving, still not saying a word to each other. They made slow progress, having to check for sinkholes and concealed basins of possibly acidic water, which, when they came across, they had to circle around. Roarke rubbed his face, feeling the cheeks where a short beard was slowly replacing his usual scruff. He touched the left side of his head, where half of his ear had been bitten off. A wound that untreated, especially in the company’s current situation, was just begging for an infection. A sort of wry luck then, when Roarke, as he was going to sleep the night before, had noticed that the wound had been burned closed by the astringent ooze that had gotten on him from his attacker. He supposed he should be glad he wasn’t lying in the dirt, dying in a painful fever, but as he walked through a landscape, that to him, came as close as was possible to actually traversing a literal shit hole, he found it hard to be grateful for anything.

  He continued pushing his hand upwards, running it through his hair. Hair that, even though it was short, was starting to knot due to dirt and lack of care. In front of him, he saw his companions whose coats was following suit, clumping together as well. Feeling himself sinking down into a figurative bog beyond the one he was already walking in, he cracked his neck and pushed all his thoughts to the back of his mind.

  They kept on marching the whole day, seeing no signs of humans beyond the occasional glances of the road that they had along the way. When the day had past noon and was well on its way towards darkness, they were still at it, still silent. Roarke, bringing up the rear of their small party, rarely raised his eyes from the treacherous footing underneath him. Seeing something from the corner of his eye, he was wakened from his monotonous stride, only to see that Refaz and Ama had stopped. Turning their ears, listening, they as well, had been shaken from their trance.

  - Wha....

  Ama silenced him with the raising of a hand, moving to cover behind a tree, gesturing for them to do the same. Like violently woken from a dream, blood was suddenly rushing through Roarke’s body. Moving as quickly as he could whilst still keeping quiet, he made his way for the trunk of the nearest tree that looked big enough to cover his frame. Looking off, he saw that Refaz had set off for a shrubbery, crouching to make himself as small as possible. Seeing Roarke’s eyes on him, Refaz brought a finger up to his mouth, ushering for stillness as they waited for whatever had garnered their attention. Waiting, not being able to see, long seconds passed as Roarke was trying to judge their plight from Refaz’s expression, since the fiery red Kappa was the only one with an unobstructed view.

  Refaz’s coat, in contrast with the gray hues of Ama’s fur and Roarke’s armor, did not blend well with the bleak green of the cover behind which he was hiding. If an enemy would look his way, Refaz would surely be spotted. After some time, which felt like an hour, Refaz’s body tensed up, staying even more still than before, folding his ears back and holding his breath. Roarke leaned in against the tree as much as he could, feeling the rough bark poke his expos
ed skin. Holding his breath as well, Roarke tried to listen for the approaching entity. Where at first, he only heard the pumping of his own heart, his ear throbbing as he pressed it against the trunk of the tree, he finally heard what the Kappas had reacted to. Slow, wet footsteps, lacking a rhythm, announced the arrival of someone, or something.

  Refaz’s face, previously like made of stone, awaiting this unknown, got a crack brought on by surprise. Roarke could see that whatever had just become visible, it was something that Refaz had not expected. The footsteps were coming closer, stopping once in a while before continuing. Roarke tried to see Ama but couldn’t do so without leaving his hiding place and risk being seen. The footsteps were now so close that Roarke could visualize where this mystery was standing. He thought it was a human, since it sounded like it walked on two feet, looking over at Refaz however, reminded him that that didn’t necessarily need to be the case. The steps sounded faint, like whoever made them was small, not going down quite as deep in the watery soil. Roarke was filled with confusion and curiosity, given life by the irregular pattern of the steps. They seemed to belong to someone searching for something, rather than being those of someone simply traveling a distance. What confused Roarke was that if this was a scout, a guard, or something similar, they appeared to make little to no effort staying quiet, which struck him as odd.

  Looking to Refaz for answers, he received the faintest of nods, indicating for him to move. Hearing the footsteps come closer, Roarke slowly slid along the trunk in order to remain hidden. Trying to land every step with the weight of a shadow, not knowing if it would be the difference between life and death. The resumed advancement of paces, just as he was taking his own, caused him to freeze. The last thing he did, preparing for possible conflict, was to reach for the spear on his back, grasping damp steel. The interlude between breaths, going from one step to another, felt like an eternity as he waited on the edge of the knife. Readying himself for springing into action, he saw the mystery unknown enter his field of view. It was a girl. A child, no more than ten years old, was standing just a few feet from where Refaz was lying in hiding. Intellectually, somewhat relieved, Roarke still felt his heart pounding fast, his hands clammy with sweat. The girl, dressed in simple clothes, filthy from wear and tear, was indeed searching for something. She scanned the immediate area with an expression that Roarke thought belonged to someone older.