Jarryn was nodding, but his expression suggested he didn’t quite agree with the statement.
“I am! And third, drinking is a wonderful way to socialise. The people of this village were attempting to drown their sorrows last night and I was able to meet them on common ground. You’ll find that there are more ways to help someone heal than using your arcane arts. Sometimes all someone needs is a good listener. It just so happens that I am a very good listener,” Leander finished off his arguments primely.
“Fair enough. I retract parts of my earlier statement,” Jarryn said as he finished his flagon of ale and twisted it around in a circle on the table. He glanced up as Verin and Lucien joined them and smiled in greeting before turning back to look at Leander. “Did you manage to get any concrete information about the wyvern attack? Did anyone say anything pertaining to the reasons for its attack on the village?”
Leander shook his head as he shuffled his stool to the left to allow Verin to sit beside him. “No, as the mayor’s daughter said yesterday, either there was no trigger, or the culprit responsible is dead, or they are being very tight lipped about it. Truth be told, they didn’t linger on discussing the attack for very long.”
Lucien, cottoning on to the topic of conversation, drummed his fingers on the table as he leaned forward and rested his head in his hand. “Leander... you don’t supposethis attack could be... divine intervention, do you?” He spoke quietly, so as not to be overheard by any neighbouring tables.
Considering Lucien’s question, Leander was silent for a good long while. He clicked his tongue against his teeth before finally saying, “I don’t quite know which of the Nine would have any positive outcome from an attack on a small village such as this one.”
But he did know. Machus wanted war, and destabilising the border village of Green Tryst, a well-established trade route between Saeren and Eslirie, was potentially a good tactic.
“It could be a lesser divinity. Maybe we should keep an eye out for any other fallen demigods seeking refuge in Cariun,” Leander joked.
None of his companions smiled.
“Without knowing the cause, none of us can promise it won’t happen again,” Verin muttered, quite plainly still ill at ease. “And we can’t leave soldiers here indefinitely, lest Nevari gets the wrong idea.”
“You raise a valid point,” Lucien agreed, his fingers still drumming out the melody of one of Leander’s favourite pieces of music.
It reminded him of something that had happened last night.
“Hey, Lucien. Last night I was down here enjoying a pint with the locals.” He refused to meet the judgement in Verin’s gaze as he spoke once again of choosing to imbibe yet again. “And I had this weird sensation. We weren’t talking about the wyvern. In fact, the conversation had drifted to discussion around the trade route going throughthis village. One of the residents mentioned something about the lack of trade in the past few weeks, which I’m sure you’re aware of.”
Lucien nodded as he looked at Leander intently, waiting.
“Yes, well... this man mentioned an increase of military activity instead. He was quickly hushed by the others and I wasn’t thinking straight at the time so thought nothing of it last night. But then Verin just mentioned about leaving soldiers here and…” he trailed off, leaving his companions to draw their own conclusions.
“Are you suggesting”—Lucien leaned in, still speaking in hushed tones—“that this village is under Desannian occupation?”
“I’m not suggesting anything. I am not as well versed in politics as the three of you. But I could sense a feeling of... I guess it was resentment, last night.”
“Okay. Thank you. I was planning on joining you to expedite our mandate here but it seems instead I must redeploy Verin to help me do a little digging. Will you two be alright at the manor alone?”
Leander glanced at Jarryn, who nodded.
“Good. Do what you can for those children. We will regroup at midday and decide what to do then. Good luck.”
Lucien stood and Verin followed suit. They had left their food untouched and Leander frowned at Verin’s hypocrisy after his older brother’s numerous and arduously lengthy lectures on proper self-care.
“Are you ready?” Jarryn broke Leander out of his thoughts and the demigod nodded. “Right, let’s go then.”
The walk up to the manor in the light of day made evenmore clear the devastation on the village. To add insult to injury, Leander felt the first flakes of snow drift down from the skies to land on his cheeks. Winter was usually mild in these parts, but without shelter, many could die from exposure. It was an impossible situation, and there were not nearly enough of them to rebuild.
More pressingly, Leander, with eyes no longer blinded by the setting sun, could see not only the remains of the buildings, but also the remains of uncleared bodies in amongst and under the rubble.
Calling over a soldier, he ordered, “I want these corpses cleared by the middle hour. They have been lying abandoned and forgotten for almost three days. They deserve a dignified and respectful cremation.”
The soldier said, “It will be seen to, my lord,” and stalked off to update his comrades on their new orders.
“That was decent of you.” Jarryn’s tone almost sounded like praise.
Leander shrugged. “No one deserves to be forgotten and left to rot under a pile of bricks.”
They reached the manor and were this time directed to the drawing room, where more children were already wide awake. The healer told them in hushed tones that nightmares had kept most of them awake and their screams had awoken the remaining children.
Grimly, Jarryn made a suggestion. “Same drills as yesterday? You talk, I soothe?”
