A Frigid Grasp - 1. Seething Curiosity

CHAPTER 1: Seething Curiosity

Mages had been long feared for their immense, potential power. Captain Roland Gallahad understood that. People feared power. But watching a young mage shoved around to a prison coach was hardly ethical, even for the Templars. But as mages, they fell under the enforcement of the Templars and the Magi. This case was, however, not without good cause. They just raided a factory and the mage reluctantly fought back. It was through his urging he was spared and to be sent to the Magi instead.

“I hope you're happy, Guard-Captain,” a woman's snarl seethed into his left ear. “Next time, I won't be as lenient.”

Captain Roland stood firm. He wouldn't be intimidated by that Templar-wench Istilla. She was a Knight-Commander of the Templars and was an amazon if he ever saw one. She was around middle-aged, and her demeanor demanded respect and exuded authority. That didn't mean she was superior. He felt her march away and watched her men follow behind her. His own guardsmen watched silently, faces carefully stoic. There'd been a lot of friction between the Home Guard and the Templars lately. The Knight-Captain, he could still be civil with, but with the Knight-Commander, it was proving harder with each passing day.

He brushed his hair back and looked down at his hand, drizzled with the blood of the criminals they were forced to take down. They captured some for questioning, but he would leave that to his Lieutenant. Said lieutenant approached him, dark skin hiding whatever flush his anger gave. “Anything else, Captain?”

“Could you handle the interrogation, Cobalt? I need some time alone.”

Cobalt smiled sympathetically. “Sure, I can handle it for now. If anyone asks for you, I'll ask them to leave a message and come back some other day.”

The guardsmen moved out, and Roland took a moment to look out past the rooftops and to the soft afternoon sky. There would be rain soon. A lot of clouds gathered and looked dark. He just hoped it would be a decent downpour. But the distraction didn't last long, and he remembered the frightened look on that young mage's face. He understood the fear of being taken away. He was young when his father sold him to a noble to serve as a serf, but he became friends with the noble's son and he was given ample opportunity to train and become a guardsman.

Then he recalled ousting the former Captain for using his men as expendable messengers to trade information with bandits. That was the ugliest episode he ever faced. He doubted it would be the last. Istilla was enough of a reminder. Fulfilling his duty fulfilled him, but something these days just felt off.

Roland was getting odd looks as he approached the Strangled Siren, the lowtown's most popular, and near-only tavern in the city. Lowtown was where the more common-folk stayed and worked. The Strangled Siren was a bar with rooms for rent on the second floor. Its owner, Sven, was the night time barkeep, since he was a burly man who could talk down a drunk bastard picking a fight. And if a fight broke out, he'd be more than ready to diffuse it.

He and Roland had become acquainted over the years, but he never showed up fresh from work before. The bearded giant regarded him silently until he sat down on a stool in front of him. “Don't look to well, Captain. Knight-Commander giving you a hard time?”

“The bitch thinks she runs the place just because she's a Templar.”

“Something heavy, then.” Sven got him a mug and filled it to the brim. Roland downed it without much thought, then winced when it hit him. “Good stuff I just got. Figured you should try it. What do you think?”

“Rather new. Caught me by surprise.” He set the tank down with a grin. “Another, my good man.”

“The first tank was free. This won't be.”

“I can indulge just for tonight.”

And so he drank his fill. Some time after nightfall, he listened to better judgment and stop before he drank himself into a stupor. He was lightly buzzed, but otherwise sober enough to walk through the streets looking stable. Some peasants bothered to curtsy as he passed, which he still wasn't used to. He was only associated as a noble because he was best friends with one, practically a brother. His residence, however, was in the barracks and he preferred it there.

The barracks, his home, was within Audacia's Keep. It was named after a beloved symbol of the city's integrity, Audacia Mallard. The Mallard family had served the city-state for well over a century, the most prominent story being of the late Lady. She was known to have been a gentle yet stern heart as she assisted in the usurping of the slave trade in Bosefestung. Though the name holds, the Keep stood as the reminder that mercy and justice was present. It made him proud to serve here as Captain.

The Keep was the highest point of the city-state, the city itself an intricate construction of stairs that lead to the nobility in hightown and various nooks and crannies to the docks and lowtown. The design was made specifically for close monitoring, back then for slaves but now served a little beneficially for the Home Guard.

As he neared the square, which branched out to the Keep, he couldn't help but notice a scuffle at a distance. Three men had a man in a cloak cornered, and they were shoving him around. Roland quickly moved to action. “What's going on here?” he bellowed, startling all four strangers. One man quickly grabbed the victim and moved behind him, keeping a dagger right at his throat. Roland paused right away. He held his hands up, showing submission. “Easy now. There's no need to do this.”

“Alright guard dog, listen up!” he snapped, the crook's companions drawing their swords. “This was just supposed to be a simple robbery, but if you try anything funny, I'll slice his neck open like poultry!”

“No need for that.”

The hostage struggled under his captor's hold, wary of the knife. “Please, let me go! I only have herbs and medicine! I'm a traveling doctor! I don't have any coin on me; I've just spent them!”

“And you think going around hightown don't mean you're well-off?”

“I was to meet a client!” the cloaked man gasped. Roland could tell his fear from his voice, but his hood hid his face. “Please, sir, have mercy! Don't take my tools. There are still my wares! Please!”

Roland looked around urgently. Small relief washed over him as he spied an archer moving to position. He thought on his feet. “Wait, what have you to gain? What do you need?”

“QUIET! I need this man's coin!”

“My coin for him! How about that?”

The crook scoffed. “I don't buy it.”

Roland quickly pulled out his coin bag and jingled it as proof. “I'm serious. Just let him go, and you can have this coin. You can even leave.”

The robbers looked at each other, trying to come to a decision. As they eyed each other warily, Roland watched the knife lowered slightly. He eyed his archer and clenched his right fist, signaling to fire. He heard the telltale sound of a bowstring's release and watched the arrow sail down to the man holding the hostage. It hit him square on the back of his head. The man's arm slumped, and the hostage quickly moved out of the way when he felt it.

Roland was quick enough to draw his sword from his back and swing against one of the robbers, keeping a distance and managing a large gash on the man's chest. He screamed and was kicked hard in the face. The other robber tried to flee, but his archer shot the man in the foot and pinned him in place. Roland took the chance to knock him out with the hilt of his blade.

With all three pacified, Roland looked around for the hostage, who was surprisingly checking on the one he personally struck down. He approached curiously, signaling his archer to hold fire.

The man was whimpering as the hostage tended to him with a salve from a jar and dabbed at the blood with a piece of cloth. “Hush now, you won't die,” he cooed, and Roland found it amusing to see him tending to someone who had just threatened his life. “It's not deep. The guardsman was skilled and made sure to scare you.”

“So-so much...”

“I've seen a woman in her cycle bleed more than this. You'll live.” The words were gentle, enough that even Roland started to feel relaxed. His guardsmen approached them with swords on the ready, but seemed a little relaxed as they eyed the scene. They watched as the hostage bandaged the man he tended to. “Just let me finish here. You can apprehend the other one, restrain him, before I finish these bandages.”

Roland ordered the men tie up the one who got pinned by the foot and to dispose of the body of the last one. Once the man's hands were bound did he decide to ask, “You're unhurt, sir?”

“Just a nick and scrape but I'll be well.” The moonlight wasn't enough to show his face. The hooded man looked to the man they tied. “Please let me tend to him next. I wouldn't want to leave his foot infected.”

“These people nearly accosted you.”

The man shrugged. “My vows as a doctor make it hard for me to ignore them. Please let me quell my conscience.”

Roland couldn't help but find it amusing. “Very well. Men, let the man down so the doctor can tend to him.”

Without question, they obeyed, and the doctor removed the man's boot and studied the wound. “Cleanly pulled out. A bandage and some salve should suffice.” He applied the salve and bandaged the foot with ease. “Alright, you may take them away now.”

Roland turned to his men. “Bring these two to the Gaol. I'll escort this man back.”

“I still must see my client,” the doctor said as the men left. He rose to his feet and pulled back his hood. Roland started when he met the man's eyes. They were vibrant, dancing in the moonlight between blue and green shades. “The Mistress Flavell might be worried for me, especially when she needs me for something.”

Roland cleared his head and spoke, though a bit hoarsely, “Then I urge you to let me escort you there. Pickpockets have been bolder lately. They've chosen this spot while the lamp posts are not well-prepared yet.”

“Do they need a fire or—?”

“They're powered by magic, but the spell seems to be of an intricate design, so I'm told by the Circle. The darkness gives them courage to strike.”

“So I let myself into danger. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. I'm glad you came when you did.” Roland held his breath as he watched the man sling his satchel back over his shoulder. He put out a gloved hand in greeting. “Arden Grey, traveling doctor. To whom do I owe my life to?”

“You don't owe me for my duty.” Roland shook is hand firmly. “Roland Gallahad, Captain of the Home Guard.”

The man's eyes widened. “Captain? Well, I'm honored to have you as an escort. Are you sure you won't be inconvenienced?”

“Not at all. I was just heading back to the Keep, but the Flavell estate isn't much farther.” He couldn't help but wonder about this man. He had a boyish, youthful face, and he was compassionate if the scene earlier was anything to go by. “What's your business at the Flavell manor, if I may ask?”

They began to walk towards the estate and Arden began to tell the tale. “The messenger they sent asked me to see to a family member at night, around this hour. That family member is kept busy by his obligations to the court and whatever duties he'd been given. His mother, the Mistress Flavell, wished to arrange an appointment with me so I could verify her son's condition. I don't know much more but I imagine she'd give me the details when I arrive.”

They soon arrived at the estate and Arden rapped on the door. The woman who answered studied them carefully. “May I help you?”

“I am the doctor, Arden Grey. I have an appointment with the Mistress Flavell.”

The woman nodded and looked to Roland. Her demeanor suddenly paled. “Ser Gallahad?”

“The good Captain escorted me here,” Arden spoke kindly, putting on a smile Roland thought suited him. It was a smile that gave off the impression of kind, innocent, and sweet. Arden looked up at him. “I suppose we part ways here. I can manage my way back. That or the Mistress would be willing to let me stay in the guest's quarters.”

“She will have room,” the woman informed him. “Please, come this way.” The woman stepped aside as she let Arden in. Roland watched until he was out of sight. “Have a good evening, Lord Gallahad.”

Roland smiled and gave a brief bow. “May the night fare you well, malady.” When the door closed on his face, he realized he regretted not asking where the good doctor stayed. “Damn, what just... happened?”

The Mistress Flavell studied Arden as he worked with her son's condtion of aches and pains. What she didn't expect was the massage her son was receiving. “I'm making sure the chill leaves his flesh. It settled in after frequent cold baths after a whole day of work. The oil should help, and I'm making sure his blood flow is in good condition.”

“This sort of healing is unheard of.”

“This is called a Shiatsu massage, and that's why I'm a traveling doctor. It's an effective method from the Eastern countries, but I'm afraid doctors had their doubts about it here and didn't approve of some of my practices and methods.” Arden pulled away his hands and studied the young man seemingly asleep with bliss. “He should be well. He shouldn't bathe for the whole day tomorrow. No strenuous work, either. Keep him indoors. He's obviously overexerted himself. And he suffered from a fall on his side.”

“I remember him mentioning that to me but I don't think we mentioned it to you. How did you know?”

Arden shrugged. “You can feel these things on a person. Tension, stress, injury. You learn how it feels and recognize it rather easily. He was a good patient. He tolerated the massage. Most people scream in agony of discomfort but they all look ecstatic when they feel the relief that followed it.”

The Mistress Flavell was a tall, wiry woman who had her gray hair braided. She gazed at her son and relief washed over her. “He works so hard. I suppose this rest under doctor's orders is necessary.”

“Make sure sweat does not dry on him for the next twenty-four hours or he'll suffer as before.”

“Thank you, doctor. To what do I owe you?”

“Twenty silvers for the oils and the involuntary threat against my life.” Arden grinned playfully when he held a palm open face-up. “I didn't have to use much tools. And there was a reason why I had people come to me; I can't afford an escort or security like you can.”

The Mistress Flavell nodded solemnly and fetched her purse from a nearby table. “I'm sorry to inconvenience you. And please, stay the night. I suppose tonight wasn't as safe as I'd hoped.”

Arden nodded with a reassuring smile. “Given the circumstances, I will push aside my pride just this once.” She deposited the coins in his hands and he took it graciously. “Thank you, milady. This honors me.”

“I understand you also charge accordingly, depending on the person.”

Arden smiled. “I cannot lie. I charge nobles much more only because they could stand to lose more. I live within my means as much as possible to have a steady supply for emergency situations. A lot of the commonfolk can't afford other doctors. That is the point of my service.”

“Most doctors don't bother without coin or blackmail people with guilt, you must understand. I've heard stories of you from lowton, Arden Grey. You tend to the people there for hardly a silver. What motivates you?”

“I've made an oath to serve the sick and wounded. It's my duty.”

The Mistress smiled. “A generous and passionate man like you is welcome in my household. Should you need anything, let us know. We'll see what help we can offer.”

“Gracious of you, I'm sure, but to inconvenience you would be—“

“I will hear none of it!” she interjected, diplomatically raising a hand for his silence. “Twenty silvers is a bit more than pocket change to me. My son's business backs those of the other nobles here. You needn't worry to ask us of a few favors. If my son feels well on the morrow, we will owe you beyond those coins.”

Arden smiled. “I will be honest, I prepared myself for the worst a noble could offer, but I'm glad you're a considerate woman, Mistress Flavell.”

“My father and grandfather came from humble beginnings, as did I. I'm one of the few nobles who keep the others in check, I dare say.”

Arden grinned as a servant knocked on the door. “Ah, were you expecting a servant?”

“To offer us all something to eat. I'm sure the excitement from earlier had you famished. Enter!” A maid came in with a silver tray of finger foods. “Thank you, Talia. Could you prepare the guest room for Master Grey? The night is dangerous and he could use a safe place to rest tonight.”

The maid nodded and hurried out. Arden eyed the finger foods curiously, noting the cuisine. “Bassani cuisine?”

“So you know the cuisine?”

“I've suffered two years in Bassan! Not that it was terrible, mind you.” he laughed. “Sometimes it's a bittersweet thing, remembering. I feel homesick, but it was never my home to begin with. It just felt like a great place to stay.”

“Why did you leave?”

“I wanted to go around some more, see the rest of the world and help along the way.”

The Mistress Flavell thoughtfully watched Arden help himself to the small sandwiches. She wondered what kind of life the man led, seemingly flexible between nobles and commoners while having the compassion to help those who wronged him. She'd have to talk more details out of the Captain tomorrow, if she can arrange an appointment early enough, anyway. “So tell me more about the incident earlier. You seemed calm about it.”

“It was a scare, but do you really want to hear about it?”

“Yes, but only if you're comfortable with it.”

Arden smiled ruefully. “Alright. I'll tell you all the gritty details. Just tell me when you get squeamish.”