Edra Pub had seen many things in her fifty-nine years, but one thing she’d never seen was the unusual transformation of a peasant girl into a noble.
Mera laughed as people she never knew patted her on the back, and cheered for Pemolar’s Hill. Some of them cheered for the Bond Crafter. Some for the Storyteller. Edra added her own voice to the tumult as the girl climbed down the ladder.
Little as she’d done during the actual fight, everyone in the town knew who they owed their lives to. Even Edra found that she couldn’t entirely see Mera as the same girl she’d once been. She remembered bathing the little brat, just as she had half the kids in town! But… she was something more now.
Just a few short weeks ago, she remembered encouraging the girl to disobey her mother for the first time! Maybe even then, she’d been quietly stealing the loyalty of everyone she spoke to. Edra hadn’t seen it then, but she did now.
The jokes about “Lady Mera” didn’t sound quite so silly anymore. The nods the girl received were morphing from acknowledgement of equals to something that mimicked the respect due a village elder.
Dobretin followed the girl down and quickly joined her before the crowd could swarm the girl. He’d certainly picked up on Mera’s growing influence throughout the town.
The money certainly helped, but really it was just the final push in a trend that had already been developing. In a few years, Mera would’ve been made Mayor herself, if the times had been normal.
The silliest thing about it was that the girl didn’t even seem to realize it was happening. Her genuine desire to help defend the town, added to her unbelievable efforts to do so, made people trust her.
Most of the town had realized that her elite talent was a farce. After the girl had crafted an entire support system, mine cart, and rail track, for Sebinet, no one was stupid enough to still believe her talent was only elite.
The man had begun churning out ore, stone, and metal faster than it could be used. The Woodworkers had been cutting through trees like they were butter, courtesy of an axe the girl had made. The evidence was right there, ready for anyone to guess.
That was the problem.
Most of the town was assuming she’d hidden a Masterful talent. That made no sense, though. This wasn’t the way a family would react. Humble admission of a talent that only just matched her best friend? No. If her talent had been Elite, or even Masterful, Atrinaska would likely be crowing about it.
She would not be crowing about a Legendary Talent, though. No one would.
“My love!” her husband cried, excited as he hauled his heavy body up the ladder.
Edra rolled her eyes, bemused.
“What are you doing up here? Your knees!”
“Bah, my knees are good enough for this,” he said as she helped him up onto the wall walk. “Besides, it’s nice to be out of the rain.”
“Always using me!” she accused. She was the only dry fighter on the entire wall. Water seemed to avoid her, warded away by her magic, and she could extend the affect a short distance around herself if she wished.
She smiled and gave him a hug once he was safely standing against the wall. He looked out over the battlefield, and even his unbridled attitude faltered at the sheer devastation below.
Bodies were everywhere. Only the rain was sparing them from the stench… and the inevitable crows that would feast as soon as they could.
“If ever there was a time to be glad I’m not young,” the man sighed.
“Joenal isn’t here to harvest them into sacks, either,” Edra said.
“Wish he was, but if I could brew wishes, this whole war would never have started,” he said.
Edra nodded. A few sensible men had stayed up on the wall with her to make sure nothing else was coming. She was one of the very few people who wasn’t armed with a crossbow.
She looked at one of the weapons in the nearest man’s hand. He was a refugee from Fenland, unless she’d misremembered, and she never did. Her memory was as sharp as it had ever been.
The weapons had been devastatingly effective. Even in the rain, they’d continued to operate, though some of them had certainly broken. The strings were prone to falling apart as they grew soaked. Fortunately, Travis had made adding a new string to the weapon quite simple, but it had certainly stalled a few of the defenders.
There was nothing supernatural about the crossbows. Almost all of them were labeled “Good Quality Crossbow,” with a few high-quality ones thrown in. The speed of their creation was the only shocking thing, and even that was a result of the girl’s money. Not her talent.
She could almost believe it. The talent was certainly a strange one, but she’d seen odder. Her cousin’s talent had allowed him to gain free points every time he drew images in the sand of a beach. Making things people needed wasn’t so strange.
But the mine…
She turned and looked back down at Mera. The townsfolk were singing that stupid song Tom had made about her and the war troll. Had that really only been three months ago? It felt like a lifetime.
“Did we lose anyone?” she asked.
Lupkep grimaced, and nodded. “A young lad. Twenty or so. Unlucky arrow to the heart. Norman tried to save him, but he wasn’t there in time. Believe he came from Dolundant.”
Edra’s eyes narrowed.
“An arrow? That’s ridiculous. Only one of those goblins got close enough to fire an arrow, and I watched that man with the shield block it,” she replied.
His grimace deepened, and he lowered his voice.
“Was going to tell you later. It… was a crossbow bolt. A mistake, I’m sure. But… well. Hand this many new weapons to a bunch of untrained townsfolk and accidents are bound to happen.”
She cursed.
“Who… who pulled the trigger?” she asked.
“Old Negirot. Said his hands were shaking, and he accidentally fired it before he managed to take aim.”
Negirot? The rancher? It was surprising the man was even here. She’d also heard that Dolundant had been abandoned since the war had broken out.
“What was the boy’s name?” she asked.
Lupkep shrugged. “Sorry. Will have to ask around about him later.”
Something was tugging at her memory. She didn’t have to think long before she recalled it. Shortly after Mera’s Nameday, a few of the men had gone patrolling the woods around Negirot Rancher’s farm.
Patrolling for boys from Dolundant.
She narrowed her eyes, but decided not to say anything for now. She’d known Negirot for fifteen years, and was certain that he would tell her the truth if she asked.
If it wasn’t an accident, she was inclined to believe that the old Rechin refugee had a damn good reason.
It was becoming difficult to care, after all this. How many bandages had she washed and reapplied since this all began? How many had thanked her for opening their inn, and then fled to Denarla the moment they were well enough to walk? How many refugees had died, their blood spilling over her tables and her wooden floor? What was one more death?
She tried not to be bitter, but she would be surprised if she didn’t have to tear down the entire bar and rebuild it anew after this war was all said and done.
The one bright spot in all of this was Mera. The deserter. The girl who reappeared under mysterious circumstances. Injured and told to return home? Preposterous.
… But she was glad the girl had come back all the same.
“She’s amazing, isn’t she?” Lupkep asked, noticing her staring at the girl.
Edra smiled. “She truly is. Our own, homegrown little hero, come to save us. No. No, she’s even better than that. She’s giving us the power to save ourselves. A miracle, straight from the gods.”
Edra made sure to keep her face turned away from her husband. He knew her too well. If he saw her expression right now, he would catch the inklings of a frown.
“So… what made them charge straight to their deaths, do you think?” he asked.
Edra grimaced. She’d been asking herself that same question the entire battle. She hadn’t been present at the first battle, but the stories that had come back to her bar had been clear. When faced with an overwhelming threat, even the trolls had turned and run.
These ones hadn’t.
Almost as a premonition, panicked cries began echoing down the small wall. Fingers began pointing into the distance, and fighters still on the wall began calling frantically back down to their comrades. Edra’s eyes weren’t what they used to be, and she could only pick out a dim blur of bodies that far away.
Her heart seized. Could this be it? Could it be the full might of an Eschal Army? Perhaps the rift monsters had just been meant to soften the town and see what they could bring to bear?
A small squadron of banners left the treeline, and she gasped in relief.
A tattered banner, but even from twice the distance she’d recognize the Tacurian red and silver.
Moments later, bitter disappointment filled her.
“Excuse me, Edra!” a familiar voice cried.
Edra stepped aside, surprised, as Mera scrambled back up to the top of the wall, desperate to see what new threat had come.
It was no threat though.
“Come on, Lup. Let’s get back to our bar. The fighting is done here, and we’ve still got wounded to treat. I suspect we’ll need more drinks than ever tonight,” she said.
Lupkep beamed.
“If you go first, you can catch me when I fall!” he joked.
It actually wasn’t much of a joke, though. Her strength stat had gotten quite high, scrubbing the life out of the little brats dirtying her town.
They climbed down together and made their way back to the bar. For now, Edra was certain Mera, Dobretin, and the rest of the townfolk could handle the appearance of more Tacurian soldiers.
“Oh… oh love. You’re crying!” Lupkep said, startling her.
“Oh!?” she said. “A-am I? How embarrassing!”
"This isn’t a day for tears! It’s a day for celebrations!”
Edra put on the brightest smile she could manage, wiping at her eyes. Sure enough, there were tears there.
“Yes. I’m sorry. Just nerves, I’m sure,” she said.
They walked into the bar, as he fretted over her.
“I’ll make you a cup of tea,” he insisted.
She nodded appreciatively. “Not with the sieve. The Intelligence boosting draught you gave me earlier is still active.”
“I know, I know!” he said happily.
Edra took her usual seat behind the bar. She fished out the amulet Mera had made for her, staring at it for long minutes. Mera. Elmerina Farmer. She was such a beautiful girl. Bright, and shining, and full of energy. The girl had spent almost half her life in Edra’s bar. She was almost like a daughter.
The barkeeper licked dry lips and wiped wet eyes.
“Suffer no legends,” she whispered.
Her fingers were trembling when Lupkep returned with the tea. It helped. It always did.