Border Dispute

“We’ll be heading north after we cross the border.”

“Don’t you mean south?”

“No, Deme.”

“But there are no dungeons up north.”

“I know that.”

“…And there aren’t any ley lines left up north, Venz.”

“I am aware.”

The argument started once they reached the border. The main road that led west to Centa Muis forked past a gatehouse manned by the local garrison. To the north ran a long stretch of plains parallel with a range of steep mountains. The southern path, on the other hand, cratered into the earth, fell from a plateau and descended into rocky canyons.

“Can you at least tell me why we’re heading in that direction?” Deme asked.

“I intend to inform the royal academy about the empire’s coastal ley lines.” Lavenza replied.

“…You don’t think they already know?”

“I’m sure they have other things on their minds,” Lavenza said.

“What are the royal magisters for if not for this?”

“Like I said,” Lavenza shrugged. “They have other things on their minds.”

“Lavenza,” Deme sighed. “Sometimes, I think you forget that you’re an apostate.”

“I haven’t forgotten. In fact, I’m counting on it. They’ll be in a rush to meet me when I arrive outside the academy doors.”

“That’s a very generous interpretation of what will happen.”

“I must say, are you bothered by something, Deme?” Lavenza asked. “I didn’t think you cared so much about magic affairs, let alone my apostasy.”

Deme pouted.

“I don’t care, but it’s been months since we’ve done any dungeon diving,” the child said. “I thought we had an agreement.”

“We do. We ventured into a dungeon last month.”

“That was a cave,” Deme gasped. “It doesn’t count.”

“It was an alleged dungeon that turned out to be a cave,” Lavenza corrected. “You picked up on a dubious rumor, and we spent several weeks traversing the coastline to make it there. How much faster would we have reached the Grixys Ley Line? How much mana was lost to wasted time?”

“That’s not fair,” Deme moaned.

“Well, if you’re unhappy with that, you’re free to find someone else who has the time to delve the Abyss with you.”

To this suggestion, Deme had no response. She averted her gaze over the stone ramparts above the gatehouse, towards the east, where another trail of caravans shifted along the roads. Even from here, it was obvious, the depressions from where the snow had seeped below the surface. The horses at the front of each cart faltered over the occasional patch of loose gravel. Each stumble dislodged another clutter of rocks from the path.

When the carts reached the drawbridge, not a single one was stopped, not a family chest or merchant haul inspected. The members of the garrison dressed, not unlike a rabble rousing militia, in loose shirts and straw hats, and waved caravans by as if their passage was as inexorable as the passage of the wind.

Deme feasted her eyes on each traveler. Most were too old or too lean. None hefted broad muscle on their shoulders or calfs. Some carried weapons that had seen too many winters, others that had seen too few. She wished that just one among them might be a proper soldier, or an adventurer with one last quest left in them, or someone like Tamarin. Tamarin would have listened to her, would have taken her—

“Look,” Lavenza sighed. She had seen enough of Deme’s unsatisfied grimacing. “The dungeons to the south have all been scavenged. There’s nothing left. You won’t find Rafta there. Central Aparthia is your best hope.”

“So we’re heading east?” Deme asked.

“After our little detour.”

“Let me go on ahead first,” Deme whined. “I looked at the map yesterday. There’s an inn at the crossroads just a few nights from here. I’ll lie low there. If you’re not back after another week, I’ll make the crossing to—”

“No.”

“No?” Deme repeated. “Why not?”

“It’s dangerous to go on your own.”

“I’ve done it before.”

“That was then. This is now.”

“I’m not defenseless, Venz. I can protect myself.”

“I don’t believe you,” Lavenza shook her head, “but even if I did, I wouldn’t let you go alone, Deme. We’ll head north as agreed and turn to the east. It should only take a week or two before—”

“But we never agreed on anything!” Deme cried.

Deme puffed her cheeks and loosed an exasperated gasp.

“This is what you always do, Lavenza,” she continued. “You set our next course and then act like we’re both happy with the decision! I’m not. I’m not happy at all. There’s fuck all for me up north, nothing but for me to wait and count the days that we could’ve spent scouring for Rafta.”

“Deme—”

The girl shoved past Lavenza and stormed down the ramparts.

“Forget it,” she muttered. “Do whatever you want.”

Lavenza reached out her hand, then retracted it when she realized it would not reach the bottom of the stairs. Her lips parted, then closed when no apologies or reprisals escaped her throat. She leaned against the walls and sighed. Lavenza retreated, back to the pleasant refuge of the landscape beyond the gatehouse, for as unyielding as Aparthia could be, its visage could never speak back to her.

“I didn’t know Menuans sired children,” came a man’s voice from the within the gatehouse.

A soldier sat beside the winch locking the portcullis in place. Unlike the rest of the garrison, this man dressed in imperial regalia. He wore a tight vest adorned with a golden dragon stitched to the lapel. His helmet lay on the table, where its silver trimmings matched a chalice filled with what remained of a bottle of wine.

“Sorry,” he said. “But the two of you were so loud. I heard some of it. Sorry. All of it.”

“Deme isn’t my daughter,” Lavenza replied curtly.

“Oh,” the man yawned. “My apologies. In that case, I didn’t know Menuans fostered children.”

Lavenza didn’t reply.

“Technically,” he continued, “you’re not supposed to be up here, miss, so I’d appreciate if you gave me some answers about the girl.”

“We raise children,” she answered. “On occasion.”

“And is there a reason you aren’t taking this one to the harbor?”

“To Centa Muis?” Lavenza asked. “She does not wish to go.”

“She didn’t sound like she wants to go north either,” the officer shrugged. “Yet you’re taking her.”

“That’s different.”

“That’s what I’m asking Menuan,” he frowned. “Why is it different? Because to me, it all looks the same. The Royal Decree is clear, isn’t it? Unless you can speak but not read Imperial Common.”

Lavenza watched the man recline and bring the chalice to his lips with lazy repose. A lone sword hung from a rack far across the room. Around his beady eyes, the man wore a natural makeup of dark pale rings. She realized she had mistaken mere curiosity for malice. She pointed to a goblet resting in the nearby cabinet.

“May I?” Lavenza asked.

“Sure,” the soldier shrugged. “Why not?”

She did not speak again until she had tried the wine herself. It tasted dry and of cedar. Her sleeves fell and revealed a square talisman dangling from a marble bracelet on her wrist. The beak of a gryphon surrounded by a wreath of spring flowers was etched on its clay surface. 

The man whistled.

“Never mind,” he muttered. “Come and go from these lands as you please.”

“Thank you,” Lavenza nodded. “This is good wine.”

“I’ve been saving it,” the soldier smiled. “Last one. Haven’t had a new shipment in months.”

“It’s harvesting season,” Lavenza said. “The wineries in Zendefi might still release a vintage this year. Deme and I watched the harvest.”

“I didn’t know Menuans…” he paused. “Anyway, seems a little cruel, don’t you think? People releasing wine this year of all years?”

“It’s the perfect time to release a new vintage,” she shrugged. “If any merchants who have passed through Zendefi come your way…”

“I’ll be sure to search for contraband,” the soldier smirked. He looked out the gatehouse window. His smile trailed off like a roaming mist. “It’ll be lonely here soon.”

Lavenza followed the man’s gaze. The garrison in the square below kept to themselves. They whispered with one another in the shade. They paid no mind to the wagons and carts rolling past the checkpoint.

“Soldiers desert every day,” the man continued, “They steal aboard caravans bound for Centa Muis.”

“Why not join them? Why are you still here?” Lavenza asked.

“Makes me feel like everything’s still normal. Like nothing’s changed,” the man said. “Having the wine to myself is a nice perk too.”

“If the rumors are to be believed, everything’s back to the normal on The Opposing Shore.”

“My old man had a saying,” the man laughed. “Trust the first rumor of the day. Nothing more. I think I’ll heed your advice about the wine.”

Lavenza filled her goblet to the brim. She regretted handing herself another glass, but judged that her tip regarding the wine from Zendefi was worth three, maybe even four additional pours. She spotted Deme speaking with members of the garrison downstairs. There was a troublemaking grin plastered on the child’s face that remained blissfully unaware that the members of the garrison did not share her glee.

“What’s your name and rank?” Lavenza asked.

“Captain,” said the man. “Captain Kerone.”

“What’s the penalty for harming your men, captain?”

Captain Kerone sat up straighter in his chair. He glanced down at the square and saw, as Lavenza did, his men circling Deme with caution.

“You’d be in serious trouble if they were in uniform,” the captain sighed. “But right now, they almost look like bandits, don’t they?”

“My thoughts exactly,” Lavenza stepped onto the window sill. “I expect your men to be more disciplined when we return, captain. Leva.”

A blue, luminescent cocoon, coated in white feathers, wrapped itself around the apostate. The shell shattered into glitter, and Lavenza reappeared levitating just a hair’s length above the ground beside Deme, who greeted her with a scowl.

“Back away from her,” Lavenza commanded.

“Venz!” Deme growled. “What are you doing?”

“Yeah, what are you doing nomad,” a member of the garrison sneered. “The kid was just telling us about how piss shit of a guide you were.”

Deme winced.

“Only designated guardians may invoke the Royal Decree,” Lavenza said. “Back. Away.”

“The kid’s willing to play pretend,” another said in a pompous shrill. “One ticket per salvaged dungeon. Everyone gets a pass if we find Rafta.”

“You suggested this?” Lavenza asked Deme.

“I-” She stammered.

“Fool,” Lavenza spat. “The child stays with me. You’ll stay away and let us pass.”

“Hey,” the bulkiest man of the bunch stepped forward. “Our arrangement’s with the kid, not you.”

“There is no arrangement,” Lavenza replied. “If you require coin or food for compensation, I can—”

“What good are any of those things to us?”

“After services rendered to her Royal Highness—”

“Don’t patronize us!” the man roared. “We’ve been stuck at the gatehouse for months with no orders to relocate. You think there’s a border left to defend? Centa Muis is swamped with refugees, while we’re here overseeing rubble.”

A burgeoning crowd bustled behind Lavenza. She was not interested in entertaining the crowd, but its presence proved an unexpected reprieve. The garrison would likely stay their hands with others watching. Lavenza rolled up her sleeves and revealed her hidden talisman to the members of the guard. Many stepped away at once. Instinct, it seemed, ruled these men more than greed.

The last man, his muscles bursting through the seams of his white shirt and cotton pants, cast a resigned sigh and joined the others.

“Piss off nomad,” he cursed.

“Let’s go,” Lavenza whispered and took Deme’s hand.

She did not release the grip on her staff until they had crossed the border, below a row of hills that obscured the gatehouse tower and the busy roads in disrepair.

“You can release me now,” Deme muttered.

“Are you going to do something as stupid as ask men like them for help again?” Lavenza snapped. “Because if so, then I will chain you up until we have reached the north.”

“That sounds so much better than what they would have done to me,” she groaned. “At least they offered to look for Rafta.”

“They would have looked for nothing. They would have laid their hands on you and you would have been taken to serve as their express ticket to salvation.”

“Cynical?”

“Naive.”

They were at a stalemate. Lavenza had seen it coming since their last unsuccessful delve but hadn’t expected Deme to act so rashly. She realized now this stunt with the garrison would just be the beginning. She pictured Deme sneaking away at night, requesting vagabonds for an exchange of favors, not understanding that few in their right mind would forsake the chance at free passage to The Opposing Shore.

One disastrous sidetrack could cost them months, and that meant Lavenza needed a compromise.

“You win,” she sighed, “After my trip to the north, I promise we’ll spend the next half year dungeon delving.”

Deme’s eyes widened, a gesture she quickly retracted. Still too naive.

“How can I trust—”

“Endire finis asta poket,” Lavenza chanted.

“I stake my life upon this promise,” Deme muttered. “So no games then? We’ll look for Rafta?”

“Would you rather take your chances with them?” Lavenza asked.

Lavenza knew the child’s answer before she let go of her hand. Deme looked back just once, towards the top of a dilapidated bell tower. It chimed to signal the start of the afternoon. There were four rings, three of them clarion. For the fourth swing, the clapper merely grazed the lip of the fractured bell. A faint, halfhearted peal reached Deme’s ears. But the child had already turned away, northward with prompt and resolute steps, the knells of the gatehouse expelled from her mind.