B5 Chapter 47 – Those Left Behind

Elsbeth walked through the streets of the ruined city and wondered at the change in atmosphere she sensed from the people who inhabited it. Did they feel safe now that Tyron was gone? Were they glad to be out from under his thumb, no longer needing to fear the Necromancer who might turn on them at any moment?

Or perhaps it was the opposite? Was she sensing an air of fragility, of vulnerability, now that their most powerful protector was no longer around?

Their faces were hard to read, and the emotions she sensed from them were a confused jumble, without clarity or focus. It made sense; the people in the city were still living very uncertain lives, focused on sustaining themselves rather than striving for a future that may not exist.

Unless Tyron was successful in his venture to the Realm of the Dead, there would be nothing to stop the devastation that everyone knew was coming their way. Despite the now more visible presence of the Slayers on the streets, the uncertainty continued to hang over the refugees like a cloud. Elsbeth sighed as she shifted her burden on her shoulder. It would be nice if Priests gained more physical capacity from the Unseen; she’d grumbled about it to Munhilde more than once, only for the older woman to laugh in her face. Even the boost she received from reaching silver hadn’t made her as strong as she would have liked, the load she bore wasn’t heavy, but uncomfortable if she didn’t shift it around.

She was certainly getting more durable, which didn’t hurt.

The western side of the ruined city was where most of the crafters had settled down, forming a community around the first warehouses to be cleaned and repaired when they’d arrived. Elsbeth smiled and greeted the people who approached her, some just for a chat, others to ask for news, occasionally to ask for a blessing or prayer. Many she knew by name but there were many she did not. It was still staggering just how many people had followed them over the mountains. Hundreds of thousands, into the millions, had made the dangerous journey through the passes, using routes carved out by superhuman Slayers and tireless undead.

It was even more sobering to think of how many had not.

Shaking her golden head, Elsbeth pushed the darker thoughts away as she spied her destination. With a warm smile on her face, she stepped off to the side of the road and approached a newly fitted wooden door with a pair of names carved into it by an expert hand.

She knocked and heard a woman inside call “Just a minute!”, followed by rustling. A few moments later, the door was cautiously pulled open to reveal a young woman inside, looking frazzled and a little wary.

“Cerry,” Elsbeth grinned down at the short, brown-haired girl. “How’s everyone’s favourite ball of sunshine?”

The young woman mock-glowered at her, hands planted on her hips.

“Elsbeth Ranner, by the whispers of the dead.”

“Can I come in, or are you going to make me stand here in the doorway with a sack full of cores slung over my shoulder?”

“I suppose I’ll have to let you in,” Cerry sighed, stepping back to allow room as she turned and called out. “Flynn! Elsbeth is here with your cores.”

There was a clatter of confused noise from further into the residence before a muffled voice replied.

“Elsbeth? She brought them herself?”

Followed by more clattering.

“Come in and sit down,” Cerry said, pulling the Priestess inside, ushering her towards the table.

Like most people in the city, getting ahold of wood was harder than getting fresh meat, despite the Slayers recently starting to make regular expeditions to fell trees. The inside of their small home was well lit thanks to Flynn’s arcanist expertise, soft light playing over the stone table pressed against one wall. There weren’t many homely elements, a scrap of cloth here and there, a carving resting above the hearth, but it felt cozy and comfortable, largely due to the presence of the two who lived in it.

Flynn emerged and unconsciously walked to Cerry’s side, blinking as if his eyes were sore as he took her hand.

“Elsbeth, I didn’t realise you were bringing these yourself,” he said.

“I had some time this afternoon, and it’s been a while since I checked up on you,” she said, placing the cores in the centre of the table. “They had quite the haul out there, apparently. I haven’t counted, but there must be hundreds in there.”

Flynn, Tyron’s former apprentice Arcanist, just shook his head and sighed, looking wistfully at the sack.

“Do you have any idea how much that would have cost before?” he murmured. “Master Almsfield… I mean… Steelarm… he had me working on tiny chips, and now it rains high quality cores.”

“I wish it rained tea,” Cerry said. “Speaking of which, how about I put on the kettle? I have a little left over, enough for the three of us.”

“There is?” Flynn blinked, then smiled gratefully. “That would be amazing. Thank you, love.”

“Of course,” she smiled back at him before disappearing into the kitchen.

Flynn slid into a chair opposite Elsbeth and reached for the sack, pulling it towards him and untying the thread so he could take a peek inside.

“There’s some high grade cores in here,” he said, eyes widening as he glanced back to Elsbeth. “Usually these wouldn’t come to me. Has something happened?”

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

“Tyron isn’t here,” she shrugged, “and it isn’t like we can afford to waste them. The demand for enchantments is inexhaustible. Honestly, we might get through people’s needs a little faster now that he isn’t scooping up so many cores.”

“That may be true,” Flynn frowned, “but I know he was doing a lot of work for the city. I’d be surprised to learn he was using even half of what he got for himself.”

“I’m surprised you’re still so firmly on his side,” Elsbeth said, a little sadly, “after everything that happened.”

“Tell me about it,” Cerry sniffed, poking her head around the corner. “He won’t say a bad word about the man.”

Flynn held up his hands defensively.

“I don’t think that’s true. I certainly think Master Steelarm has acted in a… a very selfish manner.”

Even saying this much caused him to look pained, and, after a beat, Elsbeth burst out laughing.

“Selfish? Selfish? I think that’s the least you could possibly say about Tyron Steelarm.”

“He did a lot to help us, didn’t he, Cerry? We wouldn’t have made it here if not for him.”

“In more ways than one,” she said, emerging with three steaming mugs that she placed on the table. “I wouldn’t have the dead whispering in my ear all day if not for him.”

She slid into the chair next to Flynn and nuzzled up to his side as he placed an arm around her. Elsbeth smiled and took a sip of her drink. The tea was weak. There weren’t many herbs left in most households, and none were being grown, since food was still so scarce. Despite the mild flavour, the brew provided a pleasant warmth that the Priestess very much appreciated.

“Thanks for this, Cerry,” she said, lifting her mug, “I didn’t realise how long it had been since I had a decent cup.”