James A. Hunter
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Vigil's Valor: 51 – Aftermath
🕑 Added 2022-09-17 17:00:06 +0000 UTCTelent’s trial went exactly how I expected.
Which is to say he was guilty as hell and everyone knew it. Aside from the pile of corpses down in the Simulator room and an explicit confession from the disgraced Vigil of Truth, the newly crowned King of Wildespell had indeed turned up in the middle of the night at the Citadel gates. He’d come with an army at his back. Riding at the army’s front were Colin and Renholm, along with a very haggard looking King Andreas and a boy of twelve or thirteen who was his spitting image of his father.
As unbelievable as it seemed, Renholm had actually come through for me and saved my ass once again.
Despite his remarkably short attention span, the Pookah had managed to track the missing heir down using his Fae magic. It all came down to body parts. Renholm had once told me that it was dangerous to leave body parts lying around “unattended.” According to him, anything tied to the corporeal form could be used by a Fae being to work powerful magics. If someone was stupid enough to let their blood or hair or teeth fall into the wrong hands, then something with malicious intent could hex them into an early grave.
That or track them halfway across the face of the world.
Turned out, Renholm hadn’t been entirely full of shit.
I’d unleashed him on the Tiers of Delight with the express purpose of finding any physical remains the kid may have left behind. Although Telent and his crew had done a good job of cleaning up after themselves, Terrwyn had a little coin pouch filled with baby teeth just like every other overbearing, psycho parent I’d ever met back on earth. Hell, my mama still probably had a bag of my teeth tucked away somewhere.
With a little gumption and elbow grease, Renholm and Colin traced the boy back to the Order of Immolation’s HQ, which was being guarded by none other than the shitbag Arbitrator who’d taken out Renholm’s leg with a magical IED.
From there, it had been easy enough to stake the place out until Telent and the others hoofed it over to the Citadel to confront us. Even with the four corrupted Vigils gone, there were still too many guards for Colin and Renholm to handle alone, so they’d had to improvise. How in the world they managed to convince King Andreas to personally lead a raid against the Order was beyond me, but Renholm could be oddly persuasive when he wanted to. Having Colin along probably helped, especially since he had a handwritten note from me spelling out the details of our insane plan.
From there it was just tying up loose ends.
Telent confessed to every crime we accused him of and more than a few that we didn’t. There was one thing he remained oddly silent about, however. Something that gnawed at the back of my mind. I was convinced Telent and his team hadn’t acted alone. Sure, there had been a handful of Arbitrators and a network of other underlings dedicated to the cause, but it wasn’t them I was thinking of. My gut told me they’d been working with someone else inside Citadel. Maybe not one of the Custodians, but certainly someone highly placed within the Vigil Bound.
There were just too many holes in his story that could only be explained by an agent in the upper echelons of the Order pulling strings and clearing roadblocks. But no matter what the Custodians did, Telent refused to break and stuck firmly to his guns that he’d been the brains behind the operation. I wasn’t convinced, but short of torturing him, we weren’t going to get any more intel from the man. Honestly, even hacking off a couple of fingers probably wouldn’t have done shit.
Telent might’ve been a traitor, but he was also one tough son of a bitch. I could respect him for that, if nothing else.
King Andreas was understandably furious for more reasons than I could count on two hands. Rogue Vigils had been using their powers to terrify his subjects. They’d unleashed what basically amounted to a demon. Murdered a bunch of innocent people. Killed his father. Kidnapped his bastard child. Then extorted him. And that was only the tip of the iceberg. He’d marched into the Citadel with two-hundred armed soldiers at his heels and another thousand posted up outside the Citadel walls. He’d even deployed siege weapons and naval battle frigates, forming an impassable blockade in the harbor.
I’ll admit, I did feel a little guilty since I’d brought this conflict to a boil.
Then I reminded myself that was a crock of horseshit. Telent, Amherst, and the rest of the dickweeds inside of the Order of Immolation were to blame. Not me. Not Kerra. Not anyone else. They’d done something shitty and evil and this was the consequence. Turned out, playing Kingmaker could make the king pissed. Stopping them had been the right thing to do. Period. End of Story. King Andreas had every reason to be angry—he was the victim of this whole shitty situation, I reminded myself.
And if King Andreas decided to launch a preemptive war and start slaughtering innocent civilians, I’d rock his world too. I was an equal opportunist when it came to not giving a shit about powerful people or their opinions. At the end of the day, whether someone could command an army or blow something up with their mind, they were still just people. Fallible, imperfect people who could make good or bad choices like anyone else.
Thankfully, it didn’t come to that.
Despite all the posturing, it turned out harmony between the Citadel and the Crown was good for business. After announcing plans for a restored peace agreement at his coronation, the Kelkadians and the Virtarun delegations both approached King Andreas in private, hoping to renew several long-standing trade deals and strike up some very profitable new ones. There were whispers of trouble brewing far to the north.
Rumors of war.
Of something old unearthed that shouldn’t have been unearthed.
Suddenly, a unified Wildspell was good for everyone, especially since the city was strategically positioned on one of the most important trading routes between the two nations.
The Citadel also did the right thing and sweetened the pot by agreeing to a five-percent import tariff on all goods brought into the Citadel from the merchants and tradespeople of Wildespell and a seven-percent tariff of goods imported from foreign kingdoms. King Andreas also demanded a few other concessions.
As enraged as he was with the Citadel in general, he was smitten with me and Kerra. He’d also taken a strange shine to Renholm of all people. Against all the odds, we’d uncovered a deadly conspiracy, and rooted out a deeply embedded institutional evil. Our dedication to doing the right thing, even when it wasn’t the easy or convenient thing, had restored a small measure of his faith in the power of Raguel. And he wanted people like us in power.
With Dogan gone, the Citadel needed a new Justiciar of Seekers, and he wanted Kerra to take the job. She’d earned the respect and admiration of every Vigil a hundred times over and there wasn’t a person in Wildespell who didn’t love her. She was Kerra the Valorous. A Vigil above reproach, willing to uphold the law no matter the cost. Who could possibly do the job any better? Niels, in turn, would be promoted, filling the vacancy she’d left behind as Justiciar of Training.
As for me, I didn’t want political clout or positions of influence.
Wildespell was an amazing city, but it wasn’t my city. Wasn’t my home.
Raguel hadn’t summoned my soul through the vastness of the cosmos to play cop in a city full of other supernatural monster hunters. He’d called me here to kick ass, smite evil, and clean house. The only way I could do that was out on the open road. The Citadel had taught me its lessons and now it was time to be moving on. And if Wildespell ever did need my help again, I’d happily come calling and Kerra wouldn’t even have to threaten me with summary execution to get me here.
I’ll admit, however, I was completely altruistic. There were a few tiny things I wanted for myself. And since I’d just prevented an all-out civil war, the powers that be were happy enough to give into my list of totally reasonable demands.
At the top of the list were pardons for Bramin and Stefana. Both had a number of outstanding warrants for past crimes committed. I asked that they be cleared of charges and I also told the Citadel to pony up what Kerra and I had agreed to pay them for services rendered. Five hundred Kelkadian Royal Crowns. Enough for them to start over and go legit if that was what they wanted. They wouldn’t go legit, of course, but that was their choice to make.
Next on my list was a new apprenticeship program.
Pascow had survived our battle against the Aberration with only a few scars to show for it, but I knew exactly how close he’d come to death, which was deeply concerning for a multitude of reasons. Half the weapons and armor in the Citadel were produced by one disgruntled old guy. That was a terrible oversight. We were one slip and fall away from crippling half the Citadel’s economy. As a crayon-eating jarhead, I felt like fixing that should’ve been someone else’s responsibility—someone a helluva lot smarter than me—but I was the only one who seemed to give a shit.
Which is why I insisted they start a Builder’s Apprenticeship Program as a way to get some new blood circulating into the Builder’s Guild. Colin, who’d apprenticed under a Solicitor and Deputy Castellan, had always been a better administrator than a fighter was the first to sign up, thrilled at the prospect of learning a trade.
As for me, I was a simple man with simple tastes. Which is why I didn’t ask for too much. Just my own private keep outside of Wildespell—personally granted to me by the King—everything I could loot off Kol, Amherst, and Jori, and all of the component pieces necessary to set up half a dozen altars. That and Darksilver. If Renholm had his own royal steed, I figured I rated one too.
Like I said, nothing big. Just the simple things.
After all the negotiations were done and the loot was paid out, the Citadel threw us a party and invited me to attend as the esteemed guest of honor. It was billed as the event of the decade and since so many nobles were still in town thanks to the King’s coronation, the Custodians promised us that everyone would be there. Which sounded like a punishment more than a reward. Not to mention, the event was a strictly formal affair. I’d go “cake shopping” with Lady Hargreeves long before I wriggled my ass into another pair of mooseknuckle lederhosen.
So instead, Kerra and I blew off the Citadel shindig in favor for a raucous, booze filled bash hosted by Bramin and Stefana at the Drunken Crow. Cards. Gambling. Alcohol. Dancing. Bramin and I even had ourselves a little rematch. By the time it was through, the Society offered me a golden snake signet ring—a token of honorary membership in the Society. I was the only Vigil in record history to every receive that dubious honor.
Best of all, Kerra might’ve kissed me. Or maybe I kissed her. It was hard to remember exactly how things had happened after so many shots.
Either way, we had fun.
The Society bash raged for two days. Maybe three. It was hard to keep track of time and with my enhanced Strength and Verve stats I could go a good long while without sleep. But eventually I passed out.
I have no idea how long I slept for, but I woke up in a panic.
There was a cat ass on my face again.
Even though I couldn’t see anything other than a sea of white and orange fur, it was impossible to miss Cal and Renholm’s muffled laughter. I jerked up, gasping for air as I pushed the tabby off my face. The cat’s claws left a series of scratches across one cheek.
“Am I a joke to you?” I asked, spitting out little clumps of hair. I was back in my room at the Citadel, pale morning light streaming in through the window.
“I wouldn’t say a joke,” Cal replied, wiping a tear from beneath his eye. “But you make one helluva good punchline.” He toppled over and squeezed his sides as he cackled manically at his own joke.
“I shall never grow tired of this joke,” Renholm declared. He was perched on my nightstand, like a furry little gargoyle.
“Laugh it up dicknoodles,” I growled, shooting both of them dirty looks. “But know that you both have some divine, karmic justice coming your way. Better keep an eye on that pegleg Renholm because I am not above snatching it.”
“You would really steal a pegleg from a cripple?” he asked, sounding aghast.
“Let your guard down and find out.”
He clutched his breast dramatically. “Truly, I’ve never been prouder. I really am rubbing off on you. Where do you think I got it from in the first place? Why I stole it from someone else and whittled it down from an even larger pegleg,” he finished before I could answer.
Now Cal was actually rolling on the floor, howling.
“Yeah, just keep it up spirit boy,” I said, glaring at my best friend. “One of these days I’m going to Re-spec and use Grave Communion just so I can cross over to the other side and dick punch you.”
I swung my legs out over the edge of the bed, slumped forward, and ground my palms into my eye sockets. It looked like a Spirit Storm had blazed through here. There were wine bottles everywhere. Sheets, bedding, pillows, and clothes strewn across the floor. Those clothes weren’t mine, but whoever they belonged to had left without bothering to collect them. There was a large embroidered, gray silken dress draped over the back of the sitting chair. It looked suspiciously familiar. Disturbingly so…
Suddenly, I was thankful that I couldn’t remember much.
There was one curious thing that caught my eye, however. Something that was oddly out of place with the rest of the chaos and general destruction that had engulfed my room. Resting on my nightstand was a beautiful rose with deep, violet petals. A parchment scroll had been wrapped around the stem and tied with a blood-red length of satin. Someone had gone through a lot of effort to leave it there.
A gift from Kerra maybe? Or another secret admirer?
I scooted over and gently lifted it off the wooden counter. I held it up to my nose but recoiled when the smell hit my nostrils. Instead of a sweet, floral perfume, it was the scent of a rotting, bloated corpse. The hairs on the back of my neck stood at attention and uneasy goosebumps raced along my arms. Carefully, I untied the length of fabric and unrolled the parchment curled around the stem.
Duke Boyd Knight,
Prepare. The Wild Hunt rides. As a Noble of the Fae Wylds, you have been called. Heed the call. Join the Hunt. Or become the Hunted…
In Blood and Night,
Ionia, the Supreme Queen of Dark Tidings, Mother of Oblivion, Child of Chaos, Archfae of Telvyss the Void Tree of the Endless Night
Well shit…
THE END OF BOOK 2
Comments
James A. Hunter
It's not expressly stated, but the high end is 200 years or so, though most don't live that long because of on the job accidents.
BelligerentGnu
Okay, a more detailed reaction later, but in the meantime, congratulations, that was phenomenal, and I cannot wait for book 3!
Asurathe13th
I don't know if this was answered but, what is a Vigils lifespan?
