With their commander occupied elsewhere, Balrog and Vic ventured towards the barracks to store their supplies. Neither of them were prepared for the baths just yet, as they wished to first be certain that the subject of the vision did not require immediate attention. Once everything had found a place, the two made their way to the barracks’ mess hall. Victor sat without question at one of the empty tables while Balrog went off alone. He returned after only a brief absence, bearing a large flagon in either hand.
“It’s not as good as the Mule, but what is?” he commented, giving his companion an encouraging smile. He placed both vessels on the table, pushing one to Victor. The young man could easily smell that his patrol partner had brought him some of the darkest liquor available. Victor, head held in the palm of one hand, caught the sliding container and held it briefly before him before pushing it back. “I really do appreciate the thought, Balrog, but I feel that I need my wits about me for the present,” he said, voice quiet and pensive. Balrog sighed and took the returned flagon, sliding his already-empty ale to the side. “How are you holding up?” he asked, taking a gulp of the hard liquor. The boy had a point about the need for a clear head, but he would not have to worry about that himself for three or four more pints. The boy shook his head slowly, taking his time before he answered. “To be honest, Balrog, I’m scared out of my mind,” he replied at last. His voice shook uncertainly as he looked at the man across the table. The disguised lutin nodded in understanding. “I cannot say that I personally relate, but plague is a frightening concept in any context. At least we’re safe here for the moment.” “That isn’t what frightens me,” Vic replied seriously. “What about my mother and father? My sister? They’re all in the Keep’s walls. Balrog, my sister is only three years old, if she catches the plague…” Balrog slapped the table with his open palm, stopping the boy’s speech and drawing more than a few unamused glares from around the room. “Stop,” he ordered in a voice that permitted no question. “This is the Keep we’re talking about. Healer Coe and his assistants are the most competent group of medics that I have ever encountered. If any place in the world might be capable of defeating the plague at all, it is the Keep.” “I realize that, but there has never been a nation that defeated the plague. It is not an enemy that you can fortify against, nor one whose plans you can understand and thwart. It is a cold, merciless, pitiless killer. The healers can be the best in the world, and men will still die in a plague.” The older man frowned, taking another draught give himself time to think. “It is true; plague is not a rational enemy. That does not mean that dedicated men cannot control it if they make sufficient effort.” He tapped the table with one finger a few times to draw Vic’s attention. “I cannot lie; the next few weeks will be dangerous, but panic is precisely the reaction that we need to avoid. Panic would send the plague to the rest of the Midlands in the arms of men who believe that they are saving their families. Panic allows men to run to the north, telling all our enemies that the Keep is weakened. Panic is as much the enemy as is the plague.” Victor nodded. He paused to take a slow, shaky breath before responding. “I understand. Still, what if I could have been there? What if I could be there with my family to help and comfort them?” Balrog shook his head. “I hear that the quarantine has been in effect since early in the afternoon yesterday. Even if we had returned to the Keep as intended, we would simply have seen the flag ourselves, and we would have been forced to take shelter somewhere else, even if perhaps not here. Our change of plans had no effect on whether or not you are within the walls.” The young man conceded the point, but still was not satisfied. “Whether or not I could have made it, I still wish that I could be there.” “As much as I hate to say it, you might have done more harm than good within the walls,” Balrog noted. “You are neither a healer nor a mage, so your role in aiding the Keep would have been negligible at best. You would have been just one more avenue that the plague could have used to get to your family at the worst. Also, knowing you, you probably would have fought to stay on your feet for several hours after being affected yourself. It would not have been worth the dangers.” Victor finally admitted that Balrog was right, but the concern on his face was still clear to see. The older man gave a supportive smile. “Don’t worry; give it a few days, a few weeks perhaps, and this will be just a passing memory. You will be with your family, and the joy of reunion will be all the greater for the peril of the days between.” He gave a self-satisfied smile before taking one last gulp to finish his tankard. “In the meantime, we may have need of your javelins and your sword before we get to that far end. Our skills will undoubtedly be of use with the Keep’s usual patrol routine disrupted.” Vic nodded with a noticeable increase in confidence. “As long as they give me enough time to rest before our next venture, I am certainly willing to provide such a service.” He shifted in his chair to sit up a little straighter. “In the end I suppose you are correct; I am far better suited to this role than I would have been to any inside the Keep.” Balrog smiled. “There, that’s much closer to the irrational degree of confidence I expect from you!” Victor managed to laugh briefly at that. “I think you meant that as a compliment, so thank you. I did learn from the best, after all.” Balrog waved his hand vaingloriously and dipped his head in a mock bow as though he had been given some great recognition. “What better thing to do with my life than to pass my flaws on to the next generation?” he asked. The young man before him chuckled again, but his eyes quickly turned to the side as his mind ventured into the darker reaches of thought once more. “Are you certain that you wouldn’t like at least a pint of ale?” Balrog asked, trying to turn Victor’s attention back to the positive. “You may drink mine, thank you,” the boy replied. Looking up, he continued, “Actually, it seems that we may both be needed as it is.” Turning to follow Vic’s gaze, Balrog saw Nathan approaching their table quickly. The wolf waved a paw to beckon them, and Balrog was quick to make his way towards the black wolf. “I think I may have discovered the subject of my vision,” their commander announced before either of them could ask how he had fared. “I have need of a mage. Balrog?” The disguised lutin gave a nod, while Victor stepped forward. “Will my help be required?” he asked. Nathan shook his head, though he did offer a smile. “I do not believe so, Victor. Feel free to take some time to relax. In the meanwhile, I’m certain those in your company would appreciate it if you could wash away the grime and stench of the last few days.” This last advice he gave with a wink, and Vic nodded his thanks as he made for his quarters. Balrog and Nathan watched him go for a few moments, and then the wolf turned and led the way through the halls without another comment. “I did not want to confront you in front of Victor, but you know I still don’t like how much you depend on those visions of yours,” Balrog said as they went along. “You’ve said this much before, and I have constantly reminded you that it has only ever proven useful,” the wolf replied. He spoke in a friendly tone, but one that made it unmistakably clear that he was tired of hearing the same arguments from his mage. Balrog shook his head, running a few steps to close the gap that the wolf was working to open between them. “I would not have such a problem with following them if they were simply visions, devoid of emotion or motives, but your reactions always indicate that such is not the case. You looked devastated when I found you last night, as though your closest friend had died.” “Indeed, my visions are almost entirely emotion,” the wolf admitted. “Rarely are they so much visions as they are foreign emotions expressing themselves to me from an unknown source.” “That is why I have a problem with this,” Balrog insisted. “Emotions do not come from nothing. If there is emotion, then there is consciousness behind it, and if there is consciousness then there are motives. Anyone whose motives you follow without question can control you, and whatever foreign entity is the source of those emotions can as easily be evil as it can be good. Think about it; what emotions did you feel last night?” The wolf stopped and turned to him, the gaze of his golden eyes stopping Balrog where he stood. He hesitated for a moment, but did give an answer. “Terror,” he stated at length. “I felt terror, and then uncertainty, and finally nothing.” “Very positive emotions, don’t you think?” Balrog asked with biting sarcasm. “Negative emotions do not indicate the presence of evil,” Nathan pointed out. He leaned closer to meet the shorter man’s gaze more effectively. “Besides, I think you would be more than willing to go along if you knew for whose sake we are here.” Balrog hesitated, but he decided that it could cause no harm to continue in that vein. “Very well, who is it that requires my aid?” “They tell me that your friend Vincent Lois was brought here last night,” the wolf replied, measuring his speech carefully. “Some spell has locked him into the form of a feral animal, and his companions have not been able to remove the spell from him despite their best efforts. Of course, if you are not interested in going along with something you don’t understand, I suppose we could simply leave him in a cage.” Balrog eyed him carefully, seeking any sign of a bluff, but he saw none. “And have you wondered why it would have to do with him?” he asked calmly. While this news was unexpected and did concern him, he was not the sort to allow an argument to go to his opponent. “You met him once, on a tourney field, and your only interaction with him left him so badly bruised that he had to see a healer. Why would your visions concern you with his fate?” The wolf straightened and shrugged to relieve the tension that had found its way into the muscles of his neck. “I am not certain, but they have come from men I don’t know at all previously. In the end, the ability is supernatural; almost by definition that liberates it from any subordination to human logic.” The shorter man crossed his arms, but he said nothing. While he did wish to continue his questioning, his concern for his friend was finally winning out. “Very well,” he conceded at last. “Let us see what we can do to help him, at least. We can continue this conversation later.” “Follow along, then.” Nathan turned and with three quick steps was already around the corner before he spoke again. “We’re almost there.” Balrog sighed and followed. Although he did not look forward to the confrontation, he would have to revisit the subject of his commander’s visions at a later time. With their commander occupied elsewhere, Balrog and Vic ventured towards the barracks to store their supplies. Neither of them were prepared for the baths just yet, as they wished to first be certain that the subject of the vision did not require immediate attention. Once everything had found a place, the two made their way to the barracks’ mess hall. Victor sat without question at one of the empty tables while Balrog went off alone. He returned after only a brief absence, bearing a large flagon in either hand. “It’s not as good as the Mule, but what is?” he commented, giving his companion an encouraging smile. He placed both vessels on the table, pushing one to Victor. The young man could easily smell that his patrol partner had brought him some of the darkest liquor available. Victor, head held in the palm of one hand, caught the sliding container and held it briefly before him before pushing it back. “I really do appreciate the thought, Balrog, but I feel that I need my wits about me for the present,” he said, voice quiet and pensive. Balrog sighed and took the returned flagon, sliding his already-empty ale to the side. “How are you holding up?” he asked, taking a gulp of the hard liquor. The boy had a point about the need for a clear head, but he would not have to worry about that himself for three or four more pints. The boy shook his head slowly, taking his time before he answered. “To be honest, Balrog, I’m scared out of my mind,” he replied at last. His voice shook uncertainly as he looked at the man across the table. The disguised lutin nodded in understanding. “I cannot say that I personally relate, but plague is a frightening concept in any context. At least we’re safe here for the moment.” “That isn’t what frightens me,” Vic replied seriously. “What about my mother and father? My sister? They’re all in the Keep’s walls. Balrog, my sister is only three years old, if she catches the plague…” Balrog slapped the table with his open palm, stopping the boy’s speech and drawing more than a few unamused glares from around the room. “Stop,” he ordered in a voice that permitted no question. “This is the Keep we’re talking about. Healer Coe and his assistants are the most competent group of medics that I have ever encountered. If any place in the world might be capable of defeating the plague at all, it is the Keep.” “I realize that, but there has never been a nation that defeated the plague. It is not an enemy that you can fortify against, nor one whose plans you can understand and thwart. It is a cold, merciless, pitiless killer. The healers can be the best in the world, and men will still die in a plague.” The older man frowned, taking another draught give himself time to think. “It is true; plague is not a rational enemy. That does not mean that dedicated men cannot control it if they make sufficient effort.” He tapped the table with one finger a few times to draw Vic’s attention. “I cannot lie; the next few weeks will be dangerous, but panic is precisely the reaction that we need to avoid. Panic would send the plague to the rest of the Midlands in the arms of men who believe that they are saving their families. Panic allows men to run to the north, telling all our enemies that the Keep is weakened. Panic is as much the enemy as is the plague.” Victor nodded. He paused to take a slow, shaky breath before responding. “I understand. Still, what if I could have been there? What if I could be there with my family to help and comfort them?” Balrog shook his head. “I hear that the quarantine has been in effect since early in the afternoon yesterday. Even if we had returned to the Keep as intended, we would simply have seen the flag ourselves, and we would have been forced to take shelter somewhere else, even if perhaps not here. Our change of plans had no effect on whether or not you are within the walls.” The young man conceded the point, but still was not satisfied. “Whether or not I could have made it, I still wish that I could be there.” “As much as I hate to say it, you might have done more harm than good within the walls,” Balrog noted. “You are neither a healer nor a mage, so your role in aiding the Keep would have been negligible at best. You would have been just one more avenue that the plague could have used to get to your family at the worst. Also, knowing you, you probably would have fought to stay on your feet for several hours after being affected yourself. It would not have been worth the dangers.” Victor finally admitted that Balrog was right, but the concern on his face was still clear to see. The older man gave a supportive smile. “Don’t worry; give it a few days, a few weeks perhaps, and this will be just a passing memory. You will be with your family, and the joy of reunion will be all the greater for the peril of the days between.” He gave a self-satisfied smile before taking one last gulp to finish his tankard. “In the meantime, we may have need of your javelins and your sword before we get to that far end. Our skills will undoubtedly be of use with the Keep’s usual patrol routine disrupted.” Vic nodded with a noticeable increase in confidence. “As long as they give me enough time to rest before our next venture, I am certainly willing to provide such a service.” He shifted in his chair to sit up a little straighter. “In the end I suppose you are correct; I am far better suited to this role than I would have been to any inside the Keep.” Balrog smiled. “There, that’s much closer to the irrational degree of confidence I expect from you!” Victor managed to laugh briefly at that. “I think you meant that as a compliment, so thank you. I did learn from the best, after all.” Balrog waved his hand vaingloriously and dipped his head in a mock bow as though he had been given some great recognition. “What better thing to do with my life than to pass my flaws on to the next generation?” he asked. The young man before him chuckled again, but his eyes quickly turned to the side as his mind ventured into the darker reaches of thought once more. “Are you certain that you wouldn’t like at least a pint of ale?” Balrog asked, trying to turn Victor’s attention back to the positive. “You may drink mine, thank you,” the boy replied. Looking up, he continued, “Actually, it seems that we may both be needed as it is.” Turning to follow Vic’s gaze, Balrog saw Nathan approaching their table quickly. The wolf waved a paw to beckon them, and Balrog was quick to make his way towards the black wolf. “I think I may have discovered the subject of my vision,” their commander announced before either of them could ask how he had fared. “I have need of a mage. Balrog?” The disguised lutin gave a nod, while Victor stepped forward. “Will my help be required?” he asked. Nathan shook his head, though he did offer a smile. “I do not believe so, Victor. Feel free to take some time to relax. In the meanwhile, I’m certain those in your company would appreciate it if you could wash away the grime and stench of the last few days.” This last advice he gave with a wink, and Vic nodded his thanks as he made for his quarters. Balrog and Nathan watched him go for a few moments, and then the wolf turned and led the way through the halls without another comment. “I did not want to confront you in front of Victor, but you know I still don’t like how much you depend on those visions of yours,” Balrog said as they went along. “You’ve said this much before, and I have constantly reminded you that it has only ever proven useful,” the wolf replied. He spoke in a friendly tone, but one that made it unmistakably clear that he was tired of hearing the same arguments from his mage. Balrog shook his head, running a few steps to close the gap that the wolf was working to open between them. “I would not have such a problem with following them if they were simply visions, devoid of emotion or motives, but your reactions always indicate that such is not the case. You looked devastated when I found you last night, as though your closest friend had died.” “Indeed, my visions are almost entirely emotion,” the wolf admitted. “Rarely are they so much visions as they are foreign emotions expressing themselves to me from an unknown source.” “That is why I have a problem with this,” Balrog insisted. “Emotions do not come from nothing. If there is emotion, then there is consciousness behind it, and if there is consciousness then there are motives. Anyone whose motives you follow without question can control you, and whatever foreign entity is the source of those emotions can as easily be evil as it can be good. Think about it; what emotions did you feel last night?” The wolf stopped and turned to him, the gaze of his golden eyes stopping Balrog where he stood. He hesitated for a moment, but did give an answer. “Terror,” he stated at length. “I felt terror, and then uncertainty, and finally nothing.” “Very positive emotions, don’t you think?” Balrog asked with biting sarcasm. “Negative emotions do not indicate the presence of evil,” Nathan pointed out. He leaned closer to meet the shorter man’s gaze more effectively. “Besides, I think you would be more than willing to go along if you knew for whose sake we are here.” Balrog hesitated, but he decided that it could cause no harm to continue in that vein. “Very well, who is it that requires my aid?” “They tell me that your friend Vincent Lois was brought here last night,” the wolf replied, measuring his speech carefully. “Some spell has locked him into the form of a feral animal, and his companions have not been able to remove the spell from him despite their best efforts. Of course, if you are not interested in going along with something you don’t understand, I suppose we could simply leave him in a cage.” Balrog eyed him carefully, seeking any sign of a bluff, but he saw none. “And have you wondered why it would have to do with him?” he asked calmly. While this news was unexpected and did concern him, he was not the sort to allow an argument to go to his opponent. “You met him once, on a tourney field, and your only interaction with him left him so badly bruised that he had to see a healer. Why would your visions concern you with his fate?” The wolf straightened and shrugged to relieve the tension that had found its way into the muscles of his neck. “I am not certain, but they have come from men I don’t know at all previously. In the end, the ability is supernatural; almost by definition that liberates it from any subordination to human logic.” The shorter man crossed his arms, but he said nothing. While he did wish to continue his questioning, his concern for his friend was finally winning out. “Very well,” he conceded at last. “Let us see what we can do to help him, at least. We can continue this conversation later.” “Follow along, then.” Nathan turned and with three quick steps was already around the corner before he spoke again. “We’re almost there.” Balrog sighed and followed. Although he did not look forward to the confrontation, he would have to revisit the subject of his commander’s visions at a later time. --- This email has been checked for viruses by Avast antivirus software. https://www.avast.com/antivirus
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