Page 2 of Trial of Bronze and Blood
Ovi snorts. “You’re the one who suggested it. Stay outside if you want; more wine for me.”
Their orders from the Faithless weigh heavy inside Dru’s pocket.
“We’ll find someone to steal rations from instead.”
“In a town full of Imperium soldiers?” Ovi snorts, slinging back her shoulders. “I like my head attached to my body, thank you very much.”
“Ovi, this is a bad idea?—”
“Only the good sort of bad. Don’t worry, Dru.” Her hand is already on the door, pushing inside. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”
Dru sighs. No way out of it now.I shouldn’t have told her we could find wine here.
An old song from Obliviscatur greets her as she steps inside next to Ovi—a somber melody from Dru’s homeland. Her chest clenches slightly from the memory. Not so long ago, hearing this song would’ve brought her to her knees. Now, her first home has become nothing more than a place overshadowed in her mind from years of studying to become Phaedran.
The Obliviscaturians were once a brave people, like the rebellious Namicans across the river from this village. But their leader made a poor marriage alliance with a ruler in what was at the time the free north, who immediately betrayed them to the Imperium. Once the Phaedran army cut off all their roads, effectively removing any chance of outside aide, they couldn’t recover.
Met with only the meek resistance of a starving nation, it took little time for the Imperium army to move across the land which once belonged to her people and seize it for their own. Like all the other conquered nations, they butchered the strongest Obliviscaturians and sold the survivors into slavery, establishing colonies on their land and populating them with retired Phaedran soldiers.
As if the conquered never existed.
The whole of it has long festered in her heart, hardening her. It made her a rebellious girl from the moment the Faithless found her, orphaned and near death. They sought to beat out of her any love for her fallen country, of course, but it couldn’t be done—though she managed to convince them otherwise. Why would she rid herself of the one thing that drives her to follow their orders, whose sole purpose is to thwart the Imperium that took everything from her?
Once the door shuts behind her, she searches for somewhere to sit. The stench of sweat hangs heavy in the stagnant air as the heat of the crowded tabernae presses in on her. Moisture beads on her temple, and the matted dirt on her face—her second skin from traveling on foot the past week—itches from it. She doesn’t wipe it away, though; years spent on the road has helped her grow used to the discomfort. Not that it makes her any happier to be here.
Especially with the bard’s off-key crooning massacring her homeland’s ancient ballad.
“Where sanded bones of valiant lie,
And whose spilled blood hath run dry;
Were those who lived for love and vie,
And whose destruction was but nigh,
Laid the thriving city of Malum.
In the brooding age of heroes gone
Was built a place of charm and brawn
To which our fair maiden was drawn
The doomed city of Malum.”
She groans. Not only is the bard’s singing dissonant, but it’s in another key entirely. The lament of the song has long been lost, defiling it into a jaunty tune meant to be enjoyed with a cup of wine instead of a desolate ballad often sung at funerals. The urge to throw her dagger at him nearly overwhelms her.
But she can’t bring unwanted attention to them: a quick glance around the room reveals mostly Imperium soldiers, who wouldn’t take kindly to their entertainment being cut short.
Grasping her hood tighter around her slightly rounded face to ensure her thick, dark brown locks stay in place, Dru slides into the end of a long wooden table in the back, muttering, “We should’ve stayed outside.”
Ovidia tosses her own hood back carelessly and takes a seat across from her. Her long, honey-colored hair hangs down in greasy tendrils, and her cold, emerald eyes harbor dark smudges beneath them. Dru taps her dirty fingernails against the table’s surface, glancing around them.
Ovi places her hand on Dru’s. “Don’t tell me you’re already regretting stopping here.”
Dru pulls her hand away and shoots her a look. “And what if I am?”
“It was your idea,” Ovi reminds her.
