The Bishop’s garden was in full, verdant bloom, the scents of pistil and pollen thick in the warm air so that even the bees wandering there seemed to do so lazily, resting often in the throats of flowers. Osanna turned her gaze away from the busy gardener and weighed both the rose and the coins in her hands before slipping them into the pockets of her sadly misused cloak.
Duke Wulfric of Kressia. Rarely had Osanna been set to such an important target, but she felt less nervous than she had settling into her position as a spy in the Eskandr keep. She did not understand what he had meant by tools and assurances, however.
“Is there anything else I should know? Anyone I need to check in with?” she asked.
His Eminence smiled beatifically. “I know you are under no illusions as to the danger of this task that Mother Echeran has set before us, but know also that Father Oraphe has set an Angel at your shoulder to guide and protect should it become necessary.” He reached out where they sat and patted her gently on the hand. “You will know more when it is prudent,” he added reassuringly, if not a bit cryptically. Meanwhile, the flowers continued their Stresian bloom, and the gardener continued to clip away with his shears, hardly looking up from his task.
Osanna just stood and bowed. She would get no more out of him, and pressing a leader of the church for information wouldn’t do her any good. She didn’t know that Oraphe even saw the little dark pawns of Death, but she had escaped in hard circumstances before. “Thank you, Your Eminence. I will go at once.”
At those words, the gardener rose and placed his shears aside. With little more than a silent smile and gestures, he led her through the verdant maze he had created at the Bishop’s behest and out to a small gate and stables. A horse awaited her there, and a narrow back street beyond.
Osanna did not like the horse she’d been given at the bishop’s residence. He was a gelding, tall, young, and high-spirited, and though the streets of Saint-Jean de Glane were thick with people, he pressed constantly for more speed, tossing his black mane and worrying the bit in his mouth. There was, she supposed, something rather on-the-nose about being given a black horse, but she much preferred one that had to be urged to go over one that needed to be constantly held back. It was enough to make her miss her gray mare, Shade, left with King Arcel’s army before she departed for Meldheim.
That felt like a lifetime ago now. Osanna was young, still, but getting old for a Black Rezaindian. It was not a calling that often led to long life, and neither was it something one might retire from, though she had heard of black-cloaked siblings who took to other branches after injury or illness. She had most of a decade of experience as an assassin and had occasionally served as a spy or burglar as well, but never in all that time had a mission affected her like this last.
She had made too many mistakes, been discovered, and come so close to death that it was a wonder Aun-Echeran had not plucked her soul purely out of the temptation of having it so near. In the wake of that near calamity, she felt altered, as though the fire that had burned her skin and eaten away her hair had left marks that a healer’s magic could not entirely erase. She now looked the same as she had before, if a little thinner from seasickness and tattered from the journey. It didn’t quite fit. Like she should by all rights bear some outward sign of the inward change.
Exactly what made her different now, Osanna did not know, but there was no more room for blunders. The fact that she was still alive was a blessing from her god, another chance to serve and serve well. Echeran had given her a place and a purpose in this world, and she meant to repay that kindness until her body could no longer perform the work.
Osanna said a soft prayer beneath her breath as she tied the silly gelding to a post in Saint-Jean’s small mercantile district and went about her rounds, exchanging her old flame-scorched cloak for a new one as well as buying traveling supplies, food, a change of clothes, and the ingredients to make her poisons. It took rather less time than she expected, even navigating the crowd, and she soon turned the horse’s head to the docks, where she dismounted and paid a boy to take him back to the bishop’s abode, promising more coin upon his successful delivery. Benedict would have it to spare.
The docks were every bit as lively as the rest of the town had been, less touched by the war than she had expected except, perhaps, for the influx of common people fleeing from more war-torn areas of the country. It did not take long to find the woman she was looking for. There was so much bustle between the ships that her stillness gave her away long before her features did, but even though she matched the description the Bishop had given, Osanna hesitated.
Heathen indeed. The blond woman was tall and statuesque, more like one of the famous Eskandr warrior women of the past than the Drugundzean her accent said she was. She was pale, her long hair loose but for a few braids, and she wore two swords with her plate. Osanna had fought her in the Battle for Relouse, and at the time, Hildr’s blades had dripped red for Eskandr.
She gritted her teeth. No Bishop would have sent her to meet this woman unless she had turned to their side, but that did not mean she was now trustworthy. Who knew what she had done to convince them she could be trusted? Still, Osanna was not so stupid as to show she felt any discomfort. She was to travel with Hildr, and she didn’t want to wake up to a knife in her back.
The rose was a little rumpled when she drew it from her pocket, but Osanna smoothed its petals and made her way to Hildr. She bowed low before the taller woman before proffering it to her like a gift of riches to royalty, a crooked smile skewing her features. “I do believe we’ve met.”
Hildr the Hopeful
The Drudgunzean knight still did not know why they’d asked her for help. Had they done it out of trust? Or was she perhaps a useful asset for the time being? Not that it mattered. She was asked. She would help. The voice of the other woman combined with that smile pissed the knight off, though.
“Are you the one I am meant to escort?” Hildr asked plainly, rather irritated by her assignment.
“Escort?” Osanna Lenoir, because that’s the name she’d given on the battlefield, only grinned wider and tucked the rose that Hildr hadn’t taken behind her ear. “I am, though I’d not have called little me important enough for so lofty a task. Escort indeed. Well, I suppose you know where we’re off to?”
Hildr’s left eye twitched. “I suppose I know indeed.” The knight spat on the ground. “This better reward well enough… To think I have to help out that imbecile Otto. Wulfric was bad but this is even worse.” She was too busy in her own thoughts that she did not even realize she was speaking aloud. “But yes, I will be your escort for the time being.”
“Hmmmmm. It’s been a long time since I’ve been anywhere near our destination. Can you tell me what Wulfric and Otto and the other Dukes have been up to?” Osanna waved her on and turned towards the north end of the docks where the river barge waited.
“That Wulfric is just kissing up to Hrothgar at this point, or he might just be scared. I’ve known the man since I was a child, but I can never truly figure him out…. And Otto has just been riding his righteousness of being the only duke of your religion.”
“My religion? You’ve taken our side without converting?” Osanna’s brow rose, her look more frankly curious than teasing for once.
“Taken your side?” Hildr’s expression was one of confusion. “I did not convert, all I know is that the Father abandoned me when I needed him.”
“And that is why you are aiding Hrothgar’s enemies?”
“They left me for dead. I have no reason to aid them any longer.” Hildr looked somewhat conflicted by her own words. “Besides, the only reason I am willing to aid you is because I am indebted to one of your own.”
“Well, if that’ll keep you from slitting my throat in the night I’ll take it.” They had reached the barge, and as they approached, its captain hailed them and welcomed them aboard. It was a simple craft—more raft than ship— but sturdily built and manned by a handful of people who had the look of professionals. They stepped aboard and stowed their things in the simple passenger cabin—little more than four bunks and a table. Osanna turned and stretched out her hand. “We might as well start off on the right foot, don’t you think?”
“I have no reason to slit your throat. It would be honorless to kill outside of combat.” The knight grinned as the other’s words piqued her interest. “And besides, I think slitting someone’s throat at night is more your thing.” Hildr grabbed the hand and shook it. “Might as well.”
Osanna laughed and let it ring through the cabin. “A girl disappears one time… I offered you an honorable fight, didn’t I?”
The Drudgunzean sighed. “It was only once… but it still pissed me off. Next time, none of that illusion stuff, you hear?”
“Not a chance, friend. Not a chance.”
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