Where the city is the name ...
The dream was vivid. Disturbing. Almost a nightmare, except Danja was there. Her form wavered between the familiar equine and an unfamiliar woman in her twenties, but he knew her regardless. Curled around him, she fended off the worst of the dream’s menace. There were no words between them, just feelings, but he could sense that she was struggling.
Reaching for her mane, he found her hand - the swirling chaos around them coalescing into dozens of shapes. Holding fast, Ry closed his eyes against the sudden pain as teeth sank into his shoulder and leg. Her fingers dug into his hand - but he was still being pulled away. He screamed -
“DANJA!” Bolting out of bed, the herald crashed to the stone floor with a gasp of pain. Pottery clattered nearby, and then hands were on him. Warm, but insistent. A woman’s voice was asking him something, but the thick mental fog muddled his thoughts too much for a response. Feebly he tried to fend off the strange hands, but they were stubborn and soon joined by another pair. They wrapped him in something warm and vaguely scratchy (wool?) and then picked him back up.
Only then did he open his eyes. The woman from earlier was tucking a blanket around his shoulders. Another woman hovered nearby, her expression clearly worried. “Gossi, y’sure about this one?”
“Y’saw the state he was in. Y’wan me t’leave ‘im out there like that?” He recognized that voice, at least. The woman with the apron and the basket. Memories flooded back, and his body relaxed. Gossi turned back to look at him, and her expression softened when she saw his eyes.
“Rycroft, y’awake. Gave us a scare there, lad.” She was sitting on the edge of the ‘bed’ - a simple straw pallet, really - that was set up in the corner somewhere warm and vaguely sweet smelling. He nodded, carefully.
“Yer in the kitchen, lad. So we can watch ye. Been out a solid three days.” He blinked at that and cautiously looked around, his eyes landing on the other woman. She simply stared at him unblinkingly.
“Ah, yes. That’s m’cook. Varna. Varna, this is Rycroft.” Gossi added, her warm smile fading as the cook continued to look suspicious.
“Just Ry, milady.” He finally managed to say, pale eyes locked on the cook. “I’m sorry for the trouble.” He added with careful slowness so as not to slur his speech. Cautiously, he sat up as he spoke, wincing at the many injuries. The cook huffed once then shook her head. “S’fine. Yer not the first stray Gossi’s brought in here for me to feed. Stay put, dinner’ll be up soon.” Varna said, then abruptly bustled off. Gossi looked apologetic, but also stood. “Mind yer leg, Rycroft. Doc put a cast on it, but y’got a bit of time before it’s healed.” She said, gesturing towards the mass of white plaster currently entombing Ry’s injured leg. Admittedly, he hadn’t noticed it until she mentioned it - in large part due to the overall numbness of the area. He couldn’t feel his toes at all.
“Cast?” He heard himself ask as he lifted the blanket to stare at the strange arrangement.
Gossi arched a brow at his inquiry, but elaborated without judgement. If she wondered about his lack of knowledge, she kept it to herself. For his part, Rycroft wondered if the unGifted Healers back home used such skills to treat their patients … he never did like finding holes in his knowledge. The concept seemed simple enough - a hard plaster shell around a setting bone injury. Perhaps the better question may be why hadn’t the Healer’s Circle used this? He could think of a Guard recruit or two who could use the time healing the old fashioned way to mind their body better. The drawbacks of Gift-assisted Healing definitely made some aspire to infallibility.
Lost in thought, he missed Gossi’s extended silence and steady gaze. When he finally noticed, he looked up at her curiously. She seemed to have several thoughts at the tip of her tongue, but eventually only one emerged.
“Whereabouts are y’from, Rycroft?” She asked, settling on a nearby kitchen stool. He blinked at her once, weighing the truth versus what little he knew of this strange place. He’d never trained in spycraft or diplomacy - at least, not beyond the basics. He was not privy to Crown secrets … and it could be argued that without Danja, he … was no longer a herald.
The thought froze his tongue, and he swallowed back the surge of grief. Not now, Ry…
“Valdemar.” He decided to answer, truthfully. She would undoubtedly press further; he’d just have to decide how much to say when the difficult questions presented.
To Gossi’s credit, she took the foreign name in stride, and simply nodded. “Never heard of it. Y’from t’Nexus, then?” None of that made sense to Rycroft, and he simply blinked at her owlishly.
“... what?” No duplicity or feigning ignorance, here. The herald was well and truly confused. Never heard of Valdemar? Nexus? Where was he?
“Y’ever hear of the Death Court, lad?” She continued, warm eyes chilling slightly. Noting the change, he shook his head soberly. “Only from you.” He paused, and did his best to look as sincere as he felt. “I do not know where I am, or who the enemies are.”
The last part set Gossi back, causing her to study him intently for a very long moment. “To be fair, you’ll have to judge who yer enemies are by yerself - but I ‘ken tell you tha’ the Death Court won’t be your friend. They’re dragons who shun humans.” An understatement of near criminal brevity. But the attacks were obvious enough. The Scientist’s Projects were another matter …
“Y’landed in the Vella Crean, lad. City. World. We’re all that n’more.” Gossi looked troubled. “Supposed t’be a paradise. But … you’ll see. Praise to our Empress, I hope for the peace we’ve been promised, soon.”
Ry nodded soberly, taking the wildly fantastical information in with a strong dose of concern. War was everywhere, it seemed. He’d traded one battlefield for another. But... dragons?!
“Empress?” He settled on asking instead of the bigger question, glancing around the kitchen. Usually governments that aspired to such titles as ‘empires’ required their subjects to have paintings of the monarch everywhere. He was pleasantly surprised to find that wasn’t the case, here. Or Gossi was a real rebel.
“Empress Naeodin of Sasiath, yes. I suspect you’ll see or hear more of her soon enough. She ‘as a’way o’knowing what all is happening here.” Gossi seemed less like she was speaking about her empress as she was a much beloved local auntie. One who got into everyone’s business. Rycroft wasn’t sure how to take that, he was still working through the whole 'dragon' aspect, so he nodded again. Gossi continued. “So, ye’landed here in a mess, Rycroft. If’n it wasn’t the Death Court - how’d ye’get all cut up?” While the question was straight-forward enough, Ry realized with a sharp pang that he really, really didn’t want to talk about it. Not yet.
“War. I lost my partner. Magic went wrong and I woke up here, getting mugged.” He simplified the tale, though nothing could hide the anguish in his eyes. Danja…
Perhaps she saw it, or sensed it - but Gossi just nodded and let the matter settle. “M’sorry, Rycroft. Ye rest up, now. Varna’ll be around with dinner in a bit.” She paused, then reached forward to give the herald a gentle squeeze on his shoulder. “Yer safe ‘ere. For as long as y’need. Okay?”
The simplicity of the gesture belied the great gift that it was. He was a stranger to this woman, her tavern and indeed - her entire country. Yet she was offering him sanctuary and healing without thinking twice. The grief ebbed, replaced by sincere gratitude and a hand covering hers for a brief moment.
“Thank you, Gossi.” A pause, and he managed a slight smile for the first time in a long time. “I think …” He choked up, but continued. “Danja would have liked you a great deal.” The tavernkeeper smiled back, and with a final pat, stood. “You’re welcome.”