"What do you mean we shouldn't pursue that courier!?" Sir Christian argued. His opponent looked dismissively at the boy as he continued to draft a message back to the King. A promise to report back daily kept Lord Haart busy most days in his private carriage. Not to be disturbed for any reason. Sir Christian felt like he was the exception to that rule. Lord Haart's guards never stopped him. They all just go stiff and pound their fist over their heart and the Sol's crest embroidered over their armor.
"Having contraband of that nature is grounds for interrogation at minimum, even incarceration, depending on the severity of how humanely it was collected."
Lord Haart responded in silence as he focused his attention on writing on his parchment.
Sir Christian clenched his fists continuing as if his fellow man would give in to divine reason. "The Lord made unto Man, Laws unto how he should guide his fellow —"
Lord Haart cut the noble man off with the flick of the wrist, placing his quill down in silent resignation. Frustration painted over his brow as he finished the line for Sir Christian, "creature to divine harmony upon thy land. For only then will man's soul be humbled in preparation to accept the Lord's divinity."
Lord Haart proclaimed the words with no emotion or concern for what they meant. The teachings were as old and engraved into the very being of his mortal soul.
"Your words ring true, as do the Lord's decrees 'Retribution will reach those who follow and those that are lost all the same under the watchful eye of Grand Divinity'" Lord Haaart was no stranger to reciting verses from Divine Texts.
"Are we not His tools to work on his behalf? To sow His love upon His land?"
Lord Haart rubbed his brow with his thumb and index finger for it was too early for him to continue this conversation in earnest.
"Christian, we are on a Holy mission. You, of all people, should understand its weight." Christian stood motionless. Lord Haart continued.
"Sometimes we must focus our energy on the duties placed upon us at the moment and let small evils such as that smuggler go, where divine retribution will cross its path eventually."
In truth Sir Christian knew Lord Haart was right. He even would've been on his side if not for his desire to slow down the convoy just a few days more. Haart knew this. What he didn't know was Christian contracted a ship before leaving home. It was supposed to pass through a nearby port town but was delayed by an unforeseen cargo inspection.
Christian needed more time. Time to stall the convoy. Time to think of a way to save his fallen friend—if such a way still existed.
He imagined Cuthbert sitting alone in his dark cold chamber. A sharp contrast to Lord Haart's gilded comfort. Christian had never liked his special treatments. He preferred chores and songs by a campfire on cold nights with his men over silk sheets and servants.
"If I could just–", Christian started, then caught himself.
Haart's gaze flicked up, bored but knowing.
Christian swallowed his next words. His fingers itched at his sides, but he forced them still. He had to be careful. He needed more time. More than just a night. His ship—his only hope of getting Cuthbert out—had been delayed.
An inspection, an inconvenience. A literal death sentence if he couldn't stall the convoy.
"I do not have all day to argue with you about these trivial matters, Christian." Sir Christian's jaw clenched as he pictured Lord Haart as he recalled how lazily Lord Haart rode his horse at the head of the convoy, laughing with his retainers while the others marched. "Nor do I appreciate you sending my men on a wild goose chase in all directions last night for this rogue merchant you seem so eager to find."
Christian had hoped the search would stretch until morning. But Haart's men weren't skilled riders. They hadn't gotten far before the March Conductor's Horn recalled them. Even so, they took their time returning.
"We confiscated the creature's gold along with the harpy meat the thing was trying to sell to us. Is that not retribution enough for his crimes?" A small smirk escaped from Lord Haart at the bounty of wealth the foul creature had on its person, now sitting in his own personal coffers. "The Lord will find him in His own time."
Sir Christian was reluctant to agree but did all the same, as he thought about the poor merchant's fate. He reminded himself to pray for the merchant during his afternoon prayers. And the weird looking goblin he 'accidently' left the keys for to open the merchant's confinement.
Lord Haart watched the man in his quarters wasting his precious time and looked for a way to dismiss the man as soon as possible.
"Sir Christian your faith is strong. You need not question your role in the Divine plans set before us." Christian stiffened at the title. Haart rarely used it unless he was preparing a way to dismiss you, a subtlety Christian was all too familiar with. "It has been weary travelling the way we have for days on end. Enduring barbaric hardship, far from the civilized luxuries we are owed."
The Lord was not made for these types of expeditions in truth but the glory and respect it garnered from his fellow man back home was an opportunity many would jump on without a moment's hesitation.
Many did.
"Let's see this unforeseen bounty as a gift for our devotion to God's divine punishment of the condemned sinner we transport. Rare indeed to taste such delicacies beyond the Empire's borders. Come now wipe that grimace from your face." Lord Haart got up and placed an arm around the man's shoulder, ushering him to the door.
"I'll send you a crate of Harpy meat to your quarters so you can enjoy at your leisure on the last leg of our trip." Lord Haart opened the door and presented the opening to Sir Christian. He walked through it and turned around and gave a curt bow before addressing Lord Haart. Hand over heart and the Sol symbol on his chest.
"Thank you my Lord. Your kindness and perspective is most appreciated."
Lord Haart responded with a disingenuous smile, his eyes closed. The door slammed shut between the two men.
Sir Christian stood there for a moment before lifting his face and pivoting towards camp. The men were rowdier than usual this morning. Maybe it was because they were allowed to sleep for another few hours as they waited for the last few stragglers of the search team.
Christian chalked up last night as a small success in the face of what felt inevitable for his old friend Cuthbert. He watched Cuthberts cell tucked away from camp in the distance. If it weren't for appearances and the general camaraderie of his troops, Christian's private quarters would be stationed right by Cuthbert's. Yet he knew that there was no point causing a divide in camp and making them choose between him or Lord Haart which without a doubt knew all of his men would stand by him.
So would a few of Lord Haart's retainers.
Yet for all their support for their Captain, Sir Christian knew that all of his men still viewed their prisoner as a heretic, a sinner, a doombringer.
A monster.
Sir Christian sighed before bringing his focus back to the camp of men ahead of him. Their laughter grew louder and more infectious to Christian, the words that followed each round of laughter became clearer to him as he drew near.
'Perhaps a good story to share' A perfect treat for Christian after the conversation he just subjugated himself to. One of the men, coincidently also named Christian, saw their Captain and waved him down. The rest turned to see Sir Christian and cheered and hollered as he approached them.
"At ease, gentlemen" The laughter of the company doubled with more delightful laughter. A stark contrast to how Lord Haart's men saluted him.
Sir Christian knew each man by name, hometown, and could even tell you a little about each of their upbringings. It was their titles he never seemed to remember. An act that never failed him during his time serving his men as Captain.
Randolph was the first to fill in their Captain on all the hollering and hooting.
"Old Nick here," It's what they called the other Christian to distinguish the two whenever they were together. A reference to Christians favorite joke. "Was just telling us about his time as a squire for the great Lord Edric."
The name brought back memories of Summer days riding Griffins with the Lord's sons. The family seldom let just anyone bond with those Royal beasts. A privilege of his fathers many connections, one Christian resented at times. It's one of the reasons he stopped flying after the third summer as a kid.
"Well you can imagine how livid I was after the third week of stable duty, scooping up turds the size of babies and still none of the damn beast showed me any interest" Nick began to mime as if he was cradling a baby, the men laughed a bit at the thought before he continued the story.
"It wasn't until I got to the last of them when I encountered a completely clean den. Its food was barely touched. You could only imagine my excitement" Sir Christian nodded in agreement. All good signs that the Griffin found someone worthy enough to bond with. An exciting moment indeed for the old man.
"So I start approaching the Griffin but it seems flighty at first, you know keepin' it's distance as these creatures usually do. But I've been the only one cleaning his den for that month, there was no one else trying to bond with the thing." Earning these creatures' trust wasn't easy, they were stern in judging character.
"Well I finally get this thing to let me approach him, when he suddenly takes to the sky and reveals that he just had a bad case of the trots." The company broke out in a roar at their friend's misfortune. Even the storyteller couldn't help but laugh, trying to finish the story inbetween fits of laughter. "I tell you… I don't even remember…. if I showered… just that I left… that day." he wiped a tear from his eye and continued laughing along with everyone else.
Sir Christian also laughed along albeit with a bit more control. He was never a fan of shit jokes but the misunderstanding of the poor creature's health was comical nonetheless.
Old Nick caught his breath before finishing up. "Would you believe even after half a year I still yearned for the trust of that sick creature?"
It was James III that spoke up this time. A rather pious man even in the company of this particular convoy. Sir Christian enjoyed speaking scripture with him even if he could only see the world through a black and white lens, Christian liked the rigid perspective. Although it did make him disagreeable at times.
"If you'd ask me I'd still prefer that nasty ordeal over my current state of affairs. I managed to go this long without once having to guard that bastard of a heretic." The mood shifted as the men stopped their laughter and began to steal glances at their Captain. They all knew how Sir Christain empathized with Cuthbert. Especially James III. "Just the thought of being close to something so deranged makes me feel like I'm corrupting my soul, condemning myself to a similar path as the condemned"
Times such as these.
James III was always heavy handed in his makeshift sermons. A trait Christian tried his best to smooth over with patience and example. The man, unfortunately, was pig-headed in that regard.
"What say you to a friendly wager then? Beat me in a game of Bellum and I'll take the post." Bellum was a simple card game the troops played around the campfire. A game Sir Christian mastered for the sake of making his losses seem more authentic, genuine.
"I wouldn't want you to lose your streak of good fortune and be condemned like the lot of us, corrupted souls." James III clicked his tongue at his words being thrown back at him with a hint of shame for his lack of tact with his commanding officer. In truth James III respected his Captain as much as he would a Saint of old from the stories written in the First Divine Texts. It's what drew him to Sir Christian to begin with.
"Captain, you know I'm not a gambling man" Randolph slapped the ashamed man on the back in good nature.
"It's not much of a gamble when playing with our Captain. I've never seen someone have as much bad luck in a game like Sir Christian has." The men began to laugh once again at the comment, giving James III just enough conviction to reconsider.
"And what if you win, what do I lose?" Sir Christian's men waited quietly for his reply.
With a smile that could unarm just about anyone Christian answered.
"Simple. Your soul of course."
The men laughed, but James III didn't miss the steel beneath their captain's smile.