Rune Mage [Fantasy/Adventure | Book 1 +2 | Complete]

Chapter 77: Greetings from Benover

Seiren couldn't stop pacing. The boat brought them closer to Benover by the second and although it had only been a little over a week since she'd landed in Acrise -- and a little over two weeks since she'd last left Benover to capture Halen Ashworth in Iwade -- it felt like forever since she'd been in the capital. Everywhere was covered in layers of white, blue, and grey. Trees stood bare and bushes lay dead. She huddled closer into her scarf and tugged her hood down, ensuring nobody could recognise her or Rowan. She couldn't see them, but she knew the rebel mages were not far away, keeping an eye on them as they had promised. Bellamy Southwark said it would be safer if they didn't travel with an entourage. Butterworth seeing their faces already compromised some of the anonymity, but with him being unconscious now -- and bundled into one of the wooden crates -- at least it meant if they ran into trouble in Benover, it would not compromise them all.

They didn't interact with other members of the ship. Not that the other occupants paid them any attention; they were mainly merchants and fellow travellers, interested in their own agendas, and two lone hooded figures were hardly out of the ordinary when hard-faced men spoke with ragged voices and harsh words amongst each other and travellers huddled within their own groups against the cold. Seiren clutched the small orange rune to her chest, beneath her cloak, basking in its warmth. The Acrise temperatue she could manage; being on a ship sailing down the artificial river from Keycol, with the freezing wind whipping against her face and exposed hands, made every fibre of her body numb and burn from within.

After what felt like hours, the grand concrete city of Benover came into sight. Seiren's heart skipped a beat. From water level, the capital looked more impressive than ever. The multi-storey sandstone buildings overlooked the waters, interconnected by skybridges and spreading their fingers in the form of archways over the roads beneath. Glass reflected the morning sun, winking at her from afar. Far in the distance, the magnificent dome of the king's palace overlooked the entire city, clad in snow-white marble. It was said that was where King Pollin and the royal family often observed the people from high above.

Knowing what she knew now, the feeling of having every move and word monitored sent shivers down her spine. Almost subconsciously, she ran her hands through the clutch of folded runes in her pockets. They were in perfect order for when she needed them. Red runes at the front for quick access to attacks, green runes in the breast pocket in case she needed healing, mixed runes at the back of the pocket once she'd had time to assess the situation. Tucked against the belt on her waist at the back were several knives Ashworth bestowed upon her. Seiren would never have thought Halen Ashworth would give her weapons to her advantage.

Rowan had said they weren't going to attack the enemy. The plan was to trade Butterworth for the safety of Tylene, Dent, Felora, and Peron, and Kommora Haigh if needed be, although he didn't really feel the old woman needed protection. The king's mages would honour a bargain, especially with people around them watching; the laws protected the people, after all, so he said. Tylene and Dent no doubt would still be stuck in Acrise with the frozen tracks but once everything thawed, they would be transported back to Benover to be at the mercy of the king's mages.

She swallowed. Her throat was so dry and her heart fluttered. It was a strange sensation. Apprehension? Excitement? So much could happen. They'd begun to dig up the biggest and darkest secret of the country in the past few weeks. So much depended on what would happen after this.

You're scared, said Madeleine.

I am not.

It's okay to be. What we're doing is essentially treason, but the king's mages are in the wrong. We have to stop them. But if they win, history will remember you and Rowan as traitors.

I really don't give a toss if history remembers me as a horse. We'll all be dead and gone by then anyway.

Well... true.