(As recounted by Aurelio)
The old man's gaze remained fixed on the sleeping child in his lap, but his sight was turned inward, to the sun-dappled riverbank of sixty years past. The festival around us had faded into a distant hum.
"Giovanni thought he was sending us on a punishment detail," he murmured, a faint smile touching his lips. "A way to force the wolf and the hound to stop snarling long enough to share a meal. He had no idea he was sending us to find our heart."
---
— Memory, Resumed —
For a long moment, the only sound was the gentle rush of the River Sarno. Aurelio and Gerald, still sprawled in the mud, could only stare at the girl. The simple, elegant truth of her question—Are you two trying to map the river or fight it?—had disarmed them completely.
It was Gerald who broke the silence, his voice uncharacteristically gruff, stripped of its usual venom. "The river started it."
Alicent's smile widened, a flash of white in the warm light. She finished filling her jug and stood, brushing a stray lock of chestnut hair from her face. "Rivers are like that. They have a mind of their own. My name is Alicent. My father is the scribe for the trading post half a league from here." Her eyes, sharp and observant, took in their disheveled state, the military cut of their damp clothes. "You are from the Anvil. Giovanni's men."
Aurelio found his voice, pushing himself to his feet and trying, futilely, to wipe the mud from his tunic. "Aurelio. And this is… Gerald." He gestured to the Norseman, who was now standing with a sullen, embarrassed stiffness.
"You are a long way from the mountains," Alicent noted, her gaze lingering on Gerald's braided hair and northern features. "Both of you."
"We are mapping the border," Aurelio explained, feeling foolish. "Commander's orders."
"With no parchment? No ink?" Alicent raised a single, skeptical eyebrow. "A peculiar method of cartography."
Gerald let out a sharp, surprised bark of laughter. It was the first genuine sound of amusement Aurelio had ever heard from him. The tension between them, a taut wire for days, seemed to slacken just a fraction.
Alicent's expression softened. "You look like you've been wrestling bears, not mapping rivers. Our post is just through those trees. My father would not turn away soldiers in need of a warm meal and a dry cloak." She hefted her water jug. "If you can manage to follow without falling in again?"
She turned and began to walk, not waiting for an answer. After a moment's hesitation, Aurelio and Gerald exchanged a look—a silent, temporary truce forged in shared humiliation and the prospect of real food—and followed her.
The trading post was a small, bustling settlement of log buildings nestled in a clearing. Alicent's father, a lean, quiet man named Elio with the same intelligent eyes as his daughter, welcomed them without fuss. He asked no probing questions about their mission, for which Aurelio was profoundly grateful. As they sat by the hearth, eating a simple stew of rabbit and wild greens, Alicent proved to be a relentless conversationalist.
She asked Gerald about the fjords of his homeland, her questions not born of fear or prejudice, but of a genuine, scholarly curiosity. She drew out stories of his father's longship, of the northern lights that painted the sky. Gerald, slowly and with much grumbling, began to answer, his words painting a picture of a life Aurelio could scarcely imagine.
Then she turned her attention to Aurelio. "And you? The olive groves, yes? South of here? I've seen them from the ridge. They look so peaceful."
Aurelio felt a pang of homesickness so sharp it stole his breath. "They were," he said softly. "Before the war."
"My father says the war is a fire that burns the words from the pages of history," Alicent said, her gaze turning serious. "He says men fight, and the reasons are forgotten, but the loss remains. He records the trade ledgers, but he worries that the true story—the why of it all—is being lost."
It was then that Aurelio noticed it. On the corner of a ledger poking out of Elio's satchel, a small, stamped symbol: a stylized golden serpent, coiled around a quill.
The same symbol from the dead assassin at the Crow's Nest.
The warmth of the fire suddenly felt oppressive. The Cabal was here, in this quiet, peaceful place. Were they watching? Was Elio one of them, or was he, like so many others, an unwitting pawn? Aurelio's eyes met Gerald's across the fire. The Norseman had seen it too; his earlier openness had vanished, replaced by a watchful, predatory stillness. The truce was still there, but its nature had changed. They were no longer just two squabbling boys. They were two soldiers who had just stumbled upon a thread of the shadow war.
As they prepared to leave, dry and fed, Alicent pressed a small, cloth-wrapped parcel into Aurelio's hand. "For your journey back," she said. "It's just bread and cheese. But it's better than nothing." Her fingers brushed his, and the contact sent a jolt through him.
"Thank you," he managed, his throat tight.
She looked at Gerald. "And for you." She handed him a small, smooth river stone, dark grey and veined with white. "A reminder that some things are simple, and solid, and real."
Gerald took the stone, his large hand closing around it carefully. He gave a single, stiff nod, a gesture of profound respect.
The walk back to the Anvil was made in near-total silence, but it was a different silence than before. The hostility was gone, replaced by a shared, unspoken understanding. They had found a moment of peace, and in doing so, had found a new reason for suspicion. They had also found Alicent.
As the grim fist of the fortress came into view, Gerald finally spoke, his voice low.
"The serpent," he said.
"I saw it," Aurelio replied.
Gerald grunted. "The girl… she is not part of it."
"No," Aurelio agreed, with a certainty he felt in his bones. "She is not."
They passed through the gate, the memory of the river, the meal, and the girl's smile a fragile, precious thing clutched between them in the looming shadow of the Anvil.
---
— Present —
Aurelio fell silent. He gently adjusted the blanket around the sleeping Alice.
"We reported the symbol to Giovanni," he said quietly to the Scholar. "He merely nodded, as if he had expected it. 'The Cabal's roots are deep,' was all he said. But for Gerald and me… that day by the river… it changed everything. We were no longer just a wolf and a hound. We were two hounds who had caught the same scent."
He looked up, his eyes old and wise.
"And we had both sworn, silently, to protect the girl who had shown us a moment of peace, no matter what shadow her father might have been standing in."