In Your Honour

After leaving the hospital, most everything was a blur for Zaida. She had much on her mind, and acted almost entirely on habit until the following day. She even attended a training session where Marama typically would have led. Of course, he too was in recovery, but the substitute instructor did not turn away the extra help.

Zaida was liberated from her stupor after encountering Cole, one of the other knights, standing at the door to the corps' bunkhouse; seemingly awaiting her. He greeted her with a friendly wave of the hand. "You up to anything right now? No? Good, come with me," he said, plowing through any opportunity for her to answer.

"You're looking rather hale," Zaida observed. "I take it your recovery went well."

"Tch, as if there was much to recover in the first place," he boasted. "Not that I have to tell you. My inborn vitality aside, you're plenty aware of whatever that magic rubbish was that we found on the monsters. Most everyone has been back on their feet since this morning or even last night. Right wonders those healing witches, eh?"

Back across town they went, making easy conversation until Zaida's mind cleared. She made numerous attempts to prompt Cole on where he was taking her, but he consistently found ways to dance around the question. Near the end, Zaida recognised their course as one she had followed previously. It delivered them to the intersection with the lumber shop and the building she had never gotten to see the inside of.

As luck would have it, her mind could soon be put at ease, as Cole clearly had his heading set for that house of mystery. With Zaida at his heels, he opened the door and stepped into the warm light. Zaida found herself in front of a decorated hall full of people.

"Surprise!" they shouted in unison.

Zaida flinched before allowing the cheers and grins to disarm her. "What is this?" Some of the people present already made their way toward her.

"It's a party thrown in celebration of your glory," Cole answered proudly. "A way for the folks of Merridian to praise your gallant acts and express gratitude for your protection."

"Told you," Migdalia said as she drifted by with a tankard.

"I thought the provision of food and refuge as well as the elevated social status we enjoy was supposed to be our grati-"

"WOAH LOOK AT THAT, ZAIDA," Cole stopped her. "A procession of appreciative commoners wishing to express their thanks to your face." He gave her a push deeper into the hall.

The building Zaida had been so keen to visit was, on its own, a multipurpose hall. In practice, it served as a popular venue for the knights to hold recreations. Taverns were fun and all, but The Open Door distinguished itself by facilitating other draws such as concerts, theatre performances, art lessons, and - as Zaida would have been unsurprised to learn - adult entertainment events.

At the time, the interior was set for celebration. Tables and benches were arranged for a gathering, topped with drinks and small foods. Coloured lanterns containing heatless, enchanted flames were strung overhead as they would be during a festival. A spell carried a channel of water overhead, setting any light that passed through it dancing.

Though the gathering may have been held for Zaida, those in attendance did not all wait for her. Some stood eager to thank her as Cole had said, but others busied themselves with conversation, music, or even helped themselves to the food and drink.

"Take a seat right here," Cole deposited her in a chair set against a wall where she could receive her fans like a monarch granting subjects audience.

Faced with so many humans looking at her eagerly and gaily, Zaida felt out of her element. She scanned the gathering for anyone that might come to her aid, and was rewarded with Sergei doing just that. The fellow knight wordlessly nodded greetings to her, taking a bite of a fruit and setting himself at her side as if he were a bodyguard.

"You don't look especially comfortable," he observed, only loud enough to reach her ears. He took another crunching bite. He did not appear to share the enthusiasm of everyone else in the hall. It seemed that there was little about the occasion that was remarkable to him.

"I'm not accustomed to this sort of scene," she admitted.

"Nothing to sweat over," he promised. "Just smile as much as you can stand to, and make sure everyone knows how much you appreciate their thanks and gifts. This is all for you," he swept an arm in indication, "So focus on showing them that you're thankful that they're thankful."

"That's it, that's it, nice and orderly." Cole had just finished corralling the partygoers into something resembling a queue. "All right, first up. Come along."

Starting them off was a child, perhaps just shy of his teenage years. "Miss Zaida, thank you for your heroism. My father was among those you protected from the monsters. To show my gratitude, I offer you this; made by my own hand."

The boy held out a small thing of cloth and yarn and buttons. Accepting it, Zaida saw that it was shaped like a very absurdly proportioned human. It looked like... it looked like her! Zaida finally noted the resemblance, what with the figure's puffy hair and simplified version of her knight uniform. The doll's face was stitched in an expression of daring confidence with its wide smile and challenging brows. It was quite cute.

"What does it do?" she asked, still looking it over. "Is it a sort of talisman?"

"N-No... It's just a... doll..." Sensing that Zaida was not impressed with the gift, the boy grew dispirited.

"Ahem," Sergei cleared his throat. Zaida looked up and found him giving her a sidelong look. He gestured with his eyes toward the boy. Remember what I said.

"Um, it is... remarkable work." She did her best to recover. "Thank you for the heartfelt gift."

The boy did seem to perk back up at that before stepping aside for the next person.

Succeeding him was an old woman. "Good Champion Zaida, my daughter was on her way to sell her carved furniture for the first time with that train. She did not come home with any money, but thanks to you, she came home alive. I have little of value to offer you, but I hope these pickings from my garden will at least please your eye." Bowing graciously, she offered a bulking bouquet of brilliant blossoms.

"Ooh, thank you," Zaida accepted them. They were pretty, and who does not like pretty?

Following the kind lady was a meek-looking commoner. She appeared to be a teenager, or perhaps a tad beyond. The compressed posture and evasive gaze did not convey a great deal of conviction.

"Hey, um... you saved my dad... and, I thought that was really noble of you, or whatever..." She rubbed at her arm uncomfortably and blushed, continuing to look at anything except Zaida herself.

"Sheila!" came a voice from outside the queue, "did you tell her yet?"

"No! Shut up! I was going to... gah!" the teenager stormed away, leaving Zaida confused, but ready to accept the next person.

Or rather, people. A woman and a man of similar age approached, both seemingly well-off by the quality of their dress. The man, however, did not look to be wearing much of it.

"You are the stalwart heroine called Zaida, yes?" the woman said. "I am Mangjol Se-Eun, and this is my husband. I was among the merchants travelling with you the other day, and therefore can be counted as one of those indebted to your prowess." Her tone carried that sound of self-importance that so many privileged snobs did, but she seemed to have only respect for Zaida. "As a token of my gratitude, I offer you my husband."

By that cue, the man stepped forward, pulling his tunic over his head. This put his magnificent body on display. Chiseled muscles and handsome features were touted as he flexed and posed, showing off front and back alike.

"For one night, he is yours to do with as you please," Se-Eun gestured to him like a prize.

"Um..." Zaida looked to Sergei for help. He gave her nothing of the sort, only bouncing his eyebrows suggestively. "I, uh... I will take a rain check," Zaida said, half statement, half request.

"Very well," Se-Eun acknowledged with a polite bow. "The offer stands for your collection. Come along, sweetie."

The husband re-dressed, much to the disappointment of several onlookers, and followed her away.

Cole leaned over to Zaida. "I would have at least asked if I could see more of the goods before deciding," he whispered. "Just to see how far he would have gone, you know?"

Next up to speak to the rattled knight was a young boy; presumably aged between the stammering teenager and the doll-crafting child. "O venerable Zaida, I kneel before you offering myself in both thanks and appeal," he said, prostrating himself. "Please, accept me as your avid and moldable apprentice. Though yours is a nigh-unobtainable standard, I promise to commit myself wholly to your teachings, if you would have me."

Zaida could not help but sink into her chair slightly. "Oh no. What have I gotten myself into?" she muttered to herself. "Uh, I'm really not the best mentor. There's plenty others better qualified than myself in the knights' corps. Mayhap I could introduce you to some of them?"

"Are you certain?" the boy said, looking up while otherwise continuing to hail her as if she were an empress. "Who else could match you in skill?"

"Okay, okay, the lady gave her answer," Cole stepped in, helping the boy to his feet. "We've got plenty others to get though today. If you really want it so bad, come back after you've put some meat on those bones."

On this went for longer than Zaida would have thought she could tolerate. Human after human stepping forth to give their thanks verbally or materially. Some were as direct as having been personally present at the skirmish, while in other cases Zaida found herself accepting gratitude from siblings of hairstylists of coworkers of people she had 'saved'. By the end of it, she was surprised it was only time for dinner rather than breakfast.

When the tables were set with the evening meal, Zaida felt her stomach backflip with joy. She dug into the roast chicken with perhaps more spirit than was polite, but when she locked eyes with the chef behind the meal, she simply smiled with pride at the knight's obvious enjoyment.

"Hey Zaida, try some of these." Migdalia had stopped over beside the ravenous knight offering a plate of pale cubes.

"Guh!" Zaida exclaimed after catching a waft of what her sister in arms was offering her. "What is that stuff?"

"Cheese. Try some."

"I've had cheese before. It's not supposed to smell like that."

"Come on, you're being rude. Just try some," Migdalia insisted. "I promise its flavour doesn't match its odour."

Eager to get on with her meal, Zaida caved. She plucked what she hoped was the least rank of the pieces and took a tentative bite. "Mm," she hummed in appreciation. "How can it taste so much better than it smells?"

"Migdalia gets asked that plenty often," Cole said as he swept past.

"Here," Migdalia said, placing the entire cheese platter before Zaida. "Help yourself. I have a man to kill." She stormed after Cole, who picked up his pace at the sight of her fuming expression.

Zaida left them to it, focusing instead on the plentiful cuisine before her. Many, many plates later, she had nearly had her fill when she felt a tap on her shoulder. Standing behind her were Isolt and a pair of her royal knights.

"Hello, Captain."

"Good evening, Zaida." As both a guest of the town and a person of importance, awareness of Isolt's presence drew the attention of several nearby. "On behalf of the Royal Knights and the rest of the capital, I wished to extend congratulations to you." The lord herald offered a shallow bow that was matched by her subordinates. "It is not every day that one prevails against such tremendous odds, especially someone from such an otherwise modest town. Pray tell, what impressive skills or sleights did you employ to accomplish this?"

"Oh, um," Zaida shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Many eyes and ears were on her, hungry for any valiant details she would spare them. "Surely you know Captain, how the finesses of combat are far more mundane in recital than in performance."

"Indeed," Isolt nodding understandingly. "But do you not have any words for us to lend even the slightest detail to that private moment of triumph?"

"All I have to say is that my experiences prior to Merridian served me well." Zaida silenced herself with a long pull from her tankard.

"So she's got the fighting down, but she doesn't yet know how to brag about it!" someone said, doing Zaida the favour of moving the conversation along.

"Then what good is she?" someone else added to the joke. Attention drifted away as people fragmented into other discussions.

Isolt, however, had more to say to Zaida. "A word, if I may," she said, pointing to a more secluded place. Zaida followed the royal knight trio to a nook where the din of the hall would grant them privacy. "How are things proceeding with your hypothesis?"

Zaida bit her lip in hesitance. "It's as I told Markil, I have the foundations of a plan to expose and deal with them. He told me he may have had someone that could aid us."

"So I've heard," Isolt nodded. "I believe he has secured their support. What do we need now?"

The Merridian knight laid out her design for Isolt, doing her best to downplay the holes that yet remained.

Once the hero of the hour was finished updating her on the plan to weed out the imposters in Merridian's ranks, Isolt once again assured her that she could be called upon should Zaida need to. Finished conspiring, they broke up to return to the party.

"What now, ma'am?" one of the royal knights asked Isolt.

"For now, the onus is on her to progress the scheme. Hence, we will continue with our own operations of destabilisation. After she has done her part, it will be up to- Madwick?"

The channeler sat at one of the dining tables. Hearing his name, he pivoted toward the trio and lit up in friendly recognition. "Milady! What a pleasant sss-urprise to find you here. I would not have expected this sss-ort of gathering to appeal to you."

"Madwick, what are you doing here?" Isolt half growled. She had been working her royal knights to the bone to make up for the weak start to their mission, so to find the channeler lollygagging there was irritating, to say the least.

"Barta is performing later." He gestured with his drink toward the stage where a musician set a melodic backdrop to the evening's mirth, as if that explained anything.

"Who?" Isolt asked, now more confused than cross.

"My darling sss-ongbird," he said dreamily. "I await the hour when she will enrapture this audien-ccce with her otherworldly voice. I tell you milady, even without sss-orcery, she could contest even the Lord's sss-irens."

Isolt buried her face in her palm. "Ugh, I remember Markil saying something about this. As I meant to ask, has he informed you of your role in the local knight's plan?"

Madwick had to hurry to conclude the gulp he had taken from his beverage, pulling his tankard away from the lightless cleft in his cloak. "Yes, yes milady. He told me all about the plan he concocted with the local. The very same being ccc-elebrated tonight, no?"

"Focus, Madwick. You can do it, right?"

"Of course," he said, waving his hands in assurance. "By Markil's description, it ought to sss-imply be a bit of enchanting, perfectly within my capability." There was a pause, and his hand moved to touch his chin in doubt. "Although, by the sss-ound of it, it will be a rather large-scale task. Again, perfectly within my capability, but it will take sss-ome time to accomplish."

"How much time?" Isolt asked cautiously.

Madwick looked off in thought for a moment. "How many knights are there in Merridian's corps?"