Chapter 290: The Knights of the White Eagle and the Blind Seer

Kellar turned toward the captain.

"Drake. The ship sits in a dry dock with its hull opened. You may mourn it or you may repair it," said Kellar.

Drake lifted his gaze, and for the first time since his arrival, something like fire crossed his eyes.

"It gets repaired, my lord," growled Drake. "With timber, pitch, and time."

"You have the timber and the men," said Kellar. "The time, I supply. From this day forth, you are the Vice-Admiral of the valley’s fleet."

"Vice-Admiral of a single ship," murmured Drake.

"For now," said Kellar.

The roar came from the south.

A watch horn sounded twice upon the wall. The warriors posted along the palisade rose to their feet, and within seconds the whole square filled with rifles searching for owners.

Down the dirt road, raising a column of dust visible from half a league away, a formation advanced.

Kellar climbed onto the palisade walk and narrowed his eyes.

Fifty riders in full plate, mounted on dark horses. Behind them, fifty men on foot hauling canvas-covered carts. And scattered among them, eight figures bearing no visible weapons. An old man with a long beard and a staff carved with runes. A woman in an apron with thick hands. A gaunt man with a roll of maps under his arm.

Not one of them had ever set foot in the valley. Every one of them walked as though he knew exactly where he was going.

"Arms!" shouted a captain. "Arms upon the road!"

"Lower the rifles!" ordered Kellar, and his voice rolled across the square like a stone. "They are mine."

The warriors glanced at one another.

Grok climbed onto the walk, squared up beside the shaman, and studied the column with a furrowed brow.

"Great Shaman... those people are not of the forest," said Grok. "Those people are not even of the Forest."

"I know," replied Kellar.

"Where did they come from?" asked Grok.

Kellar smiled. A slow smile, the kind that never reached his eyes, the kind that only reached his teeth.

"From the same place I come from, Grok," said Kellar.

Then the air froze before his pupils. A golden interface unfolded across the road, and the letters floated one after another.

[Special Event Activated!]

"The Bear God," murmured Kellar to himself, "has just sent me an army."

The lead rider halted sharply at the foot of the palisade. He raised his head, found Kellar upon the walk, and lifted his right arm with a clenched fist.

Behind him, the column opened like a hand.

Fifty riders in full plate separated from the mass and advanced at a walk, in two tight files, their horses lathered and their lances raised. The fifty men on foot pressed their ranks behind them, hauling the carts with the canvas drawn taut.

The tribe’s rifles tracked the march from atop the wall.

"Let no one pull a trigger," said Kellar, without taking his eyes off the formation.

Fifty lances. Exactly fifty... thought Kellar.

He descended from the walk. Grok followed close at his back, hand on the haft of his axe.

The two files halted ten paces from the gate. The man at the fore dismounted clumsily, as though his knees pained him, and pulled off his helm.

He was an older man, grey-bearded and close-cropped, his face crossed by an old scar running from temple to jaw. The armor he wore was dented and patched in three separate places.

He crossed the gate and knelt upon the earth, head low, the helm pressed against his chest.

"Great Shaman," said the old man, his voice worn thin. "I am Aldric Vane, Captain of the White Eagle Knights. I come to serve you."

"Rise," said Kellar.

Aldric climbed to his feet with effort.

Kellar was about to speak when a slender figure slipped out from behind the horses.

It was a girl. Thin to the bone, in a travel dress far too large for her, her dark hair gathered up any which way. She walked without a staff and without a guide, skirting the stones of the road as though she could see them.

She stopped before Kellar. She lifted her face.

Her eyes were open and filmed over, a milky grey with no bottom to them.

"The divine bear in person," said the girl, and her voice came out clear and without a tremor. "It is an honor to stand in your presence, master."

Kellar tilted his head.

"Master?" asked Kellar.

"Yes," answered Ophelia, without lowering her face. "I received the order from the Bear God to bring my men and seek you, my lord. My family was annihilated, and these are the only ones who could survive the massacre upon the road. I regret having been useless, and losing almost every servant of my master."

Behind Kellar, someone let a rifle fall.

"Why master, and not Great Shaman?" asked Kellar.

"Because the Bear God named you so in front of me," replied Ophelia.

Kellar studied her closely. The girl held her eyes fixed on a point just above his chin, never missing the angle.

"Your name," said Kellar.

"Ophelia Redford," answered the girl. "Sole heiress of House Redford."

Aldric stepped forward.

"Her father died in the pass, my lord," said the captain, his voice hoarse. "He covered the retreat. The lady Ophelia crossed two days of forest without food and without sight, and still she brought us out alive."

Kellar focused his shamanic perception.

[Ophelia Redford — Attributes]

[STR: 40]

[DEX: 800]

[REC: 120]

[INT: 320]

[Blessed of the Bear God]

Eight hundred dexterity on forty strength. A body incapable of lifting a sword, and still faster than half his warriors... thought Kellar, and a chill settled between his shoulder blades.

He turned his eyes toward the palisade. The warriors still stood upon the wall, but they no longer watched the lances. They watched the girl in the oversized dress, who had just called their shaman a god in front of the entire tribe.

A blind girl who sees. And who names me divine bear without being asked... thought Kellar. This girl is worth more in the square than on a battlefield.