Chapter 52.2: Vigil Order

Hours passed, and the sun finally peeked its lazy head up over the plateaus that carved out the deep hollow where the Ulta Metamagicals krewe did their work. Penny had inched farther away from the encroaching light as it came up over that too tall horizon, sticking instead to the shadows as long as she had them. After waiting all that time for the night to end, she now realized how much better the darkness had been.

The stretching arms of daylight finally reached her right about the time a stocky, red-headed Vigil grunt came knocking.

“Ma’am, Captain Gelwin has invited your party to breakfast in the mess tent.”

For only a second, Penny considered ignoring him, but her gurgling stomach convinced her otherwise. “Fine,” she said. “Where’s that?”

The soldier, she now recognized, was barely more than a boy. He pointed. “The large tent at the other end of the camp.”

Penny nodded a vague facsimile of thanks, already turning back to stare off at the horizon for a few minutes longer. The soldier didn’t take the hint, though. She could sense him still standing there behind her, stiff as a board.

Penny sighed, leaning back to set tired eyes on him again. “You’re going to wait here for me, aren’t you?”

He nodded apologetically. “Captain’s orders.”

“Gods. Fine,” she said, pushing herself forward and sliding down off the boulder’s edge. Stiffness had settled into every wound, and she all but hobbled toward him, getting her bandaged leg to obey again. “Lead the way.”

It was exactly what he did. Though Penny trailed after him all the way across the small camp, the boy managed to keep his pace equal to hers: never more than three strides ahead and never fewer. She was somehow simultaneously a chaperoned child and a leper.

She would have preferred being strictly the latter.

Even if it weren’t for the kid, though, the isolation Penny hungered for would still have been broken by the rest of the camp. It had come to life well before the break of day, but now that the sun was fully up and on its course across the sky, everything about the place seemed to be in full swing. The old captain had told them that the post was severely short-handed, but in only the minutes it took to return and pass through it, Penny had seen at least half a dozen different soldiers cross their path toward one responsibility or another, to speak nothing of the activity clearly happening elsewhere around the encampment. The sharp tang of weapons practice rang out from somewhere beyond a pair of tents to her left, a patrol passed en route to the asura krewe behind her, guards outside the captain’s tent joked with each other, and at the western gates she could see a cartload of provisions arriving from— well, wherever they got provisions. Conversation, work, and other clear sounds of life filled the small camp as daylight poured over it, highlighting every trace of white that accented the Vigil tents, banners, and equipment.

Penny was anything but alone, and the whole left side of her body throbbed in complaint. Together, the distractions almost managed to yank her free of the swirling thoughts still ricocheting between her ears. Almost.

The young soldier reached the mess tent, pulling back a canvas flap and ushering her in. None of this was the kid’s fault, Penny reminded herself. She worked to keep from outrightly scowling at him.

“Welcome, Miss Arkayd,” came a calm, if grizzled, voice from somewhere inside.

It took a moment for her eyes to adjust, but Penny recognized the voice from the previous night. She blinked a few times before her eyes met those of the Vigil captain. She nodded, brushing hair back out of her face as she forced out a thank-you just loud enough to be heard. 

The wizened old soldier sat at the second of three rough-hewn wooden tables, each long enough for maybe eight men on each side. Gaps between its splintered planks said the thing had probably been made right here in the Duskstruck Moors, more a furnishing of necessity than anything else. And instead of the smooth, polished chair the captain had filled in his own tent, he now sat on a long bench as rough as the table it matched. Around him was everyone else from the night before, those Penny had traveled with and the one she hadn’t. Each had a carved-wood plate and cup that no one touched as Gelwin continued with whatever he’d just been saying.

Ventyr sat nearest to the captain, listening intently. His head bandaged and his arm in a sling, he was clothed again in a Vigil uniform, though certainly not his own. It hung so loose, it may well have been Fjornsson’s before— well, before yesterday. That thought was enough to spoil the mismatched sight. Penny couldn’t even draw up a smirk.

On the commanding officer’s other side was his second-in-command, that grey-skinned, thorny-haired sylvari woman who seemed to live in the captain’s shadow. She looked just as disgusted with them as she had before, arms held stiffly at her sides like she was holding herself back from assaulting them all right then and there.

Across the table from them were the other three: Jinkke, Yissa, and Jindel. Both of the asura had had their wounds bound up, just like Penny’s were. Yissa’s had been more extensive, of course, and it showed on the scholar’s weather-worn face. She turned with a grimace of pain to look at Penny as she entered. Jinkke glanced as well, but redirected her attention just as quickly. Gods, that was something Penny didn’t want to deal with.

With a pained sigh, Penny moved for her vacant seat right as her focus finally reached Jindel, who sat at the end of the table with some black-and-gray clad lackey standing at attention behind her. That made Penny stop.

Every other Vigil person in the room was uniformed, but not Valliford. That woman loved her damn uniform. She sat defiantly upright, holding her hands together in her lap—hands, Penny realized, that were shackled.

“What the hell is this?” Penny snapped, interrupting the old man. She pounded toward Jindel, and the guard stepped into her path. She physically stopped, but verbally Penny kept right on, turning to stare at Gelwin. “She saved the two people you wouldn’t, and you put her in cuffs? Torment, we’d all be dead if it wasn’t for her; she and the norn were the only ones who knew a gods-damned thing about real combat. Who the hell do you think you are to throw that back at her?”

The man paused his words and met her eye with an infuriatingly even gaze. Penny’s pulse quickened and she swore a few more times, letting a barrage of incensed complaints fly off her tongue—damn, it felt good. But the man only unfolded his napkin and set it in his lap, returning his attention to Penny as though actually listening to her. The death-gray sylvari leaned forward as though on the verge of putting Penny in chains too, but Gelwin put a stilling hand to her arm and continued waiting for Penny to finish.

The others, she realized, all sat in horrified embarrassment. Jinkke buried her face in her hands, Yissa’s exhausted eyes grew to the size of her plate, and Ventyr almost rose to his feet. All of it fueled her further.

Penny found more words to say, ranting about the honors Jindel did deserve—what they all deserved for what they’d done. It felt good, like a pressure valve blowing off built-up steam. She switched to the topic of the fallen, praise for both Fjornsson and Minkus flying off her lips and drawing unbidden tears that she desperately tried to suppress. She was angry, damn it, not sad.

In a moment or two, though, Penny found her rage fading, and with it went her diatribe. Shoulders heaving, she caught her breath.

Oddly, Gelwin nodded. It wasn’t a dismissive or stalling gesture, but a genuinely thoughtful one. “Crusader,” he said, looking up at the guard between Jindel and Penny. “Please give us a moment.” He tilted his head toward the door flaps, and the man saluted, then left.

Tension filled the space.

Gelwin drew a long breath, adjusting the napkin in his lap. “I agree with you, Miss Arkayd,” he said, eyes meeting hers again.

Penny frowned, surveying the room unconsciously. “Excuse me?” she asked. “You what?”

“I agree with you,” the Captain restated. The dark look on his lieutenant’s face said she did not, but for the time being, that one held her calm in all but quivering fists.

Penny had no idea what to say, so she straightened, crossing her arms boldly over her chest. “Well, good, then.”

A hint of pride played at the corner of the man’s weathered face, but it disappeared just as quickly. He continued his thought. “I agree that Crusader Jindel has demonstrated a selfless courage that is hallmark to the Vigil and its ideals—to even Balthazar and the gods themselves. In that I commend her, and all of you.” He flicked a hand to the table’s company.

He sighed and steepled his fingers before returning his gaze to Penny. “The problem, you see, is that while I agree with you, the dictates of our order and of my superiors don’t. While we help the nations of Tyria where we can,” he seemed to gesture to the tropical gully and the asura krewe outside, “we aren’t the world’s police, and we cannot take unprovoked action against its free people, including the Inquest. I told Crusaders Jindel and Yult as much before any of this happened.”

“Unprovoked?” Penny spat. She hardened her gaze, but the man silenced her before more words could leave her mouth.

“Unprovoked,” he said again. “Thus their actions were unsanctioned—in fact, they were expressly forbidden. Knowing that and moving anyway constitutes insubordination.” The man let the statement hang, looking to Penny as though awaiting a response.

She shrugged, deepening her frown. “And that means… ?”

“It means dishonorable discharge without pay. Potentially more—much more—should the Inquest choose to accuse the Vigil of unlawful interference.” His gaze bored into her now, and Penny almost had to lean into it just to keep from backing away.

The captain took a deep breath before continuing. “However, as we’ve been informed, the two crusaders were dressed, armed, and behaving as private citizens—”

“Sir, they took Vigil gear into that engagement,” Lieutenant Liæthsidhe interjected, finally unable to hold her tongue.

“Some, yes,” he said, giving her a stern glance before returning attention to the others at the table. “But the assortment of other confiscated equipment—”

“Taken from our stores.” The sylvari woman all but snarled, eyeing Jindel.

“Yes, taken from our stores,” her superior agreed. “It should be enough to keep the Vigil away from any conclusive accusation. It wouldn’t be the first time Vigil gear had made its way into independent hands.”

He leaned back in his chair slightly, the first modicum of casualness Penny had seen from the officer. “Besides, based on what you all told us last night, I doubt the Inquest will be admitting to anyone what happened at that facility. Rebellious substations capturing private citizens for psychological torture? They have much more to lose from this than we do.”

“Sounds great,” Penny scoffed, pointing at the shackled woman at the table. “But you still have Valliford in cuffs, so I don’t see where you’re going with this.”

“Indeed,” Gelwin said. He glanced at the door flap and lowered his voice. “Ignoring those worse, undiscoverable charges, the least I can catch her on is desertion,” he finally met the crusader’s own eyes and something mournful passed between them. “Though mitigate some by her return, it’s still an offense demanding trial in Gendarran. Her punishment will be decided there, and until that time, my unit must see that Vigil discipline is upheld.”

Fuming again, Penny too eyed the tent entrance. Did she give a shit what the people outside heard? Actually why did Gelwin care? Nothing he’d said seemed to countermand his precious Vigil dictates, yet he had the air of someone making a different arrangement than he was letting on. Resting hands on the rough wood of the table, Penny leaned in, shoving aside her pain. She stared only at the man, lowering her voice but keeping its edge honed.

Jinkke gripped her shoulder, but Penny brushed the gesture away and rolled on.

“Look, old man, this little adventure has been the gods-damned worst time of my life—and that’s saying something. If you really want to keep this within this tent, say what you’re not saying. Now.” Penny flattened her stare at the man, still paying no heed to anyone else at the table. She knew damn-well what they all thought of her right then, and she didn’t give a shit. She’d been through too much to give any of those for quite a while.

A grin tugged at the man’s lip again, and his eyes glimmered mischief. Penny frowned in confusion. She could swear she heard the captain huff a little laugh. “Miss Arkayd, you’d make a terrible crusader under most commands, but I’d pay good money to bring you under mine.”

That response was so surprising, Penny actually took a step back from the table. Everyone else reeled a few inches as well.

“What the hell are you playing at?” Penny barked.

The man suppressed his pleasure and ran a thoughtful hand over his bald pate. With a quiet nod, he reached into his coat and drew out a small letter, no bigger than his hand, folded, and sealed with dark gray wax. He pressed it gently to the tabletop.

“Sir?” Liæthsidhe asked. For the first time, she seemed as uncertain as everyone else at the table.

One by one, Captain Gelwin met the eyes of everyone around the table, leaving his hand at the missive’s edge, pinning it to the table. His voice fell even quieter. “This is addressed to whichever warmasters may oversee Crusader Jindel’s case. It suggests unique leniency for a soldier who—albeit wrongly—valued the life of a comrade over the inhumane demands of regional politics.” At that, his attention settled on Jindel, who’d remained mostly silent to that point. “I can’t promise what shape that leniency will take, but know that my opinion carries weight at the keep.” She nodded, eyes humbler than Penny had seen from the woman.

The captain leaned back once more, drawing back the folded paper and returning it into his coat pocket. He returned his attention to Penny. “Content, Miss Arkayd? It’s genuinely the best I can do.” His face was all stiff politeness again.

Penny swallowed unconsciously, the information still running through her brain. She finally shrugged, unable to process it fast enough. “I guess so,” she allowed.

Narrowing her eyes, Penny slid into the seat prepared for her, and though she didn’t intend to, she glanced up to find Jindel eyeing her from down the table. Seeming both surprised and grateful, the soldier nodded, and Penny returned the gesture.

As she brought her attention back to the place setting in front of her, Penny’s gaze crossed Jinkke’s. After last night, she’d feared this interaction, though she could hardly say why. Since when was Penny Arkayd afraid to piss people off? She’d done it all her life. This— well, this was somehow different.

Neither of them said anything.

Gelwin called to the tent flap for food, and the meal came moments later. It was some military ration of eggs, buttered bread, and a tea that must have been made from local leaves, because it tasted like the moors smelled. Portions were laid before each of them, the captain offered a prayer to the goddess Melandru, and they ate.

Exhausted and twisting inside, Penny had skipped on jerky and bread offered to her the night before. She knew at least part of the gnawing in her gut was hunger, but it was difficult to find an appetite. She muscled down a few much needed bites, though, and thought of Minkus, who would have feasted on every last crumb set before him. That asura loved eating. He would have managed to enjoy the tea too, even if it did taste like moss. Penny’s abdomen tightened again.

She put down the bread and held the wooden cup between her hands, staring into the tea as she stumbled through more thoughts than she wanted: Minkus, Ippi, Skixx, Eddie, her shop, the Reach. Even her father made appearances in her mind’s eye—hell, her father may well have made the most appearances, as little sense as that made. Her cup steamed until it didn’t, the thread of hot vapor dwindling away to nothing as the drink cooled in her hands. Penny just stared into its surface of rippling, green glass, only partly hearing the talk around her.