Constantine (Daughter of War #1)

Chapter 41: Preparations

A few days ago, I'd bidden a hasty farewell to my family as they'd left for Rutherland. I didn't even feel anything as I'd watched their silhouettes fade into distance.

Meanwhile, Gilbert's parents had paid an impromptu visit on the same day. I was less surprised by their overwhelming cheerfulness than their appearance—they looked like typical Perinians, with their light hair and dark eyes. I always assumed that Gilbert was at least half-Ravürkian, with his olive skin and angular features. Perhaps he was adopted. A lucky find for his parents, then.

Today is the official day when we would announce the evacuation of the citizens; one week after the last war council had been held. It's been such a long time since I've actually walked through the streets of Cordair—I should feel freer, less restricted, enjoy the activity bustling throughout the city. Yet the weight of crowds presses upon me, giving me a sense of claustrophobia. I can't wait till our day's work would be done.

It had been decided that the merchants would gather up as much of their goods as they can before heading down to Rutherland, with a small legion of soldiers acting as escorts. The first and second batches of the evacuating parties would consist of this particular class. Meanwhile, three-fourths of the regular citizens would be shifted to Rutherland and Lemag in the third week. The remaining quarter would be evacuated into the catacombs.

Now, the problem is trying to convince that last quarter to go along with our plans.

In the middle of the main city square, a herald rattled off the names of the third batch. The result? An angry mob of people jeering and throwing insults at us. The remainder who don't partake in the impromptu riot look somewhat relieved to be spared from having to brave the catacombs.

"Silence!"

Captain Eldric's voice rings over the crowd, amplified by many times due to acoustics the Ancient Cambirians architects had in mind while designing the city. Fortunate that the captain decided to accompany us, otherwise these people may never give us the time of the day at the sight of two mere squires, one lowly herald and a troop of foot soldiers.

"Diomedes is coming, and a ghost army is on its way to Cordair." He sweeps dark, piercing eyes over the sea of faces. "Do you imagine that for one moment you will be safe if you choose to linger within our walls?"

They stay silent for a moment, pondering on the captain's words. A man cries, "My lord, how can we be sure that ghost army is truly on its way to attack us?"

"We have it on good account of the Champions of War." As though right on cue, Gilbert and I step forward together; the elevated dais emphasises our already abnormal height. I keep my expression stony.

Awe washes over the crowd's expressions. However, beneath that layer of respect, I sense doubt—doubt of two squires, whom despite being the chosen people of the Pietists, are very much boys struggling to prove themselves in a brutal world of men.

"We have no time to waste." I don't know where I find the courage to speak up, but I do. "Please trust us. Soldiers will accompany each batch of evacuees to their designated locations—the risk is minimal. And scouts are currently mapping out the area of the catacombs. There may be emergency exits leading into other places that have yet to be found."

"Easy for you to say—you're not the one who has to stay down there for a few months in the least!" snarls the man. He's getting bold. Frighteningly so.

I have to suppress him now, before it's too late—my status as Champion is being indirectly challenged. But I have to try to subdue him so that these people don't actually realise that they're being forced to comply with us.