This chapter was written in collaboration with Scylla.
The Adder’s Nest.
The headquarters for the Gridanian Grand Company. This was where Ben was instructed to bring his Allagan charges once they were retrieved. Amon and Scylla weren’t to be taken into custody just yet. But, the mage knew that those whom he would report to shortly weren’t going to take any more risks at this point.
The Gridanians wanted the Allagans right where they could be observed and restrained… in case any malarkey did come up. Honestly, Ben didn’t blame them. From what he sensed in both Allagans, they could tip one of two ways: Extremely dangerous… or quite helpful.
It all depended on the choices that were made that day. And a lot of it rested on his ability to talk through the situation as he saw it.
Ben motioned Amon and Scylla into the barracks. It was a homey little wooden room, with tables and training equipment for new trainees. It was now silent and devoid of recruits. Instead, two members of Amon’s Free Company were there, having been informed of his capture and return.
The Miqo’te girl alternated between looking relieved and staring daggers into Amon’s face. The Lalafell – Mocho – remained stoic and quiet, observing the procession with the air of aged wisdom.
“Well, here they are,” Ben told Mocho. “I hope you can keep them out of trouble while I make my report.”
The Lalafell frowned grimly, quickly catching the seriousness of the situation. Then he nodded. “Do what you deem best, Master Benjamin.”
The mage nodded, just as grim. As Ben headed out of the barracks, he recited what he would need to say silently in his head over and over again. Despite all of his intentions, even he wasn’t sure how this would turn out in the end.
Scylla sat down, leaning back in the old scuffed wooden chair with no sign of grace that would befit a princess. Her eyes turned down focused on the swirling knots of the table, though she was partially relieved that Koh’s angry gaze was mostly focused on Amon’s face than anything else in the room. The other man – a Lalafell, spoke nothing, though his visage did not look impressed with either of the Allagans and all of their glorious exploits of late.
Her eyes sported to the door on the far side of the room, and then dropped down to the bandaging around her ankle. Normally, she felt that she might have a chance to run for it, but her wounds had left her at the mercy of Ben, these strangers, and of course, Amon.
Scylla scratched her nails into the knots in the wooden table, back and forth as a cat sharpening claws.
Why him? Why did it have to be Amon? Everything would have been perfect had he not come back and ruined my life… For a second time!
The white mage gave a huff of frustration as she looked over to him, before turning her gaze back to the table.