>>6009088As you finish your work healing the injured inquisitor you look over the assembled group and ask, “Does anyone know who's the highest authority still standing? We should probably coordinate a counterattack or relocation- wait, does this palace have any soldiers or men-at-arms?”
“Your Highness,” Inquisitor Abram looks like he sucked a lemon, “This isn’t the capital. With the Elder gone, there is no real authority here.”
“They’d be lucky if they even had a militia and if so I doubt there's one still standing, princess.”
“Er- right. Is there at least any way we can help organize anything? They’re still my people,” You say, a bit flustered.
“Organize and clansfolk aren’t words usually said in the same sentence,” Silas says.
“Bite your tongue,” You retort fed up with the man's antics, “Least while you can still be heard,” thankfully your words are all that is needed for him to look away in shame.
It seems not even Abram has any idea how to help these people. Yet, you find it strange, even without a central authority they still manage to help each other and their town undeterred. All your life you’ve been taught it is the duty of nobility to lead the peasantry yet after such a crisis they still stand tall and rebuild their home even without leadership. You feel almost as if you’d be getting in these peasants' way should you try to buy in and help them by taking charge. Isn’t that an ironic thought? You, royalty, would be getting in the way of peasants. You know it isn’t a thought that would ever have even crossed your mind months ago.
“I suppose the best way to help these people would be to investigate that ship then, other than the obvious is there anything special about it?”
Inquisitor Asher is the first to speak up, “Nobody’s been inside, Clan thinks it’s cursed and Marie and I were preoccupied. The two bots we were fighting took a lifeboat from it and retreated to the castle after,” he rubs his forearm, exposed from his tattered tunic, “you get the idea.”
Silas looks like he wants to spit a venomous retort but as he catches your eye the words die on his tongue, “Then it is up to us, lead the way.”
Marie takes the initiative first and leads you through the rubble and debris, through the crowds of weary-looking peasants. Their fashion looks so last century and you can’t find any weapon on them greater than a stick with a pointy metal end or a bow. It almost feels like you’ve ventured into a fantasy novel set in ages past, where some of the men were plaid skirts.
“Inquisitor Abram,” You say as you step beside the older man.
“Yes, Your Highness?”
“About that house, the one with the girl is her family-” You are cut off as he gives you a depressive look and shake of his head, “Ah,” Is all you can muster.
