《Red Wishes Black Ink》 Map of Emza Notes from As Seen From Above: The Travelogue of Avera Earwick, Gadgeteer and Navigator, Inventor of the Single-Seat Airship, Explorer Extraordinaire: (Recovered from the wreckage of author¡¯s airship following her crash in 59AW and published posthumously.) Ambergran ¨C The southernmost township of the west¡¯s sprawling farmland. Delightful rooftops of thatch and gawking farmers! If you have seen one, you have seen them all. Your author chose not to disembark. Armistice Island ¨C Ah, the island of the gods. It does not look like much from above, does it? Small, round, with trees. Very much island-like. Hard to believe it¡¯s the graveyard of champions where all our fates are decided on a yearly basis. Exciting! Unable to confirm reports of changing topography. Your author was prevented from landing by the gentle but firm hand of the gods (or particularly inexplicable winds). Beach of Blades ¨C Nearly impossible to access by land or sea due to the surrounding crags. Clearly, the assassins of the Brokerage have a way in and out. A secret! Surveyed from above, the beach is striking with its sands white enough to seem studded with diamonds. The mansions and keeps built within the crags are grand. Apparently, business is good. Your author was invited to land and enjoyed a dinner with various masked hosts. The meal was delicious, though I politely declined to partake in any wagers or games. Beacon ¨C Ah, what is there left to be written about your author¡¯s beloved home? That the skyscrapers of the open city are rivaled only by Infinzel in stature? That its smooth stone roads and network of trolleys connect a city known for peaceful coexistence and collaboration? Your author took flight from Beacon and she will one day return! Besaden ¨C The enormous redwoods of Besaden¡¯s vast forest are majestic to behold, even from above. The thick canopy provided little window for surveillance, although your author did espy numerous avian creatures that have gone unobserved elsewhere. One such little darling even landed on your author¡¯s finger! What other unique creatures have the beastlords made homes for within their protected woods? The subject could fill another book! Flamingo Islands, The ¨C The archipelago is vaguely bird-shaped (if one squints) and home to a delightful number of the vivid if unintelligent avians. Piracy is perhaps not such a lucrative trade in this era, but those who ply the ancient trade from the Flamingo Islands have made the most of it. These are a people who value their outsider status and yet are quite welcoming to visitors. Your author dissuaded an attempted hijacking by explaining that the airship is not buoyant. Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon. Gen¡¯bi Desert ¨C Rolling sand dunes and blistering heat. Hard to imagine the hardy sort who choose to live upon the lifeless desert. At least until I met them! Your author had occasion to land when the starboard propeller overheated. The nomads proved quite welcoming and quick studies at repairing your author¡¯s machinery. May they one day find what they¡¯re searching for! Grotto, The ¨C An ugly rock. Said to house the most unpleasant of oca¡¯em. Perhaps the Queen of the Coralline Throne would accept a more evocative name? The Fishbox? Infinzel ¨C The obsession of the Gadgeteers! The most impressive achievement of engineering in the world not built by us. A manmade mountain with a city hidden within, the sinuous Troldep River passing under and through. Beautiful to behold the graystone pyramid. Secured a personal tour from King Cizco Salvado. Disappointingly, he did not try to seduce your author. A joyful evening was further spent in Soldier¡¯s Rest, one of many districts that have sprung up outside the pyramidal city¡¯s walls thanks to the After War population boom. One woman¡¯s slum is another woman¡¯s shindig! Magelab, The ¨C Your author was granted the privilege of landing at the Magelab itself. The arcane fortress fills an island at the center of a lake. No crossing allowed unless you practice arcane bargaining! The archmages wished to study your author¡¯s gravity-defying conveyance, but were disappointed to learn no magic was employed in its construction. Thus, complimented for ingenuity in a way that felt condescending, your author was banished from the Magelab to the township across the lakeshore whose residents are comprised of those who serve the mages and those who aspire to be served. Merchant¡¯s Bay ¨C Numerous offers were furnished for your author¡¯s airship, but this bird is not for sale! A dizzying amount of (traditional) ship traffic here; boats zipping efficiently through wish-created channels. The fourteen villas arcing around the bay seem in constant competition to improve upon their neighbor¡¯s decadence. Your author was provided a significant fee to mention here that the Russi villa was most opulent of all. Perhaps that will even still be the case upon publication! Orvesis ¨C Frightening, even from above. Your author can confirm that the dead kingdom remains dead. The choking atmosphere forced your author to heights perhaps not recommended (see attached chart). Even the coastline harbors danger. Movement throughout the ruins suggests either suicidal treasure hunters, bizarre cultists, or perilous creatures. Perhaps all of the above? Reef, The ¨C Ah, to have witnessed what might once have been. Your author understands that decades ago, the glittering Reef bisected the entire Central Sea with its glittering palaces and submerged cities. So little now remains. The Coralline Palace catches the eye, while the Horizdock strikes your author as a sad imitation of a merchant villa. Ruchet ¨C They claim lost things flow to Ruchet. The waters and surrounding swamplands appear murky, the shanties uninviting. Luckily, your author is an expert cartographer and thus is never lost! 1. [Cortland] The Hammer Master Vows Revenge By the seventieth year of war, every nation and city and village, every order and guild, every creature that walked and talked, and some that didn¡¯t, across both the northern and southern continents of Emza, had been swept up in the bloodshed. Scant few even remembered how the war started ¨C a river crossing disputed by the kingdoms of Infinzel and Orvesis, for those interested in trivia. A trifling, stupid thing, the bridge long since burned and the water poisoned. For most, life was a choice between fighting or fleeing, famine or pestilence. The entire world found itself entangled in rivalries and vendettas, petty crusades and endless sieges, unable to extract itself, suffocating on hatred without relief. The gods suffered, too. The ge¡¯besa, gods of beasts, lamented the loss of their creations, animals driven to extinction for food to feed soldiers or weapons to arm them. The ge¡¯gala, gods of nature and close cousin to the ge¡¯besa, dripped crimson wherever they traveled, so soaked was the soil with the blood of man. They mourned the forests burned and the mountains crumbled, and choked on the toxic clouds of magic that marred the skies. The ge¡¯oca, gods of the ocean, sat silent and stoic, swallowing up the bodies of the drowned, ever eager to rise and wipe away the offensive mortals. The ge¡¯chan, gods of magic, brokers of the bargain between mortals and the divine, felt how reality strained against the efforts of man. They warned the other gods that, without intervention, a reckoning would come and not even the gods would be safe. The ge¡¯ema, gods of those mortals who walked and talked and made endless war, had been slow to act. They found the dramas of their creations amusing. But, after seventy years, the complaints of their sibling gods had grown irksome. If the actions of unruly mortals threatened the pantheon, then an extermination of these pests was the only possible response. The ge¡¯oca seemed all too happy to oblige. An apocalypse was thrilling, but lasted only moments in the lifespan of gods. After that would be millennia of rebuilding. Millennia of boredom for the ge¡¯ema in particular. Without the mortals, they would have nothing to do. The ge¡¯ema would have to wait for beasts to rise from the mud, discover fire, learn to write poetry, and so forth. Thus, the ge¡¯ema were faced with a decision between interminable dullness and reining in their creations. They arrived at a solution that would preserve the world without limiting the mortals¡¯ capacity for entertainment. The ge¡¯ema asked the ge¡¯gala and the ge¡¯oca to raise an island at the center of the world. And they named that island Armistice. To Armistice the gods gathered the rulers of every nation and city and order and guild, kings and queens, great warriors and scholar mages, and a handful of baffled village mayors. The gods saw no real difference between those who lorded over great armies and those who governed just a few wheat fields; all contained the potential to shake the world. Amongst the summoned, many were allies in the convoluted war that ravaged the continents. Many more were bitter enemies. But in those first moments, hatreds were set aside as all cowered before the gods. At last, for a moment, there was peace. The rest of the pantheon sighed in relief while the ge¡¯ema, always with a flair for the dramatic, prepared for their next act. As the mortals watched, the ge¡¯ema plucked a red feather from the tail of a phoenix. Then, the ge¡¯ema plunged the smoldering tip of the quill into their own body, spilling out an Ink as black as the space between the stars. ¡°We mark each of you with your allegiance so your people will know you, and know each other, for we have marked them as well,¡± the ge¡¯ema declared. ¡°Your wars are over. Your killing is done. Except for here, in this place. For seven days, you will honor us with your brutal pursuits, away from the judgmental gaze of our siblings, the rest of the world preserved from your delightfully base inclinations. Instead of your hordes decimating the land, you will choose a party of four, and they will be your champions. They will wage war here, for us, and spare the rest of the world.¡± The mortals watched as the Ink spread across their skin, staining them with symbols that they¡¯d never seen yet somehow knew how to read. ¡°Those whose champions survive for seven days,¡± the ge¡¯ema continued, ¡°shall have a wish fit to change the world.¡± --Record of the First Granting and Dawning of the Second Age Lyus Crodd, Scribe of the Dead Kingdom of Orvesis
--DRAMATIS PERSONAE¡ª Cortland Finiron, Hammer Master of the 12th Renown, Kingdom of Infinzel, in a vengeful mood Laughing Monkey, Assassin of the 10th Renown, Brokerage of Blades, the subject of Cortland¡¯s anger Sleeping Kitty, Assassin of the 4th Renown, Brokerage of Blades, maimed
The 7th day of the 61st Granting, 60 AW (After War) Armistice Island, Center Sea The blue moon was up. That meant they were supposed to stop killing each other. ¡°Well,¡± Cortland Finiron said to himself. ¡°Let¡¯s hope there¡¯s still time.¡± He trudged through the moonlit forest, war hammer gripped in his meaty left hand. The air smelled strangely like cinnamon. Cortland realized the brittle red leaves that crunched under his boots emitted the spicy aroma. How had he not noticed that until now? Over the last week, there hadn¡¯t been much time to take in the finer points of this year¡¯s version of the island. The trees that dropped the leaves were pale and twisted things that looked like towers of campfire ash. The trunks were soft and came apart like spun sugar when struck, affording little cover when dodging crossbow bolts. He¡¯d found that out the hard way. This part of the forest had been roughly used. At points, Cortland had to kick his way through knee-high drifts of disintegrated trees. The gods made strange choices when it came to the nature on Armistice. Rejected ideas from the real world, Cortland thought. This forest of fragile trees and their aromatic leaves was better, at least, than the year when the Granting took place in a catacombs, damp and populated with menace. That had been Cortland¡¯s first Granting. He would¡¯ve stepped off a ledge into a bottomless chasm had it not been for the steadying hand of Ben Tuarez. Cortland still dreamt about dangling his foot into that nothingness. He woke up covered in sweat and grateful to Ben. Ten years since that first time, he realized. Cortland had now survived ten of these contests. He felt fresh Ink pooling on his chest, beneath his chromium-mesh armor. He¡¯d reached his 12th level of renown. He sensed an alluring warmth and power in the new, shapeless Ink that now flowed against his torso. It whispered to him through his skin. Your power has grown, Cortland Finiron. Do you desire a consultation with the symbologist? ¡°Not now,¡± Cortland barked, increasing his pace. A rune must be chosen, Cortland Finiron. ¡°Give me more time, damn you. Here, on the island.¡± Time manipulation is not within the purview of the Hammer Master. ¡°Piss off, then,¡± he snarled. As you will. The anger clouding his mind cleared for a moment and Cortland remembered his last visit with the symbologist. He had runes in mind. The woman he was after now, she preferred a hand-bow. He¡¯d need to close with her fast. ¡°Bull Rush,¡± Cortland blurted. ¡°Give me Bull Rush.¡± Done. Cortland felt the Ink slither into a new rune across his left pectoral. He could read the marks by feel, even this new and unfamiliar one. He could sense their meaning and knew instinctively what they would allow him to do. The swirls and slashes, the language of the ge¡¯ema, would have looked like a complex tattoo to anyone who hadn¡¯t been similarly marked, but to Cortland they read as simply as common words.
Cortland Finiron Infinzel 12th Renown
Anvil¡¯s Ring Crevasse Greater Shield
Destroy Forge Hammer Toss
Hammer Master Weapon Return
Assess This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it. Unmovable Strength+ Bull Rush
Bolster Will+ Recovery+
Cortland understood his new technique instinctively but would need to train with it more to understand all its possibilities. At least fresh Ink meant it was ready to use. He grimaced at how much of his other Ink had faded. A good night¡¯s sleep would restore him and he¡¯d do that in his own bed, within the safety of Infinzel, where no one would try to cut his throat while he slept. He could turn back now and be home within the hour, teleported across the world by the will of the gods. No. The blue moon might be up, but Ben Tuarez was dead. So, Cortland wasn¡¯t finished here. ¡°I know you¡¯re still listening,¡± Cortland said. ¡°Give me more time.¡± A breeze rustled the crimson leaves. The moon shone a little brighter. He covered one nostril and blew out a snot glob. His fingers were caked with dried blood. His or someone else¡¯s? Didn¡¯t matter, really. His scalp and cheeks itched. He¡¯d shaved his head and beard before the Granting like always, didn¡¯t want to give his enemies anything to grab if a fight got close. It¡¯d been a week now and his thick, black hair was growing in on his cheeks, slower atop his head. Cortland had never been an attractive man, thickset and wide, and shorter than most men and many women. Vitt Secondson-Salvado said Cortland reminded him of a pit-dog whose owner had gotten drunk and shaved him as a joke. The comparison suited Cortland fine. Cortland had invited Vitt along on this mission of vengeance. In fact, he had demanded Vitt come. He even gave a halting speech about what they owed to Ben Tuarez. But Vitt declined, saying there wasn¡¯t enough time before the blue moon to reach the Brokerage camp. And, anyway, what¡¯s done was done. They¡¯d raise a drink for Ben back in Infinzel. That smug royal-blood was just another burr on Cortland¡¯s asshole. Ben had saved that boy¡¯s life a time or two. Wasn¡¯t that worth more than a toast at some noble-level spirit compartment? The fourth member of their party, Henry Blacksalve, had at least made a show of coming with Cortland. But the healer was spent, his Ink completely faded, and he¡¯d been crying in unpredictable and abrupt jags since he¡¯d failed to stop the blood spurting from Ben¡¯s neck. Cortland had patted the wispy healer on the shoulder hard enough to sit him down, then went off on his own. Cortland¡¯s knuckles popped loud enough that he half bent into a crouch, thinking it was a crossbow bolt. He¡¯d been squeezing the handle of his hammer. Would the gods teleport the other two back to Infinzel without him? Under Ben¡¯s command, their party always left together. One of his rules was to never split up. Ben wouldn¡¯t have wanted Cortland to do this. Not going to bring me back, the older man would¡¯ve said. Your responsibility is to the king. Cortland pressed on, regardless. He had made note of where the Brokerage were camped when the island¡¯s map had been drafted, like he did with all the important players. He¡¯d found it unusual that the Brokerage had chosen a location so close to Infinzel¡¯s own. His gut told him that was trouble and, sure enough, the assassins attacked on the third day. Their camp came into view now, a small clearing amidst the ghostly trees that the Brokerage had made no attempt to secure because they never intended to stay put. Cortland picked up speed like a boulder rolling downhill. A man lay sprawled in the grass wearing a painted wooden mask that resembled a drowsy cat. He had his right arm tucked up against his chest. Cortland could tell by the mess of blood and the sloppy tourniquet that he¡¯d lost a hand. Even so, Sleeping Kitty was alert enough to click his tongue at the woman leaning over him. Laughing Monkey stood up and turned to face Cortland. He grunted. She was the one he wanted, the one who¡¯d stuck an arrow in Ben Tuarez¡¯s eye and then a second in his neck. The grinning simian face painted on the woman¡¯s mask only made Cortland angrier. She was taller than him, slender and toned, wearing a high-necked suit of ward-weave silk in a light gray shade that matched the trees. He wondered how many outfits she¡¯d brought with her to assure that kind of camouflage. She didn¡¯t look any worse for the week on the island, her shoulder-length dark hair neatly arranged around the infuriating mask, not a strand out of place. ¡°I wondered why we¡¯re still here,¡± Laughing Monkey said, her voice airy and sweet. ¡°The gods must owe you a favor, Cortland Finiron.¡± Cortland stopped thirty feet away. ¡°You killed a good man,¡± he said. She scratched the top of her head like a confused chimp. ¡°You¡¯ll have to be more specific.¡± ¡°You know damn well¡­!¡± Cortland started at a shout, but knew he shouldn¡¯t let his temper get away from him. That was just what this woman expected. So, he chose his words with more care. ¡°I¡¯m here to bash your head in, cunt.¡± Laughing Monkey wiggled her fingers at the sky. ¡°A little late for all these histrionics, isn¡¯t it? And besides, do you mean to tell me you haven¡¯t killed any good men on this island? After all these years?¡± ¡°I¡¯d offer anyone who wants it the chance to settle scores.¡± ¡°I¡¯d do you the same courtesy, little man. But you showed up late.¡± Cortland eyed the Ink on the woman¡¯s throat, the mark of her allegiance. A sideways dagger, curved like a smile, dripping coins instead of blood. On Cortland¡¯s own neck, his Ink took the shape of a pyramid that resembled the city of Infinzel. His loyalty was to the pyramidal city; hers to murder for hire. ¡°How does a person like you get made?¡± Cortland asked. ¡°A killer for coin. To have no higher calling than that.¡± The behanded man in the Sleeping Kitty mask tittered. He and Laughing Monkey exchanged a glance. The leather grip on Cortland¡¯s hammer squeaked as his grip tightened. ¡°Maybe one day you¡¯ll be so lucky as to find out,¡± she replied. Cortland activated [Assess], felt the tingling sensation on his chest as his Ink went to work. A glow that was visible only to Cortland radiated off Laughing Monkey, letting him read the Ink symbols hidden by her silk.
Laughing Monkey Brokerage of Blades 10th Renown
Scattershot
Deadeye Trajectory
Fear Assassin Shadow Step
Assess Vision+ Agility+ Speed+
Immunity+ Body Control Camouflage
The Ink that worried him most ¨C the symbols that would let her make use of that hand-bow holstered at her hip ¨C was faded. She would be fast and slippery, but Cortland sensed she was fatigued from the last week. Even her [Speed+] had faded, which meant she¡¯d pushed too hard. The assassins were always busy on the island. Blue moon be damned, he might never get an opportunity like this again. Her style was hiding and striking from a distance. Next time, now that he¡¯d made his intentions known, she would see him coming and disappear, or else make a pincushion of his back. With a grunt, Cortland started forward. ¡°Ah,¡± Laughing Monkey said, ¡°so you aren¡¯t all talk. I suppose a little dancing couldn¡¯t hurt. Either way it goes won¡¯t be satisfying for you.¡± Sleeping Kitty scooted backward in the dirt to give them space, moaning as he jostled his stump. Cortland pounded his hammer twice against the silver buckler he wore on his forearm, a combat superstition. He¡¯d expected the assassin to take a shot at him before he closed the distance, but instead of the hand-bow she drew the delicately crafted rapier that swung from her other hip. She wasn¡¯t even taking this seriously enough to use her primary weapon. ¡°I¡¯ve been training swordplay,¡± she explained, as if reading his mind. ¡°A girl must have a hobby.¡± With a dancer¡¯s grace, she hopped forward before Cortland could finish his approach. Her jab with the rapier was a lazy thing and Cortland swatted it aside with his buckler. He rumbled in closer, swinging his hammer down between the painted monkey¡¯s googly eyes. She brought her rapier around for some fancy duelist¡¯s parry, but Cortland¡¯s hammer smashed through. He heard her breath catch at the vibrations that ran up her arm. Laughing Monkey backpedaled. ¡°Get it out, then,¡± she said. ¡°You¡¯ll feel better when the anger¡¯s spent.¡± Cortland growled and swung again, but this time Laughing Monkey spun aside. She flicked her rapier and scratched him across the cheek when she just as easily could¡¯ve had his eye. ¡°You play games with me,¡± Cortland snapped, pounding his hammer against his buckler in frustration. ¡°Yes,¡± she replied, rolling her shoulders. ¡°Isn¡¯t that what we¡¯re doing here?¡± Cortland dropped his stance and reached for the new power etched across his chest. He activated [Bull Rush]. His compact body shot forward like he¡¯d been loosed from a crossbow, his shoulder aimed right for Laughing Monkey¡¯s sternum. Her rapier dragged across his side as they collided, the tip harmlessly gouging his armor. Cortland felt the wind leave her as they careened backward, into and through one of the powdery tree trunks, exploding to the ground on the other side in a cloud of dust and falling crimson leaves. Laughing Monkey tried to twist out from under him, but Cortland had too much bulk. He straddled her midsection and brought his hammer down on her mask. Wood splintered and Cortland could see the woman¡¯s wide green eye through the crack. Without hesitation, he plunged his hammer down again. His arm felt like it was moving through quicksand. Instead of the satisfying crunch of a killing blow, the spiked head of Cortland¡¯s hammer stalled inches from Laughing Monkey¡¯s eye. No matter how much force he applied, Cortland couldn¡¯t bring the weapon any closer. An invisible force rebuffed him. The will of the gods. No killing was allowed between factions except during the Granting. And that had ended with the rising of the blue moon. ¡°Were you worried, sister?¡± Sleeping Kitty yelled, an edge of hysteria in his voice. Cortland barely heard the wounded man, the blood rushing through his ears was so loud. ¡°I won¡¯t lie, I¡¯m sweating a bit,¡± Laughing Monkey replied. She reached up and dabbed Cortland¡¯s cut cheek, holding up her fingers so he could see the greenish-black substance that mixed with his blood. ¡°My poison. Leaked right out from your wound. The gods protect us both, as ever.¡± Cortland roared and buried the head of his hammer in the earth next to her head. Laughing Monkey didn¡¯t flinch. In fact, she writhed under him in a way that made Cortland uncomfortable. She reached up again, this time grabbing the back of his head and pulling him close. ¡°I love an uncurious man,¡± she said. ¡°So much pleasure to be had in setting their wheels to spinning.¡± ¡°Let go of me,¡± Cortland growled. Though he could have easily freed himself, he didn¡¯t. ¡°Your ageless king of the grand city Infinzel has no doubt made many enemies across his unnaturally long years,¡± she continued. ¡°Thus, you must assume that the contract was put out on him. That we were paid to weaken your liege¡¯s wish by killing one of his champions. That¡¯s what you think, yes?¡± Cortland said nothing. It was Sleeping Kitty who spoke. ¡°Sister, you say too much¡­¡± ¡°But perhaps, Cortland Finiron, our contract wasn¡¯t for your king at all,¡± she continued. ¡°Perhaps we were paid for your dear friend Ben Tuarez specifically. I wonder what you might do, were that the case.¡± Cortland¡¯s ridge of eyebrows buckled together. Ben was a hero of Infinzel. One of the kindest men he¡¯d known. ¡°What are you saying?¡± Cortland asked quietly. ¡°Who hired you?¡± ¡°Come to the Beach of Blades, pin me down just like this, and perhaps I will tell you.¡± The air shifted, whooshing in to fill the space where Laughing Monkey had been. She was gone, teleported away from the island by the gods. Without her body beneath him, Cortland lost his balance and pitched forward onto his hands. His fingers sifted through the soft debris of the tree they¡¯d smashed through. He glanced over his shoulder, knowing before he did that Sleeping Kitty was gone too. ¡°You bastards love a dramatic exit,¡± Cortland muttered. Cortland stood up and brushed himself off. He took one last look around. Through the ghostly trees, the horizon appeared dark in a way that didn¡¯t quite make sense, as if a tide of shadow was rising up to consume the island. Cortland had never lingered this long after a Granting. All of this would be gone soon, wiped away like a chalk drawing and replaced in a year¡¯s time by some new wilderness of the bizarre. ¡°I hate this place,¡± Cortland said, knowing the gods were listening. When they did not respond, he trudged back toward his own camp, ready to be teleported home. He had a friend to bury. 2. [Uicha] The Saddest Boy In Ambergran The Ink spread across the world in the space of a breath. The gods had peered into the hearts of every creature that walked and talked, and pulled forth their truest allegiance. The mortals were thus marked with a symbol in Ink, positioned neatly across the throat. A warm sensation at the touch of the gods, there and gone, the Ink left behind. Most found themselves marked by the symbol of a place. Loyalty to home and country, to the town where one was born, to the land one relied upon, to the army one fought for. A simple and clean allegiance. The warriors of Orvesis were marked with a blackbird, while their enemies in Infinzel were marked with a pyramid. Some who had pledged their service to one of the world¡¯s great armies found their loyalty abruptly called into question. For how could one truly fight for Orvesis if marked by the symbol of the conquered cities of Ruchet or Noyega? Others, like the oca¡¯em who ruled over the oceans and the trolkin who prowled the northern tundra were marked all the same, ignoring the differences between pods and tribes. They were marked as a species, their greatest allegiance to their own kind, much in opposition to their more numerous and fractured human cousins. On some, the Ink marked a person¡¯s loyalty not to a place, but to a guild. The gadgeteers of Crucifalia. The scholars of the Magelab. The breeders of Besaden. Finally, there were those who found their Ink take shape in ways that didn¡¯t yet make sense, who were loyal to ideas not rooted in cities or passed through blood or organized into guilds. They would spend the years that followed in search of one another, trying to find those whose ways were similar to their own. And then, rarest of all, were those whose true allegiance even the gods could not discern. --Record of the First Granting and Dawning of the Second Age Lyus Crodd, Scribe of the Dead Kingdom of Orvesis
--DRAMATIS PERSONAE¡ª Uicha de Orak, a young man of no renown, village of Ambergran, slightly too old to be considered an orphan Johan Steadyhand, a man of no renown, village of Ambergran, manager of Uicha¡¯s farm Tabitha Gentlerain, Quill of Ambergran, bearer of bad news
Wish Day, 1 New Summer, 61 AW The village of Ambergran, North Continent 299 days until the next Granting Uicha de Orak awoke to farmhands shouting outside his window. From their snatches of conversation, Uicha gathered the Quill had reappeared that morning by her lonesome. That meant bad news. She¡¯d summoned everyone in the village to the meeting house. None of the hands bothered to knock on the door to tell Uicha. He hadn¡¯t left the main house in more than a week and hadn¡¯t ventured off the property in even longer than that. He¡¯d hardly cleaned himself and ate only when the need became too powerful to ignore. At first, some of his neighbors had brought by food ¨C savory pies and vegetable stews ¨C so that he wouldn¡¯t have to cook for himself. Those visits had long tailed off and lately Uicha had made a diet of stale bread, beans, and the occasional egg. There was bad news, though. Bad news for someone else. Bad news for the town. That lit something in Uicha. The dark cloud that had been pressing down upon him these last weeks lifted ever so lightly. Misery loved company. Uicha washed up with cold water and pulled on some fresh clothes. He had to tighten his belt a notch. He¡¯d always been gangly, but now his shirt felt extra loose in the shoulders. Outside, the morning was clear and sunny. The farmstead was quiet. The dozen farmhands that ostensibly worked for Uicha had already headed into town. Uicha saddled his horse, Clipper, an easygoing roan pony. He¡¯d never taken to riding, but Clipper was gentle and made things simple. He pranced happily once Uicha was atop him. ¡°Miss me?¡± Uicha asked, his voice scratchy. Without waiting for Uicha to dig his heels in, Clipper cantered up the road toward town. Wish Day was typically a time of celebration. A feast in the town square where every farmstead contributed something. Enough kegs of beer to keep the farmhands drunk all day. Fireworks if the town coffers could support them. Yet, as he rode into town, Uicha thought the streamers hung across the thoroughfare didn¡¯t seem as colorful this year, the decorations like an afterthought. Usually, the morning air on Wish Day would smell of fresh baked pies, but the ovens had been cold since dawn. It was as if the people of Ambergran had anticipated a failed Granting and, as one, decided not to bother. The hitching posts outside the meeting house were full, so Uicha led Clipper around the side to tie him to a tree. That¡¯s where he found the Quill of Ambergran doubled over and puking into the dirt. The village of Ambergran hadn¡¯t bothered electing a mayor or governor in decades, preferring instead to handle matters as a community. But only one could wield the Quill and represent the village at the Granting, so Tabitha Gentlerain had been chosen. She owned one of the largest farmsteads in the village and everyone agreed she had a good head on her shoulders. Along with Tabitha, they sent a party to the Granting comprised of two Sword Masters of middling renown, a decent Archer, and the town¡¯s only Healer. They were farmers in Ambergran, not fighters. But they played by the rules. Every year, they wished for nothing more elaborate than a bountiful harvest, as they¡¯d been instructed to do by the Ministry of Sulk. To wish for a bountiful harvest was to avoid ruffling the feathers of any great power and it was supposed to assure the Ministry¡¯s protection on the island. Uicha studiously ignored Tabitha and her puking as he tied up Clipper. When he turned back, the Quill had straightened up and was gazing at him with glassy eyes. ¡°Morning,¡± she said, wiping her mouth. ¡°Hello,¡± Uicha replied. Tabitha glanced up at the sun, like she was trying to determine the time. Then, she gestured to the building. ¡°Suppose we better get started.¡± She doubled over again and dry heaved. Uicha headed inside ahead of the Quill. His neighbors didn¡¯t pay him much attention. Looking around, he saw long, pale faces, tight-lipped mouths, and red-rimmed eyes. Toward the back of the room, Uicha recognized his own farmhands occupying a couple pews. Johan Steadyhand, central among them, raised a meaty hand and beckoned Uicha over. Sighing, Uicha squeezed in next to him. If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. ¡°Good to see you out of bed, boss,¡± Johan said in a way that suggested otherwise. They sat shoulder-to-shoulder and it felt to Uicha like Johan was putting weight on him. Muscular Johan with his thinning blonde hair and tobacco stained teeth. Although Johan was twice his age, Uicha was technically the man¡¯s employer. Johan oversaw operations on Uicha¡¯s farm, which Uicha had inherited two months back when his parents had died of the pink pox. He was mean and a drunk, but to Johan¡¯s credit he kept the farm running while Uicha couldn¡¯t be bothered. Uicha had overhead talk amongst the other hands that Johan intended to petition for ownership of Uicha¡¯s land, citing the boy¡¯s careless stewardship. Should the red-faced bully ever figure out the paperwork, Uicha had no notion of defending against his claim. He could have the gods damned place. ¡°I saw Tabitha throwing up outside,¡± Uicha said, feeling like he had to say something. ¡°Any idea what¡¯s happened?¡± Johan grunted and gestured to the front rows, where a few families were already huddled together and crying. ¡°Champions are dead,¡± he said. ¡°All of them.¡± Uicha blinked. That was worse than he¡¯d even expected. In all his sixteen years, Uicha couldn¡¯t remember Ambergran losing many people to the Granting. There were a few spread out across the years. Men who attempted to make a name for themselves as more than farmers dabbling at combat. Fools caught up in the crossfire of grander battles. Cautionary tales. Never all of them at once. For a moment, Uicha felt an odd sense of gladness at the village¡¯s collective grief, as if these people had finally joined him in mourning. ¡°What¡¯re you smirking for?¡± Johan growled. Uicha put his hands on his face, cheeks suddenly hot. ¡°I didn¡¯t realize I was.¡± Tabitha finally entered, ascending the rickety stage at the meeting hall¡¯s front. They held votes for the yearly budget here and sometimes hosted traveling troupes of actors and musicians. There was also a Wish Day talent show. One year, Uicha¡¯s father had won for his demonstration of knife juggling. ¡°As I¡¯m sure you¡¯ve figured, the Granting did not go well for us,¡± Tabitha began. Her shoulders drooped, but she forced herself to make eye contact with the mourners in the front row. ¡°There¡¯s a fucking understatement,¡± Johan hissed in Uicha¡¯s ear. ¡°The Orvesian Witnesses declared a wish that¡­ that is contrary to the life we¡¯ve built here in Ambergran,¡± Tabitha continued. ¡°Our champions¡­ our friends and neighbors¡­ they fought valiantly against them. But they were all lost.¡± A chill went through Uicha at the mention of the Witnesses and he could tell that he wasn¡¯t alone. They had set up camp on the southern border of Ambergran almost a year ago, shortly after the previous Granting. The fields they¡¯d chosen were fallow and abandoned, outside of Ambergran¡¯s gods given territory. The drylands seemed to suit the Witnesses just fine. They were the remnants of a dead kingdom to the south. Lessons about Orvesis at Ambergran¡¯s schoolhouse were more like ghost stories than history, but Uicha understood that the Orvesians had nearly conquered the entire northern continent in the time before Grantings. Nowadays, they appeared collectively mired in perpetual mourning. The Witnesses caked their pale bodies with stripes of ash and wore elaborate costumes of black feathers and dyed furs, even in the summer months. There were about 300 of them camped out there, but they hadn¡¯t done anything besides lurk around the edges of town like vacant-eyed blackbirds, so the official position of Ambergran had been to wait and see and hope they¡¯d move on. ¡°What does that mean, Tabitha? Contrary to life?¡± someone shouted. ¡°Speak plainly, woman!¡± yelled someone else. ¡°How was the party lost?¡± ¡°How were they lost?¡± Tabitha repeated the question, blinking as she did. It wasn¡¯t like her to not speak plainly. Uicha sensed she¡¯d been trying to break the news gently, but now something in her snapped. ¡°How were they lost? They were butchered, Marcus. Should I go into more detail here, in front of the families and friends they leave behind? Shall I describe how the Orvesians have a Quill who is also a champion? How he fights like a madman, with magic and blade? Would you hear how his weapon drained the life from our champions and made them old before my eyes? Shall I¡­?¡± Tabitha trailed off as the room stilled, even the crying. Most looked down at their hands, or pulled a loved one closer. Uicha stared straight ahead, at least until Johan leaned over to him. ¡°They were weak sisters,¡± he whispered. ¡°I knew I should¡¯ve volunteered to take the Ink. I said as much to your father, but he convinced me to stay on instead. Said he wouldn¡¯t be able to run the farm without me.¡± That was the first Uicha had heard of Johan taking the Ink. Sure, he was known to kick around some farmhands when he¡¯d had too much to drink, but Johan had never impressed as more than an unskilled yet enthusiastic brawler. At the mention of his father, Uicha¡¯s eyes filled with water and slipped out of focus. In truth, Uicha always suspected that his mother and father were better fighters than anyone else in the village. They had been pirates with the Flamingo Islands Armada before they''d grown tired of the lifestyle and retired to Ambergran. Uicha couldn''t imagine trading daring heists on the high seas for life on the farm, but his parents didn''t seem to miss it. When he asked them once why they hadn''t volunteered for Ambergran''s party, his parents had shared a look. Then, his mother said, "well, they never asked." How had a couple of Central Sea pirates even heard of Ambergran? ¡°Why, from a man we kidnapped,¡± his mother had told him. ¡°He missed his home badly and told us such wonderful stories. After we ransomed him, we had to see it for ourselves.¡± This man they¡¯d ransomed had never come home to Ambergran to provide a recommendation, so his parents were greeted with skepticism when they¡¯d sauntered into the village and bought up a farmstead at auction. The locals made noise about not honoring the contract. His parents spent months living out of the inn, negotiating clauses and parceling out bribes. Whenever they walked by the inn together, Uicha¡¯s father had enjoyed pointing out to Uicha the very building where he¡¯d been conceived. He also liked to tell Uicha about how he¡¯d walked the land barefoot at every sunset, wiggling his toes in the dirt. Forging a connection with the land, he liked to call it. Eventually their Ink changed, the marks on their necks one day morphing from the unlocked treasure chest of the Flamingo Islands to the wheat stalk of Ambergran. The gods had recognized this village as their home, and so there was nothing else the locals could do to hold up the sale. ¡°Farming is like stealing from the land,¡± his father liked to say. ¡°And, my boy, this land has deep pockets.¡± Uicha had the mark of Ambergran upon him too, although he¡¯d tried walking around barefoot and only scraped the soles of his feet. He was long-limbed and umber-skinned in a place where all the other children were stout-bodied and sunburnt. His parents had each other and their precious farmstead. Uicha longed for something more. They had never even taken Uicha to see the ocean. Uicha used to beg his parents for stories of their exploits, of the faraway places that they''d seen, even just to show him how to tie some complicated knots. Sometimes, they relented and told him of the lavish coastal castles of the fourteen merchant families, and how they invited the pirates of the islands to try their best to rob them during every solstice, made a game of the cat-and-mouse. Mostly, though, they told Uicha that stories would have to wait. There were chores to do. There were always more chores to do. And now they were gone, all those stories left untold. Taken by the pink pox, a disease that most children got young in Ambergran and so developed an immunity for. But it was lethal in adults and not something that got passed around on the islands. Uicha had been sick, too, but had recovered with just a network of oval scars across his back. His parents had died quick, itchy and feverish, not cracking any of their jokes, their jaws locked up so they couldn¡¯t even squeeze out goodbye. They might have survived had the Healer not been away, part of Ambergran¡¯s party, off exploring the wilds to build his renown and increase his Ink. A lot of good that had done when faced with the Witnesses. The man had failed Uicha as town healer and he had now failed all of Ambergran as one of the champions. That felt like a bit of justice to Uicha, but he grimaced as his own eyes cleared and he spotted the healer¡¯s small daughters sobbing in the front row. There was no fairness in that, Uicha decided. ¡°What about the Sulkies?¡± someone asked Tabitha. ¡°They¡¯re supposed to protect us!¡± ¡°The Ministry tried to intervene on our behalf and did kill two of the Orvesians,¡± Tabitha said. ¡°But the Ministry suffered losses of their own and¡­ well, we weren¡¯t their only priority.¡± Johan snorted. Uicha half-expected the man to declare that he¡¯d once been offered knighthood with the Ministry of Sulk but had turned it down because he loved farming so much. This time, though, Johan kept his mouth shut. His knee bobbed aggressively, vibrating the pew under Uicha. ¡°If only two of the Witnesses survived, that means their wish is only half strength!¡± a woman near the front declared, her voice shaking with a desperate optimism. ¡°What are they after?¡± someone else asked. ¡°If they want ownership of those southern plots, they didn¡¯t need to kill for them¡­¡± Farmland. These people thought everything boiled down to farmland. Uicha leaned forward, sensing by the way the veins in Tabitha¡¯s forehead pulsed that she was finally going to deliver the news. It would be worse than anyone in here imagined and a small part of Uicha was glad for that. ¡°What was their wish, Tabitha?¡± a tired-sounding man asked. ¡°Out with it, already.¡± ¡°Annihilation,¡± she said. Tabitha¡¯s hands trembled, so she put them behind her back. ¡°They wished for our annihilation.¡±
3. [Uicha] The Coin Flip
--DRAMATIS PERSONAE¡ª Uicha de Orak, a young man of no renown, village of Ambergran, facing one hell of a coin flip Johan Steadyhand, a man of no renown, village of Ambergran, suddenly brave Tabitha Gentlerain, Quill of Ambergran, with more news to come Battar Crodd, Death Knight of the 13th Renown and Quill of the Orvesian Witnesses, a wish soon to be granted
Wish Day, 1 New Summer, 61 AW. The village of Ambergran, North Continent 299 days until the next Granting. There was screaming, of course, although less than Uicha might have expected. The farmers of Ambergran were a stoic people. Some immediately bolted from the meeting hall, parents hustling away with their young children. There would be a story later about a father who had tried slicing the mark of Ambergran off his wife and children with a paring knife, the whole family bleeding out before annihilation even came. But then, there would be a lot of grim tales about that day. ¡°How long do we have?¡± someone shouted. Tabitha shook her head ruefully. ¡°Midday,¡± she said. ¡°Or thereabouts.¡± Uicha remembered the way Tabitha had looked up at the sun when he¡¯d seen her before. Estimating the time. He wondered if maybe she shouldn¡¯t have told them at all. The shouting and wailing grew now, more people fleeing the meeting hall, as if putting a time to the wish made the thing more real. The people of Ambergran had only a couple hours left. Or thereabouts. Uicha stayed planted with Johan and the farmhands. Johan breathed fiercely through his nose, like a storm was rising inside him. It didn¡¯t seem like much more needed to be said, but Tabitha raised her hands and shouted to be heard above the ongoing commotion. "The Orvesian Quill said they''d accept volunteers! Anyone who would... well, anyone who would step forward to spare another... that option is open to you. The Orvesians will be waiting in the southern fields." Only two Orvesian champions had survived the Granting. That meant their wish for annihilation was only half strength. The odds were fifty-fifty. A coin flip for survival. Better odds than his parents got from the pink pox, anyway. Uicha flinched when Johan clapped a hand on his thin shoulder. "I''m going back to the farm, boss," he said, the last word dripping with contempt. "And then I''m heading out to face those dirt-smeared bastards. I''ll give them a volunteer. Gods won''t stop me." ¡°You¡­?¡± Uicha squinted. ¡°You¡¯re going to try fighting them?¡± ¡°Don¡¯t suppose you want to join, eh?¡± ¡°What would be the point?¡± Uicha asked earnestly. Johan snorted, then snapped to his feet with enough force to knock Uicha to the side. He and the farmhands stormed out, everyone leaving as a mass now, pushing and shoving at the doors. Uicha stayed fastened to his pew. He could not believe that he was going to die in this place. He¡¯d never even liked it here. And then he was alone, except for Tabitha. The Quill shuffled around, resetting the pews that had been knocked over as their neighbors rushed out. She stopped in front of him. "You keeping it together, Uicha?" He was surprised that she knew his name. "I''d been thinking I might leave town," Uicha said, his mouth dry. "Just hadn''t figured out where I would go. Maybe back to my parents¡¯ people. Don¡¯t suppose that¡¯s a possibility now, is it?" ¡°You might get there yet,¡± Tabitha said. ¡°There¡¯s a chance.¡± ¡°They wouldn¡¯t know me, either,¡± Uicha replied. He pushed a hand through the shock of unkempt hair atop his head, then looked down at the floor. There was that old darkness again. The same hopeless feeling that had kept him lingering around the farm like a ghost. Uicha was more than ready to sink back into that place. In a way, he¡¯d already been annihilated. "You could come with me to meet the Orvesians," Tabitha said, an odd warmth in her invitation. Uicha looked up at her, blinking. "You southerners believe that our souls join the gods when we die, right? You might be reunited with your parents that way. It would be an act of real heroism, Uicha.¡± Uicha said nothing. Tabitha had just suggested that he effectively kill himself. As conversations with his elders went, this was at least an honest one. He understood clearly how the people of Ambergran viewed him. A broken boy, an outsider in his own home, who could be sacrificed to save someone more productive. ¡°We never believed in soul unification,¡± Uicha said at last. ¡°That¡¯s only Crucifalia. And I¡¯m not a southerner. I was born here.¡± ¡°Of course. Yes, of course, I¡¯m sorry,¡± Tabitha said. She shoved both her hands through her hair as if she might pull it out. "Don''t listen to me. I''m already lost." Tabitha stumbled out of the meeting hall after that. From outside, Uicha could hear the clatter of wagon wheels and the rumble of hooves. People were fleeing, as if they could somehow outrun a wish granted by the gods. Uicha decided to go home. He''d lay in his bed and wait for the result of the coin flip. He hoped it would at least be quick. On the way back, he kept Clipper to an easy trot. A few groups of farmers passed him in a rush, cursing at him to get off the road, but mostly Uicha was alone with the swaying fields of wheat. Whoever was left would need to harvest soon. As the farmstead came into view, so did Johan and a handful of the other hands. Five of them, in total, ones who Uicha recognized as carousers and toughs, the ones without families. They were all on horseback, riding out hard. At a raised hand from Johan, they stopped in front of Uicha. They¡¯d armed themselves with pitchforks and axes and crossbows. ¡°Last chance to become a man, boss,¡± Johan declared. ¡°I don¡¯t give a shit about the Granting or their gods damned wish. The Orvesians won¡¯t have this place without a fight.¡± ¡°You won¡¯t be able to kill them, though,¡± Uicha replied. ¡°The gods won¡¯t allow it.¡± ¡°The gods pissed on Orvesis once, didn¡¯t they? Why not again?¡± Johan replied with a ferocious grin. ¡°We aren¡¯t going to just curl up and take it, yeah? If we¡¯re going out, it¡¯ll be like the warriors of old. Isn¡¯t that right, boys?¡± This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it Johan turned to receive a response from his followers that ranged from bloodthirsty to drunken to half-hearted. Uicha didn¡¯t care about this. He would¡¯ve let them ride off into futility, except when Johan had turned in the saddle Uicha had noticed the scimitar strapped to his back, the sheath wrapped in ribbons of yellow and green silk. ¡°That¡¯s not your sword,¡± Uicha said, surprised at the sudden hardness in his voice. Johan¡¯s smile faded as he returned his gaze to Uicha. ¡°A fine weapon like this isn¡¯t doing any good stashed away in a closet.¡± So, his head farmhand had been rummaging around in the main house. Vaguely, Uicha wondered how long that had been going on. ¡°It¡¯s my mother¡¯s sword,¡± Uicha said. ¡°Give it back.¡± Johan clicked his tongue and his horse moved closer, so that he was right alongside Uicha. He reached out and put a firm hand on Uicha¡¯s shoulder. "Before we ride off to battle, I have a confession," Johan said quietly. ¡°I think often of your mother.¡± "Oh," Uicha said, taken aback by the sudden sentimentality. "So do I." Some of the other hands snickered. Johan¡¯s mad grin returned, flaring across his face. "Not the way I do, boy," he said with a laugh. ¡°Those swaying hips and those silk robes just a bit too short!¡± He made a sucking noise with his mouth that made Uicha¡¯s stomach twist. ¡°Anyway.¡± And with that, his fingers dug into Uicha¡¯s shoulder. Johan easily hoisted him from his saddle and tossed him to the ground. Uicha hit the hard-packed dirt road with a crunch, the air flying from his lungs. He had the presence of mind to curl up and cover his head as the horses galloped around him. ¡°We¡¯ll sort out the property rights when I¡¯m done saving the town!¡± Johan shouted over his shoulder. The farmhands charged south. By the time Uicha regained his wind and dragged himself onto his knees, he could see only a dust cloud to mark their trail. Clipper had stayed close, staring down at Uicha sympathetically. ¡°Bastard¡­¡± Uicha said, the word tasting like bile. He felt a crushing sensation in his ribs and a loose, jangling pain in his shoulder. Despite that, he unsteadily climbed to his feet, leaning against Clipper for a moment to make sure nothing else hurt. If the Orvesians were going to annihilate him anyway, it didn¡¯t much matter what condition his body was in. It didn¡¯t much matter what happened to his mother¡¯s sword, either, but Uicha couldn¡¯t tolerate the disrespect from that fat-headed yokel Johan. This damned village had stolen so much from him already. With a groan, he climbed back atop Clipper and gave chase. Johan and the other farmhands outpaced him. When Uicha arrived at the southern edge of Ambergran, the confrontation with the Orvesians had already begun. The Witnesses weren¡¯t a new sight to Uicha ¨C they¡¯d been lurking around the edges of Ambergran for the last year ¨C but he pulled up short when he saw all of them massed. Some 300 Orvesian Witnesses stood in tight ranks across the burnt brown grass of the untended fields beyond Ambergran. In their black feathers and furs, they clogged the road south. There would be no escape from Ambergran in this direction. The Orvesians were quiet, almost somber, as they gazed as one in the direction of the village. One Witness stood apart from the rest. Like all the others, his head was shaved and patterned with stripes of ash. He was of average height but prodigiously muscled. He wore a loose fitting caftan, decorated in raven feathers and unbuttoned down the front, revealing the swirls and symbols of his Ink. The Orvesian had more Ink than Uicha had ever seen on an Ambergran champion. He suspected this must be the Quill who also fought as a champion, the one who had offered to accept volunteers for annihilation. Johan had apparently made that deduction, too, because he stood with Uicha¡¯s mother¡¯s sword pressed to the Orvesian¡¯s throat. Yet, Johan was the one screaming. Uicha dismounted and stumbled forward. Focused as he¡¯d been on the Orvesians, he hadn¡¯t immediately noticed the small crowd of villagers gathered by the roadside. They were mostly older, grandfathers and grandmothers, although Uicha saw Tabitha among them. So these were the ones who would accept the Orvesian bargain and sacrifice themselves so their children might survive. Tabitha noticed Uicha and sucked in a sharp breath. She tried to put herself in his way. ¡°Go home, Uicha,¡± the Quill said. ¡°I wasn¡¯t thinking before. You¡¯re so young. I never meant for you to¡ª¡± He brushed her aside. ¡°I¡¯m not here for that.¡± Uicha tried to walk straight and proud, but the pain in his ribs kept him hunched as he made a beeline for Johan and the Orvesian. The farmhands that had ridden out with Johan passed by Uicha, retreating in the other direction, none of them meeting his eye. They¡¯d already realized their folly and now wanted to get as far from here as possible. Meanwhile, Johan kept screaming. Sweat soaked the back of Johan¡¯s shirt. Veins popped on his neck and forearms. Uicha got close enough to see that the scimitar was stuck in the air just an inch from the Orvesian¡¯s neck. Try as he might, Johan couldn¡¯t bring the blade any closer. The gods protected the Orvesian and no amount of Johan¡¯s farmhand strength or foolhardy bluster would change that. The Orvesian¡¯s eyes flicked to Uicha and the boy stopped a few feet away. He smiled faintly, then moved his head to regard Johan as if only just noticing him. ¡°Too sad by ten to see a man waste what might be his last moments in futile struggle,¡± the Orvesian said. ¡°Here. Allow me.¡± The Orvesian sidled forward just enough to drag his own throat across the scimitar, drawing a thin line of blood. Johan bellowed with renewed frustration. Even now, he couldn¡¯t truly bring the blade any closer to a fatal cut. ¡°There, there,¡± said the Orvesian. ¡°Now you can at least say you drew the blood of Battar Crodd.¡± Uicha realized he had been stood there entranced. His mother had kept her blade surprisingly sharp and the edge shone in the midday sun. The sight of the Orvesian¡¯s blood dripping across the weapon disgusted him. He lunged forward and struck Johan on the elbow. The scimitar fell from his grip and sliced into the dirt between them. Johan rounded on him, eyes wide with fury. He cocked his fist back and Uicha braced himself because, unlike the Orvesian, Johan would be able to hurt him as badly as he liked. But then, the farmhand hesitated. ¡°Boy,¡± he growled, ¡°what have you done to yourself?¡± Uicha didn¡¯t understand the question and before he could muster a response, there was a shimmer in the air. A sizzling sensation like just before a stroke of lightning. A power so vast that it could be discerned only by how the rest of the world seemed to bend around it. Uicha and Johan both stumbled backward, although Battar Crodd remained unmoved. There was a god among them. ¡°Battar Crodd, you have wished for the annihilation of Ambergran.¡± To Uicha, the ge¡¯ema¡¯s voice was like the tolling of bells. He had no doubt everyone nearby could hear just as clearly as him. The god¡¯s shape itself was impossible to grasp, a bending of light that Uicha¡¯s mind couldn¡¯t interpret. The god was more presence than anything else, like the sensation of heat rising up from a kettle. ¡°Yes,¡± Crodd replied, unfazed by this encounter with the impossible. ¡°I would say a few words first.¡± ¡°You test our patience, Battar Crodd,¡± the god replied. Although the words sounded like a rebuke, Uicha thought he heard amusement in the sonorous voice, like a teacher forced to keep a straight face after a wisecrack from the class clown. The Orvesian held up his hands. Unnecessary, as all eyes were already on him, or at least the barely perceptible entity at his side. ¡°People of Ambergran, I have wished for your annihilation,¡± Crodd declared, like he was ordering stew at a tavern. ¡°The gods allow this. They could stop me, but they choose not to. You few who have gathered here have come as brave sacrifices or foolish warriors, hoping to have some say in your fate. If not for the rules and whims of these blasted gods, you might even be able to stop me. Why do we honor the games of these invisible tyrants? A question for you survivors to ponder, in the year to come.¡± ¡°Survivors?¡± It was Tabitha who spoke up, coming forward haltingly, half-bent toward Crodd and the god. ¡°You said¡­ you said that we could give ourselves over...¡± ¡°Alas, Tabitha, that wasn¡¯t part of my wish,¡± Crodd said. He tilted his head toward the god. ¡°And I¡¯m not allowed mercy now, am I? Can I choose the half who die and the half who live? Could I take back my wish entirely? Having seen the bravery of Ambergran, I¡¯ve actually changed my mind. Could we call the whole thing off?¡± ¡°No,¡± the god replied. ¡°We cannot.¡± ¡°Well,¡± Crodd said with a shrug. ¡°Get on with it then.¡± Suddenly, there was dirt in Uicha¡¯s eyes. No, not dirt. That was Johan. He caught only the briefest glimpse of the farmhand in his last moments close to whole. It was as if someone had created a replica of Johan¡¯s body made from fine grains of sand. The details were amazing, right down to the frozen look of confused horror. And then a gentle breeze blew across the field and Johan¡¯s head crumbled away. Tabitha wailed, keening and loud and endlessly. She¡¯d survived the coin flip. So had some of the others. And some were piles of dirt. But it wasn¡¯t just the people. Half the trees, half the crops, half the buildings ¨C half of all that once was Ambergran blew away on the wind. The day became prematurely dark. Uicha hadn¡¯t realized that his mouth was hanging open until he tasted bitter soot on his tongue. He wondered which of his neighbors that had been. A hand patted him on the shoulder. Battar Crodd. ¡°Yours, I assume,¡± the Orvesian said. Blinking, Uicha accepted his mother¡¯s scimitar from the Orvesian. He tried to turn away, but Battar held him. ¡°A timely trick you pulled,¡± Crodd said. ¡°What do you mean?¡± Uicha managed to ask. Crodd clapped his hand against the side of Uicha¡¯s neck. ¡°Your Ink is gone, young man. Dropped your allegiance to this place, just in the nick of time.¡± Uicha swatted Crodd¡¯s hand away without thinking. ¡°I didn¡¯t¡­ I didn¡¯t mean to.¡± ¡°Not many who can change what¡¯s in their hearts. Even fewer yet who can go completely blank.¡± Crodd smiled at him, interest gleaming in what Uicha only now noticed were the man¡¯s startling blue eyes. ¡°I wonder what the bastard gods will write upon you next.¡± 4. [Cortland] The Ageless King Confronted by the gods themselves, King Mudt of Orvesis was the first of the mortals to recover his wits. He spied King Hectore of Infinzel kneeling in awe only ten feet away. Though their cities had been at war for decades, Mudt had never actually seen Hectore Salvado in the flesh. He¡¯d heard rumors of the preposterous girth of Infinzel¡¯s king, the jiggling coward who hid behind the walls of his pyramidal city while Mudt scoured the land beyond with his warbands, leading from the front, as a king should. ¡°You are fatter than I imagined!¡± Mudt bellowed. He drew his knife and flung himself at the wet-eyed King of Infinzel, who barely had time to tumble backward onto his prodigious backside. And yet, Mudt found himself unable to strike what was a sure killing blow. His arm went numb as he stabbed against an invisible force that shielded King Hectore. If Mudt had been a more observant man, he would have noticed how King Hectore¡¯s eyes changed, fear hardening into something else as the fat king watched his lifelong nemesis try to knife him. ¡°There will be no killing between factions,¡± the ge¡¯ema declared. ¡°If you must do murder, King Mudt, we allow you only to murder your own. But be forewarned, at the end of a knife, they may not stay yours for long.¡± --Record of the First Granting and Dawning of the Second Age Lyus Crodd, Scribe of the Dead Kingdom of Orvesis
--DRAMATIS PERSONAE¡ª Cortland Finiron, Hammer Master of the 12th Renown, Kingdom of Infinzel, up before the dawn King Cizco Salvado, Quill of Infinzel, Kingdom of Infinzel, noticing some grays Emelia, Issa, and Benton, the family of the late Ben Tuarez
2 New Summer, 61 AW The pyramidal city of Infinzel, North Continent 298 days until the next Granting. The curtains were heavy and black, made from some fabric that swallowed light. The merchant who¡¯d given them to Cortland guaranteed him no more sleepless nights. And yet, Cortland had only slept a few hours the night before, tossing and turning, dreaming of a slender woman in the mask of a monkey, and often murdering her. So much for guarantees. He couldn¡¯t complain. The curtains had been free, like so much of the furniture in Cortland¡¯s apartment. Such were the perks of being one of Infinzel¡¯s champions. It was considered an honor to have a gift accepted by a champion and certainly a boon for business. Even his old mother¡¯s apartment was overstocked with ornate furniture that she never sat in. The offerings had tailed off these last few years, ever since Cortland had grown gruff in his refusals of the latest vase, or painting, or decorative hammer. That was fine with Cortland; he had everything he needed. Cortland thrust open the curtains to let in the damp morning air, scaring off the sparrows who nested on the window¡¯s ledge. His rooms were on the second highest tier of Infinzel, which put him nearly a mile above the ground. Only the king himself lived above Cortland, at the apex of the pyramidal city. The vast graystone structure straddled the Troldep River and stretched three miles corner to corner, the impenetrable edifice built and maintained by magic and engineering that Cortland would never comprehend. A manmade mountain with a city hidden inside. Although, lately, the city had been spilling out from the pyramid. Ancillary structures and thoroughfares, entire districts, were now wedged between the base of Infinzel and the ring-wall that encircled the city. These were cluttered neighborhoods that lacked the meticulous planning of the pyramid¡¯s interior, but people had to live somewhere. In his grandfather¡¯s day, such outbuildings would have been suicidal with Infinzel under near constant bombardment from the Orvesians. But the siege had broken sixty years ago and, in the decades since, the population of Infinzel had only swelled. Every year, it became more and more difficult to earn a place within the pyramid. Cortland¡¯s windows faced south, so he could see the curving path of the Troldep River where it flowed out from the lowest tier of Infinzel and into the unclaimed pastures beyond. Even more than a half-century removed from war, his people were still superstitious about the protection of the stone. If there wasn¡¯t space for everyone inside the pyramid, they would at least stay as close to the base as possible and certainly not venture beyond the ring-wall. Only in the district of Soldier¡¯s Rest had the ring-wall been smashed down and humanity spilled beyond. Cortland watched black smoke curl up from the dense thicket of rooftops. Probably a brothel on fire. There were always problems down in the Rest, but those were not problems for Cortland. He¡¯d been born on Infinzel¡¯s lowest tier, the son of a fisherwoman and a blacksmith, and he¡¯d risen all the way here. The city was quiet at this early hour, although the last revels of Wish Day must have only just guttered out. There would¡¯ve been a parade around the pyramid¡¯s base and parties on every tier. The feasts were paid for by the king¡¯s own treasury. All day, people would raise toasts to the champions and then spontaneously bend to kiss the stone floors and thank Infinzel for its protection. As Wish Day wore on, and the ale flowed free, some of those revelers wouldn¡¯t get back up. Others would stumble home to their apartments to kiss more than the walls. There were always a surfeit of babies born nine months after Wish Day. Cortland had partaken in none of that. Instead, he had spent the day with the widow Emelia Tuarez and the children. Well, they weren¡¯t exactly children anymore. Issa Firstdot-Tuarez was twenty-five now and a promising prospect in the Garrison. Benton Secondson-Tuarez, twenty and a man, was studying with the masons so that he could take over the family¡¯s stone-working concern when Emelia decided to retire. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Emelia,¡± Cortland had told Ben¡¯s widow. ¡°I should¡¯ve brought him back alive.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t ever let me hear you blaming yourself, Cortland Finiron,¡± Emelia had replied coolly. She flipped her braid of gray hair over her shoulder, her eyes dry. ¡°I told that old fool to take the wash. Get rid of that damned Ink. I practically begged him. Twenty-six Grantings, he did. More than anyone else. All his fellows dead or smart enough to retire. Oh, next year, next year, that was always his answer. Well, he ran out of next years, didn¡¯t he?¡± She put a hand on Cortland¡¯s clean shaven cheek. ¡°It was kind of you to never marry, Cortland. Kind to spare some poor woman this life.¡± ¡°Yeah,¡± Cortland agreed, his throat scratchy. ¡°Guess so.¡± Ben Tuarez was a beloved champion of Infinzel. There were already paintings of him going up throughout the pyramidal city and there was a grand funeral planned for the following week where the king himself would deliver the eulogy. But Ben¡¯s body wouldn¡¯t make it there. Emelia had wanted the internment done quietly and privately. So, while there were tearful toasts at festivities throughout the city and gaudy floats decorated in the man¡¯s honor, Cortland and Ben¡¯s family had taken a lift down to the foundation tier and lowered Ben¡¯s muslin-wrapped body into the soft stone of the mineral garden. Cortland¡¯s hands shook as he watched his friend and mentor sink into the bubbling gray soup. One day, his bones would fortify the very walls of Infinzel. Cortland couldn¡¯t help but imagine his own bones, breaking down, disintegrating beside Ben. He was embarrassed by the memory the next morning, but Cortland had been the only one to cry. The Tuarez family all had Ben¡¯s steely resolve. The dawn was getting closer. It was time to get on with things. Ben would want tradition honored. Cortland dressed quickly in plain pants and sleeves. He pulled on his boots that still smelled infuriatingly like cinnamon and strapped his war hammer to his hip. Finally, he maneuvered his squat bulk into the hallway, closing his door quietly because everyone on this tier was probably freshly asleep. The hallway was wide and stone, like all of Infinzel¡¯s interior chambers, although the walls were draped with luxurious tapestries to give the surroundings a warmer feel. Sconces glowed every few paces, their light low and orange, a magical approximation of firelight that never needed tending, provided to the city by the ageless King Cizco and his rune-work. The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. Down the hall, the floor grew sticky under Cortland¡¯s boots and the tang of sour cherries mixed with vomit filled the air. He came upon the broken wine bottle just a few paces from the door of Vitt Secondson-Salvado. Cortland glowered. He thought about pounding on the door and waking up the noble. It was Vitt¡¯s obligation as a champion to be a part of this tradition. But, in those early morning hours, Cortland couldn¡¯t quite summon the ire necessary to drag Vitt out of bed and lecture the younger man. And anyway, Cortland would have more say in the selection if Vitt wasn¡¯t around to fill his father¡¯s ear. A few doors further down the hall was Henry Blacksalve¡¯s room. There were no signs of a party gone on too long there, but he also wasn¡¯t awake to greet Cortland. Let him sleep, Cortland figured. He¡¯d not be able to rouse the drunken healer even if he wanted to. Cortland reached the staircase alone. It needled him a bit that he was the only one awake to respect the tradition, but part of him was also glad to be without the others. He was the senior champion, now that Ben was dead. The selection of Ben¡¯s replacement should fall to him. Well, him and the Quill. King Cizco Salvado. Cortland jogged up the stairs to the king¡¯s apartments. He could have taken the lift, but Cortland never turned down an opportunity for exercise. Small acts of endurance might one day be the difference between life and death on the island. There were never guards stationed outside the king¡¯s apartments. However, Cortland suspected he¡¯d tripped a dozen or so wards on his way up that would warn Cizco of his approach. The king¡¯s magic was the only defense he needed. Cizco had been a formidable champion ¨C he¡¯d reached the twentieth level of renown as an archmage, the records said. But, before Cortland was even born, it was decided that Cizco was too valuable to Infinzel to risk at the Granting. So, he became the Quill, took the wash, and spent decades rebuilding his power without Ink. The lights were low as Cortland entered the king¡¯s apartments, so low that he at first wondered if Cizco had forgotten the tradition, too. Cortland stood awkwardly in the entry salon, ignoring the silk draped loungers arrayed in a semi-circle around him. The doorway to the king¡¯s bedchambers was open, but Cortland couldn¡¯t exactly go clomping back there. A shadowy form stretched and turned over behind the bed curtains. A shapely young woman, no doubt. Had the king married again? Or was he currently in one of his periods of bachelorhood? Cortland put little effort into tracking the king¡¯s love life. He was mostly grateful that the king had stopped bothering with royal weddings and settled into a routine of private elopements. Cizco had appetites, loved making children but not raising them, and tired of his wives quickly. There was an archivist whose sole purpose was to keep track of the ever-expanding Salvado family tree. The last Cortland had heard, the king had fathered some forty children, not counting the bastards. They¡¯d interred Cizco¡¯s eldest son last year, in fact. He¡¯d died peacefully, in his sleep, at the age of seventy-one. There was an oft-repeated joke about how King Cizco was so grateful for his immortality that he intended to thank every woman in Infinzel personally. Cortland always found that joke strange because it was him and the other champions who fought every year for the king¡¯s everlasting life. Not that he wanted to go to bed with the king. As Cortland¡¯s sleep-deprived brain tripped down these bizarre pathways, the king strolled forth from the bedroom. Cizco Salvado looked not a day over thirty-five, even though he was over ninety. He was of average height, which made him considerably taller than Cortland, with a lean frame. His light brown hair was swept back into a loose ponytail, and his close-cropped beard lent him a certain rugged nobility. He was not a man who struggled to attract wives. He smiled as he approached Cortland, tucking a loose white shirt into his breeches. ¡°Just the two of us, then?¡± Cizco asked. There was no bowing or kneeling expected with King Cizco. That had been tough for Cortland to learn when he first became a champion, but now he simply met the king¡¯s eyes and grunted. ¡°Apparently we¡¯re the only ones who bothered waking up.¡± ¡°The secret, Finiron, is to not sleep to begin with.¡± The king breezed by Cortland. ¡°Let¡¯s hope they¡¯re more alert down in the garrison.¡± When Cortland stayed rooted in place, the king stopped in the doorway and raised an eyebrow. ¡°Are you coming?¡± ¡°You¡¯ll need the quill.¡± Cizco snorted and waved a hand through the air, muttering something that made Cortland¡¯s brain sizzle. A pocket dimension opened and Cizco produced the phoenix feather and golden inkwell. ¡°Your attention to detail never ceases to impress,¡± Cizco said. They took a lift down to Infinzel¡¯s base level. Cortland would¡¯ve preferred the stairs. Perhaps it wasn¡¯t just an opportunity to build his endurance, as Cortland always told himself, but an aversion to traveling the narrow stone tunnels on an enclosed platform. The lifts connected much of the pyramidal city top-to-bottom, with mechanized carts available to ferry people between districts on the same tier. Like the wall-sconces, they were another result of King Cizco¡¯s arcane pursuits, a mixture of rune-work and advanced engineering. ¡°I didn¡¯t see you at any of the parades yesterday,¡± Cizco remarked on the way down. ¡°No,¡± Cortland replied. ¡°Emelia wanted to get Ben in the stone, eh?¡± Cortland nodded. ¡°She¡¯s angry with his ghost. Thinks being shut of him will make her feel better.¡± ¡°Maybe it will.¡± Cizco paused. ¡°We haven¡¯t had a chance to talk since our return, have we? I¡¯m sorry about Ben. I¡¯m sure you know that. He was a good man and I know you two went back.¡± ¡°He brought me on,¡± Cortland said. ¡°I brought you on,¡± the king corrected. ¡°At Ben¡¯s insistence.¡± The lift door opened and they stepped into the stone honeycombs and archways that comprised the Garrison District. Before the war ended, this vast space would have housed Infinzel¡¯s standing army, which the archivists said numbered close to ten thousand men and women. Now, only a few hundred lived and trained in the Garrison. The soldiering life didn¡¯t offer the same appeal when the only enemies most of them could kill were each other. Sure, there were forays into the Underneath to get the blood pumping, and the occasional riot in Soldier¡¯s Rest that needed quelling, but most of these soldiers acted as simple peacekeepers throughout the pyramidal city. If they were lucky, they¡¯d get to accompany a merchant vessel downriver. Far from the glory of the old days, unless you were called upon to become a champion. Most of the Garrison was given leave to partake in the Wish Day celebrations. No one was expected to train this morning. But there was a story about the first Granting that King Hectore Salvado had chosen his final champion from the soldiers who trained before dawn. According to King Cizco, the story was apocryphal nonsense and his older brother had never gotten up before dawn even while the city was getting smashed by Orvesian catapults. But still, the tradition persisted. The air down here smelled like stale sweat and copper. Up ahead was the pit, an open field of sand where the members of the Garrison practiced their combat games. Cortland could hear the clang of steel and the rush of conjuring. He grinned. At least a handful were there to honor tradition. ¡°Do you see this, Finiron?" Cizco asked, stopping Cortland before he could rush forward. ¡°See what?¡± The king leaned down so Cortland could get a good look at his temples. "Grays," the king complained. "Those are new. Gods dammed Brokerage. Shaved a year off my life. Maybe more.¡± Cortland rubbed a hand over the short bristles on his own scalp. He was forty-one and had his own grays, not to mention the widow''s peak forming where his hairline receded. The man next to him was ninety-five years old and only now looked like he was tiptoeing into middle age. "Tragic, your highness," Cortland said flatly. Salvado resumed walking at a languid pace, suggesting to Cortland there was more he wanted to discuss. "I would very much like to know who paid them. Is this an old grudge made new again? Something to do with that Orvesian madness in the south? We haven¡¯t had issues with anyone these last few years, except when those fools at the Ministry wrap us up in something I¡¯m too kind to refuse. I¡¯d like to know who wants me killed." "Wasn¡¯t you they wanted dead," Cortland said. "How''s that?" "One of the assassins, I beat some information out of her..." Cortland paused, his neck getting hot at the thought of Laughing Monkey. "Well, more like she gave it up after we scuffled. Said the Brokerage was paid to do Ben specifically." "Ben? Who cared about Ben?" At a hard look from Cortland, King Cizco raised his hands. "I''m sorry, Cortland. Of course I didn''t mean it like that. I loved Ben, just like you did. He wasn''t one to make enemies. Tuarez is an old family, but they don''t have rivals.¡± ¡°You sure about that?¡± ¡°Noble rivalries breaking out across the districts, that¡¯s something for the playwrights to use in their tragedies of the war days. There¡¯s not so many noble families left and the ones still around want for nothing. They¡¯ve no need to go killing each other.¡± Cortland considered that. Tuarez was indeed one of the last noble names left in Infinzel. Over the last sixty years, many of the others had faded away or climbed into the ever-expanding Salvado family tree. ¡°Suppose it doesn¡¯t make sense,¡± Cortland said. ¡°If it was someone from Infinzel, they could¡¯ve just done it here.¡± ¡°Contracting with the Brokerage doesn¡¯t come cheap, either,¡± Cizco said. ¡°Someone he fought on Armistice, perhaps? He crossed swords with quite a few over the years. Some cold vengeance from business we¡¯ve all forgotten?¡± ¡°Could be,¡± Cortland said. ¡°I¡¯ve sent a request to the archivist for a list of his kills.¡± ¡°And you trust this assassin wasn¡¯t just playing games with you? Telling you something to send your spiraling?¡± Cortland bristled at that, though of course the thought had crossed his mind. "I intend to look into it." "Do," the king replied. "Although you''ll have a champion to bring up to speed. Maybe two." "Two?" The king sighed. "Blacksalve approached me during the feast last night. Said he wants to take the wash. Man was out of sorts." Cortland shook his head. "I won''t allow it. We can''t lose all that experience in one year. And I haven''t been impressed with the healers coming through the Garrison." "Well, it''s his choice," the king said gently. "I told him what it was like, though. To lose the Ink. Not an easy thing. Certainly won''t improve his mood." ¡°I¡¯ll talk to him.¡± At last, they reached the entrance to the training pit. Cizco put a hand on Cortland¡¯s shoulder and peered down at him, his tone growing harder. For a moment, Cortland thought he caught a glimpse of the tough old man living within the young fop¡¯s body. ¡°It¡¯s not just some gray hair, Cortland,¡± the king said. ¡°If my immortality is not maintained, I will weaken. And if I weaken¡­¡± The lights on the walls flickered. ¡°¡­then Infinzel weakens with me.¡± Cortland¡¯s jaw tightened. He was senior amongst the party now. Preserving the king and the city fell on his shoulders. ¡°We won¡¯t fail you.¡± ¡°A partial success isn¡¯t failure,¡± Cizco said, his tone lightening. ¡°Come. Let¡¯s see who answered the call.¡±
5. [Cortland] A Choice of Champions --DRAMATIS PERSONAE¡ª Cortland Finiron, Hammer Master of the 12th Renown, Kingdom of Infinzel, choosing a champion King Cizco Salvado, Quill of Infinzel, Kingdom of Infinzel, frequently dipping his quill An assortment of prospects of the Garrison
2 New Summer, 61 AW The pyramidal city of Infinzel, North Continent 298 days until the next Granting. King Cizco led the way onto a balcony overlooking the training ground. The domed room was cooler than the hallway outside, ventilated by ducts that connected to the tunnel network running beneath Infinzel. Cortland gazed down on the field of sand and stone where a decade ago he had gotten up before the dawn to prove he was ready to join Infinzel¡¯s party. Back then, it would¡¯ve been King Cizco and Ben Tuarez judging from this perch. ¡°Hammer is a workman¡¯s weapon,¡± Ben had said to him that day. ¡°That¡¯s right,¡± Cortland had replied. ¡°You won¡¯t find me shy about rolling up my sleeves, sir.¡± Shaking off the memory, Cortland studied the ten hopefuls on the sand. All of them wielded different weapons or practiced unique arts. Some sparred with each other, while others engaged with the targets and dummies arrayed around grounds. Cortland knew all of them by name. Champions partly oversaw the Garrison and so, at one point or another, he had trained with all of them. A ripple went through the men and women exerting themselves as they realized that the king and Cortland had arrived. None of them were so graceless as to look up and bow, but Cortland sensed movements sharpening and speed increasing. ¡°That¡¯s one of mine, isn¡¯t it?¡± Cizco asked. Cortland grunted. Of course, the king¡¯s eye had been drawn to the dead center of the field where Orryn es-Salvado shaved down a series of targets with his throwing knives. ¡°Your grandson, I think,¡± Cortland said. ¡°My grandson,¡± Cizco said, as if not quite believing it. ¡°Ah, right. One of Ferdy¡¯s children, isn¡¯t he?¡± ¡°You¡¯re asking me?¡± King Cizco shrugged. ¡°He¡¯s handy with those knives.¡± Even Cortland had to admit that Orryn¡¯s aim was impeccable and his movements precise. But, more interesting were how Orryn¡¯s knives returned to him, scuttling across the sand. Cizco leaned against the bannister. ¡°What¡¯s he got those knives on? Strings?¡± ¡°Rats,¡± Cortland replied. It was difficult to see from their position, but Cortland knew well enough that a small squadron of trained rats dragged the weapons back to their master. There were always one or two of the little beasts hidden away in Orryn¡¯s uniform. ¡°Rats?¡± The king shook his head. ¡°Someone should have bought that boy a dog.¡± ¡°His doting grandfather, maybe.¡± Cizco ignored the barb. ¡°I didn¡¯t know we trained animal bonding. Never studied that myself. You don¡¯t see it much outside Besaden.¡± ¡°Something of an accident that,¡± Cortland said. ¡°Ben and the quartermaster thought he was a bit jumped-up when he joined the Garrison¡­¡± ¡°A grandson of mine? Impossible.¡± ¡°They put him on rat duty,¡± Cortland continued. ¡°He was supposed to be cleaning them out of the weapons cellar but instead he discovered an affinity.¡± ¡°I grow less disgusted and more fascinated with every word.¡± Cizco glanced at the hammer on Cortland¡¯s hip. ¡°Would it relieve some of your tension to have some furry friends carry that smasher around for you?¡± Cortland flexed his fingers. ¡°My hammer comes back on its own. I have Ink for that.¡± ¡°It was a joke, Finiron,¡± Cizco said. ¡°Orryn¡¯s a gifted man in the Underneath,¡± Cortland admitted begrudgingly. ¡°Those rats have saved lives.¡± ¡°How gallant of them.¡± ¡°If Vitt were here, that¡¯s who he¡¯d vote for.¡± ¡°Yes, well, Vitt isn¡¯t here, is he?¡± ¡°Orryn would be a solid addition to the party. I could work with him.¡± ¡°You compliment him through your teeth.¡± ¡°Like you said, he¡¯s one of yours.¡± Orryn was indeed part of the royal bloodline, but he was an es-Salvado, which meant he carried no special distinction. He had not been elected First, Second, or Third among potential heirs. Cortland knew Orryn had thrown his support behind Vitt during the last kinsmete and was thus part of the reason why Vitt was now Secondson. The two were too close for Cortland¡¯s taste, but he didn¡¯t feel comfortable broaching that subject with the king. As if sensing his reluctance, Cizco groaned and turned to regard Cortland. ¡°Please, Finiron, spare me your attempts at tact. It¡¯s like a horse clomping around in slippers. I have scarves I know better than some of my grandchildren. Speak freely.¡± A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. ¡°He¡¯s vicious and of a dark temperament,¡± Cortland said. ¡°And that¡¯s not such a bad thing, except that Vitt and I have those roles well covered. Ben was our tactician. Our defender. We won¡¯t be able to replace his skills exactly, but we should at least vary our angles of attack.¡± The king nodded and gestured off to one side. ¡°Well, you know what they say about apples and trees.¡± Cortland winced as Cizco forced him to acknowledge the presence of Issa Firstdot-Tuarez. She hadn¡¯t mentioned trying to fill her father¡¯s role in the party when Cortland saw her yesterday, but then she¡¯d have been a fool to bring that up in front of her mother. Issa favored a tall shield, nearly as big as her, and a spear. They were the same armaments her father had used in his twenty-six Grantings. She moved well, advancing methodically into a barrage of rocks and bolts fired by a couple of other candidates. Her movements were so smooth that it took Cortland a moment to notice that she was stabbing some of the projectiles right out of the air. ¡°She¡¯s young still,¡± Cortland said. ¡°Young just means more time for the Ink to spread,¡± Cizco countered. ¡°She clearly knows what she¡¯s doing.¡± ¡°Her mother would kill me.¡± ¡°Now there¡¯s an honest reason,¡± Cizco said. ¡°I won¡¯t have her go into a Granting with revenge on her mind, anyway. Not a productive state of mind.¡± Cortland said nothing to that. He suspected he would have revenge on his mind for the entirety of the next year. ¡°Who else, then?¡± Cizco asked. ¡°Don¡¯t tell me you came down here without someone in mind.¡± ¡°It should be Arris, sir.¡± Unlike the others who demonstrated their skills with various weaponry, Arris Stonetender¡¯s hands were empty. She was a sturdily built middle-aged woman who kept her hair shorn, as befitted an elementalist of her particular specialty. As Cortland and Cizco turned to watch her, two snakes of fire sprang from her palms and scorched their way across the training ground. ¡°Arris, I see,¡± the king said. ¡°I¡¯ve always found her casting to lack a certain delicacy.¡± As if in response, Arris¡¯s twin fire snakes grew into a wall of flame nearly ten feet high. The heat of the inferno sent some of the other prospects into retreat, including Orryn and his rats. Although she¡¯d been a young woman then, Arris had demonstrated her skills alongside Cortland ten years ago when he¡¯d been elevated to the party. She had tried again three years later when Henry Blacksalve had been chosen, and again two years ago when Vitt Secondson-Salvado had been selected. Approaching forty now, she was the oldest prospect on the sand. Cortland suspected she¡¯d keep trying until the magic at last burned her out. ¡°I don¡¯t fuck with delicacy,¡± Cortland told the king. ¡°I want somebody that will burn a bastard alive.¡± Cizco nodded sympathetically. ¡°Do you understand anything about the state of the magical arts?¡± ¡°Polite of you to ask as if you don¡¯t know the answer.¡± ¡°There¡¯s a bargain that must be made to exert change on the world. Something must be given. Skilled practitioners can get away with giving less, but there¡¯s always a trade. A sacrifice. Arris wears the scars of her bargains. You¡¯ve seen them on her arms and I¡¯m sure that¡¯s only the beginning.¡± Cortland nodded. It was true, the woman¡¯s flesh was a ridged mess of pink welts and scar tissue. Cortland had always assumed those were simply the drawbacks of training with fire. ¡°The Ink changed things for those of us who practice the traditional way,¡± Cizco continued. ¡°The Ink asks nothing of its users. You call upon its power and the gods answer. There¡¯s no bargain. No cost.¡± ¡°Aside from the yearly fight to the death,¡± Cortland said. ¡°Fair enough,¡± Cizco said. ¡°Regardless, outside the Magelab, I am perhaps the only man left alive who knows how generous the gods used to be. Their bargains have grown harsher since the Ink. Arris has been under strain for so long, I wonder what¡¯s truly left of her.¡± Cortland considered all this for a moment, rubbing a hand across his stubbly cheek. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t letting her have the Ink be a mercy, then? Let her draw upon the Ink for power.¡± ¡°In a way, yes,¡± Cizco replied. ¡°Until the day she wants to take the wash. That might kill her.¡± Emelia Tuarez had told Cortland how often she begged Ben to retire, but in all their time together Ben had never once mentioned taking the wash to Cortland. ¡°Not all of us plan to quit one day,¡± Cortland said. ¡°Some of us understand better than others that we¡¯ll meet our end on the island.¡± Cizco breathed out through his nose. ¡°Heroic deaths do nothing for me, Finiron. I send you four there to survive so that Infinzel continues to work.¡± ¡°And Arris will help us survive more than any of these others,¡± Cortland replied. ¡°She¡¯s experienced. The Ink will probably reveal her to be at least fourth renown. I¡¯ve trained with her. So has Henry. The combination works. Ben was our shield, she can be our wall. Our wall of fire.¡± Cortland left out the other reason why he wanted to add Arris to the party. Like Cortland, she wasn¡¯t married and never had any children. Unlike Cortland, she had a woman that she was close with, but they were more off than on these days. Her family had been miners and they were mostly dead. In short, Arris didn¡¯t have many attachments. After yesterday, Cortland didn¡¯t think he could stomach comforting another grieving family. ¡°You make a convincing case,¡± Cizco said. ¡°Shall we make it official?¡± Cortland nodded, and leaned out over the railing. ¡°Arris Stonetender! Get up here!¡± The elementalist immediately extinguished her barricade of flames and jogged to the staircase that led to the overlook. Some of the oomph went out of the other prospects after Cortland¡¯s shout, although some of the first time applicants went on practicing in the hopes that Arris had been summoned to stand before King Cizco for reasons unrelated to the party. Orryn es-Salvado sheathed his knives and left the field entirely, trailed by his legion of rats. Cortland sensed Issa Firstdot-Suarez trying to catch his eye, but he pretended not to notice her. Arris arrived smelling of sweat and smoke. She dropped to a knee before King Cizco. ¡°Oh, stand up,¡± Cizco said. ¡°Otherwise, I¡¯ll have to crouch.¡± ¡°Arris Stonetender, to whom do you swear allegiance?¡± Cortland barked, reciting the words that Ben Tuarez had once said to him. There were tears in the woman¡¯s eyes. ¡°I swear allegiance to Infinzel, the pyramidal city, whose walls protect its loyal citizens, and to the ageless king whose power is our foundation." ¡°As the Quill of Infinzel, I put my faith in you, Arris Stonetender,¡± the king said. ¡°We have chosen you to wear the Ink. Do you stand before us with a full understanding of the responsibilities of this honor? Will you lay down your life for Infinzel?¡± ¡°I do,¡± Arris said. ¡°I will.¡± She was already unbuttoning the top of her shirt so that Cizco would have access to her neck. Beads of sweat formed on the pyramid symbol tattooed on her throat. That Ink wouldn¡¯t be lonely for long. ¡°Then let the Ink reveal what you are, and what you might yet become.¡± With that, Cizco drew the phoenix feather from its golden inkwell. Cortland remembered what it felt like when the Ink first touched his skin, the warm sensation as it spread across his neck and chest. He remembered his first encounter with the strange creature called the symbologist. He remembered how his mind had unlocked to the language of the gods, how he could read his Ink simply from feeling the marks against the skin. All of it happened so fast, from the first touch of the Quill to the gods guiding Cizco¡¯s hand as he sketched out the patterns. There was something intimate and profound in the process, even if it meant death in the end. He edged around Cizco¡¯s shoulder to watch how it happened with Arris. Oddly, the king¡¯s hand was still. And even though he had touched the quill to Arris¡¯ neck, it had left no mark. Her eyes did not go far away; she was not called to join the symbologist. There was nothing but a dry scratching sound. ¡°Ah,¡± Cizco said. ¡°That¡¯s unexpected.¡± ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± Cortland asked. ¡°The inkwell is dry.¡± Cizco stepped back awkwardly, returning the feather to its well. ¡°Truly sorry, Arris. This is something of a rarity. A blessing, supposedly, although it surely doesn¡¯t feel that way for you.¡± Arris was doing all she could to keep herself from breaking down at the feet of the king, but tears nonetheless streamed down her sooty cheeks. To come so close and have it snatched away¡­ Cortland felt for the woman. But, his prevailing feeling in that moment, was confusion. ¡°What do you mean it¡¯s dry?¡± he asked Cizco. ¡°We only have three in the party.¡± ¡°No, Cortland, we have four. Somewhere, out in the world, is our new champion,¡± the king replied. ¡°My inkwell is dry because the gods have chosen them for us.¡±
6. [Red Tide] Beautiful Music
¡°As the Quill, you shall choose four champions,¡± the gods explained. ¡°They will represent your people at the Granting. Mark them with the Ink. Once a champion is chosen, their Ink cannot be removed except by their choice or their death. Choose carefully, as the fate of your people will depend upon these four.¡± And though he couldn¡¯t remember doing it and would have never made such a pathetic, supplicating gesture of his own accord, an inkwell of gold and a phoenix¡¯s feather nonetheless appeared in the cupped hands of King Mudt. He snorted and glanced from side to side, observing how each of his fellow power brokers had been bestowed a similar quill. Mudt¡¯s lips curled back at the awestruck expression on the quivering King of Infinzel. He sneered at the pyramid shape that had appeared on King Hectore¡¯s neck. King Mudt wanted nothing more than an opportunity to carve that Ink from his rival¡¯s throat, a siege in miniature to satisfy him until the larger one was completed. Mudt puffed out his chest and turned to the gods. ¡°I am king of my people because my sword arm is strongest. I have washed my hands in the blood of my enemies and rested my ass upon a throne of their bones,¡± he declared. ¡°None shall fight in my stead.¡± ¡°You may take the Ink yourself,¡± the gods replied. ¡°Should you die, the people of Orvesis shall choose another to wield the Quill.¡± King Mudt snorted at the notion of his own death. At his throat, he had already been marked with the flying blackbird of Orvesis. Without hesitation, he dipped his quill in the pitch black Ink and touched the tip to the hollow in his neck beneath the bird¡¯s tail feathers. Thus, he found himself in the presence of the worm. --Record of the First Granting and Dawning of the Second Age Lyus Crodd, Scribe of the Dead Kingdom of Orvesis
--DRAMATIS PERSONAE¡ª Red Tide, an oca¡¯em woman of no renown but significant infamy, The Reef, imprisoned Turtle Jaw, Quill of The Reef, her warden
4 New Summer, 61 AW The Grotto, Central Sea 296 days until the next Granting. There were ways to drown a man that wouldn¡¯t cause the gods to intervene. Red Tide had discovered them herself. The harp never failed her. The sailors of Merchant¡¯s Bay passed down tales of the oca''em. Stories about how, if you heard an oca''em playing the harp and tracked her down, she would grant your heart''s desire. It was said that some of the high families of Merchant¡¯s Bay had risen to their present station because they¡¯d followed the music to fortune. In the age of wishes, that didn¡¯t seem so implausible. However, in Red Tide¡¯s experience, there weren¡¯t many sailors on the water with grand designs on power. Most of them just wanted to fuck. Red Tide assumed that was how the other legends about her people spread. Salacious dockside tavern tales that told how an oca¡¯em only strummed the harp when they were in heat. The music was part invitation and part challenge. The story went that if you could please an oca''em carnally, the reward was a sapphire the size of a lusty sailor''s member. Red Tide wondered how her people had developed such a reputation for generosity. Perhaps, it was because the land-walkers had taken so much from them, and so the dirty little fables soothed their conscience. They could tell themselves that they''d earned the spoils of the ocean with their fast wooden boats and perky little cocks. Although she was only twenty-three years old, Red Tide knew her history as well as she did the silly land-walkers legends. She knew that the Reef was once four times the size as it was now, with glittering palaces of coral that rose from the ocean¡¯s depths and plunged deep below the surface. She knew that the oca¡¯em had once controlled the sea, aided by their pet leviathans, and that no ship dared travel the waters without permission from the Queen of the Coralline Throne. But then the fourteen families of Merchant¡¯s Bay and their accomplices had wished that all away. There were still remnants of the old coral cities floating disconnected from what remained of the Reef. Grasping pillars of salt-hardened sponge, tangles of coral like brambles, embedded with the razor sharp teeth of the extinct leviathans. These fractured reefs were crystalline blue, like the water, virtually impossible to see with land-walker eyes. Red Tide knew just where to find the most hazardous of these places. So, because of the stories, the harp worked almost every time. Red Tide would float on her back with the instrument rested across her midsection, breasts just above the surface. She would stroke the strings with her long, sharp fingers. Her shiny gray skin shimmered as she rode the waves, the white patch over her right eye giving the impression that she was perpetually winking. When she played the harp, she wore her black hair loose and spread out and impractical rather than gathered in braids and beaded, because that was how the sailors liked it. Red Tide could play for hours. She made nice music, it turned out. A natural talent. She''d float just a bit off course along one of the Merchant Bay¡¯s shipping currents, those favorable tides that the merchants had wished into existence. They never considered what consequences altering the movement of the ocean might have. But, it was that lack of consideration for consequences that provided Red Tide her advantage. Red Tide could always feel when a spyglass picked her out. A prickliness went through her and, knowing she was being watched, she made sure to writhe with the music, as if her plucking had stirred something deep within her. The crew would pass around the spyglass and have an ogle. If they had an old salt on board, or a sensible woman with some authority, they would maintain course, enjoying the view without taking the bait. There were those amongst the fourteen merchant families who had heard of Red Tide''s tricks and were wise enough to stay away. But another boat filled with dumber land-walkers always turned up eventually. Most often, they''d drop anchor and send out a dinghy with a handful of sailors meant to check on her. They hailed her with shouts, admiring her music, complimenting her markings, asking where she hid the sapphires. She never encouraged them, just kept on with her playing. It had to be their decision to row their boat into the tangle of coral. The sailors had to choose to crack their hulls against the sharpened sea glass. They had to slip overboard via their own clumsy eagerness. They had to choose to dive in after their companions, or swim back for their home ship, only to be snagged by the hooks of coral. Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work! Red Tide just had to keep on playing and ignore them. The gods made it impossible to kill, but they did not compel assistance. She had watched a few dozen men cut to ribbons in the coral. Red Tide liked to sink down with them, as the blood from their wounds blossomed free like jellyfish. She swam next to them and watched, flaring her gills to breathe. Some tried to cling to her. She could see the fear in their eyes, the way they opened their mouths to the ocean in an attempt to plead with her. Red Tide learned from experience not to let them touch her. If she was forced to shrug off a drowning sailor, then suddenly they could breathe in the water as easily as she did. The gods intervened and they would be saved to warn their companions. It was a delicate thing, maneuvering around the gods. Red Tide had no illusions that her trickery would do any lasting damage to the merchant families. But she was young, and bored, and without a pod. These games were an amusing way to pass the time. At least until Captain Juseph Grice-Russi came upon her playing the harp. Red Tide would learn later that Juseph was a conducti between two of the merchant families. She didn¡¯t care about the politics of the fourteen families or their stupid system of arranged marriages. The land-walkers of Merchant¡¯s Bay were all the same to her. Thieves and despoilers. But this Juseph, he was particularly important as a genealogical bridge between two of the families and also particularly stupid. A dandy and a show-off. He hadn¡¯t sent out one of the lifeboats to capture Red Tide. He¡¯d steered his entire gellezza into her trap. A multilevel trading vessel with a crew of sixty-eight. Red Tide has balked at the size of the ship and swam away to avoid its bulk. She assumed the hidden coral would simply snap against the ship¡¯s armored hull. However, fate worked at odd angles. A few lances of coral penetrated between the plates of the ship¡¯s hull. They speared into the hold. The damage wasn¡¯t severe enough to sink the gellezza. An inconvenience, really. Under normal circumstances, the sailors could¡¯ve spent a few hours bailing and patching, and the ship would¡¯ve limped into port damaged and delayed, but mostly intact. However, Juseph Grice-Russi had been entrusted with a load of chanic. The substance had been discovered in the Gen¡¯bi desert a decade ago. A dark red and viscous sludge, some claimed that it was the blood of the ge¡¯chan themselves, the gods of magic, spilled at the end of the Final War. The fourteen families of Merchant¡¯s Bay were obsessed with the stuff. Red Tide had no reason to know any of this. In fact, she only learned of chanic¡¯s existence during her short and swift trial by the Queen of the Coralline Throne. It was highly unstable and required a warded compartment, which the coral lances had damaged. The chanic erupted in a column of fire, incinerating the ship and all aboard, and creating a blight of dark red magma atop the ocean. Red Tide¡¯s back had been badly burned as she tried to swim away. Red Tide did not regret the dead merchants. She would¡¯ve drowned each of them with her own hands, if the gods allowed it. But she did regret leaving a scar upon the ocean. Although that, too, she blamed upon her enemies, who had extracted what wasn¡¯t meant to be extracted and transported it across waters where they didn¡¯t belong. So, yes, Red Tide considered herself mostly innocent. The Queen of the Coralline Throne disagreed. She was a fearful old woman who hadn¡¯t been the queen when the Reef was first decimated, but who had risen into what was left of the oca¡¯em¡¯s power on a policy of appeasement. She was terribly worried what the merchants might do in retaliation. ¡°Fuck yourself,¡± had been Red Tide¡¯s defense, ¡°with the charred bones of merchant scum.¡± She was declared guilty of murder and despoilment and endangerment of the Reef. Her sentence was indefinite. Thus, Red Tide found herself in a cavern cell of the Grotto prison. A lifeless island northeast of the Reef, nothing could survive atop the Grotto¡¯s jagged surface. However, within the island was a honeycomb of tunnels, accessible by only one underwater entrance. The oca¡¯em had used the blasted place as a prison for centuries. By Red Tide¡¯s best guess, she¡¯d been stuck in this limestone cavern for almost a year. They kept her ankles shackled with a piece of metal that forced her feet apart, preventing her from hooking together the bones that protruded from the insides of every oca¡¯em¡¯s legs. Her people referred to the satisfying connection of those bones as ¡®making the tail.¡¯ Red Tide was fast and smooth in the water, but that knowledge provided little comfort. Her cell contained only a shallow bath, barely enough water to sink her ass into. She hadn¡¯t been fully submerged since they¡¯d stashed her here. Oca¡¯em went mad in the Grotto, unable to swim, subsisting on mushrooms, kept apart from the other prisoners. Red Tide had only held it together by remembering the faces of the land-walkers she¡¯d killed, and imagining the ones she¡¯d get next. And because the warden had taken an interest in her. The rusted gate of her cell screeched against stone. Speak of the devil. Turtle Jaw ducked his head to enter. The warden of the Grotto was a big man, with square features and study shoulders. Although he was twice her age, Red Tide wouldn¡¯t have minded if he¡¯d ever decided to take advantage of his position. But that wasn¡¯t really the thrust of Turtle Jaw¡¯s interest. His oca¡¯em name had vibrations of honor and nobility, unlike Red Tide whose oca¡¯em naming song mostly invoked the way she¡¯d ripped her way out of her mother. In the early days of her imprisonment, Turtle Jaw had begun taking the occasional meal in Red Tide¡¯s cell and she got the impression that he was as bored with this assignment as she was with being here. After a year of that, she almost considered the warden her friend. ¡°Are you here to set me free at last?¡± Red Tide asked. ¡°Ready to swim away together? Proper outlaws¡­?¡± She trailed off, tilting her head. She made similar jokes whenever Turtle Jaw showed up, but this time he¡¯d come without food. He carried something else instead. ¡°In a way, I am here for that,¡± Turtle Jaw said solemnly. ¡°Yes.¡± Red Tide stood up, the stone cool against her scarred back. "Clemency for me already, Turtle Jaw?" "I''d hardly call it that, Red.¡± ¡°That¡¯s what the queen says, isn¡¯t it?¡± ¡°Do I look like the queen to you?¡± Red Tide swallowed. She eyed the gold inkwell and its feather, held delicately in Turtle Jaw¡¯s thick hands. Her stomach turned over. Was that excitement or dread? ¡°I''m here to make you the offer,¡± he said. ¡°You know how it works?" "I know other places see that gunk in your hands like an honor,¡± she replied. ¡°Merchant land-walkers spend fortunes to get their pink sons and daughters a little color. Not how it works for us, though, is it?" "Maybe back in the day. Before my time." Red Tide rubbed a hand over her tight braids. ¡°I didn¡¯t even realize the year had changed.¡± ¡°Four days gone.¡± ¡°How many came back from the last one?¡± "None came back. All killed." "And the one before that?" "All killed." "And...?" Turtle Jaw sighed. "We haven''t had a survivor going on ten years, alright? And she got herself killed the year after." Red Tide scoffed. ¡°Some dumb bitch went back? I thought this was supposed to be a one-time deal.¡± ¡°She caught a case of patriotism,¡± Turtle Jaw said. ¡°Thought she was going to restore the Reef¡¯s dominion over the sea.¡± ¡°Yeah? That what you wished for?¡± Turtle Jaw grimaced for a moment, but quickly made his expression neutral. ¡°The Queen of the Coralline¡¯s Throne¡¯s instruction is that we wish only for a bountiful harvest.¡± Red Tide gathered spit in her mouth with a sucking noise, then let it dribble out in a long string onto the cavern floor. ¡°Dumbest shit I ever heard.¡± ¡°The Ministry of Sulk¡ª¡± ¡°Who the fuck are they?¡± Turtle Jaw rolled his eyes. ¡°Knights from the southern continent. They say anyone who wishes for only a bountiful harvest fall under their protection and should be left alone by the great powers.¡± ¡°So how come we keep getting killed?¡± ¡°Because the merchants like to hunt us,¡± Turtle Jaw said flatly. ¡°Because the queen agreed to only send our worst, so it¡¯s no loss to the Reef when they don¡¯t come back.¡± ¡°You wouldn¡¯t consider me a loss, Turtle Jaw?¡± The warden looked away. ¡°I¡¯ll miss your company either way. You don¡¯t have to go.¡± He turned as if to leave. ¡°There are others I¡¯m supposed to ask¡­¡± Red Tide hopped across the cavern as fast as her manacled legs could carry her. She stood in front of Turtle Jaw and lifted her chin, slapping the Ink symbol of a dolphin that marked her allegiance to the Reef. ¡°Don¡¯t be hasty now.¡± ¡°This is the offer, let me lay it out right,¡± Turtle Jaw intoned. ¡°You will take the Ink and represent the Reef at the next Granting. If you survive, you will be given clemency for your crimes. If you want, you can remove the Ink then. However, you¡¯ll probably be dead.¡± ¡°Probably isn¡¯t definitely,¡± Red Tide said. ¡°I accept.¡± Turtle Jaw smiled. Red Tide could tell that he was happy she¡¯d accepted, and not because he wanted to free up her cell. There were some out in the Reef who enjoyed the stories of Red Tide and her harp. She suspected Turtle Jaw might be one of them. Turtle Jaw dipped his quill in the Ink and touched it lightly to Red Tide¡¯s chest. ¡°You¡¯re about to have a very strange experience,¡± he said. She felt a whisper against her skin. The gods spoke to her through the Ink. You have been chosen as a champion, Red Tide, the voice said. Do you desire a consultation with the symbologist? ¡°Huh?¡± she replied. ¡°Say yes,¡± Turtle Jaw said. Red Tide grinned. Certain death or not, pretty soon she¡¯d be free. Out in the water again. Once there, anything could happen. ¡°Fuck yes,¡± she declared. And everything went black as Ink.
7. [Red Tide] The Symbologist
--DRAMATIS PERSONAE¡ª Red Tide, an [undecided] of [unknown] renown, The Reef, paroled for bad behavior The Symbologist, attendant of the gods, keeper of the symbols, a worm Turtle Jaw, Quill of The Reef, putting together a squad
4 New Summer, 61 AW Armistice Island, Central Sea 296 days until the next Granting. Without understanding how she came to be there, Red Tide found herself submerged in sea water. The depths were dark and peaceful, the temperature as warm as the southern currents. Red Tide''s entire being uncoiled, the kinks of a year''s imprisonment smoothed out in the weightless plunge. She sensed something vast moving beneath her, a shadowy behemoth with a sea song that made her bones vibrate and her gills stretch taut. Ge''oca. Gods of the sea. They honored her. And then, the waters receded and so did Red Tide''s fierce grin. Grimacing as she was forced to walk instead of swim, she waded onto a white sand beach. Looking down at her ankles, she noticed that her manacles were gone. She couldn¡¯t remember Turtle Jaw taking them off. She only recalled the touch of his quill and some slithering voice inside her head. ¡°Did he drug me?¡± Red Tide asked aloud. She smirked. ¡°A rascal, after all.¡± ¡°Your Quill¡¯s intentions are pure,¡± a raspy voice answered. ¡°Although I sense that disappoints you.¡± Up ahead, a tattered creature waited for her, seated behind an ornate desk that had been plunked down right at the edge of the surf. ¡°Greetings, Red Tide of the Reef,¡± the thing said in a voice that sounded like shuffling papers. ¡°I am the symbologist.¡± Red Tide eyed the little beast. The thing reminded her of a sea slug that had somehow burrowed its way into a pile of natty brown fabric. There were stubby legs that dangled off its chair and stubby arms that terminated in ten-fingered hands and then maybe more limbs writhing like a millipede beneath its shabby cloak. The symbologist kept its hood up, but Red Tide got the sense that its face was flat and featureless. Of course, Red Tide immediately assessed the creature for weak points and soft spots. They weren¡¯t hard to find. The symbologist looked to be all underbelly. Easy enough to squash, although Red Tide didn¡¯t think there would be a need for that. ¡°The fuck are you supposed to be?¡± Red Tide asked. ¡°As I said, I am the symbologist,¡± the creature answered through a pulsing patch of peach-colored flesh where a mouth might conceivably fit. Red Tide made a face. ¡°That don''t answer my question.¡± ¡°Ah. I am a creation of the gods. I exist solely to provide guidance on the use of your Ink.¡± ¡°Cruel,¡± Red Tide said. ¡°Cruel of them to make you look like that.¡± ¡°I believe the goal was to achieve a nonthreatening appearance that would also be sufficiently alienating to prevent any attempts at fraternization,¡± the symbologist replied. ¡°Now, shall we begin?¡± ¡°Begin what?¡± ¡°Your marking.¡± Red Tide squinted. Instead of answering, she did a slow turn to take in her surroundings. The scenery beyond the symbologist and its desk seemed oddly blurry. The beach trailed off into a horizon that might have been trees or mighty have been hills, like one of those abstract paintings. ¡°What island is this?¡± Red Tide asked. ¡°How far are we from the Grotto?¡± ¡°Your body hasn''t left the Grotto. I am communicating with you telepathically.¡± ¡°Nah.¡± Red Tide shook her head. ¡°I swam here.¡± ¡°That was an intervention from your gods.¡± Red Tide heard something strange enter the creature''s dry tone - fear, perhaps, or awe. ¡°They favor you and wished to reward you. Apparently, you have sent them many bodies.¡± Red Tide puffed out her chest and turned to speak to the ocean. ¡°More to come on that. I promise.¡± ¡°As for the island, we are on an approximation of Armistice,¡± the symbologist continued. ¡°Although the island is never the same from one Granting to the next. You shall glean no advantage from your present surroundings.¡± ¡°So this is where it happens?¡± Red Tide crouched to drag her fingers through the sand. She expected to maybe unearth some bones, but there weren¡¯t even shells or stones. Too pure to be the real thing. ¡°Pretty enough place to die, I guess.¡± ¡°Indeed. Shall we begin?¡± The symbologist asked again. ¡°If you do not wish to choose your Ink, I am capable of doing it for you.¡± ¡°You got somewhere else to be, slug? My small talk not holding your attention?¡± Red Tide plunked backward into the sand and crisscrossed her legs, like she remembered from her two years of schooling. ¡°Fine. How does this work?¡± When Red Tide looked up, she found a wall had appeared behind the symbologist. Overlapping stone plates the size of shields rose up from the sand. Each stone was perfectly round and smooth, clean, the color of pearl. As the symbologist began to speak, dark Ink spread across the stones. Unfamiliar runes formed, slashes and twists and whorls, yet somehow Red Tide could understand them. ¡°First, you must choose your class,¡± the symbologist explained. ¡°This will form the centerpiece of your Ink and will provide abilities that complement your existing skills. I have chosen three options that suit you.¡± Red Tide cocked her head. ¡°What do you know about my skills, slug?¡± ¡°If you are displeased with my choices, we can discuss further options,¡± the symbologist replied. ¡°Well, let me read them, at least, before you go crying through your skin.¡± Three runes had become more prominent on the plates behind the symbologist. They meant nothing to Red Tide ¨C slashes and squiggles that made even less sense than what the land-walkers used for language ¨C and yet she could interpret their meaning exactly. There was much contained in their swipes and spirals. [Skulker] ¨C You are adept at hiding and striking from advantageous positions. You excel at close-fighting with bladed weapons. Your agility and speed are above average. [Hunter] ¨C You are capable of tracking your prey through supernatural means. You are highly observant and aware of your surroundings. You are a versatile fighter capable of adapting to an array of weapons. [Enchantress] ¨C You are an adept manipulator of human emotions. You are highly observant and capable of picking up signals that others might not. You inflict harm in unique and subtle ways. Red Tide clinked her fingernails against her teeth. ¡°All three,¡± she said. ¡°I will take all three, slug.¡± ¡°You may only choose one,¡± the symbologist replied. ¡°Although, if there are elements of an unchosen class that interest you, they can likely be achieved through further Ink.¡± ¡°Rules, rules, rules,¡± Red Tide said, waving her hand. ¡°Your game is too complicated.¡± When the symbologist made no reply, she examined the runes once again. Although she still hadn¡¯t quite come to terms with her new role as a champion, Red Tide at least understood that when she next visited the material world version of this island she would be hunted for sport by land-walkers who saw her as barely more than an animal. The objective of the Reef¡¯s party wasn¡¯t to secure a wish; the Queen of the Coralline Throne was too cowardly for that. They were criminals sent off to die. Red Tide¡¯s goal would simply be to survive. Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation. Since that was the case, Red Tide didn¡¯t picture herself doing much hunting of her own. [Hunter] was out. [Skulker] seemed like the practical choice, but the meaning within the symbol irritated Red Tide. Hiding and sneaking and dodging about, like a minnow flitting through the teeth of a shark. [Enchantress], meanwhile, felt like the right choice but not necessarily the smart one. What was she going to do? Talk some merchant duelist out of flaying her? Red Tide sighed. ¡°What do most people pick, slug?¡± ¡°No two champions are the same,¡± the symbologist replied. ¡°What were the last four champions that represented the Reef? Can you tell me that?¡± ¡°A healer, a spear master, and two skulkers.¡± Red Tide snorted. ¡°Guess they didn¡¯t skulk hard enough.¡± She paused. ¡°Does the island see a lot of enchantresses, slug?¡± ¡°There is only one other, at present,¡± the symbologist replied. ¡°Huh.¡± Now, there was an advantage. Give the merchants something that they hadn¡¯t dealt with before. ¡°Fine. I¡¯ll take that one.¡± ¡°Enchantress,¡± the symbologist confirmed. ¡°We move on.¡± The other runes faded away while the one for Enchantress shifted to a more central position on the wall. As Red Tide watched, dozens of new runes spread out in rings from the Enchantress symbol. The symbols in the three rings closest to the central Enchantress marking were all in vivid black Ink, while the symbols on the further rings were faded. [Sleep], [Hypnotic Object], [Poisonous], [Cutting Words], [Command], [Fear], [Charm Beast], -- Red Tide scanned the tiles hungrily, reading power in every slash and swirl. ¡°Based on your existing prowess, the gods have deemed you to be of the third renown,¡± the symbologist said. ¡°Thus, you may choose three additional pieces of Ink.¡± Red Tide noticed two smaller constellations of symbols that had appeared at angles to the array of Enchantress choices. The central symbol of the first read [Mortal] while the other was the same dolphin symbol that every [Oca¡¯em] wore on their throat. She jerked her chin in that direction. ¡°What are those ones?¡± ¡°The first are abilities available to every champion,¡± the symbologist explained. ¡°The others are abilities unique to the oca¡¯em.¡± The options surrounding the [Mortal] symbol seemed simple enough. Choices like [Strength+], [Speed+], and [Endurance+] that would augment her body¡¯s natural abilities, and then more esoteric concepts like [Focus+], [Will+], and [Insight+] that Red Tide couldn¡¯t imagine finding use for in a fight to the death. There seemed to be no end of possible ways to improve the mortal body. If Red Tide had wanted to be taller, she was sure the symbologist had a tile for that. The [Oca¡¯em] options interested her more. These were the ways of her people; the magic of the sea sages, many of whom had been killed over the years and their knowledge lost as the Reef shriveled to its current size. [Water Knife], [Control Liquid], [Coral Tender] ¨C her eyes flicked across each of these, but settled eventually on one faded symbol in particular. [Summon Leviathan] ¨C You summon a leviathan to your aid. ¡°The leviathans are all dead,¡± Red Tide said. ¡°Through the Ink, many things are possible,¡± the symbologist answered. Red Tide¡¯s eyes widened as she imagined riding one of the great hulks of the sea, clinging to the spikes across her pet leviathan¡¯s back as it gobbled her enemies down whole. She shivered with delight. ¡°I choose that one,¡± she said. ¡°Unfortunately, no,¡± the symbologist replied. ¡°That ability is above your present renown, as are all the faded symbols you see.¡± ¡°Why even put them up there?¡± Red Tide snapped. ¡°To allow you to plan your future Ink.¡± Future Ink. Red Tide snorted. Maybe land-walker champions had that luxury, but Red Tide¡¯s participation was essentially a death sentence. ¡°What renown do I have to get to?¡± ¡°Fifteen.¡± Red Tide slapped the sand. ¡°How am I supposed to do that, slug?¡± ¡°You may earn renown by performing well in the Granting. The gods also provide opportunities in the time between. Your Quill will know more.¡± The symbologist flicked its little hand toward the wall. ¡°If beastly allies interest you, perhaps you might begin with [Summon Sharks] or [Summon Seahorse]? These skills are available to you.¡± ¡°You dangle leviathans in front of me and then try to give me a seahorse?¡± Red Tide¡¯s gaze shifted away from the wall of symbols, to the fuzzy details of the island beyond. ¡°What good is all this ocean shit, anyway? The gods make us fight the land-walkers in the dirt.¡± ¡°The gods show no favoritism,¡± the symbologist replied. ¡°There is always water available in each version of the island.¡± Red Tide rolled her eyes, imagining the tiny pool of water she¡¯d had for comfort in her Grotto cell. ¡°I bet.¡± She took another look at the [Oca¡¯em] options, specifically [Coral Tender] which read, you may create and manipulate segments of coral. Before Red Tide was born, the Reef used to have dozens of Coral Tenders who saw to its growth and expansion. Now, with the merchant families demanding the Reef stay within certain boundaries and enforcing those restrictions through wishes, most of the coral tenders had disappeared or died off. ¡°And what would I do with that?¡± Red Tide asked aloud. ¡°You says there¡¯s water on this island, but is there coral? Useless.¡± ¡°Perhaps, a demonstration¡­¡± the symbologist said. Red Tide made a noise of disgust as the symbologist shuffled out from behind its desk with the sound of dry elbows rubbing together. The creature dug around in the billowing sleeves of its robe, then sprinkled glittering shards of purple coral into the sand at its feet. ¡°What else are you hiding in there?¡± Red Tide asked with a raised eyebrow. ¡°A bit of everything,¡± the symbologist replied. ¡°Now, observe.¡± Each chunk of coral was small enough to fit in Red Tide¡¯s palm but, as she watched, with a noise like cracking ice the coral blossomed. The coral coiled together into a solid shin-high wall. A moment later, a spike shot forth from the coral, stopping just short of where Red Tide¡¯s eye would¡¯ve been had she not rolled backward in the sand. Laughing, Red Tide brushed her fingers against the sharpened point of coral. ¡°I could do that?¡± As Red Tide toyed with the coral, the symbologist scuttled back to its desk. ¡°With practice. Just as others bring their weapons, you would bring coral with you to the island.¡± Red Tide grinned. Of course the symbologist would nudge her in this direction. Even this beastly little bookkeeper knew of her reputation as a hunter of sailors. She was already imagining the grisly possibilities of growing coral of her own design. ¡°I¡¯ll take it,¡± Red Tide said. ¡°Done. Two abilities remain unchosen.¡± Her attention drifted back to the rings of [Enchantress] abilities. Now, she truly understood what the gods had to offer. They would make her a more efficient killer. She would focus on what she was already best at. [Hypnotic Object] ¨C You possess an object capable of bending minds to your will. The strong-willed may resist and any hypnosis will be broken should contact with the object cease. ¡°Do I choose the object?¡± Red Tide asked. ¡°Indeed. So long as you or your Quill are capable of acquiring it.¡± ¡°A harp,¡± Red Tide said. ¡°I want it to be a harp.¡± ¡°Done,¡± the symbologist replied. ¡°And your final piece?¡± Red Tide stepped over the low coral wall and approached the symbologist¡¯s desk with her hands on her hips. She took her time studying the various Ink runes and the symbologist did not press her. ¡°That one,¡± she said finally, pointing. ¡°For when things get close.¡± ¡°Done,¡± the symbologist said. ¡°Best of luck to you in the Granting, Red Tide of the Reef.¡± ¡°Thank you, slu¡ª¡± Red Tide blinked her eyes and the world was suddenly much darker and the air far damper. She was returned to her cell in the Grotto with Turtle Jaw standing over her, the tip of his quill pressed just below her collar. All the aches of a year in captivity returned to her and she winced at the cold manacles chafing her ankles. Only a few seconds had passed since she¡¯d agreed to visit the symbologist. ¡°Done already?¡± Turtle Jaw asked. His hand jerked into motion, not entirely under his control. The quill dragged across Red Tide¡¯s skin, sketching out the choices she had made with the symbologist. While Turtle Jaw made the outline himself, the Ink moved across Red Tide¡¯s skin of its own volition, filling in shapes and adding delicate inflections to the runes. A complicated nest of swirls and angles soon took shape across Red Tide¡¯s sternum. She could feel the meaning inside herself, knew instinctively what power the Ink granted her. Turtle Jaw could read the symbols, too, and he flinched back ever so slightly as the final marking took shape. [Poisonous] ¨C You may secrete a deadly poison from your skin at will. She tilted her chin down to get a look at the final result.
Red Tide The Reef 3rd Renown
Awareness+
Enchantress Coral Tender
Charm+
Poisonous Hypnotic Object
Smiling, Red Tide dragged her nails across Turtle Jaw¡¯s cheek. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, that poison¡¯s not for you,¡± she said. ¡°So long as you get me one beautiful fucking harp.¡±
8. [Uicha] Ashes and Investments
King Mudt returned from his consultation with the symbologist snarling and spitting, raging at the gods even as his hand sketched fresh designs of power across his own chest. ¡°Your rancid worm says I¡¯m only the fifth renown!¡± King Mudt bellowed. ¡°There are many numbers higher but only four lower! How can this be when I stand above so many?¡± ¡°No mortal reaches beyond the fifth renown without our intervention,¡± the ge¡¯ema answered. ¡°You should be proud, King Mudt. We have gazed upon your vast army and found only one other worthy of the fifth renown.¡± All had turned to watch King Mudt draw upon his chest and this attention mollified him for a time. Mudt¡¯s hand moved in broad strokes and swipes beneath the blackbird of Orvesis, movements he could barely control. He did not know this language, this writing of the gods, and could hardly even see what he was doing. Yet, he understood. They all understood the meaning of the symbols. King Mudt had spent his life distrustful of magic and those who could wield it. However, he had to admit that this felt right and good. The Ink spread in great whorls and twists, power like he¡¯d never known before. He was marked as a Blade Master. The others gathered could read the Ink and they saw the boons Mudt had chosen ¨C strength and endurance beyond human possibility, a body that would heal itself, and a blade that no armor could thwart. King Mudt and his legions already struck fear across the north and south continents. While the legions now seemed useless under the gods¡¯ new laws, King Mudt was more formidable than ever. ¡°The Ink shows what you are,¡± the gods said. ¡°And it will aid those who wear it in becoming more.¡± More. King Mudt liked the sound of that. He spun to face the King of Infinzel, whose brow was still damp from when Mudt had tried to murder him, and who now studied Mudt¡¯s complicated Ink with something like envy. Mudt stretched out his arms invitingly. ¡°Come, pig bitch,¡± said the great King Mudt to his corpulent rival. ¡°Mark yourself as well so we might all see what you¡¯re made of, and so the two of us can one day meet on this game board of the gods.¡± And King Hectore cleared his throat, noting how all eyes were now upon him. ¡°No, thank you,¡± he said. ¡°I don¡¯t think that I will.¡± --Record of the First Granting and Dawning of the Second Age Lyus Crodd, Scribe of the Dead Kingdom of Orvesis
¡ªDRAMATIS PERSONAE¡ª Uicha de Orak, a young man of no renown or loyalty, leaving tomorrow Battar Crodd, Death Knight of the 13th Renown and Quill of the Orvesian Witnesses, he only wants to help
8 New Summer, 61 AW. The village of Ambergran, North Continent 292 days until the next Granting. Every day for a week, Uicha told himself that he would leave in the morning. And every morning, he found himself unable to make good on his promise from the night before. The farmhouse still stood. So did the tree that Uicha had buried his parents beneath. The wheat fields were intact, too. Nothing that belonged to Uicha had been annihilated. He''d won every coin flip. Or else, the blank space on his neck that declared him without allegiance had protected his property from the Orvesian wish. It was Ambergran¡¯s destruction they¡¯d wished for, after all, and he was no longer considered part of Ambergran. Uicha thought that the birds were quieter now. Once upon a time, his father had referred to their land as serene. Now, the silence felt heavy and grim. At night, Uicha found himself flinching when the floorboards creaked under his feet. How did the gods decide what belonged to him and what belonged to Ambergran? Or had he simply gotten lucky? And why would the gods kill the birds? Surely, the birds couldn''t tell the difference between Ambergran and Orvesis. Just like Uicha, they didn¡¯t have any allegiance. Maybe the birds weren¡¯t dead at all. Maybe, unlike Uicha, they¡¯d simply had the good sense to migrate from this half-dead village. Uicha pondered these questions as he walked the fields. He wore his mother''s sword now, the scimitar sheathed and slung over his shoulder. His ribs were still sore from when Johan had knocked him off his horse, but the bruises were fading. There was very little green left on the wheat stalks. Brown and dry meant it was time for harvesting. None of the hands had come back after the wish. Uicha had seen Johan disintegrate up close. He couldn¡¯t be sure if the rest were dead or just run off. Either way, it would be pointless to go looking. There wouldn''t be a harvest this year. Alone on the farm, Uicha could pretend that nothing had even happened. He let himself imagine that his parents had just gone into the village. Everyone would be back soon. Except they wouldn¡¯t. Reminders of the old Ambergran were carried in on the wind. Bits of particulate that used to be his neighbors. Uicha started to thoroughly brush himself off before going inside. He kept the windows shut at all times. What was keeping him there? He could pack a small bag and leave with Clipper, follow the river road north to Infinzel or head southeast to Ruchet. He knew where his parents hid their strongbox, behind a false wall in their bedroom closet. He hadn¡¯t been able to bring himself to open it yet. Even though it was his inheritance, doing so felt like robbery. Uicha understood that he¡¯d been in a bad state after his parents died. A griever¡¯s depression. But the lack of inertia he now felt was different from the dark cloud that had pressed down on him through those months. He felt as if there was something unfinished here in Ambergran. Despite his lack of connection to the town, there was something still that hooked him. Something he needed to witness. He winced at the word. Although he felt stupid doing it, Uicha started practicing with his mother''s sword in the yard. He''d never had any lessons in swordsmanship. Uicha tried to imitate the slashes and footwork he''d caught glimpses of over the years. Some of it he''d picked up from watching the champions of Ambergran train. Other maneuvers he copied from the stage-fighting of an acting troupe that came through town every Harvesend. He gritted his teeth through the jangling pain in his ribs. He dueled invisible enemies until his back was damp with sweat and his arms were sore. If the wind picked up and the air began to taste bitter and burnt, he hustled inside. It passed the time, at least. At night, by candlelight, he began to go through his parents'' papers. He found the deed to the land and the records of the last two decades of harvests. The farm was quite profitable, it turned out. More profitable than Uicha thought possible, actually, even after accounting for the inflated salaries his father paid Johan and the other hands. Uicha suspected that overpaying had been his father¡¯s way of taking the sting off working for a family from the Flamingo Islands. Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website. Amongst the papers, Uicha found maps. So many maps. Some of them were fine things that depicted the entirety of Emza, and Uicha wondered whether his parents had commissioned these or stolen them. Others were maps drawn in his father''s own steady hand. A hobby that he''d taken up and set aside. It appeared he''d been halfway through an overly detailed survey of their farmland. Circles marked the map, like his father had been planning to dig a well but couldn¡¯t settle on the right location. And then there were the letters. Although he wanted to read them all at once, Uicha forced himself to go through them slowly. They were his only window into his parents¡¯ lives. Most of them were addressed to Uicha''s father, sent all the way from the Flamingo Islands by a man named Bric. There were references to Uicha in the letters. Uicha sounds like a promising boy, said one. Tell him to keep his chin up, said another. Uicha wished that he could''ve known what his father had written about him to this stranger. I would welcome the three of you back, said another letter. I would love to go sailing with my grandson, before I''m too old to work the knots. Bric de Orak of the Flamingo Islands. His father''s father. A man who had never been mentioned, but existed here in ink and parchment. Uicha sat back, his heart beating faster. He had a grandfather. Perhaps this was the discovery he¡¯d been waiting around for. He returned to the maps. What was the quickest way to the Flamingo Islands? He could travel to Ruchet and find a ship to take him, although he¡¯d heard the town was rough and the waters troubled by dangers born from the ruins of Orvesis. There were dangers born from Orvesis here, though. How bad could Ruchet really be? Uicha had never even been outside of Ambergran. It was a plan, at least. Somewhere to go. The night he settled on finding his grandfather, Uicha at last rifled through his parents¡¯ strongbox. A small fortune in standard gold, some of it in the triangular tokens of Infinzel, some in the round coins favored in the Merchant Cities. Jewels and trinkets. A few pieces probably of value, the rest sentimental. Receipts of deposit at Ambergran¡¯s local vault. Large sums socked away, earning interest. There would be no one to honor those certificates now, if the vault even still stood. But the rest¡­ Uicha found himself suddenly quite rich. And then there was the key. Cold, sturdy chromium, with a dozen grooved teeth, a grooved shaft, and a head shaped with spiky flourishes. A key to what must have been a very complex lock. The key was stamped with the gear-shaped symbol of Beacon¡¯s Gadgeteers. That meant it was a masterwork, incredibly expensive. Uicha had no idea what the key might open. His parents had left no explanation behind. Had they found this key during their pirating days and held onto it, in hopes of one day discovering the lock? Another story of theirs that he¡¯d never know. Uicha put that melancholy thought aside. He was bound for the Flamingo Islands. He would need supplies for the journey, though. In his week of isolation, Uicha had eaten his way through what little food remained. He¡¯d raided the bunkhouse, abandoned by the hands, and gathered up their leftover provisions. But that wouldn¡¯t be enough for the ride south. The next day, Uicha finally ventured into town. He rode Clipper, who balked and tossed his head every few yards, unused to the strange scenery. Farmsteads that he''d once used as landmarks were gone. Fields that should''ve been as ripe as Uicha¡¯s own were flattened, so that the horizon seemed wider and empty. A landscape of arbitrary destruction. Carts blocked the road in places, loaded with possessions, but with only piles of ash for passengers. Whole families gone just like that, all their things left untouched in the road as if they might return to claim them. Uicha wondered when someone might get around to clearing the roads. Would it be the survivors of Ambergran? Or would it be the others? Like carrion birds, Orvesian Witnesses dotted the ruined landscape. They stooped in the remnants of fields or in the remains of farmsteads, scooping shovels of ash into pouches. Collecting the disintegrated dead so that they could mix the ash with water and their strange chemicals, creating the paint for the stripes they wore across their faces. Some of them stopped what they were doing when Uicha passed. They stood up and waved. Uicha had to stop himself from waving back. His instinctive politeness was a hazard. Were these freaks his neighbors now? When did this land stop belonging to Ambergran and become part of Orvesis? Had it already happened? Uicha breathed a sigh of relief when he reached the town center. Here were faces he actually recognized. The survivors of Ambergran were attempting to rebuild. They were carting lumber from abandoned farmsteads into town, then distributing it to the families who had lost their homes. Men and women worked in teams, loading and unloading wagons. The busy plaza reminded Uicha of shipment days in the late summer, when their harvested crops would be carted out and sold. He remembered the festive busyness of those days, even if he spent most of them simply trying to stay out of the way. Today, however, the people of Ambergran worked in steely silence. Some of them wore cloth bandanas tied over their noses and mouths. Off to the side, a few wide-eyed children sullenly jumped rope. As Uicha rode closer, he felt cold eyes upon him. His neighbors didn''t say anything, but he could see the resentment in their hard looks. One farmhand spit in the dirt as he passed. They eyed the blank space on his neck. The wheat-stalk tattoo was all he¡¯d ever had in common with these people and even that was gone now. Uicha gently coaxed Clipper past the wagons of timber and approached the town''s bulletin board. There was an informal census taking place there. His neighbors had signed their names and written in what supplies they could spare. There were also descriptions of the missing. There was some mystery about who had disintegrated and who had simply run off. Uicha debated adding the names of his farmhands, but decided he didn¡¯t much care if they were found or not. "Excuse me," a voice said from behind him. Uicha turned to find an Orvesian Witness holding a basket of blankets. He shuddered involuntarily. She was actually pretty, despite her shaved head and ash markings, with round blue eyes and dimples. "Do you need anything?" the Witness asked him. The question baffled him. "Do I¡­?" "Food? Blankets? I have both." "No, thank you," Uicha said, and then cringed. He¡¯d spoken too kindly and hoped no one overheard. The Orvesian flashed him a smile. ¡°Are you sure? You¡¯re very skinny.¡± Looking over the girl¡¯s shoulder, Uicha noticed several other Witnesses circulating with baskets, making similar offers to the shocked survivors of Ambergran. The Orvesians appeared to have taken over the town¡¯s meeting hall and were now distributing charity from there. Charity that was not well-received. Shoving and shouting broke out near the timber. A farmer ripped a basket away from an Orvesian and chucked it across the road. Loaves of bread scattered in the dirt. The Orvesian in front of him paid this no heed. ¡°My name is Petra,¡± she said. ¡°What¡¯s yours?¡± ¡°Uicha,¡± he replied distractedly. ¡°I have never heard that name before,¡± she said. ¡°Would you like me to witness for you, Uicha?¡± He blinked. ¡°What?¡± Petra tilted her head back and her eyes started to glaze over. Her voice grew throatier. ¡°There are memories in the ash. Perhaps I have someone who knew you¡­¡± ¡°Memories¡­?¡± Uicha stared at the stripes of ash smeared across the girl¡¯s face. He took a halting step back. ¡°No. No, thank you. I¡ª¡± Something hot and wet splattered across Uicha¡¯s face. Blood. Uicha hadn¡¯t seen who threw the rock, but it had struck Petra in the side of the head and opened up a gash in her scalp. She pitched forward and Uicha reflexively caught her in his arms. There were more rocks being thrown across the square by the locals with some of the Orvesians scuttling back for the safety of the meeting hall. ¡°Oh, thank you,¡± Petra said to him, sounding dazed. ¡°It¡¯s all right. They can¡¯t hurt me.¡± ¡°They already hurt you,¡± Uicha said. Petra giggled in a way that sounded mad to Uicha. ¡°Well, they can¡¯t kill me, anyway.¡± She straightened up, dabbing at the wound on her head with her fingers. Noticing the girl begin to wobble at the sight of her own blood, Uicha steadied her. ¡°We see whose side you¡¯ve chosen, de Orak!¡± someone shouted. ¡°We see you, boy!¡± Uicha scanned the angry crowd of his neighbors, though he couldn¡¯t pick out which had singled him out. A second rock whistled by his ear and ricocheted off the bulletin board behind him. Uicha clumsily groped for the hilt of his mother¡¯s scimitar. And then, the smell came. At first, Uicha thought a skunk had gotten loose in the square. But the stench quickly curdled into something much, much worse. Rotting meat, the grave, death itself. The smell felt like an icy grip around Uicha¡¯s throat. His eyes watered and his tongue rolled to the back of his mouth. Blinking through the tears, Uicha saw his neighbors doubled over and scattering. Petra wasn¡¯t affected at all. She rubbed Uicha¡¯s back. ¡°There, there.¡± ¡°Save your anger for the gods, my friends!¡± A voice boomed across the square. ¡°Save your stones for the day when you might make them count!¡± Battar Crodd strode out from the meeting hall, the black feathers of his caftan shining in the midday sun. There could be no doubt that the choking miasma emanated from him. The Orvesian Quill swept the crowd with his gaze. He briefly paused on Uicha, saw how the boy was still gently holding Petra¡¯s arm, and nodded. All at once, the cloud lifted and Uicha could breathe again. He straightened, sucking in fresh air. Looking around, he realized that his neighbors weren¡¯t so lucky. Those who hadn¡¯t managed to flee had mostly tumbled into the dirt, rasping and gagging, the bandanas over their faces offering no protection from Crodd¡¯s sorcery. ¡°Who better than Orvesians to understand the rage of a conquered people?¡± Crodd continued, addressing the crowd. He picked up a blanket that one of his people had dropped. ¡°We will tolerate these outbursts and wrap you up in the warmth of our charity¡­¡± Uicha did not stick around to listen to the rest. He pushed away from Petra and grabbed for Clipper¡¯s reins. The horse hadn¡¯t seemed perturbed by any of these goings-on, but he shied at the force Uicha used digging in with his heels. ¡°To the ashes with all of you,¡± Uicha muttered. ¡°I¡¯m done with this place.¡± Uicha rode hard for home, leaving his neighbors old and new in the dust.
9. [Uicha] Inheritance
¡ªDRAMATIS PERSONAE¡ª Uicha de Orak, a young man of no renown or loyalty, might not be leaving after all Battar Crodd, Death Knight of the 13th Renown and Quill of the Orvesian Witnesses, indulging in some teachable moments
8 New Summer, 61 AW. The village of Ambergran, North Continent 292 days until the next Granting. Uicha abandoned his plans to visit the general store. In fact, he vowed to never go back into town again. He had money. There would be places to buy supplies on the road. He could figure things out, even if it meant a few nights on an empty stomach. Tomorrow. Tomorrow would be the day for sure. He wanted a full day of sunlight to put as much distance between him and Ambergran as possible. Also, Uicha didn¡¯t know how to build a campfire. He could spend tonight practicing, so he¡¯d be a little better prepared for life on the road. He tried to distract himself with a mental list of things he¡¯d need for his journey, but anger kept percolating within him. The way lifelong neighbors now looked at him like he was some kind of outsider. Well, that wasn¡¯t exactly new. Their masks were fully off now. Shouting at him, throwing stones. He hadn¡¯t even done anything except survive, like the rest of them. And then there was the Orvesian girl and her unsettling offers. Her soft body falling into his arms, blood trickling down the side of her head. Uicha refused to explore the conflicting emotions he felt about that. Instead, he pictured Battar Crodd looming over all of them with his twinkling blue eyes and impromptu sermons, like he found the ruination of their lives so, so regrettable. Uicha¡¯s knuckles were white on the reins when he rode Clipper into the barn. By the time he¡¯d finished tending to the horse, the anger still hadn¡¯t faded. He decided to practice his swordplay. His mother¡¯s gleaming scimitar in hand, Uicha slashed his way across the yard. He imagined Orvesians in their black paint fleeing from him. He swatted away rocks thrown by ignorant farmers and charged after them. Every enemy that Uicha could imagine quailed before his assault. His heartbeat was so loud in his ears that Uicha didn¡¯t hear them approach. "It''s a sincere performance. Someone that''s never used a blade might actually think you know what you¡¯re doing." Battar Crodd stood at the edge of the wheat field, his sharp blue eyes smiling at Uicha. The black stripes across his face had been freshly reapplied since that afternoon. A breeze rustled the black feathers that decorated his caftan, and Uicha noticed how one of the Ink symbols on his chest had faded. That must¡¯ve been the Ink that let him make that choking stench. Much to Uicha''s bafflement, the Orvesian had a sleeping puppy draped over his forearm. He gently stroked the wrinkled back of the dog''s neck with his index finger. A tremor passed through Uicha¡¯s sword arm that he knew didn¡¯t go unobserved. "If you''re interested in really learning, I could give you lessons," Crodd said eventually, when it became clear Uicha would only gape at him. "I was a teacher once, amongst my people. History. Not swordplay. But you''d find I have the temperament for tutelage." "What do you want?" Uicha finally managed to ask. Crodd took a few steps closer, squinting at Uicha¡¯s neck. "Still no mark on you. After today, I''d hoped to see a blackbird." Uicha clasped a hand over his throat, but realizing that was a pointless gesture, he let it drop. "I''m no Orvesian," he said. ¡°I never will be.¡± Crodd chuckled and strolled closer still. Uicha stood his ground. But then, a dozen more Witnesses emerged from the wheat, carrying tools and pulling carts. At the sight of them, Uicha stumbled backward. "Your fields are overdue and your staff is gone," Crodd said. "We''re here to help with the harvest." ¡°You''re here to help¡­¡± Uicha murmured. "It will all be properly accounted. We have people good with numbers. We''ll carve out a fair share for you," Crodd explained. "However, the bulk of what we earn from your fields will be put back into the town. You saw what¡¯s happening. We need to help these people get back on their feet." "You''re helping them? Handing out blankets, doing chores¡­" Uicha laughed, embarrassed by how hysterical he sounded. "You just killed half of them!" Crodd stopped a few yards away. "The gods killed them, Uicha. Not me." "You told the gods to do it. You wished for it." Crodd made a face. He gently maneuvered the puppy off his arm, holding it out belly up toward Uicha. The dog''s small tail flopped lazily. "I wish you would kill this dog," Crodd stated. ¡°I wish you would slice it in half with your pirate¡¯s sword.¡± "What?" Uicha took another step back. "No." ¡°You dare to deny me my wish?¡± Crodd theatrically exclaimed. "Why, young man, you must be more powerful than the gods themselves." He set the puppy down and it scrambled over to sniff at Uicha¡¯s ankles. "I find the annihilation of Ambergran repugnant,¡± Crodd continued. ¡°What sort of gods would permit it? What sort of gods would encourage it? A boy playing swords in his fields has more wisdom than these creatures we¡¯re forced to worship." Uicha bent down to scoop up the puppy, juggling the runt awkwardly while still keeping his sword drawn. "Do you carry around small animals just to make this point?" Crodd smiled and shook his head. "I found him and thought of you. The unmarked boy. All alone out here. I thought you might benefit from a companion." The other Witnesses had already begun work in the fields. A burly Orvesian stripped to the waist took a scythe to the rows of wheat with mechanical rhythm. Two others trailed behind him, gathering the stalks into bundles and depositing them in a cart. Uicha raised an eyebrow. There were a handful of Orvesians behind Crodd who didn¡¯t carry farming implements. Instead, they brandished shovels and pickaxes. This bunch stood by idly while Uicha spoke with Crodd, almost like they were waiting for him to leave. ¡°I¡¯ll keep the dog,¡± Uicha decided in an instant. ¡°But I don¡¯t want you here.¡± Crodd cocked his head. ¡°You would deny your neighbors the bounty of a harvest in their time of need?¡± ¡°You aren¡¯t my neighbors,¡± he responded. ¡°If someone from Ambergran wants to harvest my fields, they¡¯re welcome to it. But I won¡¯t have you murderers on my land.¡± Uicha had never really referred to it as his land before. The phrase tasted strange in his mouth. He hadn¡¯t suddenly developed an attachment to this forsaken farm and the stupid town it abutted. He just wanted the Orvesians gone. He wanted very badly to say no to someone. That infuriating twinkle of amusement never left Crodd¡¯s blue eyes. ¡°You know, in the days of my grandfather, you might have used that to protect your domain,¡± he said, nodding toward Uicha. ¡°The sword, I mean. Not the puppy.¡± Uicha¡¯s hand was sweaty on the hilt. He halfheartedly raised the blade toward Crodd, but only an inch. He knew it was a pointless gesture. ¡°Of course, I have a sword, too.¡± Crodd reached up to tap the handle of the two-handed broadsword strapped to his back. ¡°There are many formidable warriors among my people. If it wasn¡¯t for the gods¡¯ protection, we could¡¯ve swept through this place like fire. And yet, in the end, the result is the same. Perhaps cleaner, perhaps not. It¡¯s all a conundrum, isn¡¯t it?¡± Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author. His words went in circles. Uicha found his gaze drifting to the man¡¯s chest, where spirals of Ink marked his renown. Even with one section faded, the collection was impressive. ¡°So, you¡¯re unable to exert your will with brute force, pointless as that would be for you against me,¡± Crodd continued. ¡°The only option really left to you is the laws of gods. The Quills have special magic to rid unwanted visitors from the lands where they hold domain. Unfortunate for you that Tabitha Gentlerain has disappeared. I think she may have gone a bit mad.¡± Crodd stroked his square jaw, as if something had just occurred to him. ¡°Might be interesting to see, actually, what would happen to an unmarked boy should a Quill work a banishment upon the land. I have a quill of my own, you know.¡± Crodd waved his hand and a golden inkwell manifested, swiftly dispatched with a second flourish. ¡°Experimentation is how we learn the limits of our world. Perhaps this land now belongs to Orvesis and it¡¯s you who needs banishment. Should we find out?¡± ¡°This is my land,¡± Uicha repeated, holding tight to that statement. ¡°If you won''t leave¡­¡± He trailed off, hunting for a threat. ¡°You should come to one of my sermons,¡± Crodd continued over him. ¡°Witness with us, and you might better understand your predicament.¡± ¡°I''m not joining your cult.¡± The words came with a harshness that made the puppy squirm in his arms. ¡°I¡¯ll burn the fields! I¡¯ll¡ª¡± Uicha saw the way Crodd''s face changed. Was it the word cult or was it his threat to burn the fields? Either way, Crodd¡¯s blue eyes went dull and the amused quirk of his mouth flattened. And then, in the blink of an eye, the Orvesian stood directly before him. Uicha hadn¡¯t even seen the man move. A coldness radiated out from Crodd and prickled against Uicha¡¯s skin. He felt chilled all over, the will leaking out of him. The man¡¯s closeness felt the same way as falling in a dream. It was a nightmare come to life. ¡°Don¡¯t say something you¡¯ll regret,¡± Crodd warned, his voice like boots crunching over ice. ¡°Now, go inside and let us carry on our business undisturbed by petulance.¡± Just like that, Uicha was back inside the farmhouse, the door slammed and bolted behind him. His body had taken over and he had fled for safety. His heartbeat pounded in his ears. He shuddered and his breath came out as mist. Outside, he could hear the Orvesians chatting and laughing. His arm was wet with dog piss. A magical sensation of fear had radiated out from Crodd ¨C not real, Uicha told himself, yet that didn¡¯t stop his knees from shaking. He set the puppy down shakily but gently, then screamed and flung his mother''s sword across the room. It clattered against the wall, putting a long slash through the dining room tapestry depicting a sunset over the Flamingo Islands. Get out of this place. Take only what he could carry. Go find his grandfather or don''t. Just get away. Just¨C Uicha noticed a glint of metal peeking through the shredded wall hanging. Half in a daze, he walked forward and yanked the artwork down. There was a metal slot in the wall. A barely perceptible keyhole. Tracing his fingers across the wood, Uicha felt the outline of a hidden panel, so subtly installed that he could barely see it in the daylight. There was no place to insert a pry-bar, hardly any gap in the wood at all. To open the panel, you¡¯d need the key or you¡¯d need to take an axe to the entire wall. Knocking on the wood, Uicha thought he heard the reverberation of metal underneath ¨C so maybe even an axe wouldn¡¯t be enough. What had his parents been hiding from him? Immediately, Uicha retrieved the elaborate key from his parents¡¯ lockbox and returned to the dining room. The key fit smoothly into the lock and turned, but the panel didn¡¯t open. Uicha cocked his head. He heard a sound like crickets from within the wall. Leaning his head closer, Uicha realized that something inside the wall had started ticking. The puppy danced around his feet, barking at the strange sound now emanating from the wall. ¡°A bad sign, do you think?¡± Uicha whispered to his canine accomplice. He wasn¡¯t entirely sure why he was whispering in his own home. The ticking picked up speed. Uicha jiggled the key, tried to turn it back in the other direction, and then attempted to yank it loose. The key wouldn¡¯t budge. His palm had begun to sweat, so Uicha readjusted his grip. ¡°Ouch!¡± A needlelike protrusion on the key¡¯s shaft had stuck his palm. Uicha tugged his hand back to press the wound to his lips, watching as a thin rivulet of his blood was drawn down the length of the key and into the lock. The ticking stopped. The panel in the wall hissed open just far enough that Uicha could slide his fingers under the edge and push it aside. He revealed a small, metal-lined compartment. There were narrow vents cut into the walls that emitted small puffs of smoke, as if some hidden mechanism had begun heating up and was now abruptly quenched. Inside the compartment, Uicha found two letters and a cloth-wrapped bundle no bigger than a loaf of bread. He glanced down at the puppy, but he¡¯d since lost interest and instead busied himself with chewing the tapestry. The first letter was written on paper finer than anything sold in Ambergran. A rigid script entirely bypassed any salutation, the terseness communicating authority:
I trust you find this first payment satisfactory. They will continue so long as our agreement is kept. The gadgeteer who delivers this message is to be given full license to make the necessary alterations to your home. If your sketches are accurate, those wards should prove more than sufficient. You will be in no danger. You must simply do nothing. We will have no further contact until such time that I arrive to claim the object. -AR
Beneath the initials was stamped the open tome symbol of the Magelab. Uicha shook his head, completely mystified. His parents had never mentioned anything about some kind of arrangement with the Magelab. They¡¯d never even mentioned mages. Uicha immediately recognized the writing on the second letter. His stomach tightened at the sight of his mother¡¯s flowing cursive. The letter was dated Freze 58. Almost three years old.
Uicha, my love, Small chance you ever read this. Shudder to think at the bad luck that might have brought you in here. Nonetheless, I feel the urge to write it all down, jinx or not. Your da and I did some business with an archmage of the Magelab named Ahmed Roh. We thought we was hustling him but in the end I think he hustled us. Been working for him ever since, not that it¡¯s much work. We just keep this thing locked up in here. Your da thinks it¡¯s a paperweight. A bauble. I¡¯m not so sure. Strange dreams, sometimes. It¡¯s your burden now and I¡¯m sorry. Track down Roh, bury it back in the yard, burn the whole farm down and show Ambergran your back. I doubt it matters much to me now, except that your happiness would make me rest easy. Love always, Mama
Uicha¡¯s hands started to shake and he worried he might tear the page, so he set it aside near the pile of documents he¡¯d been going through the night before. The map of their farmland his father had made¡ªthe one with what Uicha thought were markings for wells¡ªcaught his eye. Some of those Orvesians had been carrying shovels and pickaxes. Peeking through the front window, Uicha watched the silhouettes of the Witnesses as they moved through his fields. Late in the day to start harvesting, no matter how dire the needs of Ambergran. The Orvesians were looking for what Uicha¡¯s father had already dug up. That had to be the case. Uicha made sure all the curtains were drawn and the door securely bolted before he took the cloth-wrapped bundle out from the hidden alcove. Through the cloth, the object felt hard like metal, but didn¡¯t have much weight. As he set it down on the table, something shifted around inside¡ªlike flour in a tub. Carefully, Uicha peeled back the cloth, which he now realized was one of his old baby blankets. A warm azure glow bathed his face and hands. Static shocks buzzed the tips of his fingers when they got too close to the object. He stared down at a sausage-shaped capsule of pure silver. The metal shone smooth in the rare spaces where it hadn¡¯t been carved into with jagged runes, the purpose of which Uicha couldn¡¯t begin to understand. The wards were aglow with blue light and emitted a faint sensation of repulsion when Uicha held his hands over them. ¡°What is this?¡± Uicha whispered. Sensing movement, Uicha glanced away from the glowing capsule just in time to see the puppy gallop into his bedroom. Was he hiding? When Uicha next looked at the capsule, all the runes had winked out. ¡°Um,¡± he said. An invisible hand closed around his throat. Not choking, more like caressing. Gently, fingers like cold breath dragged across the sides of his neck and met at the blank space on his throat where he once had the mark of Ambergran. Uicha tried to take a step back from the table, but found himself rooted in place. He wanted to slap the hand away, yet his arms wouldn¡¯t lift. The room was very dark now. When had the sun set? The sudden loss of light actually calmed Uicha. He¡¯d fallen asleep; this whole thing was a nightmare. At any moment, he would sit up in his bed and¡ª From the darkened ward grooves on the capsule, a black substance crawled forth. The stuff looked like ants, clumps of scrabbling ants, theirs tiny legs all caught together by pitch, so that the hideous forms tumbled end-over-end toward Uicha like writhing tumbleweeds. Movement across the room. A woman sat in the rocking chair by the fireplace. Uicha couldn¡¯t make out her features in the gloom. He found he had a voice. ¡°Mama?¡± ¡°No,¡± the woman responded. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, child. But no.¡± Uicha tasted dirt. The chittering sludge from the capsule had crawled up his chest, over his clean expanse of neck, and shoved into his mouth. The room seemed to close in on him, like the walls of a coffin. Uicha squeezed his eyes shut and¡ª
13 New Summer, 61 AW. The village of Ambergran, North Continent 287 days until the next Granting. Uicha woke up gasping for air. A nightmare, just like he¡¯d thought. Except, he was laying on the floor next to the kitchen table. His body felt hollowed out, like someone had carved loose his bones and then jammed them back inside his quivering body. He groaned and his mouth and throat felt impossibly dry. Uicha flinched as nails skittered across the floor. It was just the puppy, happy to see him, licking his cheek. His face felt crusty and Uicha got the sense that this wasn¡¯t the first time the puppy had licked him, but it was the first time he had enough strength to gently shoo him off. ¡°I grew concerned when I heard the dog whining, so I let myself in.¡± Turning his head, Uicha found Battar Crodd seated at his dining room table. His parents¡¯ letters and map were spread out before the Orvesian. In one hand, Battar held up the capsule. Half of it, anyway. The thing had split into two equal sections. Battar held it up so that Uicha could see the hollow inside. Empty. ¡°My friend,¡± Battar said softly, ¡°we have a problem.¡±
10. [Carina] The Archmage and the Interloper
¡°As Quills, we have made other skills available to you,¡± the ge¡¯ema said. ¡°Just as you may now read our language, so will you know how to use these abilities. They are innate within you so long as you are Quills.¡± Indeed, King Mudt could feel these new ideas tickling his brain. Runes he could inscribe to communicate with his champions across great distances or banish interlopers from his land. The sort of magical foolishness that King Mudt had never indulged in. These gods wanted him for a plaything and in exchange they delivered tattoos and tricks. Mudt scoffed, but the gods did not notice. ¡°We give you a year to gather your champions to you,¡± the ge¡¯ema concluded. ¡°After that, you will be returned here, and the Granting will commence. Until then, luxuriate in the new peace we have given you.¡± Peace. The word stabbed through King Mudt like a javelin. What was he to do with peace? There was a sour taste in Mudt¡¯s mouth as the gods began to pull away from them. New abilities and new laws of nature, yet something pettier nagged at the great conqueror. ¡°Wait!¡± King Mudt bellowed. ¡°You said there was another! One amongst my army that matched my renown. This must be a lie!¡± ¡°Indeed, no, it is the truth,¡± the ge¡¯ema replied. Those who were present swore they heard an edge of laughter within the melodic voice of the gods. King Mudt, of course, did not notice. ¡°Surely, you will want her as your champion,¡± the gods continued. ¡°Thus, we have marked her for you.¡± --Record of the First Granting and Dawning of the Second Age Lyus Crodd, Scribe of the Dead Kingdom of Orvesis
--DRAMATIS PERSONAE¡ª Carina Goldstone, Kingdom of Infinzel, her true nature to be revealed in time Ahmed Roh, Archmage of the 15th Renown, the Magelab, an unpleasant traveling companion Orryn es-Salvado, a garrison prospect of no renown, Kingdom of Infinzel, the guy with the rats
20 New Summer, 61 AW. Outside of Infinzel, North Continent 280 days until the next Granting. After almost three weeks on the road, Infinzel at last appeared on the horizon. A bruise-colored triangle at this distance, a lonely mountain rising up from the plains without its surrounding range. Carina Goldstone smiled. She was almost home. ¡°Today will be the day we part ways,¡± she said to the archmage¡¯s back. He had a habit of getting his horse out in front of hers, sometimes by miles. It had become something of a game for Carina to keep pace with the old prick, even on the days when he left camp before she woke up. ¡°Will you miss my company, Master Roh?¡± ¡°No,¡± he replied. ¡°We¡¯ll see each other again soon enough, though, won¡¯t we?¡± Ahmed Roh ignored her, turning a page in his book. Carina couldn¡¯t understand how he read in the saddle like that; the motion would¡¯ve made her sick. She studied the archmage¡¯s scrawny back. Roh was in his fifties but could¡¯ve passed for twice that. Like most of the masters of the Magelab, the magic had eaten away at him. He was gaunt and sunken, with a gnarled beard of bitter gray and an unkempt halo of brittle hair around a pockmarked bald spot. Roh had a taste for fine clothes in shades of red wine that weren¡¯t at all suited to travel, yet he¡¯d kept his silks clean over these weeks through some petty spellcraft. Carina wondered how many days of his life he¡¯d traded for this obsessive cleanliness. Before they set out, Carina had seen Roh only a few times around the Magelab, usually as one face among many glaring at her from an upraised dais. She thought he had mean eyes. Although they had left the Magelab at the same time, they weren¡¯t traveling together. Roh had made that abundantly clear as night after night he insisted on setting his camp on the opposite side of the road. He never turned away a plate of food cooked over Carina¡¯s fire, though. It was as if he expected that kind of tribute from her. Carina was twenty-five years old, though small and birdlike in a way that many still mistook her for a girl. At least Roh¡¯s nearby presence had staved off any other uncomfortable encounters on the road. Otherwise, Carina found him to be a miserable companion. Nonetheless, she was curious. It was strange that one of the champions of the Magelab had set out alone without the usual retinue of apprentices and advisors. She wanted to know where he was going and what he planned to do there, not because that information had any particular bearing on Carina¡¯s own plans, but because the knowledge was withheld from her. She couldn¡¯t stand that. If Carina hated anything in this world, it was other people¡¯s secrets. They came to a crossroads. The route heading directly west was wide and well-trod, whereas the route leading southwest was rough and a bit overgrown. Without looking up from his book, Roh turned his horse southwest. Carina followed and she watched as the mage¡¯s shoulders tightened. He snapped his book closed and scowled over his shoulder. ¡°Turn back,¡± he said. ¡°You missed the Continental Highway.¡± ¡°No, I didn¡¯t,¡± she replied. ¡°The Continental would have me arrive through Soldier¡¯s Rest. Could end up unseemly for a woman traveling alone. The whoremongers would fall upon me like birds on breadcrumbs.¡± Roh eyed her. ¡°If you say so.¡± ¡°I do say so, Master Roh. Just a few more miles with me, sir. This path connects to the River Road. That¡¯s the one for me. A cool breeze off the water and merchants for company.¡± Of course, he was right that the Continental Highway would be most direct and Carina actually had no fear at all of Soldier¡¯s Rest. She¡¯d basically grown up there, which meant there would be too many familiar faces. She¡¯s wasn¡¯t ready to see anyone yet. They would have questions and her answers weren¡¯t ready. There would be other interrogations to get through before she could even think of visiting Soldier¡¯s Rest and the ones there who she¡¯d left behind. She considered Roh¡¯s own path. Over the last couple weeks, there were times that she worried he was heading to Infinzel too. Wouldn¡¯t that have been ironic? He¡¯d be a nuisance for her there like she had been for him on the road. But no, Ahmed Roh was headed south via the Troldep. She didn¡¯t take him for a gambler or a debtor, which ruled out Noyega. If he was bound for further south, for swampy Ruchet or dead Orvesis, he likely would¡¯ve brought some assistance. Even a champion of his renown wouldn¡¯t brave those places alone. What else would interest an archmage to the south¡­? ¡°You¡¯re going to Ambergran,¡± Carina said. Roh said nothing, but Carina thought she heard his jaw click from clenched teeth. ¡°Is it true what they¡¯re saying, then?¡± Carina asked, not expecting a response. ¡°Annihilation? That¡¯s an ugly thing. But you had your chance to stop it, didn¡¯t you? Why go now? A case of too little and too late, isn¡¯t it?¡± If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. As Carina unloaded her questions, Roh brought his horse to a stop and waited for her to pull level. He fixed her with a stony glare that probably sent his apprentices scurrying under their beds, but the Magelab was far behind them and Carina only smiled. ¡°I have always found you to be the vilest of interlopers, Ms. Goldstone,¡± the old mage pronounced. ¡°As you say, we will be together again soon, but you should hope we don¡¯t cross paths.¡± Carina batted her eyes. ¡°Why¡¯s that, Ahmed?¡± Before he could respond, Carina put her heels into her horse and took off down the path. It was the first time in weeks that she¡¯d ridden ahead of Roh. Carina laughed as she went. She¡¯d learned what she wanted and now she could be rid of the mage and his baleful presence. Besides, her presence was urgently needed in Infinzel. ¡°My regrets to the ageless king!¡± Roh screamed at her back. Carina slowed her horse once she reached the Troldep and hooked back north along the River Road. She tilted her head back and enjoyed the cool mist that blew off the water, ignoring the butterflies that had begun to flutter so chaotically in her stomach. The pyramidal city drew closer. On the day of her return, Carina had her dark hair wrapped in scarves, her shirt buttoned to the collar despite the summer¡¯s warmth. Her skin was clean. She¡¯d made a point of washing off the dirt that morning. Barges laden with stone harvested from Infinzel¡¯s mineral gardens traveled south on the river. Watching them, Carina ran calculations in her mind like another traveler might admire clouds. A way to pass the time. Based on how fast the boats moved and how low they rode in the water, she could make a guess at what kind of stone each vessel carried, how much each shipment was worth, and whether the boats could''ve handled more. She made a game of keeping score of which captains would have the most lucrative voyage. She noticed one barge that was already listing and calculated that what was surely a shipment of sandstone hadn''t been properly distributed throughout the hold. Carina waved to catch the attention of a sailor smoking a pipe on the deck, but before she could shout a warning the man made a ¡®V¡¯ with his fingers and flicked his tongue through it. She dropped her hand. ¡°Junnaro Company,¡± she said to herself. A couple of merchants and their cart had been riding level with Carina for the last mile. She caught their attention and pointed out the boat. "That ship is going to capsize." The merchant holding the reins raised an eyebrow at her. ¡°Piss off, girly,¡± he said. ¡°I''m not getting taken in by another fortune teller.¡± ¡°Fortune, sir, is no substitute for good planning,¡± Carina said. ¡°No, really, piss off.¡± Carina dug her heels into her horse and surged ahead of the rude merchant. People were always telling Carina to piss off, in one way or another. She¡¯d stopped taking it too personally. It was the burden of always being right. The pyramidal city rose up before her, a monument to the ingenuity of humankind. She''d been born within those walls and then done her growing up in their shadows. Carina''s face hurt, and she realized it was from smiling. She hadn''t been back to Infinzel in almost eight years, and she''d dreamed about this day for all that time. To Carina, it felt like gears were clicking into place in her heart. At last, she was back where she belonged. And she returned exactly the way she''d planned. The road widened as she neared the city and then rode through the river gate. She found a public hitching post for her horse before the streets turned to cobbles, and proceeded on foot into the traffic of the Underbridge. Here, the Troldep River passed directly under and through Infinzel. On her left, docking berths spanned the riverside, while to her right were merchant stalls, outbuildings, and warehouses. The Underbridge was one of the busiest ports in the world, all that commerce taking place beneath the cavernous ceiling of the pyramidal city. There were windows carved into the stone above her, though they were too high for Carina to see into. Compartments overlooking the Underbridge were one of the most sought after quarters within Infinzel. The dues would be astronomical. And there, above Carina, was the vast mural of King Cizco Salvado, the ageless ruler of Infinzel. Although, Carina knew, he was less ageless now than he had been a few weeks ago. The mural wasn¡¯t made from paints but instead composed of the mosses and molds that grew on the Underbridge. Some magic of King Cizco¡¯s animated and colored them, creating the appearance of a gently smiling Salavado welcoming boats into the pyramidal city¡¯s underbelly. ¡°Maintenance can¡¯t be worth the cost in arcane energy,¡± Carina said quietly. ¡°Although, as demonstrations of power go, perhaps it¡¯s worth it.¡± Turning from the portrait, Carina dodged through carts and wagons bound for the docks and hustled between merchant stalls. She knew exactly which entrance into the pyramidal city she was looking for. While she hadn''t been home to Infinzel in years, she carried maps and blueprints of the place in her mind. She¡¯d spent hours memorizing the twists and turns of the enormous structure. She knew every hallway and antechamber, from the king''s quarters at the top to the mining sectors around the base. The door she wanted was wrought iron, recessed into the stone. A young man stood guard there. He wore the uniform of the Garrison - a smart jacket and slacks in the same slate gray as Infinzel''s stone, a sash of purple around his waist, and a short sword. Carina could tell by his features that he was a Salvado, although she couldn''t exactly say which branch of the vast family tree. It gave her pause for only a moment that the man held a rat cupped in his hands and appeared to be whispering to the little creature. He glanced up as she approached and the rat crawled up his sleeve. ¡°Can''t cut through this way,¡± he told her, and jerked his chin further on. ¡°Entrance to the interior markets are back that way.¡± ¡°I''m here for the Garrison,¡± she told him. ¡°And to see the king.¡± He snorted. ¡°Sure. Let me check the appointment book. See if he has any openings.¡± ¡°Your father¡ª¡± ¡°Grandfather,¡± he corrected. The young man drew himself up in a way that might have been impressive if not for the rat squirming beneath his uniform. ¡°You speak to Orryn es-Salvado, girl. Be mindful of that.¡± ¡°Ah, I mistook you for second generation,¡± Carina said. ¡°You have the jawline.¡± ¡°Sweet of you to say.¡± ¡°Your grandfather sent me an invitation,¡± Carina said. She reached into her satchel and produced a hand mirror. She¡¯d been studying her new Ink in its reflection when the Quill of Infinzel had contacted her. His elegant, kingly penmanship stretched across the glass. It was a trick possessed by all the Quills, Carina knew, should they need to communicate with one of their champions. King Cizco wrote the message in Ink and spoke an incantation, and his message appeared wherever she happened to be looking. Carina was grateful the king had only ruined a mirror she¡¯d purchased in a secondhand shop and not one of her books or maps. Dear whoever you are, the message read. Present yourself to the Garrison immediately. I¡¯m eager to meet my gift from the gods. Yours, C. Orryn¡¯s mouth hung open. Carina could tell he didn¡¯t quite believe her, so she pushed aside her scarves and unbuttoned the top of her shirt, revealing first the pyramid-shaped insignia of Infinzel, and then the fresh whorls of her Ink.
Carina Goldstone Infinzel 2nd Renown
Enthralled Defender
Alert
Logician
Awareness+
Future Sight
Orryn couldn¡¯t read the symbols, but they looked like the real thing. ¡°You¡­?¡± He shook his head. ¡°Seriously?¡± ¡°Seriously.¡± ¡°You kept everyone waiting.¡± ¡°I was out of town.¡± Orryn rubbed the back of his neck. ¡°They were going to put a bounty out on you if you didn¡¯t show soon. Wonder if that went through, actually¡­¡± Carina reached out to squeeze his arm conspiratorially, mindful not to crush any rodents that might have been hiding in his jacket. ¡°I¡¯ll tell them you found me, if we wrap up this conversation and you show me inside.¡± Orryn snorted, then led her into the warm, copper-smelling halls of the Garrison. He grabbed the first other guard they encountered and told him to alert the king and the champions. The guard¡¯s eyed widened in disbelief as he sized up Carina. She pretended not to notice. ¡°Come on,¡± Orryn said. ¡°They¡¯ll want to meet you in the Battle Library.¡± ¡°Lead the way,¡± she replied. Just as Orryn wasn¡¯t capable of reading the Ink, he was also too unfamiliar with the substance to notice the subtle crimson flecks that floated in Carina¡¯s markings.
11. [Carina] Liars Ink
--DRAMATIS PERSONAE¡ª Carina Goldstone, Logician of the 2nd Renown, Kingdom of Infinzel, home at last Cortland Finiron, Hammer Master of the 12th Renown, Kingdom of Infinzel, disbelieving Henry Blacksalve, Healer of the 8th Renown, Kingdom of Infinzel, disconsolate Vitt Secondson-Salvado, Hunter of the 9th Renown, Kingdom of Infinzel, displeased King Cizco Salvado, Quill of Infinzel, Kingdom of Infinzel, disturbed
20 New Summer, 61 AW The pyramidal city of Infinzel, North Continent 280 days until the next Granting Word of her arrival traveled fast. Drawing upon one of the maps of Infinzel she had committed to memory, Carina knew Orryn was leading her on a roundabout path to the Battle Library. He took her down hallways that connected to the training grounds and looped by the gate to the Underneath, so as to maximize the number of Garrison officers they might encounter. Sure enough, the uniformed members of Infinzel¡¯s security force soon lined the stone hallways to catch a glimpse of her. Carina kept her chin high, her scarves open just enough to hint at her Ink. She avoided any challenging eye contact, particularly with the fried-looking elementalist who stared at her intensely. ¡°I feel like you¡¯re putting me on parade, Orryn es-Salvado.¡± He smirked. ¡°A lot of people trained hard to earn that Ink you¡¯re wearing.¡± ¡°Were you one of them?¡± ¡°A finalist,¡± he said. ¡°Alas, the gods intervened, and here I am.¡± ¡°Yeah,¡± Orryn agreed. ¡°Alas.¡± Finally, they arrived in an expansive room set off from the training grounds. A circular stone table with five chairs sat in the center. The walls were lined with books dedicated to war, magic, and the gods. "Wait here," Orryn said. Carina nodded, distracted. There were rare books on the shelves, a collection that didn¡¯t rival the Magelab¡¯s in quantity but nearly measured up in quality. There were histories of the Granting, studies of the gods, and encyclopedias on Ink symbols and the theories behind them. All of this knowledge would be at her fingertips now, without any archmages dryly breathing down her neck. But what really got Carina''s attention was the map at the center of the table. Freshly drawn, it depicted Armistice as the island had manifested during the most recent Granting. There was a detailed overhead view, but also sketches of the island''s strange features. The trees looked like piles of spun sugar. Carina traced her fingers across the bizarre topography, wondering where exactly Ben Tuarez had met his demise. "Gods be dammed, you''re barely more than a girl." Carina turned to the gruff voice. Cortland Finiron, stout, painfully muscled, and even shorter than she remembered, stood in the doorway with a look of disbelief. Sweat soaked his shirt, like he''d just pulled it on after cutting short a training session. "I''m older than I look," Carina said. "You would have to be," he replied. She strode forward with her hand extended. ¡°Carina Goldstone. At your service, sir.¡± Cortland shook her hand, surprisingly gentle. ¡°Cortland Finiron.¡± ¡°Of course, I know who you are,¡± she said. ¡°Your service to Infinzel is legendary.¡± He grunted at that, a bit of color rising to his cheeks. His response was straight to the point. ¡°Why did the gods pick you?¡± Carina glanced to the door. ¡°If you don¡¯t mind, I¡¯d prefer to only tell it once.¡± Cortland nodded, but then Carina felt a tickle across her skin. Her [Alert] Ink warned her that he¡¯d used a technique on her. [Assess] most likely. ¡°Second renown,¡± Cortland said quietly, his eyes slightly glazed. ¡°But some of your skills¡­¡± ¡°I know I¡¯m ill-suited as a replacement to Ben Tuarez,¡± Carina said. ¡°With a year to train, though, I believe I can do my part.¡± Cortland nodded as if he¡¯d only half heard her. He went to the bookshelves, taking down An Encyclopedia of Runes, 7th Edition, and A History of Champions and Their Renown. Both volumes were produced by the Magelab and Carina knew there were newer editions in the works. She suspected these slightly dated volumes would serve Cortland¡¯s curiosity well enough. ¡°Ben understood this stuff better than me,¡± Cortland muttered. ¡°He¡¯d have a training plan ready for you. He¡¯d know what techniques would suit you. Bring you up to fifth renown by the year¡¯s end.¡± He rubbed his knuckles across the bristles atop his head. ¡°Guess that falls to me now.¡± ¡°I have some ideas,¡± Carina offered. ¡°If you¡¯d accept my assistance.¡± Cortland grunted. She sensed the man was more comfortable swinging a hammer than he was paging through tomes. Carina didn¡¯t want to step on his toes¨Che was the highest ranking champion of Infinzel, after all. But she had her own ideas about training and techniques, which she¡¯d been refining over the last five years. That would come in time. No need dump all her chips into the opening pot. In the meantime, she¡¯d let poor, befuddled Cortland search through his texts. The smell of cheap liquor preceded Henry Blacksalve into the room. The middle-aged man looked like he hadn¡¯t been eating or sleeping. His brown hair was knotty and unkempt, his pale skin waxy and sunken. He slumped forward as he walked, as if a weight pressed him down at the shoulders. Henry blinked, staring at Carina, then let loose a high-pitched guffaw. ¡°The gods sent us a child, Cortland!¡± He dumped himself into a chair. ¡°As if things weren¡¯t bad enough, we get to watch a fresh-faced girl get herself murdered.¡± Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. ¡°That¡¯s enough, Henry,¡± Cortland said with more sadness than anger. He glanced up at Carina. ¡°We won¡¯t let you be murdered.¡± ¡°Thank you,¡± Carina replied. ¡°He can¡¯t promise you that,¡± Henry said, wagging his finger at Cortland. ¡°I¡¯m the healer and I can¡¯t promise you that, either. All the more reason to let me go, you butt plug. Let me take the wash and you can bring on someone capable.¡± Cortland took a deep breath, as if readying himself to rumble into a conversation he¡¯d already had too many times. Before he could start, Carina inserted herself between the two men, her hip against the edge of the table. ¡°You¡¯re Henry Blacksalve,¡± Carina said to the drunken healer. ¡°I don¡¯t mean to talk about you like you aren¡¯t here, new girl, but you¡¯ve gotten yourself into a fine mess with your divine mandate¡­¡± He trailed off, squinting blearily at her. ¡°Do I know you?¡± ¡°I carried water for your clinic one summer. I was just a child then,¡± Carina said. ¡°You¡¯re a hero to the people of Soldier¡¯s Rest. You know that, right?¡± Something sparked in Henry¡¯s eyes, but he quickly looked down at the table. ¡°I haven¡¯t been to the Rest in years. I live up top now.¡± ¡°I¡¯m sure they remember you fondly, nonetheless¡± Carina said. ¡°I certainly do.¡± Before anything else could be said, Vitt Secondson-Salvado entered with a swishing of silk and a jangling of gold chains. Unlike the rat fondler that had showed her into the Garrison, Vitt was a Salvado who carried off the role. He dressed in finery and jewels, strikingly tall and leanly muscled, with a swooping mane of red-streaked black hair. He reminded Carina of a nightstalker, the dark-furred jungle cats that prowled the forests between the Magelab and Besaden. One moment the beasts could be stretched luxuriously in a patch of moonlight, and the next leaping for your throat with bared fangs. When his eyes fixed on Carina, she had to stop herself from taking a step back. ¡°Well, no wonder everyone out there is so shocked and appalled,¡± Vitt said, his voice low and sonorous, like someone used to being listened to. ¡°Let¡¯s have a look, then.¡± Carina kept her back straight and her chin up as Vitt approached. He stopped right in front of her and reached out to touch one of her scarves, rubbing the material between his fingers. He made a face, then pushed the scarves aside. Vitt raised a delicate eyebrow at her, as if waiting to see if she would protest, as he began to unbutton the front of her shirt. ¡°I¡¯ll make of your knuckles a fucking xylophone, Vitt, if you don¡¯t leave the girl alone.¡± It was Cortland who protested on her behalf. Vitt tilted his head to peer at Corland, his smooth voice neutral. ¡°Should I not know what skills our new fellow possesses? I see you¡¯ve already gotten into the books, translating what you¡¯ve no doubt learned by your own examination. But I don¡¯t have your skill for assessment. So, I¡¯m forced to conduct my fact-finding the old-fashioned way.¡± ¡°She¡¯s a logician,¡± Cortland said. ¡°And¡ª¡° ¡°A logician?¡± Vitt closed his eyes for a moment. ¡°Were there no school teachers for the gods to send us? Will she be teaching us how to balance my father¡¯s accounts?¡± ¡°I could, actually,¡± Carina replied. ¡°But you¡¯re thinking of a mathematician. That¡¯s something different.¡± ¡°Oh, indeed? I shall see for myself.¡± His hands returned to Carina¡¯s shirt. ¡°You don¡¯t mind, do you? Your professorship?¡± ¡°I¡¯ve been undressed by worse,¡± Carina said flatly. ¡°And if the rumors in the Rest are true, at the end, I¡¯ll be graced by a generous gratuity. Although, I believe such tips are meant to buy silence, which suggests they are perhaps not generous enough.¡± Henry guffawed. ¡°She knows you, Vitt! You spoiled whoremonger.¡± A slight tremor in his hands was the only sign that Carina had stung Vitt. ¡°Second renown,¡± Vitt said. ¡°We¡¯ve got at least fifty in the Garrison who the Ink would reveal as stronger.¡± ¡°I suspect even more than that,¡± Carina said. ¡°I was being kind.¡± ¡°There¡¯s something to the skills,¡± Cortland said, thumbing through his tome. ¡°[Future Sight] and [Enthralled Defender] are techniques of higher renown. Rare, even on a tenth. Can¡¯t find them on a second.¡± Vitt continued with her shirt until it was open to the navel, although he at least did her the courtesy of not throwing it wide like curtains. He leaned down close and Carina could feel the warmth of his breath against her sternum. ¡°And what do you make of this, hammerhead?¡± Vitt asked. ¡°You think me a cad for conducting such a physical examination, but it¡¯s revealed something interesting about our young charge.¡± Vitt had noticed the crimson highlights that ran through Carina¡¯s ink. The network of symbols and glyphs on her chest was completely shot through with them, plainly obvious to someone like Vitt that had Ink of his own. His would be of purest black; hers was different. He extended his small finger and scratched at Carina¡¯s Ink, as if expecting it to flake away. ¡°Some kind of elaborate fakery,¡± Vitt declared. In a demonstration of propriety, Cortland and Henry had averted their eyes as Vitt undressed her, but they looked now. Carina didn¡¯t shy away from their stares. She¡¯d been expecting this sooner or later. ¡°[Assess] wouldn¡¯t have shown me some costume paint,¡± Cortland said, although there was doubt in his voice. ¡°And she had the king¡¯s own message written on a mirror.¡± ¡°Why does it look like that?¡± Henry asked her directly. ¡°Because I chose my Ink and drew the symbols myself,¡± Carina said. ¡°Before the symbologist, before the selection even. I was in possession of my own sort of Ink. When the gods selected me, they made it permanent.¡± Cortland¡¯s thick brow looked painfully furrowed. ¡°That¡¯s not how it works. You get the Ink, then meet the symbologist. The gods have rules about every damn thing¡­¡± Carina lifted her shoulders in a shrug, realized what she¡¯d done, and pulled her shirt closed. ¡°My experiments indicate they¡¯re more open to suggestion than we¡¯ve been led to believe.¡± ¡°Credit where it¡¯s due,¡± Vitt said, taking a step back from her, ¡°you¡¯ve made this a rather interesting afternoon.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t get it,¡± Cortland continued, sounding a bit rattled. ¡°Did you trick the gods somehow? Is that how you came to be among us?¡± ¡°No, it¡¯s not like that at all.¡± ¡°Then how does it work?¡± Cortland pressed. ¡°How did you do it?¡± ¡°It¡¯s chanic.¡± The new voice came from the doorway. Carina needed to peek around Vitt to catch her first glimpse of King Cizco Salvado. The savior of the pyramidal city was dressed in work clothes¨Cclay-stained trousers and a rumpled shirt, smudges of earth across one of his cheeks. The king had likely been tending to the mineral garden. Unlike his son Vitt, Cizco did not make a show of his nobility. Like so many others, Carina found herself instantly charmed by this, even though she knew well the king¡¯s reputation. His unassuming nature and unlimited power had attracted no shortage of short-lived marriages and playthings. ¡°May the walls ever stand,¡± Carina said, touching the top of her head and bowing in a traditional salute. ¡°Long live Infinzel¡¯s king.¡± ¡°How very formal from a girl partly undressed,¡± Cizco replied. He leveled a hard look at the Secondson and Vitt practically fled away from Carina, taking a seat on the far side of the table. Meanwhile, Carina fastened her shirt¡¯s buttons, but took her time with the task. She did not want to give the impression that she was embarrassed or chastened. She was neither. ¡°The Gen¡¯bi nomads discovered chanic in their desert some ten years back. They claim it¡¯s blood from the ge¡¯chan, the gods magic, who were injured at the end of the Final War,¡± King Cizco continued. The others didn¡¯t stand as he entered. He patted Henry on the shoulder as he passed, then took the seat next to Cortland. ¡°If you paint yourself with the stuff in the symbols we¡¯ve learned from the gods, it¡¯s possible to replicate the effects of Ink.¡± Silence hung in the room for a moment. ¡°How come I haven¡¯t heard of this?¡± Cortland asked. ¡°Why isn¡¯t everyone using it?¡± ¡°Well, the Gen¡¯bi have been understandably protective of their desert¡¯s resources,¡± Cizco replied. ¡°But Crucifalia and the fourteen families of Merchant¡¯s Bay have already committed considerable resources to acquiring the stuff. It won¡¯t be kept quiet for much longer. I suspect we¡¯ll see them killing each other at a Granting over it soon enough.¡± Carina agreed with the king¡¯s assessment, although she didn¡¯t speak up. Her fellow champions were still adjusting to the idea of chanic¡¯s existence. ¡°Shouldn¡¯t we acquire some for ourselves?¡± Vitt asked. ¡°It¡¯s immensely expensive and dangerous,¡± Cizco said. ¡°I¡¯m told the Magelab has been running trials on it. Always looking for ways to stop wasting away from the arcane bargain. Last I heard, there were some hundred apprentices dead from exposure, and others from accidents when they tried to draw upon its power.¡± King Cizco at last turned his gaze on Carina. ¡°Which begs the question¨Cwhere did you get it? And, perhaps more importantly, why have the gods sent you to us?¡± Carina took a deep breath. This was it. She¡¯d waited years and traveled thousands of miles for the opportunity to unspool this tale before King Cizco. She wasn¡¯t a fool. Carina knew that what she said next might end with her corpse getting fed to the mineral garden. She¡¯d calculated the risk, though. The probability was small. ¡°The answer to your first question is a complicated one and will be better understood once I¡¯ve told my entire story,¡± Carina began. ¡°In short, I participated in the chanic trials at the Magelab. We weren¡¯t all killed or consumed.¡± King Cizco raised his chin. ¡°You don¡¯t wear the mark of Magelab.¡± ¡°No. They made an exception to their rule against outsiders because I provided them the chanic. A shipment¡¯s worth which, technically, I stole from Crucifalia.¡± They all fell silent. Staring at her now. Carina knew that look. Each of them grappling with the idea that she was more than she¡¯d let on. An opportune moment for her to barrel ahead. ¡°As for why the gods chose me as your champion, my king, I believe that the ge¡¯ema have always favored Infinzel. They wish to see the pyramidal city survive.¡± ¡°Survive what?¡± King Cizco asked. ¡°Your death,¡± Carina replied. ¡°I believe the gods have sent me as your replacement.¡±
12. [Cortland] The Logicians Tale
--DRAMATIS PERSONAE¡ª Cortland Finiron, Hammer Master of the 12th Renown, Kingdom of Infinzel, sweating Carina Goldstone, Logician of the 2nd Renown, Kingdom of Infinzel, has a tale to tell King Cizco Salvado, Quill of Infinzel, Kingdom of Infinzel, hears a ticking clock Vitt Secondson-Salvado, Hunter of the 9th Renown, Kingdom of Infinzel, should keep his mouth shut Henry Blacksalve, Healer of the 8th Renown, Kingdom of Infinzel, wishing he had a drink
20 New Summer, 61 AW The pyramidal city of Infinzel, North Continent 280 days until the next Granting Cortland felt glad that he¡¯d rushed straight to the Battle Library from training. He would¡¯ve hated for Vitt to see how the girl¡¯s proclamation made him sweat. There was something about this Carina Goldstone. Plain-looking and small-boned, with a way of speaking that brought Cortland back to his school days. She reminded him of the children who had sat in the front row and proudly gotten every questions right, while Cortland and his rockhead friends snickered in the background. Carina had the look of someone who waded into arguments armed with indisputable facts and strong opinions, and had been smacked around a few times as a result. He¡¯d met know-it-alls before and he¡¯d met strivers and he didn¡¯t particularly mind them. In his experience, all that ambition usually hid a fragile person underneath. He found that he even liked Carina and the easy way she had soothed Henry and put Vitt in his place, not at all cowed by the moment. But yet, there was something about her that made Cortland want to reach for his hammer. Maybe it was her strange version of the Ink, with the crimson flecks floating through it. The gods had not only chosen her, but they¡¯d rewarded her with abilities beyond her renown. That shouldn¡¯t have been possible. Her attitude, her Ink, her grand entrance. All that made her prediction about the king feel somehow plausible. Next to Cortland, King Cizco sat up a bit straighter. Initially, the king had looked at Carina like a new puppy that had popped out a turd on the best rug. Now, that twinkle of wry amusement had faded from his eyes. ¡°Am I to die?¡± King Cizco asked quietly. ¡°I was unaware.¡± ¡°Surely, you¡¯ve considered the worst case scenario,¡± Carina said. ¡°There must be a succession plan in place.¡± ¡°Of course there is,¡± Vitt drawled. ¡°There¡¯s Herman Firstson-Salvado and you¡¯re in the presence of the Secondson.¡± Carina waved a hand. ¡°I¡¯m not talking about who gets to wear the jewelry and live on the top floor,¡± she said, then extended her arms as if to encompass the entirety of Infinzel. ¡°I¡¯m talking about who keeps the city running.¡± ¡°He¡¯s the immortal king,¡± Cortland said. ¡°What are we talking about?¡± ¡°The ageless king.¡± Carina flashed Cortland a look like he should know better. ¡°There¡¯s a difference, isn¡¯t there? How does your yearly wish go?¡± ¡°I am sure you will tell us,¡± King Cizco said flatly. ¡°Another year of undiminished life for King Cizco Salvado,¡± Carina recited the wish that Cortland had heard proclaimed at each of his ten Grantings. ¡°You could wish yourself immortal but then you wouldn¡¯t have anything for the arcane bargain, right? Life comes cheap for an immortal. I¡¯ve seen the condition of the archmages of the Magelab. The price is high for the amount of magic you work. You depend upon the wishes for replenishment.¡± Cortland found himself picturing the elementalist Arris Stonetender and the thick grooves of scar tissue that covered her arms. He peered at Cizco, wondering for the first time the costs his king paid so that Infinzel could thrive. He noted again the fresh grays at the man¡¯s temples. ¡°It¡¯s a tremendous burden you carry,¡± Carina said, meeting the king¡¯s eyes. ¡°It can¡¯t be that complicated,¡± Vitt mumbled. ¡°Tens of thousands live under the protection of Infinzel,¡± Carina replied, pacing a half-circle on the other side of the table. ¡°Complex engineering and rune-work run the lights and the lifts. Alchemical magic churns the mineral garden. Ward-work guards against the creatures of the Underneath. Who, besides the king, understands the sorcery and symbols? Who knows which walls are indispensable and which might be allowed to crumble? Who else has mastered the craft that makes the pyramidal city possible?¡± ¡°None,¡± Cizco said coolly. ¡°It¡¯s as you said, girl. I keep Infinzel running.¡± ¡°Yes,¡± Carina agreed. ¡°And I intend to fight for your life with all the power at my disposal, my king. But the gods? They believe that the city needs a back-up plan.¡± Henry Blacksalve rubbed his hands over his face. ¡°I¡¯m too sober for this.¡± ¡°She¡¯s mad,¡± Cortland muttered, turning to check Cizco¡¯s reaction. The king stared hard-eyed at the girl who claimed herself ready to replace him, but Cortland detected something else in the way Cizco¡¯s throat bobbed and his jaw tightened. Belief. Meanwhile, Vitt affected a yawn. ¡°The trolkin of the north know how to handle situations like these. Any of their tribe can challenge a champion for their spot. They must constantly prove themselves worthy of the Ink. I say we put the word out to the Garrison, see who might test our little savior here.¡± Cortland¡¯s lips curled back. ¡°There¡¯s a precedent you don¡¯t want set, Vitt.¡± ¡°She¡¯s talking treason, isn¡¯t she?¡± Vitt said. ¡°Or is it regicide?¡± ¡°Before the first Granting, the Orvesians turned their back on a champion selected by the gods,¡± King Cizco said distantly. ¡°I knew of her power. We might have lost if she¡¯d been alive to fight.¡± ¡°Losing some mouthy second renown logician is hardly going to usher in an Orvesian calamity,¡± Vitt replied. ¡°Maybe the gods thought you needed a laugh, father. Let¡¯s be done with her.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll have no more of that cursed talk!¡± Cizco snapped, practically tipping out of his chair to round on Vitt. The force of his shout made the stone table creak and sent the books Cortland had been consulting sliding onto the floor. The king¡¯s voice was imbued with power. ¡°Spare us your further commentaries on matters you don¡¯t understand, you foppish fuck! How are you my Secondson? You should¡¯ve been crust on a bedspread!¡± Cortland hadn¡¯t seen King Cizco lose control like that in years. The sight of a rattled Cizco made it impossible for Cortland to enjoy what were otherwise delightful insults directed at Vitt. ¡°All right, Cizco,¡± Cortland said quietly. He put a hand on the king¡¯s shoulder. Heat radiated through his shirt. ¡°You know the boy¡¯s mouth runs off ahead of him.¡± Cizco took in a deep breath through his nose, looked away from Vitt, and waved his hand. ¡°Get out, Secondson. Your presence here is unnecessary.¡± To his credit, Vitt didn¡¯t make the scene worse by protesting. He stood up and bowed deeply to Carina. ¡°I look forward to working with you, logician.¡± ¡°Likewise, hunter,¡± Carina replied. As the door shut behind Vitt, King Cizco returned to examining Carina. ¡°Is this introduction going as you imagined?¡± ¡°Somewhat,¡± she replied with a shrug. ¡°I thought I would get to talk more. I did expect that I might face a challenge, but I¡¯d hoped it wouldn¡¯t come to that.¡± Cortland snorted. ¡°Planned it all out, did you?¡± ¡°I am a logician,¡± Carina said with a half-smile. ¡°Go on, then. Tell us exactly who you are and where you¡¯ve been, so I might judge if you¡¯re fit to take my place when I¡¯m killed,¡± Cizco said dryly. Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site. Carina took a deep breath. ¡°I was born on Infinzel''s second level. My mother was an accountant for a merchant firm and my father worked in the mineral garden. We had a modest apartment with a view facing south. My childhood was ordinary, except that I grew up fascinated with this place. The architecture, the engineering, the magical energies. The pyramidal city was like a toy puzzle box that I was determined to unlock. I explored, got lost, wandered into places that I probably shouldn''t have. I asked my parents questions that they couldn''t possibly know the answers to, and they interpreted this as a gift. They enrolled me in extra classes and I think I would''ve been quite happy growing up to be a mason or an inspector.¡± ¡°Those jobs are still available to you,¡± Henry said. ¡°Better than this one. Safer.¡± ¡°Are you familiar with the Gadgeteers of Beacon?¡± Carina asked. Cortland had encountered the Gadgeteers contingent at a few different Grantings. They were perpetually under the protection of the Ministry of Sulk and avoided declaring wishes that would get them killed. ¡°Friendly oddities,¡± he said. ¡°Like to blow things up on occasion.¡± King Cizco better understood what Carina was getting at. ¡°Are you implying you had some Vis-Prog, like a Gadgeteer?¡± ¡°Visions of Progress,¡± Carina said, for Cortland and Henry¡¯s benefit. ¡°The Gadgeteers share dreams of inventions. They call them Vis-Prog because they insist on abbreviating everything. The dreams unite them. It¡¯s how they earn their wheel¡­¡± Carina touched her throat, where the Gadgeteers¡¯ gear symbol would go. ¡°The ge¡¯nezza,¡± Cizco said. ¡°Gods of progress. Unproven deities.¡± ¡°With material results, if you¡¯ve ever seen Beacon,¡± Carina said. ¡°But no. I¡¯m no Gadgeteer. My visions were only for this place. Never for something new, only for the maintenance and improvement of what¡¯s here. By age nine, I¡¯d mastered enough rune-work to light our apartments.¡± King Cizco shook his head. ¡°I would¡¯ve heard if there was a prodigy¡­¡± ¡°My father died the next year,¡± Carina continued. ¡°An accident in the mineral garden. My mother couldn''t afford the dues on our apartments and tried to make up the difference by stealing from her employer. She was killed.¡± ¡°Killed? By some merchant?¡± Cortland asked. ¡°Someone she crossed. I don''t really know. The details never seemed as important as the loss, if that makes sense.¡± Cortland rubbed his knuckles, thinking of Ben Tuarez and the monkey-masked assassin who¡¯d killed him. The details of that still mattered to him. They mattered very much. ¡°Within the year, I was evicted from our apartments and sent outside the walls entirely,¡± Carina continued. ¡°I spent the next four years living in Soldier''s Rest.¡± ¡°That''s¡­ regrettable,¡± Cizco said. ¡°We must maintain certain efficiencies with who lives within the walls, but there are meant to be safeguards for children¡­¡± ¡°Oh, I don''t begrudge the policy,¡± Carina said. ¡°The pyramidal city is a system that requires careful maintenance. They were kind to me in the Rest. I was able to continue my education, after a fashion, and although I yearned to be back within the walls, there was a lot to be gleaned from an outsider¡¯s perspective. I¡¯m sure Henry understands what I¡¯m saying.¡± Cizco and Cortland both turned to glance at Blacksalve, who attempted to slouch lower in his seat. ¡°Ah, sure,¡± he said reluctantly. ¡°The Rest is its own education.¡± ¡°At sixteen, I applied for admission to the Garrison,¡± Carina continued. ¡°I was rejected.¡± ¡°Who conducted your trial?¡± Cortland asked. ¡°You, actually.¡± Cortland raised his eyebrows. That would¡¯ve been almost ten years ago. The faces of the many Garrison applicants he¡¯d tested and rejected over the years blurred in his memory. ¡°You see hundreds every season, I imagine,¡± Carina said, letting him off the hook. ¡°And I was young and impetuous. Perhaps not ready.¡± ¡°Unlike now,¡± Cizco said. ¡°Yes, unlike now,¡± Carina agreed, ignoring the bite in the king¡¯s tone. ¡°Did you know, King Cizco, that there are agents from Penchenne at work in the outer districts?¡± ¡°What kind of agents?¡± King Cizco asked. ¡°Recruiters in service to the Exile Queen Deidre. They target talent who don¡¯t make the cut for the Garrison and offer scholarships funded by the exile queen for continued training in Penchenne. They siphon off the talented and disillusioned.¡± Cortland held his breath for a moment. He half-expected another blow-up from the king. Generally, it was accepted wisdom not to bring up the Exile Queen Deidre Salvado-Aracia around her ex-husband. While the king had been through what, to Cortland, felt like an astonishing number of wives and consorts over the years, fathering an endless brood of children with his ageless balls, most of those relationships had ended amicably enough when Cizco set the woman aside with a dues-free apartment and a generous stipend. Queen Deidre had been the only one to leave Cizco. Even twenty years after her departure, the relationship was still the subject of gossip and a number of illicit plays and novels. Deidre had fled Infinzel with her four young children, the Salvado name, and no formal divorce. Penchenne had an elected governor, but the rumor was that the Exile Queen Deidre and her now grown children secretly ruled the city from her estate in the hills. ¡°Interesting,¡± was all King Cizco had to say, though there was a flicker of something in his eyes that would¡¯ve made Cortland stand back if he were in Carina¡¯s place. Instead, she pressed on. ¡°I accepted one of these scholarships and spent the next three years studying in Penchenne. The exile queen has a great interest in how Infinzel works.¡± ¡°I¡¯m sure she does,¡± Cizco said. ¡°Penchenne was eager to sponsor my research, which was all geared toward reproducing what you¡¯ve created here. By the third year, however, when my Ink still showed me as loyal to Infinzel, they began to lose patience and I decided to move on.¡± ¡°Where did you go next?¡± Henry asked. Cortland hadn¡¯t noticed the healer maneuver toward the edge of his seat. ¡°I applied for membership at the Magelab,¡± Carina said. ¡°But, as we¡¯ve established, they don¡¯t accept those who don¡¯t bare their mark. I don¡¯t have a natural talent for the arcane, so I needed to take other measures.¡± ¡°Chanic,¡± Cizco said. ¡°Eventually,¡± Carina replied. ¡°First, I traveled across the sea to Beacon, to act as an apprentice amongst the Gadgeteers.¡± ¡°Penchenne, Magelab, Beacon,¡± Henry rattled off the cities. ¡°You¡¯re better traveled than me.¡± ¡°I have never been to Armistice.¡± Henry snorted. ¡°Skip it.¡± ¡°Beacon is where I first heard of chanic,¡± Carina continued. ¡°It¡¯s something of a sensation on the southern continent. While working with the Gadgeteers, I also founded a trading company as a front to infiltrate Crucifalia. From there, it wasn¡¯t much challenge to make a shipment of chanic disappear and return with it to the Magelab.¡± Cortland barked a laugh. He¡¯d met some Crucifalians at the Grantings and while none had ever given him any offense, he wouldn¡¯t have lamented swinging his hammer through one of their blonde heads. They were fanatical and cruel, with their fairy tale religion and obsession with using wishes to improve upon their women. And yet, Carina spoke of ripping them off like it was swiping a cookie from a bakery. ¡°You¡¯ve got some stone in that blood, don¡¯t you?¡± Cortland remarked. ¡°If those bastards had caught you, they¡¯d have transformed you into a wife.¡± ¡°In all my years of training, I never learned to churn butter,¡± Carina said. Even the king allowed a smirk at that. ¡°I assume that at last brings us to the present.¡± ¡°More or less,¡± Carina said. ¡°The Magelab allowed me a provisionary membership as their chanic suppler. I joined the trials and soon discovered I was one of the few capable of resisting the substance¡¯s more problematic side effects.¡± Cortland eyed Carina¡¯s torso where her shirt had been open before. Only the pyramid symbol of Infinzel and the uppermost whorls of her red-flecked Ink were visible now. The blood of gods, apparently pulled from beneath the sands of an inhospitable desert, and this girl and her fellows were painting themselves with the stuff. That seemed like madness to the hammer master. ¡°Why were you not susceptible to its effects?¡± Cizco asked. ¡°Another blessing from the gods who plucked you from obscurity?¡± ¡°More like discipline and precision,¡± Carina replied. ¡°Just like Ink, the chanic fades when it¡¯s overused. For a while, the apprentices in the trials believed they could simply apply another coat and keep going. I only took what power the chanic gave me, then waited for my markings to restore themselves. Impatient apprentices who layered their runes were amongst the first to melt down.¡± ¡°Do you mean literally?¡± Cizco asked. ¡°Sometimes,¡± replied Carina. She rounded the table and picked up the book of symbols that Cizco had knocked aside during his spat with Vitt. ¡°Then, there was the matter of precision. The Magelab has extensive documentation on the language of the gods, but we found they weren¡¯t always completely accurate. The slightest variation in a rune could result in disastrous consequences.¡± Squinting, Cortland watched Carina shelve the book. Much of this discussion was flying over his head. His hand twitched for his hammer. Training in the Garrison he understood¨Csweating and sparring ¨Cwith the occasional trip to the Underneath mixed in to raise the stakes. The skills imbued by his twelve levels of renown came to him naturally. The process Carina described sounded like cheating the system. ¡°Participating in the chanic trials gave me access to the Magelab¡¯s libraries,¡± Carina continued as she peered up at the Battle Library¡¯s collection. ¡°I continued my studies of ward-work, crafting, and creation. Specifically, I attempted to master your skills, King Cizco. The Magelab has three dozen thesis papers attempting to unpack what you¡¯ve managed here. They also have detailed records of your time as a champion. You were twentieth renown. A vast collection of Ink¡­¡± ¡°Indeed, I know my own biography,¡± Cizco said. ¡°And you took the wash, went back to the old ways¡­¡± Carina turned to face Cizco, but her eyes flicked briefly to Henry. ¡°I¡¯ve only had my Ink for a few weeks and played with the chanic for months before that. Even now, I can¡¯t imagine the stress of being without it.¡± Cortland sensed the intent of this exchange and was pleased when Cizco picked up on it. ¡°The wash nearly killed me,¡± he said. ¡°I spent decades recovering and Infinzel suffered as a result.¡± Henry sank back in his chair, his brow creased. The logician had been with them for less than an hour and already she was steering the healer toward staying on. Cortland appreciated the help. ¡°I suppose that brings us to the present,¡± Carina said. ¡°Of course, I thought I¡¯d spend many more years preparing in the Magelab. But the gods saw fit to mark me now. That, my king, suggests our need is urgent. Something comes to threaten Infinzel.¡± Cortland rubbed his hand across his scalp. The crimson tint of her Ink nagged at him. ¡°What did the symbologist say when you showed up in its realm with your false Ink?¡± Carina blinked, as if she hadn¡¯t quite expected the question. ¡°He did not seem pleased, exactly. But he honored the choices I made.¡± ¡°So, if we paint runes upon ourselves with this chanic, we can cheat all the symbologist¡¯s rules about renown and class?¡± Cortland asked. ¡°In my experience, at least? Yes,¡± Carina replied. ¡°Did the archmages learn of this advantage?¡± Cizco asked. ¡°I hid my Ink from them, but I fear they suspected,¡± Carina said. ¡°I expect this won¡¯t stay secret knowledge for long. The world is changing, sirs. Here in Infinzel and beyond.¡± Silence hung in the room again. But not the stunned skepticism that had greeted Carina¡¯s first pronouncement of impending doom. Cortland glanced at his companions and realized that, like him, they were nearly convinced. ¡°You understand that I will be verifying this origin story of yours,¡± Cizco said. ¡°Of course,¡± Carina replied. ¡°My closest adviser at the Magelab was Ahmed Roh. You could write to him.¡± The king nodded and stood. ¡°You¡¯re to train her, Cortland. And you too, Henry. She¡¯s not to work with anyone outside this room. I won¡¯t allow the possibility for any accidents. I expect her raised to at least fourth renown by the Granting. Understood?¡± ¡°Understood,¡± Cortland said. ¡°I¡¯m in no condition to¡ª¡± Henry began. ¡°Understood?¡± Cizco repeated. ¡°Yes,¡± Henry replied, a tremor going through his hands. ¡°Understood.¡± Once the king was gone, Carina flopped into the nearest chair and blew out a lengthy sigh that displaced a curl of hair from in front of her face. She suddenly looked very young again. ¡°Well, gentlemen,¡± she said. ¡°How do we begin?¡± ¡°With a nap,¡± Henry muttered. Before he could respond, a hint of movement caught Cortland¡¯s attention. There was a crack in the stone wall near the book cases. A fist-sized opening between two bookshelves. A rat watched them from the crevice. Its beady eyes met Cortland¡¯s for a moment, and then it scurried back into the innards of Infinzel.
13. [Red Tide] Naming Songs
King Mudt reappeared on the frontlines of a siege in disarray. The catapults they had spent months painstakingly positioning in a deadly crescent around Infinzel stood quiet, even though Mudt had ordered round-the-clock bombardment. Mudt¡¯s warriors and marksmen milled around the weaponry in confusion, dancing between the shadows of impossible satellites. Spiked boulders and balls of hot oil hung in the air above the catapults, released but stuck there, slowly drifting back to the ground. At the sight, Mudt laughed maniacally. ¡°The gods weren¡¯t lying!¡± he roared. ¡°The rules have changed!¡± At his laughter and shouting, King Mudt¡¯s army noticed him. One of his outriders, pale-faced and shoulders hunched, scurried forward. ¡°Some kind of magical defense from the mages of Infinzel,¡± the outrider reported. ¡°We had a unit try to breach the wall this morning and met resistance there. The skirmishers found their weapons stuck in the air. Strange, but the enemy seemed as surprised as us. And then, there is the mark¡­¡± King Mudt waved this all away. ¡°Your king has been in congress with the gods themselves,¡± Mudt declared. ¡°Do not presume to inform me, for I already know it all.¡± ¡°No, of course, my liege.¡± Mudt grabbed the outrider by the chin and twisted his head to the side, in order to better see the blackbird that marked him as a true Orvesian. ¡°They appeared on all of us,¡± the outrider babbled. ¡°Although not everyone got the bird¡­¡± King Mudt raised an eyebrow at that. ¡°Bring me Sulk, Carver, and Bello,¡± he said, listing off three of his captains, the best warriors in his tens of thousands. ¡°And inform your unit to arrest anyone not marked with the blackbird.¡± By the end of that first day, King Mudt would know every spy that had infiltrated his vanguard. He would be unable to kill a single one. But he would try. --Record of the First Granting and Dawning of the Second Age Lyus Crodd, Scribe of the Dead Kingdom of Orvesis
--DRAMATIS PERSONAE¡ª Red Tide, Enchantress of the 3rd Renown, The Reef, on the loose Turtle Jaw, Quill of The Reef, leading the way Cuda Bite, Skulker of the 1st Renown, The Reef, slippery as an eel Salt Wall, Berserker of the 2nd Renown, The Reef, from the north Beyond Reach, Trident Master of the 3rd Renown, The Reef, doesn¡¯t like to sing
22 New Summer, 61 AW The Central Sea, heading north 278 days until the next Granting Red Tide assumed the swim out from the Grotto was normal. If it seemed strange that the champions of the Reef would leave the prison under the cover of night with minimal supervision, she quickly set that thought aside. She was back in the water. That was all she¡¯d wanted. To be freed from the confines of her cell. Red Tide could make the fin again, hooking the small bones that ran up the insides of her legs, practically moaning as her spine aligned with her lower body. She cut through the waves, a gray streak, darting and diving like she was a child again. At first, the gills on the sides of her ribs burned from disuse, crackling with the salt water. Even that pain was welcome. There were five of them in all. The four condemned champions of the Reef and Turtle Jaw with his quill. Four newly freed prisoners and their warden. In less than a year''s time, all except for the warden would most likely be hunted and killed. Red Tide ignored that looming fate, like she ignored the fact that Turtle Jaw was leading them north, away from the Reef. She assumed he would explain, eventually, why he had abandoned his post and swam them all this way. But for now, it was enough to simply move, to glide and dive. Red Tide''s body felt renewed. Despite a year in captivity, she felt like she could swim faster and further than before. Red Tide dove deep, caught a fish in her fist, and ate it floating on her back. Blood and scales spilled across her chest and her new Ink. She cleaned the symbols off hurriedly, not wanting to give offense. The ge¡¯ema had been good to her.
Red Tide The Reef 3rd Renown
Awareness+
Enchantress Coral Tender
Charm+
Poisonous Hypnotic Object
They swam north for days. To pass the time, Red Tide crooned her naming song. She sent the music vibrating through the water in clicks and pulses, piercing wails and contralto warbles. That was the way of the oca''em. The sharing of naming songs was traditional when two pods met and essential when new ones were formed out of stragglers. They certainly qualified as a pod now, Red Tide reasoned. They were going to die together. And so, Red Tide sang of the way she ripped her way out of her mother, the cold wrath of her father, and their exile from the Reef for his failed attempt at rebellion. She sang of her time alone in the waters and how she had been without a pod for many years. She sang of her games with the sailors of the Merchant Bay, her bloody reputation, and her imprisonment. She sang of the promise of fresh Ink and how if she was to die, she intended to take many, many enemies with her. The others entwined her verses with their own. Cuda Bite swam closest to Red Tide. She could feel a youthful lust in the way he dashed in her wake. He was on the small side, angular and without scars, and he sang of his life as a prolific thief who had only been caught the one time. He made his petty grifts sound almost operatic, but Red Tide heard the irony in his verses and it amused her. She studied his Ink as they traveled and saw that he had chosen [Skulker], which Red Tide had briefly considered for herself. That seemed a practical choice if he planned to survive, although the gods hadn¡¯t felt him worthy of much Ink.
Cuda Bite The Reef 1st Renown
Shadow Step
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. Agility+
Skulker
Hidden Blade
Compared to Cuda Bite, the song of Salt Wall was deep and proud, with no humor at all. She was a monstrous one, broad and muscular, bigger even than Turtle Jaw, and she swam as if the currents offended her. Salt Wall''s skin was dark gray bordering on blue, which suggested she belonged to the ice water pods of the north. Her disdain for her southern brethren came through in her song, though she made sure to trill respect for the sailor blood that Red Tide had spilled.
Salt Wall The Reef 2nd Renown
Recovery+ Strength+
Berserker Bloodlust
Numb
Even Turtle Jaw joined in the song. The warden was a man of duty who had attended his post at the Grotto for almost twenty years. He hummed the mournful notes of a life gone by, the sucking whirlpool of faith unrewarded. Red Tide wondered at that. There was mourning in Turtle Jaw¡¯s song, but also an edge of hope. Better things to come, his song suggested. The fifth swimmer joined the song only in the most perfunctory way, as if he were merely passing them by in the waters instead of migrating alongside them. He called himself Beyond Reach and filled his verses with empty pleasantries, but Red Tide could feel the contempt behind them. He was a handsome face with a lavish mane of braids and beads, but his muscles were wrong and he was the slowest swimmer among them. At first, Red Tide wondered if he had spent too many years a prisoner in the Grotto and forgotten how to move. But no, upon further examination, his were the ways of an oca''em who preferred to stand instead of swim. He was surely a resident of the Horizdock, the section of the Reef that grew above the water''s surface, where the queen¡¯s pets tried to trade their sad wares to passing ships. Red Tide learned from his Ink that Beyond Reach favored the trident, a traditional weapon of their people that had fallen out of use. Surely, his life as a Horizdock brat training with artifacts would¡¯ve made for a compelling song, but Beyond Reach elected to keep his origins to himself.
Beyond Reach The Reef 3rd Renown
Alert
Balance+ Eel Sting
Trident Master Weapon Return
Vault
Often, Red Tide sensed Beyond Reach appraising her, though not in the same lascivious way as Cuda Bite. Beyond Reach was surprised, she realized. He had not expected any of them to match his Ink. Red Tide was pretty sure Beyond Reach had been distracted, sizing her up, when the anchoreel attacked. The beast shot upward from the sea floor like a dart, its flat head connecting a glancing blow with Beyond Reach¡¯s midsection. The first strike wasn''t meant to kill; the anchoreel only wanted its prey knocked off course and disoriented. As Beyond Reach spun through the water, the anchoreel wrapped its sleek, obsidian body around his hips and thighs. Beyond Reach had a chance to trill a panicked warning to the swimmers ahead of him and then he was sinking. Anchoreel were lonely hunters. They didn''t have much company, so they liked to drag their prey back down to the sea floor and take their time with the crushing and cracking open of bones. Red Tide and Salt Wall dove after Beyond Reach, his name suddenly frighteningly literal. Cuda Bite gave chase, too, albeit with a timid stroke that suggested he was more concerned with watching for more anchoreels than he was with saving their companion. Flashes of crackling blue emanated from the darkening waters below. At first, Red Tide worried a pack of liteels had joined the fray, but then she remembered Beyond Reach¡¯s Ink. He''d activated his [Eel Sting] to try stunning the anchoreel. Foolish. Anchoreels preyed on liteels and over generations had grown immune to their shocking touch. Beyond Reach¡¯s jolts had little effect on the anchoreel¡¯s tough skin, and its constricting grip didn''t loosen. Salt Wall reached the anchoreel first, but the beast saw her coming. It swung its triangular head out from under Beyond Reach¡¯s armpit and snapped at Salt Wall. She met the fanged mouth with the backs of her hands pressed against each other, forcing her fingers straight into the anchoreel''s maw. Purplish curlicues of blood drifted upward from where the anchoreel''s teeth dug into Salt Wall''s palms. Red Tide admired how the muscles across Salt Wall¡¯s back tightened and popped. The wounds only made the berserker stronger, her [Bloodlust] activating to heighten her strength while [Numb] made her impervious to the pain. Perhaps realizing its error, the anchoreel tried to loosen its grip on Beyond Reach and escape, but it was too late. By the time Red Tide reached them, Salt Wall had already wrenched the creature''s head apart by the jaws. One of its empty black eyes dangled from a socket, popped loose when Salt Wall ripped its lower jaw off. The berserker sang victory through the water and Red Tide joined in. She gave Beyond Reach the benefit of the doubt that he stayed silent on account of having his wind squeezed out of him. An hour later, they found a sad little island that wouldn''t have taken an hour to walk around. The shore was mostly crushed sea glass, but Red Tide scavenged some seaweed and kelp that she could use as bandages for Salt Wall''s hands. This wasn¡¯t the first time that Red Tide would treat wounds with only what the sea provided, and certainly not the last. The lacerations on Salt Wall¡¯s hands were minor, though, and the woman seemed in good spirits. Her [Recovery+] Ink aided in the healing process, filling new flesh into what should¡¯ve been deep gashes. ¡°We eat well tonight,¡± Salt Wall declared as she dumped the body of the anchoreel on the beach. ¡°Anyone know how to make a fire?¡± Cuda Bite asked. ¡°Those eels taste better with a char on them.¡± Salt Wall scoffed. ¡°You would disgrace my kill with some land-walker fanciness? Cooked eel is for cowards.¡± As those two squabbled over how to best serve anchoreel, Red Tide approached Beyond Reach. She jabbed two fingers into the Ink on his left pectoral, happy to see him wince. ¡°Alert,¡± she read the symbol. ¡°What''s that mean, huh?¡± Beyond Reach stared at her. ¡°Means I''m aware of danger.¡± ¡°So you''re supposed to be our spotter, yeah? What the fuck happened?¡± ¡°My attention was elsewhere.¡± ¡°On me,¡± Red Tide said. ¡°You flatter yourself,¡± he replied. Turtle Jaw stepped up beside the glowering Beyond Reach and patted him on the shoulder. ¡°Anything broken?¡± ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± he said, then jerked his chin in Salt Wall¡¯s direction. ¡°She bled.¡± ¡°She bled saving your life,¡± Red Tide said. ¡°They¡¯re already closer than we anticipated,¡± he continued, ignoring her. ¡°Now they¡¯ll have a trail.¡± ¡°You give them too much credit,¡± Turtle Jaw said. ¡°Use the quill,¡± Beyond Reach replied. ¡°You¡¯ll see.¡± Red Tide stood back with her arms crossed as the two men exchanged words. She wanted to know what they were discussing, but she knew that shoving her way into the conversations wouldn¡¯t get her any answers. Let them talk over her head while she observed. She¡¯d learned that when attending some of her dead father¡¯s coup meetings. Turtle Jaw made a gesture and the quill was in his hands. More magic from the gods, that he could summon the golden inkwell and phoenix feather at will. At the pace they¡¯d been swimming north, none of them had carried anything that might slow them down. Dipping the quill into the Ink, Turtle Jaw crouched over a clean patch of sand and sketched out a rectangle. ¡°Show me where to find the power,¡± he intoned. Red Tide understood these words, even as she realized the language was that of the ge¡¯ema. Some kind of incantation. The Ink spread across the sand guided by an invisible force, filling Turtle Jaw¡¯s rectangle with a map of the world. Once the continents and sea took shape, dozens of Ink dots blossomed across map. At first, Red Tide assumed these were cities and towns, but upon closer inspection she realized that some of the dots were in far flung locations. In fact, one was near them in the ocean between the Grotto and the northern continent. ¡°What is this?¡± Red Tide asked. ¡°Places where we can find you more Ink,¡± Turtle Jaw said. ¡°You just used a bunch of Ink to make your fucking map.¡± Beyond Reach sighed impatiently, but Turtle Jaw gave her a real answer. ¡°I can¡¯t just give you more Ink, Red, you have to earn it. Every year, the gods make places like this. Trials for you champions to undertake.¡± As he spoke, Turtle Jaw drew a loose circle around the dot of Ink in the ocean. The map reconstituted itself around his circle, telescoping into a more detailed view. Beyond Reach poked his small finger into the sand a few leagues north of the Ink dot. ¡°We¡¯re here,¡± he said. ¡°About a day ahead.¡± Red Tide squinted and leaned closer. She thought the dot in the sand had inched nearer to Beyond Reach¡¯s finger. ¡°Is it coming toward us?¡± she asked. Turtle Jaw nodded, then looked over to where Salt Wall had found a sharp rock and was preparing to slice open the anchoreel. ¡°Hurry up with that!¡± he yelled. ¡°We need to get back in the water!¡± Before Red Tide could ask what was moving through the water, Beyond Reach wiped away the map. ¡°As I explained,¡± he said, ¡°my attention was not on you.¡± They spent the rest of the day swimming north at a brisk pace and, at night, they found a current that would carry them further on while they rested. Red Tide smiled up at the stars, enjoying the dull ache in her muscles, eel blood still on her lips and tongue. There were mysteries and machinations about her, but she was happy to ignore them. All this felt to her like freedom. Swimming, hunting, and getting into trouble. This was the life for her. She sensed ripples to her right and knew that Cuda Bite glided toward her. Red Tide smirked in the moonlight. She was in a good enough mood that, if he asked politely, she might let him have her. ¡°You know, there''s a place where we can wash this shit off of us,¡± he whispered, using words instead of sea-song so that the others wouldn''t overhear. Red Tide sighed. ¡°I''m clean as they come, little Cuda.¡± ¡°I mean the Ink,¡± he said. ¡°There''s a place where we can get rid of it. Let the queen pick some other suckers for the gods¡¯ game. We''ll be free. Just got to get rid of Turtle Jaw. I think the two of us could handle him, but couldn''t hurt to bring Salt Wall in. Don''t know if we can trust Beyond Smalltalk¡­¡± ¡°We can¡¯t,¡± Red Tide said thoughtfully. ¡°And I could handle Turtle Jaw by myself, if I wanted.¡± ¡°Even better,¡± he replied. ¡°I''d pay a debt to you gladly.¡± ¡°But I don''t want to.¡± She dragged one of her claws across a swirl of Ink at her collar. ¡°I haven¡¯t even gotten to try the Ink yet. I like the feel of it, though. The power¡¯s warm.¡± ¡°It''s a death sentence.¡± ¡°I''m not so sure.¡± ¡°None of us ever come back from the Granting. We''re sport for them.¡± Cuda Bite rubbed his own chest like he could scrub the Ink off. ¡°They were going to chop off my hands or I''d never have volunteered. How''d they hook you?¡± ¡°Boredom,¡± Red Tide said. Cuda Bite snorted. ¡°Never been so bored I''d sign up to get hunted.¡± ¡°You think this is how it goes every year?¡± Red Tide asked, kicking her feet gently. ¡°A long swim out to destination unknown with only the warden as a guardian? Seems hard to believe he wouldn¡¯t have gotten himself killed before now.¡± Cuda Bite frowned at her in the darkness. ¡°I thought he was just stupid. Or maybe that quill gives him some hold over us we don''t know yet.¡± ¡°We''re already on the line, yeah? Well, I want to see where it leads. So don''t go making any moves on poor Turtle Jaw until my curiosity is satisfied,¡± Red Tide said firmly. ¡°After that, we can talk again about murder.¡±
14. [Red Tide] Buried Treasure
--DRAMATIS PERSONAE¡ª Red Tide, Enchantress of the 3rd Renown, The Reef, plotting Cuda Bite, Skulker of the 1st Renown, The Reef, plotting Beyond Reach, Trident Master of the 3rd Renown, The Reef, plotting Turtle Jaw, Quill of The Reef, digging Salt Wall, Berserker of the 2nd Renown, The Reef, could go either way honestly
23 New Summer, 61 AW. An unremarkable beach on the North Continent 277 days until the next Granting. They reached land the next morning. The five of them came ashore on one of the northern continent¡¯s sad beaches. Red Tide didn''t know her geography so well, especially not the north, but they didn¡¯t seem close to any of the continent¡¯s famous port cities. She¡¯d never before set foot on the northern continent. The sky was grayer, the air crisper, and the rocks the same as anywhere else. All in all, Red Tide wasn¡¯t impressed. ¡°You know where we''re at?¡± she asked Salt Wall as the two of them plodded out of the water on wobbly legs. The transition back to walking¡ªback to the weight of gravity and the gulping of air through the lungs¡ªit was never easy. Salt Wall cocked her square-shaped head. She was from a north water pod which meant she was used to cold, but not anymore prone to land-walking than Red Tide. ¡°Beast country, I think,¡± Salt Wall said. ¡°We killing the warden now?¡± Frowning, Red Tide glanced over to where Cuda Bite had flopped down in the muddy sand. ¡°The little guy talk you around to that?¡± ¡°Said it was your idea.¡± Red Tide chuckled. ¡°He''s an eel, that one.¡± Salt Wall peeled the seaweed bandages away from her palms. The half-moon cuts from the anchoreel¡¯s teeth were already scabbed over and shrinking. ¡°Not your idea, then?¡± Red Tide hesitated. Beyond Reach had come ashore further down the beach, away from the others. He squatted there with his hands still in the water, staring back the way they¡¯d come. She could read in the hunch of his shoulders that something bothered him. On the Ink map that Turtle Jaw had summoned, there had been something in pursuit. Red Tide wondered how close that was now. ¡°No killing yet,¡± Red Tide told Salt Wall. ¡°But the day is young.¡± As he''d led them there, it was unsurprising that Turtle Jaw alone seemed to know his purpose on the beach. There was a patch of receding woods not far off, toppled and petrified logs stretching across the sand. Turtle Jaw stomped his way toward the edge of the woods and began investigating the logs. He turned a couple over before putting his hands on his hips in frustration and glancing up to check the position of the sun. ¡°Truly a turtle now,¡± Red Tide said. ¡°Looking for a place to drop his eggs.¡± Salt Wall snorted. Red Tide sauntered across the sand to join Turtle Jaw and Salt Wall followed. The two women reached him just as he shoved aside another log, revealing a seaweed-covered recess beneath. Turtle Jaw kicked aside the detritus, clearing out what was obviously an intentionally dug hole. Hidden in the shallow pit was a clamshell cache. Turtle Jaw wrapped his thick arms around the clamshell, which was bigger than his torso, and dragged it free. There was a second, larger clamshell cache buried beneath the first. He glanced at Red Tide and Salt Wall. ¡°Good. Help me with that other one, would you?¡± ¡°I don''t think I will,¡± Red Tide replied. ¡°Not without some answers.¡± ¡°How about you?¡± he asked Salt Wall, sighing when she shook her head and crossed her brawny arms. ¡°Fine. I''ll do it myself.¡± ¡°There¡¯s some talk about killing you,¡± Red Tide told the warden. ¡°Surprised it¡¯s taken this long, but I suppose the mindset of captivity isn¡¯t easily shook,¡± Turtle Jaw responded. He bent over the clamshell cache and started jimmying it loose from the sand. ¡°Beyond Reach won¡¯t allow that.¡± Red Tide glanced over her shoulder. ¡°Nearly got himself eaten yesterday. He don¡¯t impress me.¡± ¡°Had a feeling you two would hit it off,¡± Turtle Jaw said. ¡°It¡¯s true I don¡¯t like our odds if it¡¯s three-against-two, but you¡¯ll get more than a bloody nose for your trouble, Red, I promise.¡± Red Tide held up her hands. ¡°Don¡¯t get your feelings hurt, warden. I said it¡¯s just talk.¡± Turtle Jaw groaned as he wrestled the larger clamshell cache free of the pit, eventually flopping onto his back as he pulled the chest onto the sand. ¡°I¡¯m already down. Here¡¯s your chance, Red. I¡¯ll lay right here until you find a rock large enough to smash my head in.¡± ¡°You got a big head,¡± Red Tide said. Salt Wall nudged her and pointed down the shore. ¡°I see some.¡± Red Tide patted the berserker on the shoulder, but kept her attention on Turtle Jaw. ¡°Where are you bringing us?¡± He gestured toward the woods. ¡°We¡¯re going overland to meet some people who might share our interests.¡± ¡°Vague,¡± Red Tide said. ¡°Try again.¡± ¡°There¡¯s some thought that we might forge an alliance before the next Granting,¡± Turtle Jaw said, looking up at her from his back. ¡°Give you all a better chance of surviving.¡± ¡°Since when does the queen make moves like that?¡± ¡°She doesn¡¯t,¡± Turtle Jaw said. ¡°Your idea, then?¡± This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it. ¡°I got tired of sending four prisoners off to die every year,¡± Turtle Jaw said. ¡°Thought maybe we might try to actually win one of these things. Turns out, I¡¯m not the only one who¡¯s sick of playing nice.¡± Red Tide thought back to the warden¡¯s naming song. He¡¯d lamented lost years, but with a gilding of optimism. That added up, at least. ¡°You didn¡¯t tell me any of this when I took the Ink,¡± she said. ¡°Me neither,¡± Salt Wall chimed in. ¡°Couldn¡¯t risk someone talking out of turn before we got clear of the Grotto,¡± Turtle Jaw said. ¡°This is a better deal, isn¡¯t it? Now you got a chance.¡± ¡°I always had a chance,¡± Red Tide replied, clicking her nails against her teeth. ¡°But I also had a year of liberty and leisure to look forward to.¡± ¡°You think that¡¯s how it plays out?¡± Turtle Jaw asked. ¡°You¡¯d have sat around that cell until the Granting, growing mold on your Ink. The four of you wouldn¡¯t have even met until the Granting. Queen decided it was too dangerous to have all that Ink together.¡± Red Tide shook her head, the beads at the ends of her braids tinkling. ¡°Queen will be after us now, won¡¯t she? She¡¯s going to hang you in the sun right next to us, Turtle Jaw.¡± ¡°Only if she catches us,¡± he replied and smiled. He was having fun, Red Tide realized. Despite her annoyance at being misled, Red Tide smiled back. Salt Wall jabbed the smaller clamshell cache with her toes. ¡°What¡¯s in here?¡± ¡°Gifts from our friends,¡± Turtle Jaw said. ¡°Go ahead and open them. You¡¯ll know what belongs to who.¡± Red Tide exchanged a look with Salt Wall, then the two of them crouched down in the sand. The clamshell caches had long been used amongst the oca¡¯em to store supplies throughout the Central Sea, although that practice had waned somewhat as the Reef shriveled and the pods stayed closer to what was left of their home. The shells were smooth, pink, and hard as diamonds. To pry open a clamshell, land-walkers would need a team of strong men, tools, perhaps a pulley and winch. For oca¡¯em, the process was much simpler. The oils in their touch reacted with the ridged lips of the clams. Red Tide simply had to brush her fingers across the sealed opening and the clam would slowly open for her. Salt Wall did the same. Inside her chest, Red Tide found some neatly arranged clothes and pieces of armor. She held up a dark blue ward-weave tunic against her chest. ¡°You want me dressed so badly, warden?¡± she asked. ¡°I won¡¯t be able to swim in this.¡± ¡°Like I said, we¡¯ll be going overland,¡± Turtle Jaw said. ¡°The four of you will need to get used to fighting on two feet. There¡¯s never enough water at any of these Grantings.¡± Red Tide pulled on the tunic, a set of loose ward-weave pants, and soft boots. The fit was perfect. ¡°You sneak into my cell and get measurements, old man?¡± ¡°I value my neck too much for that,¡± he replied. ¡°Don¡¯t seem the way to me.¡± Next, Red Tide uncovered some camping supplies. Simple tents like the land-walkers used, light packs of dry foods, and a tinderbox. ¡°Could¡¯ve used this to cook your eel,¡± she said to Salt Wall. The berserker scowled. ¡°Not you, too.¡± Setting the camping stuff aside, Red Tide found a pouch containing shards of coral in sunset shades and immediately felt her Ink tingle in response. She held one of her fingers over a piece of coral, focused on it, and reached for [Coral Tender]. She coaxed the shard just enough so that it extended to a sharpened point that pricked her finger. ¡°Beautiful,¡± she said. Meanwhile, Salt Wall had jammed herself into a titanium breastplate that fit snugly across her broad chest. She¡¯d also discovered a menacing hook with an opening that fit over her hand like a gauntlet. Salt Wall swiped the weapon back and forth at gut-level, her triceps rippling, and Red Tide could practically hear warm intestines spilling onto the ground. ¡°Very good,¡± Salt Wall declared. There were ward-weave clothes for Turtle Jaw, as well. He strapped a short sword to his hip and donned a necklace of some sea witch trinkets that Red Tide couldn¡¯t immediately identify. He caught her looking at them and pumped his eyebrows before hiding them beneath his shirt. ¡°What the shit?¡± Cuda Bite asked as he came moseying over. ¡°You guys found buried treasure?¡± Red Tide had considered keeping the dagger she found in the chest for herself, but instead she tossed it lightly to Cuda Bite. He snagged the blade out of the air and unsheathed it in the same motion, bouncing the weapon from hand to hand. The dagger¡¯s blade was blue-tinged, which indicated it¡¯d been forged partly with cobalt. ¡°You¡¯re good with that,¡± Red Tide remarked. ¡°Easy to look slick with a knife like this,¡± Cuda Bite said. ¡°Never had anything this nice.¡± Noticing the exchange, Turtle Jaw nodded to Red Tide. ¡°His dagger¡¯s got coral laid in the cross guard. In case that¡¯s of interest to you.¡± Reaching out with her new sense, Red Tide felt the delicate weave of coral veined between Cuda Bite¡¯s blade and handle. ¡°You been thinking ahead, haven¡¯t you?¡± ¡°Ever since I saw your Ink,¡± Turtle Jaw replied. ¡°It¡¯s my job as Quill to make sure you get the most from your abilities.¡± ¡°So I take it we aren¡¯t murdering the warden?¡± Cuda Bite asked. He shrugged on his own ward-weave tunic, whistling as he poked at the arcane shielding symbols blended into the fabric. ¡°This is expensive stuff. You get rich sitting on your ass in the Grotto?¡± ¡°It¡¯s an investment, but not mine.¡± Red Tide followed Turtle Jaw¡¯s gaze to where Beyond Reach still crouched at the water¡¯s edge. So, he was an uptight Horizdock brat and he came from money. How did someone like that end up in the Grotto? There was still much that Red Tide didn¡¯t understand about their situation, but these gifts had bought Turtle Jaw some time before she pressed him further. ¡°I¡¯m not writing any thank you notes,¡± Red Tide muttered. Salt Wall tapped her shoulder. ¡°Think this is yours, Red.¡± The instrument looked like such a fragile thing in Salt Wall¡¯s huge hands that Red Tide almost snatched it away from her. After a deep breath, she managed to accept the harp gently, dancing her fingers across the polished frame. Red Tide had never seen a finer instrument. The yellowish-pink frame was shaped from conch and must have been crafted by some arcane artistry, because there was no way to otherwise manipulate seashell so elegantly. Fresh strings glittered in the sunlight. She slung the instrument over her shoulder by its seaweed strap, the ugliness of which she could forgive as it was studded by growths of aquamarine coral. Red Tide brushed the back of her hand across the strings, creating a sound not unlike a breeze on a warm day. She smirked as Cuda Bite¡¯s narrow shoulders shimmied with rapture. ¡°Damn, Red,¡± he said. ¡°That¡¯s fine.¡± ¡°You pick this out for me, Turtle Jaw?¡± she asked. The warden shrugged. ¡°Had it made, actually.¡± Red Tide lunged for him, squeezing one arm around his thick neck and pressing her lips to the side of his face. She kissed his cheek, nipped his jaw, and whispered in his ear, ¡°I¡¯m going to kill so many men for you.¡± ¡°Pardon me.¡± Beyond Reach had arrived. He brushed between Salt Wall and Cuda Bite without looking at them, reaching into the chests as if he knew exactly what would be there. He donned a shirt of lightweight mail and hid it beneath a hooded ward-weave cloak. Before he clothed himself, Red Tide noticed how the [Alert] Ink on his chest had faded. ¡°What happened to your Ink?¡± she asked. ¡°What you been doing over there?¡± ¡°Pushed it too far,¡± Beyond Reach said with a dismissive sniff. ¡°Like I told you yesterday, my attention was elsewhere.¡± ¡°On what?¡± Without answering her, Beyond Reach set to work assembling the trident that had been packed carefully in the larger clamshell, broken down into three sections. Red Tide had to admit that the weapon was impressive¨Cgold-plated, sleek, its triple-pronged killing end sharpened and barbed. There were dents and scars down the length of the trident that hadn¡¯t been completely buffed out. The weapon had seen some use, and Beyond Reach was proud of that fact. He handled his trident with the same reverence as Red Tide did her new harp. ¡°They¡¯re closer than we thought,¡± Beyond Reach announced as he tightened the handle of his weapon. He looked at Turtle Jaw like this was the resumption of an earlier conversation. ¡°They¡¯ll be here in little more than an hour.¡± ¡°Who will be here?¡± Red Tide asked, her tone sharpening. ¡°Ignore me again and you¡¯ll regret it.¡± Beyond Reach met her eyes. ¡°A pod of Coralline Elite.¡± ¡°What the fuck?¡± Cuda Bite exclaimed. ¡°What do those guys want?¡± ¡°Warden¡¯s gone rogue,¡± Salt Wall said. ¡°We aren¡¯t supposed to be out here.¡± ¡°What the fuck?¡± Cuda Bite repeated. Red Tide squinted at Turtle Jaw. ¡°You said the gods give trials for more Ink. I figured you meant hunting beasts or scaling mountains.¡± He shrugged. ¡°Sometimes that¡¯s how it goes.¡± ¡°And sometimes the gods mark a mortal as a worthy test for champions,¡± Beyond Reach said. ¡°I suspect it¡¯s Most Loyal Spear leading the pod.¡± Red Tide¡¯s lips curled back. Most Loyal Spear was the queen¡¯s personal bodyguard. She¡¯d only seen him once and it had been during her trial before the queen. When Red Tide had told the queen to fuck herself, Most Loyal Spear had looked as if he might twist Red Tide¡¯s head off right then and there. ¡°We can outpace them through the woods,¡± Turtle Jaw said. ¡°They won¡¯t be able to track us so easily on land. They won¡¯t want to.¡± ¡°That¡¯s one thought,¡± Beyond Reach replied. He drummed his fingers on the handle of his trident, waiting for someone else to speak. Red Tide took the bait. ¡°What you got in mind?¡± ¡°We don¡¯t want them lurking in our wake,¡± he said. ¡°We meet them here. Get a little practice.¡± Cuda Bite edged backward. ¡°What kind of practice?¡± Beyond Reach smiled in a way that Red Tide recognized. She¡¯d seen it in the mirror. ¡°Killing practice.¡±
15. [Red Tide] Throne Gazer
--DRAMATIS PERSONAE¡ª Red Tide, Enchantress of the 3rd Renown, The Reef, ready to make music Beyond Reach, Trident Master of the 3rd Renown, The Reef, not actually his name Turtle Jaw, Quill of The Reef, in a bit of trouble with his boss Cuda Bite, Skulker of the 1st Renown, The Reef, not enamored with this whole plan Salt Wall, Berserker of the 2nd Renown, The Reef, doesn¡¯t mind the odds A pod of Coralline Elite led by the queen¡¯s personal bodyguard, Most Loyal Spear
23 New Summer, 61 AW. An unremarkable beach on the North Continent 277 days until the next Granting. Beyond Reach had been wrong about one thing. The pod of Coralline Elite emerged from the water less than an hour later. Barely enough time for the four champions and their Quill to put together a strategy. As plans went, Red Tide knew, it wasn¡¯t much of one. Perhaps enough of a surprise to even the numbers some. But after that, it would be a fight. A bloody fight, by the look of things. The Coralline Elite stalked up the beach in a tight formation. There were eleven in total. Each of them wore bodysuits of dark blue deep-silk augmented with wards for speed, plus armored fins of razor-sharp sea glass at their forearms and shins. The wards on their deep-silk were dim, which meant they¡¯d overdrawn the arcane energy imbued there chasing down the champions. Red Tide didn¡¯t see any protective wards weaved into the suits. That was one advantage the champions would have, at least. The Coralline Elite were outfitted to cut through water and strike while submerged. They weren¡¯t armored to survive a land battle. Still, there were six armed with javelins and four who shouldered harpoon-flingers. Leading them, just as Beyond Reach had predicted, was Most Loyal Spear. He was an impressive specimen, rigid of posture and hard of body. The sides of his head were shaved and he styled his braids in a pile that resembled a shark¡¯s fin. He carried two spears¨Ceach shorter than the javelins his pod wielded¡ªbut connected by a length of chain. For the moment, Most Loyal Spear kept the chain slung across the back of his neck, the handles of his twin weapons bouncing against his broad chest. They were lucky not to have met this pod out in the water. The Coralline Elite were the queen¡¯s personal enforcement arm. They were responsible for bringing justice to oca¡¯em pods that ranged too far from The Reef, into waters that might disturb the queen¡¯s pathetic peace with the land-walkers. They were also charged with crushing any opposition that might bubble up against the queen herself. It had been a pod of Coralline Elite that arrested Red Tide after the untimely immolation of the fool merchant captain Juseph Grice-Russi. She told herself that it was the burns on her back that kept her from fighting them off, but in truth Red Tide knew it would¡¯ve been a losing battle against the synchronized blood-letting of the highly trained pod. ¡°I respect what you can do,¡± Beyond Reach murmured to Red Tide as they watched the Coralline Elite¡¯s methodical approach. ¡°I respect what you¡¯ve done.¡± ¡°What?¡± Red Tide replied, blinking. ¡°This some kind of deathbed confession?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t intend to die here, and I suspect the same of you,¡± Beyond Reach continued. ¡°But these others¡­ have you considered that we might have a better chance of survival on the island with stronger partners?¡± Red Tide gritted her teeth and said nothing. This pompous fool and his machinations would have to wait until the present business was over. The champions had done some rearranging while they awaited their hunters. They¡¯d positioned the open clamshell caches between some stacks of driftwood, creating a natural-looking barricade. Turtle Jaw and Salt Wall knelt behind one clamshell while Red Tide and the suddenly chatty Beyond Reach crouched behind the other. They stood up as one as the Coralline Elite drew nearer, looking as if they¡¯d been in the process of rummaging through the chests. They wanted to give off an aura of unpreparedness, and had wanted cover in case the Coralline greeted them with harpoons. Fortunately, it seemed like Most Loyal Spear intended to talk first. Meanwhile, Cuda Bite sat to the side of the driftwood, bleeding from a freshly punched nose, his hands tied with rope. He wiggled and whined. ¡°You hit me too hard,¡± he said to Salt Wall, a whistle in his breathing. ¡°Shut up,¡± the berserker replied. The sun was high but behind clouds, creating milky shadows across the beach. The wind picked up and Red Tide smelled sweat and salt. At a raised fist from Most Loyal Spear, the Coralline Elite stopped thirty yards away, fanning out, javelins in front of harpooners. Red Tide hugged her harp against her stomach. ¡°Is that you, Most Loyal Spear?¡± Turtle Jaw shouted in greeting. ¡°What are you doing out here?¡± ¡°I could ask you the same question, warden,¡± came Most Loyal Spear¡¯s gravelly reply. ¡°Except, I already know the answer.¡± ¡°You do?¡± ¡°Rebellion,¡± said Most Loyal Spear. ¡°Insurrection.¡± Turtle Jaw chuckled. ¡°Grave charges. But I¡¯ve only brought our party here in an attempt to earn them Ink.¡± The warden¡¯s gaze left Most Loyal Spear and flitted over the rest of the pod. ¡°Who could begrudge the Reef¡¯s champions an improved chance at survival?¡± Stony expressions greeted Turtle Jaw¡¯s words. They wouldn¡¯t find any defectors amongst this pod. Still, Red Tide scanned the expressions of the spearmen and harpooners, searching for weakness. She felt the tickle of the Ink on her chest as [Awareness+] heightened her senses, drawing her gaze to a younger spearmen on Most Loyal Spear¡¯s left. His hands trembled ever so slightly on his weapon. Red Tide caught his eye and slowly smiled. The weakest of the bunch. He would do. The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation. ¡°Do not play games with me, warden,¡± Most Loyal Spear said. ¡°You know the boundaries of your role as Quill. You were not to leave the Grotto.¡± ¡°What¡¯s the point of sending four year after year if we don¡¯t even give them a chance?¡± Turtle Jaw asked. ¡°Would you send your pod to a slaughter without any training?¡± ¡°Irrelevant,¡± Most Loyal Spear replied. ¡°These are arguments you should have put before the queen.¡± ¡°I did,¡± Turtle Jaw snapped. ¡°She doesn¡¯t listen.¡± ¡°Neither do you. I was with you in the palace on the day Throne Gazer was entrusted to your custody, warden. Do you not recall that conversation? You were given specific instructions that Throne Gazer was not to be selected as a champion. The queen forbade it. Do you deny this further insubordination?¡± Red Tide cocked her head. ¡°Did he say Throne Gazer?¡± ¡°Indeed,¡± Beyond Reach replied. ¡°He names me.¡± Red Tide turned to stare at the trident master beside her and she sensed Cuda Bite doing the same. Of course Beyond Reach¡¯s naming song would¡¯ve been light on details. He hadn¡¯t shared his true name with them, nor the anchors chained to it. Throne Gazer. Now, even spoken in the air instead of sung, that was a name which meant something to Red Tide. The Queen of the Coralline Throne had no offspring of her own, but she did have a sister called Deep Dweller and that sea witch had raised a single son. There had been rumors about the boy, probably started by Deep Dweller herself. He was a special one. Born into portentous waters or some other prophetic nonsense that Deep Dweller read in the milking of squid. Her special child had been groomed by Deep Dweller to lead the Reef into renewed prosperity. Of course, the Queen of the Coralline Throne had disagreed with her sister¡¯s prophecies. When was the coup? Four years back? Red Tide¡¯s own father had gotten swept up in it, arrested by the Coralline Elite, and executed. Deep Dweller and her chosen one had failed miserably, although Red Tide remembered the coup fondly because at least it had loosed her from her father. And now, the wannabe king stood next to her. Beyond Reach. Throne Gazer. One and the same. Red Tide laughed incredulously. ¡°Throne Gazer,¡± she gasped, ¡°unbelievable.¡± The man beside her squared his shoulders. ¡°He tells the truth of it. I am the promised king.¡± ¡°The living laughingstock!¡± Red Tide wiped the back of her hand across her eyes, barely controlling her laughter. ¡°Throne Gazer! You¡¯re a fucking joke!¡± Throne Gazer tensed. ¡°A pod of Coralline Elite sent to hunt me down would suggest otherwise.¡± ¡°Actually, I would agree with the outlaw,¡± intoned Most Loyal Spear. ¡°The queen is burdened by sentiment for her wayward nephew. She has fond memories of bouncing you upon her knee. And so, I have been dispatched to return you home alive.¡± ¡°I am not going back,¡± Throne Gazer replied. ¡°And I¡¯ll remember the faces of all who stand against me.¡± ¡°You will return, bloodied and chastened,¡± Most Loyal Spear said with the tired patience of a court tutor. ¡°As for you other three, your survival is optional. You will be allowed to keep your Ink. You may fight for your freedom at the Granting as agreed, but you will wait for that opportunity within the safety of the Grotto. Should you choose not to return peacefully, you will be killed.¡± Cuda Bite chose that moment to stagger to his feet, snorting blood out of his nose. ¡°Sir, I just went where the warden told me to go. Only today did their nefarious plans become clear. They beat me and bound me when I wouldn¡¯t agree to lay an ambush for you.¡± Snarling, Red Tide kicked sand in Cuda Bite¡¯s direction, but the narrow-boned skulker raised his bound hands to ward her off. He scampered further down the beach, entering the empty space between the Reef¡¯s champions and the Coralline Elite. Most Loyal Spear made a noise of disgust, then nodded to one of his spearmen. ¡°Check him.¡± As the spearman started toward Cuda Bite, Turtle Jaw spoke up. ¡°What about me? Am I to return to face the queen¡¯s judgement?¡± ¡°No,¡± Most Loyal Spear replied. ¡°You will die here, warden. I have been given leave to choose your level of suffering.¡± ¡°I hope you savor that rare taste of independence,¡± Turtle Jaw said. ¡°But what happens after? Do you know how it works when a Quill dies?¡± ¡°The queen herself will assume the responsibility.¡± Turtle Jaw held up a finger. ¡°If I die, the gods choose my replacement. They shall peer into the hearts of our people and decide who best represents them. Is the queen confident that will be her?¡± Most Loyal Spear rolled his shoulders. ¡°If your successor proves unsuitable, I will visit them next.¡± While the two men spoke, Red Tide eyed Most Loyal Spear¡¯s throat. He was marked with the same dolphin symbol as the rest of them, yet the Ink there appeared to pulse. She wondered if Most Loyal Spear knew how his tattoo looked ripe and ready to burst. She nudged Beyond¡ªah, Throne Gazer. ¡°You see his neck, your grace?¡± Red Tide murmured. In answer, Throne Gazer exhaled sharply through his nose. She took that to mean he was still offended and wouldn¡¯t engage with her, but she saw how he sized up Most Loyal Spear. ¡°A rich prize,¡± Red Tide said with a smirk. Meanwhile, the spearman had finished thoroughly searching Cuda Bite and found no weapons on him. After checking his bonds, he grabbed the skulker roughly by the shoulder and shoved him in the direction of the Coralline Elite. Cuda Bite stumbled through the line of spearmen. One of the harpooners grabbed and held him by the back of his neck. Red Tide chose that moment to pluck the first notes on her harp. The [Hypnotic Object] Ink on her chest felt warmly encouraging. All eyes were pulled toward her. ¡°The ge¡¯oca blessed me,¡± Red Tide said, and her words carried almost like sea song, invoking images of the holy leviathan that lurked in the depths. ¡°They praised me for my vengeance, and they sent you here as my reward.¡± The Coralline Elite shifted uneasily as Red Tide¡¯s fingers danced across the strings. Most Loyal Spear cocked his head like he was trying shake water out of his ear. ¡°What is this?¡± he grunted. ¡°Your Ink overflows, Most Loyal Spear,¡± Red Tide continued, her voice like a thundercloud, her harp¡¯s notes like raindrops. ¡°The gods have made you a prize for us. Would you thwart their will? Would you obey your queen if it meant denying the sea itself?¡± Some of the spearmen glanced sidelong at their leader, surely noticing the juicy throb of the Ink on his neck. They readjusted their grips on their weapons and shuffled their feet. Red Tide had their attention. She made them doubt. She made them slow to react. ¡°Silence her,¡± Most Loyal Spear said. ¡°Quickly.¡± Cuda Bite spotted his opening. He reached for [Hidden Blade] and his dagger manifested in his two bound hands. Without warning, Cuda Bite stabbed the blade into the sternum of the harpooner holding him. He let the blade hang there for a moment, releasing it, so that he could swiftly rake his bonds across the edge and cut himself free, catching the dagger as it slipped from the dying harpooner¡¯s chest. Stunned, the harpooner pulled the trigger on his flinger, impaling the spearman in front of him. Another harpooner screamed and pivoted to aim her weapon at Cuda Bite. Less than three feet separated them when she pulled the trigger. Cuda Bite disappeared, falling into the shadow cast by one of the spearmen. The harpoon meant for him instead buried itself in the cheek of another spearman. Using [Shadow Step], Cuda Bite popped loose from the shadow of the confused woman who¡¯d fired upon him, stabbing her three times in the back before one of her fellows took a run at him. Red Tide smiled. The little skulker was deliciously lethal. His chaos was fierce while her music made the Elite confused and lethargic. Cuda Bite darted around a spear thrust meant to gut him, then dove headfirst for another harpooner¡¯s shadow. Instead of disappearing, though, he landed on his face in the sand with a high-pitched grunt. ¡°Once?¡± he shouted. ¡°My fucking Ink only works once?¡± If not for the languid melody flowing from Red Tide¡¯s fingers, Cuda Bite would¡¯ve been skewered from multiple directions. With three of their number already down, the rest of the Elite were only now shaking out of their trance and entering their fighting positions. Red Tide kept her eyes locked on the spearman she¡¯d chosen, the one her [Awareness+] had identified as the weakest. ¡°Don¡¯t let them hurt my friend,¡± Red Tide whispered, and her words were carried by the music straight into the spearman¡¯s ears. Red Tide¡¯s spearman flung himself backwards, directly into a javelin that had been meant for Cuda Bite. The Elite who¡¯d rammed his weapon into his compatriot¡¯s stomach shouted in dismay. Cuda Bite used the opportunity to lunge to his feet and sprint back toward the others. ¡°I did my part!¡± he screamed. ¡°Now save my ass!¡± Bellowing, Salt Wall rumbled out to meet the spearmen who chased Cuda Bite, her hook beckoning them forward. Distracted by Cuda Bite¡¯s escape, Red Tide didn¡¯t see which of the harpooners fired at her, finally obeying Most Loyal Spear¡¯s command to shut her up. She received no warning from the trident master standing next to her. The harpoon struck Red Tide just below her left breast and knocked her off her feet. Her harp bounced from her grasp. For a moment, there was quiet. Then screaming and the clashing of metal. The battle truly started with Red Tide on her back.
16. [Red Tide] Good For Nothing But Savagery
--DRAMATIS PERSONAE¡ª Red Tide, Enchantress of the 3rd Renown, The Reef, her song interrupted Throne Gazer, Trident Master of the 3rd Renown, The Reef, not a team player Turtle Jaw, Quill of The Reef, not a natural swordsman Cuda Bite, Skulker of the 1st Renown, The Reef, learning his limitations Salt Wall, Berserker of the 2nd Renown, The Reef, has a hook A pod of Coralline Elite, some dead or dying, led by the queen¡¯s personal bodyguard, Most Loyal Spear
23 New Summer, 61 AW. An unremarkable beach on the North Continent 277 days until the next Granting. The harpoon would¡¯ve been lethal if not for Red Tide¡¯s ward-weave tunic. Instead, the harpoon shaft snapped and the sea glass head shattered as the ward flared briefly and went dark. While Red Tide gasped for air, Throne Gazer didn¡¯t so much as glance in her direction. He leveled his fancy trident at Most Loyal Spear. The weapon crackled with energy as Throne Gazer activated [Eel Sting], a fork of lightning streaking forth and connecting with Most Loyal Spear¡¯s chest. The Coralline Elite¡¯s leader was flung backward, smoking, landing out in the water. Meanwhile, as one spearman pursued Cuda Bite up the beach, the other two met Salt Wall in open space. The berserker swung her hook at the first to close, but he ducked underneath and went low, raking his bladed forearm against the side of Salt Wall¡¯s thigh. She roared and tried to spin, but the second spearman lunged into the gap left by the first, his blade scraping across Salt Wall¡¯s armor. The first spearman kept moving, continuing up the beach, focused not on Salt Wall but on Turtle Jaw. ¡°Ah, shit,¡± the warden said, clumsily drawing his short sword. In his years as warden, Turtle Jaw had plenty of experience in skirmishes and brawls, but he¡¯d never tangled with a warrior like a Coralline Elite. Throne Gazer snorted as Turtle Jaw began a series of clumsy parries against the spearman. He started in that direction, until a harpoon whizzed by his face. His beaded braids clicked together as his head snapped toward the two surviving harpoon flingers. ¡°Hold on, warden,¡± Throne Gazer said, then took a bounding step toward the harpooners and accessed [Vault]. He shot into the air in a showy arc, one knee bent, his trident cocked back. The harpooners weren¡¯t ready for one of their enemies to take flight, nor were they ready for Throne Gazer¡¯s accuracy with his trident. At the peak of his jump, he flung the weapon downward, shearing through the belly of one of the harpooners. Flexing his hand, he activated [Weapon Return] and the trident snapped back to his grasp, dragging a streamer of entrails with it. Throne Gazer landed in front of the second harpooner, who was desperately trying to reload his weapon. With one delicate thrust, Throne Gazer pushed his trident through the man¡¯s throat. Unfortunately, Throne Gazer hadn¡¯t seen Most Loyal Spear emerge from the surf behind him. Flowing forward with a grace that belied his rigid posture, Most Loyal Spear plunged one of his chained spears into the soft tissue at the back of Throne Gazer¡¯s knee. The trident master screamed and fell forward, twisting as he went, trying to bring his weapon around for a counterattack. With a deft maneuver, Most Loyal Spear caught the handle of the trident in a tangle of chain and wrenched the weapon from Throne Gazer¡¯s hands. ¡°You stupid boy,¡± Most Loyal Spear said. ¡°The oca¡¯em you have murdered today were more valuable to the Reef than you will ever be.¡± With that, he smashed the haft of a spear onto the crown of Throne Gazer¡¯s head. The trident master crumpled unconscious in the surf. Coughing bitterly, Red Tide staggered to her feet. On her right, Cuda Bite had turned to face his pursuer, circling the spearman but unable to get close enough to put his dagger to work. On her left, Turtle Jaw, bleeding from a deep gash in his side, stumbled backward as his attacker swatted aside a sloppy sword strike. And, straight ahead, Salt Wall let out a ferocious cry as she caught a spearhead with her bare hand, reeled her opponent in close, and drove her hooked hand down onto the top of his head. The hook¡¯s point erupted from behind the spearman¡¯s eyeball and, with a foot thrust into his chest, Salt Wall yanked her weapon out through his face. Well, at least she didn¡¯t have to worry about the berserker, Red Tide mused. Trusting that Cuda Bite was too slippery to kill, Red Tide chose to aid Turtle Jaw. Only as she ran toward the warden and the spearman did Red Tide realize she wasn¡¯t holding a weapon. There hadn¡¯t been anything for her in the clamshell caches¡ªjust bits of coral and a harp. She would have to use her hands. Turtle Jaw let out a shout as the spearman stabbed into the front of his thigh. He brought his sword down awkwardly across the spear¡¯s haft, an attack which the spearman lightly brushed away. In the same motion, he swiped the butt of the spear across Turtle Jaw¡¯s ankles. The warden¡¯s legs were knocked out from under him, his sword bouncing from his grasp. He was laid out in the sand at the spearman¡¯s feet. ¡°Look out behind you,¡± Turtle Jaw said. The spearman snorted. ¡°Fuck you.¡± Red Tide leapt onto his back. She dug her nails across the spearman¡¯s cheeks, going for his eyes. He quickly adjusted, though, grabbing Red Tide by the braids and flipping her over his shoulder. She landed on her back in the sand next to Turtle Jaw and had to immediately roll to the side to avoid a spear plunged into the beach. The spearman didn¡¯t retrieve his weapon. He needed both hands to grope at his face. ¡°What¡­ what did you do to me?¡± Red Tide hadn¡¯t yet seen the results of her [Poisonous] touch. Her fingers had left trails of greenish-brown across the spearman¡¯s gray-skinned face. The flesh there puckered and sunk, like an overripe fruit. The spearman tried to rub at his face¡ªand that proved a mistake. His skin sloughed free in chunks. Red Tide caught a glimpse of the man¡¯s pale white jawbone before he collapsed into the sand. ¡°Wish I hadn¡¯t seen that,¡± Turtle Jaw remarked. Red Tide felt the [Poisonous] Ink on her chest fade. She sensed that she could¡¯ve held back some, maybe kept some of that ability in reserve. ¡°Got carried away,¡± she said. This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings. ¡°Saved my life, Red, so I¡¯m not really complaining.¡± Turtle Jaw reached for his sword and tried to stand up, but he fell backward into the sand. Blood bubbled from the stab wound in his thigh and the gash in his side wasn¡¯t any prettier. ¡°I need a minute.¡± ¡°Stay down,¡± Red Tide hissed. ¡°Dumb bastard.¡± Down the beach, Cuda Bite was still leading the last remaining spearman on a merry chase, using his quickness to stay ahead of the Elite¡¯s stabs and swipes. The spearman actually looked to be flagging somewhat, spitting thick white flecks with each increasingly sloppy attack. Twenty yards away, Most Loyal Spear appeared to be using a similar strategy against Salt Wall. The berserker¡¯s combination of [Bloodlust], [Numb], and [Recovery+] made her a formidable opponent¡ªRed Tide had seen that firsthand during the anchoreel¡¯s attack. Salt Wall didn¡¯t even feel the deep cuts across her arms and legs, or her bleeding hand. In fact, the wounds only increased the ferocity of her attacks. But with every big, looping swing of Salt Wall¡¯s hook, Most Loyal Spear simply danced away. He pitched his spears at Salt Wall, letting them stab into her ward-weave armor before reeling them back by their chains. Every flare of a ward meant Salt Wall¡¯s armor was a little less effective, and the sand had turned dark pink around her feet from the blood loss. Much of Red Tide¡¯s own Ink had faded; she wondered how much Salt Wall had left. ¡°First thing¡¯s first,¡± Red Tide grunted. She grabbed the spear her last kill had dropped and dipped its blade into the slurry where his face had once been. Then, she charged down the beach toward Cuda Bite. The skulker saw her coming and tried to angle his ducking and dodging so the spearman would be caught by surprise. Red Tide thrust for his head with the spear, but the Elite sensed her attack at the last moment and pivoted. Her spear dug through the Elite¡¯s shoulder¡ªit hardly slowed him down. Now it was Red Tide¡¯s turn to clumsily backpedal as the spearman stabbed at her. She managed to bat away a couple of his attacks, but his third knocked the spear from her hands. As he prepared for another swing, his shoulder gave out. The spearman yelped in alarm as he realized he couldn¡¯t raise his arm, looking down to see goopy boils rising from his wound. ¡°Tricky bi¡ª¡± Before he could finish, Cuda Bite sidled up behind the spearman and dragged his dagger across the man¡¯s throat. ¡°You good?¡± he asked Red Tide. Cuda Bite¡¯s face was a mess of dried blood from his theatrically broken nose, and his ward-weave was entirely dark. The spearman had scored more hits on the skulker than Red Tide realized. ¡°Are you?¡± she replied. Cuda Bite switched his dagger into an overhand grip. ¡°I don¡¯t got much left and I pissed myself a little.¡± THUNK. They both turned at the wet, meaty noise of a spear slamming through Salt Wall¡¯s breastplate. One of Most Loyal Spear¡¯s attacks had finally penetrated, sinking deep into the berserker¡¯s chest. Even stabbed, Salt Wall didn¡¯t go down. She grabbed the chain with one hand and yanked Most Loyal spear toward her. He stumbled forward, surprised by her strength, but deflected her overhand hook attack with his other spear. The haft of his spear found the curve of Salt Wall¡¯s hook and he deftly flicked the weapon off her hand. Red Tide started forward, but Cuda Bite grabbed her by the arm. ¡°It¡¯s done,¡± he said. ¡°You aren¡¯t going to beat that fucker spear-to-spear.¡± ¡°I¡ª¡± Her lips curled back from her teeth. She knew he was right. ¡°Let him come to us,¡± Cuda Bite said. ¡°Only chance.¡± With Most Loyal Spear in close, Salt Wall tried to wrap her hands around his neck. His forearm shot up, raking his sea-glass fin across the side of her face. The skin of her cheek and jaw hung loose. At last, Salt Wall went down to her knees. Most Loyal Spear yanked his spear free and let her crumple over onto her side. The leader of the Coralline Elite spun to face the last two champions standing. Red Tide stared back at him, holding her spear in one hand. Next to her, Cuda Bite had gone down to one knee in an attempt to catch his breath. ¡°You,¡± Most Loyal Spear said, his eyes on Red Tide. He looped a length of his chain around his upper arm and started toward them, one spear held in front of him, the other dangling. ¡°Was it true, what you said?¡± Red Tide lifted her chin. ¡°What part?¡± ¡°That you were visited by the gods. That they marked me as a target.¡± He jabbed his spear toward his own throat with enough force that Red Tide thought he might finish the fight for them, but the point stopped just short of the swollen Ink symbol on his throat. ¡°That my death will grant you power.¡± ¡°All true,¡± Red Tide replied. Most Loyal Spear snorted and looked around at the bodies littering the beach. ¡°As ever, the gods conspire against us. Look at what you¡¯ve done here, girl.¡± ¡°You chased us down,¡± she said. ¡°Came looking for trouble.¡± ¡°The oca¡¯em are going extinct,¡± Most Loyal Spear continued. ¡°The Reef is weak, the oceans empty. You call yourselves champions, but you murder your brothers and sisters. For what? Neither you nor that fool boy Throne Gazer know how the queen sacrifices to save our people. You are good for nothing but savagery.¡± He¡¯d slowed his approach while haranguing her and it took a mighty effort on Red Tide¡¯s part not to glance down at the sand between them. The sand where¡ªas Most Loyal Spear tangled with Salt Wall¡ªRed Tide had scattered handfuls of coral chunks. Most Loyal Spear needed only to come forward a few more steps and she would have him. ¡°Yeah, yeah,¡± she said, licking her teeth. ¡°When the wind picks up, I can smell the queen¡¯s asshole on your breath.¡± Most Loyal Spear took a deep breath. ¡°Fine.¡± His knuckles went white. ¡°Your song will be short, Red Tide. Thrashing, miserable, and forgotten.¡± He came toward them. Cuda Bite staggered to his feet, hunkered low, his dagger flashing. Red Tide opened herself and felt the Ink on her chest warm in anticipation. Just a step or two more¡ª ¡°Stop! He¡¯s mine! Most Loyal Spear is mine!¡± Throne Gazer had regained consciousness. His face was a mask of crimson dripping down from his head wound. He hobbled closer on his ruined leg, using his trident to steady himself. ¡°This fucking guy,¡± Cuda Bite muttered. Red Tide sensed Most Loyal Spear¡¯s shift, how he moved to the side to keep them all in his sight. He edged away from where they wanted him. Cuda Bite saw this, too. With a squeak from his ruined nose, he rushed forward to make a sloppy swipe at Most Loyal Spear. The attack was obvious and Most Loyal Spear batted it aside with his plated forearm, countering with a spear thrust that dug into Cuda Bite¡¯s shoulder even as the little skulker tried to dart away. He threw himself backward, clutching at Most Loyal Spear¡¯s chain, and the Coralline Elite came with him happily, aiming for Cuda Bite¡¯s throat with a follow-up strike. The sand crunched strangely beneath Most Loyal Spear¡¯s feet. Red Tide threw her hands into the air like a conductor. Spikes of coral lanced upward, hoisting Most Loyal Spear. One shot through his foot, another his thigh, his groin, his belly, his shoulder, the side of his head. He was suspended six feet above them with his limbs spread wide, like a butterfly pinned to a notebook page. The coral glistened pink beneath him, spirals of red slowly trickling downward. His weapon clattered from his hand. Most Loyal Spear looked down at Red Tide, blinking, the color already leaving his face. His mouth worked, but too much inside him was sliced apart, so he could only form a single word. ¡°Mistake,¡± he told her. ¡°Mistake.¡± Red Tide cupped a hand under his neck. The Ink dripped down from his throat, pooling in her palm. ¡°We¡¯ll see,¡± she said quietly. The Ink slithered up her arm to join the rest of the symbols on her chest. One tendril snaked away, though, and Red Tide almost snatched at it before she realized the Ink was jumping to Cuda Bite. He was too preoccupied poking at the wound on his shoulder to even notice the Ink land on the back of his neck. ¡°No!¡± Throne Gazer arrived, screaming. ¡°I told you he was--!¡± Red Tide kicked him between the legs. He went down in a heap, spitting and moaning. She kicked his trident away next, in case the rejected heir had any ideas of further violence, but he remained at her feet, curled up and whimpering. ¡°Yeah,¡± Cuda Bite said in response to a question nobody had asked. Red Tide glanced in his direction and saw his eyes had gone faraway. Your power has grown, Red Tide. The worm¡¯s voice said inside her head. Do you desire a consultation with the symbologist? Before she could answer, Turtle Jaw shouted. ¡°She¡¯s alive!¡± During their engagement with Most Loyal Spear, the warden had crawled across the sand to crouch next to Salt Wall. Ignoring the question in her head, Red Tide ran over to join him. ¡°Shark¡¯s supper¡­¡± Red Tide murmured, shaking her head. In a day full of them, Salt Wall was a truly grisly sight. A good chunk of the woman¡¯s square-shaped face had been cleaved, so that her features were now an asymmetrical mess of gore. Beyond the deep cuts on her arms and legs, there was the hole in her chest, punched there by Most Loyal Spear. Right into her lung, if Red Tide guessed right. And yet, even as Red Tide stared down at her, the wound knit itself a little bit closed. Salt Wall breathed raggedly, and not often, and she stared unseeing up at the sky¡ªbut she lived. If you could call it that. ¡°I have¡­ I have healing,¡± Turtle Jaw said. He fumbled for the trinkets that Red Tide had seen him stash around his neck. They were charms from a sea witch. Putting things together, Red Tide realized they probably came from Deep Dweller herself. ¡°We need a circle of stones, a fire, and¡­ and¡­¡± Turtle Jaw himself was woozy from blood loss. As he stammered, Red Tide looked to Salt Wall¡¯s chest, where the warden had loosened her armor in an attempt to let her breathe. She was looking at the [Recovery+] Ink at the moment when it faded. Salt Wall convulsed. There would be no more patchwork healing. There was no time for stone circles and rituals. ¡°Symbologist?¡± Red Tide said aloud. I hear you, Red Tide. ¡°Take me now.¡± 17. [Red Tide] Sing Us Something Else
--DRAMATIS PERSONAE¡ª Red Tide, Enchantress of the 4th Renown, The Reef, choosing carefully Cuda Bite, Skulker of the 2nd Renown, The Reef, not keeping count of his kills The Symbologist, attendant of the gods, keeper of the symbols, a worm The surviving champions of The Reef and their Quill, coming together or splitting apart
23 New Summer, 61 AW An unremarkable beach on the North Continent 277 days until the next Granting This time, the ge¡¯oca did not greet her. There were no grateful leviathans or blessings of the ocean. Red Tide blinked her eyes and she was simply somewhere else. A cave. Dimly glowing growths of azure moss lit the subterranean space. The air felt refreshingly cool against Red Tide¡¯s skin which, moments ago, had been dappled by sweat and blood. The grinding ache across her ribs faded as did the tightness in her muscles. She let loose a ragged sigh, safe inside this illusion for a few moments at least. Up ahead, the symbologist waited in his tattered robes, seated behind the same desk as the last time Red Tide met him. The glowing moss stretched across the stone floor in parallel lines creating a path to the creature¡¯s desk. On the vast wall behind the symbologist, Red Tide recognized the concentric circles of symbols for [Enchantress], [Oca¡¯Em], and [Mortal]. Strangely, the layout of the [Skulker] class was also visible. Red Tide cocked her head, trying to take in all the possibilities that the gods would tattoo upon her¡ªshe searched for something in particular. ¡°My offer to swim south and wash this damn stuff off still stands,¡± said a voice to Red Tide¡¯s right. She hadn¡¯t noticed Cuda Bite sitting on the floor, his bare back pressed against the stone. His knees were pulled up to his chest and he flashed Red Tide a shaky smile. ¡°You got a line building up back here, worm,¡± Red Tide called to the symbologist. ¡°Can we get some service?¡± ¡°By all means,¡± the symbologist answered, its voice like crumpling parchment. ¡°I told your colleague this is not a place to linger, but he insisted on waiting for you.¡± Red Tide crouched down to get a better look at Cuda Bite. All the injuries they¡¯d sustained at the beach were back with their physical bodies, but he¡¯d brought the haunted expression with him. ¡°You good?¡± Red Tide asked. Cuda Bite shook his head. ¡°That was some nasty work, Red.¡± ¡°First time?¡± He raised an eyebrow. ¡°First time for what?¡± ¡°For killing.¡± Cuda Bite snorted. ¡°Now that you mention it, yeah. But it¡¯s not that. Fuck those guys. It was them or us.¡± ¡°And that¡¯s how it¡¯s going to stay,¡± she replied. ¡°Them or us.¡± He wagged a finger like she wasn¡¯t getting it. ¡°Turtle Jaw¡¯s got us in a mess. Bad enough when it was just go to the island and survive for a week. I¡¯m no fighter, but I can run and hide with the best of them. He¡¯s got us tied up in some politics now, Red. I didn¡¯t sign up to play revolutionary.¡± ¡°I know.¡± ¡°The queen¡¯s hunting us. We were supposed to have a year to get ready, or at least a year to fall madly in lust and get drunk a lot.¡± Red Tide laughed softly at that, but Cuda Bite kept going. ¡°We¡¯re already running for our lives and the Granting hasn¡¯t even kicked off.¡± ¡°I mean to have a word with the warden about all that,¡± Red Tide said evenly. ¡°Turtle Jaw ain¡¯t even pulling the strings, Red! That¡¯s Throne Gazer whose nuts you kicked in. His sea witch mother is still floating around somewhere. They got pods of loyal warriors still stewing from the last coup.¡± ¡°Funny,¡± Red Tide said. ¡°I didn¡¯t see any of them coming to help.¡± ¡°Sure, but what happens when they do show up? You think that pompous asshole wants to work with some outlaws when he could install his old bodyguards?¡± ¡°He said he respects me,¡± Red Tide said, stroking her chin. ¡°But that he wasn¡¯t so sure about you.¡± ¡°Aw, come on, Red! Fuck me.¡± Cuda Bite rubbed his hands across his face. ¡°I¡¯m going to end up dead as poor Salt Wall.¡± ¡°Yeah? Well, cheer up, she¡¯s alive.¡± Cuda Bite peeked through his fingers. ¡°Say what?¡± ¡°Oh, she¡¯s dying,¡± Red Tide clarified. She hooked her thumb in the direction of the symbologist. ¡°But I mean to do something about that.¡± ¡°Shit, Red, why didn¡¯t you say something sooner?¡± ¡°You were busy crying.¡± Cuda Bite winced. ¡°I¡¯m done.¡± Red Tide stood up and offered Cuda Bite her hand, lifting him swiftly to his feet. Together, the two of them followed the trail of glowing moss toward the symbologist. The creature lightly drummed dozens of stubby fingers on its desk. ¡°Ah,¡± the thing said. ¡°Ready, at last?¡± ¡°Where are we, worm, your bedroom?¡± Red Tide asked. ¡°I thought you lived on Armistice.¡± ¡°The catacombs are but another form of the island,¡± the symbologist said. ¡°I thought the two of you might have had your fill of beaches on this day.¡± ¡°Nice of you,¡± Cuda Bite said. He put his hands on his hips and gazed up at the symbols surrounding the [Skulker] rune. ¡°What¡¯ve you got that will keep me alive?¡± ¡°Many, many things.¡± ¡°And what about healing?¡± Red Tide asked. She pointed to one of the runes that spun off from [Hypnotic Object]. ¡°That my best choice?¡± [Healing Song] ¨C Your song mends the physical body of all who hear it. Must be activated in conjunction with the [Hypnotic Object]. ¡°I cannot pass judgment on what is best,¡± the symbologist replied. ¡°However, if your goal is to restore the bodies of your injured fellows, that would suit your purpose.¡± This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it Red Tide made a yapping gesture with her hand. ¡°Why are you so scared of giving a straight answer, worm?¡± ¡°The gods have not given me capacity for fear.¡± ¡°Lucky you,¡± Cuda Bite said. He shuffled his feet as he eyed the wall of symbols. ¡°You¡¯re going to make me look bad, Red. You come back with the gift of healing for our mutilated friends, and I¡¯m over here trying to pick the best tattoo to keep me alive.¡± Red Tide clapped his shoulder. ¡°Alive is good, Cuda Bite. No shame in that.¡± ¡°You might find this hard to believe given my impressive stature, but I got kicked around a lot in my younger days,¡± the lithe skulker said dryly. ¡°Younger days.¡± Red Tide sized him up. ¡°How old are you, Cuda Bite?¡± ¡°Twenty-one. That¡¯s beside the point. Now, I brought a lot of that treatment on myself. Being a filcher around the Reef and the southern ports, well, you¡¯re going to catch some beatings. But I truly hate it, Red. I truly hate even a scraped knee.¡± ¡°You fishing for an apology because we broke your nose?¡± ¡°That was a trap well set, I¡¯m not holding a grudge,¡± Cuda Bite replied, raising his hands. ¡°I¡¯m saying that I hate pain. I¡¯m not like Salt Wall, feeding off every cut and looking to return it double. I¡¯m a jellyfish. And here I am committed to a life of people trying to stab me.¡± Dragging her tongue against her top row of teeth, Red Tide reached over to scratch Cuda Bite¡¯s neck with her nails. ¡°You saying you¡¯d like to work on your pain tolerance?¡± ¡°No! Except, I mean, when you put it like that¡­¡± The symbologist shifted around in its chair, the dry rustling of its natty robes echoing off the cavern walls. ¡°Champions,¡± the creature intoned, ¡°this visitation is not intended for small talk.¡± Cuda Bite scowled at the symbologist, then drew Red Tide¡¯s attention to one of the runes in the second ring of [Skulker] abilities, this one attached to the symbol for [Shadow Step]. [Dark Reflex] ¨C When you would suffer a grievous injury, your body will instead vaporize and reconstitute at a safe distance. ¡°What do you think of that one, Red?¡± ¡°Sounds ideal for a man who don¡¯t want to get stabbed,¡± she replied. ¡°Except, what the fuck is vaporize?¡± ¡°Like a mist, right?¡± Cuda Bite looked to the symbologist. ¡°Like a vapor,¡± the worm said. ¡°What¡¯s the difference?¡± ¡°Primarily density and visibility.¡± Cuda Bite looked at Red Tide. She shrugged. ¡°Does that hurt?¡± he asked. ¡°Vaporizing?¡± ¡°Not in this case, no.¡± ¡°I think that¡¯s the one, then.¡± The symbologist shuffled around in its chair, drawing itself upright. Red Tide hadn¡¯t noticed that the creature had, at some point, begun to slouch. ¡°Have you reached your decisions?¡± the symbologist asked. ¡°Yeah,¡± the two said in unison. ¡°Good,¡± the symbologist replied. ¡°Done.¡± And just like that, Red Tide was back in her aching body, staring down at Salt Wall¡¯s gruesome injuries. Turtle Jaw still knelt beside the wounded berserker, although he¡¯d stopped fumbling with the trinkets tied around his neck and instead peered hopefully up at Red Tide. ¡°The symbologist?¡± She nodded. ¡°I just need my¡ª¡± ¡°Harp!¡± Red Tide spun around in time to see her instrument arcing through the air toward her, courtesy of Cuda Bite. She caught the harp by its strap and slung it over her shoulder. As her fingers brushed across the strings, Red Tide sensed new power flowing from her Ink. A warm energy gathered inside her, building in her throat and at the tips of her fingers. She needed only to release it. The blood pouring from Salt Wall¡¯s chest wound had slowed and become frighteningly dark. Red Tide understood how little the other woman had left. Red Tide began to play. She did not have any particular tune in mind as she started the [Healing Song]. The notes came naturally. Red Tide plucked strings that sounded like a beating heart. Her melody felt like a night¡¯s restful sleep, like a cool breeze carried in from the ocean. When she opened her mouth to sing, the words that came out surprised her--not words at all, actually, more like tones. These sounds belonged to the gods and she let them pour out from her. They exerted change upon the world. They coaxed mending from the bodies of all who could listen. There was a beauty in this that Red Tide had never encountered before. Her eyes began to water, but she couldn¡¯t stop the song to wipe away the tears. She sensed someone standing beside her, realized it was Turtle Jaw, and felt grateful for the warden¡¯s rough thumb against her cheek and his hand against her back. The process was not a quick one. Red Tide felt herself get lost in the music. She sensed the lightening of pressure at her ribs as her own bruises faded. She caught a glimpse of the gashes across Turtle Jaw¡¯s torso, how they narrowed and knitted, and soon became scars. The sun sunk lower in the sky. Her fingertips became raw, her skin burning; she surely would¡¯ve bled if not for her own healing. Her throat felt chapped, like she¡¯d been screaming. Red Tide couldn¡¯t stop playing. She knew, if she did, that she would not be able to start again. The Ink would¡¯ve faded. Salt Wall¡¯s injuries were grievous, but Red Tide¡¯s music refused to let the berserker die. Slowly, her face slid back into its proper alignment, her cheekbone melting back behind a curtain of new skin. Bones and muscle and finally flesh funneled upward from her chest wound, until at last Salt Wall¡¯s breathing turned regular. Her blueish gray skin was still pale, but her eyes finally fluttered open. The berserker stared up at Red Tide in disbelief. At last, Red Tide let her song end. Salt Wall sat up tentatively, first touching her face, then poking gingerly at the hole in her armor. ¡°I owe you,¡± she said to Red Tide. ¡°I owe you big.¡± Red Tide¡¯s forearms burned. She felt dizzy. ¡°Yeah,¡± Red Tide croaked, her voice scratchy. ¡°You can start by carrying me wherever we¡¯re going next.¡± And with that, Red Tide blacked out.
26 New Summer, 61 AW The North Continent, somewhere south of Besaden 274 days until the next Granting They hiked north for three days, across rocky lowlands that slowly gave way to sparse forest. This was not an environment familiar or pleasant for the oca¡¯em, but Turtle Jaw knew how to build a fire and where to forage as if he¡¯d researched for this journey, and Salt Wall proved more than capable of fishing the small streams they came across. They were exhausted for those first two days, wrung out from the battle. Red Tide¡¯s skin itched as they put the ocean at their backs. The air here was too dry. By the third night, Red Tide decided she had waited long enough for answers. ¡°I need to know if it works,¡± Cuda Bite said, bouncing from foot-to-foot. ¡°Just do it.¡± Salt Wall had donned her hook. She tapped the sharpened point lightly against the skulker¡¯s sternum. ¡°I could hurt you.¡± ¡°Only if it doesn¡¯t work,¡± Cuda Bite replied. ¡°Only if that symbologist thing lied to me.¡± The two of them stood in a small clearing, a few feet away from the fire. Sitting on an overturned log, Red Tide had turned to watch Cuda Bite test out his new Ink. Across from her, Turtle Jaw and Throne Gazer watched as well. Over the last couple days, she had caught moments of argument between the warden and the trident master. Throne Gazer had nothing to say to the rest of them. ¡°I accept no responsibility for any pain you suffer,¡± Salt Wall pronounced. ¡°Wait, wait, I¡¯m having second thou--!¡± Salt Wall swung her hook in an upward arc that should¡¯ve gored through Cuda Bite¡¯s abdomen and dug under his ribs. Instead, [Dark Reflex] triggered. Cuda Bite¡¯s body became like a shadowy fog, the cloud rolling through the space above the fire. The skulker manifested standing behind Throne Gazer, patting his perfectly healthy torso. ¡°Oh, that¡¯s a rush!¡± Cuda Bite yelled. Then, he bent down, and snatched Throne Gazer¡¯s trident, backpedaling quickly to a safe distance. At the same moment, Salt Wall circled around to stand behind Turtle Jaw. Sneering, Throne Gazer flinched toward Cuda Bite, but went still as Turtle Jaw put a hand on his shoulder. The warden stared across the fire at Red Tide, a companionable smile on his square face. Red Tide smiled back, all teeth. ¡°A few questions that will decide how the next few minutes go,¡± Red Tide said. ¡°Of course,¡± Turtle Jaw responded. ¡°Where are we going?¡± ¡°Besaden.¡± Red Tide cocked her head. The great forest set aside for the beastlords. They worshipped the ge¡¯besa there, the gods of animal kind, and there were stories that some of them could transform into four-legged creatures. Red Tide wondered if that was true, or if that was like the tales the sailors told about the oca¡¯em. ¡°What do we want with the beastlords?¡± she asked. ¡°An alliance,¡± Turtle Jaw said. ¡°We believe they might be convinced to help us in the Granting.¡± Red Tide nodded. ¡°And all this is for him?¡± She jerked her chin toward Throne Gazer. ¡°You meant to put him on the Coralline Throne?¡± ¡°No.¡± She was surprised that it was Throne Gazer who answered. He did not bother drawing himself up or puffing out his chest as he sometimes did when he spoke to them. Throne Gazer instead seemed happy to have some of his braids partly obscuring his face as he stared into the fire. ¡°My mother, Deep Dweller, she no longer thinks I am suited to be king,¡± he continued. ¡°Not after the calamity of our last attempt. She does not feel that I¡¯m suited for leadership. She feels I lack charm.¡± ¡°Your mother sounds cruel and accurate,¡± Cuda Bite said. Throne Gazer slowly nodded at the insult, like he couldn¡¯t dispute it. When it became clear that Throne Gazer would say no more, Turtle Jaw picked up the thread. ¡°Deep Dweller believes, and I agree, that our people will die out if forced to live much longer in the queen¡¯s choking peace. The Reef needs change but whoever sits the throne cannot do it alone. We need a coalition.¡± He looked at each of them in turn. ¡°A royal blood, a warrior from the cold northern waters, a scrapper from the Reef¡¯s lower classes, and an outlaw with a growing legend. These are who the oca¡¯em will look to for inspiration.¡± ¡°Which one am I?¡± Cuda Bite asked, smirking. ¡°The legend, right?¡± Red Tide shushed him. ¡°What do you mean inspiration?¡± ¡°Our people must know that the seas are ours,¡± Turtle Jaw said firmly. ¡°They must remember our glories of times passed.¡± ¡°And we¡¯re meant to do that?¡± Red Tide asked. ¡°Yes, you,¡± Turtle Jaw said. ¡°You and the great leviathans that we wish back into existence.¡±
18. [Sara] The Crucifalian
The outrider who had been assigned to gather King Mudt¡¯s most worthy captains found his first man standing before the walls of Infinzel with his sword belt in the dirt. For the first time since the siege of the pyramidal city had begun a decade ago, the battlefield was peaceful. The scorched ground between the Orvesian camp and Infinzel¡¯s walls was littered with bones and hungry blackbirds. There were fresh corpses there, too. Men who had been killed just that morning. Terrible timing, on their part. ¡°Captain Sulk,¡± the outrider said. ¡°The king summons you. The parameters of our war have changed.¡± ¡°Ah. Now he summons me?¡± Captain Sulk asked without turning. ¡°The king and I were just together, though he was too bloodthirsty to notice.¡± Sulk had been young and handsome before he¡¯d been moved to the frontlines. Now, his eyes were hollow and his complexion pale, his hair falling out. He¡¯d sent thousands of warriors to crash against the walls of Infinzel. Often, he¡¯d been amongst them. On three occasions Sulk had been buried beneath mountains of corpses that had required days of digging with bare hands through rotten meat and juices to free himself. He had a reputation as a man who simply refused to die. ¡°I believe my war is over,¡± he said, turning to the outrider. ¡°I am leaving this place.¡± And the outrider saw that Captain Sulk had not been marked with the blackbird of Orvesis. Instead, on Captain Sulk¡¯s neck, there was tattoo of a round shield. Sulk held a quill and inkwell, just like the one the king had carried. The outrider put a hand on his sword hilt. Sulk raised an eyebrow. Even with the legendary captain already disarmed, the outrider quickly decided not to test the man. He would not arrest Captain Sulk. The man¡¯s bravery across the years had saved nearly as many men as his orders to assail the wall had gotten killed. ¡°What should I tell the king?¡± the outrider asked as he stepped aside. Captain Sulk considered this for a moment. ¡°Tell him that I wish him a bountiful harvest.¡± --Record of the First Granting and Dawning of the Second Age Lyus Crodd, Scribe of the Dead Kingdom of Orvesis
--DRAMATIS PERSONAE¡ª Sara Free, Paladin of the 10th Renown, The Ministry of Sulk, back on her own two feet Tabitha Gentlerain, Quill of Ambergran, having a rough month Battar Crodd, Death Knight of the 13th Renown and Quill of the Orvesian Witnesses, about to see a ghost
6 Hazean, 61 AW The village of Ambergran, North Continent 264 days until the next Granting The Ministry of Sulk arrived in Ambergran at sunset, dog-tired and filthy from the road. The oxen they''d purchased in Noyega had revealed themselves to be sick with worms via spraying bouts of diarrhea. One had almost died from dehydration on the road north. The mission had purchased their wagon from the same Noyegan merchant, so it was little surprise that one of the axles had broken once they¡¯d gone too far to turn back for a refund. At that point, the mission had wasted a half-day double-checking the rest of the supplies to make sure there weren''t any further swindles. Repairs were made, healing of beasts conducted, and purifications undertaken. Sara Free should''ve known better. People in the coastal cities had an ugly habit of trying to rip off the Ministry when they passed through. The cities had worthy champions and quills with goals. They fought for wishes every year, not a boring but bountiful harvest. Because of that, the city-folk thought themselves above the protection of Sulk''s Few, and thus felt entitled to extract some other value from the Ministry. Sara was in command of this mission, so it was down to her to make sure their coin was well spent. Under normal circumstances, she would''ve more thoroughly shopped around, or chosen a different port from Noyega entirely. But she was in a hurry. There was a man in Ambergran who had hacked her leg off. Sara was eager to show him that she still stood. The High Minister would not have appreciated that thought. It had taken two days of rituals to fully restore Sara¡¯s leg. She¡¯d been sedated through most of it, but when she awoke her hair smelled of pig¡¯s blood, burnt wood, and mage sweat. Sara recovered within the artificially cooled walls of the Ministry¡¯s hospital in Beacon with only an unconscious Gadgeteer who¡¯d suffered head-to-toe burns for company. She gritted her teeth against the wrenching tautness of new muscle bonding with bone. ¡°A costly procedure,¡± High Minister Denavon Brunner had said when he came to visit. The High Minister and Quill of Sulk was a balding man in his fifties who seemed to do everything slowly. Like most of the Ministry, he''d been born with a different loyalty. Brunner had been a gambler in his younger years, his affectless face and unhurried style giving him a natural advantage in cards. He''d been driven to join the Ministry after witnessing the horrific treatment of Noyega''s debtors. His election as High Minister was no doubt due to the same cool disposition that made him such a terror at the tables. ¡°I¡¯ll repay it,¡± Sara had told him. ¡°I suspect you and I have different notions of how that might be accomplished,¡± Brunner replied. He paused for a moment, to let Sara think about that. ¡°I am sending you to Ambergran.¡± Sara¡¯s face lit up, but she kept her voice steady. ¡°As you wish, Umbo.¡± ¡°This is not a mission of vengeance,¡± Brunner said. ¡°Of course not. I have my leg back. No hard feelings for the bastard who cut it off.¡± Brunner studied her. Sara flexed her knee joint under the covers. ¡°You lost a sword fight. The people of Ambergran lost half their village.¡± ¡°Would have been more,¡± Sara said quietly. ¡°I killed one of those Witnesses myself, before I fell.¡± ¡°I would not expect gratitude.¡± Sara looked away. After a few long seconds, Brunner continued. ¡°This is not a mission of vengeance,¡± he repeated. ¡°It is a mission of forgiveness and healing. You failed these people. Now you must face them.¡± Weeks later, sitting straight in her saddle as the mission clattered along Ambergran¡¯s main road, Sara wondered if there would be anyone here to accept her apology. The farmland had been quiet coming in. She''d seen lifeless farmhouses and razed fields, half-demolished buildings, and disintegrating laundry still swinging from lines. But she hadn''t seen any people. Rumors said the Orvesians had taken up full residence here, but outside of a few black feathered tents on the outskirts, Sara saw no sign of them either. ¡°We may have bought too much dried meat, Umbo Sara,¡± said Murph Carter from his seat atop their rickety wagon. Sara shook her head, then pointed to fresh footprints in the dirt road ahead. ¡°Someone still lingers, Umbo Murph.¡± Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more. ¡°I hope they¡¯re hungry.¡± Including Murph, there were eight other people in Sara''s mission. Two healers, a mason, a carpenter, a pair of unskilled laborers, an archivist, and a chef. They were all Umbo ¨C there was no other rank within The Ministry of Sulk. Only the High Minister was given a special title, mostly as a way to display authority to outsiders, and although Brunner had occupied the role for as long as Sara had been a member, he could be put aside by a simple majority vote. Sara was a champion and had been appointed to command of this mission for the sake of logistics, but the men and women alongside her were equals, not subordinates. And anyway, she suspected the people of Ambergran would have more use for a healer like Murph than a paladin like Sara. She only got to showcase her skills once a year. The rest of the Ministry¡ªwith their supplies and knowledge and mastery of tools¡ªthey were useful all year round. The mission followed the dirt road into Ambergran''s ramshackle town center and there found the first signs of life. The day was fading, but someone had seen fit to light torches outside the meeting hall. The faint hum of many voices was audible within, though the building''s double doors were closed. An indistinct, huddled shape sat next to the doors, as if standing guard or eavesdropping through the window. There were carts lined up throughout the village square. Some contained piles of lumber, sawed to size and ready to be installed. Others contained bundles of wheat, freshly harvested and ready for transport. ¡°Looks as if the town is already getting back on its feet,¡± Murph said. ¡°We might not be needed here at all.¡± ¡°You¡¯re just eager to get back to that wife of yours.¡± Sara eyed the meeting hall. ¡°We are needed. If Ambergran''s been offered a helping hand, it''s one soaked in the town¡¯s own blood. I intend to wipe this place clean.¡± ¡°Brunner asked me to scold you for talk like that.¡± Up ahead, a man rolled out from beneath one of the wheat wagons where he''d been tightening the fasteners on a wheel. He started at the sight of the mission, his jaw slackening further as his eyes lingered on Sara. ¡°Crucifalian,¡± he said. ¡°No,¡± Sara replied. ¡°Ministry of Sulk.¡± The man shook his head like he didn''t believe her. He set about a series of pointless gestures¨Csmoothing down his greasy hair, wiping dirt from the front of his pants. Sara stared back at him coldly, ignoring the snickering from the rest of her mission. ¡°I heard the stories, but never seen one of you in the flesh,¡± the farmhand said. ¡°The flesh¡­¡± ¡°Umbo Sara,¡± said Murph in a stage whisper, ¡°perhaps you could go shit behind a tree for this man. Your sounds disabused most of your present traveling companions of any poetical notions.¡± More laughter from her mission. Sara forced herself to smile. She knew what effect that might have on the leering farmhand, but she wanted to be polite. Even after days on the road, a broadsword strapped to her back, wearing shapeless plate armor and dung-caked boots, Sara Free was beautiful. She was tall, with a regal neck, and perfect bone structure. Her hair was wavy, blonde in a way that somehow invoked morning sunlight, her skin perfect, ears and nose meticulously proportioned, lips suggestively full and pink, her eyes like chips of emerald. Sara Free was artwork, breathtaking in her impossibility. All the women of Crucifalia had been wished this way by their husbands. Sara''s beauty had not diminished when she''d lost her loyalty for her homeland. In the lands beyond Crucifalia and the Silver Lake, her looks were a curse. ¡°Where is everyone?¡± she asked the gawping farmhand. Sara was used to being ogled. She was long past the point of lashing out during these exchanges; she had outgrown trying to temper her physical beauty with verbal ugliness. The initial awe would wear off eventually, as it had with her friends in the Ministry. It always did. ¡°Witnessing,¡± the man said, gesturing toward the meeting hall even as his eyes roamed across Sara''s armor. ¡°Not you?¡± The man made to spit in the dirt, but remembered his manners. ¡°I haven''t forgotten what those bastards did to us. I''ll let them do the work in the dead¡¯s fields and I''ll pocket coin from their labors, but I''d sooner gouge out my eyes than listen to their sermons.¡± ¡°Good man,¡± Sara said. He positively quivered. ¡°You mean it?¡± She left it at that with the farmhand, turning instead to Murph and the others. ¡°Set up over there, by the bulletin board,¡± she said. ¡°I am going to announce our presence.¡± Murph raised an eyebrow. ¡°Is that a good idea, Umbo Sara?¡± She flashed him a smile and saw the way he swallowed at her perfect rows of white teeth. ¡°I''ve come too far not to say hello.¡± Sara dismounted and tossed Murph her reins. As she started toward the meeting hall, the farmhand reached out to touch her arm. Without a thought, she activated [Radiate] and the man jerked back his hand as sudden heat rolled off her plated shoulders. She was of the Ministry and thus believed in charity and protection of the weak, but she would not be touched without permission. The hunched body by the doors of the meeting hall stirred as Sara approached. The thing turned out to be a woman, albeit one who looked like she¡¯d been living in a tree for a month. At first, Sara thought she wore the ash stripes of an Orvesian, but on closer inspection that turned out to be just old-fashioned dirt. The woman turned her face up to look at Sara, and the paladin stopped short. "I know you," Sara said. Tabitha Gentlerain quickly looked away. Her reddish hair was caked with mud and she stunk like she¡¯d been without a bath for weeks. "I have seen the power of the gods, and it is terrible,¡± Tabitha mumbled. "Only when we choose to make it so," Sara replied. She snapped her fingers in the other woman¡¯s face. "Tabitha, right? You''re the Quill." "I have seen the power of the gods, and it is terrible," repeated Tabitha. "I have seen the way they wield it, and it is galling." The woman¡¯s mind had broken. Sara considered her for a moment longer before using [Purify]. The sorcery manifested in a flash of light that emanated from Sara¡¯s eyes and mouth, the cleansing rays soaking into Tabitha. The Ink was meant to eliminate corruptions and restore the natural. Sara had no idea what effect it would have on a heart lost to mourning. She hoped it might bring some relief, at least. Tabitha gasped and shied away from her. After a moment, she blinked and finally made proper eye contact with Sara. ¡°The Crucifalian,¡± Tabitha whispered. ¡°Sara Free,¡± the paladin replied. ¡°And you, Tabitha Gentlerain, the Quill of Ambergran.¡± She took Tabitha gently by the chin, turning her head. ¡°The wheat stalk remains. Your village still needs you.¡± ¡°What¡­¡± Tabitha reached up to pull a twig from her tangle of hair. ¡°What are you doing here?¡± ¡°I am here to express the Ministry¡¯s remorse,¡± Sara said. ¡°And also, its resolve.¡± With that, Sara shoved open the doors to the meeting hall. Inside, the huddled remnants of Ambergran sat in rows, flanked on all sides by the black-feathered and ash-covered Orvesian Witnesses. The relationship between the conquered and the occupiers was immediately clear to Sara. The farmers were slump-shouldered, hands folded tightly in their laps, trying to swallow back their bile. The Orvesians, meanwhile, were all solicitous smiles and patting backs, passing around wineskins and bread. Sara shuddered at a memory that bubbled up unbidden. Her husband¡ªher former husband¡ªwhispering hard into her ear. ¡°Isn¡¯t it easier to give in?¡± She winced as some of the faces in the meeting hall turned in her direction. There were some round-faced, tawny-haired farmers who had smeared themselves with ashes in the Orvesian way. The Ink had changed to the blackbird on some, but not others. She was not entirely too late. And there, at the front of it all, on the meeting hall¡¯s low stage, was the man whose blade had chopped through her leg. ¡°I see you here, my dear, in his memories,¡± Battar Crodd spoke theatrically. Battar¡¯s head was titled back, in the midst of an Orvesian vision. Witnessing, they called it. A small middle-aged woman of Ambergran stood next to him, shivering despite the mugginess of the room, Crodd¡¯s hand on her shoulder. Sara walked toward them, straight down the center aisle. She made no effort to soften her heavy footfalls. Most eyes were upon her now, but not Crodd¡¯s. ¡°The ashes remember a half day¡¯s hike to a waterfall,¡± Crodd said. ¡°You surprised him there. His heart swelled¡ª¡± ¡°Be still your mouth, sir, and let the dead be freed of your pale prison!¡± Sara shouted. She extended her hand and activated [Healing Water]. A jet of soothing warm water shot forth from her palm, spraying Crodd in the face just as he whipped his head down to find the source of this interruption. Any wounds Crodd had suffered, any physical ailments bothering him¡ªthey would¡¯ve been healed as the water splashed into his mouth and up his nose. A price Sara would gladly pay for washing away his stripes of ash. ¡°My name is Sara Free of the Ministry of Sulk and I come to pay restitution to the people of Ambergran!¡± Sara yelled. Battar Crodd¡¯s bright blue eyes flared. He sputtered, his face dripping, black flecks on his lips. ¡°You,¡± he said. ¡°You live.¡± There was commotion then. The stunned people of Ambergran stepped clear of the scene, staring at Sara, even as Orvesian Witnesses closed in on her from all sides. They grabbed her by the arms and dragged her backwards. ¡°The Orvesian Witnesses are poison!¡± Sara bellowed. ¡°They commit atrocity and wallow in its wake. They murder your loved ones and then try to gift the corpses back to you!¡± ¡°This woman is confused, my friends, lost--¡± ¡°The Ministry is here now!¡± Sara continued at volume, proving her lungs were larger than any ash-sucking Witness. ¡°We will help Ambergran to live again, not to succumb to these ghouls!¡± Crodd¡¯s followers almost had her to the door when Sara simply planted her feet and stopped. The Orvesians let out a collective groan and stumbled as she accessed [Strength+] and [Immovable]. A dozen hands were like nothing to Sara. She shook her arms and Orvesians staggered back from her, tripping over each other. She pointed at Battar Crodd and smiled with all her cursed beauty. ¡°I pledge to Ambergran, in less than one year¡¯s time, I will kill this man.¡± With that, Sara turned on her heel and stepped out into the darkening evening. She did not look back, but was pleased to hear the plaintive voices of Orvesians trying to restore order, begging the people of Ambergran to stay. Some townsfolk, she sensed, were filing out behind her. Murph waited for her a few yards away. Tabitha Gentlerain stood with him. No doubt they had heard everything. ¡°Ill-advised, I think, Umbo Sara,¡± Murph said. ¡°But entertaining.¡± Sara said nothing. Instead, she met Tabitha¡¯s eyes. The woman¡¯s gaze had sharpened considerably since Sara¡¯s burst of purification. ¡°Do you want to hurt him?¡± Tabitha asked. ¡°Crodd?¡± The other woman nodded eagerly. ¡°Before the Granting, I mean. Do you want to strike him a blow now?¡± ¡°Yes,¡± Sara said. ¡°Yes, I very much do.¡± ¡°There¡¯s a boy with no mark,¡± Tabitha said. ¡°A boy the Orvesians are keeping prisoner.¡±
19. [Uicha] The Prisoner
--DRAMATIS PERSONAE¡ª Uicha de Orak, a young man of no renown or loyalty, not so lonely anymore Petra Reatz, a young woman of no renown, Orvesian Witnesses, a gift Battar Crodd, Death Knight of the 13th Renown and Quill of the Orvesian Witnesses, deeply troubled by recent events Hunn Megeer, Ritualist of the 3rd Renown, Orvesian Witnesses, new at this
6 Hazean, 61 AW The village of Ambergran, North Continent 264 days until the next Granting The days were getting hot but the nights brought a refreshing breeze. Uicha sat on the porch of his farmhouse, feet propped up on the railing in front of him. He let one hand dangle, idly scratching behind Parrot¡¯s ear as the growing puppy slept. The boy breathed out a contented sigh. If only his dad could see him now. Finally, Uicha had found some appreciation for the serenity of their land. Finally, he could sit here and just be, not dreaming of better places or stewing over how much his neighbors resented him. Perhaps, a life of a captivity suited him. ¡°What are you thinking about?¡± Petra asked as she padded out of the house on bare feet. The Orvesian girl wore a loose tunic that once belonged to Uicha¡¯s mother¡ªthe flashes of pinks and oranges on the fabric went against the usual drab color scheme of the Witnesses. In the weeks that they¡¯d been playing house together, Uicha had observed subtle transformations in Petra. She wore fewer ashes than she had when he first met her in the town square, and was down to just two stripes under her eyes at the moment. She had been letting her hair grow in and now had a dusting of auburn fuzz across her scalp. Uicha wondered if these changes were for his benefit, or if he was just an excuse for Petra to break out of her Orvesian shell. ¡°My mind is a total blank,¡± he told her. ¡°Mhm,¡± she replied, handing him a glass of chilled tea from the supply she¡¯d brewed and kept cold in the basement. ¡°What? It¡¯s true.¡± Condensation dripped from the side of the glass and onto Uicha¡¯s chest, his shirt unbuttoned and open. His skin was still clear. No Ink on him. No loyalty. Lovely evenings on the porch had not restored the swaying wheat stalk symbol of Ambergran. And nights spent with Petra had not turned Uicha toward the blackbird of Orvesis. Petra settled on the arm of Uicha¡¯s chair. He hooked an arm around her hips. ¡°I can see why your people settled here,¡± she said. ¡°Funny,¡± Uicha replied. ¡°I never saw the appeal.¡± ¡°You¡¯re lucky you grew up here. Lucky you¡¯ve never had to see Orvesis.¡± Uicha held his tongue. Because he had seen Orvesis. But only in dreams. And only as it was before.
13 New Summer, 61 AW On that first day Uicha awoke, the death knight Battar Crodd, Quill of the Orvesian Witnesses, cooked him oatmeal. He seasoned the oats with brown sugar and set the steaming bowl in front of Uicha. The boy dug in ravenously. He felt like his stomach was a bottomless pit, like his body might collapse on itself if he didn¡¯t stuff it full. After he devoured half the bowl in a few seconds, Battar pulled it away. ¡°Slow down,¡± he said. ¡°You¡¯ll make yourself sick.¡± Uicha burped against the back of his hand. ¡°What happened to me?¡± ¡°I hoped you might tell me.¡± Uicha edged back a bit as Crodd¡¯s sharp blue eyes settled upon him. He¡¯d felt so disoriented waking up on the floor that he hadn¡¯t quite come to terms with the man being in his house, sitting with him at the kitchen table no less. The papers that cluttered the table¡ªhis parents¡¯ correspondence and maps¡ªhad clearly been shuffled through. Crodd draped a hand over one half of the strange, hollow capsule that Uicha had discovered stashed in the wall. His fingers traced the rune grooves carved into the metal. ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± Uicha said. ¡°What do you remember?¡± Uicha shrugged. Crodd sighed. ¡°Uicha, my young friend, there¡¯s no point in being stubborn. I¡¯ve read through the papers here. Did you know your parents were hiding this?¡± Uicha shook his head. ¡°Do you even know what it is?¡± ¡°No,¡± Uicha said. ¡°No, you wouldn¡¯t,¡± Crodd said. ¡°But I have traveled a long way looking for it and done some terrible things to acquire it.¡± Uicha fought back a bitter smile. He remembered discussing who was responsible for the deaths in Ambergran¡ªCrodd or the gods¡ªand the man¡¯s obnoxious thought experiment that divested him of guilt. There was some pleasure in hearing Crodd actually admit to what he¡¯d done. ¡°It looks empty,¡± Uicha said. ¡°Yes, thank you,¡± Crodd replied. ¡°But was it always?¡± Uicha¡¯s stomach rumbled. He reached for the bowl of oatmeal and Crodd let him take it. ¡°I could extract the information I want from you,¡± Crodd said, and Uicha paused with the spoon halfway to his mouth. ¡°You have felt what I¡¯m capable of already. I can¡¯t kill you, Uicha. But I can hurt you very badly and for a very long time. I would rather not. I would rather not invite¡­ complications.¡± Uicha raised an eyebrow at that. He detected something new in the way Crodd looked at him. Almost as if he were searching for something. Like Uicha was a smudged window that Crodd wanted to peer through. ¡°Tell me what that thing is,¡± Uicha said. ¡°Fair,¡± Crodd replied. ¡°It¡¯s an urn¡¯chan. Do you know what that is?¡± Uicha shook his head. The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement. ¡°Their creation is a lost art,¡± Crodd said. ¡°An urn¡¯chan contains a person who has died. Their memories, their power, their essence. Distilled down and safely preserved. Or trapped, depending on your view.¡± The oatmeal suddenly tasted like cold mud on Uicha¡¯s tongue. Like a sludge crawling up his chin and shoving its way inside¡­ ¡°Who?¡± Uicha asked. ¡°Who was supposed to be in there?¡± ¡°Do you know the name Kayenna Vezz?¡± ¡°No.¡± ¡°She was the first Orvesian champion. Chosen by the gods themselves,¡± Crodd said. ¡°Before the first Granting, she was murdered by the jealous Orvesian king. There have long been legends among my people that Kayenna¡¯s followers recovered her body and preserved her in an urn¡¯chan. They hid her away and, when Orvesis was annihilated by Infinzel, her location was lost.¡± ¡°What¡­?¡± Uicha swallowed. ¡°What do you want with her?¡± ¡°I want to witness her. I am the son of a historian,¡± Crodd said. ¡°I want to know what she knew and see the world as she saw it.¡± Uicha scraped his spoon down the sides of his bowl. He didn¡¯t quite understand what Crodd meant and he didn¡¯t care at all for Orvesian history. What did concern Uicha was the idea of some old lady¡¯s spirit infiltrating his body, like something out of a ghost story. He almost confided in Crodd right then and there, but the memory of villagers disintegrating into clouds of ash stayed his tongue. He could not help this man. ¡°Too bad the thing is empty,¡± Uicha said. ¡°I think it opened for you,¡± Crodd said patiently. ¡°I think the essence of Kayenna Vezz occupies you now.¡± Uicha¡¯s eye twitched. ¡°You don¡¯t know that.¡± ¡°You just spent five days on the floor without food or water, boy. You were in some kind of stasis.¡± ¡°Fine. I touched the thing when I found it and must have activated some defense mechanism. I don¡¯t know anything else.¡± Crodd smiled at him, like he was impressed with the lie. ¡°I might have believed that. But I¡¯ve been speaking to you this entire conversation in a dialect of old Orvesian and you haven¡¯t remarked upon it once. Unless you are a secret scholar of the languages of my people, something within you has changed, my friend.¡± Uicha¡¯s mouth went dry. He heard it now, as soon as Crodd pointed it out. The harsh, guttural syllables that should¡¯ve sounded entirely foreign to him, but somehow were not. Crodd must have seen the fear in his eyes because he put his broad hand on top of Uicha¡¯s. ¡°I want to help you,¡± Crodd said. ¡°But you must tell me everything that happened.¡± So, Uicha broke. He told Crodd how the capsule had opened of its own volition, how he had been frozen, how something like sludge had come pouring out, and how he¡¯d caught a brief glimpse of a woman before passing out. ¡°Can you sense her presence now?¡± Crodd asked. ¡°Is she here with us?¡± Uicha paused and tried to focus on himself. He attempted an inventory of his inner-workings, as if he could somehow feel the foreign essence lurking within him. He felt nothing except for brittle, like he¡¯d just awoken from a bad dream. Uicha shook his head, feeling stupid for even trying. ¡°No,¡± he said. ¡°I don¡¯t feel anything.¡± ¡°If she visits again, you must tell me immediately,¡± Crodd said. ¡°In the meantime, I am going to send for my ritualist. He may be able to extract her.¡±
16 New Summer, 61 AW Crodd didn''t have to tell Uicha that he wasn''t allowed to leave. It went without saying. Even so, Uicha decided to try. So much of his existence these last few weeks had been tied up in escaping this town that he couldn''t just set the notion aside. He wanted to test the boundaries of his captivity. There were Orvesians everywhere on his land, harvesting the fields and even living in the bunkhouse. Uicha suddenly had a working farm again. The harvest appeared to be coming along apace. None of the Witnesses said anything to Uicha as he left the farmhouse and headed to the barn. Some of them, he assumed, were assigned to watch him. If they noticed that he had a small backpack slung over his shoulder and his mother¡¯s scimitar on his belt, they didn''t seem to care. Uicha sighed when he got inside the barn. The horses were gone. The Orvesians must have taken Clipper and the others and put them to work. He would have to go on foot. ¡°Going somewhere?¡± a girl''s voice asked from behind him. Uicha turned to find Petra standing in the doorway. He recognized her from the town square, although at that point he didn''t remember her name. Parrot the puppy danced around her feet, barking excitedly whenever she tried to pet him and scooting away. Petra had a pack of her own over her shoulder which she shifted awkwardly. ¡°No, I guess not,¡± Uicha said. ¡°How''s your head?¡± ¡°Healed,¡± she replied. Petra crouched and snapped her fingers at the puppy, which only riled him more. ¡°I heard you named this dog Parrot.¡± ¡°Yeah.¡± ¡°Why?¡± Uicha shrugged. ¡°It''s what my mom used to call me when I was a kid. Just kind of came out.¡± He brushed by her, leaving the barn. ¡°I''ll go back inside. You can tell Battar I was just checking on my horse.¡± Petra followed him, surprising Uicha when she shoved her pack in his direction. ¡°Mind carrying that? My shoulders are tired.¡± Without much choice, Uicha took the pack. ¡°More bread and blankets?¡± ¡°My stuff,¡± Petra said. ¡°I''m supposed to start living with you.¡± ¡°What?¡± Uicha stopped walking. ¡°Says who?¡± ¡°Battar wants your condition monitored at all times. I''m supposed to take detailed notes about any strange behavior.¡± ¡°All I do is sit around. I think this ghost of his has moved on, if she was ever here in the first place.¡± ¡°Then my task will be easy,¡± Petra replied. She started walking toward the house. ¡°Don''t worry. I''m the best one they could''ve sent.¡± Looking around at the other Orvesians on his land, Uicha decided that was true. Petra was a year older than him, funny in her odd way, easy to talk to. It only took them three nights until they ran out of other things to do. Uicha had never been with a girl before. The days were getting warmer and they had nothing to do but play cards and drink through the bottles of wine his parents had stored. Thinking back, Uicha was pretty sure she initiated. He didn''t know what he was doing, but afterward she told him that her ashes would remember his performance and he decided to take that as a compliment.
24 New Summer, 61 AW Uicha had been napping, but awoke when he heard Crodd and Petra speaking on the porch. Their words drifted in through his bedroom window on the afternoon breeze. ¡°He hasn''t had any manifestations during, if that''s what you''re trying to ask,¡± Petra said dryly. ¡°He doesn¡¯t become someone else when he reaches his bliss.¡± ¡°Well, continue on as you see fit,¡± Crodd replied. He paused for a moment. ¡°Actually, it might prove interesting if you were to become with child.¡± ¡°Oh, that would be interesting?¡± ¡°I don''t mean to cause offense. But such an event might give the essence a fresh vessel to occupy.¡± ¡°There are limits to this arrangement¡­¡± ¡°Are there?¡± Uicha heard the ice creep into Crodd¡¯s tone. ¡°Take a walk through Ambergran and tell me again about limits.¡± The conversation ended there, with Petra storming off. Uicha wondered if they''d meant for him to overhear. They were always testing him, watching him. Maybe that had just been a provocation to get him angry¨Cto see if a burst of rage had any effect on the quiet spirit housed within him. Uicha rolled over and closed his eyes. He pretended not to have heard and never mentioned the conversation to Petra. In the nights to come, however, he was more cautious.
29 New Summer, 61 AW The ritualist was the tallest man Uicha had ever seen. Hunn Megeer stood seven feet high, all knees and elbows, and jittery long fingers. Uicha had been expecting some ancient sorcerer-academic like he imagined the ones from the Magelab, but the Orvesian ritualist was no more than twenty-five and bafflingly awkward. He had a way of bending down when he spoke so as to make himself eye level with his audience, and thus had developed a hooked posture that must¡¯ve been hell on the spine. Hunn dressed like Crodd in a feathered caftan and black pants, although the pants looked like they¡¯d been stitched together from two smaller pairs. He had Ink and thus was the second champion of Orvesis who Uicha had met, although not nearly so many tattoos of power as Crodd. The ritualist arrived at the farmhouse with a wagon of esoteric supplies and immediately set to work rearranging Uicha¡¯s living room. ¡°I haven¡¯t been able to stop reading since you told me about the boy¡¯s predicament,¡± Hunn told Crodd. The ritualist knelt in the cleared space on the floor sketching out a complex pattern in chalk, while Uicha and Crodd watched from the kitchen table. ¡°I would like to begin with a simple summoning and manifestation. An invitation to chat before we go kicking down the door, so to speak.¡± Uicha could hear the eagerness in the ritualist¡¯s voice. He wanted to experiment, but he also very much wanted Crodd¡¯s approval. ¡°Failing that, we might consider a more traditional binding,¡± Hunn continued. ¡°An exorcism, perhaps.¡± ¡°Fine,¡± Crodd replied. ¡°Is this going to hurt?¡± Uicha asked. ¡°Is¡­?¡± Hunn seemed puzzled by the question, or perhaps he was surprised that Uicha has spoken at all. He glanced up at Crodd, who shook his head in response. ¡°No, it won¡¯t hurt,¡± Hunn said. ¡°At least not to begin with, I don¡¯t think. I believe the cautious approach is warranted here. We don¡¯t understand what would happen to the essence if you should¡­ ah¡­ expire. And we don¡¯t want to make her angry.¡± Uicha glanced at the door, measuring the distance and whether Crodd would be able to catch him. The death knight leaned into his field of vision. ¡°You want to be free of this, don¡¯t you? Free of us?¡± ¡°I¡¯m not even sure there¡¯s anything to be free of,¡± Uicha said. ¡°Nothing has happened¡­¡± ¡°Let us try a few more things, to make sure,¡± Crodd said. ¡°And then, I promise, we will hire a boat to bring you to the Flamingo Islands, or anywhere else you could want to go.¡± His grandfather. Uicha had told Petra about him. He could only nod in response. And so, they made Uicha lay on the floor at the center of Hunn¡¯s chalk drawing of a spiral within a compass. At each point of the compass, Hunn positioned a clay statue, each in the shape of a woman. He lit candles and burned spices that smelled like coffee. He spread a bit of lizard skin across Uicha¡¯s forehead. It felt warm, and Uicha hoped that was because the skin had been in one of Hunn¡¯s pockets. Then, Hunn began to chant. He paced around the outside of the chalk circle, body bent low, so that the tips of his fingers grazed the floor. He spoke in sounds, not in words, and Uicha felt tickling power in every syllable¡ªhe could not understand the chant, but that knowledge felt just out of reach. The chant went in a rhythm, almost a song, and Hunn¡¯s gangly hips jerked with every fourth beat. This isn¡¯t going to work, Uicha thought to himself. This is stu¡ª His eyes rolled into the back of his head and a burst of snow struck him in the face.
20. [Uicha] The Old Ways
--DRAMATIS PERSONAE¡ª Uicha de Orak, a young man of no renown or loyalty, finally getting to see the world Kayenna Vezz, sorcerer of the old Kingdom of Orvesis, locked in Uicha¡¯s head Battar Crodd and Hunn Megeer, Death Knight and Ritualist of the Orvesian Witnesses, blessed by an assault of the old ways Petra Reatz, a young woman of no renown, Orvesian Witnesses, meant to be keeping an eye on things And, at the end, an unexpected visitor
10 Frett, 1538 on the old calendar Plunder Ridge, Colonial Orvesis 2 years until the First Granting The Orvesian horde rode west in loosely organized columns. Hundreds upon hundreds of warriors on horseback crossed the rocky plain, their black standards whipping in the cold air. The horses kicked up flurries of snow as they cantered so that, from Uicha''s vantage point in the cliffs above, the army periodically disappeared from view. Uicha could almost picture them disintegrating, a thousand bodies broken down into particles and swirling away on the chill wind. ¡°Where am I?¡± Uicha asked aloud. The answer came to him instinctively, even as his words were still turning to mist in front of his face. He stood on Plunder Ridge. The broken cliffs ran across the eastern coast of the northern continent. This had been one of the first regions conquered by the Orvesians during their great expansion. Riches once flowed from these cliffs back to the capitol¡ªveins of gold and clusters of diamond¡ªbut the Orvesians were careless with their extraction. After only decades, Plunder Ridge had become depleted or otherwise unstable in areas due to the careless use of geological sorcery. That seemed to be the way of Orvesis¡ªthey were gifted conquerors but lackluster stewards. Now, Uicha watched as the armies once assigned to secure Plunder Ridge marched west, deploying for the towering forest that Uicha could just see on the horizon. How did Uicha know this? He was no scholar of Orvesis. And anyway, so much knowledge of the dead kingdom had been lost during the annihilation. He doubted anyone remembered the particular economics of Plunder Ridge. Perhaps a more pressing question was: why wasn¡¯t he freezing to death? Uicha stood on the cliff in the same tunic and pants he¡¯d been wearing back in Ambergran, in the summer of his own time. The last thing he remembered was the ritualist Hunn Megeer dancing around him as he lay at the center of a chalk drawing. The whole experience felt silly, but it had obviously triggered something. Or else he¡¯d slipped into a particularly vivid dream. ¡°I remember watching this,¡± said a woman¡¯s voice. ¡°I remember thinking how wasteful this deployment was.¡± Uicha was unsurprised to find a dark-haired Orvesian woman standing next to him. Her presence felt natural. Of course it would¡ªthis was her memory. She was unexpectedly short, her squat frame wrapped in heavy furs. Her long hair caught in the wind, snapping about her face. Uicha judged her to be in her forties, although deep stress lines creased her face so she may have been younger. Her throat, Uicha noticed, was smooth and unmarked. She didn¡¯t have the blackbird symbol of the Orvesian Witnesses because this was before¡ªbefore Witnesses, before Ink. ¡°Kayenna Vezz,¡± Uicha said. ¡°Uicha de Orak,¡± the woman responded with a nod. ¡°My gracious host.¡± ¡°Why have you brought me here?¡± Uicha asked. He had a hundred other questions for the mysterious presence that had turned his life upside down, but he decided to start there. ¡°I feel how you pine for the world outside your village. I thought I might show you a view that I always found stirring.¡± She lifted her hand, as if to obscure the columns of riders. ¡°If you can ignore the army spoiling it.¡± Uicha took a moment to gaze across the plains as he¡¯d been instructed¡ªswirling snow and vast scrubland, jagged peaks to either side of him, the sun hazy and golden¡ªhe¡¯d never been to such a dizzying height before, never seen so much of the world at once. He still hadn¡¯t, Uicha reminded himself. This wasn¡¯t real. Even though he didn¡¯t truly feel the cold, Uicha still rubbed his skinny arms. ¡°Thank you, I guess. If we have to do this, though, I think I¡¯m built for warmer places.¡± ¡°I see,¡± Kayenna said. ¡°I remember watching this. I remember thinking how wasteful this deployment was.¡± Raising an eyebrow, Uicha turned to look at the woman. ¡°You said that already.¡± Uicha flinched and stumbled backward. A great gash had opened across Kayenna¡¯s throat, dark blood spilling down onto her chest. She turned to meet his gaze and half her face was missing, smashed in, skull fragments bursting through skin. ¡°By the ashes, your face!¡± Uicha cried. He tripped over his own feet and ended up sitting in the snow, staring up at the dead sorcerer. ¡°Apologies,¡± Kayenna said. In an instant, her face was whole again. ¡°I am still in the process of rebuilding myself. My death remains the most vivid piece of me. At times it overwhelms.¡± Uicha clambered back to his feet. As he did, he noticed footprints in the snow leading away from their position. Kayenna hadn¡¯t come up here alone; there had been someone else, although they had since turned back and left her. Uicha wondered at that, and his companion seemed to sense the path of his thoughts. ¡°I remember feeling disappointment,¡± Kayenna said. ¡°Something started up here, I think. I haven¡¯t found the rest of the memory.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know what you¡¯re talking about,¡± Uicha said. ¡°Neither do I,¡± Kayenna said sadly. Uicha waited for a moment, expecting her to say more. When she didn¡¯t, he rejoined her at the edge of the cliff and cleared his throat. ¡°So, you¡¯re in my body,¡± he said. ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°And this is one of your memories you¡¯ve dragged me into.¡± Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit. ¡°Yes,¡± Kayenna said. ¡°I am nothing but memories now. Not a woman anymore. Snatches of memory and years of knowledge, all jumbled together. Ideas of power. Remembrances of pain. I am not a person. I am an archive.¡± Uicha nodded as if he understood more than every other word. ¡°The Orvesian named Battar Crodd would very much like access to your archive.¡± ¡°I know. I can tell by his ritualist¡¯s clumsy probing. I brought you here to deliver a message to them.¡± ¡°What message?¡± ¡°Leave me be.¡± ¡°Oh.¡± Uicha¡¯s shoulders sank. ¡°Instead, you could tell them how to free you from my body. You could be with your own people.¡± ¡°They are not my people,¡± Kayenna said. As the wind picked up again, she emphatically brushed some loose strands of hair out of her face. ¡°Shaving their heads. Dressed like perpetual mourners. Coating themselves in the dead. They disgust me.¡± Uicha rubbed the back of his neck. ¡°You want me to tell Crodd that?¡± ¡°No. We may need him to protect us,¡± she said. ¡°How did they become this way? The once mighty Orvesians. There is so much of the last sixty years I do not understand. Your knowledge is limited, Uicha de Orak. I would have you read more.¡± ¡°Oh, would you?¡± Uicha asked bitterly. ¡°Crodd says he used to be a teacher. He probably knows anything you could want.¡± Kayenna turned to study him. ¡°You want me out of your body.¡± ¡°Yes.¡± If this hadn¡¯t been something like a dream, Uicha would never have been so blunt. Even so, he felt inclined to add, ¡°Please?¡± ¡°I cannot be moved to one of these Orvesians, no matter that they might prove more welcoming,¡± Kayenna said. ¡°They have the curse of Ink upon them. That would destroy me.¡± Uicha touched his own throat. ¡°But my Ink could come back at any time¡­¡± ¡°It won¡¯t. Even should your heart find loyalty, I keep the Ink away from you. This, at least, I remember how to do.¡± ¡°But¡­¡± ¡°I was meant for another,¡± Kayenna continued. ¡°The urn¡¯chan could only have opened for someone without Ink. Unfortunate for you, I suppose. Unlucky for both of us.¡± ¡°Okay, well, where is this other one?¡± Uicha asked, feeling a surge of hope that he might yet get out of this grim predicament. Kayenna squinted at the horizon. ¡°I do not remember. I might not have known. Those who constructed the urn¡¯chan might have some idea. Perhaps they had plans for me.¡± ¡°So, you want me to find them?¡± ¡°Not you. I want you to do nothing. Go about your small life, pining after thwarted adventures, frolicking in the bedroom with your little friend¡­¡± Uicha swallowed. ¡°You, uh¡­ you see all that?¡± She ignored the question. ¡°I need time to piece myself back together. I do not wish to be disturbed. If my misguided kinsmen truly wish to be of service, tell them to seek the creators of the urn¡¯chan. Tell this Battar Crodd that he should quench his desire for power elsewhere. Mine is not for him.¡± Uicha snorted. ¡°Yeah. I''m sure he''ll listen.¡± Kayenna Vezz slowly turned to him. ¡°If he will not listen, we will make him obey.¡±
29 New Summer, 61 AW Uicha did not remember waking up. He did not remember standing. Uicha found himself at the center of Hunn Megeer¡¯s chalk drawing, the lines all blurred and broken as if a great force had swept across them. The ritualist himself sat against the far wall¡ªwhere he¡¯d been thrown¡ªpicking shards of clay out of his bony forearms. The figurines that he¡¯d arranged at the edges of his arcane symbols had all been shattered. Hunn stared at the boy from Ambergran with a mixture of fear and awe. At first, Uicha didn¡¯t quite understand why. His arm was extended, open palm pointed toward the ceiling. Arcane force flowed from Uicha¡¯s core, through his vibrating shoulder, and out through his hand. He couldn¡¯t fathom the mechanics of the spell¡ªthe way he had warped the world to his will. That power had come from Kayenna Vezz. But Uicha did understand the result. Battar Crodd was pinned against the farmhouse ceiling, his legs dangling, and eyes wide. His hands groped at the empty air in front of him, as if trying to shove away the invisible hand that held him there. Uicha sensed that he could tighten his grip on Crodd by closing his fist and did so, thrilling a bit as the Quill of the Orvesian Witnesses groaned in pain. ¡°Kayenna Vezz says to leave me alone,¡± Uicha said. ¡°And to bring me some history books to read.¡± Message delivered, Uicha dropped his arm. Upon doing so, Crodd fell to the floor in a clatter, crashing through the chair he¡¯d been sitting in. Uicha felt the power he¡¯d gathered leave him then and knew that he wouldn¡¯t be able to use the spell on his own, not unless Kayenna Vezz decided to once again work through him. He felt suddenly exhausted, like some of the color had gone out of the world. The next time he looked in the mirror, he would be surprised to find a few gray hairs sprouting at his temples. He noticed how the fingernails on the hand he¡¯d used to attack Crodd had whittled themselves back toward his knuckles, painfully short and raw. The bargain for magic ate away at the body in a way it hadn¡¯t in Kayenna Vezz¡¯s time. That realization belonged to the Orvesian sorcerer within him, but Uicha felt it too. Crodd leapt to his feet and for a moment Uicha worried he might be forced to defend himself. But the death knight simply grinned at him and clapped his hands. ¡°Excellent!¡± he shouted. ¡°Excellent! What else did she say?¡± ¡°She wants you to find someone¡­¡± Uicha staggered backward until he found his mother¡¯s old rocking chair and sank into it. After catching his breath, he told the two Orvesians what he had learned. He decided to leave out how little their ancestor seemed to think of them.
6 Hazean, 61 AW The village of Ambergran, North Continent 264 days until the next Granting And so, the summer days wore on and Uicha was both a prisoner in his own home and something of a revered figure among the Orvesians. Crodd and Hunn brought him books about the world after the Granting, as requested, including one written by Battar¡¯s own father. They treated Uicha like a promising student. He found that he enjoyed the reading¡ªand Crodd¡¯s discursive teaching style¡ªand that it satisfied the wanderlust that had been boiling in him for months. Kayenna Vezz did not make her presence known again, and for that Uicha was grateful. Life was easy. There were days, like this one that ended with him and Petra luxuriating on the porch, when Uicha needed to remind himself that these people were killers. He felt Petra tense next to him. She stood up and moved to the porch railing. ¡°Someone¡¯s coming,¡± she said. ¡°Probably just Hunn or Battar,¡± Uicha replied. ¡°They¡¯re witnessing tonight,¡± Petra replied. ¡°It shouldn¡¯t be over so soon.¡± Uicha got up to join her. Parrot came too, the puppy wedging his head in between them and sniffing the air. A solitary rider approached on the farm¡¯s only road. On any other night, there would have been Orvesians in the field to question anyone who came near. However, the Witnesses were all gathered in town, trying to convert the people of Ambergran to their ways. Uicha wasn¡¯t expected to attend because Crodd had decided it was better if the people of Ambergran forgot him, an idea that Uicha agreed with. Uicha and Petra were alone when the solitary rider reined in his horse right in front of the farmhouse. He was a sunken and ancient-looking man, bald, with an unkempt gray beard. He wore a finely tailored suit the color of red wine. His attire seemed preposterous for travel, and yet was oddly spotless. The skinnier the man, the stronger the mage. The saying popped into Uicha¡¯s head. He wasn¡¯t sure from where. Sure enough, in the fading light, Uicha spotted the open tome symbol of the Magelab on the man¡¯s wrinkled neck. ¡°Can we help you, stranger?¡± Petra called. ¡°The house still stands, that¡¯s some relief,¡± the mage replied. His eyes were two hard, black stones as he stared down Uicha. ¡°You¡¯re the son, aren¡¯t you? Weaker? Something like that.¡± ¡°Uicha,¡± Uicha said. ¡°Fine,¡± the mage replied. ¡°Did your parents survive the annihilation, Uicha?¡± Uicha hesitated. ¡°They never had the chance.¡± ¡°Meaning?¡± ¡°They died last year,¡± Uicha said. ¡°Pink pox.¡± ¡°Unlucky,¡± the mage said. ¡°Condolences.¡± ¡°Do you know this man?¡± Petra asked quietly. ¡°Ahmed Roh,¡± Uicha said, remembering the name from his mother¡¯s letter. ¡°Right?¡± The archmage swung his leg over the back of his horse and dismounted with more grace than Uicha would¡¯ve thought possible for a man of his advancing age. ¡°If you know me, then you know why I¡¯m here,¡± Roh said. He knuckled his back for a moment, then started toward the farmhouse. ¡°Your parents were holding something for me. I am here to claim it.¡± Petra slid over to stand at the top of the steps, blocking the archmage¡¯s path. ¡°Hold on, now, sir, you haven¡¯t¡ª¡° Roh waved like he was swatting a fly and a comet-shaped burst of energy exploded from his hand. Petra screamed as the bolt struck her chest, the impact sounding like an egg splattering on a skillet. The force tossed her backward, through the ajar front door. Parrot started barking madly, darting at the archmage¡¯s feet. ¡°I have little patience for animals, Orvesian or canine,¡± Roh said, kicking at the dog until it scurried to Petra. Uicha. Frozen in place by the sudden violence, Uicha felt a new presence at this side. It was Kayenna Vezz, wrapped in dark furs like he¡¯d last seen her, with the disconcerting wound on her throat belching blood as she spoke. Her shape was partly translucent, a spirit, flickering in and out of existence. ¡°This man can hurt us, Uicha,¡± she said. ¡°You must run.¡± ¡°Ah,¡± Ahmed Roh said. The archmage¡¯s head was cocked and, Uicha realized, Roh was no longer looking in his direction. Instead, his eyes were transfixed on the empty space next to Uicha. ¡°She¡¯s here with us, isn¡¯t she?¡± Roh said. ¡°You let her loose.¡± Uicha took a step backward. The archmage faced him, making a slow circular motion with his hand. Arcane energy crackled in the air. ¡°A mercy,¡± Roh said, ¡°that your parents do not live to see what becomes of their son.¡±
21. [Uicha] Escape From Ambergran
--DRAMATIS PERSONAE¡ª Petra Reatz, a young woman of no renown, Orvesian Witnesses, hit with a missile of magic Uicha de Orak, a young man of no renown or loyalty, and Kayenna Vezz, the Orvesian spirit currently inhabiting him, about to learn how to work together Hunn Megeer, Ritualist of the 3rd Renown, Orvesian Witnesses, took some precautions Battar Crodd, Death Knight of the 13th Renown and Quill of the Orvesian Witnesses, having one of those nights Ahmed Roh, Archmage of the 15th Renown, the Magelab, didn¡¯t come all this way to leave empty-handed
6 Hazean, 61 AW The village of Ambergran, North Continent 264 days until the next Granting As an Orvesian Witness, a certain amount of danger and physical violence was to be expected. Petra Reatz understood that. The ruins of Orvesis were a place teeming with nightmares and, beyond the burnt borders of the dead kingdom, the Witnesses tended to invite scorn from the people they encountered. Petra had grown up in a border encampment where both her parents had been Purifiers. Petra might have been headed that way herself if she hadn¡¯t fallen in with Battar Crodd. The danger was less than life as a Purifier, but the indignity was greater. Petra had long ago lost count of how many times she¡¯d been spat upon. Even considering her history, the last month in Ambergran had been a painful one for Petra. First, she''d been struck in the side of the head by a rock thrown by an upset villager. After that, the doubts had begun to fester. Ambergran was the first place where she¡¯d lived with people who weren¡¯t descended of Orvesis. It was the first place she¡¯d really seen Battar¡¯s philosophy put into grim, brutal action. Existential pain was new, and unpleasant. And now, she''d been blasted by a sorcerous burst of energy and tossed through a wooden door. Petra was not a fighter. She wasn''t built for an exchange like this. Her wind was gone, her chest sizzled, and the arcane energy still crackled through her bones. She was going to lose consciousness. That much seemed a certainty. However, when Battar had assigned her to watch over Uicha, he had not left her completely defenseless, especially not after the boy demonstrated the power lurking within him. Hunn Megeer had prepared a simple rune for her, drawn on a piece of sturdy parchment paper. The symbol glowed slightly, so Petra kept the paper folded and tucked in her belt. ¡°Tear the paper and I''ll know,¡± Hunn had told her. ¡°And always leave the basement door unlocked.¡± Down in the cellar, next to the jugs of tea that Petra had been brewing, Hunn had arranged for himself a circle of polished black stones. In the center, he drew in chalk a sketch of a doorway, and he decorated that with a splash of his own blood. And so, in those moments before she passed out, Petra groped for the paper Hunn had made her. She did not know what had happened to Uicha, only that the bitter twist of an old man who arrived with the night meant him harm. The fingers on Petra¡¯s left hand were numb, so she had to use her teeth. But tear the rune she did. The lights went out, then, for both the arcane symbol and for Petra. She would see Uicha again, but not for some time. Not until he wore a symbol of his own on his throat.
Across the village, Hunn Megeer felt the alarm like a tingling up his spine. The ritualist stood at the back of Ambergran¡¯s meeting hall, trying to make himself small. After the arrival of the Ministry of Sulk and the scene made by their champion, tensions were once again flaring between the people of Ambergran and their Orvesian occupiers. Hunn understood that his presence wasn''t a welcome sight¡ªtowering and skeletal, bedecked in his ashes and trinkets. He was not the soft touch that Battar wanted with these villagers, but the Quill had nonetheless requested his presence. Some of the villagers were shoving each other¡ªthe ones who had started wearing ashes fighting with those who had so far resisted conversion¡ªwhile others simply jostled to leave. At the front of the room, Battar raised his voice. ¡°Peace, my friends, please!¡± the Quill cried. ¡°The Ministry of Sulk want us docile before the gods! They do not understand the monsters lording over us and what lu¡ª¡± ¡°Battar!¡± Hunn Megeer shrieked. Immediately, he regretted the high pitch of his voice. Villagers near his position scattered as if he were a seven foot tall vulture that had just shaken itself awake. The death knight¡¯s gaze swung to Hunn immediately. ¡°The boy!¡± Hunn yelled. Ignorant of the screams that would follow, Hunn jammed his overlong thumbnail into the soft tissue of his palm, carving out a bloody circle and speaking the word that connected him to the ritual site he had built in the de Orak basement. Those looking in Hunn¡¯s direction would forever be afflicted with a vision of the gangly Orvesian¡¯s body appearing to be sucked into his own palm.
As these events transpired, Uicha stood on his front porch, staring dumbly at Petra¡¯s feet twitching just over the threshold of his front door. In front of him, the archmage Ahmed Roh¡¯s fingertips glowed as he turned them in a slow circle. ¡°Why did you do that?¡± Uicha asked. ¡°You hurt her.¡± This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. ¡°Are you a friend to the Orvesians now?¡± Roh snapped. ¡°Or perhaps the thing inside you has already infected your mind with sympathy for her kin. It doesn¡¯t matter. You will come with me, boy. I will free you from her influence.¡± ¡°I¡­¡± Uicha hesitated. The archmage made a bad first impression, but that was what he wanted, wasn¡¯t it? He could be free of all of this¡­ ¡°He will kill you.¡± The flickering apparition of Kayenna Vezz appeared once again. Her dark hair hung over one side of her face, but Uicha could still see the sections of skull that peeked through her broken skin. ¡°He can¡¯t kill me,¡± Uicha said. ¡°The gods won¡¯t allow it.¡± ¡°What does she say?¡± Roh asked. ¡°Of course, you¡¯re right. I will merely lighten you of this burden.¡± ¡°He will force me out and it will drag you with me,¡± Kayenna said. ¡°Your body will not die. But he will empty it.¡± Uicha swallowed. He met Roh¡¯s hard eyes. ¡°How? How will you do it?¡± ¡°No,¡± Roh replied. ¡°No, I am not taking questions.¡± With a flick of his wrist, a rope of energy whipped from Roh¡¯s hand and wrapped around Uicha. His arms were pinned to his sides with enough force that he felt like his elbows might snap inward. Uicha tried to scream, but he couldn¡¯t get any air down. He kicked his feet and realized that he now floated above the porch. Roh held him like a child would a kite. Uicha couldn¡¯t see the man¡¯s Ink¡ªwould not have understood it, even if he could¡ªbut the symbols for [Arcane Whip] and [Force Blast] were not even close to faded. ¡°You need to give me the body,¡± Kayenna Vezz said. Uicha¡¯s face crumpled in confusion. ¡°You must consent,¡± she said. Not understanding, but feeling his ribs creaking, Uicha nodded. Without understanding how he came to be there, Uicha now stood to the side of the porch where Kayenna had been. He could still feel the suffocating tightness of Roh¡¯s binding, but it seemed like a faraway thing. Looking up, he saw Kayenna was now tangled in Roh¡¯s arcane grip. Uicha¡¯s eyes widened. If he focused, he still found himself staring down at Roh¡¯s gaunt face through Kayenna¡¯s eyes¡ªhis eyes, though not presently under his control. ¡°Oh,¡± Uicha said. But now, Roh didn¡¯t hear him. Instead, the archmage heard the sharp crack of his binding sheared in half by a lance of icy blue energy that ripped from Kayenna¡¯s chest. She dropped softly back to the porch as Roh stumbled backward. Uicha winced and touched his sternum. The skin there felt cold to the touch and scalded¡ªfrostbitten. Roh¡¯s eyes lit up as he righted himself. ¡°Is that you, Vezz?¡± ¡°You know my name, young one, but are beneath my notice,¡± Kayenna said. The voice was Uicha¡¯s, but huskier and with more precise enunciation. ¡°I had apprentices that outstrip the masters of this age.¡± Briefly, Uicha wondered when the last time was someone referred to Ahmed Roh as young. A new flare of energy grew in the archmage¡¯s fist, but before he could let it launch, the porch at his feet split apart. Crackling coils of ice wrapped around Roh¡¯s feet, his shins, his knees¡ªfrozen snakes tried to drag the archmage beneath the house. A layer of rime spread upward from the ice, covering Roh¡¯s spotless silk clothes. In the grip, Roh shivered spasmodically. Uicha felt his heart seize and his lungs constrict with sudden brittleness. Looking on, he saw Kayenna hunch over and gasp, cold air flowing from her lips, bringing up flecks of blue blood as she coughed. Uicha could taste the blood on his own tongue. He felt like he¡¯d swallowed a winter¡¯s night. ¡°Stop!¡± Uicha yelped. He lunged forward, shoving Kayenna. ¡°You¡¯re killing me!¡± In that moment, Uicha retook his old position standing opposite Roh. He also claimed full feeling of all the damage Kayenna had done to his body¡ªfrostbite inside him, his heart stuttering, throat closing. He fell to his knees. ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± Kayenna said, now beside him again. Uicha barely registered the surprised remorse on her shadowed features. ¡°I did not fully understand¡­¡± The ice holding Ahmed Roh crumbled away as Kayenna¡¯s spell faded. The archmage brushed himself clean with a curled upper lip. ¡°Humbling, isn¡¯t it?¡± he asked. ¡°The bargain has changed since your time, hag. The old ways have new costs.¡± Ahmed reached down and grabbed Uicha by the chin. Seeing the fear in the boy¡¯s eyes, he nodded. ¡°Ah. She abandons you to your broken body.¡± Roh crouched down and pressed his palm to Uicha¡¯s ice cold sternum. A healing warmth flowed into him, undoing enough of the damage that Uicha could emit a strangled cry. Roh shook out a handkerchief and blotted some of the blood from Uicha¡¯s lips. ¡°I am not yet done with¡ª¡± The rest of Roh¡¯s sentence was lost to the night. In a flapping of wine-colored silk, the archmage was flung limbs akimbo into the wheat field. Blinking, Uicha looked up to find a glowing dome now enclosed the farm, separating the house from Roh¡¯s distant landing spot. Hunn Megeer¡¯s hands still glowed as he ducked his head to step out onto the porch. The ritualist glanced back to check Petra¡¯s breathing and, satisfied she lived, came to Uicha¡¯s side. Uicha had never felt so glad to see an Orvesian. ¡°Uicha, what happened here?¡± Overcome with racking coughs, for a moment all Uicha could do was point into the wheat field. ¡°Attacked us,¡± he barked. ¡°Who was that?¡± Hunn asked, looping a spindly arm around Uicha¡¯s waist and pulling him upright. Hunn¡¯s caftan hung open and, as he lifted Uicha, the boy noticed how much of Hunn¡¯s small collection of Ink had already faded. ¡°Ahmed Roh,¡± Uicha croaked. ¡°Magelab.¡± Hunn blinked. ¡°The champion?¡± Uicha nodded, leaning on Hunn. ¡°Oh,¡± Hunn said. ¡°Well. Fuck me.¡± A rumbling came from the sky. Uicha squinted. The evening had seemed clear when he and Petra had been lounging on the porch. As Uicha gawped, a jagged streak of lightning buffeted the barrier that Hunn had erected. Another quickly followed the first. Holding onto him, Uicha felt Hunn¡¯s whole body vibrate. Cracks showed in the dome protecting them. ¡°You¡¯re going to have to run now,¡± Hunn said through gritted teeth. ¡°Out the back door, through the fields. Head for the road. Find Battar. He should be on his way.¡± ¡°What about you?¡± The ritualist rolled his long neck. ¡°I¡¯ll do my best.¡± Uicha scrambled into the house. Another bolt of lightning struck the dome, and he heard Hunn begin chanting behind him. Uicha paused briefly to look down at Petra, swallowed, and then kept going. Barking madly, Parrot tried to keep up with him. ¡°No!¡± Uicha yelled. He pointed at Petra. ¡°Stay with her!¡± The dog didn¡¯t exactly listen, but did run to hide under Uicha¡¯s bed as another lightning bolt hit, this one slicing through the dome and into the ground outside, shattering the front windows. Uicha grabbed his mother¡¯s scimitar from its spot by the fireplace, then staggered out the back door. His breaths were hot with blood and he realized that he was still shivering, even as sweat prickled his back. He dove into the fields and ran on rubbery legs, trying to hold back the coughing spasms that threatened to trip him up. Thunder pealed behind him. He only needed to stay ahead of that. Ahmed Roh was powerful, but he wasn¡¯t subtle. While he¡¯d never felt any affinity for this land, Uicha still knew his way around. He¡¯d run through these fields hundreds of times as a child, although the only thing ever chasing him was his father with a bucket of water. He could beeline straight from the house, then veer west when he reached the Longbloom farmstead. That would bring him to the road between the village center and his property, and hopefully put him closer to Crodd than Roh. Despite the disturbing crunchiness in his lungs, Uicha mostly kept his feet under him. He only fell once¡ªtripping over a jutting piece of foundation. He¡¯d forgotten that the Longblooms had been annihilated along with their farm. Was he really running toward the leader of the Orvesian Witnesses for rescue? Uicha pushed that question aside. Better the devil he knew, at this point. Kayenna Vezz had gone quiet since her failure at the farmhouse. If the spirit riding in his body had any opinion on his escape, she kept it to herself. The storm sounds behind him had gone quiet. That could only mean that Hunn¡¯s shield had fallen. How much time could the ritualist buy him? Had Ahmed Roh already realized Uicha¡¯s escape and plunged into the fields after him? Uicha tried to redouble his speed and felt his lungs rise in rebellion. He buried his mouth against his shoulder and hacked up a dark glob of blood. He was awkwardly twisted like that as the fields parted before him and the road appeared. A single rider waited for Uicha. They must have heard him coming¡ªrunning madly, coughing and gasping. Uicha stumbled to a stop and stared up at the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Shakily, he wiped blood and mucous away from his mouth. ¡°Uicha de Orak?¡± She knew his name. The woman wore heavy armor like some hero from an old war story. Her blonde hair flowed freely, and Uicha saw the handle of a broadsword peeking over her shoulder. The shield symbol of the Ministry of Sulk decorated her throat. Uicha nodded dumbly. ¡°My name is Sara Free.¡± She offered him her hand. ¡°Would you like to leave this place?¡± Uicha nodded again. He took her hand and she swung him easily up behind her. As Sara Free dug her heels into her horse, Uicha pressed his face into her armored back. He didn¡¯t want her to see how he cried.
22. [Cortland] Lessons Learned
Meanwhile, as King Mudt hunted spies and raged at Captain Sulk¡¯s defection, so did Mudt¡¯s counterpart within Infinzel suffer a betrayal of his own. Celebration rang out through the hallways of the pyramidal city. The citizens assumed that the end of Orvesian bombardment meant victory at last. King Hectore did not have the heart to tell them that the battlefield had merely shifted and that their army had been whittled from thousands to four. Infinzel would still need to overcome the fearsome King Mudt. King Hectore dwelled on the helplessness he¡¯d felt while pinned beneath the savage Orvesian. He shuddered at the memory of Mudt¡¯s knife, plunging down over and over. Only the protection of the gods had prevented the blade from spilling King Hectore¡¯s blood. Shaken and ashamed, not yet ready to face his brother and his advisors, King Hectore lumbered to his chambers. His wife waited for him there, a dagger of her own resting in her lap. ¡°Too many blades today,¡± the fat king moaned. ¡°What is this?¡± ¡°I tried to kill your brother this morning,¡± she said. Queen Jocelyn was a tall and handsome woman, a renowned duelist and a capable rider from the distant lands of Crucifalia. Her marriage to King Hectore was arranged, a necessity for Infinzel to secure the support of Crucifalia, though reinforcements from the south had stopped arriving years ago. She had never loved her husband, but the revulsion she¡¯d felt on their wedding day had, over the years, sweetened into a benign tolerance. Queen Jocelyn appreciated Hectore¡¯s gentle nature, and the fact that he had never foisted any children upon her. King Hectore sighed and flopped into a chair that creaked beneath his weight. ¡°What did Cizco do to deserve that?¡± ¡°Your brother has done a great many things, but none to me,¡± she replied. ¡°I was promised a vast sum of money for his life, but it appears I¡¯ve waited too long.¡± His eyes watering, King Hectore gestured around their chambers. The paintings and silks, the glittering chunks of ore from the mineral garden, all of it hers as much it was his. ¡°You are queen of the richest city in the world,¡± King Hectore said, his voice quivering. ¡°What need do you have of more wealth?¡± The queen dragged her thumb across the edge of the dagger. ¡°I was promised escape, too. A way out from this place.¡± ¡°Ah,¡± King Hectore said. ¡°I see.¡± ¡°And now, look,¡± the queen continued, raising her chin. ¡°Look how the gods have marked me.¡± There, on the queen¡¯s neck, was an image in Ink of a curved dagger like a smile that dripped coins instead of blood. --Record of the First Granting and Dawning of the Second Age Lyus Crodd, Scribe of the Dead Kingdom of Orvesis
--DRAMATIS PERSONAE¡ª Cortland Finiron, Hammer Master of the 12th Renown, Kingdom of Infinzel, a harsh taskmaster Carina Goldstone, Logician of the 2nd Renown, Kingdom of Infinzel, an eager pupil Henry Blacksalve, Healer of the 8th Renown, Kingdom of Infinzel, waking up too early these days Vitt Secondson-Salvado, Hunter of the 9th Renown, Kingdom of Infinzel, he¡¯s been hunting
23 Hazean, 61 AW The pyramidal city of Infinzel, North Continent 247 days until the next Granting Carina began the exchange by trying to knee Cortland in the balls. He approved. Going direct for the groin meant she¡¯d been paying attention. A month ago, the girl had shown up for her first day of training wielding a duelist¡¯s rapier. She¡¯d gotten good with that mosquito¡¯s cock of a sword down in Penchenne, where fencing was a pastime of the nobility. Cortland still remembered the way she¡¯d squared with him like a judge would blow a whistle to tell them when to start. She was asking him a question about footwork when he kicked sand in her face and broke her stupid sword with his hammer. He made her defend herself with half a blade and ended the lesson by cracking three of her ribs. That was day one. Over the ensuing weeks, Cortland made it his duty to beat any notions of fighting honorably out of Carina. She proved a quick study. Now, Cortland checked her knee with his own. Carina grunted as their patellae knocked together. Her body sagged backward for a moment, shying away, as she tried to get her balance. Cortland felt the pull against the length of rope that connected his right wrist to her left wrist. He''d given only a foot of slack when he¡¯d tied them together. She had no choice but to stay close. Cortland stunk like onions and bitter musk, and sweat rolled down his forehead and thick neck. Carina wasn¡¯t fresh either. Her hair was matted with dried blood and her ward-weave uniform¡ªthe wards already dark from damage¡ªclung sweat-soaked to her narrow torso. Even this early, the heat in the training pit hung heavy. They''d been at this nearly three hours already. Carina pulled harder against the rope and dug her heels in. It was the girl¡¯s instinct to get away from him. She wanted to retreat¡ªto dance and dodge and rely on her Ink¡ªbut that wouldn''t always be an option. Cortland needed her to learn to fight close and fight brutally. ¡°Stop backing up!¡± he snapped. ¡°Atta-!¡± Carina''s weight shifted as soon as he started yelling. Her attempted retreat had only been a feint. She jabbed her first two fingers into his open mouth and hooked them inside his cheek. Carina put all her weight into that scrawny arm, trying to drag Cortland''s head down toward her other hand. She¡¯d slipped on a knuckle-knife without him seeing. Cortland felt a momentary swelling of pride. Win at any cost, he''d told her. That meant sneaking a blade into a lesson on hand-to-hand. She nearly had the triangle of metal jammed into the underside of his chin before Cortland got his hand around her wrist, squeezing hard enough that she''d have his fingerprints for bruises. With her knife hand caught, Carina changed tactics. Cortland''s gorge rose as she rammed her fingers for the back of his throat, trying to block off his windpipe. Cortland bit down until he felt Carina''s knuckles grinding against his back teeth, her blood filling his mouth. Screaming, she ripped her hand back. Cortland spit her own blood into her eyes. Carina headbutted him, but he was lower than her and she didn¡¯t have the angle. She caught him on the side of the face. He answered her headbutt with one of his own and struck her flush, her pert nose crumpling beneath the top of his head. Carina sagged backward again and Cortland thought she might be done, until she lunged forward and bit his ear. If she''d been able to see, she might have even gotten her teeth into his jugular. If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. By then, Cortland had gotten Carina''s wrist bent the wrong way around. With her own hand, he punched the knuckle-knife into her belly. Once, twice, thrice¨C ¡°Enough!¡± Henry Blacksalve groaned. ¡°I''m going to be sick.¡± Cortland stopped stabbing his fellow champion. Breathing raggedly, Carina slumped against him like a drunken dance partner until he got the rope untied, then she sank to the floor. She slapped the ground in frustration, leaving behind a bloody handprint. Carina rocked backward on her knees and glared up at him, golden grains of sand stuck in the bloody mess of her face. For a moment, Cortland saw the dark heat in her eyes. He¡¯d seen that look every day for the past month. Carina Goldstone was not a person accustomed to losing. She wanted to best him. She wanted it very, very badly. But then she swallowed that frustration. Her eyes softened and she flashed him a smile with red-stained teeth. Suddenly, she was the girl who insisted on bringing him dinner every night, the girl who¡¯d baked him cookies to bring to his aging mother. ¡°Had you,¡± she gasped. ¡°Almost had you.¡± ¡°Better,¡± Cortland admitted. Carina laughed, the sound whistling through her smashed nose. ¡°I''d be dead, but maybe I¡¯d have given you something to remember me by.¡± Cortland dabbed at the side of his head, where his ear had been half ripped loose. ¡°Maybe.¡± Wincing, Carina probed the stab wounds on her abdomen with her fingers. ¡°Feels like you missed the important stuff,¡± she remarked. ¡°Get your fingers out of there,¡± Henry scolded as he knelt down in the sand next to Carina. His hands lit up with a warm glow as he accessed [Healing Touch]. ¡°What hurts the most?¡± As Henry went through the process of mending Carina''s injuries, Cortland considered his two champions. As expected, the girl was a work in progress. She was eager and diligent, he would give her that. They had started these training sessions the day after her arrival to Infinzel. Three hours before dawn, when the Garrison was quiet. Five days out of six. Carina hadn''t missed a single one. In fact, she was usually waiting on Cortland and Henry to open up the training pit. After this, Cortland knew, the girl would spend some time in the Battle Library, studying champions past and present. Then, she would explore the pyramidal city, trying to reverse engineer the runes and alchemy that powered the place. He¡¯d come across her working a shift in the mineral garden a few days ago. Honestly, Cortland wasn¡¯t sure when the girl slept. While Carina had swiftly adapted to the training schedule, it had taken longer to get Henry broken in. Cortland suspected the healer would¡¯ve no-showed a few times that first week if Carina hadn¡¯t personally collected him from his neighboring apartment. As the days wore on, Henry had slowed down the nights spent drinking. His hands didn¡¯t shake anymore when he healed and he¡¯d stopped asking to take the wash. His Ink lasted longer before fading. Henry had lacked the power to heal Ben Tuarez back on Armistice, but these sessions showed him that he was still a functioning and necessary part of the team. Studying him, Cortland realized that Henry had even started combing his hair again. ¡°What are you smirking about?¡± Henry asked. He¡¯d finished with Carina and now pressed his palm to the side of Cortland¡¯s face. ¡°Thinking about the effects of young women on middle-aged men,¡± Cortland replied. ¡°Like a missing ear?¡± Henry responded with a raised eyebrow. He lowered his voice slightly. ¡°Remember, Cortland, you¡¯re training a logician. Not a berserker. It doesn¡¯t need to be so ugly.¡± Cortland breathed out slowly as his flesh fizzed beneath Henry¡¯s touch. ¡°I¡¯m training a survivor.¡± ¡°What are you two whispering about?¡± Carina asked. She¡¯d picked up her rapier¡ªa new one, fashioned from Infinzel¡¯s forges¡ªand begun snapping through her stances. ¡°Nothing,¡± Cortland said. He glanced up at the clock chiseled into the far wall. Nearly an hour past first light. ¡°That will be all for this morning.¡± Carina swished her sword through the air in a quick crossing pattern, then sheathed it. She tucked the front of her uniform into her pants, plucking at the creases in the arms. The gray fabric was stained purple with blood, ripped in spots across her stomach, and soaked through with sweat. She looked like she¡¯d been through a war, but there wasn¡¯t a scratch upon her. Henry had been thorough. ¡°I need to visit the tailor and warder,¡± Carina said, looking at Henry. ¡°Then, would you mind if I accompanied you on your rounds today?¡± ¡°Of course not,¡± Henry replied. He stifled a yawn in his forearm. ¡°I¡¯ll be in the food hall scouring my insides with coffee.¡± The three of them walked together toward the arched exit of the training pit. The violence of minutes ago was already forgotten, except for the taste of blood still lingering in Cortland¡¯s mouth. He spit into the sand as they went. Ahead, the stone double doors were closed and sealed. There were likely a few Garrison soldiers in hallway outside, patiently waiting for their time in the pit. After the first few days, Cortland hadn¡¯t needed to chew out any of the other soldiers for sneaking onto the pit¡¯s balconies to catch a look at Carina. Her private morning sessions became a matter of routine and curiosity in the girl waned. Or, at least, become better hidden. Even so, Carina seemed to have taken King Cizco¡¯s caution to heart and, though she freely explored Infinzel, she tended to avoid other soldiers from the Garrison, particularly the prospects she¡¯d supplanted. And, much like Carina avoided her fellows in the Garrison, so did King Cizco avoid his gods-appointed champion. While the king requested periodic updates from Cortland about her progress, he otherwise treated Carina like a poisonous spider loose in the garden. ¡°You know,¡± Carina said, ¡°today makes it a month since we started my training.¡± ¡°Yeah?¡± ¡°You told me after a month, you¡¯d take me to the Underneath.¡± Cortland grimaced. He remembered the conversation. The girl had asked about journeying to the Underneath on her very first day. The network of tunnels beneath Infinzel were a reminder of the last age. When the Orvesian invaders found themselves repeatedly thwarted by the pyramidal city¡¯s unassailable walls, they attempted to dig under them. The surprise attack that followed was the closest Infinzel came to falling during that endless siege, but the Orvesian marauders were eventually pushed back. Not wanting to commit further Orvesian lives to the tunnels after the initial assault failed, a sorcerer instead infected the ground with vile dark magic. Horrors bred and multiplied in the Underneath, forcing the defenders of Infinzel into a battle on two fronts. However, the creatures eventually turned on the Orvesians as well. The gods always favored Infinzel. When the Final War ended and Orvesian bombardment was no longer a constant threat, the soldiers of Infinzel at last had a chance to purify the tunnels beneath the city. However, they discovered that the horrors breeding there provided a reliable supply of Ink for champions, one that other factions were unable to access. And so, under the guidance of King Cizco, the policy of Infinzel toward the Underneath became control and maintenance. ¡°I told you that after a month I¡¯d assess your progress,¡± Cortland said to Carina. ¡°And then I¡¯d decide.¡± Walking backward now, Carina held her arms open. ¡°So? What¡¯s your assessment?¡± ¡°It¡¯s dangerous down there,¡± Cortland said, exchanging a look with Henry. ¡°When things get too bloody, the healer here won¡¯t be able to call a stop.¡± ¡°I¡¯ve faced danger before.¡± ¡°I know about your exploits. You¡¯re a brave girl¡ª¡± ¡°Woman.¡± ¡°A brave woman,¡± Cortland sighed. ¡°But you¡¯ve always had the protection of the gods. The horrors down below aren¡¯t bound by the ge¡¯ema¡¯s rules. They can kill.¡± ¡°My predecessor didn¡¯t die on Armistice,¡± Henry added. ¡°She was killed in the Underneath.¡± Carina stopped when her back pressed against the doors. She eyed them like the roles were reversed and she was a disappointed proctor. ¡°King Cizco wants me to gain two levels of renown.¡± ¡°I haven¡¯t forgotten,¡± Cortland said. ¡°I can¡¯t do that in the training pit.¡± Cortland breathed out through his nose. ¡°When you can best me in the pit, you can direct your own training,¡± he snapped. ¡°Until then, I¡¯ll decide when you¡¯re ready for the Underneath.¡± Carina¡¯s eyes lit up. ¡°Challenge accepted.¡± With that, she spun and yanked open the double doors. There were indeed uniformed Garrison soldiers waiting to enter in the hallway. Carina walked by them quickly, her chin high, knowing how they stared at the blood covering her. ¡°Well, that was unwise,¡± Henry said. ¡°What?¡± Cortland replied. ¡°You¡¯ve given her a goal,¡± the healer said. ¡°She¡¯ll be after you now. All because you¡¯re too stubborn to bring her Underneath.¡± Cortland scratched the stubble on his cheeks. ¡°You think she¡¯s ready, then?¡± ¡°Don¡¯t you?¡± ¡°I think she was probably ready the day she arrived,¡± Cortland admitted after a moment. ¡°She¡¯s the type to take big bites. We got to make sure she don¡¯t choke.¡± Henry snickered. ¡°When¡¯d you get so poetical, Finiron?¡± ¡°Fuck off.¡± Henry did. The healer joined Carina at the end of the hall, waiting for the lift to come down. As ever, Cortland took the stairs. Vitt Secondson-Salvado waited for him on the first landing up. The party¡¯s hunter had made himself scarce over the last month, ever since the ugliness on the day of Carina¡¯s arrival. He leaned against the wall wearing last night¡¯s clothes¡ªa silk shirt halfway unbuttoned and untucked, britches stained with wine. Vitt¡¯s red-streaked black hair was disheveled and Cortland thought he looked paler than the last time he¡¯d seen him. ¡°Should I wish you good morning or good night, Vitt?¡± Cortland asked. ¡°Hammerhead,¡± Vitt said by way of greeting, his low voice hoarse. ¡°I have something for you.¡± He held out a folded piece of parchment, which Cortland accepted. The edges of the sheet were burnt like someone had dropped a lit smokeroll onto it. On the page, Cortland found an address and a crudely drawn map for what looked to be Soldier¡¯s Rest. ¡°What am I looking at?¡± Cortland asked. ¡°A map, idiot,¡± Vitt said. ¡°That¡¯s a bar¡ª¡± A sudden coughing fit seized Vitt and he held up a hand to ward Cortland away. He pulled a handkerchief from his back pocket and wiped his mouth. Cortland thought he saw dark stains there. ¡°You seen Henry about that cough?¡± Cortland asked. ¡°Sounds like dust lung.¡± ¡°Dust lung is a mason¡¯s affliction. Do I look like a mason to you?¡± Vitt answered. ¡°I¡¯m fine.¡± Cortland shrugged. ¡°The map, then?¡± Vitt pointed at the paper. ¡°A bar in Soldier¡¯s Rest where an interested party could make contact with the Brokerage of Blades.¡± Cortland¡¯s hands tightened on the sheet. Laughing Monkey¡¯s wooden mask flashed into his mind. The assassin who had killed Ben Tuarez. ¡°How¡¯d you find this?¡± Cortland asked. ¡°We followed her,¡± Vitt replied. Cortland¡¯s hand dropped toward his hammer. For a moment, he interpreted from Vitt¡¯s answer that Laughing Monkey was somewhere in Soldier¡¯s Rest, that she¡¯d gotten tired of waiting for him to answer her invitation and had instead shown up in Infinzel. Furrowing his eyebrows, Cortland realized that made no sense. ¡°Speak plain, Vitt,¡± Cortland barked. ¡°Followed who?¡± ¡°Your girl,¡± Vitt replied with a slow smile. ¡°The logician.¡±
23. [Cortland] Soldiers Rest
--DRAMATIS PERSONAE¡ª Cortland Finiron, Hammer Master of the 12th Renown, Kingdom of Infinzel, slumming it The bouncer and bartender of Guydemion¡¯s, a Soldier¡¯s Rest tavern
23 Hazean, 61 AW Soldier¡¯s Rest, Infinzel 247 days until the next Granting Cortland considered going to Soldier¡¯s Rest incognito. A cloak with a hood big enough to hide his face and keep his hammer disguised within its folds¡ªlike some Penchennese spy. He had a cloak just like that hanging in his wardrobe, all black and sinister, a gift from some tailor that he¡¯d never worn. Too gods damned hot for that, he decided. Sweat already dampened the back of Cortland¡¯s shirt. From the heat or from the steady boil of anger? The hammer master couldn¡¯t be sure. A place within Infinzel¡¯s walls where one could contact the Brokerage of the Blades. The assassins who had killed his friend Ben Tuarez. And Ben¡¯s replacement herself had been seen there. Cortland¡¯s fists balled at the notion. The information came from Vitt Secondson-Salvado but, even given that, something still smelled. Cortland exited the pyramidal city at the Underbridge and made his way through the dwindling traffic of the river port. He¡¯d worn a shirt that covered the Ink on his chest, at least, and so hopefully he looked to most like a short and scowling blacksmith on an important errand. He walked with purpose and kept his shoulders squared at such an angle that passerby gave him a wide berth. As he cut between merchant stalls, Cortland sensed a few hawkers recognize him. They shouted their offers of gifts for the great champion. Cortland ignored them. When was the last time he¡¯d spent any time in the outer districts? Probably not since he¡¯d been elevated to champion. His parents had been born within the pyramidal city and had always been proud of their modest apartments, even when the dues put a strain on the family. They¡¯d looked down on the folks who¡¯d moved their lives outside the walls and, without really considering the whys, Cortland had inherited some of that perspective. It was going on dinnertime which meant a shift change inside Infinzel. Soon, Cortland walked alongside a surge of laborers from the mineral garden and smithies, those who worked within Infinzel but lived in its shadow. He eyed their homes as he passed down the streets. Some were well-built structures of stone, none bigger than a modest cottage, but solid and respectably constructed from bricks born in the mineral garden. Others residences were disposable, haphazard lean-tos of thatch and wood, jammed between buildings or atop them, easy to knock down. There were still wartime ordinances regulating the space between Infinzel and the ring-wall¡ªthoroughfares needed to be a certain width and no structure could be built taller than the wall. These were laws from the time of bombardment, but the Garrison was still in charge of enforcing them. Personally, Cortland had no desire to report any of these shabby constructions. He felt certain some eager Garrison recruit would be along to knock them down eventually, though. As he entered the Soldier¡¯s Rest district, the roads tightened, the air grew thick with smoke, and the volume went up. Food stalls jostled with taverns which abutted brothels, all of them competing for space with the ironically triangular stone houses that seemed determined to challenge the district¡¯s height regulations. Rebelliousness was ever present in the air here and Cortland found himself walking with his hand on his hammer. He observed a circle of men and women taking bets on bareknuckle fistfights that looked as bloody as his training sessions in the Garrison. A smith who had been walking beside Cortland arrived home to dump his tools unceremoniously on the doorstep so that he could grope his woman on the threshold. A roving pack of drunks sang a bawdy song about the many conquests of King Cizco, although this was whispered to a stop when they noticed Cortland. ¡°Hammer me, master!¡± a whore yelled to him from a window, then started cackling. Heat rose up the back of Cortland¡¯s neck. Cortland turned a corner and the break in the ring-wall came into view. Children of Infinzel were taught there was no greater sign of danger than broken stone. Yet, here was the gap in the wall that had been made sixty years ago, upon the return of Guydemion¡¯s host. Infinzel¡¯s ranging army at last set down their burdens here. The buildings clustered tighter around the break in the wall and then spilled outward, like paste bursting loose from a tube. The road leading out from Soldier¡¯s Rest was dirt¡ªnot cobbled like the other routes into the city¡ªbecause even after sixty years it wasn¡¯t considered official. The growing number of homes, trading posts, and farms that Cortland saw as he peered out through the break indicated that every year the people of Soldier¡¯s Rest became less inclined to wait for their places within the pyramid. The location Vitt had given him was practically at the break in the wall. Cortland understood why Vitt had drawn him a map as he squeezed through an alley between two buildings that would¡¯ve been too narrow for a carriage. No one would come back here unless they already knew what they were looking for. Cortland ducked under a clothesline laden with laundry. As he did, he realized these weren¡¯t sheets hanging out to dry but flags. The first depicted the pyramidal city of Infinzel cracking open to reveal a charging squadron of riders with skulls for heads¡ªthe retired standard of Guydemion¡¯s host. The second featured a sketch of the broken section of ring-wall that Cortland had just seen¡ªthe flag of Soldier¡¯s Rest, apparently. Cortland hadn¡¯t been aware that such a thing existed. Pushing through the flags, Cortland emerged into a tranquil grass courtyard shaded by cherry trees. The hideaway abutted the ring-wall on one side and the backs of stone buildings on the other; the area looked very purposely carved out for privacy. Up ahead, warm conversation and music poured from a well-maintained tavern. The sign above the door read simply ¡®Guydemion¡¯s.¡¯ A man of Cortland¡¯s age and his young son sat on a bench outside the front door. They were both dark-haired and droopy-eyed, but where the ten-year-old was slight of frame bordering on wispy, his father was a burly customer with a fighter¡¯s efficient physique and chipped features. The man raised his eyebrows upon seeing Cortland, but covered the surprise quickly. ¡°Evening,¡± he said simply. ¡°Evening,¡± Cortland replied, and that seemed good enough for the both of them. The boy glanced up from the sketchpad he¡¯d been drawing in, looked Cortland over, then nodded once to himself. ¡°That¡¯s Cortland Finiron.¡± ¡°Indeed?¡± his father said with a shrug. Cortland¡¯s attention had been drawn to a patch of brown grass on the shadier side of the courtyard. It looked to Cortland like someone had tried to burn the land there. At the center of the grass sat a wishing pool¡ªknee high obsidian stone, about an arm¡¯s length across, clear water within. Having crossed to the pool, Cortland peered down at the handful of coins at the bottom. Each of them was a standard triangular token of Infinzel, but they had words scrawled upon them¡ªwords Cortland couldn¡¯t quite read, despite the water¡¯s stillness. This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. The curved dagger and coins symbol of the Brokerage of Blades¡ªcarved into the bottom of the wishing pool¡ªhe could read quite clearly. ¡°I wouldn''t, sir,¡± said the man on the bench. ¡°They make their debts difficult to repay.¡± Ignoring him¡ªwithout really considering what he was doing¡ªCortland plunged his arm into the wishing pool. Try as he might, he couldn¡¯t grasp any of the coins at the bottom. In fact, even after crouching, he couldn¡¯t even touch the bottom. A physical impossibility. Some kind of illusion. Cortland straightened, flicking water off him. That was real, at least. ¡°What do you know about this thing?¡± he asked the man. ¡°Know who it belongs to and what it''s for,¡± the man said. He noticed Cortland reach for his hammer. ¡°And I know we already tried to smash it. Blow it up. Etcetera.¡± ¡°Warded,¡± the boy at his side said without looking up. ¡°Unnatural behavior.¡± ¡°But then, sir, your efforts might prove more fruitful,¡± the father added. Cortland flexed his knuckles, setting aside the notion of demolition for at least a few moments. ¡°You said you know what it¡¯s for.¡± ¡°I did.¡± Cortland¡¯s eye twitched. ¡°What¡¯s it for?¡± The man glanced at his son, who¡¯d returned to his sketching. ¡°A person writes a name on a coin. A name belonging to someone they¡¯d like to see go away.¡± ¡°Killed,¡± the boy clarified. ¡°They write the name in their own blood,¡± the man continued. ¡°Then, they toss the coin into the pool. Brokerage takes the coins. Decide whose requests they want to answer. After that? All I know are the spooky stories people tell in the bar.¡± Cortland stared down at the coins in the pool. Names written in blood that somehow hadn¡¯t washed off when the tokens sunk into the water. With a shake of his head, he walked away from the pool, heading toward the tavern and pair on the bench. ¡°You let them put this here? In front of your place?¡± ¡°Wasn''t no ¡®let.¡¯ It wasn¡¯t there one day, the next it was,¡± the man replied. ¡°And this isn¡¯t my place. I just watch the door.¡± Cortland glanced up at the sign. ¡°Whose place is it?¡± The man pointed at the sign. ¡°Says right there.¡± ¡°Guydemion?¡± Cortland asked. ¡°Which one? Some nephew?¡± ¡°The,¡± the man said. ¡°The Guydemion.¡± Cortland snorted, even though he could tell by the man''s face that he wasn''t joking. ¡°He''s got to be a hundred years old.¡± ¡°Ninety-four,¡± the man said. ¡°A year younger than our king. Though not nearly as well preserved, I''d imagine.¡± Cortland put his hands on his hips. They wrote poems about General Bel Guydemion. He''d been a noble seeking adventure before he rose to command the last host of Infinzel, largely because his commanding officers kept getting themselves killed. Guydemion led a desperate army that became cut off from the pyramidal city during the Final War. They lived on the run for years, moving from battle to battle, and were only able to return home when the gods intervened. The people of Infinzel who''d survived the siege hadn''t known what to make of these battle-hardened soldiers, but they feared them nearly as much as the Orvesian invaders. The last host was refused entry to Infinzel, so Guydemion had torn down a section of the wall and founded the first outer district. And now, Cortland learned, the man still lived within spitting distance of his handiwork. ¡°I didn¡¯t know,¡± Cortland said. The man pointed over Cortland¡¯s shoulder, at the silhouette of the pyramidal city. ¡°Too much time up top. You miss things.¡± Cortland frowned, but didn¡¯t have much in the way of a rebuttal. ¡°He here? I¡¯d like to speak with him about the wort in his courtyard.¡± As Cortland took a step toward the door, the man¡¯s weight shifted and he held up a hand. He didn¡¯t stand up, but he still blocked Cortland¡¯s way. ¡°Locals only, I¡¯m afraid,¡± the man said. ¡°It¡¯s a tavern, isn¡¯t it?¡± Cortland replied. ¡°Sure. But they don¡¯t let us Rest folks up to the noble tier to drink at Carat¡¯s, do they?¡± ¡°Place is shit,¡± Cortland said. ¡°You¡¯d hate it.¡± ¡°Nonetheless, we have spaces of our own as well and we¡¯d ask you respect them. I¡¯m not of a mind that I could stop you entering, Cortland Finiron, but I¡¯d be obliged to try.¡± Cortland nodded and took a step back. He found that he appreciated the man¡¯s plainspoken way. ¡°What¡¯s your name?¡± ¡°Watts Stonework,¡± the man said. He nudged the boy. ¡°And this is Otis.¡± The boy glanced up to mirror his father¡¯s stoic nod. Only then did Cortland notice the symbol on his neck. Young Otis hadn¡¯t been marked with the pyramid of Infinzel, but with a gear. ¡°You¡¯ve got a Gadgeteer,¡± Cortland said to the father. Watts sighed. ¡°Changed two months back. The local chapter doesn¡¯t want us to send him to Beacon until he¡¯s a little older. They got him in classes here.¡± ¡°Not bad sorts,¡± Cortland replied. He¡¯d never had to kill any Gadgeteers, although he kept that comment to himself. Reaching back, Watts knocked on the window behind his head. The shutters creaked open, releasing a burst of music from within, and a strikingly handsome young man stuck his head out. He looked to be in his twenties, with an immaculately trimmed beard and shoulder-length black hair tied in a bun. Cortland thought the younger man was wearing eye makeup. ¡°I¡¯ve got twenty crossbows trained on him,¡± this new man said. ¡°You just say the word, Watts.¡± ¡°He don¡¯t really,¡± Watts told Cortland. ¡°Bring our guest a beer, Traveon.¡± The window snapped shut and, moments later, Traveon sauntered outside with a mug of ale. He bowed deeply when he handed it to Cortland. ¡°Traveon Twiceblack, at your service,¡± the bartender said, shaking his apron with a flourish. He might have been joking about the crossbows, but Cortland spotted a glint of metal at the man¡¯s hip. A dagger or a hand-bow. ¡°Huh,¡± Cortland said by way of thanks. The beer, at least, was cold and bitter, just the way Cortland liked it. ¡°How¡¯s the old man?¡± Watts asked his companion. Traveon retreated to lean in the doorway. ¡°Not up for entertaining, I¡¯m afraid,¡± he said, looking at Cortland. ¡°But he welcomes the champion¡¯s intervention on the matter of the assassin piss puddle.¡± So, while Watts had Cortland out here, this foppish bartender had been reporting to the faded legend holed up inside. Cortland wondered for a moment what sort of operations were being run out of Guydemion¡¯s, but he set that thought aside and turned to regard the wishing pool. ¡°You said it just appeared?¡± ¡°A half year back,¡± Watts said. ¡°You know anyone who¡¯s used it?¡± Cortland asked. ¡°Only know the ones I¡¯ve talked out of it,¡± Watts said. ¡°I don¡¯t sit out here day and night.¡± ¡°Word got around and we¡¯ve had all sorts creeping around back here,¡± Traveon added. ¡°Even had some nobles down from the top tiers.¡± Cortland shot the man a look that made him flinch. ¡°Which nobles?¡± Traveon shrugged. ¡°They all look the same to me.¡± ¡°He don¡¯t know,¡± Watts clarified. ¡°He just likes to gossip.¡± ¡°Carina Goldstone,¡± Cortland said next. ¡°You know her?¡± The bartender and the bouncer exchanged a look. A wide smile broke out across Traveon¡¯s face and he pressed a hand against his chest as if to still his heart. ¡°I assumed Carina was the one who pointed you in our direction,¡± Watts said. ¡°Doubtless with a message for me,¡± Traveon added. ¡°She¡¯s to be my wife.¡± Cortland stared at him. ¡°What?¡± he said flatly. ¡°We¡¯re engaged,¡± Traveon said. ¡°They are not,¡± Watts said. ¡°Well, I proposed.¡± ¡°Eight years ago.¡± ¡°And she still hasn¡¯t given me an answer,¡± Traveon said, looking to Cortland. ¡°Unless¡­¡± The hammer master shook his head, much to the young bartender¡¯s disappointment. ¡°You¡¯re her people.¡± Watts nodded. ¡°She grew up with us. Under Guydemion¡¯s wing.¡± ¡°The old man still has big wings,¡± Traveon added. Cortland pinched the bridge of his nose. There was no conspiracy here. Vitt had put him on this path in the hopes to kick some mud onto Carina. Nothing tied this place or these people to Ben Tuarez¡ªalthough nobles visiting the Brokerage wishing pool was certainly of interest. Even so, the Brokerage probably had a wishing pool in every city and Ben had enemies spread across the world. What was Cortland going to do? Track down ever bastard coward that wrote a name on a coin until he found the one who requested Ben? Well, he did have one idea. A petty revenge, but perhaps better than nothing. Cortland turned to Watts. ¡°You said that thing is indestructible?¡± ¡°Near enough as we can figure,¡± he replied. Nodding, Cortland drank down the rest of his beer and handed the mug to Traveon. ¡°There are ways around indestructible,¡± Cortland said. Cortland turned away from the men and took up his hammer. The weapon¡¯s weight felt good in his hand and his Ink vibrated excitedly on his chest. Behind him, Cortland heard Otis close his sketchbook so he could watch. Cortland moved to stand right at the edge of the burnt patch of grass. He cocked his arm back and dropped to a knee in one sharp motion, bringing his hammer down on the ground in front of him. He used [Crevasse]. The earth rumbled, bellowed and snapped, then split apart. A chasm spread from the impact point of Cortland¡¯s hammer, racing forward to swallow up the wishing pool. Not a drop of water spilled as the circle of stone dropped six feet into the dirt. Cortland controlled the spread of his fracture, making it just large enough to engulf the Brokerage¡¯s creation. The rest of Guydemion¡¯s courtyard was quaint as ever. When the tremor subsided, Otis clapped like he¡¯d just witness a magic trick. ¡°Fucking hammer master,¡± Traveon murmured. ¡°Carina wasn¡¯t kidding.¡± Cortland peered down into the chasm. Despite the drop, the wishing pool was still completely intact. The water remained placid, the obsidian stones neatly mortared. A cute trick by the Brokerage, but not one that would matter. Watts came to stand at his side. ¡°An improvement,¡± he said. ¡°You got shovels?¡± Cortland asked. ¡°I¡¯ll help you fill in the hole.¡±
24. [Carina] Hammer and Nail
--DRAMATIS PERSONAE¡ª Carina Goldstone, Logician of the 2nd Renown, Kingdom of Infinzel, does not handle losing well Cortland Finiron and Henry Blacksalve, champions of Infinzel, her trainers King Cizco Salvado, Quill of Infinzel, Kingdom of Infinzel, ageless and benevolent
26 Hazean, 61 AW The Training Pit, inside the pyramidal city of Infinzel 244 days until the next Granting The lessons were unfair. Carina Goldstone inferred that was the point. Her right arm dangled limp at her side, the shoulder dislocated. She held her rapier out in front of her with her left¡ªher non-dominant hand, yes, but Carina had trained herself to be passingly ambidextrous. A curl of her dark brown hair wet with blood stuck to her forehead. She wanted to push it away, but the motion would momentarily obscure her vision and she refused to give the man across from her an opening. ¡°Yield?¡± Cortland Finiron asked. ¡°No,¡± replied Carina. Cortland wanted to teach her brutality. He wanted to teach her self-preservation. He wanted her to put aside any childish notions of heroism at the Granting. Carina could admit that she had harbored some of those, in spite of herself. She''d grown up on tales of the first champions¡ªKing Cizco and the others who followed. Ben Tuarez. Even Cortland. In weaker moments, Carina let herself imagine the kinds of tales the scribes would write about her. They would sand away her edges. They would not mention weeks of pointless beatings in the training pit. As far as instructors went, Cortland actually wasn''t so bad. He''d been thrust into a role he clearly wasn''t suited for and had not discovered himself to be some pedagogical mastermind in waiting. His efforts were sincere, at least, and he expected nothing of her beyond her survival and support. But he did not understand her. Cortland wanted her to be brutal, but she already was¡ªjust not in ways that he could easily imagine. Like every other teacher she''d had, Cortland believed the first step to an education was to show Carina her limits. But what could he do with Carina when she hadn''t any? Carina knew that he would bring her to the Underneath eventually. The man just wanted to exert his right as elder champion and decide the when for himself. Normally, Carina could be patient. She could have endured. Except, he had to go and make a challenge out of it. She could not abide losing a challenge. No matter how tilted the odds. And so, for the last three days at the end of their training, Cortland allowed Carina to test herself against the full brunt of his power. She had lasted fifteen seconds the first day. Today, despite the shoulder, she was still in the fight at over a minute. She assumed a defensive posture. Cortland advanced on her methodically. He kept his hammer and buckler raised and ready, respect shown to even an injured and outmatched opponent. He did not toy with her nor treat her as a joke, which made these beatings even harder to endure. They¡¯d picked on her in Penchenne and sneered at her in the Magelab¡ªCarina appreciated being disdained. Her mind was sharper when honed by resentment. Cortland treated her more like a sword he was forging. A job to do. Hammering her into shape. Molding her. Her body howled with aches, pain remembered from broken bones and bruises ever after Henry Blacksalve¡¯s ministrations. The healer looked on from the edge of the sand field. She¡¯d found pity in his eyes, but never in Cortland¡¯s. She activated her [Future Sight]. The wielder of this Ink may access visions of future possibilities in both the short and long term, read the description in An Encyclopedia of Runes, 7th Edition. The entry went on to warn: But beware, the future is ever-shifting and the Ink user¡¯s own actions may undermine the reliability of such insights. Carina had merely wanted to experiment with the symbol when she''d used chanic to paint it upon her. The gods had made it permanent. She''d spent weeks considering the meaning behind her selection and the red-flecked Ink now etched into her skin. She still believed she¡¯d been divinely chosen to lead Infinzel, but her mind refused to let her ignore the other possibilities. Did she force the gods to select her by using the chanic to paint herself as a champion? Was her selection punishment for her audacity? Why had she not met the symbologist that all the champions talked about? Now was not the time to ponder such questions. Cortland demanded her full focus. The battleground had become a kaleidoscope to Carina. She could see Cortland in the present¡ªtrudging toward her, a grim-faced man about his work. And she could see Cortland a few seconds into the future, his movements mapped out in blurry motion. Ghostly versions of Cortland fanned out before Carina. One Cortland walked her down to strike at her sword, another threw his hammer for her chest from a distance, and another still shot forward with his [Bull Rush] technique. Carina could only push her [Future Sight] out a few seconds in a situation like this. There were too many potentialities predicated on her own actions. She needed to concentrate on staying just a few heartbeats ahead, enough so that she could anticipate Cortland without finding herself frozen by the myriad possibilities. The Cortlands in front of her crystallized into one. He''d committed. It would be [Bull Rush]. Cortland surged forward on a straight line, his shoulder down, with the speed of a crossbow bolt. Carina had learned that he was impervious to damage when he used this technique, at least until he stopped moving. Thanks to her [Future Sight], she spun nimbly aside as Cortland streaked past her. Then, she sprinted forward to close the gap. There would only be a half-second window when the invulnerability of [Bull Rush] was down and Cortland¡¯s back was still turned. This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version. She stabbed for his kidneys. The wards on his armor rebuffed the tip of her blade, but Carina thrilled as the protective symbol flared, popped, and went dark. A weak point. Carina needed only to get his back again and she¡ª Cortland spun a backhanded blow with his hammer. Carina ducked and backpedaled. He pressed forward¡ªan overhand bashing strike for the top of her head, a thrust for her sternum. She stayed ahead of these attacks thanks to [Future Sight] but her vision showed her no version of events where she landed a successful counter. She continued to retreat and Cortland let her again expand the distance between them. ¡°Your eyes glaze over when you peek at the future,¡± he said. ¡°Do you know that?¡± His words sounded like they had an echo. Carina¡¯s brow furrowed and her stomach dropped. She saw darkness in her future. Darkness without the possibility of escape. Cortland raised his hammer and brought it down against his buckler. He activated [Anvil¡¯s Ring]. Carina supposed it was a small victory, at least, that he¡¯d needed to use a piece of Ink that he hadn¡¯t yet demonstrated. The sound that ripped loose from the hammer hitting the buckler was like a thunderclap. The whole world seemed to vibrate as Carina¡¯s inner ear exploded. Her teeth clacked violently together and her stomach heaved, the ground shifting beneath her. She lost any hope of focusing on [Future Sight]. The ringing made her an easy target. Cortland tossed his hammer at her. The stone head struck her full in the face, doing damage that Carina was happy she¡¯d never have to see or feel. She came awake cradled in Henry Blacksalve¡¯s lap. The healer¡¯s hands were warm on her face. Still, the adrenaline of the fight hadn¡¯t faded from Carina¡¯s body and her immediate reaction was to claw at the man¡¯s neck. ¡°Easy,¡± Henry said, leaning back and activating [Tranquility]. ¡°I¡¯m almost done.¡± The healer¡¯s Ink made all the tension flow out of Carina¡¯s muscles, made them useless and relaxed, and she felt herself melt back into the floor. The magic did nothing to ease her mind, though. Cortland looked down at her, his hammer back in the loop on his belt. ¡°Well fought,¡± he said. ¡°Don¡¯t patronize me,¡± she snapped. He raised an eyebrow. ¡°I wasn¡¯t.¡± ¡°A day off from training tomorrow,¡± Henry said, sensing the lingering tension. ¡°I certainly welcome the break.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t,¡± Carina replied, sitting up. Her jaw ached where Henry¡¯s magic had patched it back together. ¡°We should be training every day.¡± Cortland shook his head. ¡°You already push enough, logician. Your body needs rest. Your mind, too. Take a day to unwind.¡± A faint smile found its way onto Cortland¡¯s face. ¡°Go visit that fianc¨¦ of yours.¡± Carina¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°Excuse me?¡± The hammer master held up his hands. ¡°None of my business.¡± ¡°Didn¡¯t know you were engaged,¡± Henry said, glancing between the two of them. ¡°When did you find the time for romance?¡± ¡°I¡¯m not, I haven¡¯t,¡± Carina said quickly, focused instead on Cortland. ¡°You¡¯ve been to Guydemion¡¯s.¡± ¡°Yes,¡± he replied. The hammer master studied her. Carina had gotten so accustomed to Cortland¡¯s dogged stoicism, his workmanlike remarks, she¡¯d entirely missed his probing look. ¡°They had an issue in their courtyard I helped them clean up. Something you could¡¯ve told me about.¡± Carina swallowed, her mind quickly cycling through the implications. She¡¯d only visited Guydemion¡¯s once since she¡¯d been back, not wanting to put off seeing the old man for any longer. It had been a short visit and she¡¯d left the pyramidal city via a little used tunnel through the commerce district, one that merchants utilized when moving highly valuable goods. Yet, she had been followed. Not by Cortland, though. He didn¡¯t have the tact for that. Someone else had tipped him off. He¡¯d visited Guydemion¡¯s, discovered the Brokerage¡¯s wishing pool, and¡ªwas he suspicious of her? Did he think¡­? ¡°Wasn¡¯t my place to tell you,¡± Carina said, before too much of a pause opened up. ¡°They¡¯re private about that place.¡± ¡°So I learned,¡± Cortland said. Henry stood up, dusting sand off his knees. ¡°Everyone who¡¯s lived in the Rest has been to Guydemion¡¯s,¡± he said. ¡°Good of you to make time for your people.¡± ¡°I wouldn¡¯t call them my people,¡± Carina said. ¡°That¡¯s a long time gone.¡± ¡°I¡¯m sorry I brought it up,¡± Cortland said, though Carina could tell that he wasn¡¯t. However, her responses seemed to have reassured him. He stood over Carina and offered her a hand. ¡°Back here in two days, then.¡± Carina did not want these men to spend too much time thinking about her friends in Soldier¡¯s Rest. That they¡¯d learned about her connection to Guydemion at all was a lapse on her part. She¡¯d been careless somewhere. And gods damned Traveon with his engagement talk¡­ She would give her fellow champions something else to stew on, in the meantime. Let them focus on her petulance, rather than her private connections. Carina slapped Cortland¡¯s hand away. ¡°This challenge is unfair,¡± she said. ¡°I learn nothing from these exchanges except what a bully you are, Cortland Finiron.¡± The squat man took a step back. ¡°A bully,¡± he repeated. ¡°That¡¯s right.¡± Cortland shook his head. ¡°You think the Granting will be fair?¡± Carina hopped to her feet and held out her arms. ¡°Is this what the Granting is like? Face to face with your enemies across a wide open pit of sand?¡± She shook her head. ¡°Unfair and unrealistic, to boot.¡± ¡°You could easily find yourself in that situation, girl,¡± Cortland countered. ¡°Isolated and against a superior opponent.¡± ¡°I would not,¡± Carina said. Cortland threw up his hands. ¡°Oh, you would not?¡± ¡°If I was to find myself locked in mortal combat with someone like you, where I''m at such a disadvantage, then I already would have failed. Do you understand?¡± She approached him, the better to look down her nose at the shorter man. ¡°I am a logician. My value is predicated on planning. My skills are meant to seek advantages and anticipate problems. If I ever find myself in a fight like this, then I have already lost.¡± ¡°Not if I teach you how to win.¡± Carina let out a short laugh, clutching at the sweaty hair on the sides of her head. At some point, what she¡¯d meant as a diversion had turned into a real argument. ¡°You''re dense as the stone, Cortland! By the gods. If I allow you to dictate the terms of the fight, then I am not fulfilling my function. This training is unrealistic because, given a real matter of life and death, I would never let that happen. I would find a way to destroy you before you stepped foot across the field from me.¡± ¡°That so?¡± Cortland considered her for a moment, tapping his fingers on the head of his hammer. ¡°Sounds like a fancy fucking excuse for you being a slow gods damned study.¡± ¡°I think that¡¯s plenty said,¡± Henry interjected, stepping between them. ¡°Too early in the day for this bickering.¡± Carina spun away from her two trainers. Cortland¡¯s last comment had stung her more than she would¡¯ve liked. ¡°Proof that the gods aren¡¯t infallible,¡± she said over her shoulder. ¡°They sent Infinzel a logician, but they didn¡¯t send anyone with the brains to know how to utilize her.¡± Carina walked to the exit with her head high and shoulders square, the posture she always affected when she walked through the Garrison soldiers who would be waiting in the hall, no matter her level of exhaustion. She stumbled a bit as she noticed movement in the balcony overlooking the training pit. King Cizco gazed down upon her. The man had been avoiding her for weeks, yet here he was now, his handsome face unreadable. How long had he been observing? Long enough to see her defeated, her secrets bandied about like small talk, and her ensuing tantrum. ¡°Did you enjoy the show?¡± Carina shouted up at him. She curtsied with enough sarcastic depth that her ass nearly touched the ground. ¡°Another year of undiminished life for King Cizco Salvado! With us three and your chancre of a son in the battle, our wish is a certainty!¡± In response, Cizco smiled. ¡°I¡¯m relieved to hear it,¡± he called down. ¡°Let us celebrate with dinner this evening.¡± ¡°Is that an invitation?¡± Carina asked. ¡°No,¡± said the king. ¡°It is a demand.¡±
25. [Carina] No Honest Answers
--DRAMATIS PERSONAE¡ª Carina Goldstone, Logician of the 2nd Renown, Kingdom of Infinzel, a reluctant hostess King Cizco Salvado, Quill of Infinzel, Kingdom of Infinzel, her guest
26 Hazean, 61 AW The pyramidal city of Infinzel 244 days until the next Granting Only when the attendant arrived at her door with a salad of goat cheese and apricots did Carina realize that the dinner King Cizco had demanded of her would be taking place in her apartments. ¡°Should I change?¡± Carina asked the attendant. ¡°I should probably change.¡± The woman shrugged, preoccupied with the mess of maps and charts on Carina¡¯s dining table. ¡°I need to set up somewhere, please. He¡¯ll be down soon.¡± Carina put her hands on her hips. Although the paperwork looked chaotic, there was an order to it for Carina. Reports on the exports of Infinzel fed into maps of the Merchant Bay; plans of the north continent mines under Cruxton¡¯s control sat alongside Carina¡¯s notes on the alchemies at work in the mineral gardens; a list of the living champions of Infinzel¡¯s closest neighbors was wedged in the pages of An Encyclopedia of Runes, 7th Edition. All of these were physical manifestations of thoughts that Carina intended to return to later. ¡°Nothing can be moved,¡± she told the attendant. ¡°Come with me.¡± To say that Carina had fallen in love with her apartment on Infinzel¡¯s second highest tier would be an understatement. The place had felt to her like a culmination of years of work, even before she¡¯d furnished it with the lavish gifts delivered to every champion. Her bed was the most comfortable she¡¯d ever slept in. Her artwork¡ªsharp-edged abstract sculptures and delicate paper screens in the Penchennese style¡ªwere the first pieces she¡¯d ever chosen herself. The rooms already felt like home, not because they were comfortable or familiar, but because they felt earned. She led the attendant over to the floor-to-ceiling window that looked out upon the northern plains, and cracked it open with her hip. ¡°Outside?¡± the attendant said. ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°Unorthodox,¡± the woman replied. Carina looked down at herself¡ªthe loose blouse and pants cut short at the knee. ¡°You know, I don¡¯t think I will change.¡± Since returning to Infinzel, Carina had spent a fair amount of time on the landing outside her apartments, either gazing across the expansive flatlands beyond the ring-wall or else squinting at the activity of the outer districts below. Sometimes, she simply laid down upon the graystone and let the summer sun bake her like a piece of pita. She¡¯d brought a table and chairs out onto the landing, as if she one day might host parties¡ªalthough the only people she considered close to friends in the pyramidal city were the middle-aged men who trained her every morning. And she¡¯d called one of them an idiot just hours earlier. Oh well. The attendant went about brushing off Carina¡¯s table¡ªit had a granite base so it wouldn¡¯t blow off the side of the pyramid¡ªand arranging the first course. She dramatically monitored her steps whenever she got near the unguarded edge, a fall that would¡¯ve deposited her twenty feet down to the roof of the tier below. Carina helped by dragging two chairs into position so that she and the king could sit side-by-side at a slight angle, both of them able to admire the view. In truth, she did not want to face the ageless king head on. ¡°I don¡¯t have any wine,¡± Carina said. ¡°Are you bringing some up?¡± The attendant shook her head. ¡°He stressed there wasn¡¯t to be any.¡± ¡°Ah,¡± Carina said. Given the king¡¯s reputation, she supposed that was a necessary signal to confirm what kind of dinner this wasn¡¯t. When she next followed the attendant back inside, she discovered King Cizco standing over her table, peering down at her piles of papers. Almost idly, he pushed a sheet of numbers aside with a raised eyebrow. He was indeed a handsome man¡ªhis brown hair loose, unshaven but not sloppy, sleeves rolled up over muscled forearms. Carina reminded herself that he was closing in on a hundred years old. ¡°My king,¡± she said, bowing now in a much more sincere way than she had in the training pit. ¡°Welcome to my home.¡± If Cizco noted the irony in her welcoming him to apartments that he¡¯d granted her, he didn¡¯t show it. He smiled tightly. ¡°Carina. I¡¯ve never had the patience for formalities. Let¡¯s dispense with them.¡± ¡°Cizco, then?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°Cizco, you¡¯ll have to climb out my window if you¡¯d like to eat.¡± He glanced at the attendant who still buzzed around Carina¡¯s space, ferrying a plate of salted fish out to the terrace. ¡°So I¡¯ve been warned.¡± The two made their way outside and sat down at Carina¡¯s table. Cizco popped a single slice of apricot into his mouth and leaned back, taking in the view. The sun was low but not quite under the western horizon yet, a red orb casting long shadows across the plain. Carina sipped from a glass of ice water that the attendant brought her. She had decided to let the king speak first and play things from there. ¡°I witnessed an acrimonious training session today,¡± the king said at last. ¡°They aren¡¯t always like that.¡± ¡°Do you not think Cortland is up to the task?¡± Carina shook her head. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t say that.¡± ¡°Stubborn men like him are useful only up to a point,¡± Cizco said. He watched Carina from the corner of his eye. Carina said nothing and her face offered little. She was certainly not going to drop Cortland into the quicksand, if that¡¯s what he was expecting. ¡°He¡¯s not that stubborn,¡± she said finally. ¡°You don¡¯t use all your Ink against him,¡± Cizco said. Carina scratched at her chest where the symbol for [Enthralled Defender] was tattooed. With that Ink, she could bend a person of lesser renown to be her unyielding protector. However, Cortland and Henry were too far beyond her in strength. ¡°The nature of our training makes that impossible.¡± ¡°I suggest you find a way,¡± Cizco said. ¡°If I¡¯d noticed you earlier today, perhaps I could have used you,¡± Carina said with a laugh. Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. Cizco didn¡¯t smile. ¡°Perhaps you should have.¡± Carina smeared a cracker with goat cheese and chewed thoughtfully. ¡°Why the sudden interest?¡± she asked. ¡°Sudden interest?¡± Now, Cizco breathed a laugh. ¡°I am your Quill. And you have had my interest since the day you danced in here.¡± ¡°I see,¡± Carina said. ¡°So, in that case, you¡¯ve been avoiding me for a month.¡± ¡°When you get to be my age, decisions come slower,¡± Cizco said. ¡°I no longer whip around with the determination of youth.¡± ¡°Most of us hear the clock ticking,¡± Carina replied. ¡°We don¡¯t have your luxury of time.¡± Cizco sighed. ¡°I hear the clock now. I have heard it since you first arrived.¡± ¡°What were you deciding, then?¡± ¡°What to do with you,¡± the king said. ¡°Whether to support you, or destroy you.¡± Carina¡¯s hand trembled only slightly as she slathered another cracker with cheese. ¡°And?¡± ¡°You said danger approaches. That my overdue death is imminent. That the gods have chosen you as my replacement.¡± ¡°No.¡± Carina held up a finger. ¡°I said these were possibilities you¡¯re ill-prepared for. The gods sent me here first and foremost to aid you. To be a replacement, should the need arise.¡± ¡°I see.¡± Cizco eyed the pyramid-shaped Ink on her throat. ¡°Perhaps I have kept too tight a grip on this place.¡± Carina tilted her head. ¡°How so?¡± He answered her question with a question. ¡°Do you know why Infinzel was built?¡± There was little of Infinzel¡¯s history that Carina hadn¡¯t studied, but she got the feeling that the king didn¡¯t expect an answer. He wanted a chance to explain. ¡°Infinzel was built to withstand the invasion of the trolkin from the north. Early in the first age, when they were formidable and had not yet discovered their vices. Infinzel stood astride the river and thwarted their path south.¡± Cizco paused, gazing north now, perhaps imagining the tundra that waited miles in that direction. ¡°A century later, when the slaver mages tried to press their way in from the east, it was again Infinzel where their conquest was dashed.¡± ¡°Before my time,¡± Carina said. ¡°Mine, too,¡± Cizco said. ¡°But not the third invasion. I lived through that one, didn¡¯t I? The Orvesian horde galloping up from the south. This time, Infinzel could only hold its challengers to a stalemate. It wasn¡¯t until the intervention of the gods that we were victorious. The second age dawned¡­¡± ¡°An age of peace,¡± Carina said. ¡°Indeed,¡± Cizco replied. ¡°And what good is a fortress in a time of unalterable peace? No armies will come to break themselves against our walls. Instead, all of our strength and achievements could be wished away by four champions who survive on an island for a week. Hardly the calculus of old. Building so high now seems only good for attracting bored children who wish to knock down blocks. If you want this place, Carina Goldstone, I am almost of a mind to give it to you.¡± As he spoke, Carina had turned to study the king. She could almost see the elderly man huddled within the middle-aged lothario¡¯s body¡ªa stubborn creature, frightened by change, stuck in the past. Here sat a man who had operated the controls of a vast system for so long and with such efficiency that he had not felt the arthritis taking hold in his hands until his fingers refused to release the levers. ¡°Are you tired, Cizco?¡± Carina asked quietly. He considered the question. ¡°Not until you arrived, I wasn¡¯t.¡± ¡°I doubt that¡¯s true.¡± ¡°I have kept Infinzel running for so long, perhaps it had been too long since I asked myself why.¡± Carina had a hard time keeping the passion out of her voice. ¡°How about because it¡¯s the beating heart of the world? Stone, jewels, steel and iron, swords and fasteners and gods damned belt buckles¡ªall of this flows out from Infinzel. I have studied the exports, Cizco. I don¡¯t think the rest of the world quite understands how dependent on your works they have become.¡± She decided to offer up one of her favorite pet theories, something she¡¯d been gaming out for years. ¡°Do you know that if we turned our efforts to producing salt, in a year¡¯s time we could have Merchant¡¯s Bay in flames?¡± ¡°Commerce.¡± Cizco waved a hand like swatting a fly. ¡°Every year, we lose people to lives outside the walls. Life here becomes harder, the dues higher. You know this better than most.¡± Of course, Carina remembered her old apartments being packed up after her family¡¯s misfortune. She shook her head. ¡°That¡¯s a simple matter of resource allocation,¡± she said. ¡°It would be settled instantly if the nobles paid dues.¡± Cizco smiled wistfully at that. The nobles of Infinzel possessed two tiers¡ªthe ones directly below the champions¡ªall to themselves. They were not expected to work except for in the areas that they privately owned. They did not struggle with the work dues of ordinary residents because of their ancestors¡¯ contributions to building the pyramidal city. ¡°Imagine that,¡± Cizco said, then shook his head. ¡°No. The nobles have paid in other ways.¡± Most of the nobles, at least now, were tied into Cizco¡¯s own family line. There were no shortage of Salvados living luxurious and useless lives within the walls below them. Carina decided now was the wrong time to push this point. She¡¯d seen in his interactions with Vitt how little Cizco valued his own children, and yet he protected them from simple work. She did not quite understand it. ¡°Regardless, let us return to the matter of destroying or tolerating you,¡± Cizco said. Carina set down a piece of bread she¡¯d just picked up. ¡°I will ask you two questions that will decide your suitability to be my logician.¡± Carina swallowed. ¡°Fine, but only if I get two questions as well.¡± ¡°Must you always negotiate?¡± Cizco held up his hand to stop Carina from speaking. ¡°No. That was not my first question. I agree to your terms, champion.¡± Carina pulled her hair back as if to ready herself for thinking. ¡°Proceed, then.¡± Cizco nodded. ¡°Where will this threat to Infinzel come from?¡± ¡°The southern continent,¡± Carina said without hesitation. ¡°Something brews there.¡± ¡°Chanic,¡± the king said. ¡°Your liar¡¯s Ink.¡± ¡°Yes, but first a threat closer to home that will weaken our position.¡± Carina took a deep breath. ¡°The Orvesians are doing strange and disgusting things, but that''s nothing new. Penchenne and your estranged wife seek to expand and get bolder in their efforts every year. The Magelab, supposedly our allies, have long thought this place would fare better under their supervision. All these situations will need dealing with, if we¡¯re to prepare for the real fight ahead.¡± Carina had left out the danger that lurked closest to home. Bringing the people of Soldier¡¯s Rest to the king¡¯s attention would serve no purpose. Not yet. ¡°A lot to manage,¡± Cizco said. ¡°Your first question, then.¡± ¡°Will you teach me the runes that power Infinzel?¡± Cizco raised an eyebrow. ¡°I have seen the way you scuttle about. Are you not teaching yourself?¡± That was true, of course. In between training sessions, Carina has been all over Infinzel. From the pipe works to the mineral garden, she had been systematically checking off areas in the pyramidal city. She had copied Cizco¡¯s runes and attempted to reproduce them, mostly successfully, albeit weaker versions as she would not have a wish to restore the life it required. ¡°Easier, if you show me,¡± Carina said. ¡°There are things that I miss or blunder by. Flaws like those could cripple the city.¡± Cizco considered for a moment, then shook his head. ¡°No. I think it is better if you piece together how the city works on your own, as I once had to. A better education that way.¡± Carina stopped herself from rolling her eyes. ¡°Fine,¡± she said. ¡°May I ask my second question? It¡¯s related.¡± ¡°Go ahead.¡± ¡°Where does the power come from?¡± The king cocked his head. ¡°I don¡¯t understand.¡± ¡°The arcane energy that¡¯s poured into the runes, the magic that keeps the city running,¡± Carina continued. ¡°I have attempted to calculate it and the numbers don¡¯t make sense. Even with the wish every year, even a man of your skill that has been practicing for decades¡ªthe old ways are too cruel, the arcane bargain too high. The city requires too much energy for you to manage it as you say.¡± As she spoke, Carina observed the king¡¯s mouth press into a tight line. ¡°Calculations, you said,¡± Cizco said after a moment. ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°Calculations,¡± he paused, ¡°for magic.¡± She sank back in her chair. ¡°It¡¯s measureable, if that¡¯s what you¡¯re implying.¡± ¡°Perhaps your math is off,¡± Cizco said with a blithe shrug. ¡°My second question.¡± ¡°But¡ª¡± ¡°Who had Ben Tuarez killed?¡± Carina breathed out through her nose. ¡°I can only give you theories.¡± ¡°Please do.¡± ¡°One of the aforementioned enemies, seeking to weaken Infinzel.¡± Cizco dismissed this with a shake of his head. ¡°Did you know I was amongst the Brokerage¡¯s first targets, back when it was formed? No. The assassins operate on a much more personal level.¡± ¡°Revenge for a killing on the island, then,¡± Carina said, forcing herself not to pepper Cizco with follow-up questions about the Brokerage. ¡°I checked the logs. Ben Tuarez mostly slayed trolkin, but there were some other incidents. Most recently, he¡¯s killed Orvesians and Penchennese and a couple from Endpass.¡± ¡°The people of Endpass are too proud to employ assassins,¡± Cizco said. ¡°It always comes back to Orvesis and Penchenne, does it not?¡± ¡°There¡¯s another possibility,¡± Carina said. ¡°Not revenge, but avarice. Someone who wanted to become a champion, or have a hand in choosing the next.¡± Cizco¡¯s lips quirked. ¡°Ah. Who fits that description?¡± ¡°Me, I suppose,¡± Carina said. ¡°I¡¯m told Vitt expected his ratty little nephew to join him as champion. There are others in the Garrison. Someone hungry for glory. Someone who might need the Ink because of how their magic has eaten away at them.¡± The king crossed his arms. ¡°Have you shared these thoughts with Cortland?¡± ¡°He hasn¡¯t asked,¡± she replied. ¡°He has been doing his own research.¡± ¡°I know,¡± Cizco said. ¡°I fear that he is weeks away from sailing for the Beach of Blades to accept the invitation of Ben¡¯s assassin for a conference.¡± Carina rattled the table as she leaned forward. ¡°That would be unwise.¡± ¡°I agree,¡± Cizco said. ¡°We need him here. Therefore, this mystery needs settling.¡± ¡°And you would like me to¡­?¡± ¡°Satisfy his need for vengeance,¡± Cizco said. ¡°With the truth?¡± King Cizco met her eyes. Carina looked back steadily. They had reached an understanding. She was not to be destroyed; she was to be tolerated. Perhaps, even more than that. In unison, the two of them turned to look out at the plains. Shadows were creeping in now as the sun continued its descent. ¡°The truth,¡± Cizco said. ¡°Of course.¡± ¡°Of course,¡± Carina agreed. ¡°As you will it, my king.¡±
26. [Uicha] The Grasslands
King Mudt had chosen his champions. The coward Sulk might have deserted him, but there were other formidable warriors in his army. He first marked the fleet-footed assassin Bello who had singlehandedly reduced the great merchant families from fourteen to thirteen and thus squashed any thoughts of resistance from the bay. Next, Mudt marked the swordsman Carver, renowned for his brutality across the sprawling plains that once belonged to Infinzel. And finally, Mudt chose the man-mountain Grime, whose prodigious bulk had been essential in keeping the trolkin in line. Yet, when it came time to mark Grime, Mudt found his inkwell dry. The gods had told Mudt they had chosen one of his champions on his behalf. They even had the audacity to grant her the fifth renown, which meant her Ink matched Mudt¡¯s own. He had no doubt the gods had chosen Kayenna Vezz and her accursed magic. ¡°Where has that sorcerous bitch hidden herself?¡± Mudt asked. ¡°Ruchet,¡± Bello answered, the assassin known for his network of spies. ¡°Abiding by the terms of your banishment. Doing nothing to aid in the war effort.¡± ¡°She¡¯s done enough,¡± said Carver. ¡°I had to kill one of her abominations just this morning.¡± In the company of his champions, King Mudt longingly gazed upon the pyramidal city of Infinzel. The walls were quiet, the siege lines still. Mudt had vowed never to leave the front until he could march up to the highest floor of that towering city and throw off the severed head of the fat King Hectore. He would watch the king¡¯s head bounce down each successive level of Infinzel¡¯s tiers and at last feel satisfied. King Mudt clenched his fists and turned to his three subordinates. ¡°Assemble a battalion for the journey south. I have tolerated that fool woman long enough.¡± --Record of the First Granting and Dawning of the Second Age Lyus Crodd, Scribe of the Dead Kingdom of Orvesis
--DRAMATIS PERSONAE¡ª Uicha de Orak, a young man of no renown or loyalty, finally seeing the world Sara Free, Paladin of the 10th Renown, The Ministry of Sulk, the impulsive type
30 Hazean, 61 AW The grasslands between Ambergran and Cruxton 240 days until the next Granting Uicha led the horses and Sara carried the deer. She had killed the buck that morning¡ªa streak of paralyzing light from her sword that had disoriented the animal long enough for Sara to get close and slash its throat. Now, she walked with the whole bulk of the animal draped across her shoulders, barely hunched by the weight. The tips of her blonde hair were stained red with deer blood. Sweat gathered on her neck beneath the shield symbol of the Ministry of Sulk. Sara didn''t want to needlessly tire the horses. Three weeks since they fled Ambergran and she still kept an eye out for pursuers, although they hadn¡¯t seen any signs of being followed. She had stopped leading them in looping trails across the grasslands and stuck closer to the Green Road. Even so, she hadn¡¯t entirely abandoned caution. Up ahead, Uicha spotted smoke curling over the next hill. ¡°I bet that''s the tavern,¡± he said. ¡°Those merchants said it would only be a few more miles.¡± Sara grunted. ¡°You want to sleep in a bed tonight?¡± ¡°Wouldn''t say no to that,¡± Uicha replied. ¡°It''s your money, though.¡± ¡°It¡¯s our money,¡± Sara said, her usual response whenever Uicha tried to demur about their shared finances, which he¡¯d done next to nothing to earn. ¡°I¡¯d like a bath. A bath would be perfect.¡± By necessity, they¡¯d encountered fellow travelers on the road northeast and made for a notable pairing¡ªa boy with no markings and a Crucifalian-born paladin of Sulk. Anyone asking after them would likely be pointed in the right direction. Uicha wondered if Sara actually wanted a confrontation with the Orvesian Witnesses she imagined dogging their trail. He thought that a part of her had been disappointed that his rescue had been so simple with him just plunging out of the wheat fields and into her arms. He did not think she would actually want to battle who might really be chasing him. ¡°Why were the Orvesians holding you?¡± Sara had asked him on their first full day together, back when they only had the one horse and thus Uicha had no choice but to ride pressed into the back of the most beautiful woman he''d ever laid eyes on. ¡°Because of my Ink,¡± Uicha told her. He touched the blank space on his neck, although he was sure Sara had already noticed. ¡°I think they assumed I''d be an easy convert.¡± Sara had glanced over her shoulder at him. ¡°That''s it?¡± He shrugged. ¡°I don''t know. Battar Crodd, he¡­¡± Uicha paused, taking a moment to think through his fabrication. ¡°He said a lot of religious stuff. It didn''t make sense.¡± That had seemed to satisfy Sara. In the days to come, Uicha would learn all about her grudge against Crodd, how she had stood against him at the last Granting until he quite literally cut her leg out from under her. The idea that Crodd would be interested in an Inkless but otherwise ordinary boy from Ambergran for his own strange and morbid reasons didn''t require further scrutiny from Sara. The mad cult of Orvesian death worshippers were, of course, going to behave in bizarre ways. Mostly, she seemed pleased with herself for dealing her enemy what she thought of as a small injury. Uicha had not told her about the pursuer that truly concerned him. The archmage Ahmed Roh in his wine-colored suit. Nor had he explained to Sara about the Orvesian spirit living within him. He didn¡¯t think that Sara would deliver him to the Magelab for experimentation, but he decided not to take the risk. She was his only protector and he didn¡¯t want to frighten her away. In those days after Ambergran, Kayenna Vezz had receded within him once again, leaving no hint of her presence except the lingering cough from the frostbite she''d accidentally inflicted upon Uicha¡¯s lungs. During the dry heat of the days, Uicha felt mostly fine. But at nights, when the humidity set in and the pollen stuck to them, his lungs rattled and his breathing wheezed. ¡°I''m tired of listening to that,¡± Sara said on their third night together. They sat opposite each other across a small fire. ¡°Let me do something about it.¡± Uicha allowed her to lift up his shirt and press her warm hands against his narrow chest, a healing heat stealing into him. He bit his lip and turned his head as a strand of her hair tickled his cheek. Clearing his throat uncomfortably, he shifted slightly away from her in order to hide his reaction. ¡°You all right?¡± Sara asked, a twinge of amusement in her voice. ¡°It feels better,¡± Uicha said shakily, his mouth surprisingly dry. ¡°I¡¯ve just never been around someone like you before.¡± Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings. Luckily, the healing finished quickly and Sara returned to her side of the fire, sinking into the shadows there. ¡°Don''t worry,¡± she said. ¡°It wears off.¡± ¡°I don''t see how that can be true,¡± Uicha mumbled. They slept in the grass. The weather had so far cooperated, so the ground was soft and dry. Uicha dreamed of Sara¡¯s face leaning over him, filling his vision like the moon, her perfectly shaped mouth opening for him¡­ ¡°Well, Uicha de Orak, I believe it¡¯s time we settled on a destination,¡± she said to him the next morning before they mounted up. ¡°Where do you want to go?¡± Until that point, Sara had been taking him across the grasslands strictly to put distance between them and Ambergran. But what had initially been an escape now felt aimless. Uicha realized what an impulsive decision this had been for Sara. They had one horse, no supplies, not even a bedroll. Sara proved up to the task of foraging and tracking down streams for water, or else Uicha would''ve starved. ¡°The Flamingo Islands, I guess,¡± Uicha said. ¡°You have people there?¡± ¡°My grandfather,¡± Uicha said. ¡°But we''ve never met.¡± He thought of the letters he''d found written to his father, lost back in Ambergran along with a small fortune and all his possessions except for his mother''s sword. He supposed all that would belong to the Orvesian Witnesses now. At least, he hoped that Petra would end up with the money. Maybe there would be enough for her to make an escape of her own, if she wanted. She could keep growing her hair out. He wasn''t sure what was actually in the girl¡¯s heart, but Uicha found that he missed her regardless. He hoped she would take care of Parrot. ¡°I guess that means we should ride south,¡± Uicha said. Sara shook her head. ¡°South would be quickest, but it would mean departing via Ruchet and they¡¯re essentially Orvesians with slightly different Ink. Plus, the waters there are ugly going out, too close to the wastes.¡± Uicha listened, realizing how little he actually knew of the world. He could only learn so much from his father¡¯s maps. ¡°We''ll go northeast, to Cruxton, and downriver by boat to Noyega,¡± Sara decided. ¡°Noyega¡¯s nasty too, but not so bad as Ruchet. We¡¯ll find you a ship bound for the Flamingos there.¡± ¡°You don''t have to do all that,¡± Uicha said. She studied him and Uicha felt embarrassed by how his heart beat faster at such a direct look. ¡°Have you ever been outside Ambergran before?¡± she asked. He shook his head. ¡°I can''t just leave you out here alone,¡± Sara said. ¡°The Ministry of Sulk goes where we are called. We are meant to grab hold of just causes and follow where they lead. Right now, I believe that I am called to help you, regardless of how much trouble that gets me in with my Quill when he finds out I''ve taken leave of my mission.¡± Uicha swallowed. A part of him wanted to discourage this woman who seemed like she''d been pulled from a storybook about heroic knights¡ªUicha was not sure she would think him a just cause if he revealed what lurked inside him. At the same time, he needed her protection, and the thought of being lost in the grasslands without her filled him with dread. ¡°Thank you,¡± he said at last. ¡°Considering what you''ve doubtless been through with Crodd, I''ll spare you any further recruitment,¡± Sara began, ¡°only to say that should the Flamingo Islands not live up to your expectations, Beacon is a safe harbor. The Ministry and Gadgeteers share it equally and all loyalties are welcome. Even the unmarked.¡± ¡°Maybe,¡± he said noncommittally, although in truth a thrill had gone through him at the mention of the southern city¡ªa thrill he wasn''t sure belonged entirely to him. ¡°I was without Ink myself for a few weeks,¡± Sara said as she climbed onto her horse. ¡°You were?¡± She offered him a hand up. ¡°In the moment that I stabbed my husband in his chest, the gods stripped my loyalty to Crucifalia but replaced it with nothing else,¡± Sara said, the coldness in her tone surprising Uicha. ¡°They saved my husband¡¯s life, but set me free. I fled north with nothing, not so different from you. Eventually, the Ministry earned my loyalty.¡± ¡°Wow,¡± Uicha said, wincing that he couldn¡¯t muster better. Sara squeezed the horse into a gentle canter. ¡°It¡¯s strange, isn¡¯t it? Feeling like the gods themselves can¡¯t even sort you.¡± Once they had a destination in mind, Sara stopped steering them over the grasslands and instead led them to the Green Road where they encountered more travelers. Sara bartered with everyone they met, until they had what they needed. Otherworldly beauty, it turned out, was a strong opening position for negotiations. She traded her healing skills or freshly hunted game for money and supplies, amassing enough that she bought Uicha his own horse at the first trading post they came across. The new mare wasn¡¯t as gentle a ride as Clipper, but Uicha made do. Sometimes, they met travelers who asked to receive the blessing of the Silver Lake, even after Sara told them she wasn''t a proper Crucifalian anymore. With dour precision she would recite the incantations¡ªa series of lilting nonsense words that all seemed to have ¡®soul¡¯ as a root¡ªwhile she cupped the penitent''s head in her hands. An assurance that their soul would join the gods upon their death. The donations that followed were always generous. ¡°Feel a bit guilty about that, if I''m being honest,¡± Sara said after one of these episodes, watching as a pair of fisherwomen they''d encountered trundled away with her blessing fresh upon them. The women had gifted Sara the entirety of their day¡¯s catch as payment. ¡°They were pretty insistent,¡± Uicha said. ¡°I haven''t believed in soul unification since I was a child,¡± Sara said. ¡°We don''t all join the gods when we die. Or, maybe some of us do, but only the most twisted bastards. Once you¡¯ve met the gods, you know the truth of that.¡± Uicha thought of the shimmering apparition that had manifested in the fields outside of Ambergran. The twinkling amusement the gods had seemed to find in Battar Crodd¡¯s performance. He shuddered at the memory. There were less pleasant encounters on the road. Some travelers wanted Sara to lay her hands upon them in a different way, and Sara suffered these advances with icy smiles. She only unsheathed her broadsword once, with some louts traveling a bitter road home from Noyega. Their faces paled when the blade itself erupted in white hot fire¡ªthe gods would protect them from death, but not the gelding that the paladin promised. Uicha felt more than useless on these occasions, standing by idly with his hand on the hilt of his mother''s scimitar. ¡°Are you any good with that?¡± Sara asked him one day. Uicha considered lying only briefly. ¡°No,¡± he admitted. ¡°It was my mother''s. More sentimental than anything.¡± ¡°I¡¯d offer to show you a thing or two, but I¡¯m not much for the delicacy of a curved blade,¡± she said. ¡°Two hands on a hilt. Swinging with all my might. That¡¯s more my thing.¡± Uicha tried to picture Sara standing toe-to-toe with Battar Crodd¡ªsomething she¡¯d done once and promised to do again. ¡°Am I taking you away from your training?¡± Uicha asked. ¡°For the Granting, I mean.¡± ¡°All experience is a kind of training, isn¡¯t it?¡± she replied. ¡°What¡¯s it like?¡± Uicha asked. ¡°Going to that island¡­¡± ¡°Wasteful,¡± she said. Uicha waited for her to say more. ¡°Sulk believed that the gods had given us a chance to reorient our minds toward the greater good,¡± Sara continued. ¡°That if we steered our wishes toward collective benefit rather than screwing over our neighbors, we could render the Granting harmless.¡± ¡°A bountiful harvest,¡± Uicha said. ¡°Right. If all the Quills simply wished for a bountiful harvest, we could spend seven days on the island getting drunk.¡± Sara sighed. ¡°But there''s always some asshole that wants to turn a town to dust.¡± Uicha dwelled on her words, thinking back on how Crodd had described the gods¡ªhow he¡¯d practically blamed them for giving him the right to annihilate Ambergran. Who, in the end, was responsible for protecting human life? Two months ago, a question like that would¡¯ve never entered Uicha¡¯s mind. That night, sitting with Sara around their small fire, Uicha had been about to ask her thoughts on the matter when the archmage Ahmed Roh stepped out from the shadows. His beady black eyes bored straight into Uicha, a cruel smile spreading beneath his vulture¡¯s nest of a beard. Roh held a stained handkerchief in his hand, rubbing his thumb across the dried blood. ¡°Come to me, boy,¡± Roh said. Uicha scrambled backward, his heels digging up grass and dirt, but something held him down. It took him a moment to realize that what had him pinned was a blanket. Sara knelt over him, holding him by the shoulders. ¡°A nightmare, Uicha,¡± she whispered. ¡°A nightmare.¡± He hoped so. And so, on the last day of Hazean, Uicha and Sara approached the outpost town of Briarbridge, named for the Briarbridge Tavern. The place made Ambergran feel like a metropolis. Besides the tavern¡ªa stooping three-story building that leaned dangerously over the road¡ªthe town consisted of a stable, a ramshackle trading post, a few cottages, and a graveyard. A pass-through town, Sara called it. At any given moment, the visitors likely outnumbered the locals. The innkeeper, who had probably been watching out the window, came outside to meet them. The man wore the symbol of crossed bridges¡ªCruxton¡ªon his throat. Briarbridge, as a place, hadn¡¯t developed the significance in anyone¡¯s mind to merit its own Ink. Everyone there thought of themselves as from somewhere else. Sara dumped the deer¡¯s carcass at the man¡¯s feet. ¡°Trade you this fellow for two rooms. Baths and meals included.¡± The innkeeper glanced back at his tavern. ¡°Feel like I¡¯m getting the better end of that.¡± ¡°You got any rounds on hand?¡± Sara asked. She meant the round coins used in Merchant¡¯s Bay and most of the southern continent. In addition to guiding him across the grasslands, Sara had also begun socking away some coin for Uicha to use when they parted ways. The thought of how much he owed this woman made the back of his neck hot. ¡°I do, but the exchange rate gets worse if you¡¯re heading north,¡± the innkeeper said. ¡°You¡¯ll want angles.¡± ¡°Say fifteen rounds to even the deal and I¡¯ll help you butcher,¡± Sara said. ¡°As you say,¡± the innkeeper said. He finally glanced at Uicha, starting slightly at the blank space on his neck. ¡°You can keep the horses in the stable. I¡¯ll have my boy feed and water them.¡± Eager to be passingly useful, Uicha led the horses across the road to the stable. More than half of the dozen stalls were occupied, which meant the Briarbridge likely had others staying there. As he led the horses down the row, a singular black steed caught his eye. Tall and muscular, with a streak of white hair down its neck, the horse¡¯s hide was painted with all manner of runes. The stately horse eyed Uicha like his presence was an offense, then turned away. Painted on the horse¡¯s side was the open tome symbol of the Magelab. Uicha took a halting step back. What kind of horse had Ahmed been riding¡­? ¡°The Orak?¡± Uicha flinched at his name, or a slightly butchered version of it. The gravelly voice came from behind him. He turned, slowly, to see a man in silhouette in the barn¡¯s doorway. He wore a wide-brimmed hat and carried a crossbow rested against his shoulder. ¡°Uicha the Orak? Is that you, boy?¡±
27. [Uicha] Trickshot
--DRAMATIS PERSONAE¡ª Uicha de Orak, a young man of no renown or loyalty, a sight for sore eyes Trick Longblossom, a man of no renown, village of Ambergran, heading in the opposite direction Sara Free, Paladin of the 10th Renown, The Ministry of Sulk, doesn¡¯t mind buying a few drinks
30 Hazean, 61 AW The Briarbridge Tavern, in the grasslands outside Cruxton 240 days until the next Granting ¡°I don''t suppose you would remember me,¡± the man with the crossbow said. ¡°Every time I came by, you made it a point to hide behind your mother''s skirts.¡± Uicha squinted at the man in the stable''s entryway. Dirty blonde hair peeked out from beneath his wide-brimmed hat, a scruffy beard splashed across slightly gaunt cheeks. The man had the sturdy frame of a farmhand, although his shoulders drooped like he''d recently lost some muscle mass, while a small paunch poked over his belt. As he stepped forward, Uicha saw the swaying wheat stalk on his neck¡ªthe symbol for Ambergran. Surprisingly, a name did pop into Uicha¡¯s head. He remembered his father shouting it with laughter as the two got drunk together on the porch, keeping Uicha awake with their noise. ¡°Trick, right?¡± Uicha said ¡°Trick Longblossom?¡± The man guffawed with delight, swung his crossbow behind his back, and closed on Uicha with enough speed to startle the horses. He squeezed Uicha into a hug that left the boy''s face pressed into Trick''s musty armpit. ¡°The damnedest thing to find you here,¡± Trick said. ¡°The damnedest thing! By the gods, you''re practically a grown man!¡± Trick held Uicha out at arm''s length, shaking him as if to confirm this wasn''t a hallucination. His gaze certainly registered the blank space on Uicha neck, but he didn''t seem bothered by it. ¡°The Orak! Son of the Orak! Unbelievable!¡± Trick said. ¡°I was planning to ride on but now I''ve got to spend another night eating the innkeeper¡¯s seasoning-averse cooking. How''s your bastard old man?¡± Uicha''s bewildered expression darkened. ¡°He¡­¡± ¡°All right. Not yet. I see my answer by your face.¡± Trick released him and half-turned away. ¡°A moment more to enjoy this happy coincidence, and then we can get on with it. The bad news I''m sure is coming.¡± Trick slung his arm across Uicha''s shoulders. Surprisingly, Uicha didn''t mind the closeness. There was something about Trick Longblossom that reminded him of days gone by¡ªdays that Uicha was shocked to find he suddenly missed. ¡°Come on, I''ll help you get those horses settled,¡± Trick said. ¡°We can pretend we''re on our way to visit the ones who have gone ahead.¡±
Uicha''s parents were dead, taken by the pink pox last year before the Granting. As far as Uicha knew, the entirety of the Longblossom family¡ªTrick¡¯s brother, his brother¡¯s wife, and their two children¡ªhad been disintegrated during the annihilation. Their farm had melted away as well. Uicha laid these facts out haltingly, his throat feeling tight. The last of the Longblossoms took the news with a stoicism that suggested he''d been expecting it. ¡°Longblossoms have always been unlucky,¡± Trick said, as if that settled things. Then, he tossed back his sixth shot of whiskey, one each for his brother, sister-in-law, and nieces, plus two more for Uicha''s parents. They sat in the Briarbridge''s dining room. Plates of venison, potatoes, and spinach had been pushed aside, reduced mostly to gristle and stems. With dinner done, they could really get into the drinking, which Trick made clear he excelled at. Uicha didn''t bother trying to match him shot-for-shot and instead sipped tentatively at a beer. Sara, however, freshly bathed but wearing a hooded cloak to somewhat obscure her beauty, felt the need to answer Trick''s every drink. Maybe the whiskey was a form of penance for her. A rosy flush had risen to her cheeks as the evening wore on. Noting another round down the hatch, the innkeeper sent his boy over to refill their glasses. Sara caught the young man''s eye¡ªeasy since he was already staring. ¡°All on my tab,¡± she reminded him. ¡°You don''t have to do that, umbo,¡± Trick said. Sara blinked as he used the form of address typically reserved for members of the Ministry. ¡°The least I can do,¡± she said. ¡°Really.¡± ¡°There¡¯s supposed to be a fiddler,¡± the innkeeper¡¯s boy blurted out, as if desperate to get Sara¡¯s attention back. ¡°I don¡¯t know where he¡¯s got off to. It¡¯s not usually this quiet.¡± ¡°Isn¡¯t it, though?¡± Trick said with a smirk. ¡°That¡¯s quite alright,¡± Sara replied politely. ¡°Good conversation is enough for me.¡± As the boy stumbled away memorizing the contours of Sara¡¯s smile, Trick turned his attention back to Uicha. ¡°Your father, now there was a man who knew good conversation. I used to say he was the only interesting man in Ambergran. The stories he could tell. Your old man had some yarns.¡± Uicha scraped at a smudge of food on the tabletop with his thumbnail. ¡±He didn''t tell me many.¡± Trick patted his shoulder. ¡°I still remember some, if you ever want to hear.¡± He leaned back and whistled. ¡°Place won''t be the same without him. Going to be a lonely time for your pal Trick.¡± Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. ¡°You''re going back to Ambergran?¡± Uicha exclaimed, looking up. ¡°Shit, never thought I''d see the day, either,¡± Trick said. He made a nonchalant gesture toward Uicha''s neck. ¡°I always thought I''d be like you. But I could never shake off the Ink. Damn place must have its roots in me deep.¡± ¡°You shouldn''t go,¡± Uicha said. Dire forces had converged on him in Ambergran, and unreasonable fear found its way into his words. ¡°The Orvesians are still there¡­¡± ¡°I know it,¡± Trick said. ¡°I''m going back to volunteer. Like your friend here.¡± Sara nodded with an immediate understanding, but it took Uicha a moment to figure out what Trick meant. ¡°You want to be a champion?¡± ¡°Want is a bit strong,¡± Trick said with a snort. ¡°But someone has to do it, right? I was always a decent shot with a bow. That''s why they nicknamed me Trickshot.¡± ¡°If you do return to Ambergran, I''d ask that you don''t mention you saw the two of us,¡± Sara said. Trick glanced at Uicha. He hadn¡¯t pressed at all why Uicha and Sara were traveling together and apparently wouldn¡¯t. ¡°I only talk loose to the ones I like, umbo, and most of them are dead.¡± ¡°My thanks,¡± Sara said. ¡°And if you do take the Ink and we see each other again on Armistice, it will be as allies.¡± ¡°Well, that settles it for me,¡± Trick said with a grin. ¡°It shouldn¡¯t,¡± Uicha muttered. He found himself deeply disturbed by the thought of Trick Longblossom, a man who he barely knew, going off to that island to die at the hands of Battar Crodd or Ahmed Roh. ¡°Where are you coming from, anyway? Why can¡¯t you just go back there? It has to be better than Ambergran.¡± Trick made a soft laugh. ¡°I¡¯ve been in Noyega. Me and a couple others from the village went to make our fortunes at the casinos. That was three years back. Farming life never really ignited my passion, see? We were layabouts. I let my brother run our family''s farm. I wasn''t shaped for that kind of work.¡± He snapped his fingers. ¡°You know, your dad offered me a job before I skipped town.¡± ¡°He did?¡± ¡°I told him I wouldn''t seem so amusing when it was his coin I leeched off. Maybe I should''ve taken him up on it. Cleaned up my act, soaked up life with my nieces¡­¡± Trick¡¯s eyes went far away for a moment. Sara clicked her glass against his and Trick picked it up automatically, downing the whiskey. The innkeeper sent his boy over again. ¡°I was sitting in Noyega''s debtors¡¯ prison on Wish Day, far from a fortune,¡± Trick said, exhaling through his nose. ¡°The two men I''d set out with were locked up with me. One had his Ink change to the Noyegan dice. The other was still an Ambergranny, like me. We watched him turn to dirt sitting there between us. How I found out what had happened.¡± Uicha pushed a hand through his shock of hair. He¡¯d never thought about how far Battar Crodd''s wish must have extended. A resident of Ambergran sitting miles and miles away, with no idea what was coming, his life simply stopped. ¡°Unlucky for both your friends,¡± Sara said somberly. ¡°Better in a prison than a pile of dirt,¡± Uicha said. Trick and Sara exchanged a glance. ¡°Probably you''re right, Uicha,¡± Trick said. ¡°But Noyega don''t go easy on their debtors. They bleed them. Literally, I mean. And it don''t get better once they get their Ink onto you.¡± Uicha studied the man anew¡ªthe saggy skinniness in his shoulders, the hollows of his cheeks. ¡°How did you escape?¡± Trick chuckled. ¡°I paid my debt.¡± He cleared his throat like he might cough, but didn''t. ¡°Paid more than I owed, I think.¡± ¡°The current High Minister of Sulk was once a Noyegan debtor,¡± Sara said. ¡°The imprisonment is a practice he''d like to see stamped out.¡± ¡°Well, I''d like to be there when he does the stamping,¡± Trick replied. As Sara and Trick discussed Denavon Brunner, the Quill of the Ministry, Uicha''s gaze drifted to the tavern¡¯s other occupied table. There sat the contingent from Magelab, the ones who owned the impressive horse Uicha had encountered in the stable. There were three of them, too. The mage was a far cry from the frightening presence of Ahmed Roh. Uicha guessed he was in his twenties, his face smooth and round like a baby; the magic had not yet begun to eat away at him like it had Roh. He wasn''t drinking, but sat completely engrossed in a pair of fat tomes, copying notes from one to the other. His minders, old enough to be the mage''s parents but clearly not, were guzzling beers and playing an endless game of cards. Instead of the tome tattoo of the Magelab, these other two had a flickering candle tattooed upon their necks. ¡°The mage''s name is Erhan Teta,¡± Trick said quietly, catching the direction of Uicha''s gaze. ¡°Nice enough fellow, had dinner with him last night.¡± ¡°I saw his horse in the stable,¡± Uicha said. ¡°Magnificent beast, no?¡± Trick said. ¡°That''s what he''s out here studying. Horses. The effects of rune-work upon them. He told me all about it, but I can''t say I was a good listener. You want me to make an introduction?¡± The young mage had already politely nodded to Uicha, and that seemed like enough interaction for Uicha¡¯s tastes. He did not want to garner further attention from a mage, no matter how harmless he appeared. For all Uicha knew, there could''ve been some kind of mental connection between the magic users. He made a point of leaning his chin on his fist in such a way that the blank space on his throat was hidden. ¡°No, that''s okay,¡± Uicha replied quickly. Trick shrugged. ¡°Thought you might be interested in getting a tome or a candle for yourself.¡± At Uicha''s puzzled look, Trick continued. ¡°For your new Ink.¡± ¡°I don''t even know who the candles are,¡± Uicha said. ¡°They¡¯re the ones with no aptitude for magic,¡± Sara said. Uicha detected a surprising disdain in her voice. ¡°They live across the lake from the Magelab. In the last age, they kept tabs on the mages. Kept them in line. But now, they¡¯re glorified servants.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t worry, you wouldn¡¯t be a candle,¡± Trick told Uicha. ¡°As I remember it, your mother had a bit of talent with all that. They say the disposition is passed down.¡± Uicha¡¯s mouth hung open. ¡°What?¡± ¡°Illusions, wasn¡¯t it?¡± Trick said with a wave of his hand. ¡°She didn¡¯t much care for it, I don¡¯t think. Loved that sword of hers, more. But your father used to brag how she could¡¯ve gained entry to the Magelab if he hadn¡¯t come along and seduced her.¡± He slapped the table. ¡°The Orak! Fuck, I miss him.¡± ¡°Two pirates, one with a talent for magic,¡± Sara said, studying Uicha. ¡°What were your parents doing in Ambergran?¡± She didn¡¯t mean anything by the question, but Uicha still felt the blood drain from his face. What were his parents doing in Ambergran? They were pretending to be a couple of dull retirees while hiding the ashes of a dead archmage on behalf of a second archmage who was very much alive and a real gods damned asshole. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Uicha,¡± Sara said, misinterpreting the distraught face he made. ¡°I didn¡¯t mean to dredge anything up.¡± ¡°It¡¯s not that,¡± Uicha said. ¡°They¡ª¡° He was about to tell them how his parents had left him with more questions than answers, when something heavy thumped on the roof above. Everyone in the tavern jolted and went still, looking up. Whatever had landed on the roof now slid heavily across it, knocking loose shingling on its way. Then, a second smacking sound, wet and crunchy and nearer¡ªthe thing had fallen off the roof and dropped to the ground outside the front door. Sara was the first to her feet. ¡°Innkeeper?¡± ¡°No idea,¡± the man replied. Sara went to the door. The others followed. Outside, on the doorstep, they found a man¡¯s body. His limbs were twisted from the falls¡ªfirst onto the roof, and then off it¡ªbut it seemed more likely to be the deep claw grooves in the man¡¯s neck that had killed him. ¡°Did he¡­ fall out of the sky like that?¡± the mage Erhan Teta asked, peering up into the clear night. ¡°Stand back, sir,¡± one of his candles replied. The innkeeper¡¯s boy looked like he might throw up. ¡°That¡¯s Pete. The fiddler.¡± Trick leaned close to Uicha. ¡°Your paladin, she stowed her sword behind the bar with my crossbow, right?¡± Uicha nodded dumbly, blinking at the grim scene beyond the door. Trick went to retrieve the weapons. ¡°You didn¡¯t mention dangerous wildlife when we paid for our rooms, innkeeper,¡± Sara said. ¡°Because we don¡¯t have any,¡± the innkeeper replied. Across the road, within the stable, the horses had begun to shriek. Erhan Teta made a squeaky cry and lunged for the door, but his candles held him back. Uicha¡¯s eyes were drawn to the roof of the stable. He made a noise in his throat and pointed, the others following his gesture. They all saw the beast then, backlit by the moon. The thing moved on all fours with a stout body like a pig and a pointed head that terminated in a formidable beak. Great bat¡¯s wings unfurled from its back. The creature¡¯s flesh looked like hard-packed clay mottled with specks of mud and rock. ¡°Gargoyle,¡± Sara said. As they watched, a second creature loped out through the ajar doors of the stable, a severed horse¡¯s leg held in its jaws. And, for the first time in weeks, Uicha heard the voice of Kayenna Vezz. My children, she whispered.
28. [Uicha] Gargoyles
--DRAMATIS PERSONAE¡ª Uicha de Orak, a young man of no renown or loyalty, an expert on gargoyles apparently Sara Free, Paladin of the 10th Renown, The Ministry of Sulk, sobering up in a hurry Trick Longblossom, a man of no renown, village of Ambergran, a man with surgical aim Erhan Teta, a man of no renown, and his two candles, all of the Magelab, worried about their horses The innkeeper of the Briarbridge Tavern and his frightened assistant
30 Hazean, 61 AW The Briarbridge Tavern, in the grasslands outside Cruxton 240 days until the next Granting The patrons and staff of the Briarbridge Tavern stood crowded in the doorway, watching as the gargoyle dropped the severed horse''s leg in the middle of the dirt road. The barrel-sized creature crouched over its meal, peeling meat away from the bone with its beak. With a sickly crunch, the gargoyle reached the tibia and began to gnaw excitedly, suggesting that the bone and not the flesh was the real delicacy. All the while, the gargoyle kept its hollow black eyes on the small crowd at the tavern, daring them to interrupt its feast. The second gargoyle¡ªperched on the roof of the stable across the street¡ªflexed its wings as it peered down at them. Uicha craned his neck to see around Sara. He thought he glimpsed two more gargoyles circling in the night sky, their boxy bodies straining the tenuous connection to their bat-like wings. Uicha jumped as Trick patted his shoulder. He handed Uicha his scimitar. Shifting awkwardly, Uicha hooked the sword to his belt and rested a sweaty hand on the hilt. ¡°Here you are, umbo,¡± Trick said as he next delivered Sara her broadsword. ¡°My thanks,¡± Sara replied. ¡°You seeing double?¡± ¡°Triple,¡± Trick replied with a smile. He held out his hand, which looked steadier than Uicha¡¯s even after a mourner¡¯s amount of drinks. ¡°I¡¯ll aim for the one in the middle.¡± Sara put herself between the gargoyles and the rest of them, a few paces in front of the dead fiddler the gargoyles had dropped on the tavern¡¯s doorstep. The paladin wasted no time unsheathing her sword and activating the Ink that coated the entire blade in flames. The innkeeper and his boy both gasped with awe. Meanwhile, the gargoyle in the road shied backward, snorting through nostrils slit into its clay-colored flesh. ¡°On our left,¡± Trick said. The fire from Sara¡¯s sword revealed another gargoyle. This one had been edging closer via the shadows just outside the tavern¡¯s lamplight. The creature froze when Trick noticed it, wings pinned back along its pig¡¯s body. Up close, the wings appeared made from gnarled tree branches with webs of rancid skin stretched between the limbs. The gargoyle looked so still that Uicha thought it could¡¯ve been some creatively insane person¡¯s decoration for a Long Night festival¡ªa spooky statue of a hellish creature ready to pounce, scaring the local children away from playing pranks. Trick took position a step behind Sara, his weapon trained on the third gargoyle. The crossbow was prepped to fire, but Trick didn''t carry a quiver to reload from. Instead, a narrow box of bolts attached directly to the crossbow¡¯s underside and fed into the weapon¡¯s inner workings. The gear-shaped symbol of the Gadgeteers was impressed upon the crossbow¡¯s shoulder stock. Briefly, Uicha wondered where Trick had acquired such a weapon. The mage Erhan Teta attempted to step into the road alongside Sara and Trick, but one of his candles dragged him backward. The other candle had scrambled back inside to retrieve the short swords the pair carried. ¡°We must save the horses!¡± Teta shouted at his protector. ¡°I¡¯ve invested too much time into this research to see it squandered!¡± The noises of terror from the stable¡ªhigh-pitched neighing and hooves battering wooden stall walls¡ªhad not abated since the gargoyle emerged with its gruesome bounty. There must have been more of the creatures still inside and, by the sound of things, they were taking their time with the remaining animals. ¡°That¡¯s our fight, not yours,¡± the woman candle said to Teta as she drew her blade. ¡°You''ll just be in the way.¡± Teta scowled at his minders, but didn''t press the matter further. He glanced enviously at Uicha''s sword, even though Uicha hadn''t drawn it. Feeling like he had to contribute something, Uicha bent down to help the innkeeper as he pulled the fiddler''s mangled body over the threshold and out of the way. ¡°Thought he might still be alive,¡± the innkeeper mumbled. ¡°The gods are supposed to protect us.¡± Uicha tried not to look directly at the fiddler''s clawed-open throat. ¡°From men, not beasts,¡± Uicha said quietly. ¡°Even if these creatures were made by men.¡± ¡°What do you mean by that?¡± The question came from Teta, who peered at Uicha with equal parts suspicion and curiosity. ¡°They''re constructs,¡± Uicha said. The words came before he could stop them, before Uicha could really analyze their origin. ¡°Someone created those things from stone and mud and animal corpses. That one is interested in the bones because the minerals will fortify its shape¡­¡± Uicha trailed off. Kayenna Vezz had once unleashed an army of gargoyles in the land underneath Infinzel, knowing that the creatures would be drawn to the arcane vats of liquid stone that powered the city. Of course, Uicha had never been to Infinzel, and he wasn¡¯t at all familiar with the history of the Final War. These facts came to him because they were part of Kayenna Vezz. He¡¯d felt the spirit¡¯s excitement upon seeing the gargoyles, but that had since faded. These gargoyles were shoddy work compared to the ones Kayenna had once breathed her spark into. ¡°If a beast is instilled with a purpose by man and kills in the course of that, the gods will intervene,¡± Teta told Uicha, still eying him. ¡°So, these creatures must have been made and released purely for the joy of it. Disturbing.¡± If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it. ¡°Oh,¡± Uicha replied. He felt his gaze drawn to the gargoyle perched atop the stable. The creature was still, the hollows in its face hidden by shadow. Yet, Uicha couldn¡¯t shake the feeling that it was staring at him. ¡°Where are you from, anyway?¡± Teta asked him. ¡°Have you spent time in Besaden?¡± Uicha ignored Teta¡ªhe¡¯d wanted to escape the young horse mage¡¯s attention, and now felt too much of it upon him¡ªand leaned out the doorway to see what the others were doing. ¡°We¡¯re going into that stable,¡± one of the candles told Sara as the two of them came to stand alongside her. ¡°It might be little business of yours, champion, but we¡¯d appreciate your support.¡± Sara hadn¡¯t donned her armor to come down for dinner. Although they all had their weapons handy, none of the Briarbridge¡¯s patrons wore anything thicker than a tunic. The clawed feet of the gargoyles wouldn¡¯t find much resistance. Even so, Sara nodded. ¡°Stay close. We advance slowly. Protect the archer.¡± She glanced over her shoulder. ¡°You¡¯re good with this, right, Trick?¡± Trick shrugged. ¡°I could be talked into barring the tavern doors and waiting for morning.¡± Teta squeaked. ¡°Absolutely not!¡± The candles seemed to sigh in unison. ¡°Not an option for us, I¡¯m afraid,¡± one said. ¡°Well, I won¡¯t see you torn to shreds by these things,¡± Sara replied. She glanced over her shoulder. ¡°The rest of you, stay out of harm¡¯s way.¡± ¡°Gladly,¡± the innkeeper muttered. The innkeeper made to close the front door, but Teta still stood on the threshold. He wanted to watch as the small cadre of fighters advanced. Even under these circumstances, the innkeeper seemed reluctant to upset a guest¡ªa sorcerer of Magelab, no less. The innkeeper shot Uicha an imploring look. Grimacing, Uicha stepped forward and put a light hand on Teta¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Maybe we should step back,¡± Uicha said. ¡°You¡¯ve got a sword to protect us,¡± Teta replied. ¡°And those beasts don¡¯t seem interested in us.¡± Uicha swallowed. ¡°All the same¡­¡± ¡°I¡¯ve read how Orvesians used to love these creatures in the last age,¡± Teta said thoughtfully. ¡°I heard they are once again making trouble in the south¡­¡± ¡°That¡¯s far away from here,¡± Uicha said quietly. Teta tilted his head. ¡°Do you get the sense these gargoyles are luring our people forward?¡± Indeed, Uicha saw it now. The gargoyle that had been gnawing the bone was slowly backing away as the foursome advanced. The other gargoyle that had been slinking around from the side of the tavern now scuttled along behind, ever in the sights of Trick who found himself walking backward. Meanwhile, the third gargoyle remained perched unmoving atop the stable. They were pack hunters, Uicha knew. And when they attacked, it would be as one and from all angles. ¡°Above!¡± Uicha shouted. Uicha¡¯s cry, drawn from knowledge that shouldn¡¯t have been in his head, might have saved the life of one of Teta¡¯s candles. The gargoyle fell from the sky balled-up like a boulder from a catapult. It landed on the candle with enough weight to lay her flat, a brittle crunch echoing as her leg bent beneath her. However, thanks to Uicha''s warning, she had at least been able to raise her sword. The blade pierced the underside of the gargoyles jaw and slid clean through the top of its head. This didn''t kill the gargoyle, but at least rendered it momentarily incapable of biting down on the woman''s face. Instead, the beast thrashed around atop her, the candle doing everything she could to hang onto her sword. At the same time, the gargoyles on the ground lunged forward. Trick shot one clean through the throat, but the bolt merely hung suspended in the thick muck of the gargoyle''s body. Quickly, Trick cranked back on his crossbow and another bolt slid into place. ¡°Go for the hollow places!¡± Uicha yelled. ¡°The eyes! The mouth! There''s a bundle of rune-work inside them that needs to be destroyed!¡± Uicha cringed as he sensed Teta staring at him again, but that hardly mattered now. Trick fired a second bolt, holding his ground as the gargoyle leapt toward him with claws outstretched. The bolt drilled directly into the creature''s open maw. A flash of green light erupted from within the gargoyle and, all at once, the thing began to crumble. It was as if a fire had been lit inside the beast and baked its body into dried mud. ¡°Damn,¡± Trick said, as pieces of the gargoyle pelted his boots. ¡°That actually worked.¡± Sara took a less precise approach. As the horse-eating gargoyle reached her, she swung her sword downward in a savage arc, decapitating the beast with a noise like a boot pulling loose from mud. However, the body kept charging, claws raised for Sara¡¯s abdomen. She sidestepped the headless creature and brought her sword down again, the fiery blade incinerating the gargoyle¡¯s wings and cleaving through its body until a similar flash of green burst from within. The rest of the gargoyle began to crumble. The second candle had rushed to the aid of his partner, stabbing into the gargoyle¡¯s side. His blade only became stuck in the creature¡¯s mucky flesh, and the candle lost his grip as he tried to wrench it back. ¡°Eyes and mouth, the boy said!¡± Trick shouted as he went down on a knee to line up a shot. ¡°Push up!¡± Although she seemed to be fading fast, the candle beneath the gargoyle managed to shove her attacker¡¯s head upward. As soon as she did, Trick¡¯s crossbow ripped a shot through the creature¡¯s eyehole. The bolt sheared through the hollow and into its body. Another explosion of green left the candle covered in dried bits of gargoyle. ¡°She don¡¯t look good, umbo,¡± Trick said as he stared down at the mauled candle. ¡°Let me¡­¡± Sara said. As the paladin started to lower her sword, three more gargoyles bounded through the door of the stable. They were joined by a half-dozen panicked and bloodied horses, including the massive stallion covered in runes. ¡°Bartremus!¡± Teta shouted. The young mage would¡¯ve rushed toward his frothing and wild-eyed horse if Uicha hadn¡¯t grabbed him around the waist and dragged him backward. As chaos unfolded in the street below, the gargoyle perched atop the stable at last took flight. The creature¡¯s wings were larger and more intricately designed than the others. The gargoyle sailed high and fast, clearing the scrum below, and then brought its limbs and wings in tight to streak toward the tavern entrance. ¡°My horse!¡± Teta shouted, oblivious to the threat. ¡°Get the door closed!¡± Uicha yelled, shoving the mage backward. By then, the innkeeper and his boy had long taken cover behind the tavern¡¯s bar. It was Uicha alone who attempted to slam the tavern¡¯s thick wooden door. The gargoyle barreled through it with a splintering of wood. With a flex of one great wing, the beast flung Teta aside, the mage striking the back of his head on a table. Blood leaked from a prodigious gash and the young mage went still. Uicha reached for his scimitar. He had it half free from the sheath when the gargoyle pounced on him, claws digging into him at the shoulders and hips. Uicha fell backward, his breath lost as all the gargoyle¡¯s weight pressed down upon him. Kayenna, Uicha pleaded in his mind. Do something. No, the spirit¡¯s soft voice replied. I think we must let this happen. Uicha did not feel the same way. He screamed and squirmed, doing everything he could to leverage his narrow body out from beneath the gargoyle. As the gargoyle bore down on him, Uicha vaguely noted how much more detailed this creature¡¯s face was, how much more care had gone into shaping and molding its stony form. Appreciating the finer points of his killer¡¯s design¡ªwhat a stupid way to spend his last moments. The gargoyle opened its beak and a puff of fragrant breath blew across Uicha¡¯s face. The smell was cloyingly sweet, almost like the strong cups of tea his mother used to force Uicha to drink when he was sick. Immediately, Uicha felt the fight drain from him. The pain where the gargoyle¡¯s claws dug into his flesh felt very far away. His limbs were like jelly and his thoughts became disorganized. He couldn¡¯t even hold onto his anger at Kayenna Vezz. And then, Uicha was flying. The window that the gargoyle smashed through with his body in tow seemed abstracted, a portal into a dream. Distantly, he heard a woman screaming his name, and he sensed a moment of fear from the gargoyle as it twisted through the sky to avoid a bolt of stunning electricity. But all this noise and violence faded¡ªsoon there was nothing but the night sky, welcoming Uicha in.
Sometime later, on a moonlit hilltop to the south, the gargoyle dropped the boy¡¯s body unceremoniously into the grass. His wounds were bloody but superficial. His face was creaseless¡ªa peaceful slumber having enveloped him entirely. With proper maintenance of the charm, the boy need never wake up again. This was a kindness, in a way. His suffering was over. The gargoyle¡¯s master snapped his fingers and the beast turned back into mud and carrion. The fearsome form would blow away by morning. The archmage Ahmed Roh bent low to brush some specks of mud from his wine-colored pants. He looked down at Uicha and nodded, pleased with himself. ¡°Good,¡± Roh said. ¡°At last, we may begin.¡±
29. [Cortland] Dead By Dawn
King Mudt and his entourage traveled south to confront Kayenna Vezz, who had been chosen by the gods to stand for Orvesis as a champion. Vezz was a master sorceress, a manipulator of ice who had come of age in the cold eastern colonies, and a summoner of talent unmatched outside Besaden. She had unleashed untold horrors upon Infinzel¡ªcreatures that still crawl beneath the walls of the pyramidal city to this day. Mudt had always been distrustful of sorcery and so, when some of Vezz¡¯s creations proved uncontrollable and turned upon the Orvesian horde, the king found an opportunity to exile his chief rival from the front. Following her exile, Vezz lived amongst her followers in the southern city of Ruchet. She was rumored to command a small but formidable army. Further, Vezz entertained ambassadors from across the sea, from Penchenne, and from Besaden. It was said that she even took a lover from among the beastlords and that she once hosted a secret visit from the king of Infinzel¡¯s ambitious younger brother. Despite her penchant for the monstrous, many thought that installing Vezz atop the Orvesian war machine might nudge the world toward peace. That was, of course, prior to the ge¡¯ema forcing peace upon their unruly subjects. On the matter of Kayenna Vezz, it is difficult to parse the truth of these many fractured accounts. Records are lacking and survivors few. Vezz¡¯s followers would be massacred in the months that followed her confrontation with King Mudt. Those who survived would be swept up in the Annihilation to come. Thus, we have little firsthand knowledge to draw upon. With the benefit of hindsight, most historians agree that the execution of Kayenna Vezz was a turning point in Orvesian history. Some believe that Vezz¡¯s selection by the gods was a test set before King Mudt, one that he proved incapable of succeeding and thus, through his own hubris, did the rampaging Mudt seal the fate of his people. However, there are others who believe the ge¡¯ema¡¯s choice was not a test for Mudt but rather a provocation. The gods chose Kayenna Vezz knowing what King Mudt¡¯s inevitable reaction would be. Given the results of the First Granting, it should be no surprise that the Orvesian people remain mired in cynicism and grievance. Yet, even accounting for this trauma, we must still ask ourselves: What did the gods have against Kayenna Vezz? --Record of the First Granting and Dawning of the Second Age Lyus Crodd, Scribe of the Dead Kingdom of Orvesis
--DRAMATIS PERSONAE¡ª Cortland Finiron, Hammer Master of the 12th Renown, Kingdom of Infinzel, in for a rude awakening Carina Goldstone, Logician of the 2nd Renown, Kingdom of Infinzel, something to prove King Cizco Salvado, Quill of Infinzel, Kingdom of Infinzel, an enthralled defender
5 Harvesend, 61 AW The pyramidal city of Infinzel, North Continent 235 days until the next Granting Cortland Finiron sensed wrongness in the air before he even opened the door to leave his apartment. He had just sunk his hammer into the loop on his belt when his skin began to tingle. The thick hair on his arms stood on end. He had left his buckler down in the training pit¡¯s armory after yesterday¡¯s session with Carina. While Cortland almost always carried his hammer, he wasn¡¯t in the habit of walking around Infinzel with his shield. Now, he wished he had it. Cortland stepped into the hallway and closed his door with more care for quiet than usual. There was a stillness on the tier, although that wasn¡¯t unusual considering he was up three hours before the sun. The arcane lamps flickered with their subdued light. The hallway was completely empty, yet for some reason Cortland felt like there were eyes upon him. He put his hand on his hammer. His palm tingled, slick with sweat. The cavern creeps¡ªthat¡¯s what Ben Tuarez had called this feeling, an old mining term that explained a digger¡¯s intuition for when a tunnel might collapse. Cortland couldn¡¯t explain why he felt that way now. He rarely suffered this kind of anxiety even on the island. He never brought it home with him. Cortland edged down the hallway. He passed Vitt¡¯s door¡ªheard the usual quiet from within, the hunter spent most nights out¡ªand kept going. Reaching Henry¡¯s door, Cortland knocked softly. No response. The healer must have already headed down to the training pit. Unusual for Henry to be out ahead of him. Cortland told himself it was a good sign¡ªHenry had his drinking under control¡ªand tried to set aside the eeriness. Edging forward, Cortland reached the unguarded staircase up to King Cizco¡¯s living quarters and the stairs descending down to Infinzel¡¯s lower tiers. Behind him, the lift that Cortland always avoided waited with its gatefold doors ajar, meaning the platform was on this tier¡ªsomeone had recently arrived. A sudden urge to jog up the stairs to check on Cizco came over Cortland. But then, he noticed a strange glow emanating from the stairs leading down. Someone had painted new runes on the stone steps. Cortland crouched down to hold his hand over one of the symbols as if he might feel some heat rolling off it, but nothing remarkable happened. The glowing rune was unfamiliar to Cortland. He¡¯d need to consult one of the books in the Battle Library¡ª A whispered word from somewhere behind him. Cortland couldn¡¯t make it out, but instinctively knew it was a word of command. An activation. The rune beneath Cortland¡¯s fingers crackled and a maelstrom of sparks enveloped him. He flinched backward and stood straight. The sparks didn¡¯t hurt as they touched his skin, like static rustling across a bedsheet. But where the sparks cascaded over his chain-shirt, the wards weaved into the metal went dark. The magical protection from his armor had been dispelled. He¡¯d managed to half-turn around when the first crossbow bolt ripped into him. The arrow tore through the meat of his triceps and into his ribs, pinning his arm to his side. As he groped for his hammer, he heard the crank of a Gadgeteer-made auto-loader and then a metallic twang. Caught out, the second bolt pierced his abdomen, splitting links and shearing straight through the worthless wards on his armor. For a moment, he saw his attacker. She stood inside the lift, firing at him through the narrow opening of the doorway. Her lithe frame was clad in an ink black ward-weave dress. Her face was hidden behind the leering mask of a laughing monkey. The assassin. She had come for him. Cortland shouted once¡ªpart pain, but mostly rage¡ªthen teetered backward and fell down the stairs. There were more wards waiting for him as he fell. Trap wards drawn onto the steps and etched into the walls. As he bumped against them, each ward detonated in a concussive explosion, buffeting Cortland around and pelting him with shattered stone. He felt the bones in one of his knees crumble and tasted blood as it dripped thickly down from the top of his head. The assassin had booby-trapped the entire gods damned staircase. Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel. ¡°Fuck this,¡± Cortland grunted. He poured his will into [Unmovable]. Another ward exploded under Cortland¡¯s back. His body absorbed this final burst of kinetic energy without being thrown further down the steps. His bones rattled and his guts shifted, but he at least stopped tumbling downward into further traps. Breathing hard, Cortland rolled onto one knee. He gritted his teeth and yanked his arm away from his side, tearing flesh as he pulled the crossbow bolt free. The other bolt, the one in his guts, had partly snapped during his fall and subsequent bombardment. He didn¡¯t bother breaking it off further. Instead, he took his hammer into his hand and shakily pushed himself to his feet. His leg nearly buckled but held. The assassin stood at the top of the steps. She aimed down at him and fired another shot. Cortland raised his forearm, even as his upper arm squelched blood. His buckler wasn¡¯t there, but it didn¡¯t have to be for the Ink to work. He activated [Greater Shield] and a wall of invisible force extended before him. The assassin¡¯s bolt twisted and bent in the air, falling at Cortland¡¯s feet. For a moment, Cortland got a clearer look at his attacker. She seemed smaller than he remembered and the mask was different. A part of him hesitated¡ªsomething was off. He could sense his [Recovery+] Ink working, trying to knit his injuries back together. He also felt flashes of clarity as the Ink worked to cleanse his mind. The flashes of panic he¡¯d felt before and the woozy disorientation he suffered now¡ªsome of that was probably due to getting thrown like a straw doll down the steps¡ªbut Cortland sensed there was more to it. He¡¯d been dosed with something. Before he even stepped into the hallway, he¡¯d been under attack. Well, he could see his attacker now. He cocked his good arm back. The assassin took off running. ¡°That won¡¯t help you,¡± Cortland said. Cortland used [Hammer Toss]. His hammer whipped from his hand, streaked up the stairs, and then curved left to track the assassin. Cortland controlled the hammer¡¯s trajectory. He couldn¡¯t see through the stone head, but he could feel its closeness to the target. The satisfying crunch as it slammed between the assassin¡¯s shoulder blades rippled through Cortland¡¯s arm almost like he¡¯d struck the blow himself. Hearing the assassin fall, Cortland picked his way across the ruined staircase as quickly as he could with a hobbled leg. He reentered the hallway as the flattened assassin had just shoved herself to her hands and knees. Cortland made out a large ward¡ªnow darkened¡ªdrawn across the back of her dress. Had she been expecting to be struck there? He raised his hand and used [Weapon Return]. Cortland¡¯s hammer zipped backed to him. Cortland fumbled the catch. His hammer clanged heavily against the floor, leaving behind a spider¡¯s web of fractures in the stone. Surprised at his clumsiness, Cortland looked down at his hands. His fingers were swollen red and huge like sausages. He couldn¡¯t make a fist; the skin along his knuckles felt like it would split apart if he tried. He reached for his hammer with his off-hand¡ªstill not fully functional after taking an arrow¡ªthen hesitated. Something must have been on the handle of his hammer. A toxin of some kind. Cortland snapped his gaze back to the assassin. Although she had the wind knocked out of her, she¡¯d regained her feet. He understood why she wore that mask¡ªto provoke him, to keep him from thinking clearly. He stopped reaching for his hammer. ¡°You think you¡¯ve thought of everything, don¡¯t you?¡± Cortland asked. ¡°But I don¡¯t need any fucking hammer for you.¡± She raised her crossbow. Cortland used [Bull Rush]. Unarmed, his body shot forward, bad leg dangling, his shoulder dropping. He slammed into the assassin and knocked her flat. Yet, something about this felt too easy, like he¡¯d once again been maneuvered exactly where she wanted him. Whatever. He would cave in her gods damned face, regardless. He raised his damaged leg and stomped downward. The assassin rolled backward, avoiding Cortland¡¯s heavy boot. At first, he thought he¡¯d fully broken the leg in the effort as he bucked forward. But that wasn¡¯t it at all. Somehow, Cortland¡¯s foot sunk into the stone itself, like he¡¯d stepped into quicksand. The very floor of Infinzel sucked in his leg down to the knee. The stone tightened around his leg like a vice. There had been no ward painted on the floor, no indication of another trap, so how¡ª ¡°Yield, Cortland,¡± a voice commanded from behind him. Cortland twisted to look over his shoulder. King Cizco stood at the base of the stairs, his hand extended toward Cortland. The tips of his fingers were gray-tipped, as if he¡¯d dipped them into the mineral garden. They were calcified, Cortland realized, a side effect of the magic the king had just deployed against him. ¡°Cizco, what?¡± Cortland sputtered. ¡°What are you doing?¡± ¡°I am her Enthralled Defender,¡± the king said flatly. He peered almost bemusedly at his stone-coated hand. ¡°Although, if this game goes on any further, I will be forced to test my will against our logician¡¯s.¡± Cortland turned back around just as Carina Goldstone tackled him. With his leg sucked into the floor, even the girl¡¯s slight weight was enough to topple him backward. She¡¯d ripped off her monkey mask and now pressed a dagger to his throat. Her sweaty hair stuck to her face. There was blood on her lips. By the way her pupils bounced, Cortland could tell she was using her [Future Sight] to anticipate any last attacks he might make. ¡°I told you that a real fight with me would be one you didn¡¯t see coming,¡± Carina said. ¡°I¡¯ve bested you, now yield.¡±
Carina had spent weeks perfecting the runes. She studied the defensive wards weaved into Cortland¡¯s armor, then made sure that her dispellment rune would be strong enough to render them useless. After that, it became a matter of measurement. She needed to make sure her concussive runes would be drawn at such a distance so as not to be affected by her own dispellment. The chain reaction took some days to perfect. She practiced with a crossbow during the hours when Cortland and Henry weren¡¯t training her. Her aim was only decent. She would need to be close. She collected ingredients for two toxins that could be absorbed into the handle of Cortland¡¯s hammer. The first would be fast-acting¡ªincrease his paranoia and anxiety, make him fight without control. The second would work slower and ruin his hands. She did not want his [Recovery+] to kick in too quickly and neutralize the second poison, so she would need to make sure he was hurt early. Give his body too many injuries to fight all at once. She made a mask approximating the one the assassin wore on Armistice. Perhaps this was a low blow, but it would further unbalance Cortland, so it was necessary. She studied Cortland¡¯s lines of attack during beating after beating in the training pit. She knew where he would hit her and focused her own ward-weave on those areas. She meditated with her [Future Sight]. She visualized the attack every night. She needed to choose a morning when she could predict how quickly King Cizco would come downstairs to investigate. Carina was pretty sure she could use him as her [Enthralled Defender]¡ªmake him fight on her behalf¡ªbut only for a short while. He had a strong will and such loss of autonomy would prove disconcerting for a man like him. She suspected he would not tolerate it for long, but would respect her audacity. Or, he would kill her. Small chance, as always. Finally, she saw a morning when her victory was the most likely outcome. King Cizco had company the night before. That would make him slower to react to the ruckus. His mind would be more at ease, as well. She forged orders for the garrison patrols to close the staircase leading to their tier overnight, and to shut down the lift for inspection. She also filed requests for repairs with the stone-tenders; repairs she knew would be necessary after the fight. Carina knew she would be expected to clean up after herself. That was to be part of the demonstration¡ªhow seamlessly she would restore their lives to normal. She brought Cortland dinner as she did most nights¡ªa gesture she¡¯d originally meant as kindness but that she knew, sadly, would probably be stopped now. While he cleaned up dishes, she layered the handle of his hammer thick with poison. She dosed Henry Blacksalve as well, to keep him from interfering. She staged her preparations from his room, and drew two large healing circles on the floor of his apartment. If she¡¯d measured her powders correctly¡ªand she certainly had¡ªHenry would wake up shortly after the fight ended. The healing circles would let him augment his abilities, in case things got out of hand. As she was endangering the king, she did not want to take any chances in that regard. She didn¡¯t sleep. She painted the runes overnight and huddled in the dormant lift until Cortland awoke. And, even after all that, it had been a narrow thing. Even with a dagger pressed to his neck, Carina wasn¡¯t sure what Cortland would choose. He might fight on. She may have taken this too far. There was a version of this attack, a remote possibility where¡­ well, she didn¡¯t want to think about that. He had set a challenge for her. And Carina hated to fail. So, in truth, this was all Cortland¡¯s fault. An inevitability they would end up here. She saw recognition in his eyes. He knew her now. He and the king both saw what a fine weapon they had in their arsenal. She had shown them her depths and, in the long run, they would trust her more for it. She hoped. ¡°Fine,¡± Cortland said through gritted teeth. ¡°I yield.¡± Carina breathed out a sigh of relief, withdrew her dagger, and smiled. ¡°Thank you,¡± she said, ¡°for the excellent training.¡±
30. [Red Tide] Trees and Treaties
--DRAMATIS PERSONAE¡ª Red Tide, Enchantress of the 4th Renown, The Reef, never far from her harp Throne Gazer, Trident Master of the 3rd Renown, The Reef, a secret conservationist Salt Wall, Berserker of the 2nd Renown, The Reef, the butcher Cuda Bite, Skulker of the 2nd Renown, The Reef, an enemy to all trees Turtle Jaw, Quill of The Reef, kinda likes it out here
8 Harvesend, 61 AW The outskirts of Besaden 232 days until the next Granting Red Tide strummed the backs of her fingers across her harp. The note she produced sounded keening and tender, like an animal¡¯s tired cry. Her [Hypnotic Object] Ink vibrated against her skin only slightly. Here was a song that didn¡¯t require much effort. In the grassy clearing before her, Throne Grazer crouched with an outstretched handful of grain. Drawn by Red Tide¡¯s music, the doe approached drowsily. The animal blinked at Throne Gazer and plodded closer, white tail twitching. Red Tide could see the faintest flicker of awareness in those glassy, black eyes¡ªthe doe knew this wasn¡¯t right, that she should be running from these unfamiliar creatures. They did not belong here. The woods were not for them. Red Tide coaxed another gentle note from her harp. The gray skin on her knuckles was dry and cracked. Her feet were sore¡ªalways sore. These irritations did not make it into her music. The doe felt only soothed. Throne Gazer let the doe eat from his hand briefly before sprinkling the feed into the grass at his feet. The animal bent her sleepy head down to finish the meal, and Throne Gazer picked up his trident. Red Tide wondered what expression was on the man¡¯s face in that moment. The royal nephew and botched revolutionary always kept his muscled back to her on the rare occasions they hunted together. Salt lines permeated his pile of black braids, the skin on his shoulders peeling from sunburn. He didn¡¯t need to bother feeding the animal, but he did anyway. Red Tide stopped playing the moment Throne Gazer sunk his trident into the deer¡¯s neck. He was quick about the work¡ªone prong into the base of the skull, another into the meat of the throat. The deer ended up bowed at his feet like a supplicant. ¡°There¡¯s no sport in this,¡± he said to Red Tide moments later as they dragged the deer through the brush, back to their camp. ¡°You want a challenge or you want to fucking eat?¡± Red Tide replied. They all complained. It was something like the favorite pastime of the Reef¡¯s four champions. They had been traveling north for weeks now through the dry summer months of the north continent. They all chafed. Their gills crackled from disuse. Water¡ªreal water, not some piss trickle stream¡ªfelt very far away. But only Throne Gazer¡¯s complaints truly irritated Red Tide. He couldn¡¯t even whine like her and the others¡ªabout the stink of travel, about sweaty assholes and oozing blisters. No, with Throne Gazer, it was always about the lack of honor in their lifestyle. A few weeks back, they had stolen a wagon and some horses from a dried up farm town and Throne Gazer had the audacity to try to talk them out of it. He claimed it was beneath the dignity of the Reef to steal from the land-walkers. They should buy the cart outright with the riches his mother Deep Dweller had sent or, if the land-walkers refused, challenge them for it in a fair contest. Oh, piss on that, Red Tide had said. And the other agreed. Red Tide supposed he just wanted drama. A chance to prove himself, after it had gone so disastrously for him against the Coralline Elite and Most Loyal Spear. But all they did was walk¡ªor ride, after they¡¯d stolen the wagon¡ªand Throne Gazer didn¡¯t even have much say in the direction they went. Besides the farm town, they had mostly avoided the sparse human settlements between the coast and the towering forest that now loomed before them. Apparently, Turtle Jaw had the materials in his sea witch trinkets to cast a glamour that would make them look like land-walkers, but they hadn¡¯t wanted to waste that on some drooling farmers in the middle of nowhere. Red Tide grunted as the deer carcass bumped across an outcropping of bronze-colored roots. She tilted her head back to take in the enormous trees of Besaden. The trunks were broad enough that the Reef¡¯s four champions wouldn¡¯t have been able to ring them with joined hands, and the canopy above practically brushed the clouds. The setting sun bathed the scene in slats of gold, the undersides of the leaves seeming to twist toward the light. Red Tide would¡¯ve never admitted this to her fellow champions, but she found the sheer size of these trees intimidating. The ocean at least gently cradled a person¡¯s body when its vast depths spread out around them; these trees stood apart, towering and haughty. Silly thought it was, Red Tide kept expecting one of these trees to rise up from the dirt like a giant foot and squash her. Up ahead, at their latest campsite, a similar thought had occurred to Cuda Bite. ¡°Fuck these trees,¡± he said, tearing a leaf in half. ¡°I hate them.¡± Salt Wall came to meet them as Red Tide and Throne Gazer dragged the deer into the small clearing they¡¯d chosen. She waved them away and set about tying the deer¡¯s back legs so that she could hoist it over a branch to bleed and gut it. Of all of them, Salt Wall was the most changed from their journey north. Red Tide didn¡¯t think there was an ounce of fat on the thickset woman now; she was all chiseled muscle and sinew. That wouldn¡¯t do if she was ever to return home to the cold northern waters, but for now she looked absolutely savage. ¡°This all you could find?¡± the berserker asked. Throne Gazer sighed. ¡°Enough meat there to spare us hunting for three days.¡± ¡°Sick of deer,¡± Salt Wall replied. ¡°Tastes like sweat and the last one had blood-bugs.¡± ¡°I found some herbs that might help with that,¡± Turtle Jaw said. The warden approached with his knives out, ready to help Salt Wall carve the animal. Turtle Jaw seemed most taken with living like a land-walker. He relished the chores of their journey¡ªbuilding fires, foraging and hunting, scribbling little drawings in his maps. Red Tide supposed he had escaped life in the Grotto prison the same as the rest of them. Now that they were out of the reach of the Coralline Throne, this whole thing must¡¯ve felt like a vacation to Turtle Jaw. ¡°You find anything useful? Like a way through?¡± Red Tide asked the Quill. ¡°Or you just out there braiding twigs in your hair?¡± While Red Tide and Throne Gazer were hunting, the others had been scouting the edges of the forest. They¡¯d spent days now on the outskirts, looking for some kind of path that might lead them deeper into the wood. Their search had drawn them westward where they found a road that, according to Turtle Jaw¡¯s map, would lead them to Magelab should they follow it west. However, that road became overgrown as it neared Besaden, and terminated in a veritable wall of redwoods that actually seemed thicker than anywhere else. Hard not to interpret that as a message from Besaden to its nearest neighbors. This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. ¡°It¡¯s all trees and hard going,¡± Cuda Bite answered for Turtle Jaw. He¡¯d sunk into the grass and was massaging his foot. ¡°I think I broke my ankle tripping over a root, Red.¡± ¡°He¡¯s faking,¡± Salt Wall said as she dragged her hook down the deer¡¯s belly. ¡°He wanted me to carry him back and now insists on this ruse.¡± Cuda Bite moaned, winked at Red Tide, and then went back to moaning. Shaking her head, Red Tide noticed that tonight¡¯s fire had been built using a piece of wood torn from the side of the wagon. She turned back to Turtle Jaw. ¡°So you¡¯ve decided we¡¯re leaving the wagon,¡± Red Tide said. ¡°No choice,¡± he replied. ¡°We¡¯ll start north on foot tomorrow.¡± They had stolen two horses along with the wagon. Red Tide was no expert on the beasts, but their two animals gave the impression of surly workers, meant to be run into the ground and disposed of. They had never stopped peering at their new owners with what Red Tide interpreted as suspicion, even after Red Tide spent some evenings playing soothing songs for them. The oca¡¯em weren¡¯t made for riding horses¡ªtoo much discomfort to the small bones on the insides of their legs that let them make the fin¡ªand these horses wouldn¡¯t do well on the knotty terrain ahead. ¡°Could¡¯ve spared us a hunting trip, if you¡¯d decided sooner,¡± she said, waving at the horses. ¡°Might as well butcher those two next.¡± ¡°No.¡± Throne Gazer had moved to stand before the hoses. He stroked his hand down the length of one of their noses. ¡°These animals served us well. We will set them free.¡± ¡°Sure,¡± Cuda Bite said, ¡°let something out in those woods make a meal of them instead.¡± ¡°Perhaps,¡± Throne Gazer replied. ¡°At least they will be loosed from their ropes when the time comes.¡± Throne Gazer set about detaching the horses from their reins. No one bothered to stop him, so that was that. Apparently, the trident master had a soft spot for animals. Perhaps there was a beating heart in his chest, after all. ¡°I thought these land-walkers loved roads,¡± Cuda Bite mused. ¡°Carved up all their land. By the tides, the merchants even made roads through our oceans, in a way.¡± Red Tide spat at the mention of Merchant¡¯s Bay. ¡°Not the beastlords,¡± Salt Wall said. ¡°They don¡¯t trade like the other land-walkers.¡± ¡°You¡¯ve met them?¡± Red Tide asked. Salt Wall plunked a blob of intestines onto a piece of canvas. ¡°They come to the north sea sometimes. The shore. We don¡¯t know what they do. Count the walruses, maybe. They don¡¯t bother us, we don¡¯t bother them.¡± ¡°But we¡¯re here to bother them now, aren¡¯t we?¡± Cuda Bite asked. ¡°They know we¡¯re coming,¡± Turtle Jaw said. He glanced in Throne Gazer¡¯s direction. ¡°It¡¯s been arranged.¡± Red Tide took that to mean Deep Dweller had pulled some strings. They were pawns of the sea witch in her quest to retake the Coralline Throne from her sister and restore the Reef. If there was a way out of this game, Red Tide hadn¡¯t found it. She wasn¡¯t sure she was even looking for one. ¡°A path should open to us when the beastlords are ready to receive us,¡± Throne Gazer said. His expression darkened and his voice dropped to a mutter. ¡°At least, that¡¯s what mother said.¡± ¡°So, we just walk through their woods until they decide to say hello?¡± Cuda Bite asked. Red Tide sat down next to the skulker and dug her elbow into his ribs. ¡°You got someplace better to be?¡± He scoffed. ¡°Yes! Only a hundred fucking places, Red.¡± Red Tide had grown curious about the beastlords of Besaden. What good fortune they¡¯d had to control this forest¡ªhorrible as it might be¡ªand be able to keep out the rest of the bastard land-walkers. If the oca¡¯em could only exert the same control over their seas. ¡°Cheer up,¡± she said to Cuda Bite, bringing her harp into her lap. ¡°This is the only place where I will sing the song of Cuda Bite and the piles of satisfied women left floating in his wake¡­¡±
Night rolled in. The deer meat really did taste better with the peppery mint spices that Turtle Jaw had found. The horses, freed from any encumbrance, lingered close to the wagon as if they didn¡¯t know what to do with themselves. The air was noisy with trilling insects that Red Tide had learned to tolerate. She stroked her fingers across her harp, a sleepy note that momentarily seemed to quiet the bugs. Cuda Bite sat nearby, his eyes heavy as he stared into the fire. Salt Wall already snored, asleep on her back. Turtle Jaw, meanwhile, made notes on one of his maps, sketching out the leaf shape of some herb he had discovered. A companionable night, Red Tide thought, if not for Throne Gazer. He stood apart from them, which wasn¡¯t unusual. But there was a tension in his shoulders and his eyes sought something out there in the dark. He was the one with the [Alert] Ink, Red Tide reminded herself. She could tell by his posture that it was only a matter of time before he spoke up. ¡°Someone approaches,¡± Throne Gazer said at last. Cuda Bite sat up. ¡°The beastlords?¡± Throne Gazer shook his head. ¡°They¡¯re coming from the south, not from deeper in the woods.¡± Since they had dispatched with the Coralline Elite back on the beach, the champions of the Reef hadn¡¯t been worried about being followed. Still, Red Tide fingered the bag of coral shards tied to her hip. ¡°Your Ink tell you if they¡¯re dangerous?¡± she asked. Throne Gazer hesitated. ¡°Powerful, perhaps. But not dangerous. Not to us.¡± ¡°Not our people, then,¡± Red Tide said. ¡°Land-walkers,¡± mumbled Salt Wall, only half-awake. ¡°Drawn by the fire, probably,¡± Turtle Jaw added. ¡°Should we put it out? Hide?¡± Cuda Bite asked. ¡°Why would we hide?¡± Red Tide said, her lips curled back from her teeth. ¡°Not scurrying away from some lost land-walkers. I got a cozy fucking spot here.¡± ¡°We been trying to avoid them, haven¡¯t we? Stay out of trouble.¡± Cuda Bite turned to Turtle Jaw. ¡°These people tell stories. Say they saw some oca¡¯em out in Besaden, word might get back to the wrong people. Not like we can silence them the way we did Most Loyal Spear.¡± Turtle Jaw folded his map closed. ¡°Not an unreasonable point.¡± ¡°Perhaps, but I am curious who else is out here, and why,¡± Throne Gazer said. He surprised Red Tide by turning in her direction. ¡°Do you agree?¡± She shrugged. ¡°Like I said. I¡¯m not hiding.¡± They didn¡¯t have to wait much longer for the travelers to make themselves known. Red Tide got the impression that they were making a lot of noise on purpose so that no one would be taken by surprise. She plucked at the strings of her harp, thinking about all the sailors she¡¯d lured into drowning. ¡°Ho, there, fellow pilgrims!¡± A man¡¯s voice thundered out from the shadows. ¡°We come in peace! Could not help but see your fire, smell your dinner, and hear your beautiful music! We have barter if you¡¯ve ext¡ª¡± The man cut off abruptly as he reached the light of their fire and saw five grey-skinned faces staring in his direction. Red Tide took stock of him quickly. He was in his thirties, prematurely bald even for a land-walker, with a horseshoe of curly brown hair over his ears. The man was all torso and arms¡ªskinny little legs jutting out from a brutish upper body. He wore a hand axe on each hip, but was otherwise clad in a simple tunic and breeches. He held the reins of two horses¡ªhuge beasts, of much finer breeding than the Reef¡¯s stolen nags¡ªand Red Tide noted one of the horses was burdened with a suit of chain armor. Tattooed on the man¡¯s neck was the symbol of a perfectly balanced scale, an allegiance Red Tide didn¡¯t know. More interesting was the Ink visible further down his chest. This oddly proportioned land-walker was a champion. Stalking behind him came a woman, younger, with hair cut short like a boy¡¯s and a severe expression. She wore more ornaments than necessary for a voyage through the woods, and Red Tide sensed Cuda Bite¡¯s fingers twitching at the sight of her. ¡°Oh, by the ashes, Theo,¡± the woman said, not quietly enough, ¡°it¡¯s a gang of fish.¡± The man¡ªTheo¡ªcouldn¡¯t help his eyes from widening. He bowed low and started to back away. ¡°Ah, pardon us,¡± he said. ¡°We didn¡¯t mean to interrupt.¡± ¡°You didn¡¯t?¡± Red Tide showed him her teeth. ¡°I thought you wanted to share our fire, champion.¡± ¡°They talk,¡± the woman said wonderingly. ¡°Of course they¡­¡± Theo trailed off as he noticed Throne Gazer. The trident master had slipped around alongside them as they entered the camp, and now leaned on his weapon, peering down at them. Theo¡¯s eyes scanned the rest of them and Red Tide saw the moment that he noticed their Ink. He swallowed. ¡°Penchenne,¡± Throne Gazer announced, recognizing the scale symbol on both their necks. ¡°Why are you here?¡± ¡°Oh, my,¡± the woman said, blinking at Throne Gazer. ¡°This one is almost striking.¡± ¡°I am sorry for our rudeness, we are just taken aback,¡± Theo said. ¡°We don¡¯t often have the opportunity to converse with the oca¡¯em.¡± ¡°Oca¡¯em, yes,¡± Salt Wall rumbled, still on her back. ¡°Not fish.¡± Cuda Bite elbowed Red Tide. ¡°I think he might want you to give him a cock-shaped sapphire, Red.¡± He chuckled. ¡°So glad we didn¡¯t hide.¡± Theo¡¯s face flushed. ¡°No, no, of course not. We are an educated people who don¡¯t subscribe to such tales.¡± Despite his hefty bearing, the man spoke with a smooth precision. He¡¯d dropped the jocularity of his initial approach and now talked like a diplomat visiting the Horizdock. ¡°I am Theo Adamantios, Axe Master of the 6th renown, of the open city Penchenne. With me is my sponsor Sylvie Aracia of the high house Salvado-Aracia. We are pleased to make the acquaintance of the Reef¡¯s champions and, I presume, their Quill, under such surprising circumstances.¡± ¡°Champions¡­?¡± Only now did Sylvie notice their Ink. Her eyes widened and she grabbed for Theo¡¯s arm. ¡°We should keep going, Theo. I¡¯m honestly not that tired.¡± ¡°Nonsense,¡± Theo replied. He reached into his satchel and produced a bottle of dark liquor. ¡°Do oca¡¯em like to drink?¡± ¡°We do, indeed, axe man,¡± Red Tide replied. Theo seemed a bit more at ease as Red Ride accepted the bottle, in direct opposition to Sylvie¡¯s growing discomfort. ¡°As for what we¡¯re doing out here,¡± he said to Throne Gazer, ¡°I¡¯d wager it¡¯s the same as you all.¡± Throne Gazer cocked his head. ¡°Oh?¡± ¡°Hopefully there¡¯s enough for all of us,¡± Theo said, gazing off into the woods. ¡°When the gods put Ink up for grabs, they aren¡¯t always generous.¡±
31. [Red Tide] Unfriendly Competition
--DRAMATIS PERSONAE¡ª Red Tide, Enchantress of the 4th Renown, The Reef, joining the hunt Throne Gazer, Salt Wall, and Cuda Bite, the champions of the Reef, and Turtle Jaw, their Quill Theo Adamantios, Axe Master of the 6th Renown, Penchenne, under the guidance of his sponsor Sylvie Aracia, a young woman of no renown but considerable connections, Penchenne
9 Harvesend, 61 AW The outskirts of Besaden 231 days until the next Granting At first light, Turtle Jaw kicked away the ashes from last night¡¯s fire and used the flat patch of dirt to draw a rectangle in Ink. ¡°Show me where to find the power,¡± he incanted in the language of the gods. The Ink spread through the rectangle, shaping itself into a map of the world. The four champions of the Reef huddled over his shoulders as Turtle Jaw circled the area around Besaden, the map reforming to show more detail of the surrounding area. There it was. Just like the balding axe master had said. A pulsing dot of Ink about ten miles north of their position. ¡°You been able to do this trick the whole time?¡± Cuda Bite asked. ¡°Yes,¡± Turtle Jaw replied. Red Tide had seen him call upon the map before, but Cuda Bite wasn¡¯t paying attention that day on the rocky beach after the anchoreel attack. ¡°You didn¡¯t think to check this sooner?¡± Throne Gazer asked with his customary stiffness. ¡°I looked at it the day we reached this forest,¡± Turtle Jaw said. ¡°And you didn¡¯t think we might be interested in the opportunity to earn more Ink?¡± Red Tide could hear the hunger in Throne Gazer¡¯s voice¡ªthat lust for power. She was surprised he hadn¡¯t gone sprinting into the woods already. Turtle Jaw raised his head and Red Tide saw some of that warden hardness in the clench of his square jaw. ¡°I thought,¡± he said evenly, ¡°that the beastlords would want the Ink that appeared in their own territory for themselves. I assumed we would not want to make a bad impression, taking what could rightfully be considered theirs.¡± Red Tide nodded in agreement. As masters of the sea, the oca¡¯em were used to interlopers taking what didn¡¯t belong to them. And yet, she remembered the warm feeling of new Ink spreading across her chest. She couldn¡¯t fault Throne Gazer for wanting more. Aside from the pulsing blob of Ink, there wasn¡¯t much detail on the crude map. Trees¡ªand more trees. No telling what awaited them deeper into Besaden. ¡°Why haven¡¯t they claimed it?¡± Red Tide asked. ¡°Perhaps the beastlords were not up for the challenge,¡± Throne Gazer said. ¡°Or maybe it¡¯s like the land-walker said and there¡¯s enough for everybody,¡± Cuda Bite replied. He draped an arm around Salt Wall¡¯s shoulders until the larger woman shrugged him off with a snort. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t that be nice? Everyone gets some?¡± ¡°You still think we shouldn¡¯t bother?¡± Red Tide asked Turtle Jaw. ¡°No,¡± he said. ¡°Not if it¡¯s us or the Penchennese.¡± ¡°He¡¯s watching us,¡± Salt Wall said, a rumble in her chest. They turned as one to look at the Penchennese axe master who stood a respectable distance, smiling awkwardly. He and his sour-faced companion had spent a polite amount of time around the fire last night¡ªthree passes of his bottle around the circle¡ªthen made their own camp amidst the neighboring trees. Red Tide kept an eye on them throughout the night. Though she tried to be subtle about it, Red Tide saw Sylvie Aracia sprinkle caltrops in the space between their camps. Theo snored nearly as loud as Salt Wall, but she didn¡¯t think Sylvie slept much at all. Now, the young woman crouched behind Theo, rummaging around in their packs. ¡°Good morning,¡± Theo shouted over. He nodded toward the map on the ground¡ªthere was no way he could see it, but Throne Gazer kicked the Ink away all the same. ¡°Lucky you have your Quill with you. We have to rely on other methods.¡± Theo held what looked to be a blank piece of parchment. In the early morning light, the oca¡¯em found they didn¡¯t have the same capacity for chatter as the night before, when it had been fun to toy with the two land-walkers. As one, they ignored him. ¡°Let us not linger,¡± Throne Gazer said. The Reef¡¯s champions began to break down their camp. Salt Wall and Turtle Jaw wrapped what was left of the butchered deer in clean green leaves, while the others packed up the supplies that had over the course of their journey migrated around the wagon. Theo stood there dumbly, glancing at the oca¡¯em occasionally, while holding his parchment. For Sylvie, however, the Reef¡¯s movement seemed to incite a new rush in her search. ¡°I can¡¯t find my timepiece, Theo!¡± Sylvie snapped. ¡°Have you checked your pockets?¡± he replied. ¡°Have you checked your pockets,¡± she repeated, in the slurring voice of an idiot. Cuda Bite cleared his throat and Red Tide glanced up. He brushed a braid out of his face and Red Tide saw what he wanted to show her¡ªhe palmed a circle of metal on a delicate chain, one of those creations of the Gadgeteers that told the time of day. He¡¯d put his [Shadow Step] to good use during the night. ¡°They shared drink with us,¡± Throne Gazer said. He had seen the timepiece, too, and this was meant as a quiet rebuke. Cuda Bite shrugged. ¡°That little hag has too much already.¡± ¡°You get anything for me?¡± Red Tide asked. Cuda Bite pumped his eyebrows. While the oca¡¯em kept their voices down, Sylvie made no such effort. Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more. ¡°I think they stole it,¡± she snapped. Theo sighed. ¡°Let me help you look for it.¡± ¡°No! It must be almost time,¡± she replied. ¡°Keep your eyes on the paper.¡± Throne Gazer stood up in the back of the wagon, crossing his arms. ¡°Is this the respect champions are afforded in Penchenne?¡± Theo¡¯s eyes flicked toward the wagon, but before he could muster a response there came a sound like a light dribbling of rain. ¡°Ah,¡± Theo said, frowning at the side of their wagon. ¡°I looked away, Sylvie.¡± ¡°Gods damn it, Theo,¡± she muttered. The three oca¡¯em hopped down from the back of the wagon to find a message in Ink splashed across its wooden side. Still there, the message read, and then a drawing of the very same map that Turtle Jaw had conjured in the dirt. ¡°A message from our Quill,¡± Theo explained. ¡°I apologize for sullying your conveyance with knowledge you likely already possess.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t give a shit about the conveyance,¡± Red Tide responded. She watched¡ªa bit mystified¡ªas Theo tucked his blank piece of paper into his belt and turned to help Sylvie in her search for the missing timepiece. Turtle Jaw patted her shoulder. ¡°Ready to move on?¡± ¡°How do our champions die every year if this is who we¡¯re up against?¡± she asked the warden. ¡°Our enemies aren¡¯t all this way,¡± he replied. ¡°I dared to fucking hope.¡± ¡°Haven¡¯t had much cause to think about Penchenne in my years as Quill,¡± Turtle Jaw continued. ¡°They claim their city is the birthplace of diplomacy.¡± Red Tide closed one of her eyes and cocked her head. ¡°Hell is that supposed to mean?¡± ¡°They like to talk,¡± Turtle Jaw said. ¡°And they like to deal.¡± With Throne Gazer leading the way, the oca¡¯em shouldered their packs and headed north through the mammoth trees of Besaden. Only as she stubbed her toe on a root for the first of what would be many times did Red Tide miss their curmudgeonly horses and wagon. The freed nags, perhaps intimidated by the lurking beasts of Penchenne, had disappeared during the night. A freedom Red Tide could only dream of. They had barely covered the first mile when the Penchennese caught up to them. Theo and Sylvie had elected to ride, and the high-stepping steeds were already whinnying in protest and tugging at the reins. ¡°Come on, Theo, we can outpace them,¡± Sylvie said, her horse listing close enough to Salt Wall that the berserker reached for her hook. ¡°Might as well just break your horse¡¯s legs now, we keep on this way,¡± Theo said. He dismounted and led his horse, trying to pick a path that weaved straight between the redwoods. ¡°Listen, my friends of the Reef, this doesn¡¯t have to be a race. We might consider pooling our resources. Face whatever is ahead together.¡± ¡°Seems a better deal for you than us,¡± Throne Gazer said without turning or slowing down. ¡°There are four of you, yes,¡± Theo said. ¡°But I¡¯d wager I have more Ink than any two of you put together.¡± ¡°You¡¯d lose that wager,¡± Red Tide said. ¡°It¡¯d be a narrow thing, though, wouldn¡¯t it?¡± the axe master replied. ¡°It¡¯s like I said last night, friends, I¡¯m open to barter.¡± ¡°Why are you wasting our time with this, Theo?¡± Sylvie sat stiff in her saddle, scanning the oca¡¯em with eyes sunk into dark pits. Overtired and frustrated, yes, but Red Tide thought there was something more to this bitter little bitch¡ªa flare of anger that the girl didn¡¯t know how to extinguish. Red Tide considered playing her harp; that would cool her down a bit, at least. Cuda Bite strolled close to Sylvie¡¯s horse, no doubt hoping he might dip a hand into one of her saddlebags. ¡°Maybe your man is smart,¡± he said to her. ¡°Maybe he thinks he¡¯ll use us to soften up whatever furry beast waits in all these cursed trees.¡± ¡°He doesn¡¯t need you to soften anything up,¡± Sylvie declared. ¡°Wasteful, to even consider sharing Ink with your kind. What is the point? All four of you will be dead in a year. It¡¯s discourteous not to let the Ink flow to someone who might actually live long enough to use it.¡± Throne Gazer stopped walking. ¡°Shut your mouth,¡± he said. ¡°You forget how far you are from your high house. Your words would embarrass your sociality proctor.¡± Red Tide kept an eye on Theo. The man never reached for his axes¡ªhe hadn¡¯t touched his weapons once since they met, she realized. That was unusual with warriors, especially men, who loved to finger their hilts, as if to remind everyone what they might do. Even now, Theo simply scratched the tufts of hair on the back of his head and did nothing to intervene on his sponsor¡¯s behalf. Sylvie opened her mouth to respond, but then took a long look at Throne Gazer¡¯s steely posture and thought better of it. Pompous nobles had a way of recognizing their own. With a sigh, she dismounted and continued the journey in silence, walking next to Throne Gazer. They picked their way through twisting breaks in the trees, climbing and descending hillocks made entirely of bulging roots. As they went, Red Tide sensed Theo making an effort to match her pace. He wanted to speak with her. Perhaps her [Charm+] at work, or perhaps something else. Curious, she slowed to open up some space between them and the others. ¡°One year in the Granting for clemency isn¡¯t the worst arrangement I¡¯ve ever heard,¡± Theo began. ¡°It¡¯s four years for me.¡± Red Tide pursed her lips. The clemency agreement was unlikely to be on the table now¡ªnot after how they¡¯d dealt with Most Loyal Spear. If she made it to the Granting and survived, her reward would be something very different from freedom. Power, perhaps, though she wasn¡¯t sure she¡¯d want that. ¡°You don¡¯t look like a criminal,¡± Red Tide said. ¡°Oh, no, I¡¯m not. In Penchenne, we do four years in service to the high houses as champions, then take the wash. Set for life, after that. Me and my whole family.¡± Red Tide jerked her chin toward Sylvie. ¡°Why don¡¯t these high houses fight for themselves?¡± ¡°Too much risk,¡± Theo replied. ¡°Instead, they sponsor our training.¡± ¡°Supervise, you mean. Burrow up your ass.¡± Theo chortled. ¡°You haven¡¯t the faintest idea.¡± He rolled up his sleeve. A gold cuff wrapped around his thick forearm. The scale symbol of Penchenne had been shaped into the metal, the weighing pans replaced by two cloudy gems that pulsed with Theo¡¯s steady heartbeat. ¡°Didn¡¯t take you for the jewelry type,¡± Red Tide said. ¡°Sylvie¡¯s got one just like it,¡± Theo said. ¡°An enchantment on them that connects us. She¡¯ll be with me at the Granting, seeing through my eyes, giving me advice.¡± Red Tide shuddered at the thought. ¡°Why she got to scream at you so much, if she can get right into your mind?¡± ¡°She doesn¡¯t like to wear it,¡± Theo said. ¡°I¡¯m not the first champion she¡¯s sponsored. Her last, well, he died on the island¡­¡± Red Tide swung her harp around and plucked a saccharine note. ¡°Why you telling me all this, land-walker?¡± ¡°A free offering of information, since you oca¡¯em seem as over your heads on land as I¡¯d be in the sea,¡± Theo replied. ¡°She¡¯s had a difficult time of it. Doesn¡¯t excuse her behavior, but I¡¯d be appreciative if your group didn¡¯t pile on, make things worse. I figure the little guy¡¯s the thief of the bunch, right?¡± Up ahead, Cuda Bite needlessly slashed a low-hanging leaf in half with his dagger. Red Tide snorted. ¡°If that timepiece of hers could find its way back, I¡¯d consider it a favor worth repaying,¡± Theo concluded. ¡°You fumbling with my empathy does nothing but dry me up,¡± Red Tide said. ¡°Barter, though? That might interest me, axe man.¡± Theo flashed her a guileless smile. ¡°Noted.¡± They had come to the north continent to make allies, hadn¡¯t they? Red Tide wasn¡¯t sure if this Penchennese axe master could help them survive the island¡ªor would even honor any deal brokered here in Besaden¡ªbut it couldn¡¯t hurt to see what favors they might squeeze out of him. Anyway, what use did Cuda Bite have for a timepiece? He never had anywhere to be. The group knew they¡¯d nearly covered the ten miles when the horses began to spook. It started as skittish head-tossing and progressed quickly to the two steeds planting their back legs and digging in. Sylvie¡¯s jerked at his ropes hard enough that the woman nearly had her shoulder dislocated. In the end, Theo had to backtrack a bit and find a quiet place to tie them up. Red Tide could smell it in the air. A heavy musk, pungent, thick enough almost to taste. She was reminded of the steely tang of blood in sea water¡ªthe lingering vibrations when a shark had just made a successful kill. Predation lurked on the warm breeze. ¡°I suggest we move forward with just our weapons,¡± Throne Gazer said. ¡°Keep it light.¡± ¡°Let the axe master lead the way,¡± Cuda Bite said. ¡°He wants the Ink bad enough, doesn¡¯t he?¡± In the end, the Reef¡¯s champions left their supplies with the Penchennese horses. But neither Throne Gazer nor Salt Wall could stomach letting Theo take point, so they advanced through the woods with those three in a rank, the others happy to trail behind. Soon, they reached a space where the trees appeared to have grown together. The trunks bent unnaturally against each other, like pickets or crooked teeth. There was space enough between the trees for a human-sized body to slip through, but no bigger gaps revealed themselves. Circling around, the wooded wall extended deeper into the forest, sectioning off an area of about a square mile. ¡°This is not natural,¡± Sylvie said. ¡°No shit,¡± Red Tide replied. There were runes shaped from glowing moss on the tree trunks. Cuda Bite tiptoed up to one and recoiled. ¡°They stink,¡± he reported. ¡°That smell in the air, it¡¯s coming from runes,¡± Turtle Jaw said. ¡°I thought it might be coming off whatever we¡¯re supposed to be hunting¡­¡± ¡°The beastlords have erected this to contain something,¡± Theo said. ¡°The runes are a warning to the creatures of this forest to stay away.¡± ¡°Yeah?¡± Red Tide exchanged a look with Throne Gazer. The trident master practically vibrated with anticipation. ¡°Well, we ain¡¯t no creatures of this forest.¡± One by one, covering their noses and mouths to keep from gagging, the group squeezed through the narrow gaps between the trees. It didn¡¯t take long for the beast within to find them.
32. [Red Tide] Rammed
--DRAMATIS PERSONAE¡ª Red Tide, Enchantress of the 4th Renown, The Reef, learning the limits of a pretty song Throne Gazer, Salt Wall, and Cuda Bite, the champions of the Reef, and Turtle Jaw, their Quill Theo Adamantios, Axe Master of the 6th Renown, and Sylvie Aracia, Penchenne, a complicated working relationship
9 Harvesend, 61 AW The outskirts of Besaden 231 days until the next Granting The day had grown darker since they entered the enclosure of trees. Looking up, Red Tide thought the already dense canopy appeared thicker, the branches nearly woven together. Even birds couldn¡¯t squeeze through that tangle. The forest here had become eerily soundless, a quiet that felt like underwater. She elbowed Turtle Jaw. ¡°What¡¯s this remind you of?¡± He paused for a moment, following her gaze. ¡°Prison,¡± he replied. ¡°A cell.¡± ¡°What you think the beastlords are keeping trapped in here?¡± ¡°Whatever it is, I suspect that¡¯s what the gods want us to kill,¡± Throne Gazer said, overhearing. The stiff-backed trident master continued to lead the way, his gold-plated weapon held in front of him. Salt Wall and Theo Adamantios walked alongside him. While the Reef¡¯s berserker had slipped her hook on over her hand, Theo still hadn¡¯t taken up the hand axes that hung from his hips. ¡°They aren¡¯t all beastlords, you know,¡± Sylvie said, the short-haired young woman stalking along a half-step behind Red Tide and Turtle Jaw. ¡°You talking to me?¡± Red Tide asked. Red Tide recognized nervousness in Sylvie¡¯s scowl. Apparently, lecturing made her feel more at ease. ¡°Of course, Besaden has always belonged to the beastlords,¡± Sylvie said. ¡°But they gave sanctuary to the gala¡¯em at the beginning of the second age. The gala¡¯em arborists tend to the trees and the plants while the beastlords handle the creatures. A symbiotic relationship, not unlike the tomes and candles of Magelab, although the denizens of Besaden share the same Ink.¡± ¡°I did know all that, actually,¡± Cuda Bite said with a smirk. ¡°You just showing off?¡± Red Tide asked. ¡°Or you telling us this for a reason?¡± Sylvie breathed out through her nose. ¡°I¡¯m telling you because it¡¯s not the beastlords keeping something trapped in here.¡± She waved at the tight canopy above and the dense wall of warded tree trunks they¡¯d squeezed their way through. ¡°Only the arborists could make this.¡± ¡°Correct, as always, Madame Aracia,¡± Theo called over his shoulder. ¡°And I do believe we have located the arborists in question.¡± They found the four bodies huddled together on their knees, arms wrapped around each other¡¯s shoulders, heads bent inward. The arborists had turned themselves to wood¡ªtrees, more accurately. Where their shins touched the ground, roots burrowed down and outward. New, bright green leaves sprouted from their twig-like strands of hair, which had woven together in the space between their heads. In some places, the bodies were indistinguishable from one another, with ridged layers of redwood bark connecting arms to backs. Given long enough to grow, the human features would be subsumed entirely, elbows and knuckles reduced to knots in the trunk of a great tree. Red Tide traced her fingers down the spine of what had been a woman. ¡°Who did this to them?¡± ¡°They did it to themselves,¡± Throne Gazer replied. ¡°The cost of their ritual was steep.¡± Red Tide suspected that Throne Gazer had plenty of opportunities to see his sea witch mother work magic in the old ways. The whorls of Ink drawn across Red Tide¡¯s chest felt warm at the thought. Before becoming a champion, she¡¯d never dabbled with the arcane arts¡ªcutting open a dozen fish and burning their guts to ward a single harpoon seemed to her like a rip-off. Her people had so little already; bargaining with the gods of magic meant just another hand digging into their pockets. Cuda Bite bent low, sticking his head in a gap between two of the bodies. An intricate latticework of fledgling branches connected the insides of the arborists. They had disemboweled themselves during the ritual. Cuda Bite was mindful not to disturb any of the branches as he twisted to look upward, like peering into a hollow tree. ¡°You can still see their faces, kind of. They don¡¯t look unhappy,¡± he reported. ¡°Hope you guys liked each other since you¡¯re stuck together forever now!¡± Salt Wall grabbed Cuda Bite by the shirt and yanked him back. ¡°Fool.¡± ¡°All the arborists die like this,¡± Sylvie said, a note of reverence in her voice. ¡°They believe their spirits continue on through the trees.¡± ¡°Maybe they do,¡± Theo added. ¡°You telling me all these trees used to be people?¡± Cuda Bite asked. ¡°No, of course not,¡± Sylvie replied, the sharpness returning to her voice. ¡°What an idiotic question.¡± ¡°Sure, these people turn themselves into firewood and I¡¯m the idiot,¡± he replied. Without realizing it, Red Tide had dipped her fingers into the pouch of coral shards she wore on her belt. The jagged, spongey pieces scratched the pads of her fingers. After a week of mourning, the oca¡¯em let their dead sink to the bottom of the ocean. That was the way it had always been. Let the dead feed the depths. She thought of the Reef¡ªsanded down to a sliver of its former glory thanks to the wishes of Merchant¡¯s Bay. Given the opportunity, would she transform her body into coral, so that her people might build upon her? Such an end seemed good and honorable, in a way. As one, Throne Gazer and Theo stiffened and turned to the north. ¡°Something approaches,¡± they said in unison, exchanging a glance. ¡°[Alert]?¡± Theo asked. If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. Throne Gazer nodded curtly. ¡°It¡¯s big,¡± he said to the others. The forewarning was unnecessary. Within a few seconds, they could all hear the beast. The creature didn¡¯t seem built for subtlety. Its hooves vibrated the ground and its bulk maneuvered without care for the surrounding foliage. Branches snapped and trees creaked in its wake. They could hear the thing breathing before they could see it¡ªloud, painful grunts, like something had stoppered up its air passages. ¡°Sounds like a fat fuck with a broken nose,¡± Salt Wall said. She had resumed her spot in line with Throne Gazer and Theo. Red Tide stood behind them with Turtle Jaw and Cuda Bite. Sylvie retreated further back, putting not just the champions but the huddle of dead arborists between her and the beast. Red Tide couldn¡¯t blame her; the girl didn¡¯t have any weapons. As Turtle Jaw drew his short sword, Red Tide glanced at him. ¡°You didn¡¯t do so hot with that last time,¡± she murmured. ¡°You saying I should go hide with the girl?¡± Turtle Jaw replied. ¡°Is that an option?¡± Cuda Bite asked. At last, the beast stomped its way through a copse of bushes and stopped, sizing up its quarry. ¡°That¡¯s a¡­¡± Cuda Bite hesitated. ¡°Big fucking horse with horns?¡± ¡°A giant ram,¡± Sylvie said. ¡°Moron.¡± Red Tide held tight to her harp, staring at the creature. The giant ram stood as tall as two horses, its mighty head dominated by two curling horns made from braided spirals of wood and bone. The giant ram¡¯s shoulders were broad and powerful, its legs chunky with muscle. Overlapping plates of shining armor grew from the base of its skull and ran down the length of its spine. At first, Red Tide thought the beast foamed at the mouth, but there were actually tufts of pale mushrooms growing across its lips and nostrils. The blooms of fungi obstructed the dead-eyed beast¡¯s breathing. The giant ram stomped its front foot twice and hunkered low, ready to charge. ¡°Play,¡± Throne Gazer said over his shoulder. ¡°Like you did with the deer.¡± She didn¡¯t need his order. Red Tide¡¯s fingers were already moving, plucking the first few notes of a soothing melody. She made eye contact with the giant ram, expecting the great beast to wobble and sink forward as it fell under the spell of her [Hypnotic Object]. Instead, its ear twitched as if fly bitten. The giant ram stared at her and snorted. Red Tide¡¯s Ink felt cold¡ªusually, the symbols warmed as power flowed through them. Her notes sounded badly out-of-tune. ¡°Uh, Red¡­?¡± Cuda Bite said, edging further backward. ¡°It¡¯s not working,¡± she said. ¡°It¡¯s resisting!¡± The giant ram charged, its hooves a drumbeat that drowned out Red Tide¡¯s music. Throne Gazer acted first, leveling his trident and using [Eel Sting]. An arc of electricity sizzled from his weapon. The giant ram dipped its head, though, and the bolt ricocheted off the glasslike plates across its back. The lightning was redirected back at Throne Gazer, who dove aside to avoid his own attack. At last, Theo drew his two hand axes. He threw both of them in one jerky motion¡ªand the axes sailed woefully wide of the massive target¡ªthudding into the ground on either side of the giant ram. Before anyone could comment on his terrible aim, Theo clapped his hands together. A chain of pure energy flared, connecting the handles of the two axes. Theo had effectively created a tripwire. The giant ram¡¯s body lofted headlong over the energy line, hitting the ground headfirst with a crunch, horns digging massive furrows in the earth. The beast rolled and kicked out in a fury. A blow from one of those hooves would be enough to crush a skull. The champions scattered to avoid the flailing limbs, all except for Salt Wall. Timing her attack well, Salt Wall reached the giant ram just as it righted itself but before it had risen to its full height. She buried her hook in the creature¡¯s snout and raked backward, pulling up flesh, bone, and mushroom spores. A rotten smell filled the air and Red Tide found herself recoiling. Salt Wall didn¡¯t let up. Her heels dug in as the giant ram¡¯s head slammed into her torso. She tried to hook one of her thick arms through a horn, twisting the beast¡¯s neck around to the side. Muscles flexed in the giant ram¡¯s throat as it resisted, then bucked with all its might. Salt Wall was thrown backward. She rolled with the momentum and came up to her knees as the giant ram rounded on her. Throne Gazer darted in and stabbed the beast in the side, distracting it from charging Salt Wall. Theo, having collected his axes, next attacked from the opposite side. Turtle Jaw closed the box around the beast, the Quill raking his short sword across the thick hide on the back of the giant ram¡¯s leg. ¡°You two don¡¯t do much,¡± Sylvie said as Red Tide and Cuda Bite watched from a safe distance. ¡°Shut up,¡± Red Tide said offhandedly. She still didn¡¯t understand why her [Hypnotic Object] had been rebuffed. Something else bothered her about this creature. ¡°Where¡¯s the Ink?¡± she asked Cuda Bite. ¡°Huh?¡± he replied. ¡°You remember Most Loyal Spear?¡± Red Tide asked. ¡°The stuff practically dripped off him. I thought the gods were supposed to mark our quarry.¡± Cuda Bite waved a hand. ¡°Maybe it¡¯s hidden under all the fur.¡± ¡°No, she¡¯s right,¡± Sylvie said, peeking out from behind the petrified arborists. ¡°This thing isn¡¯t the challenge.¡± ¡°Seem pretty fucking challenging to me,¡± Cuda Bite muttered. Getting attacked on all sides¡ªbleeding now from wounds that hastily filled with fresh growths of ghostly fungus¡ªthe giant ram bellowed. The armored plates on its back vibrated and came loose. Dozens of metallic discs whipped through the air around the giant ram. One struck Theo in the jaw with a sickening crack, putting the axe master down. Another slammed into Turtle Jaw¡¯s gut, doubling him over on the plate of armor for a moment, before flinging him aside. Salt Wall punched a few of the armored plates aside before her hook caught in one, jerking her arm upward, and another cracked into her ribs. Only Throne Gazer escaped the bombardment unscathed, using [Vault] to leap clear. ¡°What kind of animal does that?¡± Red Tide asked. ¡°Not an animal at all,¡± Sylvie said. The giant ram bucked in a quick circle, its armored plates snapping back into place. Then, the monster bounded toward where Theo had fallen, its hooves churning up dirt. ¡°[Shadow Step] him out of there,¡± Red Tide said urgently to Cuda Bite. She realized that she wanted the Penchennese champion alive, and in their debt. ¡°No,¡± Sylvie said. ¡°He¡¯ll be fine.¡± The giant ram brought its two front hooves down on Theo¡¯s skull. His head should¡¯ve been squished like a grape but, instead, the giant ram seemed held in the air as if caught on an invisible net. Theo took the opportunity to scramble backward, out of the creature¡¯s shadow. ¡°Not a beast,¡± Sylvie said. ¡°A beastlord.¡± Frustrated that it hadn¡¯t been able to crush Theo, the giant ram reared back on its hind legs. As it spun in a mad circle, they all had a chance to see the Ink tattooed across its underbelly. That wasn¡¯t the swelling blob of Ink they¡¯d seen at Most Loyal Spear¡¯s throat¡ªno, the giant ram bore the paw print tattoo of Besaden, and the complicated rune-work of a champion. One with much higher renown than any of them. The gods had protected Theo. There could be no killing between factions outside the Granting. They couldn¡¯t kill this monster, and it couldn¡¯t kill them¡ªthey could only inconvenience each other. Glancing across the battlefield, Red Tide noticed that Throne Gazer had landed where the giant ram first emerged. He bent down, examining a trail of the pale mushrooms that led deeper into the woods. Straightening, Throne Gazer turned his back on the fight and disappeared into the trees. ¡°The royal¡¯s going to mother fuck us,¡± Red Tide said. ¡°On it,¡± Cuda Bite replied, and used [Shadow Step] to drop into one of the many shadows cast by the trees. Sylvie had, apparently, reached the same conclusion. ¡°Theo! Forget the gods damned maniac beastlord!¡± she shouted. ¡°He¡¯s not the prize!¡± ¡°Easy for you to say,¡± the axe master grumbled. The giant ram still bore down on him, Theo backpedaling as he tried to regain proper footing. Red Tide had thought they¡¯d been fighting a wild animal, but there was apparently a man trapped within that giant ram. Regardless, the beastlord had lost all sense. The creature did not recognize how the gods had thwarted its last attack and that further efforts would be bruising but futile. It understood only a desire to see Theo¡ªand then the rest of them¡ªflattened to paste. ¡°[Psychic Blade],¡± Sylvie commanded from the sideline. ¡°That should penetrate the carapace and put him down.¡± Theo nodded. The axes in his hands blurred with a purplish energy. Red Tide found the weapons difficult to look at, a headache forming behind her eyes as she tried to study them. The metal axes had lost their corporeality. Theo cocked back his arm, waiting for the giant ram to charge. And charge it did, head dipped low to pummel Theo with its horns. Theo brought his axe down toward the beast¡¯s head, no longer concerned with taking the full brunt of the attack if he needed to¡ªthe gods would protect him. The giant ram stopped short, opened its mouth, and spat a clot of fungi into Theo¡¯s face. The axe master went rigid immediately, the arm that had been arcing down for the giant ram¡¯s skull frozen mid-swing. His body jerked, but only once, as the white mushrooms foamed into his mouth and nose. The giant ram looked on¡ªalmost docile now¡ªno longer attempting to trample Theo. ¡°Red?¡± Turtle Jaw asked. ¡°What¡¯s happening?¡± The warden had regained his feet, short sword held uncertainly before him. Salt Wall was up, too, her broad features knotted into a look of disgust. Red Tide took a step backward, sensing Sylvie right behind her. She sprinkled a handful of coral shards into the grass at her feet. Theo¡¯s body started moving again. His head cocked, examining the axes in his hands, almost as if he were feeling their weight for the first time. Then, his gaze shifted to Red Tide and Sylvie. ¡°I think,¡± Red Tide said, ¡°that our enemy has just evened the sides.¡±
33. [Red Tide] An Invasive Species
--DRAMATIS PERSONAE¡ª Cuda Bite and Throne Gazer, 2nd Renown Skulker and 3rd Renown Trident Master of the Reef, eyes on the prize Red Tide, Enchantress of the 4th Renown, the Reef, wheeling and dealing Salt Wall, Berserker of the 2nd Renown, and Turtle Jaw, Quill of the Reef, worried about the horns Theo Adamantios, Axe Master of the 6th Renown, and Sylvie Aracia, Penchenne, find themselves in debt Vikael Rambrother, Shifter of the 11th Renown, Besaden, not quite himself
9 Harvesend, 61 AW The woods of Besaden 231 days until the next Granting Cuda Bite slipped out of the shadows a few steps behind Throne Gazer. The trident master stalked through the trees with purpose, following the broken branches and scraped trunks made during the approach of the giant ram. Ghostly white mushrooms dotted the trail. Pausing to look at one, Cuda Bite flinched as the cap seemed to vibrate and strain toward him. Hustling to catch up with Throne Gazer, Cuda Bite nearly reached out to grab the other man¡¯s arm before thinking better of it. Even on a rough path covered in leaves and limbs, Cuda Bite¡¯s steps were silent. He didn¡¯t want to get accidentally impaled, so he let a trident¡¯s length open up between him and Throne Gazer before speaking up. ¡°Where the hell are you going?¡± Throne Gazer¡¯s shoulders bunched, but he barely broke stride to look back at Cuda Bite. ¡°I¡¯m going for the Ink,¡± he said simply. ¡°You are welcome to join me.¡± ¡°You just bail on the others in the middle of a fight?¡± ¡°That is not a real fight,¡± Throne Gazer replied. Cuda Bite glanced over his shoulder as someone¡ªthe Penchennese girl, it sounded like¡ªscreamed. ¡°Seems real enough to me.¡± ¡°We can¡¯t kill the rabid beastlord and he can¡¯t kill us,¡± Throne Gazer said. ¡°It¡¯s sparring, at best. Someone was always going to need to stay behind as a distraction.¡± ¡°And you decided it wouldn¡¯t be you? We should¡¯ve talked it through¡ª¡± ¡°Did you and Red Tide talk it through with us before you killed Most Loyal Spear?¡± Throne Gazer said sharply. ¡°Don¡¯t pretend at honor with me, little thief. I don¡¯t see you rushing back to help them.¡± Cuda Bite couldn¡¯t deny it. He had fallen into step beside Throne Gazer. His small collection of runes felt warm on his chest. ¡°Someone needs to watch your back.¡± Throne Gazer snorted. ¡°Yes. And why shouldn¡¯t it be you?¡± The noble peered down his nose at Cuda Bite¡ªthe young skulker had gotten used to that look¡ªbut there was something new in Throne Gazer¡¯s eyes. Cuda Bite remembered a similar expression on the face of his first woman. Begrudging respect. ¡°You have thrown your lot in with Red Tide and I don¡¯t blame you,¡± Throne Gazer said slowly. ¡°It is wise, even, out here in the wider world, where it¡¯s just the five of us. She operates in a way that I¡­ have never learned to.¡± ¡°One way of explaining it,¡± Cuda Bite said. ¡°But eventually, we champions will return to the Reef.¡± ¡°As prisoners, probably,¡± Cuda Bite muttered. ¡°Tied to posts by your auntie and left to dry out in the sun.¡± ¡°As liberators,¡± Throne Gazer corrected. ¡°When that day comes, I could be a very good friend to you.¡± Cuda Bite had fenced enough stolen trinkets, dealt with another oca¡¯em thieves and crooked land-walker captains, that he knew what it sounded like when an offer had a hook hidden in it. Better to stay quiet in a situation like that. Nose the bait and see what the ripples revealed. They continued through the forest, the sound of the battle with the giant ram fading behind them. ¡°You sure they¡¯ll be alright?¡± Cuda Bite asked. ¡°Of course,¡± Throne Gazer replied. ¡°Our allies are surprisingly capable.¡±
Red Tide ducked her head to the side, letting the axe flip past her ear. Sylvie screamed¡ªcrouching and covering¡ªalthough the thrown axe was well wide of her. The weapon¡¯s handle bounced off a tree and thumped into the dirt. Theo lurched forward, still holding his other axe. He moved with all the grace of a newborn child. The axe master opened his mouth as if to say something, but a pale fuzz of fungus rushed across his tongue. ¡°Your man¡¯s under the influence,¡± Red Tide observed coolly. ¡°Yes, I can see that,¡± Sylvie replied, backpedaling. ¡°Tough luck for you.¡± Red Tide stepped to the side, clearing a path between Theo and Sylvie. The staggering axe master cocked its head as if trying to come to a decision, then pressed on toward Sylvie. ¡°What are you doing?¡± Sylvie screamed. ¡°He can¡¯t kill me,¡± Red Tide replied. ¡°You, on the other hand¡­¡± ¡°It¡¯s not Theo,¡± Sylvie yelped. ¡°He¡¯s controlled by some¡­ some forest abomination.¡± Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. ¡°You want to see if the gods carved out an exception for that? Personally, I don¡¯t trust the fuckers.¡± Red Tide watched the gears turn behind the young woman¡¯s sharp eyes. She could run back the way they had come and hope to find some help beyond the walls of this forest enclosure, but that didn¡¯t seem likely. Meanwhile, with every step he took, the fungus controlling Theo became more capable of operating the man¡¯s limbs. Could she hope to outrun a champion? What would happen to Theo if she abandoned him here? ¡°Help us,¡± Sylvie said through gritted teeth. ¡°Help me.¡± Red Tide smiled. ¡°You¡¯ll owe.¡± ¡°House Salvado-Aracia never forgets a friend,¡± she snapped. Her land-walker family name meant nothing to Red Tide. But the timing was too perfect for Red Tide to resist. Theo crunched through the shards of coral she had sprinkled in the grass. As he did, Red Tide waved her hand in an upward spiraling motion and accessed [Coral Tender]. Twisting pillars of coral sprouted from the ground, snagging around Theo¡¯s legs and then pushing higher, pinning his arms and knocking his chin back. Unlike when she¡¯d made a pincushion of Most Loyal Spear, Red Tide willed this coral to be without any murderous points, although the coarse edges still scraped Theo¡¯s skin. Clenching her fist, Red Tide made the coral squeeze tight around him. Theo¡¯s axe-holding hand slipped free but he couldn¡¯t do more than flick his wrist, dinging the edge of his weapon against the coral. ¡°That easy,¡± Sylvie said. ¡°You played me.¡± ¡°I offered a service,¡± Red Tide replied. ¡°You want me to let him down? Put on a show for you?¡± Sylvie edged forward. ¡°Theo could break your oca¡¯em trickery if he used his Ink,¡± she said. ¡°The fungus must not know how.¡± Red Tide lifted her harp over her head and handed it to Sylvie. ¡°Hold this. Don¡¯t fucking break it.¡± There remained the matter of the giant ram. The beast had partly sagged into the grass, seeming spent after puking its spores into Theo¡¯s face. But now it stomped its hooves again, breaths coming in agitated snorts. There was a man in there¡ªa champion of Besaden¡ªthey had all seen the Ink. A man could¡¯ve slipped through the tightly overlapped redwoods of this enclosure, but not a giant ram. Perhaps the beastlord was stuck this way on purpose. ¡°You got enough coral to trap that big bastard, too?¡± Turtle Jaw called to her. The Quill and Salt Wall had remained flanking the beast while Red Tide dealt with Theo. The giant ram tossed its head, feinting in Turtle Jaw¡¯s direction but not yet making a charge. Red Tide took measure of her Ink¡ªshe sensed what the gods would give her¡ªand knew that, while [Coral Tender] hadn¡¯t yet faded, she would not be able to produce enough to imprison something so massive. ¡°No,¡± Red Tide said. She stepped closer, creating a triangle around the giant ram with the other two oca¡¯em. ¡°I got another idea.¡± ¡°Where did the other two go?¡± Salt Wall asked. Brandishing her hook, the berserker looked eager to once again test her strength against the giant ram. ¡°They are missing the fun.¡± ¡°Your friends went off to look for the Ink that is no doubt bound to the source of this infestation,¡± Sylvie said, sounding a bit smug for someone crouched behind a tree, making herself small. ¡°Cowardice,¡± Salt Wall barked. ¡°I thought the gods rewarded prowess in combat.¡± Red Tide didn¡¯t reply. She eyed the giant ram, trying to guess which one of them it would charge. She wasn¡¯t surprised that Throne Gazer had gone off after the Ink on his own¡ªat least Cuda Bite had gone with him, and was likely too pragmatic to turn back now. The skulker could have her share. There was more to be gained here than just Ink. A debt from the Penchennese might prove just as valuable on the island. And then there were the beastlords who they had come here specifically to bargain with. ¡°Here it comes!¡± Turtle Jaw shouted. The giant ram broke for Salt Wall, the berserker letting loose a cry of joy as she rushed to meet it. As she raised her hook, the giant ram sharply turned, spraying Salt Wall with grass and dirt. Salt Wall¡¯s attack peeled back a strip of flesh from the ram¡¯s flanks, but the beast promptly kicked her with one of its back legs, sending the berserker airborne. The beast pivoted for Red Tide. ¡°Good boy,¡± Red Tide said. She opened her arms. ¡°Come and see what I have for you.¡± The giant ram dropped it head and smashed into Red Tide¡¯s chest. Her body buckled, the wind left her, and she was pinned beneath the beast¡¯s snout, its rotten musk flowing over her face.
The mushroom stood as tall as a man. Like the trail of spores they¡¯d followed this far, its flesh was pale white but, unlike the others, this huge specimen became translucent at its bulbous cap. The thing reminded Cuda Bite of a jellyfish. Floating within the mushroom cap was what looked to be a brain¡ªsmall and shriveled like the pit of a fruit. Cuda Bite detected ripples flowing out from the brain, vibrations in the mushroom¡¯s gelatinous dome. The fungus had sprouted from a human body. The man laid there in the dirt, on his back, his abdomen torn open. Dead, obviously, his pale skin sunken and droopy. His head was partly caved in, lopsided, and his neck bulged and swelled. Cuda Bite got the distinct impression that the mushroom had burst up through this poor bastard¡¯s belly and, at some point, sucked his brain down his neck and out. Black filaments like veins ran across the length of the mushroom, swelling invitingly. Ink. ¡°You ever seen anything like that?¡± Cuda Bite asked. He crouched with Throne Gazer about twenty yards away, a distance Cuda Bite was only comfortable with because he still had one [Shadow Step] left in him. Throne Gazer opened his mouth and Cuda Bite expected him to answer the way he always did¡ªshow off his Horizdock education and tell Cuda Bite he was a provincial dumbass who was a fool for never encountering a gods damned brain-sucking mushroom monster. But Throne Gazer simply shook his head. ¡°No,¡± he said. ¡°And I wish I still had not.¡± ¡°This forest, man.¡± Cuda Bite sucked his teeth. ¡°I hate it.¡± ¡°Indeed,¡± Throne Gazer replied. ¡°But I do not think that thing spawned in Besaden.¡± ¡°Huh? You think it¡¯s visiting, too?¡± Throne Gazer pointed to the corpse¡¯s twisted neck. ¡°The symbol.¡± Stretched though the flesh was, Cuda Bite could still make out the Ink on the corpse¡¯s elongated throat. That wasn¡¯t the paw print of Besaden. Instead, the dead man¡¯s Ink was of a curved dagger like a smile that dripped gold coins. Cuda Bite hissed. ¡°The Brokerage?¡± Throne Gazer nodded. ¡°Curious, no?¡± All residents of the Reef and its many pods knew the Brokerage. They were bad luck. Riptides had a habit of smashing even the most powerful oca¡¯em swimmer against the jagged rocks of the Beach of Blades. While all that the oceans touched theoretically belonged to the oca¡¯em, there were still some places best avoided, waters where even they did not feel at home. ¡°As a rule, I try not to get too curious about those types,¡± Cuda Bite said. ¡°Then let us do what we came here for and be done with this place,¡± Throne Gazer replied. ¡°Sure. How do you think we kill it?¡± Throne Gazer stood. He pulled back his trident to throw. ¡°I suggest we begin by destroying the bra¡ª¡± Before he could finish his sentence, Cuda Bite had whipped a dagger into the mushroom¡¯s translucent flesh.
Pinned beneath the giant ram¡¯s horns and massive head, Red Tide felt the beast spasm as it began to regurgitate. It would be ironic, she thought, to fall under the sway of their fungal adversary. She had used her harp to hypnotize the Coralline Elite before killing them. Since then, her music had lulled plenty of wild game into bowing before her companions¡¯ weapons. There might be some justice in Red Tide having her own will stripped away. A part of her wondered what that might feel like. Her passion for independence was, in part, why she¡¯d ended up in this gods damned forest. Maybe life would be easier without it. These thoughts didn¡¯t linger. Red Tide didn¡¯t give a shit about irony. Introspection was for old women. She jammed her hands into the giant ram¡¯s face, digging her fingers into the squishy growths of fungus that spilled from its mouth and nostrils. Then, she activated [Poisonous]. Red Tide¡¯s toxins spread through the fungal growths immediately. The white mushrooms turned brown and curled in on themselves, falling away in flakes. The giant ram¡¯s back legs kicked out like it was trying¡ªtoo late¡ªto extricate itself from Red Tide. But the body no longer wanted to fully cooperate. Her poison spread in a muddy web beneath the giant ram¡¯s skin, setting its short fur on end as death curled down its throat and spread toward its heart. In theory, the gods would protect the beastlord from her [Poisonous] touch, while allowing her to kill the growth that had taken over his body. The plan had come to her so quickly that she hadn¡¯t a chance to tell Turtle Jaw and Salt Wall. She heard them rushing toward her¡ªto save her from being crushed beneath the giant ram¡ªalthough they hesitated when they got close. Because there was a man on top of her now, not an animal. The beastlord still had the horns of a ram, though they were smaller, jutting up through a mane of black and gray hair. He was bulky and broad and would¡¯ve been tall if he¡¯d been standing instead of stretched between Red Tide¡¯s legs. His beard was thick and the Ink on his chest was hardly visible, buried as it was beneath an amount of hair that Red Tide found almost vulgar. He leaned back, gently released Red Tide¡¯s fingers from his mouth, and then smiled. ¡°Ah, the delegation from the Reef has arrived,¡± the beastlord said. ¡°My name is Vikael Rambrother. Welcome to Besaden.¡± Then, he twisted to the side, and vomited out a bellyful of Red Tide¡¯s poison.
34. [Carina] Hard Feelings
--DRAMATIS PERSONAE¡ª Carina Goldstone, Logician of the 2nd Renown, Kingdom of Infinzel, could maybe try apologizing Cortland Finiron, Hammer Master of the 12th Renown, Kingdom of Infinzel, needs to get over it Henry Blacksalve, Healer of the 8th Renown, Kingdom of Infinzel, a man of bad habits
14 Harvesend, 61 AW The pyramidal city of Infinzel 226 days until the next Granting Cortland Finiron had cut her loose. The hammer master stopped showing up for their early morning training sessions. He avoided Carina in the halls and began to take his meals separately, refusing the offers to cook for him that had seemed to charm him during Carina¡¯s first weeks in Infinzel. He kept himself busy to avoid her, signing up for shifts fishing the river, a task well below his station as champion. ¡°He¡¯ll come around, eventually,¡± Henry Blacksalve told her one morning. At least Henry continued showing up for their morning sessions, but there was only so much that Carina could learn from the healer¡¯s deflections and energy shields. Carina found that she missed the brutality of Cortland¡¯s lessons. Without Cortland supervising, the smell of spirits started to cloud Henry again. When they halfheartedly sparred, Carina winced at the brandy-sweet smell of his sweat. ¡°Perhaps this has run its course,¡± Henry admitted after a few mornings with just the two of them. ¡°We don¡¯t need to keep getting up so gods damned early.¡± Carina expected some hard feelings after her pre-dawn ambush. She hadn¡¯t pulled any punches, which is exactly how Cortland had been teaching her to fight. Perhaps it had been too far to don a mask like the assassin who she knew still haunted Cortland. Or maybe it had been pitting King Cizco against him. Using [Enthralled Defender] on the king¡ªthe man she was sworn to fight for¡ªcould¡¯ve been interpreted as vaguely treasonous. Of course, the ageless lord of Infinzel has essentially given her permission, or else Carina wouldn¡¯t have done it. Well, she probably wouldn¡¯t have done it. The whole thing had been Cortland¡¯s idea, anyway. Challenging her to best him. Sparring was sparring, whether it occurred in the training pit or not. So, yes, she expected Cortland to need some time to soothe his ego. But she thought him a reasonable man. Eventually, he would see that she had only done what he asked of her. She needed him to understand what she was capable of¡ªa logician, even of the lowly second renown, had uses beyond bleeding out in the training pit. Perhaps, she thought, once he came to terms with these facts, he might even be proud of her and congratulate Carina on her ingenuity. Carina was deeply disappointed in herself that this last bit mattered to her. She thought herself past the time in her life when she valued the approval of middle-aged men. After more than a week of Cortland acting the ghost, Carina decided that enough was enough. She found the hammer master in the Battle Library, going over records of Ben Tuarez¡¯s kills on the island, the details of which she expected Cortland had nearly memorized. ¡°What are you doing?¡± Carina asked him, her hands on her hips. ¡°We¡¯re supposed to be training.¡± ¡°Are we?¡± Cortland asked blandly, without looking up. ¡°Oh, by the gods, Cortland,¡± she replied. ¡°How long is this sulk going to last?¡± ¡°The arrangement was that if you bested me, you could direct your own training.¡± He licked his thumb and turned a page in one of his books. ¡°Go ahead and direct it.¡± ¡°Fine. I want to enter the Underneath.¡± He grunted. ¡°You¡¯ve made that clear. The king will make a map in Ink for you, show you which way to go when you¡¯re down there. Tell him that you¡¯re ready to go down. Have you put a team together?¡± Carina bit the inside of her cheek. ¡°What do you mean by that?¡± Finally, Cortland set aside his papers and looked at her. ¡°There are more horrors down there than any one champion can handle, especially¡­¡± He trailed off, but she understood the implication. Hers was not a class that waded through hordes of monsters alone¡ªshe had no problem admitting that. ¡°A team, then,¡± Carina said thoughtfully. She pulled her dark hair back in a ponytail, cinching it, as if ready to go into battle. ¡°How many is customary?¡± ¡°One squad to escort you and another squad to hold the gate and keep the way out clear,¡± Cortland said. ¡°Trustworthy people. There¡¯s a bonus for forays to the Underneath, but that¡¯s not always enough to assure someone¡¯s got your back. Deaths aren¡¯t uncommon. Not all will want to risk their lives to put a little more color on your chest.¡± ¡°I¡¯ve been kept apart from the rest of the Garrison,¡± Carina said. ¡°How am I supposed to know who can be counted on?¡± Cortland opened his mouth, but stopped himself from speaking. In that brief moment, Carina understood that he¡¯d been working on this. Dragging his feet in taking her to the Underneath so that he could figure out which Garrison soldiers to send in with her. Interest in Carina had cooled over the last couple months, but perhaps not resentment. There were no doubt still prospects in the Garrison who doubted she was the right choice as champion for Infinzel. You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author. ¡°We were too cautious when you showed up,¡± Cortland said. ¡°You¡¯ve proven skilled enough at navigating the politics of this place. Go make some friends.¡± Carina lingered there, tapping her fingers against her hip. ¡°What about you?¡± she finally asked. ¡°Will you come with me, Cortland?¡± The hammer master¡¯s eyes flared¡ªoffended that she would even ask. Not because he would refuse her, but because he took it as a given that he would be with her. He stood up and stomped over to a shelf near the doorway, grabbing a leather-bound book of reports, and tossed it to her. ¡°The champions always go together,¡± Cortland said. ¡°That was one of Ben¡¯s rules.¡± With that, Cortland left the library. He¡¯d spoken to her. That was some progress, Carina thought. Later, Carina found Henry in the food hall. Centrally located on Infinzel¡¯s first tier, the food hall was always bright and filled with smells of baked bread and smoked meat. Panels in the ceiling glowed with sunlight reflected from the outside by mirrors and rune-work, another innovation of King Cizco¡¯s that Carina had spent time trying to reverse engineer. For a people who spent so much time inside, light could be a form of sustenance. Through pockets of residents moving between the food hall¡¯s long tables and benches, Carina took a moment to observe Henry. She watched him tip liquor from a flask into a mug of coffee. He¡¯d only picked at the plate of potato hash in front of him, separating the peppers as if conducting surgery. She should have foreseen this. Participating in her instruction had given Henry renewed purpose. Every morning, she and Cortland relied on his healing magic to patch them back together. The sessions gave Henry a chance to put his Ink to good use after it had failed him on Armistice. But now, the routine had changed, and Henry had returned to the bottle. She had misjudged some of the repercussions of her attack on Cortland. Part of being a good logician was clear-eyed assessment of her own failures. Why had she rushed her training? A desire for more Ink. Her incessant need to always be winning. The king¡¯s request that she find Cortland someone to punish for Ben Tuarez¡¯s death, which would require certain events be set in motion. Her annoyance with Cortland¡¯s visit to Soldier¡¯s Rest where he sniffed around her past. All worthy reasons, she decided. Although now she was left with the task of fixing relations with her fellow champions. Carina slid onto the bench opposite Henry. He recognized the sheath of reports she carried, squeezed his eyes shut, and groaned. ¡°When?¡± he asked. ¡°As soon as I can assemble a proper team,¡± Carina replied. ¡°You¡¯ll be up for it, right, Henry?¡± ¡°As up for it as I ever am.¡± Henry¡¯s watery eyes met hers briefly, then he glanced into his coffee mug. He rededicated himself to his food, shoveling a few mouthfuls down before continuing. ¡°If you ask me, we should cave the entire forsaken place in and be done with it.¡± Carina had considered the matter of the Underneath herself. More than sixty years since the end of the Final War and still Infinzel sat atop a regenerating infestation made by a dead Orvesian war criminal. There were theories that filling in the tunnels beneath the pyramidal city would cause structural instability or imbalance the alchemies at work in the mineral garden. Carina found these possibilities unlikely¡ªif the Underneath could so easily affect Infinzel, then they risked too much letting creatures breed unfettered down there. No, she thought, it was the power offered by the Underneath that kept Cizco from wiping it out. Not just the power in the Ink the gods hid down there with the reliability of changing seasons. The power of a threat. The power of a common enemy for Infinzel to rally against. ¡°Of course, then the Garrison soldiers wouldn¡¯t have anything to do except pick fights in the outer districts,¡± Henry muttered, almost like he had read her mind. ¡°Whatever. I know the right soldiers to ask to be on your gate team. Veterans, all, who will jump at the extra pay and not hesitate to cover our retreat if it comes to that. Old men without ambition. Like me. I suspect Cortland already asked most of them.¡± Carina pursed her lips. ¡°And how many more for the¡­?¡± ¡°For the dangerous part?¡± Henry asked. ¡°Two or three, depending.¡± ¡°Depending on what?¡± ¡°On whether or not you bring Vitt.¡± Vitt Secondson-Salvado. The hunter. The fourth champion of Infinzel, who had studiously avoided her since casually suggesting her murder on the day of her arrival. The thirty-first child of the king, elevated to second in the line of succession thanks to the kinsmete. Carina knew the day would come when she would have to forge some sort of peace with Vitt. She suspected that he had been keeping tabs on her, and that it was Vitt who had told Cortland about her visit to Soldier¡¯s Rest. Fair play. Carina had been gathering intelligence of her own. She kept count of the nights Vitt spent sleeping somewhere other than his apartments on the champions tier, and she had asked her friend Traveon Twiceblack to find out who Vitt spent his time with in the outer districts. So far, all she had was a list of brothels, but it was a start. She wasn¡¯t yet sure if her arrival to Infinzel had interrupted some game Vitt was playing, or if he simply disdained her in the way nobles often did. There had been no shortage of men like Vitt languorously fucking their way through the high houses of Penchenne. Men like him were why she had taken up the rapier during her time there. ¡°We have to start working together at some point,¡± she told Henry. ¡°Besides, Cortland told me we all go.¡± Henry nodded. ¡°That was one of Ben¡¯s rules.¡± He leaned across the table, lowering his voice. ¡°Between you and me, Vitt might not be up for it.¡± ¡°What do you mean?¡± ¡°Sick, lately, and won¡¯t slow down to recover,¡± Henry said. ¡°I¡¯ve healed him for dust lung three times in the last month, but it keeps recurring.¡± Dust lung. That was an affliction suffered by the rock-workers¡ªthe tenders, masons, and smiths. Prolonged exposure to the raw materials of Infinzel could leave particles behind, grating the soft tissue of the lungs. Not something that a noble should be suffering from, especially not one as young as Vitt. It made Carina wonder anew about where Vitt spent his nights away. ¡°Interesting,¡± Carina said, her voice neutral. ¡°I probably shouldn¡¯t have told you that.¡± Henry chuckled and at last took a sip of his coffee. ¡°Oh, well.¡± After Henry left for his rounds, Carina lingered to read through the reports that Cortland had given her. The Garrison conducted periodic raids into the Underneath in order to ensure that the creatures living down there were not massing too close to the gate. Mostly, this meant clearing the first few chambers of the Underneath, making sure that there were no new tunnels being dug toward the surface, and confirming the maps remained accurate. These patrols did not venture too deep; they did not press into the cold depths well beyond Infinzel. That was where Carina would be going. Into the recesses where the monsters felt safest. The places deep and dark enough that they could no longer be considered part of Infinzel. Carina noticed a trend in the most recent reports. Increased activity amongst the gargoyles. According to older reports, the stone creatures were typically docile, content to lurk in the depths of the Underneath. The magic that animated them had even begun to run out¡ªsome of them had apparently reverted into simple statues. But their behavior changed roughly two months ago. The gargoyles were increasingly massing at the gate, attempting to hack their way through in a way they hadn¡¯t done since the war ended. One line of the report in particular caught her eye. Written by some grizzled Garrison soldier, she could practically hear his laughter through the writing. It was a story better told over drinks than included in an official report, so Carina assumed the veteran had it out for the cadet he mocked on the record. Cadet Tendersword found himself briefly overwhelmed by the beasts, the report read. We were able to reach him and extract him from danger. Tendersword took a blow to the head. He insisted, afterward, that one of the gargoyles had spoken to him. ¡®Where is mother? Where is mother?¡¯ he claimed the thing said. Reminded Tendersword that the gargoyles don¡¯t talk, have never talked, and that he probably heard his own cries of panic. Recommend the cadet be reevaluated for suitability for Underneath duty. Where is mother? Carina touched a hand to her chest. She could not explain why, but the crimson flecks floating in her Ink suddenly felt very hot.
35. [Carina] Insidious Thought
--DRAMATIS PERSONAE¡ª Carina Goldstone, Logician of the 2nd Renown, Kingdom of Infinzel, making new friends Issa Firstdot-Tuarez, a young woman of no renown but good birth, Kingdom of Infinzel, daughter of a dead man Arris Stonetender, a fire elementalist of no renown, Kingdom of Infinzel, getting colder
16 Harvesend, 61 AW The pyramidal city of Infinzel 224 days until the next Granting Carina Goldstone activated her [Future Sight]. She visualized the people she wanted to cross paths with in the day ahead¡ªthe places she would find them, the times she would have to be there. She foresaw very few possible complications, at least in the near term. The fuzzy shadows of distant repercussions tickled her mind, beckoning to her insatiable curiosity, but she resisted the urge to push her [Future Sight] out further. Such visions were unreliable. And besides, she needed to conserve some of her Ink for later. She sat cross-legged on the ledge outside her apartment. There was a late summer crispness to the wind that blew in off the river. Carina¡¯s loose hair whipped across her face, obscuring her view of the outer districts just beginning to stumble to life in the early morning. Her eyes were sightless, anyway, focused inward on the shuffling futures. Ah. Here was a problematic possibility. A slip of her hand this morning. Something distracted her. A flaw in her calligraphy that went unnoticed. A costly error. She would only realize the mistake when it was too late¡ªsweat beading on her chest, a sizzling pain in her temples. She stared into a set of eyes slowly filling with blood as she accidentally afflicted a hemorrhage on... ¡°No,¡± Carina said to herself. ¡°Let¡¯s not do that one.¡± Carina stood up and went back inside. She cracked her knuckles and stretched her fingers. Her hands were steady. Sitting open atop her cluttered table was Carina¡¯s copy of An Encyclopedia of Runes, 7th Edition. Of course, a copy was available to her down in the Battle Library, but she preferred the one she¡¯d absconded with when she left the Magelab. Sentimental value. The book was open to the page for [Insidious Thought]. A rune of high renown typically reserved for the mentalist classes (telepath, enchanter, etc. see appendix XIV), [Insidious Thought] afflicts a victim with an unshakeable notion or idea. Trials indicate that victims suffer increasing mental trauma as they try to resist the implanted urge. Traditional healing is ineffective, although purifications (such as for poisons or curses) proved successful. Notable use cases include at the 37th Granting when a number of Gen¡¯bi nomads were afflicted by a Brokerage assassin prior to arrival on Armistice¡­ Carina had practically memorized the text. More importantly, she had memorized the contours of the symbol. But even after weeks of practice, she still did not trust herself to go strictly from memory. She picked up the tome and propped it up next to her mirror. Then, she stripped off her shirt. She took a moment to admire her Ink. Such a small collection. The whorls of the central logician tattoo over her breastbone fed out into the red-flecked skills the gods had let her keep when they chose her. She would add to that soon. One way or another. Carina went to her closet, rummaging into the back until she found the old cloak she had brought with her from Magelab. Most of her clothes were new purchases since returning to Infinzel¡ªthe fancier fabrics actually gifts from merchants eager to see their product worn by a young champion. The cloak was heavy material, made for winter, travel-stained and patched. Unremarkable in every way. She took a knife and made a small slit in the seam of a sleeve, pinching and shaking the material until the opaque vial she had sewn inside tumbled into her palm. Measuring carefully, Carina poured half the vial¡¯s contents into a saucer. The substance was dark red, viscous, slightly thicker than blood. Chanic. Liar¡¯s Ink, they called it. Dredged from beneath the sands of the Gen¡¯bi desert. This batch came courtesy of a Crucifalian extraction site, which had contracted with Carina¡¯s phony trading company to deliver it to buyers in Merchant¡¯s Bay. She¡¯d absconded with the shipment and used the chanic to bribe her way into the Magelab. But she hadn¡¯t traded her entire supply to the mages. That wouldn¡¯t have been practical. Now, she dipped a quill into the chanic, swirling the crimson substance until it was smooth. She looked at herself in the mirror and steadied her breathing. If the rune she painted on herself had even the slightest flaw, the results could be disastrous. She had seen as much in her vision of the future. Carina believed in her own precision. An error on her part must have been provoked. So, she waited. She flinched at a blur of motion on the floor next to her mirror. A rat scurried toward a crack in the wall. ¡°Ah, I see,¡± Carina said. ¡°Makes sense.¡± Carina reached out with [Enthralled Defender], capturing the little vermin¡¯s mind. A much less complicated task than using her Ink on King Cizco. The rat stopped running for the wall and sat back on its haunches, looking up at her as if awaiting orders. The little guy would be her brave protector until she decided to release him. ¡°I will have a job for you soon,¡± she told the rat. ¡°But for now, be still.¡± Carina¡¯s hand moved with confidence. She spread the chanic across her skin, drawing the delicate lines of the new rune curling away from her logician tattoo. The application took less than ten minutes. She had been quicker when she practiced, but there was no need to hurry. There was plenty of time before her first meeting.
Carina Goldstone Infinzel 2nd Renown
Enthralled Defender
Alert
Logician Insidious Thought
This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it Awareness+
Future Sight
Late that morning, Carina entered the training pit for the first time during regular hours, out from under the supervision of Cortland Finiron. She wore the graystone-colored uniform of a Garrison soldier, sharply pressed and buttoned all the way to the neck. As ever, the domed room smelled of baked sweat and blood. The expanse of sand felt smaller with twenty other soldiers there going through their own exercises. No one dropped their weapons to gape at her, but Carina sensed their eyes upon her all the same. A squadron of soldiers snapped through crowd control drills that would no doubt be put to use against the outer districts, a few others engaged in duels, and some older veterans creakily pursued calisthenics. Carina wore her rapier on her hip, but went instead to the weapons rack to pick up a crossbow. She found that she enjoyed the weapon¡ªthe snap of the coil, the thud of the bolt, the crank of the loader. Learning to attack from distance would be time well spent. She selected an unoccupied target on the far side of the pit and began firing. None of her shots hit the bullseye, but neither did any sail wide of the target entirely. Carina considered that progress. The other woman waited until Carina had gone through her first ten shots before approaching, just as Carina knew she would. ¡°Stationary target doesn¡¯t seem like worthwhile practice considering where you¡¯re headed, champion,¡± the woman said. Carina glanced in her direction. ¡°Are you volunteering to be shot at?¡± Issa Firstdot-Tuarez smiled without teeth. She had the refined features of a noble, but her shoulders were broad and arms muscled. Issa kept her lustrous black hair tied back, exposing the strong line of her jaw. ¡°You¡¯ll find me easy to hit but hard to hurt,¡± Issa said. She had a tower shield strapped to one arm, and she plunged it into the sand for emphasis¡ªthe shield covered her entire formidable height. ¡°Although I suspect you¡¯d find a way.¡± Carina stopped reloading the crossbow. ¡°What does that mean?¡± ¡°Everyone has heard what happened with you and Cortland.¡± That wasn''t true. Carina was sure that Cortland hadn''t gone around telling the story of his ambush, and she doubted King Cizco wanted his role known either. For her part, Carina had kept her mouth shut. Even Henry¡ªwho had healed the three of them after the fight¡ªdidn¡¯t know all the violent details. Any rumors that reached the Garrison came from the masons who made repairs in the stairwell or the attendants who had cleaned up the blood. ¡°Oh?¡± Carina tilted her head. ¡°What exactly did you hear?¡± ¡°That the two of you came to blows before you even reached the training pit. That King Cizco himself needed to separate you. That you fought a champion with ten more levels of renown to a standstill.¡± Carina breathed out a light laugh. ¡°I didn''t realize Garrison soldiers had so much time to gossip.¡± Issa frowned at her. ¡°I do not gossip.¡± ¡°Of course not,¡± Carina replied. ¡°Regardless, I won¡¯t be your pincushion,¡± Issa said. She sized up Carina, eyes lingering on the rapier at her hip. ¡°But you do seem to be in need of a new sparring partner.¡± ¡°Actually, I think I''ve reached the limit of what I can learn sparring on this sand,¡± Carina said. ¡°But thank you for the offer.¡± Issa stiffened at the dismissiveness in Carina¡¯s tone, as Carina knew she would. Tuarez was an old noble family, one of the few that hadn¡¯t been subsumed into the Salvado line, and featured one of Infinzel¡¯s most legendary champions. Issa had chosen a rugged life in the Garrison when she could¡¯ve simply overseen the family¡¯s business interests, but such low class pursuits hadn¡¯t dulled her noble¡¯s instinct to take offense. ¡°You know, you hold my father''s old spot amongst the champions,¡± Issa said. ¡°I''ve been eager to see who the gods chose to replace him.¡± ¡°Oh.¡± Carina affected a look of surprise, as if she only now realized Issa¡¯s identity. ¡°I am sorry for your loss.¡± ¡°Do me the honor, then,¡± Issa said. She unclipped a spear from where it hung behind her back. ¡°Just to the first touch. Let me see what old Uncle Cortland taught you.¡± Uncle Cortland. Carina almost tittered. The others soldiers in the Garrison were watching more openly, recognizing that a challenge had been made. Carina understood now why King Cizco had insisted she be kept apart from the others during her first couple months here. Infinzel was full of strivers. Unsurprising, as Carina was one of them. Carina sighed as if put out. ¡°Fine.¡± She set down her crossbow and circled into an open expanse of sand, her hand on the hilt of her rapier. ¡°You may attack when ready, Issa Firstdot-Tuarez.¡± The other woman raised a slender eyebrow. ¡°You should draw your weapon.¡± ¡°Eventually,¡± Carina replied, shrugging. Issa studied her for a moment, her expression hardening as she digested Carina¡¯s arrogance. She hunkered down behind her shield and advanced with her spear level. Carina activated [Future Sight]. She sensed the Ink would fade after this use, but that would be enough. These were not the complex attack patterns of Cortland Finiron. Issa was strong and fast, but not augmented by any Ink. While she didn¡¯t provide Carina with any openings, her thrusts were straightforward. Carina stayed a half second ahead, dodging and spinning aside, her posture erect, one hand always on her rapier¡¯s handle. She merely had to wait a few more seconds. ¡°Gah!¡± Issa shrieked as the rat from Carina¡¯s room skittered up her leg and tried to bite through her uniform. She smashed her fist down, the vermin crushed against her muscular thigh. When Issa brought her spear back up, she found the tip of Carina¡¯s rapier tickling her ear lobe. ¡°Well fought,¡± Carina said, and flicked her wrist to draw a pinprick of blood. ¡°How¡­?¡± Issa stared at her. It was all impeccably timed. Just as Carina had planned. ¡°Tell me, Issa,¡± Carina said, sheathing her blade. ¡°Do you have any experience with the Underneath?¡±
In the afternoon, Carina made her way to the manufactory. When she described Infinzel as the beating heart of the world, the manufactory was what she had in mind. Infinzel¡¯s vast smithing operation took up most of the pyramidal city¡¯s second tier. Massive lifts hoisted raw materials up from the mineral gardens where they were distributed to the various work stations throughout the manufactory. Blacksmiths hammered steel into arrowheads, metalworkers poured molds to create buckles and horseshoes, jewelers chiseled diamonds from stone blocks and handed the gemstones off to artisans to mount in earrings, and so much more. There were always men and women bellowing at each other, squabbling over tools, or dashing about to fulfill an order. Carina loved it. The scene seemed chaotic, but there was an order beneath all the noise. Like blood pumping through arteries. She had spent a good amount of time here since returning to Infinzel. If her goal was to understand how the pyramidal city operated, then she needed to learn every aspect of the manufactory. For their part, the workers always seemed happy to let her observe and answer all her mundane questions. It was a rare thing to have a champion interested in what they did here. Carina drifted through the noise until she felt the heat from the forges. She bumped into the head blacksmith¡ªa burly man in his early sixties¡ªwho greeted Carina with a fond grunt. ¡°Did you get the materials I requested?¡± Carina shouted into his ear. ¡°Of course, of course,¡± the blacksmith replied. ¡°Studied the plans you gave us. Nothing we can¡¯t handle, Goldstone, if you¡¯ve got better things to do.¡± ¡°What could be better than this?¡± Carina exclaimed. ¡°I¡¯ll draw the runes myself, if it¡¯s all the same to you. But then I¡¯ll leave the shaping to you and your men.¡± ¡°Fair enough,¡± the blacksmith replied. He motioned toward a row of open workbenches. ¡°Get comfortable. I¡¯ll fetch your toys.¡± Carina chose a workbench close to the naked heat of the forges. There was only one other person nearby¡ªa scarred woman perched on a bench, gazing vacantly into the roiling fire. She was not in the process of making anything and did not seem to notice Carina. Arris Stonetender. The elementalist who specialized in fire. The woman looked like a melted candle. Middle-aged, sunken, her hair scalded short. Arris had been selected as a champion before King Cizco realized the gods had chosen for him. Carina saw her here often, though she¡¯d never come this close before. Arris came to the forges because it was hard for her to get warm. Something about her many arcane bargains made her long for heat like an addict. The head blacksmith had explained all this to Carina like he was telling her a ghost story. What would Arris be like if she could rely on Ink instead of the old ways for her magic? Carina wondered, but would never ask. The blacksmith returned with Carina¡¯s supplies. She rolled up her sleeves and went to work. The designs were cribbed from the workshop of a Gadgeteer in Beacon who was bizarrely devoted to creating tools for the Orvesians to cleanse their blighted lands. A bouncing blessing, the Gadgeteer called the finished product. Carina began by using a heated rod to carve a rune into a piece of thin metal. The symbol wasn''t terribly complicated¡ªnot so different than the magic used in the lamps throughout Infinzel. However, Carina added markings for purification and dispellment. The result would be a cleansing light like the magic popular with the Ministry of Sulk. Creatures of darkness, hexes and curses, the undead¡ªall would be destroyed when the light shone upon them. However, the etching alone was powerless. Carina needed a sacrifice to solicit power from the gods and set the rune aglow. For that, she had commissioned a pouch of diamonds from the mineral garden. With arcane words that she¡¯d learned at the Magelab, Carina transferred the shine from the diamonds to her rune-work. Soon, she had six glowing runes on six sheets of metal, and a handful of diamonds that looked like dried turds. ¡°Excuse me.¡± Engrossed with her work, Carina hadn¡¯t noticed Arris approach, even though Carina knew that she would. The elementalist loomed over her shoulder, gazing down with eyes unshielded by brows or lashes. ¡°Where did you learn to do that?¡± Arris asked. ¡°Partly in Beacon and partly at Magelab,¡± Carina said brightly, adding a bit of youthful flip to her voice. She extended a hand. ¡°Have we met? I¡¯m Carina Goldstone.¡± Blinking, the elementalist slipped her papery and incredibly warm hand into Carina¡¯s. The scar tissue along the back made Carina wince. ¡°Arris Stonetender.¡± ¡°Oh, Arris Stonetender, the elementalist! I should have known by the¡­¡± Carina purposefully trailed off. ¡°You went to the Magelab,¡± Arris said, peering down at Carina¡¯s work almost dazedly. ¡°Just for a little while, unofficially.¡± Carina cocked her head. ¡°Didn¡¯t you?¡± Arris shook her head. ¡°They consider elementalists to be¡­ unrefined.¡± ¡°I didn¡¯t know that,¡± Carina replied. ¡°Well, unrefined or not, Cortland is always singing your praises. He says you would have made an excellent champion.¡± Carina had to look away as the woman¡¯s dry eyes filled with water. ¡°He did?¡± ¡°I guess,¡± Carina said, carefully gathering the sheets of metal. ¡°I need to bring these to the blacksmith. I¡¯m preparing for my first foray into the Underneath.¡± A faint spark lit in the elementalist¡¯s eyes. Carina couldn¡¯t tell if it was a reflection from the forges or a burst of her magic. ¡°Of course. Every champion must go. You¡¯ll need companions.¡± ¡°Uh huh,¡± Carina replied distantly. She craned her neck, looking around for the blacksmith. ¡°I would join you,¡± Arris said. ¡°I might not be a champion, but I can still be useful to the king and Infinzel.¡± Carina screwed up her face, pausing to assess the woman. ¡°Is that a good idea?¡± ¡°What do you mean?¡± ¡°Well,¡± Carina waved a hand. ¡°You¡¯re already half-eaten away by the fire. It doesn¡¯t look like you¡¯ve got a whole lot left to give.¡± Arris took a step back like Carina had slapped her. ¡°I¡­¡± Carina spotted the blacksmith and waved him over. ¡°Look, Arris, I guess you could talk to Cortland if you want. But don¡¯t roast yourself any further on my account.¡±
Cortland had told her to make friends. Carina thought she did a pretty good job of it. That night, when she looked at her Ink in the mirror, the symbol for [Insidious Thought] that she¡¯d painted in chanic had faded to a whitish-pink. She¡¯d done what she needed to do. Carina scrubbed the chanic from her chest until her skin was raw. Later, she would burn the washcloth. There were darker depths than the Underneath. And Carina would happily sink into them if it meant getting what she wanted.
36. [Red Tide] Unsettling Debts
--DRAMATIS PERSONAE¡ª Red Tide, Enchantress of the 4th Renown, The Reef, has earned some favors Cuda Bite and Throne Gazer, Skulker of the 3rd Renown and Trident Master of the 4th Renown, The Reef, have earned some Ink Salt Wall and Turtle Jaw, Berserker of the 2nd Renown and Quill of The Reef, strong and steady Theo Adamantios, Axe Master of the 6th Renown, and Sylvie Aracia, his sponsor, Penchenne, off to another adventure Vikael Rambrother and Meera Rootgarde, Shifter of the 11th Renown and Druid of the 7th Renown, Besaden, passionate
9 Harvesend, 61 AW The forest of Besaden 231 days until the next Granting Pinned beneath the tremendously hairy and rank-smelling Vikael Rambrother, Red Tide pulled her knees in and kicked her heels against his hips. The man was deadweight as he retched into the grass next to them, but she managed to shove him off enough that she could crab-walk backward. The beastlord didn¡¯t seem offended by Red Tide¡¯s disgusted snarl. He wiped his mouth across the back of his forearm, globs of Red Tide¡¯s brownish poison hanging in the curls of his dark arm hair, and then sat back in the grass. ¡°I truly feel like shit,¡± Vikael said. ¡°Thank you for that.¡± ¡°You¡¯re welcome,¡± Red Tide replied. ¡°Clever trick you pulled. Respect.¡± Vikael glanced over his shoulder to where Salt Wall loomed, the berserker bruised from her encounters with his horns. She had her hook cocked back like the fight might not be over, but hesitated as she saw clarity in Vikael¡¯s brown eyes. ¡°And you, you¡¯re a strong one, aren¡¯t you?¡± ¡°Yes,¡± Salt Wall said. ¡°Neck snapped by a brawny maid of the sea,¡± Vikael mused. ¡°I couldn¡¯t dream up a better death.¡± ¡°I¡¯m no fucking maid.¡± Vikael sized up the berserker. ¡°No, you are not.¡± Behind Red Tide, Theo began to cough, chunks of drying mushroom falling from his mouth and nostrils. Sylvie scrambled over to him and began prying at Red Tide¡¯s coral prison with her scrawny fingers. ¡°Let him go now, Red Tide,¡± Sylvie yelled. ¡°He¡¯s coming back to himself.¡± ¡°It¡¯s done, then,¡± Vikael said, slapping the ground beside him. ¡°Your people must have killed the taintspore.¡± ¡°Taintspore,¡± Turtle Jaw repeated as he helped Red Tide to her feet. ¡°That¡¯s what had hold of you?¡± Vikael nodded. ¡°Chaotic bit of fungus. Unnatural in origin. Possesses its victims and floods them with destructive urges.¡± ¡°Why do you let something like that grow in your forest?¡± Turtle Jaw asked. ¡°We don¡¯t,¡± Vikael replied darkly. ¡°An uninvited guest brought it with them.¡± Brushing herself off, Red Tide circled around to inspect Theo. The axe master dangled helplessly from the shafts of coral she had summoned. Sweat trickled from the top of his bald head into his sheepish eyes. Sylvie broke bits off the coral where she could, wincing as she bent back a nail. Red Tide shoved her aside. ¡°You¡¯ll be at it for hours,¡± Red Tide said. She met Theo¡¯s eyes. ¡°Let¡¯s leave him up there for now. Make sure it¡¯s really over.¡± ¡°I can¡¯t fault your caution,¡± Theo responded, typically florid despite his compromised state. ¡°But I felt the creature¡ªthe taintspore¡ªI felt it¡¯s dying scream.¡± He twitched his head to the side and Red Tide realized he meant to shake away a gathering tear. ¡°Horrible to be possessed in such a way, a passenger in my own body, and yet I felt its swelling of panic and desperation as if it were my own¡­¡± Sylvie pinched the bridge of her nose. ¡°Gods, Theo, you¡¯re embarrassing¡­¡± ¡°Thank you for your intervention, Red Tide,¡± Theo continued. He glanced at Sylvie, who had turned away. ¡°Thank you for preventing me from doing something I would not be able to live with.¡± ¡°Yeah, yeah,¡± Red Tide said. ¡°Shut up about it.¡± ¡°Did you make this?¡± The voice came from behind Red Tide. She spun and found a female beastlord standing a few steps away. Short and solidly built, with hair the same copper color as redwood bark, and dirty, bare feet. The woman had slipped up on Red Tide like a breeze and she wasn''t alone. Other men and women were striding through the trees now, all dressed in the colors of the forest. ¡°Where did you people come from?¡± Red Tide asked. ¡°Been watching you for days now,¡± the woman answered. She came closer and ran a hand over the surface of Theo¡¯s coral enclosure. At first, Red Tide though that she wore some kind of gauntlet, but no. The woman¡¯s hand¡ªher entire lower arm¡ªwas encased in tree bark. The joints on her fingers creaked when she moved them and a single leaf grew out of her wrist. ¡°It''s fine work,¡± she said, drawing Red Tide''s attention back to the coral. ¡°You''re a Coral Tender, right?¡± ¡°What¡¯s it to you, beastlord?¡± ¡°Besadenizen,¡± the woman corrected sharply. ¡°Meera Rootgarde is my name. We are kindred, oca¡¯em.¡± Meera yanked down the front of her tunic so Red Tide could see her Ink. Another one of Besaden''s champions, this one marked as a Druid of the 7th Renown. Red Tide recognized a symbol tattooed on her shoulder¡ª[Tree Tender]¡ªthat wasn''t so different than her [Coral Tender] rune. ¡°We got coral tenders where we come from, but I wasn''t one of them,¡± Red Tide said. ¡°I just took the Ink because it was good for killing.¡± Meera glanced in the direction of Theo and Sylvie. ¡°Good for protection, too.¡± She smiled at Red Tide. ¡°We should compare techniques. Might lea¨C¡± ¡°You rotten bitch!¡± Vikael bellowed, breaking off his conversation with Salt Wall as he noticed Meera for the first time. ¡°You were going to leave me to die!¡± In an instant, Red Tide was forgotten as Meera jabbed her finger at Vikael. ¡°Stop whining, you dumb bastard!¡± she yelled back. ¡°You know the protocol for a taintspore. Couldn''t risk it spreading beyond the boundaries.¡± ¡°I was days with that thing in my mind!¡± Vikael stomped forward. Red Tide stepped aside, not eager to get in between the two champions. ¡°And you had days more before it started properly consuming you, you squalling oaf,¡± Meera answered. ¡°We had it contained and knew some enterprising champions would be along eventually. No good reason to risk our own.¡± ¡°No good reason?¡± Vikael shouted. ¡°How about our vows, you thorn bush of a woman?¡± The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. As soon as Vikael was close enough, Meera punched him in the chest. Her bark-covered fist scraped his skin and left dots of blood in his mat of hair. When she wound up for a second punch, Vikael slapped her hand aside and grabbed her by the back of the head. He yanked her head back and, for a moment, Red Tide though he might cut the woman''s throat, but instead he kissed her hard and deep, until Meera grabbed him by the horns and thrust his face away, spitting on him. Turtle Jaw sidled up next to Red Tide, rubbing the underside of his square chin. ¡°I think these are people we might get along with.¡±
Throne Gazer and Cuda Bite returned a short time later with their new Ink. The skulker had chosen [Camouflage], an ability that would let him blend into his surroundings so long as he remained still, which Red Tide thought might be difficult for the high strung little thief. Regardless, it seemed a good choice in the interest of self-preservation, which was as ever Cuda Bite¡¯s biggest concern. Throne Gazer had chosen [Summon Bubble] which sounded like a game for children but would actually allow him to create an orb of water in empty space. Say, around an enemy¡¯s head. The symbolism wasn¡¯t lost on Red Tide. In the first age, the oca¡¯em punished those who trespassed on the sea with drowning. To kill a merchant champion in such a way would be a profound message. ¡°Equals once again,¡± Throne Gazer said to Red Tide. Red Tide snorted in reply. ¡°When were we ever equals, royal blood?¡± Throne Gazer fell into a sullen silence at that. The combined group made camp near the four kneeling arborists who had turned themselves into trees. The Besadenizens spent the evening decorating their branches with garlands of flowers and pouring a maple-smelling ale over their bark-bound spines. ¡°Is this how your people do funerals?¡± Theo asked Vikael. ¡°It is part of it,¡± Vikael said. He plucked at a garland of flowers tangled around one of his horns¡ªhis wife Meera had put it there, then slapped him across the face. ¡°These four already had a moving-on ceremony. It was planned for them to return to the land this summer.¡± ¡°Planned?¡± Red Tide asked. ¡°They were becoming more tree than human. Painful not to set down roots when that happens.¡± Vikael took a swig from a wineskin. ¡°They helped us to trap the taintspore. A worthy ending. May they ever nurture us.¡± ¡°May they ever nurture us!¡± shouted the other Besadenizens. ¡°We saw a victim of this taintspore,¡± Throne Gazer said. ¡°Why was there an assassin in your woods?¡± ¡°I intended to ask him just that, friend,¡± Vikael replied. ¡°When I approached, the assassin slit his own belly and released the fungus. That¡¯s how I came to be taken.¡± As Vikael told the story of his encounter, Red Tide noticed Sylvie sag against Theo¡¯s shoulder. The girl looked pale, like she might be sick. ¡°A long day,¡± Theo said. ¡°Perhaps some rest is in order.¡±
12 Harvesend, 61 AW 228 days until the next Granting For their assistance in killing the taintspore, Vikael invited all of them to enjoy the hospitality of Heartwood, the hidden village at the center of Besaden. Red Tide noticed how he phrased the invitation as if the oca¡¯em were not expected, thus keeping the true purpose of their visit to Besaden from the Penchennese. All of these land-walkers and their damn politics. At least the ram-horned brute was no fool. Of course, the party from the Reef accepted the invitation. Theo and Sylvie politely declined. They needed to return west, in pursuit of more Ink. ¡°Fair enough,¡± Vikael said. ¡°We shall escort you out via the fastest route.¡± Red Tide did not think any route through the trees could be fast, but she was wrong. Traveling through Besaden got much easier once in the company of the beastlords. Meera''s crew had rounded up the horses left by the Penchennese and even collected the nags and shabby wagon abandoned by the Reef''s champions. Wide paths opened through the trees that weren''t there before so that it was possible to bring the vehicle through the alleys of redwoods. The Besadenizens preferred to travel by foot, though, loping on bare feet between the trees with such silent smoothness that Red Tide sometimes had difficulty focusing on them. It made for a leisurely journey. ¡°Did you open this path with your magic?¡± she asked Meera as the two women walked together. Meera shook her head. ¡°This path has been here. You just couldn''t see it.¡± ¡°I looked hard at your damn woods,¡± Red Tide said. ¡°Would have to be blind to miss this.¡± ¡°You were blind,¡± Meera replied. ¡°Outsiders can''t find the paths without us. We wished it so.¡± Not for the first time, Red Tide felt a dreary jealousy that made her shoulders sink. If only the oca''em could control the oceans in the ways the besa''em controlled these woods. ¡°They let you wish for that?¡± Red Tide asked quietly. ¡°Who''s they?¡± Red Tide thought for a moment. ¡°Your enemies.¡± ¡°Our enemies are few and it''s an old feud that rarely heats to outright hostility.¡± Meera''s answer reminded Red Tide of the wall of trees that blocked the road from the Magelab. ¡°No one wants these woods. Not anymore. We don''t bother anyone. We keep to ourselves. Unlike your ocean, we have no role in the world¡¯s commerce. Crossing our woods costs more than it would be worth.¡± Red Tide fell silent, considering all that. Was it meant as advice or criticism? These Besadenizens controlled a forest some ten times larger than the Reef. They were safe. Undisturbed. They had hidden themselves away and grown stronger in their solitude. In theory, this was not so different from what the Queen of the Coralline Throne envisioned for what was left of the Reef. Except, the oca¡¯em did not grow stronger but more shabby and pathetic. Besaden could use their wishes to master these woods and turn outsiders aside. Meanwhile, every year the Reef sent four champions to their deaths wishing for a bountiful harvest, and the sea became more polluted with merchants. ¡°You have no reason to help us,¡± Red Tide said. ¡°No, we do not,¡± Meera replied. ¡°I voted against letting you come. Cruel to waste the time of the condemned, I argued.¡± Red Tide snorted. ¡°So why are we here?¡± ¡°I was outvoted,¡± Meera replied. ¡°Perhaps, coral tender, you might yet convince me.¡±
18 Harvesend, 61 AW 222 days until the next Granting Vikael Rambrother and his wife were rutting again. Vigorously, if the noises were any indication. It seemed to Red Tide that the two of them were always fucking or fighting, sometimes both at the same time. ¡°They could have at least waited for the rest of us to fall asleep,¡± Sylvie complained. It was difficult to tell in the pale green glow of the lumloe plant, but Red Tide thought the short-haired girl was flushed. ¡°They don¡¯t fuck loud where you come from?¡± Salt Wall asked. ¡°We have walls,¡± Sylvie replied. ¡°Your last night with us,¡± Red Tide said with a smirk. ¡°Enjoy it before all you have are Theo¡¯s endless words for entertainment.¡± Sylvie groaned and buried her face in her hands. The three women sat around the glowing bulb-shaped plant that the Besadenizens used in lieu of campfires. The dark green leaves of the lumloe peeled back at night, revealing a head-sized bulb that emitted steady light and a cool-smelling aroma that cleared the sinuses. The glow reminded Red Tide of the phosphorescent algae that grew in the depths below the Reef. Tonight, four of the plants were arranged between the redwoods, the motley assembly divided between them. Cuda Bite leaned over from his neighboring circle and nudged Red Tide. ¡°We¡¯re taking bets on who finishes first.¡± Red Tide stared at him. ¡°Really? Over here we¡¯re taking bets on when you and Throne Gazer will disappear into the night together.¡± The skulker¡¯s face fell. ¡°Come on, Red. You¡¯re still mad?¡± Red Tide simply glowered at him in response. She didn¡¯t truly begrudge Cuda Bite his new Ink¡ªhow could she when her own survival was shackled so tightly to these three others? But Red Tide did like tormenting the little thief and intended to keep it up until she got bored. Plus, he had seemed a little cozier with Throne Gazer since the two had done their killing together. She did not know what to make of that burgeoning friendship, but it rubbed her wrong. When Red Tide turned away from Cuda Bite, she found Sylvie staring at her. The young woman¡¯s eyes were sharp with something like determination. She turned her delicate timepiece over in her hand¡ªthe item had mysteriously reappeared in her bags without comment from anyone. ¡°What is it?¡± Red Tide asked her. ¡°At the risk of starting any rumors, I would like to speak with you in private,¡± Sylvie said. ¡°Be as loud as you like,¡± Cuda Bite said without turning around. ¡°Please. For my benefit.¡± Sylvie scowled at Cuda Bite¡¯s back, but stood up and made for a tangle of trees beyond the glow of the lumloe. Red Tide¡¯s curiosity was piqued. She followed the young woman from Penchenne, knowing that Throne Gazer and Theo were both watching intently. Sylvie didn¡¯t stop until they¡¯d put a good amount of distance between them and the camp, so much so that even the ongoing struggle between Vikael and Meera grew faint. ¡°It¡¯s unlikely we will ever see each other again after tonight,¡± Sylvie said at last. ¡°My champion and I owe you debts.¡± Red Tide crossed her arms. ¡°And?¡± ¡°The Magelab means to move against Merchant¡¯s Bay.¡± The sentence meant little to Red Tide. ¡°What¡¯s that do for me?¡± ¡°Your kind are hunted by the merchants every year, no? I am telling you that they will be spread thin. The entire southern continent will be out for each other¡¯s blood, and the Magelab fully intends to insert themselves into this matter.¡± ¡°What will they be fighting over?¡± ¡°A complicated matter of trade,¡± Sylvie said. Red Tide rolled her eyes. ¡°How do you know so much about the merchants and mages?¡± ¡°I am from Penchenne, it¡¯s what we do,¡± Sylvie replied with an upward tilt of her sharp chin. ¡°If you¡¯re seeking allies to protect you from the merchants, consider those who will be opposed to them at the Granting. The Gadgeteers, Gen¡¯bi, possibly even Crucifalia if you can stomach it. I don¡¯t think you¡¯ll get what you¡¯re after from Besaden. They have too much to lose and little to gain.¡± Red Tide fought against a building pressure behind her eyes. This was a conversation better had with Throne Gazer or Turtle Jaw who actually gave a shit about these silly land-walker relationships. ¡°Words, words, words,¡± Red Tide said. ¡°You think this is proper repayment for your life? It does nothing for me.¡± ¡°On the island, you may find Theo¡¯s axes sympathetic to your cause,¡± Sylvie said neutrally. ¡°But he will have other priorities. I wished to give you something now you might use.¡± ¡°Not enough,¡± Red Tide said. ¡°No. I suspected it wouldn¡¯t be.¡± Sylvie withdrew a small fabric-wrapped bundle from a pouch on her belt. She handed this over to Red Tide. ¡°A friend gave me this, but I have no use for it,¡± Sylvie said. ¡°You¡¯ll want to keep it hidden from your cohorts, I think.¡± Red Tide flicked open the bundle. Inside, a small vial of glass contained a viscous crimson substance. The puckered scars on Red Tide¡¯s back tingled at the sight of it. ¡°They call it Liar¡¯s Ink,¡± Sylvie said.
37. [Cortland] We All Go Down Together
--DRAMATIS PERSONAE¡ª Cortland Finiron, Hammer Master of the 12th Renown, Kingdom of Infinzel, prepared for the Underneath Carina Goldstone, Logician of the 2nd Renown, Kingdom of Infinzel, has been working toward this day Henry Blacksalve and Vitt Secondson-Salvado, champions of Infinzel, ready to lend their support King Cizco Salvado, Quill of Infinzel, Kingdom of Infinzel, the maker of maps Issa Firstdot-Tuarez, Arris Stonetender, Walton Tendersword, and a half dozen other Garrison soldiers who will accompany the champions to the Underneath
23 Harvesend, 61 AW The pyramidal city of Infinzel 217 days until the next Granting Cortland Finiron liked to be early for these occasions. He wanted to be first into the Battle Library. Ben Tuarez had been the same way. He planned to be sitting there when the other men and women entered, and thus have the chance to appraise them. It was a last chance to weed out the ones who weren¡¯t ready for the Underneath. He¡¯d seen Ben send away dozens of men over the years who showed up shaky or hungover, even if it meant going shorthanded. Despite wishing to be extra punctual, Cortland still took the stairs. As he jogged down from the residential tiers, other people cleared space for him, pressing their backs against the stone and gazing at him like they would an avalanche. A young boy reached out to touch Cortland¡¯s hammer, but his mother quickly slapped his hand down. The meeting was scheduled for midday. Although no sun penetrated the Underneath, there was some science that suggested the beasts in the tunnels were more sluggish in the day and more vicious once the moon had risen. Cortland didn¡¯t put much stock in that, but it had always been the way of things. They would gather in the Battle Library, the king would show them the way, and they would depart when the sun was highest. Back in time for dinner, Ben always said. ¡°Uncle Cortland!¡± Issa Firstdot-Tuarez stood on the landing before him. Cortland jolted a bit, having just been thinking of her father. She looked dressed for training¡ªher dark hair pulled back in tight braids, her muscled frame clad in an expensive suit of ward-weave chain. Cortland forced a smile, counting off the seconds of small talk. ¡°Issa. How are you?¡± ¡°Eight hours of sleep and a light breakfast,¡± she said. Cortland looked at her strangely. Those had been amongst her father¡¯s favorite recommendations before a foray into the Underneath. Issa gestured down the steps. ¡°Come on, then. I believe we''re going to the same place.¡± ¡°You¡­¡± Cortland scowled once his mind caught up. ¡°Carina asked you to accompany us?¡± Issa started down the steps ahead of him. ¡°Don''t look that way, uncle. It''s not like it''s my first time under.¡± Cortland pressed his lips together. Issa was a more than capable fighter. She had her father''s good sense, but also his unquenchable thirst for adventure. There had been no need for her to pledge to the Garrison and she¡¯d done it anyway. Ben had been pleased to have her follow in his footsteps, even if his wife Emelia had hated the idea. If Cortland had been charged with picking a team to accompany them to the Underneath, Issa certainly would''ve made his shortlist. But duty to the widow Tuarez would''ve kept Cortland from ever selecting her. Carina, of course, had no such reservations. ¡°Does your mother know?¡± Cortland asked as he followed Issa down. ¡°I''m a grown woman and a Garrison soldier,¡± Issa replied. ¡°Telling her would''ve only initiated an argument she couldn''t win. Besides, who am I to deny the request of a champion?¡± ¡°I didn''t realize you and Carina had gotten friendly,¡± Cortland said evenly. ¡°I''ve been helping her train since you abandoned her,¡± Issa said. ¡°I didn''t abandon her,¡± Cortland snapped. ¡°No? She didn''t like it when I phrased it that way, either. What did she call it? A temporary cooling off period after a difference of opinion? She likened your relationship to a freshly repaired suit of armor. Too hot to wear, as yet, but stronger in the future for the work.¡± Cortland snorted. ¡°Sounds like the logician. Everything a loopy fucking metaphor.¡± They continued down the steps in silence. Issa didn''t speak again until they had almost reached the bottom tier. ¡°How are you making out with my father''s journals?¡± ¡°Fine,¡± Cortland said. ¡°Not very interesting, are they?¡± Cortland had acquired the journals a few weeks back hoping to find some private thought that might shed light on Ben''s killer. Emelia had been planning to throw the ten leather-bound books away, so Cortland rescued them. He had expected to feel guilty reading his old friend''s intimate thoughts, but the prospect had also excited him, like he might be able to visit with Ben in this way, bring him back to life through words, that kind of poetical nonsense. The actual experience proved disappointing. Ben''s writing was dull and matter-of-fact, comprised mostly of to-do lists for the following days. He rarely wrote about the actual details of his life and so it was impossible to tell what Ben had accomplished on a given day except when some bit of work disappeared from a list. Outside of Cortland''s first two years as a champion when his acquisition of Ink was at the front of Ben''s mind, Cortland himself rarely appeared in the pages. The hammer master could not explain why this hurt his feelings. ¡°I haven¡¯t finished reading them,¡± Cortland said, although this was a lie. Even with his aversion to reading, Cortland had made short work of the uncomplicated journals. ¡°You must be a slow reader, uncle,¡± Issa said with a laugh. ¡°Anyway. We came across some correspondence that might interest you. Unsolicited letters he received from a young woman in Penchenne.¡± ¡°What kind of letters?¡± ¡°Threats. Apparently, father killed this girl''s lover at the Granting. She did not take it well.¡± ¡°What''s her name?¡± ¡°That''s where it gets interesting,¡± Issa said. ¡°Her name is Sylvie Aracia.¡± Cortland¡¯s eyes widened. Aracia was the family name of the Exile Queen Deidre, the only one of King Cizco¡¯s many, many wives to leave him without a divorce. The rest of the Aracia family had fled with Deidre and her Salvado children. High House Salvado-Aracia, as the exile queen insisted on calling it, enjoyed considerable influence in Penchenne. ¡°Not one of Cizco¡¯s kids¡­¡± Cortland began. Issa shook her head. ¡°Deidre¡¯s niece, I believe.¡± Having studied Ben¡¯s kills on the island, Cortland was already familiar with the dead champion from Penchenne. A lowborn sword master only in his first Granting. A terrible waste, all told. The fight had happened the last time the two cities came into conflict with each other¡ªwhen Penchenne had wished for the alchemical designs of Infinzel¡¯s mineral gardens, a secret King Cizco was unwilling to part with. All four of Penchenne¡¯s champions had been massacred that year, although not all of them by Infinzel. Merchant¡¯s Bay and Cruxton had lent a hand, believing Penchenne intended to disrupt the balance of trade. Cortland remembered feeling like it was a foolish wish, an unnecessary provocation by the supposed masters of diplomacy. With the way the Penchennese used high born sponsors to control their champions, he supposed they didn¡¯t value their lives in the same way as other factions. Except, perhaps, Sylvie Aracia did. ¡°Did Ben ever respond?¡± Cortland asked. ¡°Doubt it,¡± Issa replied. ¡°I¡¯m not sure why he even saved them. They¡¯re unhinged.¡± Because of the name Aracia, Cortland thought. Because a noble girl making wild threats meant something. ¡°I¡¯d like to see them,¡± Cortland said. ¡°Of course. I¡¯ll bring them by tonight.¡± They arrived at the Battle Library to find Carina Goldstone already seated at the round table with its detailed topographical map of Armistice. Cortland gritted his teeth at his own lateness, but of course shouldn¡¯t have been surprised that the logician was a step ahead. Cortland raised a bushy eyebrow at the armored Garrison cadet seated next to Carina. He was not in the habit of learning the name of every soldier who joined the Garrison, only those who reached some level of distinction. The soldier before him looked barely out of his teens¡ªwide-eyed, with tousled brown hair, and smooth cheeks that likely didn¡¯t need shaving. Yet, when he hurriedly stood to vacate one of the table¡¯s five chairs, Cortland saw the young man was of towering stature, and not just in comparison to Cortland¡¯s limited height. He reminded Cortland of a baby ox, all muscle and power, but jumping at every field mouse. In Cortland¡¯s estimation, there were three types of people that ended up pledged to the Garrison. The rarest were those with the innate skill and desire to one day serve Infinzel as a champion. More common were those inclined to bloody violence, adrift in a world bereft of war, who needed an outlet for their brutality. That had been Cortland until Ben took him under wing and elevated him to the first type. And finally, there were those whose physicality made them ideal for the Garrison, but whose temperaments did not. Cortland immediately identified this huge boy as part of that latter group; he would grow into a reliable and sturdy guard, best suited for uneventful supervisions of jewel exports. He was not the type you wanted watching your back in the Underneath. If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement. ¡°Sir, it¡¯s an honor,¡± the young man said, shrinking a bit as Cortland¡¯s eyes bore into him. ¡°What¡¯s your name?¡± Cortland asked gruffly. ¡°Walton Tendersword.¡± Tendersword. That meant his father had been a stone tender and his mother had served in the Garrison. ¡°Who¡¯s your mother?¡± Cortland asked. ¡°Willa Tendersword, sir, retired.¡± The name rang a very faint bell. A broad woman who mostly did patrol work in the outer districts. ¡°Huh,¡± Cortland said. ¡°This your first time?¡± ¡°Second, sir,¡± he responded. Cortland snorted. Issa put a hand on Walton¡¯s forearm. ¡°Come,¡± she said. ¡°We stand over here until needed. The seats are for the champions.¡± As Issa led Walton to the back wall, Cortland took his seat at the table. He pulled his chair close to Carina so they could speak quietly. ¡°Cortland, good to see you,¡± Carina said. There was a breath of relief in her voice, although she didn¡¯t look at all nervous. Her rapier was propped up against the table next to her. She had added a bandolier of pouches to her usual light ward-weave armor. Cortland had no doubt the logician had thoroughly prepared. ¡°Interesting choice,¡± Cortland said, flicking his eyes toward Walton. ¡°You know, we don¡¯t want to be babysitting down there. Get some greenhorn killed.¡± Carina leaned close and Cortland had to fight the urge to recoil. A vision of her bloody face leering down at him, demanding his surrender, flashed into his mind. Of course, Cortland still chewed on his humiliating defeat at the hands of a 2nd renown. The girl had outmaneuvered him. He needed to admit that and let it go. Tactics was to be her role, after all. Even understanding that, Cortland struggled with two competing urges, and they had been with him since the day he first met Carina in this very room¡ªthe desire to protect her and the instinct to snap her neck. Perhaps that was why he had been so hard on her in training, so slow to let her progress beyond ugly singles combat. He wanted to keep her on his level. But she was more than him. The gods had chosen her because she meant something. Ben Tuarez had chosen Cortland merely because he fought like a bastard. Carina covered her mouth as she spoke. ¡°Does Walton Tendersword strike you as a fabulist?¡± ¡°A what?¡± ¡°A storyteller,¡± Carina said. ¡°A liar.¡± ¡°Strikes me as an oaf.¡± ¡°He claims that a gargoyle spoke to him during his last foray underground.¡± ¡°What,¡± Cortland said flatly. ¡°Indeed. I thought it a report worth further investigation.¡± She leaned back. ¡°I have a sense about these things sometimes.¡± As Cortland considered that strange tale, Henry Blacksalve arrived. The healer looked cleaned up¡ªfreshly bathed, his hair pulled back neatly, his ward-weave robe spotless. All the same, Cortland sniffed the air for last night¡¯s whiskey. Even after smelling nothing but the stale paper scent of the Battle Library, Cortland still activated [Assess] on his old friend, wanting to make sure that none of his Ink was prematurely faded.
Henry Blacksalve Infinzel 8th Renown
Knowledge+ Summon Garden Potion Maker
Diagnosis Tranquility
Deflection Healer Empowering Beacon
Force Shield Healing Touch
Purifying Touch
Cortland felt pleased that Henry had gotten himself together for the occasion. The healer settled into a seat at the table, smiling at his fellow champions. ¡°Are we sure we don¡¯t want to just do another sparring session?¡± Henry asked. ¡°Yes,¡± Cortland and Carina answered in unison. The room began to fill with other Garrison soldiers. Cortland recognized most of them. They were hardy men and women, veterans all, who had plenty of experience in the Underneath but who approached the place with the doggedness of an ugly job rather than a place to hunt glory. Cortland had known men to become obsessed with the rush of the tunnels. They were the ones who died young. The stoic faces arrayed before him would make for a reliable gate team. He had no doubt Henry had a hand in selecting them. He had done well; they were mostly who Cortland would have chosen. ¡°Ah, Infinzel¡¯s four champions, together at last,¡± Vitt Secondson-Salvado said as he sauntered into the room. Cortland had seen little of Vitt over these last two months. He¡¯d been fully engrossed in carousing through the outer districts, if you believed the rumors. Cortland knew that was only partially true. Vitt had been taken ill, although there was good color in his cheeks now. Perhaps he¡¯d recovered, or else recently received treatment from Henry. Once again, Cortland checked his fellow¡¯s Ink with [Assess].
Vitt Secondson-Salvado Infinzel 9th Renown
Camouflage
Agility+ Silent Speed+ Endurance+
Swordplay+ Hunter Summon Nightstalker
Arrow Trap Deadeye Mark Target
Open Weak Point
As ever, Cortland frowned at the choices Vitt had made with his Ink. So many of his levels of renown were tied up in augmenting natural abilities that Cortland wasn¡¯t sure Vitt actually possessed. How often did he actually train with the elegant short sword or bow that he carried? How would he fare without the Ink to bolster him? Cortland would be happy if they never found out. Vitt ran a hand through his red-streaked black hair, eyeing Cortland. ¡°Done with your inspection, hammerhead?¡± ¡°Happy you¡¯re feeling better, Vitt,¡± Cortland said. ¡°Are you feeling better?¡± Henry asked. ¡°One mother is enough, Henry, thank you,¡± Vitt said, circling the table so he could drag his hand across the back of Carina¡¯s chair. ¡°Logician, I¡¯m glad these two old men have released you from their clutches.¡± Carina smiled pleasantly. ¡°It will be good to work together at last, Secondson.¡± ¡°Yes,¡± Vitt replied, sitting down. ¡°I eagerly anticipate seeing the two things you can do.¡± ¡°Oh, it¡¯s more than that,¡± Carina said. She held up a finger, as if just remembering something. ¡°You know, I saw a rat in my room the other day.¡± ¡°Did you?¡± Vitt replied laconically. ¡°Perhaps you should tidy up.¡± ¡°Your cousin Orryn is fond of them, isn¡¯t he?¡± ¡°Orryn is my nephew,¡± Vitt said, propping his feet up on the table. ¡°Ah, can¡¯t be expected to keep all of you straight,¡± Carina said lightly. ¡°Anyway, as you¡¯re a hunter, I thought you might be able to assist me.¡± Vitt tongued his upper lip. ¡°You want me to hunt¡­ rats?¡± Carina shrugged. ¡°Might make a nice present for Orryn, I thought.¡± ¡°Unfortunately, I have a very busy social calendar,¡± Vitt replied. All this banter went straight over Cortland¡¯s head, but he did notice when Carina suddenly tensed up¡ªnot from anything that Vitt said, but because Arris Stonetender had stalked into the room. The elementalist looked more shriveled than when Cortland last saw her. The smell of smoke wafted off her, tiny curls even spilling from her nostrils as she breathed. Her short hair was patchy, her eyebrows missing, her thin lips badly chapped. The old ways had taken a tremendous toll on her. Carina leaned over to him. ¡°Did you ask her here?¡± she murmured. Cortland shook his head. Vitt waved a hand in front of his face. ¡°Gods, Arris, I have the sudden urge to shove an apple in your mouth.¡± A tremor went through the elementalist¡¯s body¡ªanger, Cortland thought¡ªbut she silently took a position amongst the other soldiers who would hold the gate. Cortland remembered the joy he had seen in her eyes on the day he and the king had selected Arris as champion, only to see it dashed by the gods moments later. He felt sympathy for the woman, and that kept him from speaking up. If she wanted to destroy herself, he could at least let her do it in service to Infinzel. Moments later, King Cizco entered. Some of the Garrison soldiers made a show of bowing, including Walton Tendersword, but Cizco waved these efforts away with his usual impatience for ceremony. ¡°Are we all here?¡± he asked. Carina exchanged a look with Cortland, then nodded. ¡°We are ready.¡± ¡°Excellent.¡± Cortland sat forward to stretch a clean sheet of parchment across the table. King Cizco knocked Vitt¡¯s feet off the table with the back of his hand, then produced his Quill from thin air. He drew a rectangle on the parchment, and spoke in the language of the gods. ¡°Show me where to find the power.¡±
38. [Cortland] The Underneath
--DRAMATIS PERSONAE¡ª Cortland Finiron, Hammer Master of the 12th Renown, Kingdom of Infinzel, paying attention to troubling signs Carina Goldstone, Henry Blacksalve, and Vitt Secondson-Salvado, champions of Infinzel, working together for the first time Issa Firstdot-Tuarez and Walton Tendersword, accompanying the champions down Arris Stonetender a half dozen other Garrison soldiers, holding the gate
23 Harvesend, 61 AW The pyramidal city of Infinzel 217 days until the next Granting The layout of the Underneath rarely changed. Periodically, the Garrison sent down forays whose mission it was to map the network of caverns. Sometimes, they found that a tunnel had caved in. Other times, they discovered a wall had collapsed, opening a new area for exploration. There was fuzziness at the edges of their maps; the caverns continued downward for miles and there were limits to how far a single foray could venture and still safely return. No one wanted to camp in the Underneath¡ªthey hadn¡¯t even tried since well before Cortland¡¯s time in the Garrison. The main concern was ensuring that no new pathways began climbing upward toward Infinzel and that the closest corridors remained mapped and manageable. What bubbled through the deep, shadowy bowels of the earth could remain down there undisturbed so long as it didn¡¯t stretch toward the light. According to King Cizco¡¯s map of Ink, they would be descending about four miles. Cortland had been on expeditions where the gods had made them go deeper into the Underneath. This foray was a relatively straight shot through stable and known tunnels, although Cortland did not like how many crossings they¡¯d be putting at their backs. The Ink appeared to be located in a dead end cavern. It wasn¡¯t moving, at least, so that was some relief¡ªthey weren¡¯t descending to battle some fresh horror spawned of residual Orvesian curses and underworld terrors. From the hallway outside the training pit, a single narrow stairwell led down to the Underneath''s entrance. No one was allowed down this way except for Garrison soldiers, and even they needed permission from a commander. A semi-circle of waist-high stone walls faced the stairwell. Those blockades were meant to be the last defense should something break free from below. During the Final War, the Garrison had held those hastily erected barricades with spears and crossbows. They had not been tested since. They descended the stairwell in pairs. Ahead of him, Cortland watched Carina trace her fingers across the glowing runes etched into the walls¡ªwards that would set off alarms if anything climbed the stairs without the Ink of Infinzel. Layer upon layer of caution. The heat from the training grounds quickly turned to a damp chill. Next to Cortland, Arris Stonetender twitched and shuddered as if she felt the cold more than the others. And yet, up close, Cortland felt a haze of heat rolling off the woman. ¡°You good, Arris?¡± Cortland asked quietly. ¡°Yes,¡± she said. Dried spit calcified in the corners of her mouth. ¡°We were surprised to see you,¡± Cortland said. The elementalist had shown up without an invitation, which Cortland would''ve found strange if it was anyone else. But Arris was supposed to be a champion. This could''ve been her foray to acquire more Ink, if the gods hadn''t interfered. ¡°I have been on the gate team for every foray since you became champion, have I not?¡± she replied. ¡°Nothing clears a path like fire.¡± Cortland couldn''t argue. They¡¯d brought plenty of fine fighters with them to hold the way back, but the elementalist could wreak destruction at a level the swordsmen and archers could not. He wished that he had another fire elementalist in the Garrison, although judging by Arris¡¯ appearance he wasn¡¯t surprised that so few took up the art. At the bottom of the stairs, they squeezed into a narrow chamber with more stone blockades set up at intervals so that they had to snake their way through. On the far wall, a ten foot high slab of warded stone stood as the door to the Underneath. Two guards of the Garrison were waiting for them with a bucket of unlit torches¡ªthere was always a team posted on the entrance, a sleepy and dull job usually, but this pair looked alert considering the occasion. ¡°Last chance to turn back,¡± Vitt said with a yawn. His hooded gaze sought Carina, but she ignored him. The logician accepted a torch, as did Cortland, Henry, and a couple of the soldiers in the gate team¡ªthe ones amongst them who didn¡¯t need two hands to fight. They lit the first torch with a flint and then passed it around to light the others. It seemed bad form to ask Arris for a spark, given her condition. At a nod from Cortland, the two guards went to opposite sides of the stone door to crank the mechanisms installed there. Rock dust trickled down as the great slab rose upward. Carina craned her neck to study the mechanism¡ªnot so different from the machinery that powered Infinzel¡¯s lifts¡ªno doubt adding it to her mental inventory of Infinzel¡¯s advancements. ¡°Stone in the blood,¡± said one of the guards. ¡°Come back whole,¡± said the other. Moments later, the champions and their escort gathered on the other side of the stone slab as it thudded back into place. They stood on a level platform atop a descending ramp, illuminated only by the glowing wards that ran in a ring from floor to ceiling. These wards emitted a vivid light, too harsh to look at directly, different from the soft imitation fire that lit most of Infinzel. A purification ring, Cizco called it. The light repulsed or destroyed the Orvesian shades that lingered in the Underneath. There were weapon racks along one wall and the gate team went about arming themselves beyond the personal armaments they brought with them. Spears, hooked rods, and heavy crossbows were usually necessary to clear the gargoyles inevitably gathered at the gate below. Besides the weapons, there were also shelves of dry food, jugs of water, ropes and grappling hooks, and some poultices and bandages. A rope dangled from the ceiling, connected to a bell that would ring on the other side when they were ready to return. Henry fingered the frayed ends. ¡°You ever hear the one about the guard on duty alone who heard the bell ring when there was no one gone down?¡± ¡°My father used to tell that,¡± Issa Firstdot-Tuarez replied. ¡°His favorite ghost story.¡± ¡°Ah.¡± Henry cleared his throat and stepped away from the rope. ¡°Maybe that¡¯s where I got it from.¡± This would be the first time any of the champions had descended without Ben Tuarez to guide them. Cortland grimaced, remembering how the dead champion would run through a pep talk at this point¡ªstronger for the sake of Infinzel, no man left behind, stay together and stay in the light. Hoary wisdom, to be sure, but comforting in its repetition. As senior champion, Cortland supposed they were all waiting for him to say something similar. ¡°You all know your fucking jobs,¡± Cortland said. ¡°So do them, and we all come back.¡± ¡°Here, here,¡± replied Vitt. ¡°Torches,¡± Cortland ordered. Two of the guards complied, lighting sconces that ignited veins of oil set into the walls, fire streaking downward to light their path. In response, they heard increased racket from down below, like stones bouncing off each other in a tumbler. Gargoyles, excited like dogs whose masters have just come home, banging against the gate. ¡°Arris, lead the way,¡± Cortland said. Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work! With Arris and the rest of the gate team in front, they started down the ramp. It was a steep decline on chalky stone. The ceiling above gradually changed¡ªthe manipulated and purposeful graystone of Infinzel giving way to hard-packed dirt held back by support beams and then the pocked limestone of the Underneath. They passed by cutouts where archers could take cover and through another purification ring. More defenses of old. The gate came into view. A thick latticework of pearlescent tungsten grown special from Infinzel¡¯s mineral garden, the gate spanned the final opening into the Underneath. While it had been clawed, chewed, and rammed over the decades, the gate had never broken¡ªthough sections were reinforced every year. Gaps in the gate were big enough only for a polearm to stab through. Gargoyles prowled on the other side. The creatures were the size of mastiffs, with skin of white stone, glowing arteries of vivid blue ice at their joints, and curving wings that snapped at the air like whips. Their stone hides could be nearly impenetrable when they were still, turning more malleable only when the gargoyles moved. Those joints and their shadowy orifices¡ªtheir eyes and mouths¡ªwere the places to strike, gouging into the beasts until the cold core within them could be destroyed. Once, the gargoyles were capable of breathing frostbite inducing gusts of wind, but that attack had become rarer and rarer as it seemed to drain the old magic that animated the creatures. Mostly, they fought with claws, crushing weight, and tearing beaks. To Cortland, that seemed like more than enough. He counted four of them fruitlessly battering the gate. The Garrison soldiers took up position, ready with their hooks and spears and crossbows. With any luck, the gargoyles would stay close enough that they could kill them before raising the gate. Arris stood nearby, her eyes fluttering closed as heat gathered at her palms. Carina shouldered in amongst them. ¡°Would it be alright if I tried something?¡± ¡°Let them do their work,¡± Cortland said. ¡°I believe I can make their work easier,¡± Carina replied. She reached into one of the pouches strapped across her chest and produced a palm-sized disc that glowed with some ward-work Cortland didn¡¯t recognize. Arris and the other soldiers in the gate team looked to him, but the matter was settled. Carina wasn¡¯t really asking permission. ¡°Don¡¯t be alarmed if you feel a pulling sensation,¡± Carina told them. ¡°A pulling sensation where?¡± Vitt asked. Carina responded by setting her disc ward-side up on the floor and sliding it through a narrow gap in the gate. The gargoyles fell upon it like she¡¯d tossed them a slab of meat. Carina spoke a word of arcane activation and the disc flared. Cortland stumbled forward a step. They all did. The wards weaved into their armor were all tugged toward Carina¡¯s device. ¡°Arcane magnetism,¡± Carina explained. She frowned, as if disappointed in the results. ¡°I guess I should have made it stronger.¡± None of the others said anything. They were all staring at the gargoyles. The creatures had gone lumpen and lopsided, hobbling around and gnashing at the gate in a state of confusion. Pockets of blue energy bulged in their torsos¡ªtheir cores, dragged unwillingly toward the surface of their bodies. One of the guards jabbed his spear through the gate, bursting one of the vivid cobalt targets like a pimple. The core released a burst of light and frigid air, and then the gargoyle crumbled into lifeless rocks. As the gate team made quick work of the remaining creatures, Henry put his hand on Carina¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Well done,¡± the healer said. Carina shrugged. ¡°I¡¯d hoped to rip the cores clean out.¡± Cortland wondered if this was true, or if she¡¯d gotten exactly the result she planned but wanted to leave some work for the rest of them. An exercise in confidence building. Vitt flicked one of the pouches on Carina¡¯s chest. ¡°What other toys do you have in there?¡± ¡°I have something for all of the creatures we¡¯re most likely to encounter,¡± Carina replied. She glanced at Cortland. ¡°I¡¯ve been preparing for weeks.¡± With the gargoyles killed, the cavern beyond the gate was clear. A crank attached to the wall moved the gate forward on tracks build into the ceiling, metal grinding against the stone in a way that set Cortland¡¯s teeth on edge. They pushed the gate forward just enough that Cortland and the others could slip through at the sides. The champions, Issa, and Walton Tendersword would move on. Arris and the rest would stay behind, hold this chamber, and keep it clear for escape. ¡°If we¡¯re more than two hours gone, send a search party,¡± Cortland told Arris. He wasn¡¯t sure the elementalist heard. Her eyes were locked on Carina. The first cavern beyond the gate was round, high-ceilinged, and empty. One tunnel waited on the far side. Issa took point with her shield and spear, with Walton on her left and Cortland on her right. Vitt positioned himself a half-step behind Cortland, an arrow notched, ready to fire over Cortland''s shoulder. Neither man would ever remark upon such a thing, but they moved well together, an easy synchronization that came from surviving a couple Grantings together. Henry and Carina trailed behind. There were sconces hammered into the walls every twenty yards or so. They lit the torches as they went, illuminating their path back. Nothing in the Underneath appreciated light. They¡¯d made it down the first tunnel and turned left into another narrow cavern when Cortland waved his torch toward a sconce that wasn¡¯t there. It had been awhile¡ªperhaps his count was off. But then Issa¡¯s foot sent something metallic skittering across the ground. The torch was gone, the metal bracket ripped from the wall. Continuing down the tunnel, they found that all of the sconces had been torn down. ¡°You were down here recently,¡± Cortland said, turning to Walton. ¡°Didn¡¯t anyone notice the gods damned torches were ripped?¡± The brawny boy had a broadsword held out in front of him in such a way that his forearms had to be burning. He shook his head vigorously, hair catching in the sweat on his forehead. ¡°It wasn¡¯t like this, sir,¡± he said. ¡°Gargoyles bumbling around in the dark?¡± Henry asked. ¡°Could account for one or two wrecked, maybe,¡± Cortland said. ¡°But an entire passage cleared?¡± Cortland glanced behind them. The tunnels were quiet so far, but he didn¡¯t like the idea of having so much darkness at their backs. ¡°We¡¯re almost halfway,¡± Carina said, as if reading his mind. Cortland grunted. ¡°Halfway ain¡¯t whole way.¡± ¡°So wise,¡± Vitt said. ¡°Let¡¯s turn back. Send down the maintenance crews to be killed by whatever¡¯s developed thumbs down here. We are too valuable to risk.¡± Cortland scowled. The hunter wasn¡¯t wrong necessarily¡ªthere were procedures to follow in the Underneath, and one of them was to have a lit way back to Infinzel. But the notion of turning back to send some hard luck Garrison soldiers and masons down to do repairs rubbed Cortland wrong. ¡°We¡¯ll take the next passage,¡± Cortland said. ¡°See what we see.¡± They pressed on in a tight formation, holding to their circle of light. The sconces had been yanked from the walls of the next tunnel too. ¡°Something¡¯s ahead,¡± Issa said, squinting at the next crossing of tunnels. Cortland shot a questioning look back at Carina. She shook her head to indicate that her [Alert] Ink hadn¡¯t flared. Whatever waited for them wasn¡¯t dangerous. A pair of glistening black eyes stared at them from the adjoining cavern. Nothing more than a scrounger. The millipedes were natural inhabitants of the Underneath¡ªnot magically inflicted ones¡ªburrowing through crevices to feed on mold. Judging by its size, the scrounger watching them was on the younger side, no bigger than a loaf of bread. Cortland had seen the worms grow as big as a man''s arm. They had leathery skin the color of coffee grounds, wet and toothless mouths, and scuttled about on hundreds of little legs. Behind him, Cortland heard the tension in Vitt''s bowstring. ¡°Leave it,¡± Cortland said. ¡°Bastards are harmless.¡± ¡°Its appearance does me harm,¡± Vitt said and loosed an arrow. The scrounger didn''t even flinch. The arrow squelched into its eye and the creature''s legs folded up beneath it as it flopped over dead. ¡°Waste of an arrow,¡± Henry said. ¡°I''m not wasting it,¡± Vitt said. He clicked his tongue. ¡°Fetch my arrow, boy.¡± Walton glanced back at Vitt and swallowed. ¡°Me?¡± ¡°Who else on this expedition would be classified as a boy?¡± Vitt asked. Before Walton could step forward, Carina broke formation and crouched over the scrounger. She wrapped her hand around the arrow shaft and was about to tug it loose when something in the light of her torch distracted her. Carina straightened and took a few steps deeper into the tunnel. ¡°That''s the wrong way,¡± Cortland said. ¡°You''ll want to see this,¡± she replied. There were more than twenty scrounger corpses piled there. Cortland had a hard time getting an exact count as the bodies had been skinned, leaving behind only the gelatinous insides of the worms. The passage smelled like vinegar and rot. It took Cortland a moment to register that the legs had been plucked clean from the bodies as well. ¡°By the gods,¡± Henry said, putting the back of his hand to his mouth. ¡°What is this?¡± ¡°Some kind of sick game?¡± Cortland asked. He turned to Issa and Walton. ¡°Have Garrison patrols started taking trophies?¡± Walton simply shook his head mutely, but Issa gave him a flat look. ¡°If someone in the barracks was collecting scrounger skins, we¡¯d have locked the maniac up.¡± ¡°Nothing preys on these things, right?¡± Cortland asked, surprising himself by directing the question to Vitt. The hunter bent down and retrieved his own arrow, not taking his eyes off the grisly scene. ¡°Prey suggests food source,¡± he said. ¡°These worms weren''t eaten. They were sheared and plucked.¡± ¡°By what?¡± Cortland asked, the question coming more harshly than he would''ve liked. When no one ventured an answer, he turned to Carina. ¡°You must¡¯ve peeked into the future during your preparation. What do we face down here?¡± She stood with her hand on her chin, as if she might decipher the meaning of dozens of decaying worm bodies. ¡°I did not see this,¡± she said after a moment, perhaps confused why that would be. Cortland frowned. First, the wall sconces had been damaged as if to keep them in the dark, and now they came across this scrounger massacre that looked to have been done with a specific purpose in mind. Something was down here with them operating at a level of intelligence higher than the creatures of the Underneath had previously demonstrated. ¡°Maybe this is what we¡¯ve been brought down here to discover,¡± Vitt said, striding back to their intended path. ¡°Surely, the gods are steering us toward answers, aren''t they? I''ve heard so often how they always favor Infinzel.¡± Carina took in a sharp breath. Cortland knew what that meant before the logician could even speak. Her [Alert] rune had fired a warning through her body. ¡°Vitt!¡± he shouted. ¡°Hold!¡± The hunter had already stepped into the next intersection. Something at his feet twanged and snapped. A cluster of projectiles streaked at them from the darkened passage. To Cortland¡¯s right, an automatic circle of [Deflection] erupted from Henry¡¯s forearm. Issa raised her shield, protecting herself and Carina. Walton yelped and ducked. One of the dart-sized objects bounced off Cortland¡¯s armored shoulder. He caught it before it could fall to the floor. There was no mistaking it: he held a scrounger leg, sharpened to a point. Vitt moaned and turned to face them. Two of the legs stuck out of his face.
39. [Cortland] Lost Art
--DRAMATIS PERSONAE¡ª Cortland Finiron, Hammer Master of the 12th Renown, Kingdom of Infinzel, needs a course in leadership Carina Goldstone, Henry Blacksalve, and Vitt Secondson-Salvado, champions of Infinzel, struggling to work together Issa Firstdot-Tuarez and Walton Tendersword, barely keeping it together
23 Harvesend, 61 AW The Underneath 217 days until the next Granting ¡°I''m going to kill whatever set that trap.¡± Vitt''s words came in a sharp hiss. He sounded like a noble who¡¯d had wine spilled on him by a clumsy servant. ¡°Disfigured me¡­¡± ¡°Relax,¡± Henry said. He held Vitt''s chin in one hand, using [Healing Touch] on the two shallow punctures in the hunter''s cheek. ¡°It''s nothing. Your women won''t know the difference.¡± Hearing that, Cortland¡¯s hand tightened on his hammer. Nothing? Getting outfoxed by such a rudimentary trap wasn¡¯t nothing. They had regrouped in the tunnel crossing after Vitt set off the tripwire. Walton Tendersword had been cut on the side of his head, but it was a superficial wound and Cortland thought the boy might have done it to himself while ducking for cover. Otherwise, there were no injuries. Sharpened scrounger legs were far from crossbow bolts. Even so, the incident had left the group rattled. ¡°What lives down here that sets traps?¡± Issa asked. Even in the flickering torchlight, he could tell her face had gone pale from the implications. ¡°Nothing,¡± Cortland snapped, then corrected himself. ¡°Nothing we knew of.¡± Carina stood next to Walton, her hands on her hips as she peered up at the towering cadet. The logician¡¯s wheels were clearly spinning. If Vitt took off hunting whatever was down here with them, she would likely be right behind him. ¡°Walton, remind me, what was it that you reported hearing down here?¡± Carina asked. ¡°What did the gargoyle say?¡± Issa cocked her head. ¡°Gargoyles don¡¯t talk.¡± ¡°He said one did,¡± Carina replied. ¡°It wasn¡¯t just your imagination, was it, Walton?¡± Cortland saw how the boy''s eyes were all pupils. His jaw worked, but his mouth didn''t open. If she kept at him, Cortland sensed, the young man would break. He¡¯d already come close to lopping his own ear off with his broadsword. ¡°Enough,¡± Cortland snapped at Carina. ¡°Save your gods dammed survey questions for when we''re topside. We¡¯re down here for Ink, not boogeymen.¡± Carina started to respond, but then took a closer look at Tendersword. She backed off, allowing Cortland to grab the young soldier by his burly shoulders. ¡°Listen to me, son,¡± Cortland said quietly, needing to crane his head back to look into the boy¡¯s wild eyes. ¡°Nothing will happen to you if you keep your shit together and do what I tell you. Understand?¡± Walton nodded, but Cortland could tell he didn¡¯t believe. Cortland had screwed this up. He hadn''t given a speech like Ben would have before they went through the gate. He''d assumed everyone would simply know what they were doing, go where they were supposed to, and behave as professionals, because Cortland always had when he went on a foray. But that was because he had Ben looking over his shoulder. Foolish of him not to keep better control over this outing. Cortland sighed. ¡°I¡¯m going to give you something. All right?¡± Walton finally rediscovered his voice. ¡°What?¡± In answer, Cortland used [Bolster]. The Ink was meant to revitalize an exhausted comrade, let them draw on some of Cortland¡¯s strength to keep going. Mostly, on the island, he kept the ability in reserve for Henry. The effect on Walton was immediate. New power coiled through his huge arms¡ªhe relaxed his grip on his sword some as the blade felt suddenly lighter. Fresh clarity came into Walton¡¯s eyes. Hard to be scared when you felt unstoppable. ¡°What was that?¡± Walton asked, like he¡¯d just tasted the nectar of gods which, in a way, he had. ¡°A fraction of what I got,¡± Cortland said. ¡°So now you know I¡¯m not bullshitting you.¡± Meanwhile, Henry had finished the healing, so Cortland shouldered him aside and grabbed Vitt roughly by the collar. Cortland shook the hunter with a force that startled the Secondson. ¡°Your first time in these fucking tunnels, yeah? You a gods damned virgin again, Vitt?¡± Cortland snarled. ¡°Running off at the mouth. Breaking formation. Acting like a fool. You haven''t seen what can happen when our guard''s down? You haven''t seen what can happen to us with one unlucky shot?¡± Vitt¡¯s gaze focused¡ªbriefly finding Issa Firstdot-Tuarez over Cortland¡¯s shoulder. Then, he nodded once, almost managing to look chastened. ¡°I hear you, Cortland,¡± Vitt said quietly. Cortland released him. ¡°Bring your girl out. If we can¡¯t light the way back, I at least want something following behind.¡± ¡°Of course.¡± Vitt stroked his hand through the air at hip level¡ªonce, twice¡ªand on the third pass his fingers slid through a silky coat of jet black fur. He had used [Summon Nightstalker]. The sleekly muscular jungle cat now standing at Vitt¡¯s side let out a low growl, scratching her claws against the rock floor. Her yellow eyes flashed in the torchlight. While the champions hardly reacted, Issa and Walton readied their weapons. ¡°Trail us, Patricia,¡± Vitt cooed. Cortland never felt comfortable around Vitt¡¯s nightstalker. A creature that existed via the Ink, popping into life only when Vitt willed it so. He couldn¡¯t articulate the philosophical reasons why that bothered him. Vitt claimed that she was always the same nightstalker¡ªhe had even gone as far as to name her after a particularly punishing governess he¡¯d enjoyed during his youth¡ªand that she remembered all of her many deaths. During training exercises, Cortland had caved the cat¡¯s head in at least twice. Perhaps that was why she unnerved him. Even so, Patricia was a welcome sight now, slinking back the way they came at Vitt¡¯s command. ¡°Back in formation,¡± Cortland said to the others. ¡°No more chatter or diversions.¡± As they returned to their positions, Carina caught his eye. ¡°You¡¯re better at this than you give yourself credit for,¡± she said quietly. ¡°Shut up,¡± he replied. ¡°Focus on your Ink. I want plenty of warning before anyone blunders into the next trap.¡± This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. They advanced slowly and silently down the corridor¡ªa long and wide straightaway with baby stalactites hanging overhead. They¡¯d nearly reached the end when Carina spoke up. ¡°Something¡¯s coming.¡± They hardly needed the warning. Soon, the clatter of stone-on-stone echoed down the tunnel. Gargoyles. Cortland put a hand on Issa¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Hold here.¡± He stepped out in front of the others. ¡°Let them come to us.¡± ¡°Sounds like three,¡± Vitt said. ¡°I¡¯ll take the first, you take the second, we¡¯ll split the third,¡± Cortland said. Vitt notched an arrow. ¡°And us?¡± Issa said. ¡°Let them work,¡± Henry told her. The gargoyles bounded into view in a V-formation. Bodies chiseled from pale stone, icy blue veins glowing. Cortland hunkered low and waited. The lead gargoyle pounced and Cortland met it with the top of his hammer. He didn¡¯t use much force. He didn¡¯t need to. He activated [Destroy] on contact with the monster. The gargoyle shattered into hundreds of pebbles and ice chunks. [Destroy] was meant for walls or barricades or anything that Cortland wanted removed from his path. It worked only on nonorganic material, so the gargoyle very much qualified. The creature¡¯s core¡ªa pulsing snowball etched with glowing runes¡ªplunked to the ground. The chunks of gargoyle skittered back toward the core. If it wasn¡¯t destroyed, the gargoyle would eventually reconstitute itself. Cortland stomped down on the core, feeling the ice crunching beneath his boot, and the stones went still. The second gargoyle came in low, head down, like a horse resisting being led. Vitt¡¯s arrow still found its way into the monster¡¯s empty eye socket. [Deadeye] assured the hunter couldn¡¯t miss. The core inside the gargoyle burst and the construct crumbled. The final gargoyle took to the air, attempting to get over Cortland and attack the softer-seeming targets behind him. Cortland whipped his hammer vertical, slamming the monster into the stalactites overhead. As Cortland pulled his weapon back with [Weapon Return], Vitt fired an arrow that sank into the gargoyle¡¯s belly and parted the stone there in a perfect circle. He¡¯d used [Open Weak Point] ¨C the hunter¡¯s favored rune for dismantling opponents in ward-weave. The gargoyle¡¯s core exposed, Vitt fired another arrow with preternatural speed, exploding it. Issa raised her shield to protect the others from falling rocks. Cortland nodded to Vitt and returned to his position in the formation. The entire encounter had lasted less than a minute. Walton, smiling and blinking like he¡¯d just seen a magic trick, hopped forward to retrieve Vitt¡¯s arrows. ¡°Onward,¡± Cortland ordered. The tunnel opened up into a circular cavern, the walls pocked with narrow crevices just wide enough for a man to slip through with his shoulders turned. Cortland didn¡¯t envy the Garrison soldiers that would have to map those areas out. Luckily, they were headed to the other side of the cavern, where the floor dropped away to a landing twenty feet below. ¡°Anything?¡± Cortland asked Carina. She swallowed. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. My [Alert] is faded.¡± Cortland had suspected this would be the case, but wanted to hear it from the logician. She was only second renown. There were limits to what she could do. ¡°It¡¯s fine,¡± Cortland said. ¡°That¡¯s why we¡¯re down here.¡± A spike had been driven into the stone at the edge of the drop. Whatever creature had tampered with the wall sconces had left the spike alone. Cortland pulled on the jutting steel, making sure that it hadn¡¯t been booby-trapped or loosened. Satisfied, he held out a hand. ¡°Rope.¡± Carina handed him the length of rope she¡¯d been carrying. She held her torch out to look into the passage below. ¡°Suppose something comes along and cuts the rope while we¡¯re down there,¡± she said to him quietly. Cortland looked up at her. ¡°Did you foresee that?¡± She shook her head. ¡°No. Just a hypothetical.¡± Cortland tied a knot around the spike. ¡°Hypothetically, I would throw you back up here.¡± Carina snorted, although Cortland was serious. ¡°I hear something,¡± Issa said. She pointed her spear toward one of the gaps in the stone. ¡°Coming from there.¡± They all went still. Yes, there it was¡ªa clicking and clanking, like dice rolling. ¡°Shade,¡± Henry said. The group quickly returned to formation with the drop-off at their backs. Moments later, a jumble of bones rolled through the gap, like a skeletal tumbleweed. At its center was an undulating mass of pure shadow. The shades had been birthed down here thanks to an Orvesian wish gone awry in the years after the first Granting. Cortland heard the lands of Orvesis were teeming with the things. They were creatures of pure shadow, impossible to damage with conventional weapons, but harmless without any corpses to manipulate. The shades were possessed of a limited and very specific type of magic¡ªa telekinetic command of bones. Their only desire was to reconstitute skeletons for themselves, and use these bodies to attack any who crossed their path. Unfortunately, there was no shortage of desiccated corpses in the Underneath, most dating back to the siege of Infinzel. This particular shade had amassed quite the collection of bones. As it unfurled from the gap in the wall, the bones assembled themselves into a shape vaguely reminiscent of a horse-sized scorpion with a tail made of human tibias tipped by a jagged ring of pelvises. The only answer to a shade was to smash its bones to dust and let it drift away to start another collection. Cortland wondered if he¡¯d faced this particular shade before. There was no way of knowing. ¡°Stay tight,¡± Cortland told the others. ¡°Be methodical taking the bastard apart. Don¡¯t let it get under or around us.¡± ¡°That might not be necessary,¡± Carina interjected. ¡°I have something¡­¡± From a pouch, Carina produced a smooth orb of polished silver, freshly made in Infinzel¡¯s forges. On one side of the orb, a hole big enough to stick a pinky finger emitted a clean white light, a rune active inside. The shade lumbered forward, skeletal joints creaking and grating, its tail slashing through the air. The front line of Infinzel¡¯s champions readied themselves. Carina ducked between them and rolled the orb toward the shade. She spoke an activation word. Vivid light flared from within the orb. Issa and Walton shielded their eyes, but Cortland forced himself to look. For a moment, the blob of shadows within the skeleton took on the shape of a woman¡ªher arms raised in a warding gesture, screaming, trying to retreat. But then the shadows sloughed apart as if carved by a butcher¡¯s blade, the purifying light tearing through them. It was over in seconds. When the light dimmed, the shade was no more. The skeletal creature it had created collapsed upon itself, leaving behind what looked like a forgotten battlefield. ¡°What was that?¡± Henry asked. ¡°A bouncing blessing,¡± Carina replied. ¡°At least, that¡¯s what the Gadgeteers call them. They love a catchy name. Made to help Orvesians purify their land.¡± Cortland wasn¡¯t sure why anyone would want to help the Orvesians clean up the mess they¡¯d made for themselves, but he couldn¡¯t argue with the results. ¡°Well done,¡± Cortland said gruffly. ¡°Let¡¯s move on.¡± With their Ink, Cortland and Vitt could simply jump down the twenty feet to the chamber below without worrying about breaking their legs. They stood guard at the bottom as the others descended. ¡°Not far now,¡± Vitt said. ¡°No,¡± Cortland agreed. ¡°You aren¡¯t curious what set that trap?¡± Vitt asked. ¡°It doesn¡¯t bother you?¡± Cortland met the hunter¡¯s eyes. ¡°I¡¯ve never been curious a day in my life.¡± Vitt snorted. ¡°Hammerhead.¡± Once everyone had climbed down, they pressed on through silty, ankle-high water, and then into another curving tunnel. As they rounded a bend, three more gargoyles were waiting for them. Everyone flinched and readied their weapons, but the gargoyles didn¡¯t move. The monsters were immobile and lacked the icy blue glow of the others they had faced. ¡°Statues now,¡± Cortland said. ¡°I read about that phenomenon in one of the recent reports,¡± Carina replied. ¡°Old magic wearing off.¡± ¡°Good riddance,¡± Henry said. It was still an uneasy thing, passing between the frozen bodies of the gargoyles. As they went, Cortland noticed something off. ¡°Hold,¡± he said, crouching next to the nearest gargoyle. ¡°What do you make of this?¡± There was a hole carved into the monster¡¯s side. Tentatively, Cortland reached his hand inside. The stone was hollow. ¡°Thought you didn¡¯t get curious,¡± Vitt said. ¡°The core¡¯s gone,¡± Cortland said. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t it be, though?¡± Issa asked. ¡°If the magic wore off¡­¡± ¡°But then why the opening?¡± Carina asked, following Cortland¡¯s trail of thought. ¡°Something removed this gargoyle¡¯s core.¡± ¡°For what purpose?¡± Henry asked. The creatures down here acting with any purpose was cause for concern, but Cortland kept this thought to himself as he stood up, dusting his hands off. They followed the passage to a T-shaped intersection. To the left, the tunnel continued on, eventually descending into a corridor that hadn¡¯t been fully mapped. To the right, the passage dead-ended in a recessed room. That cavern was their goal. Cortland made them slow their pace as they went down this last passage, mindful of tripwires or other traps, but nothing presented itself. The tunnel opened up into a wide cave, the floor dipping down at the center. Puddled there¡ªstill and obsidian¡ªwas the Ink. And yet, even with the power of the gods in sight, Cortland found himself distracted by the other details of the chamber. There were scrounger skins piled near one wall, and next to them a sharpened bundle of legs and the smooth stone that had been used to whet them. There were bones with stretched pieces of scrounger skin tied across them¡ªbroken and discarded¡ªbut Cortland quickly identified them as rudimentary attempts to create a slingshot. ¡°Something¡­ has been living here,¡± Walton said, and by the way the boy¡¯s voice quivered, Cortland thought he might need another [Bolster]. As they carefully navigated the room, Henry¡¯s torch illuminated the far wall. Everyone stopped. The creature had put the Ink to use. The drawing was a better sketch than anything Cortland was capable of. A young man¡¯s face peered down at them from the wall¡ªfull lips, timid eyes, a puff of curly hair. He looked to Cortland like an islander or maybe someone from Merchant¡¯s Bay. There were letters scrawled beneath the portrait¡ªjagged and choppy, like a child writing a name. Vitt was the first of them to speak. ¡°Who the fuck is Uicha de Orak?¡±
40. [Carina] First Contact
--DRAMATIS PERSONAE¡ª Carina Goldstone, Logician of the 2nd Renown, Kingdom of Infinzel, finally getting what she wanted Cortland Finiron, Henry Blacksalve, and Vitt Secondson-Salvado, champions of Infinzel, want to bring back a souvenir Issa Firstdot-Tuarez and Walton Tendersword, were warned this would be dangerous
23 Harvesend, 61 AW The Underneath 217 days until the next Granting Carina had not foreseen any of this. The destroyed sconces, the trap Vitt had stumbled into, the young man¡¯s face painted on the wall. All of these had come as surprises to her, even though she¡¯d used her [Future Sight] periodically in the days prior to this foray. She had been focused on the results, not the journey to get there. She knew that she would make it to the Ink. And she knew what should happen after. Those had been the important points to Carina. Knowing too much about the journey, she theorized, could have affected the result she wanted. She needed to act naturally. But now, she was as much in the dark about this strange denizen of the Underneath as her companions. Not a good look for the logician. She had wanted to convince these men that she was always a few steps ahead¡ªthat they could rely on her, with her pouches of tricks and trinkets, to always have an answer. But she did not have an answer for Vitt¡¯s question. The name Uicha de Orak meant nothing to her. Or, apparently, any of the others. ¡°What do you make of this?¡± Henry stood next to her, holding up his torch to better illuminate the drawing on the cavern wall. She shook her head. ¡°Could someone be living down here? A Garrison soldier with a screw loose?¡± Even as Carina said this, the words felt flat. Every soldier of the Garrison was accounted for, and the layers of security around the Underneath would have been difficult for someone even with her skills to sneak through. Something down here¡ªsomething from down here¡ªhad drawn this portrait. ¡°The king will want to know about this,¡± Cortland said. ¡°No shit,¡± Vitt replied, scratching his cheek where the sharpened scrounger legs had stabbed him. ¡°He¡¯ll want a hunting party.¡± ¡°We shouldn¡¯t be in here,¡± Walton Tendersword muttered. Carina glanced back at Walton, the young soldier lingering in the arched entryway, but said nothing. She had selected Walton precisely because of his strange report from the Underneath. A talking gargoyle. The way the Ink on her chest¡ªthe crimson flecks in particular¡ªhad sizzled upon reading his words. Where is mother? Carina loved a mystery. She would unwind this one, too, in time. But, at the moment, her focus was elsewhere. The others had lost sight of the true purpose of this mission. The Ink pooled in the center of the room¡¯s recessed floor. All of them distracted except for Isaa Firstdot-Tuarez, who stood next to Carina with her shield ready as if the drawing on the wall might come to life. ¡°The gods just leave it there like that?¡± she asked. ¡°All that power? Like slop on the floor?¡± As Issa spoke, Cortland tore his eyes away from the painting on the wall. He waved Carina forward. ¡°Go on, then,¡± he said. ¡°Do what we came here for. Go see the worm.¡± The worm. Yes. The symbologist. Carina¡¯s hands trembled briefly at the thought, but she didn¡¯t think the others noticed her torch¡¯s light flicker. She handed her torch off to Issa and stepped toward the room¡¯s center. ¡°So, do I just¡­ stick my hands in?¡± Cortland shoved his hammer into the loop on his belt, sizing her up for a moment. He must have realized that she¡¯d never done this before¡ªnot the way all the others had. ¡°That¡¯s right,¡± Cortland said. ¡°The Ink will know where to go.¡± Carina picked her way down the incline and crouched. She held her hands out and could feel the magnetic pull of the power. This was what she wanted, and yet she hesitated there with her hands poised over the Ink. ¡°Carina?¡± Henry had noticed her hesitation. ¡°You alright?¡± She nodded. How could she explain that her last experience receiving Ink had not been a pleasant one? They would have questions that she wasn''t prepared to answer¡ªshe didn''t even understand what she had experienced that first time. But it was far different from the encounters with the symbologist so often described in the literature collected by the Magelab or the Battle Library. Well, there wasn''t any turning back. The machinery of her ambitions had started running years ago; the gears wouldn''t stop now, even for her. Pain along the way was a certainty she had come to accept. She took a deep breath and dipped her fingers into the Ink. The viscous substance immediately responded to her touch. The Ink slithered across her fingers, up her sleeve, and pooled at her breastbone upon the symbol for logician. Carina held her hand to her heart, feeling the warmth, a fresh and undirected power nestled against her. Even though she already knew what symbol she wanted, Carina hadn''t drawn it with chanic in advance. She wanted to see what would happen if she played by the rules. The voice in her head made her flinch. Your power has grown, Carina Goldstone. Do you desire a consultation with the symbologist? ¡°Yes,¡± she whispered. The transition was instantaneous.
Wish Day, 1 New Summer, 61 AW. The Magelab, North Continent. 300 days until the next Granting To explain why Carina painted herself would¡¯ve made her sound mad. Or, since it ended up working as she¡¯d hoped, like a prophet. She always had an intuition about these things. Simple as that. On the day the gods chose her, she''d been wearing a design in chanic, drawn carefully with her best brushes. Carina had studied the classes and skills that were available to champions. She knew what she would want, even though she suspected she wouldn¡¯t have the necessary renown. Perhaps the restrictions set by the gods were malleable. Regardless, it was Wish Day and she sensed there could be an opening amongst Infinzel''s champions. By painting herself, she thought she might attract the gods¡¯ attention. She had certainly done that. At the Magelab, in trade for her stockpile of chanic, the archmages had granted her a provisionary membership and the use of a room in the servants¡¯ quarters that consisted of a narrow bed, a desk, and a window that was too high to actually see out of. Carina laid on her cot with her hands folded neatly across her stomach and her ankles crossed. There wasn¡¯t anything for her to do but wait. In the tower above, the champions of Magelab would be returning from the Granting¡ªall of them intact¡ªand would describe the results to their fellow mages. Carina had not been invited to attend. A banquet would follow¡ªshe could show her face at that, if she insisted¡ªand all the servants were busy with preparations. Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation. Thus, there was no one nearby to hear her scream. The pain began at Carina''s throat. The pyramidal symbol representing Infinzel started to boil. She grasped at her neck and had to yank her hands away from the heat. Bubbles of Ink and flesh popped beneath her fingers. Like liquid metal poured into a mold, the Ink from her neck hissed in searing rivulets down her sternum. Meanwhile, the lines of red chanic she¡¯d painted on herself felt almost magnetized, sucking her Ink downward, while also applying a burrowing pressure to her bony chest, like a whirlpool had opened up inside her torso. Her body bucked downward into the bed. Screaming, near mindless from the pain, she tried to wipe the chanic off her, ignoring the way her fingertips sizzled down to the bone from the heat. Carina squeezed her eyes shut and the world slipped away. She found herself in a deep, deep darkness. A crushing weight bound her on all sides. Her mouth¡ªstill open to scream¡ªfilled with grit. Sand, she thought, that tasted like old bones. She had been buried alive. But she was not alone. There was something else down there with her. Coiled around her like the tentacle of an octopus. The darkness changed, slowly, like a curtain rising, to a deep hue of crimson. You use my power to play their game. The voice that reached her in those airless depths did not have qualities of sound, but rather had the feeling of ancientness. It was not a voice that whispered or rumbled¡ªit was a voice that spoke like mountains rose or oceans dried, across millennia. The words felt like they might split her apart. I will grant your wish, small one. But even in your short lifespan, debts will come due. And then it was done. Carina felt like a hawk released from under its hood. She shot upward, flying free. She was back in her small bed. The pain was gone. There were no burns on her¡ªno melted fingers or bubbling skin. Yanking open her shirt, Carina found the Ink of a champion, albeit flecked with red.
23 Harvesend, 61 AW Armistice Island, Center Sea Carina felt warm sand beneath her fingers and let out a brief moan, anticipating a return to the pulverizing depths. But she could breathe; she hadn¡¯t been reclaimed by that old power in the earth. She sat in the middle of Infinzel¡¯s training grounds, except the walls of the pyramidal city had been replaced by clean blue sky. Beyond the sands where she¡¯d fought so many battles with Cortland, waves from the ocean rolled in. Where there should have been dummies for target practices, there were instead stone blocks chiseled with symbols of the gods. [Acuity+], [Assess], [Ritual of Knowledge], Carina¡¯s eyes bounced greedily from rune to rune. This was as it should be. The telepathic projection of Armistice that every champion visited, different every time, tailored to meet their needs. She had made it. ¡°Greetings, at last, Carina Goldstone,¡± said in a raspy, patient voice. And there was the symbologist. The worm-like creature huddled in its ragged robes, a respectful distance away, directly beneath a block with the [Logician] symbol etched upon it. ¡°Symbologist, I¡¯m grateful to meet you,¡± Carina said, wiping the back of her hand across her eyes. ¡°Yes,¡± the worm replied. ¡°I imagine that is so.¡± Carina had never told anyone about her experience when she received her Ink. That was not the kind of story one shared. And yet, based on its slightly scolding tone, she suspected the symbologist knew. ¡°You have been granted abilities beyond your renown,¡± the symbologist said, getting straight to business. ¡°I have prepared some suggestions that might help you master them.¡± Climbing to her feet, Carina took a second look at the runes arranged before her. [Acuity+] ¨C You process information at a higher rate of speed than humanly possible. Carina could imagine how that might help her work with [Future Sight]. She had lost a number of fights with Cortland because she was too slow in parsing potential short term outcomes. [Ritual of Knowledge] ¨C You have access to a ritual that will grant you preternatural understanding of a subject. Her heartbeat quickened at that, imagining all the ways she could dissect the inventions of King Cizco. But, tempting as these were, Carina shook her head. ¡°Thank you, symbologist, but I already have something in mind,¡± she said.
Carina returned to her body¡ªand the cold darkness of the Underneath¡ªwith a smile. She had gotten what she wanted. The third renown. And the process had been painless. At least, so far. Behind her, Cortland grunted. ¡°Smart choice,¡± he said, as he used [Assess] upon her. ¡°I need to be able to protect myself,¡± Carina replied. ¡°I can¡¯t have you always watching over me.¡± She had chosen [Force Armor]. An aura of invisible resistance protects your body from attacks both physical and magical. ¡°A sweet moment, to see baby¡¯s first steps,¡± Vitt said. As her eyes readjusted to the torchlight, Carina realized that Vitt had crouched down directly opposite her. There was still Ink pooled on the floor, although Carina no longer felt the alluring pull of power from it. Without thinking, she dipped her index finger into the puddle, but nothing happened except that she stained her skin. Vitt clucked his tongue. ¡°Don¡¯t get greedy now. Can¡¯t use the same source twice.¡± He peered over her shoulder. ¡°You¡¯re sure you don¡¯t want it, Henry? It¡¯s your turn.¡± Carina turned to regard the healer as he took an emphatic step backward, his hands up. ¡°I¡¯ve agreed to stick it out for this Granting,¡± he said, ¡°but I still want to take the wash next year. I¡¯ve had my fill of caverns and killing.¡± ¡°Not me,¡± purred Vitt. He dipped his hands into the Ink and Carina watched, rapt, as the remainder of the liquid slithered across his hands and under his armor. She watched his face expectantly, waiting for his eyes to go blank as he took his own meeting with the symbologist. However, Vitt breathed out sharply through his nose and stood up. ¡°It wasn¡¯t enough for tenth,¡± he said, lips curling over his teeth. ¡°I told you,¡± Cortland said. ¡°It gets harder and harder.¡± Scowling, Vitt¡¯s eyes found Carina. ¡°I hope coming down here was worth it.¡± ¡°It was,¡± she replied. And it would be. There was more to come, she knew. Some necessary ugliness, as she thought of it. Any minute now, Vitt would flinch and say¡ª ¡°They¡¯re moving!¡± Carina spun around. It wasn¡¯t Vitt who had spoken, but Walton. He had his broadsword held out in front of him, ready to strike, his back pressed against the wall. ¡°Form up!¡± Cortland bellowed. Quickly, they all snapped back to their positions and gathered around Walton. They returned to the T-shaped corridor just in time to see the gargoyles¡ªthe inanimate ones with their cores removed that they¡¯d passed through on their way¡ªarranging themselves in a straight line. The creatures moved ploddingly, without the animalistic power they were usually imbued with, and did not seem concerned at all with the champions. They created a barrier across the passage straight ahead, blocking the way forward, but leaving the way back open. A glowing orb floated in the shadows beyond the gargoyles. Blue and crackling, Carina recognized it immediately as a core. Maybe more than one, actually¡ªthe arcane bundles that had powered the gargoyles now somehow fused together. ¡°Champions¡­¡± The core wasn¡¯t floating. It was being carried. In the mixture of torchlight and azure glow, the creature was difficult to see, even as it inched toward its barrier of gargoyles. It stood on two legs, almost eight feet tall, although it was hunched as if ready to retreat at any moment. The thing''s body was draped in the shiny black skins of peeled scroungers, like the creature had attempted to make some approximation of clothes or armor. Its limbs were thick and heavy as stone, alabaster white, run through with veins of shimmering ice. Great wings were folded against its back. Its face¡ªhollow eyes and sharp beak¡ªwas just barely visible beneath a worm-skin hood. The thing had once been a gargoyle, Carina was sure of that much, but had grown far more advanced. ¡°I told them¡­¡± whispered Walton. ¡°I told them it talked!¡± ¡°Where is mother?¡± the creature asked. Its words sounded like wind, high-pitched and scratchy, almost musical. Carina envisioned a collection of holes and hollows drilled into a gargoyle''s snout that could have air pushed through them like a harmonica, approximating speech. How long could that have taken? When did it develop the desire and knowledge to build itself makeshift vocal chords? ¡°Here¡¯s your fucking mother,¡± Vitt said, notching an arrow. ¡°Don¡¯t!¡± Carina yelped, shoving his arm down. Vitt brushed her off easily, but didn¡¯t raise his bow again. ¡°It¡¯s trying to communicate with us. We don¡¯t need to attack it.¡± Carina took a step around the others. She activated [Enthralled Defender] and tried to compel the talking gargoyle to act as her staunch protector¡ªthat would render the situation safer. But a greater magic rebuffed her ability. This creature was already under the sway of someone else. The bond was too powerful for Carina to break. Even so, she edged around Cortland and continued her approach. She heard a warning growl in the hammer master¡¯s throat, but he let her take the lead. As she suspected, the others took their cues from him. ¡°Who are you?¡± Carina asked the creature. ¡°Who is your mother?¡± ¡°The Firstson,¡± the creature said, tapping its stone claws against its chest. ¡°Mother is¡­ mother.¡± The creature cocked its head as if it didn¡¯t understand how to better explain itself. As it did, Carina made out a new detail. It had painted the blackbird of Orvesis on the stone of its neck¡ªsloppily done, not like the handiwork of the gods, but still an attempt to show allegiance. ¡°Hear that, Vitt?¡± Henry said. ¡°That gargoyle outranks you.¡± Carina knew her history well. She knew who had made these gargoyles. ¡°Kayenna Vezz?¡± she asked the creature. ¡°Is that who you mean?¡± ¡°Mother¡­¡± the Firstson repeated. ¡°She¡¯s dead!¡± Cortland added, unhelpfully. ¡°Dead for sixty-some years!¡± The Firstson¡¯s wings flexed and Carina hesitated, having reached the intersection of the passages. ¡°Alive,¡± the gargoyle said. ¡°Needs us.¡± Carina glanced to her left, down the passage that they¡¯d entered from. She had the sense of being in this very position before¡ªand she had¡ªin one of her visions of the future. So, this gargoyle was why she found herself here, slightly ahead of the others, as the first wafts of smoke coiled toward them. It would happen now. Just as she knew it would. Behind her, Carina heard Vitt take in a sharp breath. ¡°Patricia¡¯s dead,¡± he announced, referring to his summoned nightstalker. ¡°Something¡¯s coming¡­¡± Carina nodded. Something was coming, indeed. She could see the glow from the tunnel they¡¯d come from. A hellish shimmer. The Firstson must have sensed it, too, because it shied backward behind its wall of dormant gargoyles. As it did, Carina braced herself and activated [Force Armor]. A wall of fire filled the tunnel. The inferno crashed down upon them, engulfing them all.
41. [Cortland] The Fire Consumes
¡ªDRAMATIS PERSONAE¡ª Cortland Finiron, Hammer Master of the 12th Renown, Kingdom of Infinzel, hot-tempered Arris Stonetender, a fire elementalist of no renown, Kingdom of Infinzel, exploding Carina Goldstone, Henry Blacksalve, and Vitt Secondson-Salvado, champions of Infinzel, cooked to various degrees Issa Firstdot-Tuarez and Walton Tendersword, well done
23 Harvesend, 61 AW The Underneath 217 days until the next Granting The only times Cortland ever visited the ocean were during his yearly trips to Armistice. The island did not grant the champions many opportunities to enjoy the scenery, but there had been one occasion that stuck with him. His second Granting. Infinzel had finished their killing ahead of schedule, they had no grudges left to be settled, no enemies lurking in that year¡¯s maze of palms, and had set themselves up with a beach camp. With Ben Tuarez next to him, Cortland had stripped down and waded out into the ocean to wash off the blood. The waves had buffeted them roughly, and sent both men stumbling. Ben had braced Cortland¡¯s shoulders, but Cortland remembered shrugging him off and pushing out further, determined to see how far he could go. It wasn¡¯t far. Cortland wasn¡¯t a strong swimmer and, even if he had been, the tides would have flung him backward. Cortland wondered if that was the firm hand of the gods in those waters, pushing him back to the island and its violence. No one got to leave early. Cortland acquired [Immovable] that year. He never liked being pushed around. The wall of fire that rushed through the tunnel reminded Cortland of those waves. There was no escape. He raised his buckler and used [Greater Shield] and [Immovable] just as the inferno broke over him. The fire parted around his invisible shield but he could still feel the heat¡ªhe needed to squeeze his eyes shut to keep them from blistering. Cortland held his breath so as not to gulp in any of the fire. He felt someone collapse against his back, using him as a bulwark. A [Force Shield] joined with Cortland¡¯s own¡ªsmaller and deployed late but still some relief¡ªand he knew that it must have been Henry huddled with him. The flames washed over them, passed into the room where the Ink had been hidden, and then swirled into nothing with the sound of sucking oxygen. Cortland''s eyes snapped open and immediately started to water. The air hurt to breathe¡ªhot, yes, but also acrid with a chemical stench, some gas floating through the cracks in the caverns that burned dirty. Next to him, Issa coughed desperately. She had hunkered down behind her own shield and been spared most of the flames, but the heated metal had peeled the skin off her cheek and forearm. These injuries seemed forgotten as she desperately struggled to get in some clean air. At Issa''s side, Walton Tendersword laid flat on his back, his hands still held up before him, his fingers charred curls. His broadsword had gone flying somewhere behind him. The boy''s skin was all blackened meat and dark crimson gulfs, and there were still fires burning in the gaps of his armor. Carina crouched over him, trying to pat out these lingering flames with hands encased in a layer of magical shielding. She looked completely untouched by the blast. Of course, it had been a good time to select [Force Armor]. A bit of luck for the logician, or careful planning? Now was not the time to dwell on that suspicion. Henry still had his hands on Cortland''s shoulders, holding himself up as he coughed spasmodically. A blackish-red coated Henry''s lips¡ªsome mixture of soot and blood¡ªand his face and hands were pocked with bubbling blisters. His ward-weave cloak had spared him most of the damage, the smoldering garment now pooled on the ground behind Henry. ¡°Heal yourself,¡± Cortland barked at him, his lips cracking as they opened. ¡°Then do what you can for the boy.¡± Henry waved at Cortland¡¯s arm, trying to speak through his coughs. ¡°Fire.¡± ¡°Yeah, no shi¡ªoh.¡± Cortland realized that his hammering arm was on fire. He slapped out the flames, barely feeling the burns. His [Recovery+] was already smoothing his skin back to normal. Behind them all, Vitt laid in a quivering heap. He had tried to outrun the fire and it had climbed up his back, eaten through his leather armor, and left a repulsive layer of burns from the back of his head to his ass. The hunter''s beautiful hair had mostly burned away. He was very much alive, though, and quaking with what Cortland realized was a frothing rage, both of his hands pressed against the cavern floor as he tried to push through the pain and press himself up. He screamed as the mess on his back split and bled thickly. Vitt sank back down against the stone. An orb of soothing white energy appeared next to Cortland and he felt an immediate rush of strength. Henry had used [Empowering Beacon]. Everyone within its range would find themselves more powerful and tolerant of pain. It might be enough to at least stabilize the injured until Henry could get to them. Carina fumbled with a heated plate of armor on Walton¡¯s chest and the soldier let out a cry as his skin peeled up with it. ¡°Henry!¡± Carina yelped, shrinking back wide-eyed. ¡°Quickly!¡± As Henry staggered to Walton, Cortland squinted down the tunnel. He did not understand what had happened. Another trap set by that talkative gargoyle? The caverns were now lit by scattered fires and, peering through the hanging smoke, Cortland saw that the creature that called itself the Firstson had retreated back into the depths, leaving behind a lifeless wall of gargoyles and some burning patches of scrounger skin. No, this calamity wasn''t the creature''s handiwork. The fire had come from the other direction, back the way they¡¯d come. Seconds before the blaze, Vitt had said that something killed his summoned nightstalker... Gripping his hammer, the leather-wrapped handle warm in his hand, Cortland stepped in front of the others to peer down the curving corridor. ¡°It was supposed to be my Ink,¡± said a voice that sounded like a snapping campfire. If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. Cortland''s fist tightened. ¡°Arris Stonetender! What have you done?¡± Every year, Infinzel celebrated the coldest day of Trollove by burning a towering effigy of King Mudt of Orvesis. Gazing upon Arris now, Cortland couldn''t help but be reminded of that swaying figure of wood and straw, fire gobbling away at it from within. The elementalist stood nude before him, although the charred patches of flesh and cooked skin made for its own kind of macabre clothing. Arris was wreathed in fire and smoke, tendrils of heat curling away from her like snakes. A piece of her abdomen had caved in¡ªor been hollowed out¡ªCortland couldn''t decide which. A glowing white heat emanated from that hole in her body like a furnace. ¡°It was supposed to be mine,¡± Arris said. Her words carried on the smoke, felt almost like a part of them. ¡°I sacrificed so much. The Ink was meant for me!¡± ¡°By the gods,¡± Henry said, his voice breaking. Cortland snapped a look over his shoulder. The healer crouched over Walton but his eyes were fixed on the elementalist. ¡°Do your work, Henry!¡± His shaking hands aglow, Henry turned his attention back to the burned soldier. Carina, meanwhile, came to stand a step behind Cortland. Her body still glowed faintly with her [Force Armor] but Cortland doubted it would withstand much more. ¡°Her,¡± Arris said, pointing at Carina. Her finger was baked yellow bone, no meat at all left on that hand, fire licking at the joints in the same way ice ran through a gargoyle''s body. She had given herself over completely to some old magic. ¡°She stole what was meant for me.¡± Cortland took a step forward, but Carina put a hand on his arm. ¡°She doesn''t know what she''s saying. She needs help.¡± Help? There weren''t enough healers in all of Infinzel to fix what Arris had done to herself. Cortland shook off Carina''s hand and made another step forward, putting his squat bulk between Arris and the others. ¡°Every year passed over by that bastard Ben!¡± Arris screamed. Steam rose from the cave walls as the temperature climbed again. ¡°Passed over for you, Cortland, then for Henry, then for Vitt. He saw the sacrifices I made, but he never chose me. He needed to go¡­¡± Cortland dropped his chin as he took another step forward. ¡°What are you saying, Arris?¡± ¡°He deserved what he got.¡± Arris twitched, the skin on her neck crinkling and breaking, like the words pained her. ¡°I knew you would be different, Cortland. And you were! You picked me! The Ink would have fixed me but then she¡­ she¡­¡± The ball of flame at the elementalist¡¯s midsection flared white hot. New gouts of fire blossomed from her body, filling the chamber around her. Arris held out her arms, flesh dripping and crisping, as if only her skeletal frame restrained the growing blaze. ¡°Back! Everyone back!¡± Cortland was vaguely aware of Carina shouting as she fled. Cortland did not retreat. He had known Arris for years. They had come up together through the Garrison. But he did not recognize her now. These bitter words, twisted with heat and desperation. The hunger for the Ink¡ªsomething she had kept hidden for so long. Burning herself up. ¡°Mercy,¡± Cortland said. ¡°Yes,¡± Arris rasped. ¡°For you, of course. We need only be rid of the girl and then we can set things as they should be.¡± ¡°No,¡± Cortland said. ¡°What I do now is mercy.¡± ¡°Wh--?¡± Cortland used [Bull Rush]. In the space of a heartbeat, he stood directly in front of Arris. At this distance, he could see how her eyes had melted into twisted pits, almost as if she now saw through the flames themselves. Her mouth hung open¡ªtongue and cheek eaten away by fire¡ªher words crackling. In what was left of her face, Cortland thought he saw confusion. ¡°I couldn¡¯t stop thinking¡­¡± The rest of her words were lost as Cortland brought his hammer down on her head¡ªthrough her head¡ªher skull shattering like brittle tinder, the blow crashing downward with enough force that when Cortland yanked his hammer back it was from the quickly dimming recess in the elementalist¡¯s abdomen. As during the winter celebration, the effigy toppled. The flames lost their inertia¡ªdissipated against the stone, flickered, and whooshed away.
1 Brittlest, 61 AW The Training Pit, inside the pyramidal city of Infinzel 210 days until the next Granting Cortland watched from the balcony as Vitt and a couple Garrison commanders put another group of prospects through a series of exercises that would leave all of them gasping and puking. The recruits came from the manufactory, or the outer districts, or were otherwise young and as yet unassigned. Infinzel maintained strict quotas throughout their workforce and it was rare for there to be so many opening in the Garrison all at once. But Arris Stonetender was dead, as were the six veterans who had been charged with watching the Underneath¡¯s gate with her, the lot of them burned alive when they tried to stop her from following the champions down. Plus, Walton Tendersword had received compassionate reassignment. Eight openings meant eight chances to improve one¡¯s station. Perhaps, one day, a recruit down there would replace Cortland as champion. He had been like them once. Eager to earn, eager to fight. And now, he stood in the very spot where Ben Tuarez had once made decisions that would shape Cortland¡¯s life. Although he would be expected to weigh in on the selections, the hammer master only half paid attention. Vitt would be a good enough judge of talent as far as recruits were concerned. Cortland had to force himself not to smirk whenever he saw Vitt¡ªthey had the same haircut these days. Vitt¡¯s black hair was just starting to come back in and wasn¡¯t yet long enough for his precious red streaks. The man had lost something of his predatory elegance. Perhaps that was why he¡¯d cut back on the whoring. In the last week, at least, the hunter had been more cognizant of his responsibilities. He¡¯d even volunteered to accompany another group to the Underneath, watching over soldiers and masons as they reattached sconces to the walls. There had been no sign of the gargoyle Firstson. No more traps, no more tampering with Infinzel¡¯s constructions. Perhaps the creature had died during the inferno. Wishful thinking, Cortland suspected. As to a dedicated hunt for the Firstson, and the strange boy painted on the cavern wall, those matters were under consideration by King Cizco. He had reached out to the Magelab for a consultation, and apparently one of their champions was on her way. A candle, too, the one the archmages trusted to settle disputes. Cortland caught himself turning the angle over in his hand again. The triangle coin of Infinzel, forged and shaped on the tier above him now, the currency of the northern continent. Nothing so special, and yet, he couldn¡¯t let this one go. The corners dug into his palm as he squeezed it. Soldiers had found the coin when clearing out Arris Stonetender¡¯s possessions. Written upon it¡ªin blood¡ªwas the name ¡®Carina Goldstone.¡¯ ¡°Maybe you saved my life,¡± Carina had told him when she heard about the coin. ¡°When you sank the wishing well at Guydemion¡¯s.¡± Cortland wondered. He supposed that it added up. Overlooked for years, dying from her addiction to her own magic, Arris had turned to the Brokerage of Blades to get rid of Ben Tuarez. Her request had been accepted, the killing done, but the result had not gotten Arris the reward she expected. In her madness, the woman had basically admitted as much. Except, she hadn¡¯t. Not exactly. And so, Cortland wondered. ¡°Uncle? You wanted to see me?¡± Cortland slipped the angle away as Issa emerged onto the balcony behind him. She came to stand next to him¡ªtaller than him, her handsome features reminding Cortland so much of her father. He grunted. ¡°How you feeling?¡± Issa shrugged. ¡°Blacksalve¡¯s healing did the trick, far as I can figure it. Still flinching when I pass by an open flame, but that will pass. I hope.¡± Cortland nodded. He rested a hand on his hammer, drumming his fingers on the stone. ¡°What do you think of Carina?¡± She raised an eyebrow at his bluntness. ¡°How do you mean?¡± ¡°Your honest impressions.¡± Issa hesitated, not sure what to say. ¡°Bit of a bitch, if I¡¯m being truthful,¡± she began eventually. ¡°But more than competent, it seems. A good fit for your crew. I could see myself getting to like her.¡± Cortland nodded. He felt the same. He liked Carina, and wanted to trust her, to protect her¡ªeven after the ambush she¡¯d laid for him. That felt, now, like the rebellion of an unruly daughter. But there was still that feeling. That lingering edge that made him want to reach for his hammer. He¡¯d felt it on the day he met her, and he felt it now still. ¡°You should get tight with her,¡± Cortland said. ¡°And tell me what you learn.¡± Issa surprised him by laughing. ¡°Uncle, are you asking me to be your spy?¡± ¡°That¡¯ll be all,¡± Cortland replied. He turned his attention back to the recruits scrabbling across the sand below. Issa started to say something more, but then pressed her lips together, and left as ordered. Cortland knew what Ben had always said about him¡ªthat he was a man with a hammer and he didn¡¯t have the head for anything more. Maybe that was true. He had started down there, just like those doubled-over recruits, sweating and bleeding. But now, he was up here.
42. [Red Tide] Heartwood
King Mudt marched his army into Ruchet, where Kayenna Vezz had taken up residence. The sorceress had amassed a small force of her own, but they were badly outnumbered and under orders not to impede the king. The sight of his people in Ruchet pleased King Mudt. All bore the blackbird of Orvesis, which meant all could be killed if they disobeyed. Vezz occupied a villa that overlooked the glittering ocean. Indeed, the waters of Ruchet did shine in those days, before the Annihilation and the spread of corruption northward, when Ruchet was not yet swamp, and murk, and horrors. The harbor was crowded with ships fleeing Mudt¡¯s arrival. Under Vezz¡¯s control, Ruchet had been a safe haven of sorts. The war felt very far away. And now, the war was over, and Orvesian brutality had no place to go but inward. King Mudt wended his way up the villa¡¯s track in the company of his champions Bello and Carver, and his would-be champion Grime. Only one person dared come down to meet them. Mudt roared with laughter at the sight of this scrawny man and his silly mask, but the interloper gave the assassin Bello pause. This man¡¯s mask identified him as a killer born of the wild, an elite guerilla of Besaden, used by the beastlords to target the mages in their squabbles for the forest. It surprised him to see this man marked not with the paw print of Besaden but with a curved dagger and coins. ¡°Be careful with this one,¡± Bello said quietly but, as ever, his king ignored him. ¡°What are you supposed to be?¡± King Mudt asked. ¡°Crying Otter,¡± said the man whose mask matched his name. King Mudt wiped his eyes when his laughter again subsided. ¡°And why do you block my way, little man?¡± ¡°To warn you against your current course of action. Listen to what your sorceress has to say. She understands this game better than you could ever hope to.¡± History has shown that King Mudt was not the sort to listen to counsel. He trusted only those who had fought bravely¡ªand unsuccessfully¡ªagainst him, and traded their loyalty for mercy. And, even then, it was well known amongst his skittish advisors that King Mudt must be coaxed around to discovering an idea as if it were his own. Thus, with his brazen directness, Crying Otter had little chance of convincing King Mudt of his folly. ¡°You are lucky the Ink protects you, to speak to me so,¡± King Mudt told the masked man. In response, Crying Otter opened his shirt, so that King Mudt could see the new markings of a champion bearing allegiance to a group none yet understood. ¡°Another warning, then,¡± said Crying Otter. ¡°When we next meet, I will not speak at all.¡± --Record of the First Granting and Dawning of the Second Age Lyus Crodd, Scribe of the Dead Kingdom of Orvesis
--DRAMATIS PERSONAE¡ª Red Tide, Enchantress of the 4th Renown, The Reef, granting wishes Cuda Bite, Throne Gazer, Salt Wall, and Turtle Jaw, the three champions of the Reef and their Quill, time for some rest and recuperation Vikael Rambrother and Meera Rootgarde, Shifter of the 11th Renown and Druid of the 7th Renown, Besaden, tour guides of varying enthusiasm
The month of Brittlest, 61 AW Heartwood, the hidden center of Besaden 210 days until the next Granting After a leisurely journey through the forest of Besaden, the champions of the Reef arrived in the hidden village of Heartwood to find Zayda Everbloom, the Quill of Besaden, absent. They had come all this way to broker a deal with the woman, and she was gone. ¡°After the last Granting, one of our champions became more beast than man,¡± Vikael Rambrother explained. He slid a hand through his graying black hair, fingers brushing the horns that curled up from his skull. ¡°Zayda¡¯s gone south to give him the wash and mark our new champion.¡± ¡°When will she return?¡± Turtle Jaw asked, getting the question in before a clearly bristling Throne Gazer could speak. ¡°Soon, soon. She set out immediately after Wish Day,¡± Vikael said. He spread out his hairy arms. ¡°Until then, consider yourselves honored guests of Heartwood.¡± Red Tide stood by silently, taking in the sprawling village. It was certainly smaller than some of the land-walker cities she had glimpsed along the coasts, but perhaps more impressive despite its limited scope. Heartwood wasn''t built amongst the trees, it was built from the trees. Great redwoods split open to allow entry into inner chambers. Ridges of bark curled up trunks like spiral staircases, leading to rooms formed where branches braided together. Roots butted up from the dirt in a grid, creating thoroughfares that the Besadenizens organized themselves around. The architecture itself swelled with the wild of nature, yet there was a rigorous order to it all, the guiding hands of the arborists clear. Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on. ¡°The trees remember,¡± Meera told Red Tide when she caught the enchantress staring up at the network of branches, the lofted platforms and their draping curls of leaves for privacy. ¡°What''s that mean?¡± Red Tide asked. ¡°Twice in my lifetime, we''ve moved Heartwood,¡± Meera explained. ¡°These trees unwind themselves as if we were never here. Elsewhere, other trees bend and contort to the will of our arborists. The blessing of the ge¡¯gala follow wherever we go.¡± At the center of town, they passed by a statue shaped from wood. A tiger slept easily, draped across the branch of a tree. Vivid splashes of red and yellow leaves gave the animal color, the wind shifting the leaves in a way that made the tiger look as if it were breathing. The united gods of Besaden¡ªge¡¯besa and ge¡¯gala¡ªbeast and nature. Both owed allegiance to the paw print. ¡°Why you telling me this?¡± Red Tide asked Meera. Meera rolled her shoulders. ¡°Saw the look on your face, coral tender. Thought you might find it interesting.¡± ¡°I''ve told you, my Ink don''t make me a coral tender,¡± Red Tide said. Meera shrugged again and moved on, leaving Red Tide to wonder what look the arborist had seen upon her face. She had been thinking about the Reef¡ªthe oca''em had insinuated themselves into the vast coral, made themselves its keepers and protectors, and formed a stronghold from the porous chambers. At its peak, the Reef had been a great wall upon the sea, and no ship passed without the leave of the oca¡¯em. And then¡ªbecause of the wishes of the merchants and the failures of the oca''em¡ªthe Reef had been eaten away, shriveled to merely a fraction of its former glory. Would things have been different for her people if they could have hidden themselves away and gathered their strength, instead of throwing themselves against the land-walkers for decades? The ge¡¯oca were cold and proud gods¡ªbut even the tides receded before smashing upon the land again. The champions found themselves settled into a great tree all of their own, the branches shaped into five rooms partitioned by tangles of ivy. Although many of Heartwood¡¯s residences climbed high into the trees, the Reef¡¯s quarters were low to the ground, which Red Tide found herself grateful for. ¡°I requested this space special for you,¡± Vikael said excitedly. ¡°Come, see.¡± From their tree¡¯s common area, Vikael led them down a pitched staircase of roots that descended into the ground, terminating at a steep drop accessible by a ladder of vines. Grinning stupidly, Vikael leapt over the edge, his arms wrapped around his knees. Red Tide¡¯s heart soared at the ensuing splash. Water. Water, at last. An underground spring ran beneath their tree, lit by lumloe plants that lined the walls. Red Tide didn¡¯t hesitate to strip down and dive in, making the fin at last after so many weeks of travel on her feet. Cuda Bite came with her, then the others, all except for Throne Gazer who appeared intent on maintaining some kind of clothed land-walker dignity, as if Besaden¡¯s Quill might manifest at any moment to begin negotiations. The water lacked salt, but it was crisply cold and ran deep and dark, spreading in vast chambers beneath Heartwood. Roots crept down from the ceiling, dipping into the water to take their sustenance. Red Tide and Cuda Bite soon found themselves pulling Vikael toward one of those drooping roots; the man was a blundering swimmer and weighed down badly by his horns. ¡°My rescuers!¡± Vikael yelled as he clamored out of the water. ¡°Idiot!¡± Meera shouted from above. ¡°You embarrass yourself!¡± Red Tide and Cuda Bite left the others to their typical squabbling, submerging themselves. Cuda Bite spun under the water, singing a song of liberation. Red Tide floated with him, basking in the joy of his song, and the water against her skin.
As she explored the town in those first days, Red Tide caught some stares from the locals, but they were mostly of curiosity and not the superstitious hostility of the coastal land-walkers. The Besadenizens came and went from Heartwood as they pleased, ranging in smaller groups throughout the sprawling woods where there were other hidden sanctuaries. All of them moved at the same languorous pace as the escort who had brought them in. They tended the animals, or farmed the groves, or got drunk and napped. An easy life, Red Tide thought, and yet these people were far from soft. She witnessed no shortage of drunken disputes settled through violence¡ªalthough, unlike the oca¡¯em, the Besadenizens stopped short of murdering their rivals. They honored no currency in the Heartwood; everyone was expected to contribute in their way. The lazy, the treacherous, the greedy¡ªthey found themselves driven violently into the woods where they would learn to live from the land, one way or another. ¡°They don¡¯t eat meat here,¡± Salt Wall complained. ¡°How long do we have to stay?¡± They had weeks to wait for the Quill of Besaden to return, and little to do in the meantime. And so, Red Tide decided to take Cuda Bite for a lover.
As Red Tide expected, the skulker was enthusiastic and eager-to-please. They spent most nights together, except ones when Red Tide was too tired from singing for the Besadenizens, or when Cuda Bite came back too drunk and in a grim mood after losing at dice. She always came to his room¡ªno different than her own, walls of wood and a soft bed and ivy for curtains¡ªbut she could leave when she wished. ¡°Do not misunderstand this,¡± she snapped at him one night as they laid together afterward, her cheek against his chest. Cuda Bite¡¯s fingers were in her braids, stroking and soothing in a way that made Red Tide feel suddenly too close. ¡°I understand perfectly, Red,¡± he replied. ¡°You want us to run away together and start a pod of our own.¡± She dug her chin into his ribs until he wormed away. ¡°You will be dead before that happens.¡± ¡°We both will be.¡± Red Tide sat up, studying him, the patch of white over her eye more visible than the rest of her in the near dark. She remembered a conversation they¡¯d had on one of their first nights of freedom after Turtle Jaw sprung them from the Grotto, back when neither of them really understood what they¡¯d gotten themselves into. ¡°You could still escape, like you wanted,¡± Red Tide said. ¡°Vikael likes us. He would show you the way. It might be days before the others noticed you were gone and what then? You think Turtle Jaw or Throne Gazer would chase after you? You could get washed and disappear.¡± Cuda Bite rested his palm against the Ink that covered his chest. ¡°Throne Gazer¡¯s promised me a good life after this. All the riches of a restored Reef, right at my fingertips. How could I turn that down?¡± Red Tide pressed her lips together. She¡¯d suspected Throne Gazer had made an offer like that when the two of them had gone off together to hunt Ink. ¡°Is that why you stay?¡± she asked. ¡°It¡¯s one of the reasons.¡± ¡°What are the others?¡± Cuda Bite looked away from her. ¡°I¡¯m afraid, if I say, that you¡¯ll think I¡¯ve gone romantic and we won¡¯t get to fuck anymore.¡± She snorted. ¡°You live a risky life.¡± ¡°I stay, because, crazy as it seems, I think you might actually get us through this,¡± Cuda Bite said. ¡°I think we could win. And if not?¡± He stretched and cupped his hands behind his head. ¡°Worse ways for a man to spend his last year of life, I¡¯ll tell you that.¡± That night, Red Tide stayed until Cuda Bite had fallen into a deep sleep, snoring contentedly. Then, she placed a piece of coral on his chest, over the symbol he¡¯d acquired after their battle with the Coralline Elite. [Dark Reflex] it was called. The rune would save Cuda Bite from a deadly injury¡ªshe¡¯d seen it work once, turning Cuda Bite¡¯s body into mist to evade Salt Wall¡¯s hook. Red Tide used [Coral Tender]. She shaped the coral to match the rune exactly, mirroring the delicate lines of the ge¡¯ema¡¯s arcane symbology. She was careful and patient. Sylvie Aracia¡ªannoying little bitch from Penchenne¡ªhad told her that any mistakes would be disastrous. When she¡¯d finished, Red Tide held up a perfect stencil of Cuda Bite¡¯s rune. She could practice it now. Learn to draw it. And, when the Granting demanded it, Red Tide could use her small supply of Liar¡¯s Ink to give herself¡ªor one of the others¡ªa second chance at survival. It was peaceful in Besaden. Easy. But Red Tide had not yet been infected by Cuda Bite¡¯s optimism. They would need every advantage they could scrape together. Killers would be waiting for them on the island. Unbeknownst to Red Tide, one of those killers drew nearer with every passing day.
43. [Red Tide] Begging For Scraps
--DRAMATIS PERSONAE¡ª Red Tide, Enchantress of the 4th Renown, The Reef, growing restless Yodor Dominik, Beastlord of the 14th Renown, Besaden, a man of particular tastes Turtle Jaw, Quill of the Reef, counting the votes Vikael Rambrother, Shifter of the 11th Renown, Besaden, one of those do-gooder types Throne Gazer, Trident Master of the 4th Renown, The Reef, animal lover
13 Brittlest, 61 AW Heartwood, the hidden center of Besaden 197 days until the next Granting Red Tide met the third champion of Besaden when he appeared in the underground spring, poised on one of the roots that curled above the water with a sketchpad braced against his knees. She knew him for a champion only because of the whorls of Ink that peeked out from under his tunic, otherwise she would not have guessed. He stared at her as she floated lazily atop the water¡ªthey were alone¡ªand it occurred to Red Tide that she hadn¡¯t been sized up in quite this way since her days of luring merchant ships to capsize. Well, let the weird little man look. She was a guest in his land. Eventually, he cleared his throat to get Red Tide¡¯s attention. ¡°Excuse me.¡± She expected his voice to be tittering and nervous, but it rang deep and confident. ¡°Would you mind terribly if I were to make some sketches of the insides of your legs?¡± On her back, Red Tide frog-kicked closer to the champion¡¯s root. ¡°Would you mind terribly if I cut your fucking face?¡± He turned around to set his sketchpad at a safe distance, then patted the front of his pants. ¡°I do not have a knife handy. Do you?¡± Red Tide barked a laugh. ¡°You mean it, don¡¯t you?¡± ¡°If that is the cost, that is the cost,¡± he replied. ¡°I am Yodor Dominik. Champion and beastlord.¡± Ah. So, here was a true beastlord. Red Tide had not forgotten how Meera Rootgarde sharply corrected her use of the term. Not all who lived in Besaden were beastlords. Some, like Vikael, were shifters who could turn into beasts themselves. Others, like Meera, worshipped the plants instead of the creatures who gnawed their leaves. Red Tide had noticed some friction between those types and the third group¡ªthe vaunted beastlords who were the first to secure Besaden, and whose very title suggested control before coexistence. This Yodor struck Red Tide as entirely too self-possessed for someone so small and hairy. He lacked the brutish musculature of many of the Besadenizens, but he was long-limbed and, she suspected, agile, based on the way he balanced on that root with his toes hooked along the bark. He kept his dark hair pinned back neatly and his beard still came in patchy despite the man being in his late thirties. His eyes were wide and shiny, like reflecting pools, and vaguely unsettling. Even so, Red Tide found herself curling one of her legs into the air. Water dripped from the small bones that protruded from the inside of her leg. ¡°Is that what you want, Yodel?¡± He didn¡¯t correct her, but instead retrieved his sketchpad. ¡°Indeed. No other animal possesses anything like them.¡± Red Tide plunged her leg back underwater. ¡°I¡¯m not an animal.¡± Yodor smiled at her as if she¡¯d made a confusing joke. ¡°We are all animals, are we not?¡± She screwed up her face. ¡°That some kind of fucking riddle?¡± He eyed the ripples in the water where her leg had disappeared. ¡°If not a sketch, perhaps you would honor me with a song?¡± ¡°I¡¯ve been singing most nights after dinner.¡± ¡°No, one of your sea-songs,¡± Yodor said. ¡°There is one that describes the origin of your people, is there not? A woman caught on the waves, snatched at by the ge¡¯ema above and the ge¡¯oca below. She¡ªhow do you say it? She makes the fin to escape their tug-of-war?¡± Red Tide scowled. Of course, she knew the song. It was one of the first songs every oca¡¯em child learned. But it wasn¡¯t something for this presumptuous land-walker to be bandying about. ¡°Long song,¡± Red Tide said. ¡°You¡¯d drown before it got good.¡± ¡°I can breathe the water just like you,¡± he said, tapping the Ink on his chest. ¡°To be honest, I do not so much care about the words. Are they words? The vibrations. I am more interested in the function of your lungs. Your gills. The combination.¡± Red Tide nodded as if she understood. ¡°If I fart, you want to try sniffing the bubbles?¡± ¡°No. I make studies of anatomy. For knowledge.¡± Yodor said this with a sigh, as if frustrated he needed to explain himself. ¡°Your muscular friend was similarly uncooperative. I must say, I am disappointed. I expected you oca¡¯em to be more receptive when I voted for you to join us.¡± Red Tide cocked her head. Meera had told her there had been a vote amongst Besaden¡¯s champions and their absent Quill. Three of them had voted to receive the Reef, and two had not. ¡°You think we owe you something for that?¡± Red Tide asked. ¡°Of course not,¡± Yodor said. ¡°But I had heard you were a transactional people. Particularly the women.¡± Red Tide wondered how badly the gods would let her hurt this man, and what that might mean for their negotiations with Besaden. Before she could reach a conclusion, Turtle Jaw¡¯s gruff voice called down from the ledge above. ¡°I¡¯ve got legs, Yodor. You want to draw me?¡± The warden already had his pants half down as he prepared to dive in. Yodor stood abruptly, his glassy eyes flitting in other directions. This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience. ¡°Perhaps another time,¡± he said. The beastlord put his sketchpad into a satchel and then scrabbled up the roots with an agility that seemed almost simian. He traversed the ceiling hand-over-hand, eventually disappearing up a staircase carved into the hard-packed dirt. ¡°Hope you didn¡¯t mind the interruption,¡± Turtle Jaw said as he swam over to her. ¡°Didn¡¯t want you to have to bloody his nose.¡± Red Tide tossed her head. ¡°I¡¯m no fool, warden. I know we¡¯re here to charm these people. To beg for their assistance.¡± ¡°Some truth to that, but not him. Yodor¡¯s the one vote we¡¯ve got in the nets.¡± ¡°How¡¯s that?¡± ¡°Deep Dweller offered him the chance to study a leviathan, once we bring them back.¡± Red Tide snorted. ¡°Probably plans to fuck it.¡± Turtle Jaw¡¯s face puckered. ¡°A disturbing image.¡± Red Tide rolled onto her back. ¡°We are spending a lot of our last days here, warden. Not a bad place to do it. But I worry we¡¯ll leave with nothing.¡± ¡°Well, we¡¯re assured of Yodor¡¯s vote, and Vikael¡¯s, even though his woman will be against.¡± ¡°What does Rambrother get from helping us?¡± The question had been on her mind since she¡¯d met the blustery shifter. ¡°Another reason to fight with his wife?¡± ¡°You may find it hard to believe, Red, but there are land-walkers who recognize the injustice of what the merchants have done to us.¡± She snorted. ¡°So he¡¯s a hero for lost causes.¡± ¡°Same as you,¡± Turtle Jaw replied, which earned him a look of disdain. ¡°Meera and their Quill, Zayda, will be against. They worry their involvement will put their people in danger and undermine their own wish. A practical concern, obviously.¡± ¡°It comes down to the fourth champion, then,¡± Red Tide said. ¡°The one who turned more beast than man, he was for us?¡± ¡°Yes. I knew him a bit from the Grantings. Vicious and always spoiling for a fight.¡± Turtle Jaw paused. ¡°His replacement? From what I¡¯ve heard, he¡¯s an elementalist. A mage of the dirt.¡± ¡°Then we¡¯re screwed, warden,¡± Red Tide said, shaking her head. ¡°You don¡¯t think this absent Quill of theirs selected one who will do her bidding?¡± Turtle Jaw splashed a handful of water in her direction. ¡°That¡¯s not how I chose my champions. Perhaps Zayda¡¯s as stupid as me.¡±
As their days in Besaden stretched on, Red Tide began to notice the looks more. When they first arrived, she had been bristling, prepared for the sneers like she¡¯d seen from sailors and coastal land-walkers. Vagrants of the sea. Fishmen. And yet, the Besadenizens treated them with respect¡ªwelcomed them, in fact, as honored guests. But after her encounter with Yodor, she noticed how some of these people studied her with too much curiosity. A zoological exhibit, like the animals she¡¯d heard they kept caged for entertainment in Merchant¡¯s Bay. Every day, there were more and more visitors in the underground spring¡ªnone of them so forward as Yodor¡ªbut she still heard their groans of disappointment when she plunged under the water too deep for anyone to follow. One night, as they sat in the glow of lumloe and drank in the cooling air, a massive bird came screeching down through the canopy. Red Tide had never seen anything quite like it. Glistening feathers of gold and black, a curved beak, massive talons. The Besadenizens cooed and cheered and whistled, dancing around the bird as its sharp black eyes followed them. Some climbed onto branches to try stroking its feathers and nearly lost fingers for the endeavor. ¡°I feel like that bird sometimes, around your people,¡± Red Tide said without thinking. Next to her, Vikael smirked. ¡°That is Niko. Last year, he was a man, a champion. Now, he will live out his days as a moonhawk, one-of-a-kind, because they are gone from Emza. He will know no mate and his remaining years will be short as the birds have weak hearts. But for a time, he will be amongst us, and honored.¡± He glanced at her. ¡°Is that how you feel, Red Tide?¡± Red Tide said nothing. Vikael shrugged. ¡°A good omen for you, anyway. Our Quill is on her way home.¡±
27 Brittlest, 61 AW Heartwood, the hidden center of Besaden 183 days until the next Granting Of all the Reef¡¯s champions, Throne Gazer most easily took to life in Besaden. Although the oca¡¯em were not expected to work, Throne Gazer had committed to helping maintain a habitat for oarfoxes. When Red Tide sought him out, she found him digging a trench toward a pond which he would then help to irrigate. Apparently, the oarfoxes liked to build their dens of wood above streams, and these were skills the beasts needed to practice before they could leave Besaden. The mischievous little creatures barked and feinted at Red Tide as she entered their territory, and she showed her teeth in response. They were like small dogs, low to the ground, with rust-colored fur and hard paddle-shaped tails that they used for digging and slapping. ¡°Annoyances,¡± she said to Throne Gazer by way of greeting. ¡°You choose terrible companions.¡± ¡°As ever,¡± he replied. She cocked her head. ¡°Was that you trying to be funny?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± Throne Gazer set aside his shovel and leaned back against the side of his trench. He pulled an oatcake from a pouch on his belt and broke half off for Red Tide. When she shook her head, he tossed it to some salivating oarfoxes and smiled as they fought over it. Above them, although the great redwoods were still green and flourishing, the leaves of the smaller trees had begun to change color, flashing vivid yellows and oranges. ¡°What do you want?¡± he asked her. ¡°I¡¯m bored of this place,¡± she replied. In truth, Red Tide had grown uncomfortable being an honored guest, all this niceness making her feel soft and useless, but she would not admit any of that to Throne Gazer. ¡°What is our plan?¡± He breathed out through his nose. ¡°I admit, this delay from their Quill is not ideal. At this rate, we¡¯ll probably have to winter here.¡± ¡°That¡¯s two more months,¡± Red Tide said sharply. ¡°You expect us to stick around, after they tell us no?¡± Throne Gazer raised his chin. ¡°You think they¡¯ll refuse us?¡± She was surprised that he seemed genuinely interested in her answer. ¡°They won¡¯t risk what they¡¯ve built here. Not for us.¡± Throne Gazer nodded as if he¡¯d come to the same conclusion. He waved his hand in the direction of an oarfox chasing its own tail. ¡°They wished those beasts back into existence, you know. A hundred years ago, the northerners killed them all to make perfumes from their tails. Soon, the beastlords will migrate these creatures west and return them to their rightful lands.¡± ¡°Where the land-walkers will kill them again,¡± Red Tide said dryly. ¡°Maybe.¡± Throne Gazer ran a hand through his braids. ¡°My mother arranged this meeting because she thought we¡¯d find common ground with the Besadenizens. They are close to the land, as we are close to the ocean. She was right about that, but I don¡¯t think she accounted for the complacency of these people. Once, the beastlords defended Emza¡¯s nature with fierce brutality. Now, they have their sacred forest, and spend their wishes on dogs.¡± Red Tide glanced back at the oarfoxes who stood in a ragged line, tongues lolling, as they waited for more scraps. ¡°You don¡¯t seem to mind it here.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t,¡± he replied simply. ¡°I dream of a day our people could live like this.¡± Frowning, Red Tide tried to imagine an oca¡¯em version of Heartwood. In a way, that was what the Queen of the Coralline Throne had tried to create by forging her peace with Merchant¡¯s Bay. But that had led to a sad, scrabbling life for her people. Red Tide shook these notions off. She wasn¡¯t made for a future like that. ¡°Where next, then?¡± she asked. ¡°When this fails.¡± ¡°North, to the other outsiders on this continent,¡± Throne Gazer said. ¡°The trolkin.¡± Red Tide hissed, even though she knew little of the trolkin other than the songs of menace and terror passed on from the cold water pods of the north like Salt Wall¡¯s. They were descendants of monsters, creatures of winter, said to all be half-mad with addiction. ¡°More common ground?¡± Red Tide asked. ¡°Like us, they are massacred every year.¡± ¡°They have one who has been surviving,¡± Throne Gazer replied. ¡°Mother says she shows much promise. She is champion and Quill.¡± Red Tide made a wanking motion. ¡°You have a better idea?¡± ¡°The Penchennese girl said the merchants would be at war with the southerners and the mages this year,¡± Red Tide said, recalling her exchange with Sylvie Aracia. ¡°She suggested we make use of their enemies.¡± Throne Gazer raised an eyebrow. ¡°How did she come by that information?¡± ¡°Out of her ass, maybe?¡± Red Tide shrugged. ¡°How should I know?¡± Throne Gazer crossed his arms, drumming his fingers on his bicep. ¡°Do you know why Penchenne became the center of diplomacy for the land-walkers?¡± ¡°Do I care?¡± ¡°Because those people never take a side,¡± he continued. ¡°And yet, they very much wish to be more than mere arbiters. If not for Merchant¡¯s Bay, they would run the sea. If not for Infinzel, they would run the continent. I do not wish to be swept up in their machinations.¡± Just then, heavy footfalls came crashing through the brush. The oarfoxes all scattered as Vikael trotted into view. His heavy eyebrows were knitted together, and sweat dampened his forehead. ¡°Our Quill returns,¡± he announced grimly. ¡°Finally,¡± Red Tide muttered. ¡°And?¡± Throne Gazer asked, sensing there was heavier news yet to be delivered. ¡°She brings with her a caravan of traders. Not unusual for this time of year. But¡­¡± Vikael made a point of relaxing his fists. ¡°A visitor from Merchant¡¯s Bay travels with them. A champion.¡± Red Tide¡¯s eyes flared and she felt Throne Gazer tense at her side. ¡°He knows you¡¯re here,¡± Vikael said. ¡°He requests an audience.¡± 44. [Red Tide] Gucco the Hunter
--DRAMATIS PERSONAE¡ª Red Tide, Enchantress of the 4th Renown, The Reef, about to come face-to-face with the enemy Cuda Bite, Throne Gazer, Salt Wall, the champions of the Reef, and Turtle Jaw, their Quill Vikael Rambrother, Meera Rootgarde, Yodor Dominik, Onianatan, champions of Besaden, and Zayda Everbloom, their Quill Gucco Arovi, Hunter of the 13th Renown, Merchant¡¯s Bay, the enemy
27 Brittlest, 61 AW Heartwood, the hidden center of Besaden 183 days until the next Granting Face hidden within a hooded tunic, Red Tide watched from a copse of trees as the caravan opened their wagons for business. These were merchants, but they weren''t all merchants. Some were Inked with the overflowing coffer of the Bay, that was true, but she saw the pyramid of Infinzel, the scales of Penchenne, and other symbols she didn''t recognize. These were small time concerns who had come to peddle the last of their goods before the season changed. Besaden used no currency, so every transaction needed to be bartered. The Besadenizens showed up armed with jars of honey, barrels of ale, and crates of apples. They seemed to take great pleasure in drawing out these negotiations, much in the same way they never moved through their trees in any rush, and the merchants took this all with patient good humor. Red Tide scowled, picturing trading vessels moored at the Horizdock, and how the sailors hired oca''em to whip their own brothers and sisters should they be caught short of rounds. The oca''em never named their own price. If they had anything truly valuable¡ªmost likely recovered from a wreck or filched from some careless ship¡ªit was best to find a sympathetic or suitably desperate land-walker to act as a fence rather than engage the merchants directly. Yet another way the oca¡¯em were different from these children of ge¡¯besa and ge¡¯gala. Red Tide tasted blood and realized she¡¯d bitten the inside of her cheek. ¡°Vikael said we should stay out of sight while they¡¯re here.¡± Red Tide jumped as Cuda Bite sidled up beside her. The skulker moved on such silent feet. ¡°I am out of sight,¡± she replied. ¡°For now, you are. But you got a look on your face like you''re thinking of tossing a lamplighter''s nightcap into the whole bunch.¡± She showed him her hands. ¡°No bottle. No oil. And it wouldn''t do any good.¡± ¡°Wouldn''t do any good. That should be our motto.¡± He nibbled a piece of rock candy from a stick, and held it out to her. ¡°Lick?¡± She slapped his hand away. ¡°Where''d you get that?¡± Cuda Bite lifted his chin toward the caravan wagons. ¡°Thought we were supposed to stay out of sight,¡± Red Tide said with a smirk. ¡°We are.¡± Cuda Bite activated [Camouflage] and, even though he had been standing right next to her, Red Tide had trouble finding his outline amidst the bark and leaves. At least, until he started talking again. ¡°Using my Ink as the gods intended. To take whatever I want.¡± Red Tide snorted. ¡°Did you only come down here to steal?¡± ¡°No, I¡¯m supposed to fetch you,¡± he said. ¡°They¡¯ll be ready for us soon.¡±
During her stay in Besaden, Red Tide had avoided going any higher into the trees than necessary, but the meeting place of Besaden¡¯s champions was way up in the branches of the great redwoods. She and Cuda Bite navigated spirals of steps jutting out from the bark, bridges of intertwined branches, and rising platforms secured by ropes of vine. Eventually, they emerged above the lesser trees, their leaves a sea of orange and yellow beneath their feet. ¡°We aren¡¯t meant to be this far into the sky,¡± Red Tide said. Her stomach lurched as she peered over the edge. The rest of their companions waited on an enclosed platform up ahead. Throne Gazer had taken time to clean himself, tie up his braids, and don his finest suit of ward-weave. Salt Wall, meanwhile, still had dirt on her face from whatever chore she¡¯d been helping with. The berserker leaned against the tree-wall with her thick arms crossed, half-smiling as she watched Turtle Jaw pace in front of the closed door that led inside the tree itself. ¡°Practicing his speech,¡± Salt Wall said as Red Tide joined her. Red Tide hadn¡¯t noticed it before, but Turtle Jaw¡¯s lips were moving a bit as he walked in his circles. ¡°This is it, then? The moment of truth?¡± Red Tide asked. ¡°I thought some merchant cunt just wanted to get an eyeball¡¯s full.¡± ¡°I will explain our position to Zayda today, now, and we¡¯ll have an answer,¡± Turtle Jaw replied. ¡°If the Bay is present, we shouldn¡¯t be. It¡¯s concerning that they even know we¡¯re here.¡± Cuda Bite stepped into Turtle Jaw¡¯s path and put his hands on the Quill¡¯s broad shoulders. ¡°You¡¯re making me dizzy, warden.¡± ¡°Perhaps I should do the talking,¡± Throne Gazer said, eyeing the sheen of sweat on Turtle Jaw¡¯s forehead. ¡°No,¡± Turtle Jaw said firmly. ¡°I¡¯ve known this woman for years. I know what she expects to hear.¡± ¡°And you talk like a prick,¡± Salt Wall said to Throne Gazer. Red Tide had never given much thought to the years Turtle Jaw spent as Quill. An unglamorous position amongst the oca¡¯em, choosing four prisoners to march off to their deaths every year, not something to envy. And yet, he had seen Armistice, and met Quills from across the world. He¡¯d sat beside the leader of Besaden, the so-called ageless king of Infinzel, the bloodless executive of the Bay, and others who wielded great power. He shared their space as an equal. She imagined it must have gnawed at him, all those years, to see what others in his position could achieve when he was allowed to do so little. The door opened and Vikael Rambrother ducked his horns to step outside. Red Tide didn¡¯t like the dark expression on the man¡¯s face. ¡°Should we even bother with this, Ram?¡± she asked before Vikael could speak. He grunted. ¡°Nothing¡¯s been decided.¡± Vikael stepped aside to let them enter. The champions of Besaden convened in a wide, octagon-shaped room. The walls of bark were molded into detailed carvings of men and women who Red Tide took to be past champions. The branches curled open overhead and Red Tide took a moment to gaze up at the unobstructed sky¡ªit had been weeks since she¡¯d looked up and hadn¡¯t seen leaves. There wasn¡¯t much formality or pomp to the room¡ªa far cry from the Coralline Throne where it seemed like all the scant remaining riches of the Reef flowed to project authority upon the oca¡¯em queen. A semi-circle of benches were sloppily arranged in the center of the room, and some tables along the walls offered food and kegs of beer. Salt Wall immediately went to help herself. Stolen novel; please report. Vikael went to sit with his wife. Meera offered a nod to Red Tide, her face unreadable as usual. The shifter and the druid sat with their bodies angled away from each other, and Red Tide had seen enough of the two to know that meant they¡¯d been arguing¡ªand would likely tear into each other as soon as the meeting was done. The beastlord Yodor Dominik with his wet, hungry eyes sat upon his own bench. The little man sat with his legs curled under him and Red Tide had the brief urge to push him over. Instead, she turned her attention to the two Besadenizens she hadn¡¯t yet met. Zayda Everbloom, the long absent Quill of Besaden, rose from her bench as the Reef¡¯s champions entered. She was a wizened woman in her sixties, delicately thin. Long, bent blades of green grass sprouted from her head, shoulders, and the back of her neck, giving Zayda the appearance of wearing a hooded cloak. ¡°Turtle Jaw,¡± Zayda said, her voice low and rich. ¡°It is a wonder to see you somewhere other than Armistice.¡± Red Tide noticed how Turtle Jaw drew himself up to his full height and puffed out his chest. Not a bad looking man, Red Tide reminded herself, although this Zayda had never seen the warden swordfight. ¡°They finally let me loose and I made you my first visit,¡± Turtle Jaw said. ¡°Ah, they let you loose, did they?¡± Zayda said with a soft smile. ¡°So, the lies begin already.¡± As the two Quills did their awkward flirting, Red Tide¡¯s gaze was drawn to the final champion of Besaden¡ªthe newly installed earth elementalist. Zayda introduced him as Onianatan. Not a Besadenizen name, and not a Besadenizen face. The elementalist was tan-skinned, of average stature, somewhere in his late twenties. His curly hair and stately beard were both cut short and dyed crimson. He bore the paw print of Besaden, but Red Tide doubted he was born here. ¡°Gen¡¯bi,¡± Throne Gazer murmured to Red Tide as they sat. ¡°He¡¯s come a long way from the southern deserts.¡± ¡°Huh,¡± Red Tide said. Sylvie Aracia had mentioned the Gen¡¯bi when listing the potential enemies of Merchant¡¯s Bay. Red Tide knew little of the scorched desert and didn¡¯t care to find out more; she could not imagine an environment less hospitable to her kind. The two sets of champions and their Quills arranged themselves on opposite benches. Only Turtle Jaw remained standing. The champion from Merchant¡¯s Bay was absent, although Red Tide noted a door like the one the Reef delegation had come through on the opposite wall. They were likely storing the bastard back there for now. ¡°First, we would like to thank you all for the gracious hospitality you¡¯ve extended over these last weeks,¡± Turtle Jaw began. Red Tide winced at his formal speechifying¡ªhe sounded like a land-walker¡ªbut she kept her eyes down so as not to let the Besadenizens see her disdain. ¡°We have come to ask the assistance of Besaden at the next Granting. Our two peoples share much in common¡ªa respect for the natural wonders of our world, a stewardship of its creatures, a sense of freedom¡ªand yet, while the people of Besaden flourish, the Reef has suffered endless subjugation. Murdered pointlessly by the fourteen families of Merchant¡¯s Bay, ignored by the Ministry of Sulk, hunted for¡ª¡± ¡°May I stop you there, Turtle Jaw?¡± Zayda interrupted. Red Tide felt a twinge of disappointment. She¡¯d actually been warming up to the warden¡¯s words. ¡°I¡­¡± Turtle Jaw cleared his throat. ¡°I have more to say.¡± ¡°I think we are well acquainted with the predicament of the oca¡¯em and have already discussed it at some length,¡± Zayda said, with a meaningful glance in Vikael¡¯s direction. ¡°You request our protection and, in exchange, you will allow us to extend our studies to the creatures of the sea, including the leviathan you intend to restore with your wish. Does that summarize your proposal?¡± Red Tide saw how Yodor wetted his lips at the mention of the leviathan and suppressed a shudder. Turtle Jaw hesitated. ¡°Well, you skip the parts where I appeal to your moral nature and wisdom.¡± The grass blades on Zayda¡¯s back rustled. ¡°Are there morals in nature? I am not so sure.¡± She waved a thin hand. ¡°You ask Besaden to risk her own champions and her own wish, to spite enemies that we do not share. And, as reward, you make a promise you may not be alive to deliver.¡± Turtle Jaw cocked his head. ¡°How¡¯s that?¡± ¡°You are a rebel Quill,¡± Zayda said evenly. ¡°Your queen wishes you dead, and the quill returned to her.¡± ¡°Funny, since she gave it to me in the first place.¡± ¡°She claims you no longer represent the will of the oca¡¯em. Stealing the quill, abducting these champions¡ªthese are provocative actions. A Quill absconding from their lands cannot be what the gods intended.¡± ¡°Queen¡¯s word against mine on the first part, I suppose.¡± Turtle Jaw looked up at the open sky. ¡°And if I¡¯m breaking the rules of their game, the gods should come down here and tell me.¡± Zayda tented her fingers under her chin, regarding Turtle Jaw coolly. ¡°I have been asked to return you to the Reef.¡± ¡°Not happening.¡± The words were out before Red Tide could stop them. Vikael flashed a grin¡ªpleased that she¡¯d spoken up¡ªbut hid it quickly. ¡°No, I agree,¡± Zayda said with but a glance for Red Tide. ¡°Not worth the trouble. We shall not be interceding in the growing squabbles of your people.¡± ¡°Growing squabbles,¡± Turtle Jaw repeated. ¡°I take it you have news.¡± Zayda nodded. ¡°We have just come from the southern sea. The Queen of the Coralline Throne sends pods of her so-called elite to capture the one you call Deep Dweller. One of you is her son, yes?¡± She glanced between Throne Gazer and Cuda Bite, the latter smirking at possibly being mistaken for a noble. Throne Gazer nodded once, sitting straight and unblinking. ¡°Your mother, it seems, overestimated the secrecy of your coup. The queen, your aunt¡ª¡± ¡°Deliciously complicated,¡± murmured Yodor, but he was silenced by a glance from Zayda. ¡°The queen has rooted out Deep Dweller¡¯s agents within Horizdock and pursues your mother into the North Sea,¡± Zayda continued, speaking to Throne Gazer now. ¡°It is said Deep Dweller shelters with pods of your northern tribes. I suspect much blood will be spilled there, all because of you.¡± Salt Wall leaned forward at the mention of the northern pods, but she said nothing. Red Tide watched Throne Gazer close but, even with her [Awareness+], his face remained stoic. ¡°This is as my mother foresaw,¡± he said calmly. ¡°It should have no bearing on our arrangement.¡± ¡°Young man, I have been the Quill here for some decades. Once, the people of Besaden believed that all the forests of the world rightly fell under our protection.¡± She smiled sadly. ¡°I know the look of a lost cause.¡± ¡°You underestimate my champions,¡± Turtle Jaw said. ¡°Perhaps,¡± Zayda replied. ¡°We will consider your proposal, Turtle Jaw. But first, I must present to you another option. During my journey, I found myself upon a ship with Gucco Arovi, champion of Merchant¡¯s Bay. He has been searching for you these last months. Although I find him distasteful, I believe you should hear him out.¡± At a hand wave from Zayda, Vikael got up to open the second door for the merchant. Vikael didn¡¯t make much space, keeping himself wedged in the portal so that Gucco had no choice but to briefly go chest-to-chest with the big shifter. Gucco seemed unbothered by this, not least because he was nearly Vikael''s size. He smiled with gold-capped teeth and made a show of curling his fingers atop his head like horns. ¡°What happens now?¡± the merchant champion asked. ¡°Do we take running starts and bump heads?¡± Vikael returned to his seat without response. Nearby, the new champion, Onianatan, shifted uncomfortably, the desert man clearly not enjoying the nearness of the cologne-doused merchant. If only they¡¯d had time to work this Onianatan, Red Tide thought they might have had the votes to garner Besaden¡¯s support. ¡°Gucco Arovi,¡± Zayda said flatly, by way of introduction. ¡°Welcome, honored guest.¡± Gucco bowed with a grandiose dip so low that his ponytail brushed the floor. Red Tide would''ve known the man for a merchant at a thousand paces, just from the swaggering way he carried himself. He wore his mustaches oiled and curled in that showy style the merchants preferred, but the face around them was weathered and scarred. Clearly a man who had known combat and was not to be underestimated, even if he did wear a silken blouse that made him look like a whore. The neckline dipped open purposely to reveal his collection of Ink, another way in which this Gucco rivaled Vikael. Over his shirt, Gucco wore a stained leather coat decorated down the shoulders and arms with fringe. ¡°My, look at you all, sitting on the furniture just like people,¡± Gucco said, grinning wide as he sauntered to the center of the room. ¡°And Gucco without his bucket of sardines.¡± Turtle Jaw turned to Zayda. ¡°Have you brought this man here to insult us?¡± ¡°No,¡± Zayda replied, her cold eyes on Gucco. ¡°Get on with it, merchant.¡± Gucco held up his hands, bracelets jingling. He faced the champions of the Reef. ¡°Your queen of fish came groveling before the fourteen families and our executive,¡± Gucco began. He was an animated talker, his hands moving faster than his mouth. ¡°She told us how she had lost control of her Quill and begged us not to take our due retribution upon the Reef for violating our contract. That is our right, you understand? Should you wish for something other than a bountiful harvest, we shall, in turn, wish for half your reef to shrivel and sink. This is paperwork, which Gucco cares little for.¡± He tapped his chest. ¡°Either way, I kill you. That is my passion. My calling. But, more repercussions for the other fish the one way than the other.¡± Red Tide squinted. As the man talked and talked, she got a better look at the fringe decorating his jacket sleeves. She tasted acid in her mouth as she recognized them as beaded braids¡ªhair, cut from oca¡¯em, and stitched into this hunter¡¯s wardrobe. ¡°Lucky for you,¡± Gucco continued, ¡°we need our wish this year. Important transactions to be made, far above the heads of bottom-feeders. A punishment for the Reef would be tabled, but it would come due. You choose your year of rebellion well, fish. Our executive, in his wisdom and mercy, had an idea. A proposal, which Gucco has traveled a great distance to impart. Would you like to hear it?¡± No one responded. No one, except for Red Tide. ¡°Your coat,¡± she said. ¡°Ah.¡± Gucco smiled at her, opened his arms, and twirled. ¡°Do you recognize anyone, pretty fish?¡± ¡°It gives me ideas.¡± Red Tide licked her teeth. ¡°A promise, from me, before your proposal.¡± ¡°Red,¡± Turtle Jaw said quietly. The merchant leaned forward, his hands on his hips. ¡°Gucco can barely contain his interest.¡± ¡°I am going to cut off your cock,¡± Red Tide said. ¡°And wear it on a necklace.¡± Gucco roared with laughter. ¡°It will weigh you down, fish! You will sink!¡± Red Tide started to rise, but Meera caught her eye. She saw the way the druid¡¯s hands spun¡ªnot so different than when Red Tide worked the coral¡ªand knew that any move she made toward Gucco would be intercepted by the tree around her. Another case of wouldn¡¯t do any good. The merchant wiped his eyes. ¡°A spirited bunch!¡± he roared. ¡°Gucco felt disappointment that he might not indulge his hobby this year, yet now he feels he might yet find joy fighting alongside the burner of boats.¡± He winked at Red Tide and she flinched in spite of herself. ¡°Yes. I know you, pretty. Now, here is the Bay¡¯s offer.¡± He cleared his throat theatrically. ¡°You fish may have your wish. We shall not interfere. We shall not punish. And, in return, you will fight for us.¡±
45. [Uicha] Doomed To Repeat It
No warning would turn back King Mudt. He entered Kayenna Vezz¡¯s villa alone, insistent that he face the sorcerer in a proper duel. His three lieutenants¡ªBello, Carver, and Grime¡ªdid not protest. To question King Mudt¡¯s valor was to invite his wrath. And perhaps, even though they had taken the mark of his champions, these men were ambivalent about the result. King Mudt was unmatched with a blade, and the gods had further bolstered his skill with their Ink, but Vezz was a formidable sorcerer with command of the elements and the ability to summon monsters to her aid. The gods themselves had made her fifth renown¡ªKing Mudt¡¯s equal. But, in those early days, the mages felt the changed world more acutely than anyone. Sorcerers like Vezz found only some of their power preserved by the Ink, and they soon learned that the gods of magic, the ge¡¯chan, were slow to answer when called upon to honor their arcane bargains. We have little record of what occurred within the villa. Only that the battle was short, and was perhaps not a battle at all. In the courtyard, under the sun, King Mudt cleaved Kayenna Vezz¡¯s head from her shoulders. Then, he stomped on her face until she stopped smiling. ¡°Bitch went mad,¡± King Mudt told his men when he emerged. ¡°Already half dead.¡± Kayenna Vezz, it was said, took a knife to her own throat before King Mudt arrived. She took the blade to her chest, and her shoulders, too. She flayed herself. She burned her flesh with fire, with acid, with poison meant to kill plants. She carved herself again and again, and still, the gods refilled the channels of her flesh with their Ink. Her body was never recovered. --Record of the First Granting and Dawning of the Second Age Lyus Crodd, Scribe of the Dead Kingdom of Orvesis
--DRAMATIS PERSONAE¡ª Uicha de Orak, a young man of no renown or loyalty, somewhere he doesn¡¯t belong Kayenna Vezz, sorcerer of the old Kingdom of Orvesis, somewhen she doesn¡¯t belong Ahmed Roh, Archmage of the 15th Renown, the Magelab, the sound of doom approaching
Now and then Here or there 882,102 memories until brain death Uicha''s fingers grazed the stalks as he trudged through the field. The sun beat down with the heat of deep summer, baking the top of his head. Behind him, his dad ran his thumb down a wheat spike, and clucked approvingly. ¡°A good harvest this year,¡± he said. ¡°We are rich men, Uicha. Rich men.¡± ¡°I don''t feel rich,¡± Uicha muttered. ¡°Aha. And such is the problem with rich men. None of them ever do.¡± Uicha frowned and said nothing more. Engaging with his dad and his nuggets of wisdom would just make these chores last longer. All he wanted was for this day in the field to be over. The work was worse than school, although not by much. Uicha glanced back at his dad¡ªshort, muscular, somehow swaggering even when standing still¡ªand watched skeptically as he massaged the stalk, whispering sweet things to the leaves in the language of the Islands. Trick Longblossom had his father absolutely convinced that speaking to the grains made them grow taller. A silly, pointless ritual. Uicha remembered rolling his eyes. Except, in that moment, he felt a swelling in his heart, seeing his father¡¯s crooked smile. It felt like it had been a long time. Uicha turned and kept going, even though he didn¡¯t want to. He¡¯d stopped to look at his dad, but he hadn¡¯t lingered. He¡¯d rolled his eyes and kept¡­ and kept¡­ The wheat field parted in front of him and Uicha shielded his eyes. A woman stood in the grass ahead¡ªa woman that wasn''t his mother, a woman who didn''t belong there. She was squat, with flowing black hair, and startlingly pale skin. Despite the summer heat, a cold mist curled from her mouth. ¡°You will wake up soon, Uicha,¡± she said. ¡°When you do, you need to focus. See the room.¡± Uicha took a stumbling step back. ¡°Dad? Who is that?¡± ¡°None of them ever do,¡± his dad replied. ¡°None of them ever do.¡± Uicha squinted at his dad, his grinning face gone blurry. The elder de Orak took a step forward, a step back, rocked in place, as if time itself batted him back-and-forth like a cat with a mouse. Tears filled Uicha''s eyes. ¡°You are not this boy anymore,¡± the woman said, her voice a chill whisper right against his ear. ¡°You are far away.¡± A bitter taste rushed into Uicha¡¯s mouth. He remembered standing in his darkened dining room as a clumpy gunk crawled down his throat. But that hadn''t happened yet, had it? That was later. Or was it before? ¡°You are confused. But you must focus,¡± the woman said. ¡°Kayenna?¡± Uicha half-turned toward her. ¡°Yes, good,¡± she replied. ¡°For a moment, you will come awake, Uicha. You have to see where he holds us, and how. Remember everything you can and¡ª¡± Something came crashing through the wheat¡ªhuge, like a bull¡ªand Uicha bent his knees to run. The strange woman was gone and so was his dad. The sky had grown darker and Uicha remembered running through this very field as lightning sheared through the sky at his back. The mammoth force careening through wheat slowed, stopped, and then an old man in a wine red suit stepped into view. His eyes were cold and black as he sized up Uicha. If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. ¡°She hides in your memories, boy,¡± Ahmed Roh said. ¡°Sacrifices yours to save her own.¡± Uicha gasped. He felt a tickling, twisting pain in his chest. The archmage sighed. ¡°But you''re young, and have lived so little. I¡¯m afraid that your mind is not a palace, with hundreds of dusty rooms to scuttle into. Your mind is a sad little farmhouse.¡±
A pore opened on Uicha¡¯s chest, and a curl of thick, black blood oozed free. It dangled in the air for a moment and then fell. Uicha¡¯s eyes felt heavy. They stung from the strange smoke in the humid room, the piney aroma doing little to cover the stench of his piss and shit. Uicha wanted to close his eyes, but he knew he was supposed to see something. He couldn¡¯t remember what, though, not exactly. Uicha¡¯s blood transformed as it dripped down from his chest; it hardened and clumped and landed in a capsule of pure silver that sat positioned below him. He¡¯d seen one of those before. An urn¡¯chan, Battar Crodd had called it. His parents had been hiding one in the wall. They were made to hold the memories of the dead. ¡°But, I¡¯m alive.¡± Uicha barely managed a whisper. His tongue felt stuck to the bottom of his mouth, like a boat in a dried up lake. He was hanging from the ceiling, facing down, parallel to the rickety wooden floorboards. Straps bound him at the wrists and ankles, stretched him in an ¡®X.¡¯ The burning pain in his muscles and joints felt only slightly worse than the humiliation of his nudity. Soft footsteps approached and Ahmed Roh came into view. The archmage¡¯s bald head was slick with sweat, his beard matted and tangled. He looked older and thinner than the last time Uicha had seen him¡ªalthough, when was that? He couldn¡¯t exactly remember. It was too hot in the room for Ahmed¡¯s fancy suit, so he had stripped down to just the slacks and a mask of ward-weave that covered his mouth and nose. Ink swept across his torso¡ªsome vivid black, some faded gray, and some harsh crimson. Ahmed didn¡¯t look at Uicha. He picked up the urn¡¯chan and tipped it over, smacking its side, so that the dust that had been Uicha¡¯s blood came sprinkling out. Then, he wiped the inside of the urn¡¯chan with a handkerchief and set it back down. A memory of Uicha working the fields with his father, now just grit between the floorboards. Uicha lifted his head up as high as he could manage. The small room didn¡¯t have any windows that he could see, but there was nonetheless a brazier in the corner emitting the strange smoke. There were runes everywhere¡ªon the walls and on the floor¡ªsome of them glowing, some of them not, some of them scrawled in chalk and others in stretched out entrails. There was a desk against one wall, cluttered with open books. Set carefully beside the tomes was a rack of vials, each stoppered and filled to the top with what Uicha thought was blood. None of this made sense, but he did recognize one thing. Propped in the corner was his mother¡¯s scimitar. He tried to reach for it¡ªall the way across the room, no feeling in his fingers. He was delirious. ¡°Please,¡± Uicha moaned. Finally, Ahmed glanced up at him. He waved his hand and¡ª
How many memories was it before she could awaken Uicha again? Hundreds? Thousands? Afterward, Kayenna would never tell him. Eventually, he decided it was better not to know how much he had lost.
Uicha¡¯s mother had painted her nails a shade of light green that matched her eyes. The color flashed in the candlelight as she slapped her hand down on the table. ¡°Four queens!¡± she shouted. ¡°No!¡± his father bellowed. ¡°Impossible! I tossed one of those little harlots away.¡± Uicha¡¯s father reached for the discard pile, but his mother¡¯s hands moved much faster. In a blur, she had scooped up both discard and draw and shuffled them together, fanning the cards in one hand before seamlessly flipping them to the other, pausing only to wink at Uicha. He clapped giddily, kicking his legs. His feet didn¡¯t touch the floor? That wasn¡¯t right. He¡¯d sat at that very table with Battar Crodd as the Orvesian explained what a hell his life was about to become. ¡°Uicha, we¡¯ve been cheated!¡± His dad sprang up from his seat and dove across the table. ¡°Stop her before she escapes with our angles!¡± The wind blew cold outside, but it was warm in here and still smelled like cinnamon bread pudding. His mom¡¯s laughter was light and musical. His dad buried his face in her neck and nipped at her, hands around her waist, and Uicha knew that he was meant to scamper around the table and tickle his mother¡ªthat¡¯s how it happened. He felt the memory pulling him along. The rocking chair by the fireplace creaked. His parents went quiet and still. The cards, which had just been knocked off the table, floated in midair. Their faces were blank¡ªUicha would still never know if his mom had stacked the deck. Kayenna Vezz rocked slowly. Uicha stood up to go to her. He was the wrong size for this time and place, and he felt the memory pulling him backward like a whirlpool. But he fought against it and moved slowly through the tableau of his farmhouse as if he were an actor on a stage. From the side, his parents looked flattened and fuzzy. Decoration on a set. ¡°Good,¡± Kayenna said. ¡°We find the skill lingers, even if the memories do not.¡± Uicha dug his knuckles into his temples. For a moment, he felt restraints tight around his wrists. ¡°I¡¯m dead, aren¡¯t I? This is a vision of my life, like the Crucifalians say. My soul¡¯s being unified.¡± Kayenna shook her head. ¡°If you could die, this would have been over long ago. The archmage would have burned us down to our memories¡ªyours and mine, together¡ªand sifted through them at his pleasure. But your gods won¡¯t let him kill you, and so we have had time to plan.¡± ¡°I haven¡¯t planned,¡± Uicha said. She gave him a pitying smile. ¡°You have. In rooms like this one, in times you¡¯ve forgotten, we have planned. Now, the time has come to act. The archmage weakens. In his arrogance and impatience, he stretches himself thin. Our narrow window of escape creeps open.¡± Uicha glanced over his shoulder¡ªat the closed front door, at his parents, at the wall-hanging that hid the safe. He shook his head in disbelief. ¡°You¡¯re in there right now, aren¡¯t you?¡± ¡°Please, Uicha,¡± she replied. ¡°Focus.¡± ¡°Fine. What¡¯s this plan?¡± ¡°First, there is a question I must ask you. A question that I always ask, but that it would be unfair for you to not remember answering.¡± He stared at her. ¡°What?¡± ¡°The escape we have devised is painful and dangerous and, perhaps worst of all, it will commit you to something. You will find yourself in a life that wasn¡¯t intended for you. A life at the center of things.¡± ¡°You never make any sense,¡± Uicha said. ¡°You will become a champion.¡± Uicha scoffed and touched his neck. He wasn¡¯t sure if his skin was blank in this memory or if he wore the wheat stalk of Ambergran. ¡°For who? What idiots would give me Ink?¡± he asked. ¡°How is that even possible?¡± ¡°You will be the first to represent a new faction.¡± ¡°The Granting?¡± Uicha laughed shrilly. ¡°I¡¯ll die.¡± ¡°Perhaps.¡± Kayenna worked the ends of her hair with her fingertips. ¡°Perhaps we only delay your ending. Perhaps all this is for naught and we are yet outflanked by the archmage. Or, perhaps, you survive all these trials and find you wish that you had not.¡± Uicha studied her for a moment. Her chest rose and fell but she wasn¡¯t real¡ªthis woman was dead, a spirit, and had stolen into his head. He shouldn¡¯t trust her. And yet, a sadness radiated off her that seemed hard to fake. ¡°Do you speak from experience?¡± he asked. Her lips quirked. ¡°I have had time to ruminate on my death,¡± she replied. ¡°In truth, I did not mind it. Alas, my choices were made for me.¡± Uicha swallowed. ¡°Alright. So, what¡¯s the question?¡± Kayenna looked up at him. ¡°Given the pain that awaits you, do you want to live?¡± Uicha had a feeling that would be the question. He hadn¡¯t prepared an answer. His eyes drifted toward the short hallway that would lead to his bedroom. He remembered laying in there for days after his parents died. He¡¯d lost track of time, then. Lost track of himself. He remembered the day of Ambergran¡¯s annihilation. Chasing down his mother¡¯s sword because¡ªwhy? Because it was all he really had left of hers? That wasn¡¯t true at all. The farmhouse was filled with mementos, and secrets. But the sword. The sword had represented adventure. The ones his parents had gone on without him. He couldn¡¯t let that bastard Johan steal it from him. It wasn¡¯t fair. None of this was fair. Even though the world was frozen, thunder rolled in the distance. Kayenna sat forward. ¡°He nears,¡± she said. ¡°If we are going to do this, the moment approaches.¡± Uicha glanced to the door. ¡°You said you¡¯ve asked me this before?¡± Kayenna nodded. ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°What do I normally say?¡± She paused. ¡°Half the time yes, the other half no.¡± ¡°Of course,¡± Uicha said. ¡°A coin flip.¡± Heavy footfalls battered the porch outside. The boards sounded like they would snap. Spinning around, Uicha realized that the memory of his parents had faded. Instead, there was Petra¡ªthe Orvesian girl he¡¯d spent a few happy weeks with¡ªstretched out on the floor, her chest smoldering, while Parrot the puppy danced frantically around her. Uicha remembered running through this scene, leaving the girl and the dog behind, fleeing like a coward. ¡°I don¡¯t want to run from anything ever again,¡± he told Kayenna. ¡°That will hold true, no matter what you decide,¡± she replied. ¡°Fine,¡± Uicha decided. ¡°I¡¯ll live.¡±
46. [Uicha] Memory Shuffle
--DRAMATIS PERSONAE¡ª Uicha de Orak, a young man of no renown or loyalty, a master of his memories Ahmed Roh, Archmage of the 15th Renown, the Magelab, a master of magic Kayenna Vezz, sorcerer of the old Kingdom of Orvesis, a master of the old ways
Now and then Here or there 858,197 memories until brain death Uicha''s mother had taught him different ways to shuffle cards. A double-wave, a stacked box, a corner push¡ªall the techniques necessary in the unlikely event he needed to deal a crooked game of five card. Hundreds of small lessons, bored days spent alone in his bedroom, moments of practice when Uicha wasn¡¯t even aware of his hands working, spread across hours of memories. His skill with a deck was part of who he was now, impossible to pin down to a single memory. In much the same way that he learned card tricks, so had Kayenna Vezz taught Uicha how to navigate his own mind. Focus on separating the present self from the past self. Don¡¯t be subsumed by the urges of a Uicha long gone. Don¡¯t let one memory wash him into another. Control the trajectory of his thoughts. Thumb through them like pages in a book. So many memories of sinking into his bed, staring at the ceiling, wishing for something to change¡ªUicha¡¯s most natural habitat. He needed to resist the pull of those remembrances. Most of his lessons with Kayenna were foggy or gone entirely on account of how they usually ended¡ªwith Ahmed Roh invading Uicha¡¯s mind and siphoning out his memories. However much Roh carved up his psyche, the skill remained, so long as Uicha could remember to use it. Roh set Uicha adrift in his own consciousness, but Kayenna always pulled him back to the surface. When he regained awareness, slipping through his history was as easy as pressing his thumb to the corner of a deck and letting it rip across the cards. Uicha rode the memory of his last night in Ambergran. He fled past Petra''s prone body, grabbed his mother''s scimitar, and burst through the farmhouse backdoor. Except, instead of plunging into the fields and sprinting into the night, he stepped through the front door of the farmhouse, right back into the living room. A disorienting loop, for a moment, the way the memories connected. He put himself in the night when he had first discovered the urn¡¯chan. Uicha was both standing over his kitchen table with the capsule clutched in his hands, gazing down at the glowing wards carved into the metal, and he was standing off to the side, observing that first blurry version of himself. How he wished that he could go back to before that moment and never open his parents¡¯ safe. But the memories of his stupidity were unchangeable. Uicha would meet the archmage in this memory. If all went as they hoped, he would force Ahmed Roh to put further strain upon his arcane abilities. Uicha would try to keep him distracted and off-balance. Such was the plan. The plan. Uicha winced at the thought and his focus faltered just a bit. Kayenna warned him it would be painful and ugly. Uicha was still a little stunned that he had agreed to participate. But then, there was something deep inside him that hated Ahmed Roh and his ilk, men like Battar Crodd, who saw Uicha and people like him as no more than blades of grass to be crushed beneath their world-striding footfalls. He wondered if maybe his new purpose in life should be to make things difficult for the great egos of Emza. If he was to die, Uicha decided, it would be as a giant pain in the ass. He could sense the archmage¡¯s essence drawing closer. He was an intruder in Uicha''s mind and thus his unwelcome presence was marked by monstrous characteristics. In this memory, Roh manifested as thundering steps on the porch. And yet, when Roh pushed through the front door, the man looked more tired than threatening. This was an approximation of Roh''s psyche and so Uicha couldn''t help but notice the wrinkled sleeves of his burgundy suit, the way his undershirt was dotted with sweat and half untucked, and the sallow bags under the old man''s eyes. Kayenna had said he was weakening¡ªlosing his grip on the mind magic Uicha barely understood¡ªand that now was the time to strike. Seeing Roh made Uicha believe the Orvesian ghost was right. ¡°Ah,¡± Roh said, upon seeing Uicha standing apart from the memory of himself. ¡°Your control is improving.¡± ¡°Is it?¡± Uicha asked. He scratched a hand over his thick head of hair. He felt young and strong and wanted to project this aura toward Roh, to make him feel his own exhaustion more acutely. However, Roh seemed more interested in the Uicha of memory. He winced and took a halting step toward the remembered version of Uicha, as if he might slap the urn''chan out of his hands. ¡°Look at how careless you are, fool boy!¡± ¡°Believe me, I know,¡± Uicha replied coolly. ¡°I didn''t understand what would happen to me. Just like I don''t understand what''s happening to me now.¡± ¡°Your mind has been infected by a foreign spirit,¡± Roh replied tiredly as he turned to face Uicha. ¡°I am conducting a sort of psychic surgery. The process is¡­ imprecise.¡± Uicha sensed a routineness to Roh¡¯s reply. ¡°Have we had this conversation before?¡± ¡°In a way. You are not often this cognizant.¡± Roh hesitated. ¡°In fact, your level of awareness is cause for concern.¡± The archmage made a gesture with his long-fingered hand and his sharp black eyes went far away. Uicha felt a curling and twisting pain at his sternum¡ªhe knew, instinctively, that Roh had begun the process of pulling this memory from him. Stolen story; please report. Instead of giving over to him, Uicha shuffled the deck. Uicha found himself standing in the ramshackle tavern at the center of the sad little town of Briarbridge. His pulse quickened¡ªor he imagined it quickening¡ªat the sight of Sara Free, his beautiful protector from the Ministry of Sulk. She sat across the table from Trick Longblossom, the old friend of his father''s, his eyes red-rimmed from holding back tears, but grinning nonetheless. A few tables away sat Erhan Teta, the mage who studied horses, and his two candle protectors. If Uicha let the memory go, the innkeeper''s assistant would soon scurry over to refill their drinks, blushing as he told Sara that there was usually music. This would be minutes before the body of the fiddler fell onto the roof, dropped by one of the gargoyles sent to fetch Uicha. Instead, Uicha held the memory frozen, and waited. Ahmed Roh didn¡¯t take long to catch up. Pots and pans clattered dramatically in the kitchen and then the archmage burst into view, rounding the bar and glaring fiercely. ¡°You make this more difficult than necessary,¡± he snapped. ¡°You''ve kidnapped me and invaded my memory,¡± Uicha replied. ¡°What incentive do I have to cooperate?¡± In the real world, Uicha would have never spoken to an archmage of the Magelab like that, but he felt more confident inside of his own head. ¡°Do you rate pain as an incentive?¡± Roh said, leering at him. ¡°I have been merciful with you so far¡­¡± ¡°You call this merciful?¡± Uicha made a face. ¡°Anyway, I don¡¯t believe you. If you thought pain would get you what you''re after faster, I''d already be screaming in agony.¡± Before Roh could respond¡ªor make good on his threat¡ªUicha waved a hand at the ceiling. ¡°You killed a man here, you know? One of your gargoyles mauled him and dropped him from the sky.¡± ¡°I gave those gargoyles free will,¡± Roh said. ¡°If his death were my responsibility, the gods would have intervened. I owe the matter no further consideration.¡± ¡°You make my point for me, Master Roh,¡± Uicha said. ¡°You''re a man who chooses the most expedient way, even if it leaves your hands bloody. So, don''t pretend you''re doing me any favors. I caught a glimpse of my accommodations. We slaughtered chickens with more care.¡± Roh settled against the front of the tavern¡¯s bar, leaning his hip into the wood. He looked like an old man with a bad back. ¡°She''s gotten to you,¡± Roh said. ¡°The witch of old Orvesis has taught you how to memory walk and how to resist me. She manipulates you for her own survival, boy. Vezz has mingled her memories with yours. She uses your consciousness as a shield, leaving me no choice but to extract your memories to find hers.¡± ¡°You could stop,¡± Uicha said. ¡°Let me go and leave me alone. That¡¯s a choice you could make.¡± ¡°She was meant to stay buried, locked away,¡± Roh replied. ¡°Until I had the means to open the vessel¡­¡± Kayenna had told him that only someone without Ink could have opened the urn''chan. A stupid coincidence that Uicha had bumbled across it after losing his affinity for Ambergran. Battar Crodd had wanted Kayenna Vezz''s memories, too, and had murdered half of Ambergran to create a clear path to them. But, although he¡¯d held Uicha in a comfortable captivity, Crodd never seemed interested in reburying the memories. Uicha wondered what these men wanted from the dead witch¡ªor didn¡¯t want someone else to find. ¡°What I do is for your own good,¡± Roh continued. ¡°I will leave you as whole as I can, with only your memories of this unfortunate situation extracted. You will be able to return to your inconsequential life.¡± Weeks ago, Uicha might have accepted that offer. He had no desire to serve as a vessel for Kayenna Vezz. But now, he understood the archmage¡¯s assistance was heavy with consequences. There wasn¡¯t an iota of altruism in the old bastard. ¡°I don''t believe you,¡± Uicha said. ¡°You still think you''ll be able to cover your tracks. That means leaving me a drooling amnesiac dropped by the side of a road.¡± Roh drew himself up, his dark eyes flashing. ¡°I am a champion of the Magelab. An archmage of the fifteenth renown. I do not need to ¡®cover my tracks¡¯ like some squalid crimi-¡± ¡°Weren''t my parents covering your tracks, though? If Kayenna''s remains are so important, why didn''t you bring them to the Magelab for safekeeping? Why leave them with a couple of pirates?¡± The old man¡¯s brow creased. ¡°These are matters above your bumpkin''s education-¡± ¡°And where''s your candles?¡± Uicha asked, waving at Erhan''s table, where the horse mage sat frozen mid-scribble. ¡°I don''t think you mages are supposed to be traveling alone, right?¡± ¡°I require no escort,¡± Roh said, but Uicha sensed some vigor leaking from the archmage¡¯s protestations. ¡°You didn¡¯t want anyone to know what you¡¯re getting up to,¡± Uicha continued. ¡°But the Orvesians all know about me and Kayenna Vezz. And I told Sara Free of the Ministry, too.¡± That was a lie, but one he figured the archmage would believe. ¡°You used gargoyles for the attack on Briarbridge to make it look like the Orvesians, but do you really think that will hold up forever? I think you''ve made a mess, archmage. I bet there are already people looking for you, wondering where you are, and what you''re up to. You''re probably going to be in big trouble if even half of this comes to light. Am I right? You need this over quickly, and quietly, and I bet I can mess that up for you.¡± Uicha could tell he had hit on the truth because for once Ahmed Roh said nothing. And then, the pain came. It felt distant at first, like someone pinching him while he napped, but then the sensation tore into the front of his mind. Uicha gasped and groped at his forearm, pulling it close to his body as if he could protect it. The bone felt broken¡ª ¡ªbecause it was. His ulna jutted out through the soft tissue of his forearm, splitting flesh and spilling blood onto the floorboards beneath him. The bone had fractured jaggedly, extending out in a point, tipped further by a razor-sharp carapace of ice. Uicha¡¯s consciousness stretched painfully between two competing realities. In one, he faced Ahmed Roh in his memory of the Briarbridge Tavern. In the other, he hung from the ceiling of an overheated room that stunk of ritual and gore. ¡°Focus!¡± Kayenna Vezz screamed at him. ¡°Leave this to me! You must keep him distracted!¡± The Orvesian ghost had taken control of Uicha¡¯s physical body. She had broken his arm with her magic and now used the icicle-bone to saw through the rope attaching him to the ceiling, feeding Uicha¡¯s blood to the spell to keep the ice from melting in the room¡¯s warmth. The pain was so great that Uicha felt the urge to shove Kayenna away¡ªhe would bury her back in his subconscious, come awake in his body, and suffer this injury for himself. That was an animal reaction, though. Uicha couldn¡¯t let it win. ¡°Focus, Uicha!¡± Kayenna shouted into his mind again. ¡°He grows suspicious!¡± The sensation was like forcing his eyes closed. Uicha shoved himself back into his mind, leaving Kayenna to the gruesome work of cutting his body free. Back in the tavern, he exhaled a quick breath and let his arm hang limp at his side. Ahmed Roh stood closer now and seemed somehow taller¡ªa combination of suspicion and anger had restored some of the archmage¡¯s psychic projection. He leaned down over Uicha, his shadow like a storm cloud. ¡°What was that?¡± Roh asked. ¡°Where did you go?¡± ¡°She¡¯s hurting me,¡± Uicha replied. ¡°Because she knows I¡¯m going to make you an offer.¡± The archmage¡¯s eyes narrowed. ¡°How--?¡± Without warning, Uicha grabbed Roh by the lapels and moved them through his memories. The tavern¡¯s floorboards were swallowed by drifts of snow, the ceiling opened up to sky, and they stood on a cliff overlooking an army of Orvesians on the march. Roh brushed Uicha¡¯s hands away lightly, distracted by the view. ¡°What is this?¡± ¡°Kayenna showed me this memory once,¡± Uicha said. ¡°It¡¯s one of hers. And I can lead you to others.¡± Uicha gave Roh a moment to gaze in awe upon the vast Orvesian horde, then took his hand and shuffled the deck again. This time, they appeared back in Uicha''s farmhouse, in the same memory of family game night that Uicha had visited before. His mom sat at the table ready to slap down her hand of cards, his father grinning nearby. Roh rounded on him immediately. ¡°Do not toy with me, boy!¡± Uicha backpedaled, holding up his hands. ¡°I¡¯m not trying to play games, master. I¡¯m trying to negotiate.¡± The archmage and the boy from Ambergran found themselves on opposite sides of the table, Uicha¡¯s parents in between them. Roh glanced at them, his eyes lingering on Uicha¡¯s mother. ¡°Perhaps I have underestimated you,¡± Roh said. ¡°As I once underestimated her.¡± Meanwhile, in the physical world, the first rope frayed and snapped.
47. [Uicha] The Wildcard
--DRAMATIS PERSONAE¡ª Uicha de Orak, a young man of no renown or loyalty, but only for now Ahmed Roh, Archmage of the 15th Renown, the Magelab, once a mark always a mark Kayenna Vezz, sorcerer of the old Kingdom of Orvesis, making a mess
Now and then Here or there 858,197 memories until brain death The archmage Ahmed Roh wetted his lips¡ªdry and chapped, even in this psychic approximation¡ªas he eyed the frozen memory of Uicha¡¯s mother. ¡°You may have some of her gifts, boy. A talent for the arts buried beneath the bad habits of a rural upbringing.¡± Uicha gestured to the empty chair next to his mother. ¡°Why don¡¯t you sit down, master? You seem so tired.¡± The old man¡¯s forehead wrinkled. He nodded toward Uicha¡¯s father. ¡°And now I see a flash of him. Such a mouth on that man. Always looking for a better deal.¡± Roh¡¯s sharp eyes focused on Uicha. ¡°You aspire to negotiate with me? Is that right?¡± For a moment, a dizzying falling sensation threatened to overtake Uicha. In the physical world, Kayenna Vezz had cut through another rope using the bone-icicle that jutted from Uicha¡¯s forearm. His body now hung from the ceiling by the ankles. In the memory, Uicha focused on his dad, and almost felt his control slip, drawn toward an older memory of playing with his father, the man holding him by the legs and pretending like he would let him fall¡­ The archmage raised an eyebrow. ¡°Perhaps you are not as in control as you¡¯d like me to believe.¡± Uicha took a seat at the table next to his childhood self, playing off the momentary lapse with a shrug. ¡°I¡¯m new at this,¡± he said. ¡°Hard enough to control my own memories. Can¡¯t even imagine what it¡¯s like for you¡ªbarging in where you don¡¯t belong, searching for Kayenna, stealing from me. How long can you keep that up?¡± Roh remained resolutely standing. ¡°As long as necessary.¡± ¡°Let me help you,¡± Uicha said. ¡°I don¡¯t want this Orvesian in my head. I want to go back to normal.¡± ¡°Go on, then,¡± Roh replied, his fingers curling around the back of the chair before him. ¡°Take me back to her memories. Show me the way.¡± ¡°You have to promise to let me live, and not as some blank slate.¡± Uicha waved his arms at the farmhouse. ¡°I¡¯ve lost everything. A powerful archmage like you should have the resources to give me a good life.¡± ¡°Fine,¡± Roh said. ¡°Agreed.¡± Uicha leaned forward, feeling a strain in his abdomen. In the physical world, Kayenna had his body struggling to do a sit-up so she could cut away the bonds that secured his legs. His muscles were weak, though. How long had he been hanging up there? Had the archmage even bothered to feed him? Kayenna used magic¡ªan icy wind propelled him upward¡ªand the cost was frostbite spreading across Uicha¡¯s narrow torso. In the memory, he hugged himself and shook his head. ¡°You accept too easily. Makes me think you won¡¯t keep your end.¡± The archmage growled impatiently. ¡°What would you like, boy? A contract?¡± He yanked out his seat at the table and at last sat down, steely eyes boring into Uicha. ¡°I had a contract with your parents once. I commissioned their ship to search for First Age relics off the coast of Ruchet. Together, we discovered a trove of old writings, a guide to the location of Kayenna Vezz and her followers. I paid your parents handsomely only to discover, once we had parted ways, that the documents were forgeries. Your mother had a talent with illusions.¡± Uicha recalled the letter from his mother he had found in the safe along with Kayenna¡¯s urn¡¯chan. What had she said about Ahmed Roh? We thought we was hustling him but in the end I think he hustled us. ¡°Of course, I hunted them for some years, seeking recompense to no avail,¡± Roh continued, no doubt detecting Uicha¡¯s interest in the story. ¡°Only later did they resurface in Ambergran. You see, they kept the original documents for themselves. Perhaps they expected some great treasure. Instead, they unearthed a curse, and soon realized that I would be their only buyer. We came to an arrangement where they would keep the urn¡¯chan secret for me. I believe you have pieced together the rest.¡± ¡°Why didn¡¯t you come?¡± Uicha asked. This question was genuine¡ªnot a stalling technique. ¡°Why didn¡¯t you come when the Orvesians first arrived in Ambergran?¡± ¡°Your parents wrote and assured me they had the situation under control. When they did not write again¡­¡± As Roh turned to regard Uicha¡¯s mother, Uicha was surprised to see a bit of fondness creep into the man¡¯s dark eyes. ¡°I knew your parents as fools, but I did not expect them to be so foolish as to die.¡± Uicha swayed. A rope snapped. Only one remained. ¡°They left letters about you,¡± Uicha said. ¡°Proof about what you¡¯re doing.¡± Roh cocked his head and gazed up at the ceiling. ¡°Burned, most likely, with this place.¡± Uicha¡¯s mouth fell open, and Roh smiled. ¡°Of course. You didn¡¯t know. Too busy running. Your farm is gone. A consequence of my encounter with that silly Orvesian ritualist.¡± Uicha sat back. ¡°I had a dog¡­¡± ¡°Shall I get you another?¡± Roh snorted. ¡°Your memories intact, a life of leisure, a new pet? Are these the things I must promise so that we might hasten this encounter?¡± He reached his gnarled little finger across the table. ¡°Shall we hook pinkies and make a child¡¯s pact of it?¡± Uicha shuddered¡ªor, more accurately, he vibrated. His physical body had hit the floor. There had been an urn¡¯chan positioned beneath him, waiting to collect the pulp of memories that Ahmed Roh squeezed from him. The metal capsule dug into his ribs, then popped out from under his weight, and skittered across the room. ¡°What was that?¡± In the memory, Roh tilted his head and glanced toward the front door. ¡°Kayenna thinks she can outlast you,¡± Uicha said hurriedly. ¡°She doesn''t seem to have much respect for your generation of mages. I might be the only advantage you have--¡± Roh slapped the table. ¡°I tire of this, boy! You have mastered your father¡¯s obsequiousness but lack your mother¡¯s charm. Knowing now the access you possess, perhaps we should begin this negotiation anew, with a clean slate?¡± Uicha understood the archmage¡¯s meaning. He meant to siphon out the memory of this interaction and send Uicha spiraling back into his subconscious. Roh made a circling motion with his hand and Uicha half-expected to feel that sensation of twisting pain that accompanied Roh¡¯s psychic extraction. Except, Uicha¡¯s body was not where it was supposed to be. Uicha couldn¡¯t suppress a smile as bewilderment spread across the archmage¡¯s face. ¡°What have you done?¡± he asked. ¡°You thought you were hustling us,¡± Uicha began. ¡°But we¡ª¡± Ahmed Roh did not wait for Uicha to finish his quip. All at once, reality snapped back into place. In those first few moments, Uicha did not yet feel the full brunt of his brutalized physical state. The weeks of starvation and thirst that left his guts in knots, the jangling agony of his wasted muscles, his broken arm, his frostbitten back¡ªUicha stood apart from all this. Kayenna Vezz remained in control of his body, making this transition back to the physical world feel like another dream of memory. Quickly, he took in the room. Small, filled with strange-smelling smoke, the wooden walls and floor covered in wards¡ªthose were flashing, sparking, fading, the magic thrown into a state of chaos at his escape. A trough of animal carcasses sat against one wall, the bones and guts spread around the room in arcane patterns. Next to that, a narrow ladder led to a hatch on the ceiling. Uicha sensed a gentle rolling beneath him. Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site. The archmage had him on a boat. And there was Ahmed Roh, curled into a cross-legged position at the center of a wide rune he¡¯d drawn in sparkling chalk. He was stripped down to his burgundy pants, his ribs visible through papery skin. As Uicha watched, some of the black and red symbols on his chest faded. His collection of Ink was badly diminished. On rickety legs, the archmage scrambled to his feet, a whip of energy exploding from his fist. Apparently, he hadn¡¯t used up that ability in the process of invading Uicha¡¯s mind. ¡°Stop!¡± he screamed. ¡°Fool!¡± Kayenna hadn¡¯t piloted Uicha¡¯s body toward the ladder and escape. No¡ªshe had maneuvered him toward the archmage¡¯s workbench. She had shoved aside his tomes and grabbed for the rack of vials, each of them filled with a crimson liquid. With Uicha¡¯s hands, she had already dumped one of these vials onto his chest. Now, she swallowed a second. Uicha could taste the gunk in his mouth, clogging his throat. It was thick like paint, tasted hot, like blood but not from any creature he could understand. ¡°Wait,¡± Uicha said. ¡°I don¡¯t like this.¡± Kayenna Vezz did not respond. She did not stop. Mere seconds had passed since Uicha and Roh returned to the physical world. Roh¡¯s arcane whip lashed across Uicha¡¯s back and wrapped around his torso. In response, Kayenna crushed two more vials of the crimson liquid with Uicha¡¯s bare hands. She mashed the goop and the broken glass across Uicha¡¯s face, into his eyes, up his nose¡ª ¡°Stop!¡± Uicha screamed. He took control of his body, shoving Kayenna back into his mind. ¡°The only way,¡± she said at last. ¡°I warned you.¡± Fully in control, Uicha had only a moment to appreciate the enormity of his pain. Everything hurt in new and incomprehensible ways. He felt as if channels of acid were opening across his chest, bubbling up from the poison Kayenna had ingested. Uicha passed out. That was fine. He preferred it, actually. The escape would fail, Ahmed Roh would have his way, and Uicha would be grateful to forget all this suffering. He had made the wrong decision with Kayenna. He knew that now. He should¡¯ve chosen death. Except, Uicha hadn¡¯t passed out. He passed down. Down, down, down. Down until the weight of Emza pressed upon him. Sand packed against his skin on all sides. Buried alive. A crushing tomb. And then the voice came. Impossibly vast. The perfect darkness of this prison shifted into a throbbing crimson. The same color as that stuff in the vials. It had come from down here. The voice¡ªthis entity¡ªit bled. It bled power. Long have I waited. And for my patience, I am sent a quivering child. The voice¡¯s disappointment broke Uicha¡¯s bones. Its sigh was like a salt wind stripping away skin. I will make of you a messenger. Their game, my rules. What did that mean? Uicha couldn¡¯t form words to ask. Even thinking the question felt like it might be taken as an affront by the entity that held him. He shrank into himself and gave himself over. I see your memories of cards. An amusing metaphor. It will do. Symbols formed out of the red. Somehow, Uicha understood their meaning. [Wildcard] said the first. That was him now. His class. Two more symbols came attached to that first one. [Disloyal] and [Ink Thief]. You are dying. A most pressing matter. [Greater Regeneration]. Something for the witch within you, though I sense her resentment even now. [Summon Gargoyle] and [Ice Mastery]. No more playing warrior in the grass, my child. I will teach you the blade. [Swordplay+]. And give you something that even the best of them rarely master. [Telekinesis]. Am I not generous with my power? Still, Uicha could not respond. The array of symbols had wormed through the sand and onto his skin, crawling onto his chest and shoulders, and solidifying there. I only ask that you be seen. Let them know¡­ Uicha was propelled upward with the voice¡¯s rapturous scream, the power so great it felt as if the sky itself had slapped him. I AM STILL HERE! Restored to his body, the first thing Uicha felt was his forearm sliding back into place, the skin and muscle mending over it. [Regeneration+] at work. He let out a shaky gasp as his bones clicked back together. Bits of broken glass fell out of his face, tinkling onto the workbench. ¡°Madness!¡± shrieked Ahmed Roh. ¡°Do you now try to kill yourself? Is that it?¡± Only seconds had passed since Kayenna Vezz desperately smashed vials of chanic¡ªhe knew that word, without understanding where the knowledge had come from¡ªonto his chest, into his mouth, and his eyes. Roh¡¯s arcane whip was still wrapped around him, pulling him back from the workbench. Uicha relaxed. He let the archmage lift him into the air with the coil of energy and turn him. ¡°What--?¡± The crimson had spread in complicated and precise patterns across Uicha¡¯s chest. A tattoo, like any champion, but all red. Uicha would not see this detail until later¡ªnot until he found a mirror¡ªbut the space on his throat that had once bore the swaying wheat stalk of Ambergran now featured an empty box.
Uicha de Orak The Forgotten One 5th Renown
Summon Gargoyle
Disloyal Ice Mastery
Wildcard
Greater Regeneration Ink Thief Telekinesis
Swordplay+
The archmage¡¯s face crumpled, his mouth hanging open. Uicha wondered when this powerful man last felt such profound confusion. ¡°What have you done to yourself?¡± Roh asked. ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± Uicha replied quietly. Roh understood the symbols on Uicha¡¯s chest, just as Uicha understood the ones tattooed on the archmage. The man was fifteenth renown, but greatly diminished. The abilities that provided him healing, stamina, fortitude¡ªthey were all faded from long hours digging through Uicha¡¯s mind. ¡°I have never seen¡­¡± Roh shook his head. ¡°What does that mean? To be [Disloyal]?¡± The arcane whip tightened around him. ¡°We must bring you to the Magelab, at once. We must¡­¡± ¡°No.¡± Uicha held out an open hand toward Roh. He worked on instinct¡ªinstinct and curiosity. He knew what his symbols should do, but he badly wanted to test them. And if anyone deserved to be his object of experimentation, it was this man. The power felt warm. It felt right. He used [Ink Thief], focusing on Roh¡¯s symbol for [Arcane Whip]. The archmage howled, grasping at his chest as his Ink ripped away from his skin, floated through the air between them, and then arranged itself on Uicha¡¯s ribcage. Uicha dropped lightly to the floor as the coil of energy holding him dissipated. ¡°Impossible!¡± Roh shrieked. ¡°Mine--!¡± Hunched over, dripping sweat, the old archmage unleashed a comet-shaped burst of energy. As the missile streaked toward him, Uicha used [Ice Mastery]. A thick sheet of ice manifested before him, shattering on impact from Roh¡¯s bombardment, but protecting him. Uicha flicked his fingers and used [Telekinesis]. The workbench sailed through the air toward Roh. The old archmage got his forearms up at the last moment, using some kind of deflection to make the object sail wide. Still, it was an effective distraction. With his [Telekinesis], Uicha snapped his mother¡¯s scimitar into his hand. He unsheathed it and closed the short distance to Roh in one smooth motion. The blade felt natural in his hand, like he¡¯d spent hundreds of hours training with it. He slashed for Roh¡¯s neck. The moment before his blade bit into Roh¡¯s neck, Uicha used [Disloyal]. The archmage had been curious about the symbol¡¯s meaning, so it was only fair that he show him. The empty box on Uicha¡¯s neck filled with the symbol of a tome, marking him temporarily as a man of the Magelab. ¡°Gods protect me!¡± the archmage screamed. They did not.
48. [Uicha] Reflections
--DRAMATIS PERSONAE¡ª Uicha de Orak, Wildcard representing The Forgotten One, on the run again Kayenna Vezz, sorcerer of the old Kingdom of Orvesis, a constant companion
2 Frett, 61 AW A secluded boat, docked in Noyega, North Continent 178 days until the next Granting The archmage''s head didn''t come off clean. Uicha had hacked into the side of his neck but only part way through the spine, so Ahmed Roh''s head flopped against his shoulder like he was trying to get water out of his ear. His legs splayed out from under him and the old man crumpled, bones snapping like dry twigs in the fall. Uicha took a step back as the archmage''s spreading pool of blood reached his toes. ¡°I didn''t¡­ what did I¡­?¡± Uicha mumbled. Bile rushed up his throat, but there wasn''t anything in Uicha''s stomach, so he just doubled over and dry-heaved. When he straightened, the archmage was still dead, and Kayenna Vezz was standing over his body. Her ghostly presence left no disturbance in Roh''s blood. ¡°I didn''t mean to,¡± Uicha said. ¡°You didn''t?¡± Kayenna cocked her head. ¡°Let us move quickly beyond the guilt, yes? I know your mind. There is sadness and confusion, yes, but also satisfaction, triumph, and wonder.¡± Uicha swallowed. ¡°I¡­¡± ¡°He was a tormentor and he would have done the same to you, had he found a way.¡± He couldn''t argue with anything she said¡ªor he didn''t want to. ¡°Fine. I didn''t think I could do it. How about that? The gods aren''t supposed to allow it.¡± Kayenna touched her own throat, which still occasionally flickered into a gaping wound, much cleaner but no less final than the one on Roh''s neck. ¡°You can change. No loyalty. All loyalties.¡± She shook her head. ¡°The one below has made things complicated for us.¡± The one below. Uicha shuddered at the memory of the crushing weight of the world, and that thing lurking beneath it all, its mocking voice containing a power that stretched his mind. He''d felt a similar sensation once¡ªin the fields on the outskirts of Ambergran¡ªwhen the ge''ema appeared to do Battar Crodd''s horrible bidding. ¡°What was that thing?¡± Uicha asked. ¡°I do not know, exactly. The Forgotten One. No friend of ours, of that I am sure.¡± Uicha rubbed his face. The cuts from where Kayenna had smashed vials of that crimson goo¡ªa substance Uicha felt sure leaked directly from that buried entity¡ªhad already healed thanks to his newly gained [Regeneration]. ¡°I''m linked to it now,¡± Uicha said. He scrubbed at his chest, but none of the crimson Ink flaked off. ¡°You made me its champion. Why would you do that if it''s not our friend?¡± ¡°No other choice,¡± Kayenna said. ¡°You needed the power to escape from the mage.¡± ¡°No, you needed it!¡± ¡°I told you what would happen,¡± Kayenna said. ¡°I was clear with about the danger. I would have accepted a no.¡± Uicha dug the heels of his hands into his temples. She had indeed said that he would become a champion, but Uicha had thought¡­ ¡°You thought you would have an opportunity to back out,¡± Kayenna said, reading his mind. ¡°I thought there would be a Quill and that they would have better sense,¡± Uicha said. ¡°No. You were its only choice, as it was ours.¡± ¡°Why-?¡± Uicha cut off at a hissing sound from Roh''s body. He watched as the Ink on Roh''s chest melted away, sinking into the graying tome symbol of the Magelab and disappearing. He was truly dead, then, the Ink returning back to where it came from. Uicha glanced down at his own ribs¡ªthe symbol he had stolen from Roh was gone, too. ¡°We should not linger,¡± Kayenna said. ¡°His people will know he has died. If they are not looking for him yet¡­¡± ¡°They will be now.¡± This time, Uicha was the one to finish the thought. Uicha pressed the back of his hand against his mouth as a fresh burst of acrid smoke filled the room. He glanced first at the brazier, but whatever strange incense the archmage had been burning as part of his ritual had only dwindled. No, the new smoke came from the workbench¡ªRoh''s books had incinerated themselves, the pages crisped embers inside shriveled leather bindings. ¡°Selfish,¡± Kayenna said. There were a few unopened vials of chanic still on the table next to Roh''s ruined books. Uicha pretended not to have noticed them, although such measures were obviously useless with Kayenna occupying his mind. ¡°You would be a fool to leave those behind,¡± she said. ¡°I don''t want anything to do with that stuff.¡± ¡°Look at yourself,¡± Kayenna said. ¡°It is far too late for that.¡± Uicha did look at himself, beyond the new crimson tattoo splashed across his chest. He was naked but for some loose and frequently pissed-in underclothes, his body covered in blood dried or drying, fading lines of chalk, and filth. His hip bones and ribs jutted out from his skin. He¡¯d lost all the weight his lean body could bare to lose. His head felt heavy, like it might roll off his shoulders. ¡°I need clothes,¡± Uicha said. ¡°And something to eat.¡± When Kayenna didn¡¯t respond, Uicha glanced up to find her gone. The witch had retreated back into his mind, to do whatever she did in there. He was alone again. Uicha padded across the room to the ladder and the hatch in the ceiling. A deadbolt was padlocked into place, one for which Uicha didn¡¯t have the key. He returned to Roh¡¯s desk, pushing aside the burned books, but found no key. He turned back to Roh¡¯s body. ¡°Gods damn it,¡± Uicha said. To reach the archmage now would mean leaving a trail of bloody footprints wherever he went. Instead, Uicha accessed his [Telekinesis]. During the fight with Roh, he¡¯d used the ability entirely on instinct. Now that he had time to think about it, the magic came to him easily¡ªlike something he had always known. He merely needed to focus on an object and then imagine himself taking hold of it. Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. Grimacing, Uicha levitated Roh¡¯s corpse to him. The old man¡¯s limbs were already turning a pale purple, sagging and jiggling horribly as Uicha spun the body through the air. He turned Roh so that he could access his pockets while keeping his dangling head as far away as possible. In Roh¡¯s first pocket, Uicha found a packet of leaves and stems from a blue-tinged plant. The leaves looked frozen, like they were covered in a layer of frost, although that was impossible considering the temperature in the room. Based on the piney aroma, Uicha had no doubt that was what the archmage had been burning in the brazier. He set that aside with the chanic. With a sigh of relief, Uicha plucked the key from Roh¡¯s other pocket. Using his [Telekinesis], he tried to set the archmage¡¯s body back where it had fallen. His palms started to sweat and he felt the sensation of his grip slipping; the feeling faded as he let go of Roh¡¯s body. He understood what that meant. There were limits to how much he could use this new magic and his [Telekinesis] was just about tapped. Uicha climbed the ladder with his mother¡¯s scimitar¡ªhis scimitar, now, since he had finally put it to use¡ªtucked awkwardly under one arm. He unlocked the hatch, shoved it open, and almost immediately retreated at the sight of his own reflection staring back at him. The room above was a bedroom where the better part of the ceiling was covered in mirrors. The bed¡ªwhich hardly looked slept in¡ªhad black silk sheets that struck Uicha as far too decadent for the archmage. Roh¡¯s bags were set to one side of the room. One of them smoldered slightly, on account of the books packed within. Uicha hoped that wasn¡¯t the one where Roh had packed his clothes. Uicha took a long look at his reflection. He traced a finger around the empty box on his neck. The symbol reminded him of an open grave. Behind a curtain, Uicha found a barrel of fresh water, a basin, and a privy. He drank greedily until his intestines clenched and he felt like he might throw up. Then, he dumped some of the water into the basin, and cleaned himself as best he could. Even though he sensed it was pointless, he tried to wash away the red Ink on his chest. None of it came off. Uicha rummaged through Roh¡¯s bags until he found the archmage¡¯s spare clothes. He had expected the garments to reek of old man and brimstone, but everything was crisp and clean and felt good on Uicha¡¯s skin. The archmage had been possessed of an obsession for tidiness, which made the grim scene down below stand out all the more. To reduce himself to such circumstances meant Roh must have been desperate. Uicha chose a white shirt that he could button to the neck and a pair of red trousers¡ªluckily, Roh had been a thin man, so Uicha didn¡¯t need to struggle to keep the pants up even once he¡¯d hooked the scimitar to his belt. He was taller than the archmage, though, and so found himself rolling up the sleeves and pants to hide that the clothes didn¡¯t quite fit. Uicha found a scarf and wrapped this around his neck, hiding the strange red symbol. Finally, he squeezed his feet into Roh¡¯s riding boots. Assessing himself in the mirror, Uicha decided he could pass as a sloppily dressed sailor. The boat was docked somewhere. He should be able to slip away. Deciding to find out where he was, Uicha ventured up a short staircase and emerged onto the deck of a small, single sail craft. The moon was high, the night sky clear. A cold wind cut across him, feeling cleansing to Uicha after the squalor he¡¯d faced below. The boat¡¯s sail was tied down. An unlit lantern hung from a spike nailed into the mast. Uicha turned to gaze out at the ocean. The waves were choppy, white caps visible even in the dark. He had never seen the water before. He had begged his parents to take him, but there was always work to be done or reasons to delay. A sense of longing seeped into Uicha¡ªhe wished he could¡¯ve seen this with them, instead of under these morbid circumstances. He wiped the back of his hand across his eyes as he sensed Kayenna Vezz standing next to him. ¡°Do you know how to sail?¡± he asked her. ¡°I do not think we would find this vessel seaworthy,¡± she replied. Their boat was docked at the end of a long line of similar craft. Red lanterns shone on some of their masts, while others were dark. The next boats over were quiet, but moaning and laughter carried on the wind from further on. Craning his neck, Uicha made out a maze of docks that sprawled along the coast, the glittering lights and billowing smoke of a city beyond them. ¡°Noyega, if I¡¯m not mistaken,¡± Kayenna told him. ¡°A cesspool in my time.¡± Uicha knew of the city¡¯s reputation. Until recently, his father¡¯s friend Trick Longblossom had been guest of their debtors¡¯ prison. Gambling, whoring, and graft were the place¡¯s best known attractions. He supposed it made sense that Roh would bring him here¡ªsilence, privacy, and exotic ingredients could all be bought in Noyega, and no one would go looking for an archmage there. ¡°What am I supposed to do now?¡± Uicha asked as he returned below to begin making a bag. ¡°Get off this boat,¡± Kayenna said. ¡°Yeah, no kidding,¡± Uicha replied. ¡°But after that?¡± ¡°Perhaps Battar Crodd and my misguided kinsmen have done as we asked and found the origin of my urn¡¯chan,¡± Kayenna said. ¡°I would know the purpose of this purgatory I have been sentenced to.¡± Uicha shook his head. ¡°I¡¯m not going back to Ambergran. No way.¡± ¡°Then you will need to find us other protectors,¡± Kayenna said and disappeared again. Uicha sensed her frustration and felt pleased within himself¡ªhe was stuck with her in his body, but this was still his life. For however long he had left, he¡¯d be the one making the decisions. Uicha¡¯s first decision was to travel light. He packed a single change of clothes, mostly so he had something to hide the rest of his treasures under. He¡¯d have to buy something that actually fit him, eventually. He found a pouch overstuffed with rounds and angles¡ªthe archmage had been well-funded. More than enough to buy him supplies and passage to wherever he wanted to go. He stashed the money along with the packet of blueish leaves and, though his blood chilled at the sight of them, the remaining vials of chanic. He took one last look at the body of Ahmed Roh as he finished his pass of the boat¡¯s cellar. ¡°Well,¡± Uicha said. ¡°Fuck you, I guess.¡± Uicha shouldered his pack and climbed off the boat. He tried to walk normally, but the adrenaline was fading, he was starved, and his body wanted to curl in on itself. He put one hand on the handle of his scimitar to try to straighten his posture, then thought that made him look like he was spoiling for a fight, and so opted to give in to his body and stagger his way down the docks. Just another drunken sailor. He figured that should fit right in around Noyega. At first, he took this part of the docks for deserted. But then, up ahead, he noticed two men standing in the shadows of a shanty positioned at the crossing between these docks and the next set of berths for red-light ships. They had clearly seen him and were now having a hushed exchange as Uicha approached. There was no other way to go. Uicha kept moving forward, head down, pretending that he hadn¡¯t noticed the men. Of course, they stepped into his way. Both men were square as blocks, grizzled veterans of any number of bar fights. They both had the tumbling dice insignia of Noyega upon their necks, and they both had clubs badly hidden under their jackets. The two reminded Uicha of Johan Steadyhand¡ªthe bully who had tried to take over Uicha¡¯s farm after his parents died. Uicha used to be intimidated by men like that, with all their muscle and bluster. But new power flowed through him now. ¡°Hold up,¡± said one of the men, and Uicha did as he was told. ¡°Where did you come from?¡± Uicha jerked his thumb over his shoulder at the boats. ¡°Just finished.¡± The other man shook his head. ¡°All those boats are rented. No clients.¡± Uicha¡¯s mind worked quickly. So, Roh had bought himself ample privacy and hired these two goons to watch the docks for him. ¡°Good, you passed the test,¡± Uicha said. ¡°Our employer has sent me out to gather some supplies.¡± A look passed between the two men, as if they were trying to decide how much they believed him. When they turned back to Uicha, the answer seemed to be very little. ¡°You look worn out,¡± said the first man. ¡°And like you¡¯re wearing the old man¡¯s clothes.¡± ¡°I told you he was into some sick shit,¡± muttered the second. ¡°Experimentation.¡± ¡°Go get him,¡± said the first. He placed a rough hand on Uicha¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Sorry, kid, but the old man said no one comes or goes except for him.¡± ¡°You go get him,¡± the second man protested. ¡°Guy creeps me out.¡± ¡°I can pay you,¡± Uicha offered quietly. ¡°Any money you¡¯ve got ain¡¯t nothing but trouble, kid,¡± said the first, then looked over his shoulder to snarl at his partner. ¡°Go on!¡± Uicha wasn¡¯t exactly sure what would happen when he used [Summon Gargoyle]. He felt the symbol sizzle across his chest and then fade. A moment of stillness followed, and then a shadow passed above them. ¡°What the-?¡± The man further from Uicha didn¡¯t have a chance to finish his question. The gargoyle¡ªperfect stone skin like white marble run through with arteries of glowing ice¡ªlanded on top of him with enough force to buckle his body. Bones and wood cracked beneath the gargoyle¡¯s weight, but the gods saved the man from a worse fate. The symbol for [Disloyal] itched on Uicha¡¯s skin. He could give himself the tumbling dice of Noyega and the result here would be very different. But no, these men didn¡¯t deserve that. They were only doing their jobs. He just needed them out of his way. The remaining goon spun toward the gargoyle and almost got his club out. But, with a motion that was almost casual, the gargoyle flexed one of its massive bat wings and sent the man pin-wheeling into the water. Uicha flinched as the gargoyle turned its hollow black eyes toward him. The creature bent low, bowing like a horse ready to accept a rider, and tilted its head. Awaiting orders. ¡°Stay hidden, but stay close,¡± Uicha said. ¡°Make sure I¡¯m not followed.¡± The gargoyle responded by leaping into the air. Uicha watched it for only a moment, then hopped over the broken body of the goon, and disappeared into the night.
49. [Cortland] The Open Gate
King Mudt returned north buoyed by his successes in Ruchet. He had anointed his chosen champions and vanquished the pretender Kayenna Vezz. The gods had chosen that vile mage on his behalf and even granted her renown that matched his own. And yet, he had dispatched her with little difficulty. Thus, King Mudt determined that the gods were fallible. They had much power, but lacked the wisdom of his sword. Perhaps it was this good humor that stayed King Mudt¡¯s hand when he found his armies camped in the hills south of Cruxton. A more displeased King Mudt would have had one in every ten men whipped for desertion. ¡°Who ordered these battalions to this position?¡± King Mudt screamed as he galloped into camp. ¡°You are meant to be holding the crossing!¡± The rank-and-file knew better than to provide King Mudt with an answer that would displease him. And so, the news was passed to Bello, and he delivered it to his king. ¡°No Orvesian would dare retreat from the north without your orders, sire,¡± Bello said. ¡°But the gods forced them to turn their backs.¡± King Mudt roared, but he knew the truth of Bello¡¯s tale. Because he was a Quill, the magic of banishment lurked in his mind like a cancer. A simple ritual to have such vast impacts. All King Mudt needed to do was draw a symbol with his Ink¡ªthe pyramid of Infinzel, for example¡ªand then speak the incantation in the language of the gods. I have made an open road from my lands, let those unwelcome travel upon it. The Orvesians who experienced banishment described it as a gentle shove. The gods placing hands upon their shoulders and ushering them away. They could move freely, so long as their movements carried them away from Cruxton, or Noyega, or Infinzel, or any of the other towns and cities that would banish Orvesians in the weeks to come. The gods would not let them fall and die, or starve, or be trapped or trampled¡ªthe road must be open, as the incantation described. But go, they must. ¡°Those lands were ours!¡± shrieked King Mudt. ¡°We conquered them!¡± The gods decided differently. In the weeks, months, and years ahead, much study would be made of which lands belonged to which peoples, and where the gods placed these borders. Even as conclusions were reached, so would the world change again, either through the movement of populations, the shifting of their hearts, or the power of wishes. All of that would mean little to King Mudt, for he would be dead. But, before that, he would see decades of successful conquests peacefully unmade by symbols sketched in Ink. --Record of the First Granting and Dawning of the Second Age Lyus Crodd, Scribe of the Dead Kingdom of Orvesis
Cortland Finiron, Hammer Master of the 12th Renown, Kingdom of Infinzel, life of the party May Twiceiron, an old woman of no renown, Kingdom of Infinzel, mother to a champion Henry Blacksalve, Healer of the 8th Renown, Kingdom of Infinzel, wallflower An assortment of guests from near and far
7 Frett, 61 AW The pyramidal city of Infinzel, North Continent 173 days until the next Granting Cortland could see the southern fields from his mother¡¯s fourth level windows. The first snow had come to Infinzel just a few days before. Early, Cortland thought, although he didn¡¯t mind the cold. These flurries were probably the result of the trolkin wish for more winter¡ªcolder, longer, and further southward. Those barbarians had a single champion who had survived the last two Grantings. Cortland suspected he would be called to change that, and soon. But for now, he enjoyed the snow. Chimney smoke curled up from the outer districts. Further on, Cortland watched small shapes rolling and stacking balls of snow in the fields beyond the walls. Some of these snowman had already been decorated with their customary blankets of black feathers. These would melt and disappear when the weather turned, symbolic of the Orvesian retreat from Infinzel during the Final War. When the real birds migrated back to Infinzel in spring, they would use the feathers to build their nests. ¡°They¡¯re building the snow crows,¡± Cortland told his mother. ¡°Ah,¡± she replied. ¡°Make sure you wear gloves, if you go down to join them.¡± May Twiceiron still sat at the dining room table, her empty soup bowl pushed away from her. She hunched over some bauble¡ªa compass, if Cortland wasn¡¯t mistaken¡ªtwisting the back off and then back on. Cortland¡¯s mother was short and thick, her silver hair curly. Her forearms and shoulders still bulged, like she¡¯d only stopped working in the forges yesterday and not more than ten years back. Before he died, Cortland¡¯s father liked to joke that he only spent so much time on his fishing boat because he¡¯d married an ugly woman. Most of the old man¡¯s jokes were like that. Mean and stupid. Cortland had moved his mother into these apartments after his father died. They were too much space for her, and she couldn¡¯t be bothered to enjoy the view. The retirement dues she collected from her years in the forge didn¡¯t come close to covering these rooms, but Cortland was a champion and so exceptions were made. She had filled the space with furniture, sculptures, and other junk that only the Gadgeteers would be interested in, most of it in some state of assembly or disassembly. May liked to keep her hands busy. ¡°Kids make the snow crows,¡± Cortland said, as he turned away from the window. ¡°Of course, I know that,¡± May replied. She glanced up at him. ¡°You¡¯re dressed too fancily to play, anyhow.¡± Cortland brushed a hand over his finely fitted jacket and grimaced. He was, indeed, dressed in a way that made him deeply uncomfortable. The jacket, slacks, a buttoned shirt that seemed slippery enough for a woman. No hammer. Everything felt either too short or too tight, although the tailor, who had come on King Cizco¡¯s own recommendation, assured him this was definitely not the case. He was supposed to wear a thin little scarf around his neck but that, at least, Cortland had chucked in his garbage. ¡°I have the banquet,¡± Cortland said. ¡°I told you.¡± Once a year, on the anniversary of the Orvesian retreat from the walls and the reopening of the roads into Infinzel, King Cizco hosted a reception for outsiders. Any could enter the pyramidal city and make a request of the king. Over the years, this had evolved into the time when their closest neighbors turned up to beg Infinzel¡¯s support in the next Granting. Cortland had made sure to eat dinner with his mother so that he could arrive fashionably late. The usual suspects¡ªFornon and Cruxton¡ªwould of course be in attendance tonight. But, Cortland had heard there were more exotic guests this year. The representatives from the Magelab had conveniently arrived that afternoon. And he¡¯d heard breathless soldiers around the Garrison gossiping that some rare Crucifalian beauty had arrived without a husband to hold her leash. Cortland pulled at the underarm of his jacket. He had already sweated through the fabric. Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website. ¡°I never liked all those twats turning up here with their hands out,¡± his mother said. ¡°Where were they when the Orvesians had us by the necks?¡± ¡°That¡¯s the nature of things,¡± Cortland said. ¡°Listen to my smart boy.¡± She snorted. ¡°You just let Ben do the talking.¡± Cortland paused. ¡°Of course.¡± ¡°A noble of the Tuarez family eating dinner at our table,¡± his mother continued, shaking her head. ¡°And your father sitting there with his hands in his lap, stinking like fish guts. Do you remember that night?¡± ¡°I remember it.¡± ¡°When will he be back?¡± Cortland wasn¡¯t sure if she meant his father or Ben Tuarez. The answer was the same for both¡ªthey would never be back¡ªbut Cortland had stopped insisting that his mother grasp these facts. ¡°I¡¯ll find out,¡± he told her.
Infinzel¡¯s grand hall was on the second tier¡ªa vast, open space that saw little use except during Wish Day celebrations and the yearly Open Gate Banquet. In the years of siege, the room had been converted to a hospital. Cortland could almost imagine the graystone floors lined with cots, medics performing triage as stone dust shook down on them from the vaulted ceilings, the impacts of Orvesian catapults thundering above. A dark thought, but he wondered if he might have preferred that environment to this one, where every noble in the pyramidal city and their striving merchant and banker counterparts had descended to mingle with representatives of other cities. Attendees at the Open Gate were nominally there to curry favor with Infinzel¡¯s ageless king, but the banquet had become a popular place for other, lesser deals to be made. Soft light from rune-work lanterns lit the room. A band played music that seemed intended to sync with the muffled throbbing from Infinzel¡¯s foundries and blend into the background. The proper dancing had not yet begun. Guests gathered around glass windows in the room¡¯s floor that looked down upon the Troldep River and the Underbridge below. On duty guards from the Garrison patrolled the edges of the room. Cortland entered via a side door for servants rather than the ornamental staircase of heated stone that the outsider guests took such pleasure in climbing before making their grand entrances. It was the same doorway he took every year¡ªthe closest one to the interior staircases¡ªand that predictability meant Henry Blacksalve knew exactly where to wait for him. ¡°Looking sharp,¡± Henry said, leaning against the wall next to where Cortland entered. ¡°Shut up.¡± Cortland eyed the healer. He wore a suit of his own, although his was white shot through with gray, and had a high collar on one side that partly hid Henry¡¯s sallow face. It was an outfit that invoked the traditional attire of an Infinzel combat medic. The garment looked rumpled and Cortland got the sense that Henry hadn¡¯t gotten it cleaned since he wore it last year. Henry held out a flask. ¡°You¡¯ve got catching up to do.¡± ¡°None for me,¡± Cortland said. ¡°Thanks.¡± The healer raised his eyebrows. ¡°Seriously? You¡¯ll never make it through one of these sober.¡± ¡°I want to keep my wits about me this year.¡± Cortland scanned the room. There were bars and tables of refreshments arranged at the corners of the sparsely populated dance floor. At the nearest bar, Cortland spotted Carina Goldstone and Issa Firstdot-Tuarez. Both young women wore gowns, a sight Cortland wasn¡¯t accustomed to. Issa¡¯s dress was shimmering silver, sleeveless, showing off her muscled arms and shoulders. Carina, meanwhile, wore black, high-necked and flowing, with only a panel cut across her chest to showcase her Ink. A young man¡ªCortland recognized him as Issa¡¯s brother Benton¡ªsaid something to the women and they both laughed. ¡°You think if you¡¯d been paying more attention and kept a clearer mind, you would have seen Arris coming?¡± Henry asked. ¡°Allow me to put you off that notion, Cortland. Madness isn¡¯t predictable. No one could¡¯ve seen that coming.¡± From the bar, Carina spotted Cortland. She raised a champagne glass to him. He nodded back. ¡°I¡¯m not so sure about that,¡± Cortland said. Cortland picked out Vitt Secondson-Salvado standing amidst a pack of his half-brothers and cousins and similarly aged nephews. All the young, eligible Salvado offspring wore boxy gray-and-purple formal wear with jagged lapels and epaulets. Even the ones who hadn¡¯t pledged to the Garrison¡ªnobles who did nothing with their time but wait for occasions like this¡ªhad disguised themselves as officers. Vitt stood at their center, taller than most, a brilliant crimson streak in his short black hair. The hunter looked aloof, showing little interest in the women who flitted around the edges of the group. ¡°So many gods damned Salvados,¡± Henry muttered. ¡°Amazed they don¡¯t get confused once it gets late and end up fucking each other.¡± Cortland glanced at the healer. ¡°Be careful tonight, Henry.¡± Henry swished the liquid in his flask around. ¡°I¡¯ll leave early if I sense my mouth running away from me.¡± ¡°Do that,¡± Cortland agreed. The hammer master set out to find his king. Cortland thought he spotted Cizco only to realize that it was Herman Firstson-Salvado. The current heir to Infinzel¡ªwhatever purpose that served considering their king was ageless¡ªentertained a large group of dignitaries with some animated anecdote. Herman looked like a softer version of the king; he was handsome if a bit pudgier, but with the same long, light-brown hair that he kept pinned back in the same style as Cizco. Herman was in his mid-forties and looked like King Cizco might if he ever deigned to age a decade. Cortland wondered how many of the foreigners surrounding Herman thought they were actually talking to the king. As Cortland watched, Herman held up a finger to pause his story and coughed loudly into his shoulder. Some of the guests peeled away at that point. King Cizco never showed signs of even a tickle in his throat. Cortland turned toward the front of the room. There was no throne in the banquet hall, no raised dais for the king to sit upon¡ªthere had been, before Cortland¡¯s time, but Cizco¡¯s brother had been the last to rest upon it. Cizco¡¯s crusade against formality and resistance to the airs of his station had seen those trappings removed. Even so, the king tended to gravitate toward where his brother had once presided. Sure enough. As Cortland lumbered through the room¡ªdrawing polite nods but little interest¡ªhe caught sight of King Cizco. The man wore a more casually cut suit than Cortland¡¯s own, one that made him seem almost underdressed compared to these others. He stood in the company of two representatives from the Magelab. An invisible bubble had formed around the three of them, a pocket of space¡ªno doubt magically created and meant to discourage interruptions and prevent eavesdropping. Several people hovered unobtrusively at the edge of this zone, pretending not to notice or care how the arcane force repulsed them. Cortland recognized the Magelab delegation from Grantings past, although he¡¯d had little reason to interact with them. The first was Sevda Tau, a proper archmage, rail thin like all of her sort, and old in ways her light blue dyed hair couldn¡¯t hide. She wore a gown that made Cortland squint as his mind struggled to grapple with it¡ªwas the dress actually made of clouds or did the fabric simply give the illusion of an afternoon sky? For a moment, he considered using [Assess] on the woman just to take the measure of her power, but he didn¡¯t want to cause offense. The candle standing next to Sevda and Cizco appeared as uncomfortable in his finery as Cortland felt in his own. Samus Bind looked like he¡¯d just rolled out of bed¡ªhair tousled, dark stubble across his weathered face, hooded eyes. In the culture of Magelab, the candles mostly served as disposable bodyguards for the archmages and provided the Magelab what many considered to be an unfair advantage at the Grantings¡ªthey sent four mages marked with tomes and four candles to watch over them. That meant the Magelab had eight champions aligned in purpose, although it was mostly the candles who took any risks. Samus, however, was different. Apparently, the archmages trusted him to adjudicate internal disputes. Cortland wasn¡¯t sure what that actually meant. He¡¯d brought the topic up with Carina as they awaited the Magelab¡¯s arrival, but the logician had proved surprisingly closed-mouthed when it came to the politics of the mages. ¡°Good to see you again, hammer master.¡± Cortland started a bit, his hand dropping to his hip where his hammer should¡¯ve been. A dark-haired man, tall and well-muscled, with a face that looked to have withstood frequent punching, stood next to Cortland. He wore a suit that didn¡¯t fit him¡ªa loan, possibly. Cortland narrowed his eyes. The guy looked familiar, but Cortland couldn¡¯t quite place him. Some merchant that had tried to wheedle an endorsement out of the hammer master? He didn¡¯t look the type¡­ ¡°Watts Stonework,¡± the man reminded him, unoffended that Cortland had forgotten him. ¡°You did some grounds-keeping outside my bar.¡± ¡°Guydemion¡¯s man,¡± Cortland said, smiling. He remembered liking the bouncer from Soldier¡¯s Rest. ¡°Sorry. Lot of faces floating about. Didn¡¯t expect to see yours.¡± ¡°Didn¡¯t expect to show it,¡± Watts replied, peering around. ¡°Not really my sort of function.¡± ¡°No,¡± Cortland agreed. ¡°Mine neither.¡± ¡°You look the part well enough.¡± Cortland scratched the stubble on the back of his head. Getting a compliment from a fellow knuckle-dragger like Watts wasn¡¯t exactly a ringing endorsement, but Cortland appreciated it nonetheless. ¡°What brings you, then?¡± Cortland asked. Watts jerked his chin toward the king. ¡°Same as everyone. Got a request.¡± Cortland wondered at that, but before he could ask any follow-up question, a murmur went through the crowd. Heads turned and conversations stopped. Cortland twisted toward the disruption and understood immediately. ¡°Hell,¡± Watts muttered, his voice gone scratchy. Striding across the dance floor was one of the most radiant women Cortland had ever seen. Her blonde hair seemed to glow like the flourish of some overly romantic painter, her green eyes flashing. There was a perfection to her that almost hurt. A Crucifalian. Cortland did not lust for women the way some of his fellows did, but he could not entirely fault how the pack of Salvado bachelors, Vitt included, leered at the Crucifalian as she made her entrance. Oddly, Cortland felt a pang of jealousy¡ªnot for the attention the Crucifalian received, but because she wore a full suit of gleaming armor and had a huge gods damned sword strapped to her back. Cortland envied the woman¡¯s gear. As she neared, Cortland noted her Ink. Not the squashed bug outline of the Silver Lake given to Crucifalians, but the round shield of the Ministry of Sulk. Wait¡ªCortland knew of this woman, but he heard she¡¯d been killed, or crippled. All eyes were truly upon Sara Free as she reached the edge of the privacy bubble enacted by Cizco and his guests from the Magelab. She leaned forward for a moment, pressing her weight against the barrier. Cortland thought he saw both Cizco and Sevda take steps backward, as if their power were being tested. But then, Sara simply unclipped a pouch from her belt and upended it onto the open floor. Dirt, Cortland thought at first, but quickly realized it was ashes. ¡°The dead of Ambergran,¡± Sara spoke with a voice that carried like thunder, ¡°have a request for the King of Infinzel.¡±
50. [Cortland] Party Crashers
Cortland Finiron, Hammer Master of the 12th Renown, Kingdom of Infinzel, an unskilled diplomat Sara Free, Paladin of the 10th Renown, The Ministry of Sulk, all about accountability King Cizco Salvado, Quill of Infinzel, Kingdom of Infinzel, possessed of a long memory Sevda Tau, Archmage of the 13th Renown, the Magelab, a mage of wind and feeling Vitt Secondson-Salvado, Hunter of the 9th Renown, Kingdom of Infinzel, in his cups
7 Frett, 61 AW The pyramidal city of Infinzel, North Continent 173 days until the next Granting Cortland stared down at the pile of ashes as they settled on the stone floor. The banquet hall had already largely gone silent when the beautiful paladin made her entrance, but now everyone in attendance edged forward a bit more to hear what the king¡¯s response would be. Such theatrics weren¡¯t unusual at the Open Gate. Every few years, some petitioner decided the best way to sway the ageless king of Infinzel to their cause was through a grand, dramatic gesture. It was only a few years ago that Breck Bucksap, the champion from Fornon, had dumped the frostbitten dead body of a trolkin that had once been his cousin at the feet of the king. As the body thawed, that had proved far messier than the paladin¡¯s current spread of ashes. There had been a few duels fought over the years as well¡ªonly to first blood, of course¡ªas hard feelings from the island followed the champions back home. But this was Sara Free¡¯s first time here and she was young and full of righteousness. She did not yet understand that it had all been done before. King Cizco favored Sara with a soft smile. Cortland recognized the look, as he was sure an overwhelming number of women in the hall did as well. With a wave of his hand, Cizco dismissed the arcane energy that had been maintaining the privacy of his conversation with the representatives from the Magelab. He came forward a few steps to peer down at the mess on the floor. ¡°I don¡¯t suppose you came equipped with a broom, umbo,¡± Cizco said. Some light laughter bubbled from the crowd. Cortland edged forward just in time to see the color rise in the Crucifalian¡¯s cheeks. ¡°This is a joke to you?¡± she asked. ¡°Hundreds dead in Ambergran. A town on the brink of disappearing entirely. I had thought Infinzel of all places would care about Orvesians committing an annihilation.¡± The foreigners and some of the younger people in attendance still looked on with smiles eager for a bit of drama in their revelry, yet Cortland detected a hardening of faces from Infinzel¡¯s older generation. Not many remembered life during the siege, but the Orvesians were still well known as Infinzel¡¯s sworn enemy. Cortland wondered how much word of Ambergran¡¯s fate had spread throughout Infinzel¡ªthey were a down continent town, barely big enough to be called a village, and not a trade partner. He suspected this was the first many were hearing of the horrors inflicted by the Orvesian wish. Cortland¡¯s fingers sought his hammer and he scowled at its absence. Bad enough they had let this happen; it reflected even worse on Infinzel¡¯s champions if such an atrocity went unanswered. ¡°A heinous act by the Orvesians in a history replete with them,¡± Cizco said, speaking more for the crowd than the armored woman before him. ¡°These are but the sputtering death throes of an old power as they fade from this world, once and for all.¡± Such a statement might make the listeners from Infinzel feel better, but Cortland knew it would do nothing for the red-cheeked knight of Sulk. ¡°We had planned to aid your cause at the last Granting,¡± Cortland added. ¡°But we had other commitments to honor and then we were waylaid by an unprovoked attack.¡± Cortland had meant to project¡ªto meet this moment of public politicking like a true leader of champions¡ªbut his voice came out its usual gravelly rumble. Behind him, he overheard a handful of spectators asking each other what he¡¯d said. ¡°Other commitments,¡± Sara repeated. She turned to look down upon Cortland and he almost took a step back from the taller woman¡¯s sparkling blue eyes. ¡°Killing trolkin? Maintaining your king¡¯s dewy youthfulness? These are the commitments you would trade hundreds of innocent lives for?¡± ¡°We lost a good man at that Granting,¡± Cortland said through his teeth. ¡°A friend.¡± ¡°Just the one?¡± Sara replied. ¡°Two of my friends were struck down in battle with the Orvesians. They died selflessly with no expectation of reward beyond a bountiful harvest. They died preserving the sanctity of life across the realm. They died fighting Infinzel¡¯s enemies while Infinzel was absent. Had the Ministry of Sulk¡¯s champions not killed two Orvesians, all of Ambergran would now be ashes.¡± Cortland found himself on his back foot. There was little he could say to dispute the paladin¡¯s arguments that wouldn¡¯t sound like a pathetic excuse. The champions of Infinzel had first prioritized dealing with the trolkin over the Orvesians, and they had scaled back their risk-taking after Ben was killed in order to protect the remaining strength of Infinzel¡¯s own wish¡ªat least, that¡¯s what Vitt and Henry decided to do. Cortland himself had chased an assassin halfway across the island to exact his own vengeance, only to run out of time. Would he have been able to save Ambergran if he¡¯d instead focused his rage on the Orvesians? He would never know. ¡°I regret it,¡± he said, quiet enough so only those closest could hear. ¡°If there¡¯s justice to be meted out at the next Granting, you¡¯ll have my hammer.¡± Cortland pretended not to notice the raised eyebrow this earned him from King Cizco. The paladin, at least, looked somewhat mollified by this promise, breathing out through her nose. ¡°Justice will be at the option of what remains of Ambergran,¡± she said. ¡°For my part, I intend to kill this fanatic who leads the Orvesians, and all who wou¡ª¡± ¡°Here, here!¡± Vitt yelled from his place at the nearest bar. ¡°Death to Orvesians! Another year of dewy youthfulness for King Cizco Salvado!¡± Laughter and cheers went up, others repeating the toast which sounded so similar to the wish that Infinzel made every year to maintain Cizco¡¯s youth. The tension had ebbed a bit¡ªalready bystanders were turning away from the scene. At some signal, no doubt from King Cizco, the musicians resumed their playing, choosing a popular battle anthem from the siege years. The king raised his hands for those still paying attention. ¡°We thank the Ministry of Sulk for their stewardship on this matter! But we understand better than most the depravity of the Orvesians, do we not? Infinzel remains ever vigilant and our hammer master stands ready to deliver crushing justice to these blackbirds!¡± If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. Another cheer went up, more raucous than before. Cortland flinched as hands slapped his back. He shot a hard look behind him, scaring off a handful of others who¡¯d gotten the unwise idea to touch him. Briefly, he caught a glimpse of Watts Stonework, who had hung back when the scene with Sara Free began. In the interim, Carina Goldstone had found her old friend from Soldier¡¯s Rest, and the two now engaged in what appeared to be a harsh and rather one-sided conversation on the logician¡¯s part. Cortland hardly had a moment to wonder what they might be discussing. ¡°You give me the brush off,¡± Sara was saying to the king as Cortland turned back. ¡°Ah, a good reminder,¡± Cizco said, and gestured to two attendants who stood by with a broom and dustbin. ¡°Shall I have these ashes returned to you, or¡­?¡± Sara stepped toward the king with enough force that Cortland instinctively put his body between them. Cortland sensed this woman¡¯s strength would be a match for his own and did not relish the idea of finding out who had more. ¡°Easy, now,¡± Cortland said steadily. ¡°You send no aid to Ambergran, not even words of condolence.¡± Sara jabbed her finger at Cizco. ¡°I come to apprise you of the situation, and this is the respect you have for me? For the dead?¡± ¡°I saved you from further embarrassing yourself, Sulkie,¡± Cizco replied. ¡°You coming to Infinzel to preach about Orvesis would be like me going to the ocean and explaining sharks to the oca¡¯em. Are you aware that on three occasions I battled the man your little group is named for? I remember Sulk well. A brutal, vicious little fucker who simply refused to die. An Orvesian, soaked with the blood of fifty Ambergrans. If the gods hadn¡¯t given Sulk a way out, he¡¯d have made a staircase of bodies outside my walls. He only stopped when it became convenient. So, I accept no lessons in moral clarity from a child bearing the mark of a murderer.¡± The king¡¯s voice had turned raspy by the end¡ªa harshness that nearly made Cizco sound his age. Cortland watched the darkening red in Sara¡¯s cheeks and the wetness in her eyes. She did not have a face that would win any games of five card. Briefly, Cortland wondered if his own expressions were so easy to read. At least he had a face that no one found easy to stare at. Sara took a moment to gather herself, perhaps counting down from five in her mind. ¡°You speak as an old man, of old things.¡± She sighed. ¡°I was warned it would be a waste of time coming here, but I chose not to heed the stories. Instead, I believed the old legends of Infinzel¡¯s role as haven and peacekeeper on this continent. Yet, now, I see they are right to say your mighty city of magic and stone is a greedy man¡¯s fist curled around a diamond. No light squeezes through. Power amassed for power¡¯s sake. A dusty monument to one man¡¯s ego.¡± ¡°You¡¯ve said your peace, umbo,¡± Cortland said. ¡°I meant it when I said you could count on my hammer. Let that be enough.¡± ¡°I believe you, hammer master,¡± Sara replied, barely glancing at Cortland. She still focused on Cizco. ¡°Unfortunately, you are but a weapon in your king¡¯s hand. One that Infinzel seems reluctant to let swing. I¡¯m warning you now, these are not the simple lashings out of a dying empire. Ambergran is only the beginning. The Orvesians are after something more.¡± ¡°And what would that be?¡± The new voice felt like a cool breeze gently blowing across sunburnt skin. It carried above the din of the music and other conversations, yet did not seem at all raised. The archmage Sevda Tau stepped forward, her cloud-shaped dress flowing with her. With his [Will+], Cortland sensed that the woman had used some bit of magic to dull tempers. Presumptuous. But wasn¡¯t that always the way with the Magelab? Much of the heat left Sara¡¯s voice as she replied to the blue-haired archmage. ¡°I could not say exactly what they¡¯re up to but I¡¯m glad to see a representative of the Magelab here. Did Erhan Teta convey my report to you?¡± Cortland took a step to the side so that he could stand alongside the king. Cizco plucked a flute of champagne from a passing tray, though his eyes never left Sara Free. The delicate wrinkles at Sevda Tau¡¯s eyes tightened as she searched for the name. ¡°Teta¡­ the horse mage?¡± ¡°That¡¯s him,¡± Sara replied. ¡°We encountered him at a tavern outside Cruxton. He was meant to return home with news for the Magelab.¡± ¡°Indeed?¡± Sevda flashed a brief look over her shoulder, perhaps not realizing that while she had stuck close to Cizco, her candle had slipped away. Cortland spotted Samus Bind and the back of his worn brown traveler¡¯s coat slinking through the crowd toward Carina, who had only just finished her argument with Watts Stonework. Cortland rubbed the back of his head. Too much to keep track of at this gods damned party. It was better when he could just drink his way through it alongside Henry. ¡°I have not had opportunity to compare notes with¡­¡± Sevda drummed her tongue against the roof of her mouth. ¡°¡­the horse mage.¡± Sara squared her shoulders as if delivering a formal report. ¡°The Orvesian Quill, Battar Crodd, had become obsessed with a young man from the village¡­¡± King Cizco snickered. ¡°Ah, this gets interesting, after all.¡± ¡°The kid lost his Ink before the annihilation,¡± Sara continued. ¡°Somehow, this played into Crodd¡¯s fascination with provoking the gods. He was holding the boy prisoner until I rescued him.¡± ¡°That was your mission in Ambergran?¡± Cizco asked. ¡°To rescue some farm boy?¡± ¡°Not my mission, but my calling,¡± Sara said evenly. The king might have snorted in response, but Cortland understood what the paladin meant. Sometimes, a warrior needed to follow their instinct, orders be damned. ¡°The farm boy was apparently important enough to Crodd that he set out in pursuit,¡± Sara continued, her gaze turning back to Sevda Tau. ¡°He sent a pack of gargoyles after us. Two of your candles and Teta were badly injured in the exchange, and Uicha was retaken by the Orvesians. I wasn¡¯t able¡ª¡± Cortland sensed the king¡¯s intake of breath, but he was the one who spoke first. ¡°What did you say?¡± Sara cocked her head. ¡°Which part, hammer master?¡± ¡°The boy¡¯s name.¡± ¡°Uicha,¡± Sara said. ¡°Uicha de Orak. From the islands, originally. I¡¯d intended to return him to his people.¡± ¡°Well, I¡¯ll be fucked,¡± Cortland said. He turned to the king, but Cizco was already exchanging a meaningful look with Sevda Tau. Cortland suspected that Cizco had already apprised the archmage of the strange findings in the Underneath. ¡°Does that name mean something to you?¡± Sara asked. ¡°Yeah,¡± Cortland said. ¡°But also, no.¡± ¡°This Uicha seems to be more than some madman¡¯s plaything,¡± Cizco said. ¡°I wish you¡¯d maintained your grip on the boy.¡± ¡°As do I,¡± Sara replied grimly. ¡°Another of this year¡¯s failures I very much intend to remedy.¡± The music picked up and the dance floor began to fill. Cortland winced as he saw Vitt swaying through the crowd toward them. As if this exchange hadn¡¯t already been fraught enough, now the hunter approached with his eyes scanning the Crucifalian as if looking for the buckles on her armor. He sidled up to Sara¡ªtoo close, Cortland thought¡ªall but pressing his body against hers. ¡°Now that the show is over, I wonder if you brought a suitable change of clothes for dancing?¡± Vitt asked, his voice practically a purr. ¡°Or, perhaps, we could go somewhere quiet and discuss our favorite ways to murder Orvesians.¡± The approach was sweaty, even for Vitt. Cortland took a closer look at his fellow champion¡ªhe appeared a bit wan. Sara said nothing, but Cortland saw her bristle at the proximity. Vitt¡¯s gaze flicked briefly to Cizco and Sevda, both of whom were glowering at him like a dog who¡¯d dragged a mauled skunk into the sitting room. ¡°Unless, of course, my father has already planted his flag in you,¡± Vitt continued. ¡°I don¡¯t believe either of us has had a proper Crucifalian, but it needn¡¯t be a race¡ª¡± Too far, even for Vitt. Cizco opened his mouth and Cortland started forward to drag the hunter away, but then they all felt the heat and recoiled. Sara had used [Radiate]. For a moment, her armor pulsed white hot. Vitt yelped and stumbled backward, his reaction more dramatic than it would have been months ago, before Arris Stonetender had set them all on fire. Patting at the steaming fabric on his chest, Vitt careened into an attendant, tripped, and ended up seated on the floor with champagne dripping through his hair. Cortland had to hold in a snarl. Bad enough to see a champion of Infinzel making a fool of himself in public; he would not compound the humiliation by dressing down Vitt. Let the king handle his progeny, if he wanted. Never having turned in Vitt¡¯s direction, Sara now made a perfunctory bow to Cizco. ¡°Thank you for the hospitality,¡± she said dryly. ¡°I will take my leave.¡± Head held high, Sara pushed through the tittering crowd. Cizco shook his head and turned to Sevda Tau with a put-upon smile. ¡°Sons,¡± he said to the archmage. ¡°A challenge at any age.¡± ¡°Fortunately, I have never had the displeasure of children,¡± Sevda replied. Cortland hoped it would end there. He groaned inwardly as Vitt practically leapt to his feet, violently shoving the apologetic attendant into a pair of nearby dancers. Before Cortland could stop him, Vitt had set out in pursuit of the paladin. ¡°Hey!¡± Vitt screamed. ¡°Bi¡ª!¡± Vitt fell again, this time on his face. Someone had stuck out a leg as he lunged after Sara. The paladin exited the banquet hall while Vitt was pushing himself back to his feet, fresh blood on his lips from where his chin had cracked against the stone floor. As he sprung upright, Vitt cast his gaze about in a wide arc. Most nearby shied away or put their heads down. The only one to meet Vitt¡¯s stare was the same man who Cortland was sure had tripped him. The bouncer from Guydemion¡¯s. Watts Stonework.
51. [Carina] Princess of the Pyramid
Carina Goldstone, Logician of the 3rd Renown, Kingdom of Infinzel, in for a night of propositions Vitt Secondson-Salvado, Hunter of the 9th Renown, Kingdom of Infinzel, discovering physical chemistry Watts Stonework, a bouncer of no renown, Kingdom of Infinzel, just the messenger Samus Bind, Inquisitor of the 9th Renown, Candlefast, a curious man
7 Frett, 61 AW The pyramidal city of Infinzel, North Continent 173 days until the next Granting Analytically, Carina understood that she was drinking too much. Of course, she knew exactly how much spirits she could consume without letting her faculties slip. In the Magelab, she¡¯d had plenty of lonely nights to work this out. She¡¯s wasn¡¯t a habitual drinker¡ªnot like Henry Blacksalve anyway, who she¡¯d seen already out on his feet when she arrived at the banquet. But there were times when it was a social necessity. Carina maintained a certain tolerance, treating drinking like any of other skill. She knew her own limits and was already dangerously close to crossing them. Mostly, this was Issa Firstdot-Tuarez¡¯s fault. She drank with the reckless abandon of a soldier after every shift in the Garrison, but with the wealth of a noble allowing her to buy nothing but the finest. Carina had seen a lot of Issa over these last weeks, ever since their descent into the Underneath. Issa had decided they were going to be friends and Carina hadn¡¯t fought the idea. It had been awhile since Carina let herself make a friend¡ªprobably not since her time in Penchenne. Partly following Issa¡¯s lead, and partly based on word of how she¡¯d handled herself, the rest of the Garrison had also warmed up to Carina. She was no longer the up-jumped nobody the gods had plucked from obscurity, but instead a weird little underdog that might actually know a thing or two. Issa had invented an ongoing drinking game that required everyone to take a shot whenever Carina corrected someone. Of course, there was also the burnt woman. Arris Stonetender¡ªher flesh melted away, a creature of fire. The choking smell of her. The sight of Cortland¡¯s hammer crushing down through her head like a tinder sculpture. A good reason to seek oblivion. Carina was not detached from to her own emotions. She understood that she¡¯d thrown herself into a friendship with Issa based partly on a need to cope with what she¡¯d seen in the Underneath, with the part she played in the unraveling of the elementalist. Carina knew her own weaknesses. And she knew these feelings would fade, given enough time. So, leaning her hip against the bar, sweat dimpling her back, Carina took another healthy sip of champagne. She needed it, especially now, after the proposal she¡¯d just been presented with. ¡°I think it would cut the tension between us, don¡¯t you?¡± Vitt Secondson-Salvado asked, his smile a slow and lazy thing. Issa had no doubt thought it was funny to scamper away with her brother right when Vitt sauntered over to them. She departed with an animated wink for Carina, leaving her alone with the hunter. Clearly, Vitt hadn¡¯t been exercising moderation either. Not a bad looking man, Carina had to admit. Like a moodier version of King Cizco¡ªhis dark hair had at last regrown enough that he could again dye a patch crimson. Carina smiled up at him innocently. ¡°Vitt, I didn¡¯t realize there was tension between us.¡± He chuckled. ¡°The first day you showed up here, you declared that my father was going to die and that you were going to take over.¡± ¡°Not exactly my words,¡± Carina replied. A memory flashed through Carina¡¯s mind. As a child, before her parents had died and she¡¯d found herself living in the outer districts, she had snuck down from their apartment to peek at the Open Gate. Garrison guards had shooed her away¡ªbut she¡¯d thought the whole thing had looked so romantic. To dress up in a fancy gown and have a Salvado try to sweep her off her feet? A little girl¡¯s dream. A stupid, childish thing. ¡°I¡¯m only here because I believe in the pyramidal city and want to see it continue,¡± Carina said. ¡°I have no interest in taking your inheritance.¡± At the sound of a honking cough, Carina and Vitt both turned to look at Herman Firstson-Salvado. Vitt¡¯s older half-brother¡ªelected heir to the throne¡ªhad taken a seat at a table, his wife rubbing his back as attendants raced to thrust glasses of water at him. ¡°Not my inheritance,¡± Vitt said quietly. ¡°Unlikely to be any of ours. One day, I¡¯ll be like sad, sick Herman, an heir that looks older than his own damn father.¡± He ran a hand through his hair, as if checking its thickness. ¡°Unless what you predict is true.¡± Carina shrugged. ¡°The gods only choose a champion in anticipation of great upheaval.¡± ¡°Maybe the gods send the upheaval with the champion,¡± Vitt countered. ¡°You ever think of that?¡± In answer, Carina finished her glass of champagne and signaled for another. Of course she had thought of that. ¡°All the more reason,¡± Vitt said, edging closer. ¡°It will help us work together as champions. Discover our physical chemistry. And, perhaps, if you¡¯re to one day take over as, uh, manager of this place, while I ascend to the throne, this could be the beginning of a productive political arrangement.¡± Carina laughed, genuinely impressed by the hunter¡¯s shamelessness. She put a hand on his chest to keep him from coming closer, but didn¡¯t immediately drop it away. ¡°You and Cortland fought quite well together in the Underneath,¡± she said. ¡°Did you and he have a similar process of discovery?¡± Vitt smirked. ¡°And what if I told you we did?¡± Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel. She raised an eyebrow. ¡°Then I¡¯d have to ask the hammer master for verification.¡± ¡°I¡¯m tempted to let you do that.¡± Before anything more could be said, a murmur went through the crowd as a paladin from the Ministry of Sulk made her dramatic entrance. Carina could practically feel Vitt¡¯s interest recoiling from her as he caught sight of the Crucifalian woman. She¡¯d seen enough of the supernatural beauties during her time on the southern continent¡ªseen the groveling they did before their husbands¡ªthat she felt more disgust than awe at the sight of Sara Free. More troubling, though, was that she felt a twinge of disappointment at Vitt¡¯s attention being withdrawn. Too much to drink, indeed. Carina watched with the rest of the guests as Sara Free preached on behalf of Ambergran. It rankled her a bit, not to be at the center of things. Throughout the night, she¡¯d resisted the urge to put herself within range of King Cizco, so that she could better keep tabs on the goings-on. But that wouldn¡¯t be wise. Not with the archmage and candle hanging around. Carina knew both the archmage champion Sevda Tau and the candle champion Samus Bind from her time at the Magelab. Tau was soft-spoken and played the part of an empath, but underneath had the black heart of a fascist. As Carina understood it, her magic focused on emotional control. In Tau¡¯s opinion, there was a suitable range of human feeling and anything outside that spectrum was the equivalent of disease. All the more reason to get drunk. Behaving offensively would ensure the archmage kept her distance and stayed out of Carina¡¯s mind. Although, Carina had been a bit of a dirty little secret during her time at the Magelab, so Carina doubted Sevda Tau was eager to renew their acquaintance. She wondered, though, what safeguards King Cizco had put into place before inviting the mage inside the pyramidal city¡ªTau would certainly use this opportunity to take the measure of Infinzel¡¯s arcane engineering. And then there was Samus Bind. When she had first arrived at the Magelab to bargain her shipment of chanic for entry, it had been Bind and not one of the archmages that interviewed her. Unsurprising, given he was classed by the gods as an inquisitor, a title even more rare than logician. What had surprised Carina was Bind¡¯s sheepish and sloppy nature¡ªfar from the hot coals and pokers his class suggested. However, she quickly understood that was just a ploy; a mask Bind wore to gain an advantage. Carina admired him. She also never wanted to talk with him again. ¡°Here, here!¡± Vitt spilled on her arm as he hoisted his glass. ¡°Death to Orvesians! Another year of dewy youthfulness for King Cizco Salvado!¡± Carina didn¡¯t join the others in cheering, but she did drink. Distracted as she¡¯d been, it took longer than it should have for Carina to notice the broad back of the man standing next to Cortland. Watts Stonework looked like he¡¯d needed to be levered into the suit he wore, and Carina almost smiled at the thought of his little son Otis with his deft Gadgeteer fingers helping Watts to tie that cravat. That thought curdled as Carina quickly understood what Watts¡¯ presence here meant. As Cortland moved on to deal with Sara Free and the king, Carina left her spot at the bar and made haste toward Watts. She dodged through the dance floor, ignoring multiple offers from well-heeled Salvado sons and their wealthy merchant competitors. At least Bel Guydemion, the de facto governor of Soldier¡¯s Rest and hero of the outer districts, hadn¡¯t sent Traveon Twiceblack to be his messenger. The fool bartender was still carrying on like he expected Carina to marry him¡ªall because she¡¯d said maybe, a decade ago, to a marriage proposal Traveon had made when they were both still teenagers. Insufferable. Except, in a way, she wished it had been pretty Traveon instead of scarred Watts. Easier to distract Traveon than the stoic bouncer. Even so, she had to try. Carina grabbed Watts by the arm and attempted to turn him, but the man was built like a mountain and so she ended up swinging awkwardly around in front of him. Watts raised his eyebrows and smiled that relaxed smile of his. ¡°Ah, hello, little princess of the pyramid,¡± he said. ¡°I hoped I might bump into you.¡± Carina swallowed hard. He''d always called her the princess of the pyramid¡ªthey all had at Guydemion''s. She''d been a stupid little girl, then, with all her big ideas. Watts had always listened to her with bemusement, and then given her and Traveon pony rides around the bar. ¡°What are you doing here, Watts?¡± His smile faded at her tone. ¡°Same as everyone else, I suspect. A request for the king.¡± ¡°No,¡± Carina said firmly. ¡°Absolutely not.¡± Watts slowly tilted his head. ¡°Do you answer on his behalf now, champion? If so, I''d ask for you to at least hear me out.¡± Carina could guess what the request would be. She''d sat in Guydemion''s bar for years, listening to the old commander''s complaints and the high-minded visions of his followers. She had even made a number of suggestions herself. During these weekly meetings, they had laughed at Carina when she told them she could change things once she became a champion. All of them chuckling except for Bel Guydemion himself. The old man always believed her. ¡°I know what your request will be,¡± Carina snapped, ticking off her fingers. ¡°Rights to develop the land beyond the walls. Demolition of the walls themselves. An expansion of Infinzel''s engineering to the structures of the outer districts. Reduced dues for those who live outside. Rights to form your own enforcement body. Redistribution of noble housing within the pyramidal city.¡± She took a breath. ¡°Did I hit on it, Watts? Or should I keep going through the entire manifesto?¡± Watts¡¯ face barely moved. ¡°We will ask the king''s support in our coming strike, and hope he''ll assist us in renegotiating dues for the outer district.¡± ¡°What strike?¡± ¡°No more work on the inside from those forced to live on the outside,¡± Watts intoned. ¡°It starts tonight.¡± Carina shot a sidelong look toward the king. At that moment, Cizco seemed engaged in a heated exchange with the paladin. Between that, the usual visitors brought in by the Open Gate, and their findings in the Underneath¡­ ¡°Please, Watts, it''s not the time,¡± Carina said. ¡°Things are more complicated in here than you can understand. I''m not set up to help you yet. Not in the way that I could be. I need another year to figure things out. Let me get through my first Granting and then¡­¡± ¡°Ah, little princess, as ever you''re the center of your own story, but not the center of every story.¡± Watts said this without any particular malice, which made it sting all the more. ¡°The old man would see change in his lifetime. He warred all across this continent for Infinzel and has never received his honors. There are only so many years left for him to collect. He does so on behalf of all of us. Including you.¡± ¡°I know all this! You can only tell me things that I already know!¡± Carina found herself stomping her foot like she used to do on those rare occasions Guydemion enforced a bedtime. ¡°Listen to me, Watts. There is an order to events. A sequence that must be maintained to make sure we''re successful in our aims. I cannot¡ªshould not¡ªexplain this to you. You just have to trust me and get the old man to trust me. I know what I''m do¡­¡± Carina trailed off. Even slightly drunk and greatly frustrated, she recognized the flick of Watts¡¯ gaze to the space over her shoulder. A warning in those droopy eyes to button herself up. ¡°To know the order of events, that must be a real burden,¡± Samus Bind said. Carina turned to face the slouching candle. His face was dusted with stubble and he wore a dirt-stained brown traveler¡¯s coat, giving off the impression that he¡¯d only stopped into this banquet as a brief break from more important business. Carina managed a smile she hoped would read as diplomatic. ¡°Master Bind,¡± she said. ¡°It¡¯s good to see you again.¡± ¡°I¡¯m no master, Madam Goldstone. Samus will do.¡± His eyes flitted about. ¡°I¡¯m not interrupting, am I?¡± ¡°You are not, sir,¡± Watts said. He bowed to Carina¡ªshe heard a seam in his shoulder pop¡ªand then retreated into the crowd. ¡°I get a feeling like I just opened a window and let an animal you¡¯d trapped escape,¡± Samus said, watching Watts go. ¡°I didn¡¯t mean to cause you trouble, Madam Goldstone.¡± Carina wasn¡¯t sure that was true. ¡°Can I help you with something, Samus? I¡¯m afraid I¡¯m not much of a dancer¡­¡± ¡°Ahmed Roh,¡± the inquisitor said. ¡°You traveled the road with him, yeah?¡± Carina nodded. ¡°We left the Magelab at the same time.¡± ¡°Huh.¡± Samus ground the heel of his hand into the space behind his ear. ¡°You mind if we get some air, Madam Goldstone? Something in here really sets me off.¡± Samus did not wait for her to respond. He huddled toward the exit with his hands shoved in his coat pockets. Carina wondered what he might do if she just stayed put, but her curiosity got the better of her. She caught up with Samus just before they reached the grand staircase leading outside. ¡°Why did you ask me about Ahmed Roh?¡± ¡°Oh.¡± Samus glanced at her. ¡°He¡¯s dead.¡± ¡°What?¡± Carina blinked. ¡°How?¡± ¡°Don¡¯t know. We can¡¯t find his body.¡± A gust of chill air blew across Carina¡¯s skin as an attendant opened the door for them. ¡°As far as I know,¡± Samus continued, ¡°you¡¯re the last person who saw him alive.¡±
52. [Carina] Clever Friends
Carina Goldstone, Logician of the 3rd Renown, Kingdom of Infinzel, her feet in two worlds Samus Bind, Inquisitor of the 9th Renown, Candlefast, on the case
7 Frett, 61 AW The pyramidal city of Infinzel, North Continent 173 days until the next Granting If the cold air didn¡¯t sober up Carina, then the company quickly did. Samus Bind shuffled a few feet ahead of her as they descended the heated staircase leading down from the pyramidal city and into the outer districts. Once they reached the gravel road below and were no longer protected by the windbreaks or the warded stone, goosebumps rose on Carina¡¯s arms and shoulders. Even so, the cold felt refreshing after the enclosed warmth of the banquet hall. Bind seemed to agree. He tipped his head back and gulped in the night air like some kind of wolf. ¡°Better, don¡¯t you think?¡± he asked. ¡°Something in your temple plays havoc with my senses.¡± Carina raised an eyebrow. She wasn¡¯t sure where to begin with that statement; nobody called Infinzel a temple. ¡°I¡¯m not sure what you mean,¡± she said with practiced neutrality. ¡°You don¡¯t find all the wards in there suffocating?¡± he asked. ¡°There are lines of magic crisscrossing every room. I feel the constant need to pick my feet up.¡± Bind demonstrated by hiking up his frayed pants and taking a couple exaggerated steps, as if he were a burglar navigating a hallway bisected by tripwires. ¡°I haven¡¯t noticed that,¡± Carina said. ¡°Hm. I thought you would have.¡± The inquisitor sounded almost disappointed, like he¡¯d hoped to compare notes. ¡°It¡¯s oppressive. Although maybe that¡¯s just something your king has installed with an archmage visiting. Regardless, I don¡¯t recommend selecting [Detect Magic] when you reach your next level of renown. Not worth the migraines.¡± Now that he mentioned it, Carina had felt an aching sensation at the edge of her awareness, an odd numbness to both her [Alert] and [Future Sight] Ink. She''d assumed it was just the champagne, but there was a resettling sensation to her abilities now, like they had been pulled taut and were finally relaxing. Was it true that the king installed some arcane blockage in preparation for the banquet? That would explain why Samus Bind hadn''t triggered her [Alert] when he sidled up behind her, although maybe that just meant the man wasn''t a threat in the traditional sense, or that he had defenses of his own to avoid such mental abilities. If it wouldn''t have made her interest so plain, she would''ve asked Cortland to [Assess] him for her. She wished to know what an inquisitor of the ninth renown was working with. Too many questions and possibilities, and now Bind had an amused twinkle in his eyes as he watched her work things through. ¡°You did feel it, then,¡± Bind said. ¡°But you¡¯re embarrassed you didn''t know you felt it.¡± ¡°I''ve heard better come on lines than that tonight, inquisitor.¡± Bind smiled, his teeth straight but stained from tobacco, and so Carina was unsurprised when he popped a smokeroll between his lips and lit it with a spark from his fingertips. He didn''t offer her one. Carina glanced back the way they had come and saw the paladin from the Ministry of Sulk descending the stairs. She must have left right behind them. The woman came down the steps on great purposeful strides, her armor creaking. Carina found herself activating her [Future Sight], peeking for a short term possibility where the paladin tripped over a loose greave and tumbled. There was no version of events where Sara didn''t breeze right by her and Samus like they weren''t even there, disappearing to search for her next pulpit. But there was something else in Carina''s vision¡ªa scuffle, a shattered champagne flute, a stem used like a dagger to gouge across a face¡ªand Carina felt suddenly that she wanted to be somewhere else. She started walking before the paladin reached the bottom of the steps. Bind shuffled along beside her, curls of smoke that smelled like burnt tea spilling from his lips. ¡°I only meant a breath of fresh air, Madam Goldstone,¡± he said. ¡°We don''t have to go far.¡± ¡°I think I''ve had enough of my first Open Gate,¡± Carina replied. ¡°Do you mind walking for a bit?¡± ¡°Not at all, but you aren''t dressed for it.¡± He nodded toward her gown just as a cutting wind blew a flurry of snow across the road. Carina had crossed her arms as they started moving¡ªa chill was setting in¡ªbut they were entering a stretch of merchant stalls and storefronts, all of them open late in an attempt to attract business from those leaving the banquet. Carina knew she wouldn''t have to be uncomfortable for long. An older woman dashed out from her stall with a grey fur in her arms, not even asking permission before throwing the garment around Carina''s shoulders. The fur was heavy and warm, lined with silk, and smelled perfumed. Carina suspected it was from a northern bear, probably imported from Fornon. At least a hundred angles for a fur like that, but when Carina told the woman she didn''t have any money with her, the merchant acted offended at the thought of payment and merely begged for Infinzel''s ¡®young and beautiful champion¡¯ to showcase her wares throughout the winter. Pulling the fur around herself, Carina was happy to oblige. As they walked on, Bind stared at her. ¡°They give you free things for being a champion here?¡± Carina nodded. ¡°The people have been very generous with me.¡± ¡°Because the gods chose you?¡± ¡°Because I''m a woman,¡± Carina said. ¡°It''s been years since there was a female champion. The dressmakers and soap sellers have all been desperate for endorsements.¡± She glanced at him. ¡°Would you like a new coat while we''re out? You''re not one of our champions, but I''m sure we can find a merchant excited by the prospect of outfitting a candle.¡± Bind pinched his collar and turned it up. ¡°I like this coat. Thank you.¡± ¡°Shall we talk about Ahmed Roh, then?¡± The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. ¡°Ahmed Roh,¡± Bind repeated, sighing. The air around them changed¡ªCarina sensed a new stillness, almost like her eardrums had popped. The sounds from the taverns and eateries they passed sounded unnaturally muffled. Samus Bind had done something to make their conversation private. ¡°You traveled with the archmage between here and Magelab?¡± Bind asked. ¡°Much to his chagrin,¡± Carina said. ¡°You didn¡¯t find it strange that he traveled alone? Without candles?¡± ¡°I suppose I didn¡¯t think much about it. I¡¯d just gotten my Ink and had other things on my mind.¡± Carina paused. ¡°And anyway, who would I have brought such concerns to? My presence was barely tolerated in the Magelab. I learned not to ask questions or volunteer unsolicited input.¡± Bind scratched the stubble shrouding his cheeks. ¡°How did the archmage seem to you?¡± ¡°Impatient? Annoyed?¡± Carina shrugged. ¡°I never knew him to be very pleasant.¡± ¡°He wasn''t,¡± Bind replied. ¡°Personally, I would say good riddance. I''d often found myself on the man¡¯s bad side over the years. His research turned over stones from under which scuttled problems. However, his compatriots would like answers. Losing a fifteenth renown is no small thing. And, for my part, Roh¡¯s not the only one who has died, is he?¡± Carina pressed her lips together. She had fought hard to gain entry into the Magelab, and so spent most of her time in the fortress at the center of the lake, with little reason to visit the town that made a perfect ring around the lake shore. Only on a couple of occasions when she felt like it was better she disappear for a few hours or days had she spent any time in the cozy taverns of Candlefast. The servants of the mages were kind and welcoming and seemed to live a good life. Yet, she had a hard time looking at any of them and not envisioning a sword dangling from a fraying rope. ¡°I''m sorry for that,¡± Carina said. ¡°Anyone you knew?¡± Bind shook his head. ¡°A grandmother, short on days. Some kindness in that. And a young man, just twenty, stepping out on his path. I didn''t know them personally, but that doesn''t make me less eager for justice.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t you worry it could be you?¡± she asked. ¡°I don''t know how you live that way. All of you. The uncertainty would drive me mad.¡± The inquisitor glanced up at the sky. The night was heavy with clouds; more snow would come later. ¡°You stop thinking about it,¡± he said. ¡°Like a bolt of lightning or, for someone like you, a stone coming loose from the ceiling. Nothing but randomness.¡± ¡°Stones don''t come loose in our ceilings,¡± Carina said. ¡°We see to that.¡± Bind took another look at her fur. ¡°Lucky for you then, all around.¡± Two dead candles for every dead mage. Carina shook her head, but didn¡¯t belabor the issue. Once, it had been the candles that burned the tomes, but now the flames were snuffed by the weight of the pages. The Magelab had wished that arrangement into existence, originally one-for-one, until the candles attempted to overturn the wish and were punished with a doubling. That had all transpired before Carina, or Samus Bind, had been born. The candles were docile now¡ªservants and protectors, their past as jailers all but forgotten. All except for the inquisitor. He was a role from the old system which the mages still had a use for. ¡°Do you know where Roh was heading?¡± Bind asked. ¡°Ambergran,¡± Carina said. ¡°He told you that?¡± ¡°I deduced it.¡± ¡°Strange,¡± Bind said. ¡°Last year, I couldn''t have found that town on a map.¡± ¡°Me neither.¡± ¡°Now, it¡¯s on the tips of very powerful tongues.¡± ¡°An annihilation will do that,¡± Carina said. ¡°Did you further deduce what he wanted there?¡± ¡°I presumed he intended to see what the Orvesians had done. A scientific study of suffering.¡± ¡°I suppose that tracks,¡± Bind said. Carina watched the lines form in the man¡¯s forehead¡ªcrinkle and relax, crinkle and relax¡ªalmost as if his brain were breathing. ¡°Can you share any of the details? Perhaps I can help.¡± They both knew that this was more a matter of curiosity for Carina than any genuine desire to aid in his investigation, so Carina was surprised by the frankness of his answer. ¡°He died five days ago,¡± Bind said. ¡°The first clue was the Ink returning to Quill Ulpha. ¡° Carina had met Delia Ulpha during her time at the Magelab. An ineffectual bureaucrat mage in her middle years, entirely beholden to the demands of the elder archmages. They¡¯d assuredly chosen one of the other elders to replace Roh¡ªthe ease of Ink was seen as a reward for a lifetime of dedication to the old ways. She wondered which archmage had been chosen; they varied greatly in their degrees of priggishness. ¡°A heart attack, perhaps?¡± Carina asked, focusing on the matter of Roh¡¯s demise rather than his successor. ¡°Or maybe he saw Ambergran, decided the world was too grim a place, and¡­¡± ¡°The latter more likely than the former,¡± Bind said. ¡°We don¡¯t have Roh¡¯s body, but we have the candles. They suffer the same death, you see. I wasn¡¯t there to examine them personally, yet my assistants describe heads half cut off. Maybe it¡¯s like you said and Roh fashioned himself an enchanted guillotine.¡± Carina snorted at the inquisitor¡¯s bleak joke. He lit another smokeroll. ¡°Murder, we think,¡± Bind continued. ¡°With a list of suspects only as long as every mage currently traveling outside the Magelab.¡± ¡°Is that many?¡± ¡°More than I¡¯d like.¡± He exhaled a plume of smoke. ¡°You¡¯ve been helpful, Madam Goldstone.¡± Sound rushed back in as Bind released his grip on their privacy bubble. The loudness of the night surprised Carina¡ªshouting and commotion from the taverns and whorehouses made her blink. ¡°Is that it?¡± Carina ran a hand through her hair, disturbing some of the pins that held it in place. ¡°Very different from our last interrogation, Samus, when I thought you might ship me out of the Magelab in a crate.¡± He tapped some ash off the end of his smokeroll. ¡°A very different situation then. We weren¡¯t yet colleagues.¡± ¡°Colleagues?¡± Carina chuckled again. ¡°You mean as champions?¡± Bind looked down at his feet with a hangdog smile that Carina didn¡¯t entirely believe. ¡°You¡¯ve pointed me in the right direction on Roh, but I also had ulterior motives for this conversation, Madam Goldstone,¡± he said. ¡°You see, the two of us are part of a very special siblinghood. Surrounded on all sides by weapon masters, archmages, hunters, and the healers who tend to their wounds, we have chosen a different direction. The gods offered us boons and we have applied them to our minds. I always like to meet the ones like me¡ªthe logicians, the enchanters, the artificers, and spies. I think of us as the Clever Friends. The island is a dangerous place for our type and we must stick together when we can.¡± Carina smirked at the nickname, although she had to admit there was something alluring about a cross-faction alliance of the more intelligence-inclined classes. Oh, what they might do for the world¡­ ¡°If I¡¯m to be one of your Clever Friends, what advice would you have for a first timer?¡± she asked. ¡°Don¡¯t get stabbed. And don¡¯t let yourself be distracted,¡± Bind said. His gaze drifted down the street, to where a crowd had amassed. ¡°Where have you brought us, Madam Goldstone?¡± Only then did Carina realize that she had been leading the way. Her steps had carried them to Soldier¡¯s Rest. The narrow street ahead was clogged with bodies wedged between the leaning chaos of the district¡¯s slapdash buildings. A stage had been erected there, a familiar shape strutting back and forth upon it. ¡°Protection! That¡¯s what they tell us the dues are for,¡± Traveon Twiceblack said, his words carrying easily above the murmuring crowd. Carina could imagine his face¡ªconfident smile, chiseled features, coal-lined eyes¡ªand that voice always like he was letting you in on a private joke. ¡°The only protection we need out here is from the greycoats, our own brothers and sisters, sent to knock down whatever we build!¡± As the crowd roared again, Carina found herself slipping to the side, under the overhang of a building that had its door boarded up. Why had she come here? She hadn¡¯t been thinking. Distracted as she¡¯d been with Samus Bind, Carina hadn¡¯t been mindful of her feet. Bind slouched into the space beside her, head cocked toward where Traveon was drumming up this gods forsaken outer district strike that Watts Stonework had been talking about. ¡°This is interesting,¡± he said. ¡°Is it?¡± she replied. ¡°I think I made a wrong turn.¡± ¡°Hm,¡± Bind said. ¡°Did you?¡± Laughter from the crowd as Traveon continued. ¡°I thought nobles were supposed to be rare! Isn¡¯t that the point of nobility? I hear they¡¯re running out of rooms for Salvados inside. Twenty new ones every year! But gods, we must make more! Let us wish the old king¡¯s balls full so he can breed more freeloaders!¡± Carina winced. That was the kind of talk that would get Traveon¡¯s skull cracked by a Garrison patrol. She glanced about to make sure the coast was clear, and so was the first to see Watts stumbling up the street covered in blood. ¡°Watts!¡± Carina yelped, and started forward. Bind put a hand on her shoulder. ¡°Doesn¡¯t seem wise,¡± he said. ¡°Not a place you want to be seen tonight, my clever friend.¡± Carina let Bind drag her further back, into the shadows. Her cry had alerted others, though. The people of Soldier¡¯s Rest rushed to Watts¡¯ aid, even as he swore it was nothing, that he just needed to lay down for a bit. He¡¯d been cut and beaten before. Injury was nothing new for the bouncer. The story would be all over the outer districts by morning. How Vitt Secondson-Salvado had tripped over Watts Stonework¡¯s foot and, for that offense, had gouged out his eye with the broken stem of a champagne flute. How the healer of Infinzel had been too drunk to do anything about it. Watts hadn¡¯t even gotten to make his request to the king. The strike began regardless.
53. [Red Tide] Solstice, Part One
The year turned. Soon, the calendar would be reordered around the Granting, but not yet. At the closing of the First Age, the year still ended on the last day of Frett, the darkest day of the cycle for the northern continent and the brightest for the southern. Freed from the siege, King Hectore¡¯s pyramidal city felt eerily silent. There had been no solstice celebrations for Infinzel in a decade and they were slow to resume now. The people still tiptoed through the tunnels of stone, hunching and scuttling, like beetles after a rain. Or so I am told. The slovenly king of Infinzel found himself comforted by his people¡¯s unease. It reflected his own. By all accounts, the king had sequestered himself in his rooms while his younger brother Cizco managed the day-to-day operations of the city. Hectore had been abandoned by his foreigner wife, who had been marked with the coin and blade. He had been shaken by his encounter with the gods and, more so, by King Mudt¡¯s attack. Hectore remembered how it felt to be pinned beneath the mighty Mudt, to see his knife plunging down over and over, and to be saved only by the fickle protection of the gods. He dreamt of this, and his nightly screams made his guards whisper. Only at his younger brother¡¯s urging had Hectore used the power of his quill. Hectore made his brother a champion, of course, and then chose three others from the warriors who remained in the pyramidal city. Other Quills in other cities were quick to use their rite of banishment upon the Orvesian hordes, but not King Hectore. He waited months before casting out the Orvesians, and only after an argument with his brother that echoed through the halls. ¡°It is unnatural!¡± King Hectore shouted. ¡°These powers they have given us should not be!¡± ¡°Would you rather be dead, brother?¡± Cizco replied. ¡°Would you rather our people have gone on enduring and suffering forever? The gods show us mercy.¡± ¡°Mercy!¡± King Hectore cackled, and it is said he turned to his windows to peer out at the Orvesian campfires, the army still there waiting for a siege that would never resume. ¡°The fields will look so empty without them.¡± And so, on that moonlit solstice, King Hectore gazed out again upon the dark fields around Infinzel and saw nothing but blackness. It took some trial and error¡ªhe was not a man of particular skill¡ªbut he managed to build a fire on the rarely used balcony outside his chamber. To that fire he dragged all the fine clothes that his traitorous wife had left behind, and he burned them. He drank alone, and he dozed off under the stars, and he woke up covered in the ashes of his old life. It was the first time in months King Hectore had slept soundly. --Record of the First Granting and Dawning of the Second Age Lyus Crodd, Scribe of the Dead Kingdom of Orvesis
Red Tide, Enchantress of the 4th Renown, The Reef Those she has met so far¡­ ¡­and those she will meet soon
30 Frett, 61 AW The northern edge of Besaden, North Continent 150 days until the next Granting Red Tide hadn''t been around dogs before, but she knew they were supposed to bark. The land-walkers trained them as companions, like the oca¡¯em did dolphins, and they behaved similarly¡ªdarting, playing, nosing around for bits of food. But not these dogs. Two teams of eight attached to the sleds, sixteen in total, all of them fiercely muscled beneath their spiky grey coats. They all stared straight ahead, their breath curling from their muzzles in near unison. If not for the breathing and the occasional shake one did to dislodge the snow steadily accumulating across their backs, Red Tide would have thought them taxidermy statues like the animals displayed inside the lodge. ¡°Good, looks good,¡± Yodor Dominik said. The owl-eyed beastlord squatted with the dogs, peeling back their eyelids to do some inspection of his magic. ¡°They will get you to the trolkin. I have told them the way. Work them only during daylight. Melt snow for them to drink every few hours. Cooked rice for breakfast. More for dinner, to go with the meat. They will hunt for themselves¡ªand you¡ªby night. Do not fear sleeping amongst them. It may become necessary.¡± Red Tide scrunched up her nose at the thought, but kept her reply simple. ¡°Understood, beastlord.¡± Although she found him off-putting, Red Tide couldn¡¯t deny that Yodor had aided them greatly after they left Heartwood. They stood in front of his lodge¡ªa log cabin big enough to host twenty, though unoccupied now except for the Reef¡¯s champions, Yodor, and the trophies from his hunts. This was a place for beastlords as they had once been, Yodor had explained, when they were masters of Besaden rather than its conservators. The differences between this secreted outpost and the village were stark¡ªthe lodge was built from felled trees, Yodor burned fire here, and cooked meat. ¡°What do we do with them once we reach the north?¡± Red Tide asked. ¡°Will they know to come back to you?¡± Yodor straightened up and shook his head. ¡°No.¡± He glanced down at the lines of dogs, alert yet unmoving. ¡°The trolkin eat dogs, I think. Set them loose, trade them, it doesn¡¯t matter. They¡¯re yours.¡± Again, Red Tide kept her expression neutral. If they survived the Granting, they had promised this man access to a newly restored leviathan. What would he do with that offering? Make sketches in his little book? Or something more unsettling? ¡°And what do we owe you for this, you hairy little freak?¡± Salt Wall asked, laughter in her voice. ¡°You want me to sit upon your face so you can make some notes?¡± The berserker stood next to Red Tide. She wore only her ward-weave breastplate on her upper body, her arms and shoulders exposed to the chill. Being from the northern pods, Salt Wall liked the cold more than the rest of them. She was most eager to set out north from the comforts of Besaden, not least because of the news that her people might be facing an attack from the Coralline Throne. In the meantime, she¡¯d taken up tormenting Yodor as a kind of sport. The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation. He blinked at Salt Wall now like he was genuinely considering her offer. ¡°No time for that,¡± he said eventually. ¡°At least, if you want to set out today.¡± ¡°We do,¡± Red Tide said quickly. Glancing at the lodge behind them, where Turtle Jaw and the rest of the Reef¡¯s champions sheltered, Yodor edged forward. His voice dropped low enough to just be audible above the wind. ¡°Although it is not my place, there is something else you should know,¡± the beastlord said. Red Tide cocked her head. ¡°What?¡± ¡°Throne Gazer¡­¡± Yodor gave a musical lilt to the words, almost like he was attempting a naming song. ¡°After you refused the merchant champion, he returned to the tree. He agreed to the arrangement and said he would bring you others around.¡± Red Tide allowed herself a tight smile. ¡°Did he, now?¡± Yodor nodded. Salt Wall reached out to stroke him under the chin with her knuckle. ¡°Such a helpful beastlord,¡± she cooed.
¡°I want you to stop thinking about the Reef,¡± Meera Rootgarde said. As if to emphasize her point, she dragged her fingernails down Vikael Rambrother¡¯s hairy back. ¡°I am sick to death of this damn moping.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not thinking about them,¡± he replied. ¡°Don¡¯t pretend you know my mind, you damn witch.¡± Meera snorted. Of course he¡¯d been thinking about Red Tide and the others. Vikael stood at the north-facing window of their rooms, the vines thrust aside to let in the bitter air. He gazed out at the stoic wall of redwoods, almost like if he stared hard enough he might be able to see how the oca¡¯em fared in their journey. ¡°It¡¯ll be heavy snow to the north by now,¡± he said eventually. ¡°Are they built for that?¡± ¡°Foolish notions of heroism have filled that empty head of yours,¡± Meera said, rapping her knuckles on the back of his skull. ¡°We should have taken the wash when Niko did, like I wanted.¡± ¡°And leave Zayda with three new champions and Yodor to lead them?¡± Vikael shook his head. ¡°There¡¯s work to be done.¡± ¡°You think you haven¡¯t done enough yet, is that it? You fear for your legacy, stupid man? You think they will bury you in flowers if you stand for the helpless of the Reef?¡± Vikael¡¯s broad shoulders tightened as his wife pelted him with these questions. There weren¡¯t any answers he could give that she wouldn¡¯t easily turn around on him. ¡°They came to us looking for mercy and we showed them our backs. Set them up to be servants to the Bay.¡± ¡°And who are you servant to, huh?¡± Meera yanked on a tuft of his dark hair like she was pulling an alarm bell. ¡°Huh, bastard? Who?¡± He spun to face her at last. She glared up at him with that round face and sharp eyes. Meera wore only a thin tunic she kept for sleeping. He could see goosebumps on her neck, and the roundness of her belly. ¡°You,¡± he said, slapping her hand away. ¡°I serve you, my bitch wife.¡± ¡°And?¡± Vikael put a hand on her stomach. ¡°And the lamb.¡± ¡°Perhaps you grow more protective as I expand,¡± Meera said softly, draping her hand over his. ¡°I understand it. But do not let it make you reckless, husband.¡± Vikael grunted and half-turned so he could close the vines and seal their window. The healers had assured them that the baby would come before the Granting. He would not let his wife catch cold in the meantime.
Lucinda Elivo had been docked at the blasted fishing village for two weeks and hadn''t bothered to disembark from her gellezza. She refused to even learn the name of this horrid place. Leave that to her helmsman; he could read the maps. Bad enough to have the locals gawking at her ship every evening as they returned to port in their sad canoes carrying sagging nets of skinny fish. Even their Ink looked pathetic¡ªa crooked fishing rod on each wrinkled neck. Lucinda was sure that these people wished for a bountiful harvest every year and, by the looks of things, failed to achieve it. Their champions probably died of malnourishment. Gods, how she hated this northern coast. Crass desperation in every direction. She hated how these people made her feel cruel. Lucinda would not have been able to stomach the attention if these people of the fishing rod knew a champion of the Bay visited. She doubted there was anywhere in town as well-appointed and comfortable as her own captain''s quarters. The food was likely terrible. And she¡¯d no doubt have to speak with some idiot Quill grasping for relevancy. No. She would stay on her ship with her novels and her wine. She would moisturize her skin and brush her hair and occasionally shove a gust of wind across the water to knock one of the silly canoes off course. That would pass the time. Of course, Lucinda made sure her crew spent plenty of rounds in the local tavern, and told them to pay the extortionate exchange rate for angles. She also insisted that her ship''s steward purchase a few barrels of salted fish without haggling, even if they''d end up dumping most of the stuff overboard when they returned to sea. These people weren''t visited by the Bay often, and so it was wise that they establish a reputation for generosity. The bloodless executive would be proud. She would carry out this assignment with sterling conduct and no complaint, and perhaps the next time he needed someone to fetch Gucco Arovi, the bloodless executive would choose someone else. Lucinda had nearly run out of reading material when Gucco finally showed himself. She smelled her fellow champion and heard his boisterous laugh before she saw actually saw him. Gods but it was too cold for the man to stink as badly as he did, like he¡¯d just come traipsing out of the jungle from digging a trench. The musk seeped out from his leathers and silks, so garish, his clothes out of fashion for a decade, at best. An old-fashioned killer. Good at only the one thing. But very good at that, Lucinda begrudgingly admitted. Some of her crew¡ªthe ones most likely to need bailing out from a port¡¯s local jail¡ªgathered around Gucco like a gang of excited schoolboys. They¡¯d fashioned him with a flagon of ale and a leg of meat. Or maybe he¡¯d brought the drumstick with him. Either way, her subordinates scattered when Lucinda¡¯s heels clicked across the deck. Gucco splashed ale as he bowed to her, the oca¡¯em braids he¡¯d sewn into that disgusting coat swaying. ¡°Permission to board, captain,¡± Gucco said. ¡°Granted,¡± Lucinda replied. She held a perfumed handkerchief to her upturned nose. ¡°Did you find your wayward fish, hunter?¡± Lucinda almost hoped that the answer would be no. Failure would mean prolonging this expedition, but she found herself rooting against Gucco in all things. ¡°Does Gucco not always bring down what he sets his sights upon?¡± He tongued one of his gold teeth and leered at her. Lucinda scowled¡ªshe knew too many women, and a few men, who had laid with this greased pig. The list even included Milena Russi, who she otherwise respected. Gucco had a certain reputation for vigor, but had few repeat customers. The clownish brute existed as a sort of living and breathing dare. A hot pepper of a human being. Lucinda hated even being downwind of him. ¡°And?¡± she asked. ¡°Oh, they despised Gucco,¡± he said with a laugh. ¡°A spirited bunch. They looked at Gucco much like you look at him now.¡± ¡°Then they won¡¯t serve? Pity. I suppose Gucco will have his games after all, and more work for the rest of us.¡± Lucinda pulled her dark hair into a ponytail. If that was all Gucco had for news, she would send out word for her crew to return and summon the wind. They could put the north out of sight before nightfall. ¡°Brave as a group,¡± Gucco continued. ¡°Wiser alone. The one they call Throne Gazer approached Gucco. He sees the wisdom in our proposal and will try to convince the others.¡± ¡°The fish queen¡¯s nephew, isn¡¯t he?¡± Lucinda asked. ¡°Is he their leader?¡± Gucco thoughtfully sucked at the gristle on his turkey leg. ¡°No,¡± he said. ¡°Although he puts on good airs for a fish, even he looks to the one called Red Tide.¡± ¡°Why do I know that name?¡± Gucco grinned. ¡°She killed Juseph Grice-Russi.¡± Of course. The harp player. Lucinda had a book of short stories in her cabin¡ªTerrors of the Sea¡ªwherein the oca¡¯em woman featured prominently. Salacious tales of sex and blood on the water, where the bloodthirsty oca¡¯em were always outwitted in the end by the most innocent of the victimized ship¡¯s crew members. Red Tide¡¯s story was the only one where the villain escaped. ¡°Juseph¡¯s stupidity killed him, as I remember it. He left the safety of our currents on a foolish notion. This Red Tide no more killed him than if she¡¯d pointed him toward a cliff and he decided to jump.¡± Lucinda stated all this firmly, but her mouth had gone dry. She knew the calculations of their Granting changed now. And with things already so delicate¡­ ¡°That is your way of looking at it. The analytical and dull way,¡± Gucco said, as he tossed his bone overboard. ¡°Gucco thinks Milena will see it different. Gucco thinks she will be very interested to meet the fish who murdered her brother. Gucco thinks, this year, he does not hunt alone.¡±
54. [Red Tide] Solstice, Part Two
Red Tide, Enchantress of the 4th Renown, The Reef Those she has met so far¡­ ¡­and those she will meet soon
30 Frett, 61 AW The northern edge of Besaden, North Continent 150 days until the next Granting Throne Gazer stared into the empty black eyes of some stuffed beast. He did not know the name of the creature or even if it still existed in the world. The thing looked like a deer but with sharp, jutting horns, fur the color of sun-kissed sand, and a torso curved like a lightning bolt. A fine, graceful beast that Yodor Dominik had posed with its head peeking over its shoulder, one hoof lifted as if poised to run. Perhaps that is how the beast looked in its last moments. The equine creature was one of many displayed in this house of dead trees. Throne Gazer had chosen a bedroom where a black bear loomed on its hind legs, stuck forever in a posture of readiness. An urge had possessed Throne Gazer on his third night sleeping in the room with the bear. Aided by his [Balance+], he had maneuvered atop a bookcase and dragged his forearm across the bear¡¯s fangs. The teeth were blunted and left only light marks on his skin. He could not give the bear a final taste of blood. The trident master did not like this lodge. The trophies were obscene. If maintaining a diplomatic relationship with the beastlord wasn¡¯t such a priority, he would have seen this place burn. ¡°Never let it be said that I am without restraint,¡± Throne Gazer declared aloud. ¡°Yeah, okay, I won¡¯t,¡± Cuda Bite replied. ¡°People are always telling me that you¡¯re out of control, a shark in chum. I¡¯ll set them straight.¡± Throne Gazer favored the little skulker with a tight smile. Always jokes. He did not begrudge the younger man his constant need for levity. Throne Gazer had learned in this half-year outside the Grotto that such distractions were good for morale. He would happily be the butt of their jokes if it helped them survive. ¡°It¡¯s no good,¡± Turtle Jaw said with a frown. ¡°I¡¯d hoped we might find a detour but there¡¯s nothing out there for us.¡± The three men stood around a hand-carved table in the center of the lodge¡¯s dining area. The warden had poured his Ink onto the wood and made it into a map. ¡°What about this?¡± Throne Gazer asked. He tapped a pulsing blot of power far, far to the north. Nearly at the top of the world. ¡°That¡¯s deep into the cold,¡± Turtle Jaw said. ¡°I don¡¯t know that the trolkin will let us go that far north. I don¡¯t know that we¡¯d even want to.¡± ¡°We stick to the plan then,¡± Throne Gazer said. ¡°Attempt to make contact with this trolkin champion, then head east to join Salt Wall¡¯s pod.¡± Cuda Bite traced his finger across the blank space. ¡°This is all going to be snow, right? We can¡¯t just wait for it to melt?¡± ¡°You whine like a land-walker,¡± Throne Gazer said. ¡°Please.¡± Cuda Bite sniffed. ¡°I whine better than any land-walker.¡± The front door knocked open and Red Tide entered, brushing snow off her shoulders. All three men turned to look at her. That was always the way, wasn¡¯t it? Their eyes chased her about constantly. It had gotten easier to ignore once Throne Gazer admitted to himself it was happening. ¡°The dogs are ready,¡± Red Tide said. Her eyes flicked to Throne Gazer. ¡°The beastlord passes along a warning about you.¡± Throne Gazer tilted his head. ¡°Does he?¡± ¡°Does he,¡± Cuda Bite repeated stiffly. Careful neutrality. Hidden emotions. These were the lessons he had learned from his mother¡ªDeep Dweller¡ªthat were meant to help him rule the oca¡¯em. He understood now that these traits had made him unapproachable to his own people, aloof, cold. But it was too late to change. He could not unlearn the sea witch¡¯s teachings. ¡°He says you betray us to the merchants.¡± Red Tide smirked. ¡°Good that he believes it. Means that shit stain Gucco did as well.¡± Indeed. They had chosen Throne Gazer to approach the merchant scum after their introduction in Heartwood. String the merchants along. Agree to their machinations. Leave them in the lurch or betray them when it counted. Red Tide had said the approach would be most believable coming from him, and the others had readily agreed. That had hurt his feelings. More so, because he knew they were right. ¡°You did well, Throne Gazer,¡± Red Tide said. Perhaps the damn enchantress could read him, after all. ¡°You bought us options.¡± ¡°At the small price of my pride,¡± he said. ¡°Shit goes cheap when you got so much of it,¡± Cuda Bite added. Throne Gazer turned his attention back to the map. It had been debasing, but Gucco had been eager to talk, like a man who never learned the consequences of words. Knowing who the merchants wanted to hurt was an advantage worth a bit of humiliation. Throne Gazer¡¯s eyes drifted to the southern continent, to the Bay, and then the Gen¡¯bi desert beyond. If the Bay wanted the nomads dead, then the Reef would make them friends.
Onianatan pressed his hands to the hard soil on either side of the bulging root. The arborists told him that the redwood suffered. Its deep-diving tendrils had encountered a shelf of rock that, for years now, had stymied the tree''s downward probing. They called upon Onianatan to do what he could, somewhat begrudgingly. Ten years, the paw print, the Ink of a champion, and they still viewed him as an outsider, even though his magic was said to hold hands with their magic. So be it. He liked it here. The call of the desert was distant. He could ignore it. Perhaps if he stopped dyeing his hair and beard crimson, the Besadenizens would better warm to him. It was a hard habit to let go, the last thing that connected him to his old people. ¡°You have old habits too, my friend, don''t you?¡± he said to the redwood, not expecting an answer. First, he used [Earth Sense] to spread his awareness beneath the ground. No good would be done if he bulled into the process and disturbed the natural alignment of the land. Once sure he had found a peaceable path for the root to grow downward, Onianatan used [Quicksand]. A minor disturbance in the soil to let the root sink and spread, and it was fixed. This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings. The earth elementalist stood and dusted off his hands. A job well done, although one that most would never see. The anonymity suited him. He had never been one to chase glory, which was why his recent lifestyle change still nagged at him. ¡°Elementalist.¡± An arborist appeared at his side, having been watching in silence. ¡°Zayda requests you.¡± Onianatan nodded. He knew why the Quill of Besaden had selected him as champion. Because he was neutral between the three main factions of Besaden¡ªthe shifters, the arborists, and the old beastlords. Balance was necessary in any ecosystem. He had less understanding of why he¡¯d accepted the role. Perhaps it was as the Ministry of Sulk preached¡ªa calling. He found Zayda on a branch platform overlooking one of the winter gardens. The mane of grass that grew from the Quill¡¯s head and shoulders had gone light brown a bit at the edges. He wondered if she knew. ¡°You summoned me?¡± Zayda patted the space next to her and Onianatan sat. ¡°I hear you spend most days tilling earth and settling roots.¡± ¡°The work needs to be done,¡± he said. ¡°So it does,¡± Zayda admitted. ¡°Your service is appreciated. But, you should know, I don¡¯t keep a leash on my champions. Vikael and Meera range about when the urge takes them, and gods know where Yodor goes half the time. If you wish to seek more Ink, you have my leave to do so.¡± Onianatan touched his chest. The gods had made him third renown. That seemed enough, for now. He still felt unused to their power. ¡°We are a peaceful people,¡± he said. ¡°And so, I expect the Granting will be peaceful.¡± ¡°I suspect the Gen¡¯bi will not find it so.¡± Onianatan cocked his head, turning his ear to the south. He could hear it then, louder than usual because he listened for it. The call of the desert that drove the nomads to always move, always search, always dig, but never to find. He had come to Besaden to leave that madness behind. ¡°I owe the Gen¡¯bi no debts,¡± he said. ¡°I will not bloody my hands on their behalf.¡±
A harsh wind whipped across the plain. The horses jumped at the frigid goosing, picking up their pace as surely as if they¡¯d had heels dugs into their sides. ¡°Winter¡¯s further south this year,¡± Theo Adamantios, the axe master of Penchenne, declared. ¡°Colder, too. We should have brought some tools for measurement. The trolkin always wish for a longer winter. Never know what you¡¯ll get, though, with such an unspecific wish. I wonder if the Magelab has done any studies of that. What do the gods consider long?¡± Sylvie Aracia stared at the back of Theo¡¯s head. She was bundled in furs¡ªas she had been most days during their journey back west¡ªhugging herself while squeezing her horse with her legs. They stayed far enough north so that they wouldn¡¯t get off course from their destination, but had tried to keep out of trolkin territory. She studied Theo¡¯s ears, how bright pink they were, and his pale scalp looking frosted above his horseshoe of curly hair. ¡°You need a hat,¡± she said. ¡°I don¡¯t mind it, actually,¡± Theo replied. ¡°I think I¡¯m naturally hot-blooded.¡± ¡°You¡¯re painful to look at.¡± ¡°Well,¡± Theo said. ¡°Ouch.¡± Another day. Another dark mood. Try as she might, Sylvie could not shake free of them. At first, she thought traveling the road with Theo had done her good. She had skipped out on this responsibility last year¡ªTheo¡¯s first year as champion¡ªand so he¡¯d gone it alone. He probably preferred it that way, although he was too kind to say so. The travel had lightened her mind for a while, but then they¡¯d reached Besaden and she had seen the corpse of an assassin with his belly cut open. A man who had swallowed a mind-controlling mushroom and gone into the woods to kill himself. Sylvie could not stop thinking how that body had been left there for her. A message. But that wasn¡¯t possible, was it? ¡°The gods are predictable about some things, at least,¡± Theo prattled on. ¡°Every year, there¡¯s Ink for those who would scale Nortmost. Only a few weeks now, and we¡¯ll be there.¡± A few weeks. Sylvia stifled a groan. ¡°Should be right around when the Ink usually appears,¡± Theo continued. ¡°If the gods are so predictable, why did you miss it last year?¡± Sylvie asked. ¡°Well¡­¡± Theo chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck. ¡°There¡¯s a decent inn up that way. Does most of its business when champions come through. I didn¡¯t want to see their coffers dry up, so really it¡¯s my sense of charity that¡¯s to blame.¡± Sylvie shook her head. She could not believe this jovial fool was her champion. Her father had selected Theo personally. A workhorse, he¡¯d called Theo. A nice change of pace for you, after the last one. The last one. Sylvie gritted her teeth. In protest, she had refused to wear her sponsor¡¯s stone for Theo¡¯s first Granting. He¡¯d done well without her. He¡¯d even¡­ ¡°Theo?¡± ¡°Yes, Madam Aracia?¡± ¡°What¡¯s it like to kill a man?¡± For once, the blabbermouth didn¡¯t have an immediate answer. In fact, he seemed to sink into himself a bit. His hand dropped to one of the axes on his hip, but then his fingers scuttled away like the handle was hot. Watching him, Sylvie regretted her question. ¡°Not something I enjoyed doing,¡± Theo said finally. ¡°The man I killed was from Cruxton. He was young. Looking for glory. Obviously, he didn¡¯t find it. His parents are still alive, and his sister. They work in the mines and¡ª¡± ¡°Gods, Theo, why do you know all that?¡± He shrugged. ¡°Seemed easier not to know, so I decided to find out.¡± ¡°Do you ever worry that they¡¯ll come after you?¡± Sylvie asked. ¡°The family from Cruxton, I mean. That they¡¯ll seek revenge?¡± ¡°No,¡± Theo replied. ¡°They seem good people who wouldn¡¯t see the sense in that. He signed up for the Granting, as I did. It¡¯s just the way of the world.¡± Sylvie sank deeper into her furs, and said nothing more.
Mockery stood atop the ribcage of a giant and stared southward until her eyes burned. Nothing but beautiful snow, beautiful cold. No movement. No little dots on the horizon. Not yet. Behind her, in the village, her people would be preparing for the longest night. There would be revels. Fires, and meat, and contests, and sex. Mockery would take part in all that, but first she would begin her vigil. She would stand here every day until it was time. Mockery was short for a trolkin, barely seven feet. Her blue-skinned body was lean and knobby, and hardly fit the gown that she had taken to wearing these last few weeks. A fancy dress¡ªbright red and of smooth material with patterns of little holes made on purpose¡ªsomething stolen from the southern cities. It reached only to her mid-thigh and burst open across her chest, which was fine, it showed off her Ink and the twin Xs where she¡¯d cleaved off her teats. This was a dress for society. A dress for welcome. A good first impression dress. She lamented every blood stain she¡¯d gotten on the dress. Killed those bleeders extra for the offense. Something tickled Mockery¡¯s bare toes and she tore her eyes from the horizon. Sprouts of frosswiss blossomed from a crack in the giant¡¯s rib, the leaves bright blue and crystalline with ice. The giants were centuries dead, but the plant still grew from their marrow. As a trolkin, it was Mockery¡¯s duty to harvest the frosswiss, keep half for herself, and add half to the community stockpile. Such was the way. Mockery unsheathed one of her eight knives¡ªthe sharp one¡ªand bent down to cut free the plant. It was only then that she noticed Blanket, her latest wife, down below, inside the giant¡¯s rib cage and no doubt peering up Mockery¡¯s dress. ¡°Must you follow me everywhere?¡± Mockery snapped. ¡°I didn¡¯t follow you,¡± Blanket whined. ¡°I came to find you. There¡¯s been another challenge.¡± ¡°Lady Mockery,¡± Mockery said. ¡°What?¡± Blanket replied. ¡°When we are in public, I told you to call me Lady Mockery.¡± Mockery grabbed a handful of her own silver hair as if she might yank it out. ¡°This is how we make a society.¡± The wind howled through the ribs. Blanket looked around and kicked some snow. ¡°We aren¡¯t in public.¡± Mockery stared at her. ¡°Lady Mockery,¡± her stupid wife tried again. ¡°There¡¯s been a new challenger.¡± There was always a new challenger. That was the problem with her people. Always killing each other for the Ink. How were any of them supposed to gain power if that kept going on? When she¡¯d gained the quill¡ªby killing, of course, but it was the only way¡ªMockery had changed the rules. These idiots could still challenge, but not each other, not whatever new champion she raised up to watch her back on the island. They could only challenge her. ¡°Did they pick a knife?¡± Mockery asked. ¡°The blunted one,¡± Blanket replied. Mockery snorted. These challenges had become so boring that she let the challengers choose which of her blades Mockery would kill them with. They always chose the blunted one¡ªalways¡ªeven after Mockery had shown them, repeatedly, that it was one of the knife master¡¯s deadliest. Having finished cutting free the frosswiss, Mockery let the leaves and stems drop down to the ground below. Blanket scrambled to gather them. Mockery stood up straight and returned to her vigil. ¡°The challenge, Lady Mockery,¡± Blanket said, panting, when she¡¯d finished. ¡°Are you coming?¡± ¡°When I¡¯m ready.¡± ¡°What are you doing up there, anyway?¡± Blanket said. ¡°Waiting,¡± Mockery said, ¡°for my sister.¡± ¡°You don¡¯t have a sister.¡± Mockery sighed. Her wife would feel nothing but ugly jealousy if Mockery told her the truth. That she waited upon the one she¡¯d seen in the smoke¡ªthe one who she would fight alongside, her battle-sister. Together, they would liberate two peoples. The frosswiss had shown her. ¡°She is from a village far away,¡± Mockery said. ¡°You will know her by the music. Such beautiful music.¡±
55. [Uicha] Solstice, Part Three
Uicha de Orak, Wildcard of the 5th Renown, representing The Forgotten One Those he has met so far¡­ ¡­and those he will meet soon
30 Frett, 61 AW Aboard the Dartmyth, Central Sea 150 days until the next Granting Uicha stood at the front of the boat with his elbows braced against the wooden rail, letting the salt wind whip across his face. It stung, but in a good way. Nothing but open sea in front of him, the ship slashing through peaceful waters, panels of sunlight shimmering where the clouds parted. The bow, he reminded himself. The front of the ship was called the bow. Akoni de Emasyn had taught him that. Uicha had met Akoni on his third day in Noyega. Well, his third day of freedom. He¡¯d spent weeks there tied up, hanging from a ceiling. He didn¡¯t count those. In retrospect, Uicha should¡¯ve left the city sooner. He should¡¯ve fled back north straight away like Kayenna Vezz suggested and spared himself all the trouble. But he¡¯d been so close to the water, so close to escape from the continent, that Uicha couldn¡¯t bring himself to leave even with Ahmed Roh¡¯s corpse cooling nearby. The problem, Uicha learned, was that despite all he¡¯d been through, he still had a boy¡¯s face and a boy¡¯s wide eyes. The people of Noyega wanted to pluck him like a ripe grape. That first night, after Roh, Uicha had stumbled into an inn for sailors. A dump where he wouldn¡¯t stand out. He ate gritty seafood stew until he almost made himself sick, then slept most of the next day, and only woke up when the inn¡¯s cook made too much noise rifling through Uicha¡¯s pack. He switched inns. Bought some clothes. Visited a doctor who specialized in plucking broken glass out of skulls, not because he thought this random sawbones would have any chance of removing his crimson tattoo or extracting the Orvesian ghost from his mind, but because he wanted to buy some bandages. Uicha wrapped up his neck and chest and some of his shoulders. He made himself look like he¡¯d been burned. At least, now he didn¡¯t have to wear Roh¡¯s scarf all the time. The Forgotten One had demanded that Uicha be seen. To hell with that. Uicha attracted enough attention without flaunting his unnatural Ink. Case in point, some guys tried to mug him outside the doctor¡¯s. One of them stabbed him in the stomach with a knuckle-knife. Uicha wondered if the mugger had a lot of experience dealing nonfatal cuts, or if the gods no longer protected him because of his [Regeneration+]. He forgot to wipe the blood off his face¡ªnot all his¡ªbefore he got back to the inn. That raised too many eyebrows, so he left. He decided to spend the night on the street. There were plenty of alleys and culverts in Noyega. And besides, he had Parrot II to watch over him. That¡¯s what Uicha had named the gargoyle. He couldn¡¯t explain how he knew, but the gargoyle was the same every time he summoned it. Where did Parrot II go when Uicha wasn¡¯t using him? Did it live in his Ink? Did it keep Kayenna company in Uicha¡¯s increasingly crowded subconscious? He ventured a little further into Noyega¡ªthe streets got cleaner around the casinos, almost like they expelled all the misery out beyond a certain radius¡ªbut he kept getting drawn back toward the waterfront. The city was too vast for him. Even just the sprawling network of docks were bigger than Ambergran in its entirety. Uicha decided he would hire a boat. A complicated task because he looked like a poor islander, a haunted one, a clueless kid on the run. He needed to find a captain that seemed discrete and honorable. Showing he had money had only caused him trouble so far. But it was all trouble that Uicha could handle. Maybe that was another reason he lingered in Noyega. Everyone kept trying him, and they all kept regretting it. There was a thrill in that. Roh¡¯s hired goons, the thieving cook, the muggers¡ªhe had fought them all off. He had fought them off easily. The crimson Ink felt hot on his chest. Let this whole city come down on him. Uicha shoved that feeling down. He figured he had pushed his luck enough when he spotted one of the men who had been guarding Roh¡¯s boat. The goon¡¯s arm was in a sling¡ªUicha wasn¡¯t sure if Parrot II had done that, or if it had happened later, perhaps at the hands of the hard-looking men and women who flanked him now. This group looked more polished than the dock trash Uicha had been encountering. They all wore light ward-weave armor except for the leader, a dark-haired woman in a vest of patterned silk. The woman¡¯s attire left little to the imagination, and so even at a distance Uicha could spot the Ink of one of Noyega¡¯s champions. They were heading in the direction of the red light boats. As Uicha watched, the woman stopped walking, the others bumping into each other as she did. She cocked her head and turned in Uicha¡¯s direction. Luckily, the waterfront was crowded¡ªsailors disembarking with heavy pockets or slinking back to their ships with glum looks¡ªand Uicha quickly turned in the other direction. He made himself small and shuffled away, resisting the urge to look over his shoulder. Too close. He was being foolish. Putting himself in danger because he had no better ideas. A man walked next to him, matching his pace. At first, Uicha saw only his sandaled feet. When Uicha hazarded a glance up, he discovered an islander striding along beside him, smiling at him bemusedly. ¡°You only need say the words, little brother,¡± the man urged. Uicha had seen other islanders in his three days in Noyega, but had avoided approaching them. Although they looked like him, they didn¡¯t talk like him. They were always in groups¡ªdrinking and laughing and rolling dice¡ªand Uicha felt intimidated by their foreignness. He had winced at this notion; truly he was a child of Ambergran. ¡°I don¡¯t know what you mean,¡± Uicha said. ¡°I don¡¯t know what you mean?¡± The man repeated Uicha¡¯s words, dropping his musical accent and instead drawing out all the vowels. ¡°Where you been living, little brother? To make you talk like that?¡± Uicha tried to quicken his pace, but the man kept up easily. He was taller than Uicha, in his mid-twenties, with a zigzagging beard and a mop of hair shaped like a duck¡¯s bill. Clearly, a sailor of some kind, but then that was all the islanders. All except for Uicha. Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road. ¡°I seen you with that fast walk and them wild eyes,¡± the islander continued when Uicha didn¡¯t respond. ¡°Looking like you¡¯d stirred up a ghost. All bandaged up with a sword on your hip. You in some danger, I think.¡± ¡°I¡¯m from the north,¡± Uicha said. ¡°My parents were islanders, but I¡­¡± ¡°But you¡¯ve never been,¡± the man finished, suppressing laughter at Uicha¡¯s country accent. ¡°And you want to go home, now? To your real home?¡± Uicha nodded. ¡°Your parents never taught you the words?¡± ¡°What words?¡± Uicha asked. The islander put a heavy but gentle hand on Uicha¡¯s shoulder and steered them into the gap between a fishmonger¡¯s stand and a bait shop. Uicha tried not to wrinkle his nose at the odor. These were dockside smells that his islander nose should¡¯ve been prepared for. ¡°When our people find themselves in jeopardy, they can say the words and any islander who can hear must honor them,¡± the man said. ¡°Help is rendered, no questions asked, but a debt is owed.¡± ¡°What kind of debt?¡± The man shrugged. ¡°A fair trade for the risk, that is all. We are not a people of contracts or receipts. You make good on the debt however you can, so your ancestors aren¡¯t shamed.¡± Uicha hesitated. ¡°I need to get out of this city. But I can pay. I¡¯m not looking for charity.¡± ¡°Aha. I have a boat, but we do not ferry passengers,¡± the islander said. He poked his head out of the alley, glancing around. ¡°You might yet find an honorable captain for hire. A captain who will not take one look at you and see an easy mark with a rarely used sword. One who will not rob you on the ocean and dump you overboard for the gods to float back to shore. But, even should you find this honorable captain, they might still ask questions. They might talk of a bandaged islander boy with a strange accent and a pack stamped with the emblem of the Magelab. Your problems compound, little brother.¡± Uicha fought the urge to swing his pack off his shoulders to look for the symbol. He should have noticed that. ¡°Are you an honorable captain, then?¡± Uicha asked. ¡°Far from it. I chase curiosities and opportunities. I reach for them until someone slaps my hand away.¡± The man grinned. ¡°Yet, I always honor the custom of our people. I listen for the call. Na flamanga ¡®e na emad.¡± ¡°Any port in a storm,¡± Uicha said, translating the words. ¡°Ah, so you do know them.¡± He did, but Uicha could not say how. The meaning of the words surfaced, yet he could not remember learning them. The memory was gone. ¡°I am Akoni de Emasyn, captain of the Dartmyth,¡± the islander said. ¡°Do you have an islander name? Or are you a Charles or something stupider?¡± ¡°You said no questions asked.¡± Akoni smirked. ¡°You did not yet say the words, little brother.¡± ¡°Na flamanga ¡®e na emad.¡± ¡°I hear your call, islander!¡± Akoni popped his head out of the alley again. ¡°Come. We can leave right away.¡± Just like that, Uicha became a passenger aboard the Dartmyth. He had never seen a Flamingo vessel before and had been surprised by how large and elegant the ship was. The boat was shaped like a crescent moon with a deep underdeck to hold the spacious crew quarters and all the treasures Akoni planned to amass. It was made from a glossy, chocolate-colored wood, said to grow only in the Flamingo Islands. The Dartmyth had two sails¡ªa mainsail and a jib, Uicha had learned¡ªthat did not seem large enough to propel the craft. Including Akoni, the boat only had a crew of six. Uicha expected hard work and calloused hands. Instead, he found a crew who spent most of their days sunbathing and playing cards. The Dartmyth was part of what the islanders called the blessed fleet¡ªships that had a decade¡¯s worth of wishes spent on them. The sails were always full, no matter the weather. The ship cut through the water with impossible speed, and tacked with a sharpness that would have snapped any other boat¡¯s rudder. Akoni and his crew were diligent about maintenance and cleaning, but mostly the Dartmyth sailed on its own. Uicha rested his hands on the wood of the bow, imagining that he could feel the power of the gods flowing beneath his fingers. A boat that took direction and hoisted its own sails. A far cry from the life of chores and storms that had driven his parents onto land. ¡°Stop this pensive staring, Uicha!¡± Akoni shouted. ¡°You have knots to tie!¡± Uicha turned to find the captain standing behind him with a loop of rope slung over his shoulder and mug of coffee in his hand. Once they were safely disembarked from Noyega, Uicha had told Akoni and the others his name. They did not know his grandfather¡ªBric de Orak¡ªbut said he would be easy to track down from the Admiralty office in Flamboyance, the largest island in the archipelago. Akoni tossed Uicha the rope. He had taken it upon himself to teach Uicha how to work a ship, even if the Dartmyth required few of these skills to run. There were only so many ships in the blessed fleet, Akoni told him, and so he if Uicha hoped to make a living in the islands, he would need to learn to work a traditional vessel. Uicha doubted he would be making any kind of life in the islands, but it was nice to pretend. So he tied his knots daily. ¡°Always daydreaming,¡± Akoni said as Uicha untangled the rope. ¡°Our people are doers, not dreamers. You should remember that.¡± ¡°I was thinking about my parents,¡± Uicha said. ¡°I wonder what they would¡¯ve thought of a ship like yours.¡± ¡°They probably wouldn¡¯t have pissed off to the country if they had a ship like mine,¡± Akoni said with a laugh. ¡°Is that what weighs you down, little brother? You miss your home in the grass?¡± Uicha turned his gaze north as he made a loop with the rope. ¡°No,¡± he replied. ¡°Not at all.¡±
So far, Trick Longblossom was the only one to come out above the first renown, and the gods had only seen him as a second. The barest sliver of power compared to someone like Sara Free, the paladin he''d met in Briarbridge and briefly traveled with during a fruitless search for Uicha de Orak. But gods, what a sliver. He''d always been a natural with a bow, so it shocked Trick just how much better he could get. His eyesight had gotten sharper, his fingers more nimble. Trick had been fully prepared to take a sucker''s bet. Signing up to be a champion of a half-dead town. The last bad call in a lifetime full of them. When the Ink spread across his chest and the little wormy guy let him pick his abilities, Trick''s outlook changed. Power felt like possibility. Perhaps he, Tabitha, and the other dimwits could actually restore this place. Or, at least, do it some justice. There were two others so far. Eli Loghollow, who Trick remembered as a mean town drunk, a good-for-nothing that always wanted to be a champion, but who the Quill always had the good sense to turn down. Now, without many options, Eli would at last get to prove he was better than everyone who''d ever looked down on him. He''d chosen fighter as a class which seemed basic, even to Trick, who himself was but a humble archer. And then there was Anna Wildfield who had lost her parents, her husband, and three children during the annihilation. She was the last of her line, like Trick was of his. Her grief was a constant, vibrating thing, and Trick avoided her as much as possible given that they were now colleagues of a sort. She made Trick feel sorry that he wasn¡¯t feeling enough. Anna had selected the class of death mage, which the records said had never been held by one of Ambergran''s champions and was, in fact, not often seen outside of Orvesis. Trick had no doubt the woman planned to die on the island, and attempt to take some Orvesians with her. Fair enough. He wouldn¡¯t try to talk her out of it. They would need to find a fourth volunteer. Someone who wanted to live, Trick hoped, but beggars couldn''t be choosers. If no one else stepped up, Tabitha Gentlerain said she would do it, become one of those Quills that also fought. Trick didn''t think the squat little woman had it in her. He had heard she took off into the woods for weeks after the annihilation, practically lost her mind, although she seemed well enough now. ¡°The Ink feels thinner,¡± Tabitha said. She cupped her golden inkwell in one hand, stirring with her quill. ¡°How''s that, now?¡± Trick asked. The two of them stood in Tabitha''s barn. Her farmhouse was gone, so she''d been sleeping in here. Trick didn''t know whether the animals had disintegrated or if Tabitha simply let them go. ¡°Just a feeling I have,¡± Tabitha said. She raised and lowered the inkwell as if testing the weight. ¡°Something the gods put in my head. I sense the Ink is drying up. They might take it back.¡± Trick nodded. Like how he could read the language of the gods now¡ªthe slashes and whorls splashed across his chest¡ªhe had no doubt of Tabitha''s special knowledge. Every day, there were fewer true citizens of Ambergran. Some left to find new homes less clouded in death, some took the blackbird, and a couple had even adopted the shield symbol of the Ministry. At least the mission were apologetic when that happened. Unlike the Orvesians, they hadn¡¯t come here to convert. What Tabitha felt was the town diminishing. Trick could see that well enough with his own eyes. Soon, they would be a place like Briarbridge. A speck on the map not worthy of its own symbol. ¡°All the more reason to do this,¡± Trick said. ¡°Show the gods and everyone else that we still exist.¡± ¡°If it even works,¡± Tabitha murmured. Trick patted the woman¡¯s back. ¡°If it doesn¡¯t, we¡¯re no worse off than we are now. And no one knows we failed except the two of us.¡± Tabitha nodded and crouched down. They had cleared straw and dirt from a space on the floor, and now Tabitha dribbled her dwindling Ink onto the boards. She had told Trick when she marked him that she wasn¡¯t much of an artist. The gods guided her hand as she sketched out the symbol of the blackbird. ¡°I have made an open road from my lands¡­¡±
56. [Uicha] Solstice, Part Four
Uicha de Orak, Wildcard, representing The Forgotten One Those he has met so far¡­ ¡­and those he will meet soon
30 Frett, 61 AW The Gen¡¯bi Desert, South Continent 150 days until the next Granting ¡°....let those unwelcome travel upon it.¡± Sosupacia finished the incantation. Despite the sharp winds, the gods ensured his Ink kept its shape. He looked up from the symbol of an overflowing coffer he had dribbled onto the clay-colored sand. From his perch atop the dune, Sosupacia had a clear view of the Bay''s settlement below. The colorful tents they had erected a few years ago had recently given way to more permanent structures built from stone. ¡°You waited too damn long,¡± Lavenna said as she peered over his shoulder. ¡°This should''ve been done when they first showed up, like I told you.¡± ¡°Hush,¡± the Gen''bi Quill responded. ¡°Give the gods a moment.¡± Lavenna sucked her teeth and turned away, pulling a canteen from the side of his waiting horsasis. He could not travel like his champion did¡ªin the shape of a whirlwind¡ªso he¡¯d had to ride here, to the westernmost edge of their sprawling desert. A hard journey. But, at his age, weren¡¯t they all? Lavenna patted the animal''s swollen hump and made a cooing noise. The horsasis responded with a low moan. ¡°Your mount is ready to burst,¡± she snapped. ¡°Do you pay attention to nothing, old timer?¡± ¡°I pay attention to plenty,¡± he replied. He pushed his wide-brimmed hat lower, shading his eyes. In truth, the call had been louder than usual lately, and his mind had been a difficult thing to organize. Sosupacia dragged a hand through his pointed beard, dyed crimson with the fruit of the desert, and tasted sweetness in his own sweat. Below, groups of workers from the Bay hustled between the town center and their dig sites¡ªgreat pits they¡¯d blown open in the sand and were endlessly struggling to keep from collapsing. They moved with an urgency unique to the people of the Bay and offensive to the desert. A good way to sweat out your water and drop dead. He knew the man in charge of the encampment¡ªor was it a full-fledged village now? The gods seemed to think so. Regardless, their leader was a cruel one. He did not care when his people fell. There was always a replacement lined up. Nothing changed in the encampment. They did not retreat from the sand. Sosupacia swiped his hand through the symbol he¡¯d drawn, then stood from his squat. His knees popped and his leathers creaked. ¡°It didn¡¯t work.¡± ¡°I already said that,¡± Lavenna replied. She held a canteen under one of the puckered udders that poked out from his mount¡¯s hump, draining the water he¡¯d let accumulate to the point of discomfort. Sosupacia dragged a finger across his hat¡¯s brim. ¡°It¡¯ll be the other way, then.¡± ¡°Start some trouble,¡± she said with a nod. ¡°That sounds fine to me. Get rid of them and those fucking blondes in one go.¡± ¡°If they don¡¯t kill you.¡± ¡°If they don¡¯t kill me.¡± He took the canteen from her hands and nudged her aside, taking over the draining. ¡°Suppose you should go tell the others.¡± Lavenna took a step back, but lingered. She wasn¡¯t one to hang about for chitchat. Something else was on her mind. ¡°The call changed for you lately, old timer?¡± she asked. ¡°Louder,¡± he said. She exhaled through her nose, glad that he agreed. ¡°I been hearing a name in all that shouting. At least, I think it¡¯s a name.¡± ¡°What¡¯s the name?¡± Sosupacia asked, although he already knew the answer. He had heard it, too.
Uicha de Orak. The Firstson knew the name. He knew the human¡¯s face. These facts arrived in the warm core at the heart of him, and vibrated through his stone. Uicha de Orak was the one who held mother. Kept her safe. But also irritated her. It was the Firstson¡¯s duty to protect them. He could not accomplish that here, in this prison. The humans of the pyramid had not wanted to listen to him. The Firstson regretted making himself known to them. They could not be reasoned with. They had invaded his humble home and tried to set him on fire. He fled deeper into the darkness, into the tight tunnels, where he and his kin could not properly stretch their wings. The others were fading. Their stone cracked and their cores dimmed. The Firstson repaired the ones he could, and the others he made part of him. He would stay strong, at least. For mother. After days and days of down, down, down, the Firstson and his kin felt foreign vibrations in their caverns. They climbed up, up, up, through tunnels and chutes that the people of the pyramid had never visited and, at the end, they stopped and listened. Someone was digging. Someone was breaking ground. Soon, there would be a hole where before there had been a ceiling. The others wanted to charge forward to meet these trespassers, barking and dancing and rampaging. The Firstson made them quiet. He did not want to scare these diggers away. Let them come. ¡°Free,¡± the Firstson whispered, through the pipes he had carved in his neck. ¡°Soon.¡±
After practicing his knots, the next class in Uicha¡¯s pirate education was swordplay. And here, Uicha needed to be careful. He had been able to demur for the first week by claiming that his injuries made brisk movement difficult, but that led to offers of treatment from Sheppa, the Dartmyth¡¯s medic, and Uicha could not accept those ministrations without revealing his crimson Ink. So, he stood facing Akoni across the deck with their scimitars unsheathed. Akoni knew the blade well and demonstrated high guard for Uicha, and how to bring the blade down between a man and his shield, or peel into a section of armor with its weighted edge. ¡°These are the old ways,¡± the captain explained. ¡°Back when the merchants hired guards in heavy armor. Before our time, little brother. Now, these weapons are toys. Ornaments.¡± He mimed sinking the blade into the burnished deck. ¡°An anchor in a storm, if you have need.¡± Uicha could not explain that his scimitar would not be a toy for long, nor could he explain why he seemed to have so much natural instinct with a blade and yet knew such little technique. When they sparred, Uicha emptied his mind and let [Swordplay+] do the work for him. He parried and evaded Akoni¡¯s every attack, fighting defensively, worried about what might happen if he launched an aggressive counter. He could feel the strain on his Ink. It was meant to augment an existing skill and so, the more he relied upon it, the more Uicha felt the Ink begin to fade. The more he truly learned, the longer it would last, the better it would make him. For now, he simply needed to make sure Akoni never cut him. Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings. He did not want the captain to see how his wounds closed seconds after they opened. ¡°You fight too defensively!¡± Akoni complained. ¡°You never take any risks!¡± As Akoni swung, Uicha deflected the blade easily but stumbled backward, pretending that he¡¯d turned an ankle. He raised a hand so Akoni would give him a breather. ¡°Isn¡¯t the point not to get slashed?¡± Uicha asked. ¡°The point is to win,¡± Akoni said. ¡°Sometimes, that requires a little blooding.¡± The captain had stripped down to his breeches and his torso was slick with sweat. Uicha wore his shirt and his bandages which were slowly turning yellow. Sheppa and a couple of the other crewmates¡ªwith nothing more important to do¡ªstood by the railings and watched the duel. As the fighting wound down, Sheppa caught Uicha¡¯s eye. ¡°You should come by my cabin, let me change those stinking bandages,¡± she said. Sheppa was a hard-eyed and impatient woman who kept her hair cut short and lacked the easy humor he¡¯d come to associate with islanders. Not that Uicha had known many. Only his parents, and now the crew of the Dartmyth. ¡°I can do it myself.¡± Uicha paused. ¡°If you can spare the bandages.¡± ¡°Part of my duty is to look in on the ship¡¯s wounded, make sure you don¡¯t have an infection brewing under there,¡± she said, looking him over. ¡°Although, you move pretty well for a man with burns.¡± ¡°Leave him be, Sheppa!¡± Akoni bellowed as he sheathed his sword and sauntered over. ¡°I promised him no questions. Our little brother will share his scars when he is ready.¡± During awkward moments like these, Uicha had taken to creating a distraction with his [Telekinesis]. A tipped over bucket, a toppled bowl, an untied shoelace. Some small commotion to draw attention away from him. If the crew of the Dartmyth wondered why they¡¯d grown more accident prone since he boarded, none had commented upon it. This time, though, a change of subject literally appeared on the horizon. To the north, dark lines radiated upward, like the coastline burned. Uicha took a step around the captain to get a better look. There was a hideous smudge on the ocean, like mold growing on a piece of fruit. ¡°What is that?¡± Uicha asked. ¡°Orvesis,¡± Akoni said, seeming to resist the urge to spit on the deck. ¡°Winds must be up if we can see it from here. Chamberly!¡± The captain shouted to his navigator, stomping away. ¡°We need to readjust our course! You got us too far north.¡± Staring out at the stain on the horizon, Uicha blinked, and Kayenna Vezz stood beside him. The Orvesian witch hadn¡¯t made herself known since Noyega. She stood a half-step ahead of Uicha, her back to him. She wasn¡¯t really there, and yet the wind still plucked at her simple black dress. Her fingers trembled and Uicha tasted her bile in his throat. ¡°My home,¡± Kayenna whispered. ¡°What have they done to my home?¡±
Petra Reatz gazed down at the clean space on the otherwise charred floorboards. The outline of her prone body was preserved on the wood. The archmage had battered the farmhouse with lightning until it burned around her, but the gods guarded her flesh and turned smoke into clean air within her lungs. They kept her alive until Battar Crodd had come to pull her unconscious body from the blaze. Their Quill decried the gods, provoked them at every opportunity. Petra believed there was truth in his sermons¡ªshe believed in the necessity of witnessing the atrocities visited upon their ancestors. And yet, the gods had saved her. Why did she keep coming in here to stare absently at the space where she should¡¯ve died? Why did it fascinate her so? ¡°Now that we''ve finished with the salvage, shouldn''t be long going back up.¡± Petra flinched at the voice. She had thought she was alone in the skeleton of the farmhouse, but here was one of the workmen charged with restoring it. His head was shaved and he wore a line of ash straight down his face, but patches of blonde stubble lit up cheeks red from the cold. This man was born to Ambergran. One of the recent converts. ¡°Oh,¡± Petra said. She gestured at her outline. ¡°Will you keep this?¡± The man shrugged. ¡°Might look strange with the new floor around it.¡± ¡°Strangeness can be welcome, don¡¯t you think? Makes us question what we¡¯ve decided is normal.¡± Before he left, Battar Crodd had ordered the house rebuilt for when Uicha returned. Wishful thinking on Battar¡¯s part. Petra didn''t expect Uicha would come back, not unless Battar dragged him kicking and screaming. She had gone back to sleeping in her tent, like in the days before they took Ambergran. There was plenty of room in the barn and the bunkhouse, but Petra didn''t feel right moving in there. She hadn''t felt right about much since she was first assigned to keep an eye on Ambergran''s boy without loyalty. In the yard, Parrot was kicking up a fuss. Petra used the barking dog as an excuse to disengage from the blank-faced carpenter. She hopped down from the farmhouse doorway, into the dirt where there used to be a porch. Parrot was excited because they had visitors. Two dozen Orvesians walked toward the farmhouse from disparate angles¡ªsome by the road, others straight through the fields¡ªtheir movements herky-jerky and stiff. Parrot galloped out to meet them, not sure who to greet first. Petra approached more cautiously, unsure what was going on. She gasped as a gentle, invisible force shoved her backward. At first, she thought maybe it was the wind, but the air was cold and still. Petra tried to start forward again. Her body came up against a wall and was pressed back. She could go no further than thirty yards from Uicha¡¯s farmhouse¡ªthirty yards in the direction of Ambergran. The ritualist Hunn Megeer was amongst the approaching Orvesians. The impossibly tall and painfully skinny man walked with his back arched as if he were being pushed from behind. He noticed Petra and, with some effort, steered himself in her direction. Hunn stopped next to her with a gratified sigh and then doubled over to catch his breath. ¡°What is this? What¡¯s happening?¡± Petra asked. ¡°The border starts at the boy¡¯s house,¡± Hunn said. ¡°Fascinating.¡± ¡°Hunn?¡± The ritualist blinked at her. ¡°Banished. We¡¯ve been banished from Ambergran.¡± Petra held her hands out, testing the air before her. The invisible will of the gods pressed back against her palms. ¡°Have you never been banished before?¡± Hunn asked. ¡°It¡¯s actually quite exhilarating. There¡¯s no feeling of freedom quite like when the gods release you from their grasp.¡± Petra shook her head. ¡°He won¡¯t be happy.¡± Hunn swallowed, but she noticed he had already fished the shriveled ear out of one of his many pouches. ¡°No. But, we were done here anyway, weren¡¯t we?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡± Petra wiped her forearm across her eyes. ¡°I was starting to like it, I think.¡± She crouched down and whistled, hoping that Parrot would eventually run back to her side of the barrier.
Through the floorboards, all three champions could hear someone scream with joy. Bells rang out and a bucket of angles was upended with a clatter. A big winner down in the casino. In the Pink Prayer, they made sure there was a scene like that every hour¡ªcouldn¡¯t let spirits fade, even if half the time the winners were plants. Konta Lukte sat behind her desk with her legs crossed and pretended like she wasn¡¯t afraid of the two men seated on the other side. She was no stranger to ugliness. There was always someone trying to cut your throat in Noyega. From her jasmine-scented office, she ran security for the Pink Prayer and four other casinos on Easy Street. The city often felt more threatening than the three Grantings she had survived. She was a blade master of the seventh renown with a fine collection of Ink that Konta kept on display, still favoring the loose silk wraps she¡¯d worn during her days as a red light girl. She had been leered at her entire life, but somehow this Orvesian was different. He stared at her chest¡ªnot unusual¡ªbut not at her breasts. Instead, he seemed fascinated with her ribs. The Orvesian wore a flowing robe of black feathers that mostly hid his body, but Konta had seen the way he moved when he entered. All jutting angles and too many points of articulation, like he had elbows and knees everywhere. She could hear clicking and chattering beneath those robes, skeletal teeth at work somewhere they shouldn¡¯t be. Athur Buss. The bone mage. A little spider of a man who wouldn¡¯t stop dissecting her with his eyes. And, with him, the gods damned Quill champion himself. The death knight who, last Konta had heard, was busy murdering entire villages as if there was any profit in that. It disturbed her that, despite the stripes of ash and shaved head, he wasn¡¯t bad to look at. Chiseled features, prodigious muscles, and startling blue eyes. Battar Crodd smiled at her like they were out for tea. ¡°Your kind are bad for business,¡± Konta said with a sigh. ¡°You know that, right? You scare the customers away.¡± ¡°All the more reason to tell us what we wish to know so that we may never darken your doorstep again,¡± Crodd said. ¡°Darken your doorstep again,¡± whispered Athur. Konta flicked her eyes to the bone mage, then back to Crodd. The death knight acted like he hadn¡¯t heard his little friend¡¯s echo routine. Konta curled her lips back and pretended not to have noticed, either. ¡°You¡¯re looking for someone, is what I heard,¡± Konta said. ¡°We don¡¯t make debtors of Orvesians, I can promise you that. We know it¡¯s not worth the trouble.¡± ¡°Not one of mine,¡± Crodd said. ¡°The archmage Ahmed Roh. Traveling in the company of a young man.¡± ¡°A young man,¡± whispered Athur. Konta tapped her nails on her desk. She knew a visit like this was coming, but she¡¯d figured it would be some old creep from the Magelab. Well, one freak was as good as the next in this matter, as far as she was concerned. ¡°Good news, then,¡± Konta said. ¡°I have the archmage.¡± ¡°You have him?¡± ¡°Pickling, in my cellar,¡± Konta said. ¡°I sent word to his people to come get his body. His head too, if they want it. No additional charge. Our fault it fell off in the transport.¡± The death knight¡¯s grin was a wild thing¡ªwide and gleaming. ¡°He¡¯s dead?¡± ¡°Dead,¡± whispered Athur. ¡°I wish the mages hadn¡¯t chosen my city to kill each other in. That¡¯s also bad for business,¡± Konta said, relaxing a little. ¡°As for his boyish paramour, we think a gargoyle killed him. Looked like the beast was hunting him. Maybe one of yours, eh?¡± ¡°No. Not one of mine.¡± Crodd¡¯s smile faded. ¡°Madam Lukte, would you be able to assist us in chartering a boat? Keeping in mind, of course, that we shall see each other in different circumstances in a half-year and that I will very much remember being done a good turn, or a bad.¡± Konta nodded quickly. Whatever it took to get these two out of her office and her city. She¡¯d pay double to one of the few honest captains left in Noyega. ¡°Of course,¡± she said. ¡°Where do you want to go?¡± ¡°The Flamingo Islands,¡± Crodd said. Konta thought he would find that too sunny for his liking, but she wasn¡¯t about to argue.
57. [Infinzel] Solstice, Part Five
Carina Goldstone and Cortland Finiron, Champions of Infinzel Those they have met so far¡­ ¡­and those they will meet soon
30 Frett, 61 AW The pyramidal city of Infinzel, North Continent 150 days until the next Granting ¡°I should be going with you,¡± Carina Goldstone said. ¡°Should you?¡± King Cizco did not look back at her. The leader of Infinzel was crouched on his hands and knees, sleeves rolled up and hair tied back, making subtle alterations to a rune that had been hidden beneath a stone block. ¡°I think not.¡± Carina stood over him, leaning against a bubbling tub that produced blocks of quartz. She craned her neck to watch him work. Cizco made a few chalk slashes across the carved symbol, temporarily stoppering up the magic. The rune darkened and the bubbles in the tub stopped, a half-formed chunk of quartz floating listlessly in the peach-colored slop. Of course, Carina had done her due diligence around the mineral garden when she first returned to Infinzel, but she had otherwise largely avoided the honeycomb of chambers. She knew exactly where her father had been crushed beneath a falling block of granite, and could not stop her mind from spinning when she visited, scolding sheepish masons and stone harvesters for every corner they cut. The mineral garden was quieter now than it had been in decades, maybe centuries. There were not enough hands to harvest the stone, not enough masons to shape it, not enough workmen to transport it. The general strike of the outer districts had gone on for three weeks. Over the last few days, King Cizco had begun shutting down certain systems where arcane energies were being needlessly wasted. By Carina''s calculations, the pyramidal city would be unable to fulfill existing contracts if this continued for another two weeks. Much longer than that and Infinzel''s internal maintenance might be threatened. Hard to say, exactly, as she still hadn''t been able to make the numbers add up. A most irritating problem for the logician. Regardless, the outer districts had made their point¡ªthe city could not run properly without them. ¡°I know these people,¡± Carina said. ¡°I can help you. I know how they think.¡± ¡°Precisely what worries me,¡± Cizco replied. He crawled across the floor to the next stone with a rune hidden beneath it. Carina stood by and watched¡ªhe had not asked for her help, in this task or with anything else. The king scuttling around like a workman was certainly a sight to behold, although there were few in the mineral gardens to see. Even now, he cultivated the image that they were all in it together, that all who resided within Infinzel must do their part. Even the king himself was not above menial labor. ¡°Why should that worry you?¡± Carina asked. ¡°I''m an advantage. Guydemion has a soft spot for me.¡± The king used a pick and chisel to pry up the next stone. The unnecessary force in his swings was the only sign of his annoyance. ¡°I asked you once where you thought Infinzel''s greatest threats would come from. Do you remember that conversation?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°You did not list Soldier''s Rest among them.¡± ¡°They''re us,¡± Carina said. ¡°Our people. Can we be a threat to ourselves?¡± ¡°So, you did not foresee this? Or do you not view a strike that unsettles the city as a threat? It must be one or the other, logician.¡± As Carina prepared a response, Cizco at last looked over his shoulder. ¡°You don''t need to answer. My mind won''t be changed. You and Cortland¡ªand Henry if you can force him¡ªthe three of you should already be on your way to the mountain.¡± Indeed, Carina knew, they should leave soon to make the annual appearance of Ink on the Nortmost. There had been no new blooms of power in the Underneath, so Carina needed to leave Infinzel if she wanted to attain her fourth renown before the Granting. ¡°It doesn''t seem like a good time, with everything going on,¡± Carina said. ¡°Cortland and Henry agree.¡± ¡°Does no one around here want to do their jobs?¡± Cizco asked sharply. ¡°I do not need you three here. You are champions. Your job is the Ink and the Granting. Do your jobs.¡± Having freed the stone, Cizco stood sharply and tossed it aside. Carina winced as she heard his vertebrae pop. The king groaned and dug his knuckles into the small of his back, limping in a circle around the stone pit. Carina couldn''t help herself. ¡°If you show up hobbling like an old man, Bel will think you''re mocking him.¡± The king''s eyes flared and he straightened with some effort. ¡°I have known Bel Guydemion since before your parents were born.¡± ¡°Of course. And when was the last time you spoke with him? Looked in on him?¡± Cizco glowered at her. ¡°It has been awhile.¡± ¡°Years separate you now,¡± Carina said. ¡°I know him as he has been recently.¡± The king sighed. ¡°Fine. What is your advice, then? Should I give him everything he wants?¡± Carina shrugged. ¡°Yes.¡± Cizco smiled mirthlessly as if he had known what her answer would be and resumed his stretching. ¡°And once I do, Bel Guydemion will want more. He has always wanted more. Without grievance, the man would cease to exist.¡± ¡°Exactly,¡± Carina said. The king''s mouth opened, then closed. He considered her words for a moment, eventually shaking his head. ¡°Herman offered them most of what they asked for during the first days of this little tantrum.¡± ¡°Bel asked to negotiate with you.¡± ¡°And I sent my heir. Gods, must everything cause this man offense?¡± Cizco pinched the bridge of his nose. ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter. They want to kick the nobles out from their tiers. It simply can''t be done.¡± ¡°They don''t want them kicked out,¡± Carina said. ¡°They only want them to earn their place, like everyone else.¡± Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. ¡°They did earn their place. It is the stone from northern castles that shields us now. The lives of house mages sworn to the old noble houses were the first sparks of Infinzel''s fires. The nobles sacrificed much to build this place.¡± ¡°Hundreds of years ago,¡± Carina countered. ¡°A debt surely repaid by now. And if the nobles think that''s not the case, so what? Will they take their stones back and rebuild their old forts? You¡¯re the king and here you are toiling away. Why shouldn¡¯t your lazy children follow the example of their father?¡± Carina winced. She had meant it to sound complimentary, but acid crept into her words. Maybe she had spent too many nights discussing the injustices of Infinzel while growing up in Guydemion¡¯s care. The king studied her for a moment longer, then turned stiffly and returned to his work. ¡°Go to the mountain,¡± he said. ¡°You are not needed here.¡±
His son, Otis, had fashioned Watts Stonework with a monocle of sorts. A delicate frame that looked to have been recovered from a pair of ladies¡¯ glasses housed three lenses¡ªa shaded lens, a magnifying lens, and a lens that seemed to make movements look crisper¡ªthat Watts could switch between with a flick of his finger. His son the Gadgeteer. He¡¯d no doubt salvaged these parts from behind the merchant stalls in the Underbridge. A fraught time to be scavenging, but Watts wasn¡¯t the type of parent to shield his boy from danger. ¡°What do you think?¡± Otis asked eagerly. Watts peered at himself in the mirror, switching between the dark lens and the sharpening lens. The eye had been gouged badly, but it wasn¡¯t completely lost thanks to the efforts of his wife. She had taken up the healing arts these last years¡ªthe old ways¡ªand while Hellie Opensky was far from ready to apply to the Magelab, she¡¯d preserved enough of Watts¡¯ eye that he could half-see. ¡°A bit girlish,¡± Watts said. Otis groaned. ¡°I can change the frame, dad. Gods. What about the lenses?¡± ¡°It¡¯s a fine contraption, I think,¡± Watts said with a nod. ¡°Though it might come flying off in a fight.¡± His son jotted notes on his sketchpad. ¡°Add a headband,¡± he mumbled. ¡°I think it¡¯s dashing,¡± Hellie said. She stood in the doorway to the bedroom, watching the two. ¡°Looks like something Traveon might wear.¡± Watts flipped the shaded lens down. ¡°Now I know it doesn¡¯t suit me.¡± He turned to take stock of his wife. Beautiful as ever with her auburn hair and sneaky smile. She wore one of her nicer dresses¡ªa light blue thing, although shapeless. Today, she would stand second to Bel Guydemion when the ageless king of Infinzel at last came to pay his respects. She had been teasing Watts for days about how worried she was that King Cizco might try to seduce her. Maybe those hadn¡¯t been jokes, after all. Hellie rubbed her hands together. It was cold in their little house; firewood and coal were proving harder and harder to come by in the outer districts. ¡°Why are you looking at me like that?¡± ¡°Admiringly?¡± ¡°Stop.¡± She waved him off. ¡°It should be you standing with the old man. Or both of us together.¡± They¡¯d already had this conversation. ¡°Bel thinks that would be too much provocation,¡± he said evenly. ¡°To put on display the man who the Secondson nearly blinded.¡± ¡°It wasn¡¯t a fair fight,¡± Otis said. ¡°All that Ink.¡± ¡°Fair fights are for suckers,¡± Watts said. ¡°Yes,¡± Hellie added as she began tying back her hair. ¡°What do we know about fair fights? Or provocation, for that matter?¡±
¡°Have you even known a Twiceblack before?¡± Traveon asked. The merchant shook his head. ¡°No, you probably wouldn¡¯t have had the pleasure. Most leave Infinzel and change their names. Around the pyramidal city, there¡¯s not much use for a child whose parents were both criminals, eh? Probably wouldn¡¯t even trust a Twiceblack kid to sweep your floors. Might steal the broom.¡± The merchant wiggled into what Traveon interpreted as an encouraging shrug. Like, oh, you Twiceblacks aren¡¯t so bad. He couldn¡¯t manage a more articulate response on account of the gag Traveon had shoved in his mouth and the ropes he had tied across him. ¡°My dad didn¡¯t steal a broom. He killed a man. A noble, in fact,¡± Traveon continued. ¡°My mother was just a good old-fashioned thief, though. It was the thieving that ended up necessitating the killing. There¡¯s a lesson for you in that, I think. Although I¡¯m getting ahead of myself.¡± Traveon sat in a chair at the foot of the merchant¡¯s bed with his slender legs crossed. He¡¯d been sitting right there when the merchant first woke up and came to realize his predicament. Traveon¡¯s left leg was falling asleep¡ªthis bastard was a sound gods damned sleeper¡ªand Traveon hadn¡¯t wanted to move and thus lessen the dramatic effect of his unwelcome appearance. ¡°Anyway, I kept the name and stuck around,¡± Traveon said with a shrug. ¡°I wanted to prove that our names don¡¯t dictate our quality. Taking our names from the work our parents did. Pretty stupid, if you ask me.¡± The merchant flinched as Traveon hopped to his feet. He shook out his sleeping leg and meandered over to the open window that he had first crawled through. Cold winter air flowed over his lightweight ward-weave. ¡°Like you, for example,¡± Traveon said. ¡°You¡¯re Lorenze Twicegold, right?¡± The merchant went very still, as if debating whether to lie about his identity. ¡°The son of two merchants, living way up here on the fifth tier.¡± Traveon whistled. ¡°Pretty good, my man. That¡¯s almost where the nobles live. You get to be right underneath them. They get to keep their family names, don¡¯t they? Lets us know that they have big, important history. They¡¯re capable of anything. They¡¯re beyond occupations.¡± Traveon pushed himself up on his hands and poked his head outside, as if trying to peer up to the next tier. ¡°What¡¯s in a name, though, right? I¡¯m a Twiceblack, no one wants me around, but I can get in anywhere. I know every secret tunnel in this place, every access hatch, all the walls with the best handholds.¡± Traveon spun back around. ¡°And you? You¡¯re a Twicegold, but you seem really bad at business. For instance, I hear you¡¯re charging extra to the outer districts for coal.¡± The merchant¡¯s eyes widened as he realized the purpose of Traveon¡¯s visit. He began speaking rapidly against his gag, the words muffled. ¡°I bet you¡¯re explaining to me supply and demand. Or how, if you didn¡¯t raise your prices like all your competitors, you¡¯d fall behind.¡± Traveon walked toward the merchant¡¯s bedside, and the man went very still. ¡°But see, you didn¡¯t have a full understanding of the costs when you made your decision. You failed to foresee that someone might take exception. You neglected to account for the price of the added security you¡¯d need to keep me out of here.¡± Traveon put his foot up on the mattress and leaned down over his bent knee. He made sure the merchant saw the hand-bow on his hip where his jacket fell open. ¡°Humbly, then,¡± Traveon said, ¡°I would ask you to recheck your figures.¡±
From Infinzel¡¯s second highest tier, Vitt Secondson-Salvado watched the scrawny bartender from Guydemion''s climb out of the window and scamper across the stone. Whose window was that? Some merchant, Vitt figured, based on the level. Not someone who mattered. Even so, not a window where the bartender was welcome. Sneaking around. Trespassing. ¡°Patricia,¡± Vitt said. The nightstalker appeared beside him, sinewy body coiled downward to match her master''s crouch. ¡°What do we think?¡± The nightstalker purred in response. Soldier¡¯s Rest¡ªand the outer districts generally¡ªthese areas were not unknown to Vitt. In some ways, he preferred them to the cloistered noble tiers of the pyramidal city, filled with his gods damned brothers and sisters and cousins, or else those pining to join the vast Salvado dynasty. In the outer districts, he did not have to worry that a whore would expect a marriage proposal. He couldn¡¯t show his face out there now. Not after what he had done to Guydemion¡¯s bouncer. There would be more spit in his drinks than usual. Vitt had tried to warn them about Soldier¡¯s Rest, specifically about Carina¡¯s ties to Bel Guydemion. He¡¯d had Orryn es-Salvado and his rats trailing her for weeks to unearth that connection, and what had come of it? That hammerhead Cortland had gone to check things out and been charmed by the place, just as he¡¯d been charmed by the logician. His father hadn¡¯t cared. Even Vitt had let it go. And look where that lenience had gotten them. A cough overcame him and Vitt buried his mouth in his shoulder, tasting blood. Bad again, these last few weeks, and with Henry Blacksalve too preoccupied in Soldier¡¯s Rest to treat him. The bartender glanced up at the sound but then continued on his way when he saw nothing but graystone and shadows. Vitt¡¯s [Camouflage] felt warm on his chest. Vitt had made a point of learning a bit about all of Guydemion¡¯s little helpers, his wayward children of the outer districts. The bartender¡ªTraveon Twiceblack¡ªhe was a shit stirrer. Vitt had seen some of Traveon¡¯s performances up on stage, strutting around making jokes about the king¡¯s hopelessly swollen balls, inciting the outer districts to rebellion. Vitt had found these monologues funny, at the time, but now he understood them as symptom of a cancer¡ªone that his father had been slow to carve out. Even now, the king prepared to descend to Soldier¡¯s Rest and negotiate with these people. Well, Vitt would not sit idle in the meantime. Vitt used [Hunter¡¯s Mark] just before the bartender passed around a corner. Traveon would feel a chill pass over him¡ªlike there were eyes upon him¡ªbut he would not understand what that meant. Vitt could follow him easily, now. He would see what other errands the bartender intended to run in places where he didn¡¯t belong. And then, Vitt would make sport of him. ¡°Come, Patricia,¡± Vitt whispered. ¡°We hunt.¡±
58. [Infinzel] Solstice, Part Six
Carina Goldstone and Cortland Finiron, Champions of Infinzel Those they have met so far¡­ ¡­and those they will meet soon
30 Frett, 61 AW The pyramidal city of Infinzel, North Continent 150 days until the next Granting Black smoke billowed up from the outer districts. A new fire. This one wasn''t in Soldier''s Rest but in a neighboring district wedged between the Troldep and the Continental Highway, an area mostly used for warehouses and cheap traveler housing. Cortland would not have known those details weeks ago. In the days since the strike began, he had made it a point to become better acquainted with the outer districts. To know the place would let him better anticipate where the next fire would start. Not that he had been able to prevent this one. Or the last. He hoped this was just someone careless with their wood stove¡ªthey had a few of those every winter¡ªbut Cortland doubted that was the case. Guydemion''s people had prepared well for the strike, knowing their work stoppage would leave them exiled from Infinzel''s food disbursements. They had amassed stockpiles of their own, grown from the farms that had sprung up outside the walls over the last few years. In turn, the Garrison had begun more aggressive enforcement of long overlooked property laws, leading to clashes between the gray-coats and the out-of-work masons and stone tenders of Soldier''s Rest. Hardy men whose strength and solidarity made up for their lack of formal training. The king had told the captains of the Garrison to keep a lid on things, but Cizco was ultimately more concerned with what happened within the walls than the violence without. There were other interests at play. Salvado sons and daughters trying to make names for themselves. Nobles who took Guydemion''s demands as personal insult and demanded answer. Frustrated merchants who had seen their businesses grind to a halt taking matters into their own hands¡ªor, at least, into the hands of their hired goons. Sometimes, those goons failed to remove their gray and purple uniforms. Cortland found himself tasked with trying to stop these fools from making things worse. If he''d stopped Vitt Secondson-Salvado from attacking Watts Stonework at that damn banquet, perhaps some of this could''ve been avoided. In the future, he would take a firmer hand. He stood atop the grand staircase, watching the fire curl into the dimming sky. Was this the role of a champion, then? Ben Tuarez had always made it seem like the champions should be of service to Infinzel, but also remain above petty politics. But then, wouldn¡¯t that be the philosophy of someone born to the top tiers? Cortland grimaced and rubbed the back of his head. He did not enjoy these thoughts. He should have been on his way to the Nortmost by now to gather new Ink for Carina. That was his duty. Yet, Carina dragged her feet on leaving and he couldn''t blame her. Was this the danger she had foreseen? He drummed his fingers on the head of his hammer. ¡°Uncle Cortland?¡± Issa Firstdot-Tuarez said, stepping outside. As she came to stand beside him and saw the hardening look on his chapped features, she cleared her throat. ¡°Champion, I mean.¡± ¡°Yes?¡± ¡°You asked to be informed of any Garrison soldiers leaving the pyramid without orders.¡± ¡°And?¡± Cortland turned to face the young woman. She looked tired¡ªdark bags under her eyes, hair popping loose from her braids. Long days for her. First she worked in the Garrison and then picked up the slack in the mineral garden with her brother. She¡¯d made no complaint, but he worried she stretched herself too thin. Another concern to shuffle into his deck of bad draws. ¡°A half dozen in uniform took leave right before¡­¡± Issa waved toward the fire. Cortland nodded. ¡°Who led them?¡± ¡°Orryn es-Salvado.¡± The rat master. Of course. Always up for a bit of dirty work, and confident under Vitt''s protection. The whole of the pyramidal city felt swollen with rage. Cortland was no different. In fact, aside from all these nagging thoughts, fire and fists felt more like his natural state. His anger needed to go somewhere. ¡°Thank you, Issa,¡± Cortland said. ¡°I''ll go welcome our brave brothers home.¡±
They made a chain of bodies from the warehouse to the river, passing buckets of freezing water toward the blaze. Henry Blacksalve thrust himself into the midst of this, his fingers numb from cold so that he couldn''t feel the splinters enter his hands. ¡°Healer! Leave that to the others! You''re needed at the fire!¡± Henry vaguely recognized the man shouting at him. An Ironstone, wasn''t he? Bearded and red-cheeked and with eyes sharpened by determination, like all the people of the outer districts. Thus commanded, Henry staggered from his place in the chain and followed the Ironstone up the street. He felt the Ink on his chest growing thin, but there was some left to give. These last weeks had all been like this¡ªa blur of cracked skulls and broken fists, all smoothed away by his touch. Henry healed anyone who needed it, no questions asked. He''d embarrassed himself at the Open Gate, passed out drunk in a corner while Guydemion''s man had his eye ruined by Vitt. Some other, lesser healer had salvaged the man''s vision, at least. Henry had learned that when he looked in on the bouncer to make his apologies. Not your fault, healer, the man had said gruffly. How often had he heard that over this last year? Henry grew tired of everyone letting him off the hook. He hadn¡¯t done anything so dramatic as get sober as a result. Such an undertaking might have killed him. But he tempered his pulls from his flask, just enough to float him instead of sink him. The men and women of Soldier''s Rest seemed always ready to top him off. Henry staggered to the side as two men pushing wheelbarrows filled with grain sacks came rushing away from the fire. The heat of the blaze warmed Henry''s cheeks, the smoke dried his throat. The building had been engulfed. There wouldn''t be any further trips inside for salvage. Now, everyone''s attention turned to keeping the fire from spreading. The buildings were crowded down here. They would need favorable winds. He could do nothing about that, but he could help the bleeding man he saw slumped by the side of the road. He had a bear trap caught around his leg, the metal teeth digging deep enough into his ankle that a firm shake might be enough to liberate him from the trap--and his foot. The man had the good sense to tie a bit of purple fabric around his leg to slow the blood loss, but he¡¯d gone pale in the time since, head tilted back, moaning softly. In the chaos of the blaze, no one paid him any mind except for Henry. The healer knelt before the injured man and saw recognition and relief in his face. Gently, Henry teased his fingers beneath the trap, feeling for the release catch. This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. ¡°Thank you,¡± the injured man said over and over again. ¡°Thank you, thank you.¡± Henry felt the lever that would retract the trap¡¯s springs. ¡°Try to stay still,¡± Henry said. ¡°It will hurt at first.¡± The man gritted his teeth, closed his eyes, and nodded. Henry marshaled [Healing Touch], letting the energy coalesce in his hands so it would be ready for when he opened the trap. He took a deep breath¡ªand two hands grabbed him from behind, pulling Henry backward. ¡°Not him, healer, not him.¡± It was the same man as before, the one who had come to fetch him. ¡°He started this.¡± Only then did Henry notice the injured man''s soot-stained grey uniform. His tourniquet was his purple sash. A man of the Garrison. Or someone with access to a uniform, at least. There were rumors of pretenders. By reflex, Henry used [Diagnosis] on the injured man. Clear knowledge of the man¡¯s condition¡ªsharper than Henry¡¯s own thoughts¡ªentered his mind. ¡°He¡¯ll lose that foot if he isn¡¯t treated soon,¡± Henry said. ¡°Then he loses his fucking foot for stepping where he shouldn¡¯t have,¡± the Ironstone man replied. ¡°We got kids up here who sucked down too much smoke. In the warehouse trying to fetch food for their families when this bastard¡­¡± Henry nodded. He¡¯d heard enough. ¡°Am I going to die?¡± the Garrison man called to Henry, his eyes going in and out of focus. ¡°Hours yet until that,¡± Henry said. He took a swig from his flask. ¡°If I were you, I would prevail on these people for mercy.¡± With that, Henry turned his back and trudged toward the fire. Another body, not his fault.
Sara Free had left Infinzel before the fires started, and even then been glad to put the city of stone at her back. She had made her point. Delivered her news. Shared her shame with those who deserved an equal piece. And for all that, she would surely face reprimand. The way she had conducted herself since arriving on the North Continent was far from the mission of healing the Quill of Sulk had sent her on. High Minister Denavon Brunner would not be pleased when word reached him, if it hadn¡¯t already. But, then again, Brunner himself had raised Sara to champion. He knew what she was like. The Crucifalian never shied away from a fight. A fact the man following her might soon learn. Late afternoon on the longest night and the road south was quiet. Gusts of wind shrieked across the brown grass of the plains, patches of snow present in the shadowed gullies between hills. Sara wore a fur cloak made lumpy by the armor beneath, her hood raised. She clucked and her tired horse turned obediently so that they stood astride the road. Lone travelers were unusual this time of the year. Harvests were done and planting months far away. There would be no work for a journeyman. Stranger, still, was how the man behind Sara kept a steady distance, slowing when she did and picking up speed at the same times. Two days of that. He¡¯d not joined her at her campfire the night before. She¡¯d not been able to find his in the moonlit night. Sara Free had little patience for games. She cupped a hand to the side of her mouth. ¡°Come on, then!¡± she yelled. ¡°I¡¯m waiting!¡± The man stopped his own horse and reached for something in his saddlebags. A weapon? Sara snorted lightly at the thought; he looked rather slight. Instead, the man wrapped a piece of fabric around his head. Stranger and stranger. Finally, he nudged his horse forward. As he neared, Sara appraised the other traveler. He looked long on the road¡ªface stubble-covered, hair tousled, brown jacket stained and worn. He was not dressed warmly enough and Sara immediately suspected magic, this theory proven out quickly as she glimpsed the symbol of a candle and the very edge of a champion¡¯s tattoo. Sara recognized him. ¡°Inquisitor,¡± she said. ¡°What are you lurking about for? And why¡­?¡± The blindfold. Samus Bind had tied one around his eyes before his approach. He reined his horse in a few yards from Sara. ¡°Forgive me, umbo,¡± Bind said. ¡°I wasn¡¯t sure my presence would be welcome. And, I must admit, I¡¯m a man of certain sensitivities. Your appearance makes it difficult to think.¡± Sara smiled. A man who didn¡¯t want to stare at her. That was a first. ¡°Where are you going, then?¡± Sara asked. ¡°Same as you,¡± he replied. ¡°Ambergran.¡± Sara raised an eyebrow. ¡°Should we ride together? I could lead your horse if you have to go it blind.¡± ¡°No need for that,¡± Bind said, nudging his horse into motion. The mare¡ªas drowsy-looking as her master¡ªmoved forward easily. ¡°But I would appreciate the company.¡± They meandered up the road. Sara kept her hood pulled low, although Bind didn¡¯t remove his blindfold. She knew the questions were coming¡ªthe man had a reputation, after all¡ªand so she waited in silence. ¡°I heard your story from the archmage Sevda Tau,¡± Bind began at last. ¡°The boy from Ambergran. The maniac Orvesian.¡± ¡°And?¡± Sara glanced over at him. Bind¡¯s breath did not mist when he breathed. She wondered, if she reached a hand out, how warm the air would feel around him. ¡°You came under attack from some gargoyles,¡± Bind said. ¡°One of them stole the boy.¡± ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°What were they made out of?¡± Sara raised an eyebrow. ¡°Mud. Timber.¡± ¡°Hm,¡± Bind said. ¡°The Orvesian way was stone and ice.¡± ¡°It was summer. No ice in summer.¡± ¡°So it was.¡± With a flick of his fingers, Bind produced and lit a smokeroll. ¡°Did you feel the gods¡¯ protection during the fight?¡± ¡°I didn¡¯t need it,¡± Sara said flatly. ¡°No, of course not,¡± Bind said. ¡°And the rest of your party, besides the kidnapped boy? How did they fare?¡± ¡°A local died. Bad injuries to the others,¡± Sara admitted. ¡°Especially two of your candles and a mage who nearly had his skull split. I healed the ones I could.¡± ¡°Then, we¡¯re in your debt,¡± Bind said. He paused for a moment to blow a stream of smoke. ¡°The gods don¡¯t protect us from beasts. Not unless they¡¯ve been imbued with purpose by a man.¡± ¡°I know the laws.¡± ¡°Thus, if an Orvesian sent those gargoyles, they should not have been able to kill anyone but other Orvesians.¡± Sara¡¯s hands tightened on the reins. ¡°You¡¯re saying what, inquisitor? That this was a chance encounter with wild monsters? A stroke of bad luck? That my friend Uicha was carried away to be eaten?¡± Bind tilted his head and Sara found herself glaring at the flat expanse of his blindfold. ¡°The gargoyle that took the boy¡ªdid you fight it?¡± ¡°I didn¡¯t have a chance,¡± she said. ¡°It¡­ it avoided me. It avoided all of us.¡± ¡°Aha.¡± Bind smiled. ¡°One with purpose, then, the rest made to follow.¡± ¡°Your horse mage got in the way, though,¡± Sara said, remembering the aftermath of the battle, the blood staining the tavern floor. The young mage¡¯s sleeping face had been so pale. ¡°A nasty gash. Down to the bone.¡± The inquisitor paused to consider that. ¡°Would he have died without your intervention?¡± ¡°I can¡¯t say.¡± Bind shrugged, but without nonchalance¡ªmore to shift the weight on his shoulders, Sara thought. ¡°The gods play loosely with their own rules, at times.¡± ¡°Is that really true in your experience, inquisitor?¡± ¡°No.¡± He turned to face her again, dipping his arm and head in a sloppy approximation of a bow. ¡°This has been quite informative, umbo. My thanks. When I bring my questions to Battar Crodd, I will be sure to inquire after the missing boy.¡± ¡°You plan to ques--?¡± Before Sara could finish her incredulous response, Bind put his heels into his horse¡¯s sides and the animal took off with a speed that Sara knew she couldn¡¯t match. Only when they glowed did Sara notice the runes painted across the horse¡¯s flanks. The blindfold came loose, the fabric drifting back to Sara on the wind.
Lines of magic crisscrossing every room. The phrase stuck with Carina, long after Samus Bind had used it at the Open Gate. Lines of magic. Runes hidden under stones. Wards to befuddle arcane senses. Alarms in stairwells to alert the king. An equation that didn¡¯t add up. Fine, Carina decided. The king did not want her assistance with Guydemion. Whatever transpired in Soldier¡¯s Rest would be beyond her influence. She would have to live with that. But the king¡¯s absence could be an opportunity. Carina long suspected the king had defenses in place to guard against the arcane uncovering of Infinzel¡¯s engineering. Warnings, at least, to alert him if someone meddled with his creations or probed them too closely. The ageless king gripped his creations tight. Gods, she¡¯d been living in Penchenne when they¡¯d wished for the secret of the mineral garden¡ªand gotten all their champions killed as a result. King Cizco never left the pyramidal city. Only once a year, for the Grantings. And now, today, to meet with Bel Guydemion on the old man¡¯s own territory. An opportunity, then. He might be too far to hear his alarms, or too preoccupied to do anything about it. She could explain her probing as an attempt to help streamline the system during the strike. Carina retrieved a vial of chanic from her stash. She made sure that her brushes were clean and adjusted her mirrors. She arranged her easel with her copy of An Encyclopedia of Runes, 7th Edition open to the page for [Detect Magic]. She would see the pyramidal city as Samus Bind had. Perhaps, she would learn nothing. Perhaps, she was just acting on her need to do something. She activated [Future Sight] and felt herself briefly overwhelmed by the magnitude of possibilities. Fire, smoke, shouting. Too many overlapping futures to make sense of¡ªbranches that began here, in her room, but also in Soldier¡¯s Rest, in the Garrison, on the very walls of the city. Carina was left with only a general sense of her path. The more it hurt, the more she would learn. Carina steadied her hands. She removed her shirt and began to paint. Of course, she had prepared for this. She had practiced the rune. It was a tricky thing, though, because of her true Ink. The symbol for [Detect Magic] needed to connect to her existing symbol for [Alert]. Those subtle lines between the two symbols¡ªwhere black met red¡ªthey were the trickiest part. She was almost done when she heard the whistle. It came from behind her¡ªfrom a window she¡¯d sworn she had locked that was now opened. ¡°Felt ungentlemanly to just sit and watch,¡± Traveon Twiceblack said, smirking, sitting on the windowsill with one leg dangling down. ¡°So, I¡­¡± The anger in Carina¡¯s eyes cut him off. Unlikely that Traveon had ever seen that before¡ªher unguarded fury. But that didn¡¯t matter. He didn¡¯t matter. She had jumped, hadn¡¯t she? Or had she kept her hand steady? Frantically, Carina looked down at herself, checking the lines of chanic, looking for any stray marks that might be out of place. She would not find them in time.
59. [Infinzel] Solstice, Part Seven
Carina Goldstone and Cortland Finiron, Champions of Infinzel Those they have met so far¡­ ¡­and those they will meet soon
30 Frett, 61 AW The pyramidal city of Infinzel, North Continent 150 days until the next Granting Cortland waited by the Garrison entrance off the Underbridge. He had a feeling they would come in that way¡ªOrryn es-Salvado usually did his guard shifts there. The cadet on duty when Cortland arrived raised his eyebrows at the sight of the champion and glanced around nervously. He¡¯d probably been told to keep the door clear for Orryn. Cortland dismissed him. Even with the outer door closed, Cortland could smell the smoke. They built with too much wood in the outer districts, but then they didn''t have much choice in the matter. Permanent structures weren''t allowed between the wall and the pyramidal city. The stones grown and cut within Infinzel¡ªmany of them by outer district workers¡ªwere shipped to other cities and towns. They were not meant for building here. The pyramidal city should have seen to everyone¡¯s needs. And yet, so much wood and fire. Cortland didn¡¯t have to wait long with these unpleasant thoughts. Issa Firstdot-Tuarez¡¯s information proved correct. Five young men scuttled in through the side door to the Garrison, led by Orryn, as predicted. Orryn¡¯s features became more rat-like with every passing day¡ªhis teeth more pronounced, his ears protruding¡ªperhaps a cost of dabbling so much in the old ways. Or maybe that was just Cortland¡¯s imagination. All five of them wore the uniform of the Garrison, but Cortland only recognized two besides Orryn. He hadn¡¯t memorized the faces of every cadet, yet these unfamiliar two looked awkward in their uniforms, the sleeves too short for one. Borrowed colors. They didn¡¯t have the Salvado jawline and mane, so Cortland reckoned them for muscle on loan from some merchant interest. They were the ones hurting the most during the strike. Cortland could smell the fire on them. As a group, they looked twitchy and wild-eyed. Something hadn''t gone to plan out there, or else they''d gotten more than they bargained for. Cortland spotted flecks of blood on their gray coats. He grunted to get their attention and pushed off the wall he''d been leaning against. All five made a show of straightening up at the sight of him¡ªslowing their pace, breathing deep, like drunks pretending to be sober. Their eyes bounced and their fingers trembled. Cortland knew what it felt like to come down off that combat high. ¡°Where are you coming from?¡± Cortland asked. ¡°Patrol,¡± Orryn said. His left hand dropped to the hilt of his knife¡ªhe wore one on each hip¡ªand made a show of flicking ash off the handle. ¡°It''s a mess out there, hammerhead. Haven''t you noticed?¡± Orryn made to breeze by Cortland, bravely leading these others through, keeping his head up in that Salvado way. Cortland put three fingers on Orryn''s chest, stopping him. ¡°What''d you call me?¡± Cortland asked. ¡°Cunt?¡± Orryn stared down at the shorter Cortland, and his thick fingers, confusion in his eyes. ¡°Ham¡­¡± He cleared his throat, thinking better of repeating himself. ¡°Your nickname, champion. Vitt says it all the time¨C¡± ¡°You aren''t Vitt, are you?¡± It took Orryn a moment to realize that Cortland actually wanted an answer. ¡°No, champion.¡± Cortland nodded. ¡°I asked where you were.¡± ¡°I told you.¡± Orryn wetted his lips. ¡°Patrol.¡± Cortland scanned the faces behind Orryn. The four all stared at him, some shakier than others. They had the good sense not to open their mouths, at least. ¡°Wasn''t no patrol assigned to you, rat,¡± Cortland said. ¡°Don¡¯t make me ask again.¡± Orryn glanced over his shoulder, tittered slightly, and then leaned forward to speak quietly to Cortland. ¡°What are you doing, man? We both know there¡¯s work that needs doing out there. You want me to cut you in?¡± ¡°We are meant to keep the peace,¡± Cortland said, his eyes sliding from Orryn to the others. ¡°The king said there should be no reprisals against the outer districts.¡± Orryn half-turned to his friends and Cortland caught the subtle way he rolled his beady eyes. ¡°We were simply enforcing existing laws,¡± he said. ¡°On our patrol.¡± Cortland nodded. He was glad for this opportunity. His heart practically soared. There had been too much politics of late and not enough of what Cortland preferred. ¡°I must not be speaking your language,¡± Cortland said. ¡°Let me try another.¡± Cortland¡¯s hammer was in his hand and thrust under Orryn¡¯s chin before the young noble¡¯s eyes could widen. Although his Ink begged him to unleash more, Cortland used only enough force to knock Orryn¡¯s teeth together. It would¡¯ve been an easy thing to take the lad¡¯s jaw clean off his face. Orryn howled, blood squeezing through his lips from his bitten tongue, and fell onto his back. Two of the others¡ªthe ones who Cortland recognized from the Garrison¡ªimmediately dropped to their knees in surrender. The others¡ªthe poseurs¡ªthey had the temerity to reach into their coats for whatever cudgels they carried. Good. Cortland chucked his hammer into the belly of the first, not even bothering with the added velocity he could get from [Hammer Toss]. As that man fell, Cortland used [Weapon Return], snapped his hammer back into his hand, and then simply punched the last man in his face as he stared at the flying weapon. The feeling of a nose breaking beneath his knuckles satisfied Cortland like a cold drink. ¡°Do you fucks understand me now?¡± Cortland asked. ¡°I expect you to turn yourselves into the cells. You¡ª¡± Cortland paused as Orryn scrambled to his feet, one of his knives out, his face pale around his bloody mouth. He didn¡¯t hesitate¡ªCortland would at least credit him that¡ªand came right for Cortland¡¯s throat with the blade. Like a shrug, Cortland used [Greater Shield]. An invisible curtain of force slapped Orryn back against the brick. He started to slide down the wall, but Cortland grabbed him by his shirtfront before he could. Cortland pounded his body against the wall¡ªonce, twice, he lost count¡ªuntil he heard the knife jangle against the floor and Orryn¡¯s body had gone entirely limp. For a moment, Cortland was young again, brawling in a lower tier drinking hole, letting his temper flow like an open tap. That was how Ben Tuarez had found him¡ªpulling him off another man who had the bad luck to test Cortland¡¯s patience. ¡°You want to see what a man can do?¡± Cortland roared. ¡°You want that?¡± Orryn¡¯s head lolled in response. ¡°I think he has learned the lesson, Finiron.¡± King Cizco stood in the hallway, one hand cupping his elbow while his other hand stroked his neatly trimmed beard. The king had tied back his hair into two braids along the sides of his head and he wore dark gray robes of fur-lined ward-weave. He looked ready for battle, Cortland thought, like he might have dressed sixty years ago when meeting the Orvesian siege. Or, when striding out to welcome a returning army led by Bel Guydemion. Cortland took a moment to loom over Orryn, and then stepped back. He made no explanation for the three injured men and the two others still cowering. ¡°It¡¯s time,¡± Cizco said. ¡°Henry ignores my messages, so you will accompany me to Soldier¡¯s Rest. They respect you well enough.¡± ¡°As you wish,¡± Cortland said. As the king came toward him, Orryn reached out a shaky hand from the floor. ¡°Grandfather,¡± he wheezed through broken teeth. ¡°He¡­ hit me¡­¡± Cizco did not break stride, but he did raise an eyebrow. ¡°Grandfather? Oh, you¡¯re one mine.¡± He snorted. ¡°Well, that¡¯s a fine thing you¡¯ve done here, isn¡¯t it, Cortland? Should have beaten him in front of Guydemion. Might have buttered the old man up.¡± With that, Cizco exited the pyramidal city, stepping out into the Underbridge. Cortland rushed to catch up. He was the ageless king¡¯s only protector.
HENRY. IT¡¯S TIME. The message appeared in black Ink across the charred wall of a hovel. The letters stood out from the burnt wood only because of their glistening wetness. Henry Blacksalve merely grunted and returned to his work, wrapping a young girl¡¯s arm in a poultice of aloe. His [Healing Touch] had faded, so Henry needed to resort to other methods of aid. The ways his mother had taught him back when he¡¯d grown up in a neighborhood just like this one. This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there. Using [Summon Garden], Henry manifested the ingredients he would need right there in the outer district street. Probably in violation of some ordinance, but let the Garrison come and try to stop him. People brought him a mortar and pestle, clippers, wooden spoons, clean bandages, hot water¡ªhe looked at the objects and not the faces. Henry only wanted to work. He made salves for the burnt and packed together lozenges for those who had taken too much smoke. Sweat dampened his back, in spite of the cold. Henry made an [Empowering Beacon] so that those who had been fighting to keep the fire at bay could stand in its glow and restore their strength. Men and women gathered around him, warming their hands on the power of the gods. He wondered how many had ever been exposed to magic like that. Probably none of them. ¡°The king calls for you, Blacksalve,¡± said a man who had noticed the message on the wall. ¡°Did you not see?¡± Henry glanced up, recognizing Watts Stonework. The bouncer whose injury had helped set off this chaos. He wore an elegant lens over his damaged eye, the glass darkened, reflecting the fire on the neighboring block. ¡°I saw,¡± Henry replied. ¡°He can wait. The man has time.¡± That made those around him laugh, although Henry hadn¡¯t really meant it as a joke. A sudden itching came over him and he paused his bandaging to scratch at the front of his throat. Black flakes of soot came off beneath his fingernails.
King Cizco tilted his head back and took a deep breath of the evening air. ¡°Smokey,¡± he said to Cortland. ¡°Is it always like this?¡± ¡°Fires in the warehouse district,¡± Cortland replied. He didn''t feel it necessary to implicate Orryn and the others. He had already doled out punishment for that. ¡°Overzealous code enforcement by our people.¡± ¡°Of course.¡± Cizco sighed. ¡°Our people.¡± Cortland had expected to be mobbed when they began their walk from the Underbridge to Soldier''s Rest, but it soon became clear that the king had activated some kind of shielding bubble around them. The magic didn''t just bump people gently aside, it seemed to stop their eyes from settling on the king at all¡ªtheir gazes slid across him and Cortland like they were scenery. The hammer master studied the wards glowing across the king¡¯s cloak. Briefly, he wondered about the cost of such magic. Had he bought the king that power at the Granting with the wish for agelessness? ¡°The people have always been the issue, haven''t they?¡± Cizco mused. ¡°A variable I could never entirely account for.¡± Cortland''s brow furrowed. ¡°I don''t follow.¡± Cizco continued on long strides, barely pausing to smile at Cortland. He knew the king''s face well¡ªit had seldom changed in all the years he¡¯d known him¡ªand Cortland had not before seen this melancholy resignation. ¡°You know, Cortland, I have not walked out of the pyramid in decades. Of course, I''ve been whisked away by the gods for their games, but besides that, I have spent little time outside my walls. I forget the madness that festers beyond my ministrations.¡± Cortland grunted. The streets were actually quieter than the last time he had made the walk to Soldier''s Rest. Many were probably at the warehouses, preventing the fire from spreading further. To their right, an old woman gutted a fish over a bucket. ¡°Do you think you would''ve ended up out here, if you hadn''t pledged to the Garrison?¡± Cizco asked. ¡°Your family was sinking lower and lower down the tiers. The dues may have one day advanced beyond their skills, and yours.¡± Cortland pictured his addled mother tinkering with garbage in her apartments that were far too big for her. He had secured that residence because of his high value to Infinzel, although he had never before considered who had been displaced to put the old woman there. ¡°I don''t know,¡± Cortland said harshly. ¡°Why do you ask me this shit?¡± ¡°A thoughtful mood, I suppose. I am plagued by them lately,¡± the king said. ¡°I always knew my path, you see? I knew I would take Infinzel from my brother. I had always known. It was a perfect system for a while, Cortland, though I don¡¯t think any could properly appreciate it. Everyone provided for, everyone fulfilled, a beacon of prosperity and advancement. Yet, I failed to account for the people. Their whims. I failed to account for the gods and how utterly stingy they would become.¡± Cortland said nothing, but he tried to memorize every word. He would want to tell Henry about this the next time they met. Or Carina, perhaps. Let them unpack the king¡¯s cryptic baggage. ¡°They watch us now,¡± Cizco continued, glancing skyward. ¡°Do you feel them?¡± Cortland looked up, but all he saw was smoke. ¡°Who?¡± ¡°The gods. I believe we approach an inflection point, like our dear logician warned us about.¡± ¡°A what?¡± ¡°It arrives faster than she expected, proving that she is not without her flaws,¡± Cizco said. His features flattened and he turned to Cortland. ¡°You may yet have to kill her, hammer master.¡± ¡°What?¡± Cortland nearly shouted. ¡°Calm yourself. I have not decided truly,¡± Cizco said. He picked up his pace through the narrow alleys, needing no direction to the broken wall and its hidden courtyard. ¡°Come. My old friend awaits.¡±
Dell Whittle always knew the debt would come due. There were some days when he let himself believe that maybe it wouldn''t, but mostly the knowledge vibrated in the back of his mind like a ticking clock. Some nights he woke up in a cold sweat, imagining that he heard a knock on the door. And there were days when he thought for sure that strangers were staring at him with knowing looks. Even considering those flashes of paranoia, he didn''t regret writing that man''s name on the coin. He was a bad person, and one that short, baby-faced Dell couldn''t handle on his own. So, he''d tossed his coin into the wishing pool hidden in the backstreets of Cruxton''s harbor district. All things considered, Dell would do it again. The man died three months after Dell wrote his name. Stabbed to death during a bar fight that verged on a full-fledged riot. Too many bodies swinging too many weapons to figure out who''d done the deed. Dell might have written that off as a bit of good luck¡ªscumbags probably got killed in drunken brawls every day¡ªbut that same night he found a dagger coated in dried blood balanced on his barge''s chain crank. A receipt. He didn''t waste any time tossing the murder weapon into the water, even though he knew you couldn''t discard a debt like that so easily. The Brokerage let him wait for three years. By then, Dell was a successful river-man working out of Cruxton. He moved small batches of precious cargo on his little barge. It had taken years, but he''d saved up and purchased a Gadgeteer water-wheel for the back of his boat so he could take jobs that sent him upriver without hiring on a whole crew of polemen. His ship was fast, maneuverable, and well-maintained. Not a bad life, all in all. A wife and three kids and money enough that they never went hungry. At first, he''d thought the woman was a prospective client because she came to find him at his office. She sat across from Dell, his desk between them, and slid his coin back to him. The coin he had written the bad man''s name on. Dell picked it up and squeezed it in his fist. ¡°I am here to collect,¡± she said. Dell steeled himself. ¡°Who is it?¡± He was not a strong man, but he assumed the Brokerage knew that. He would have to kill someone now. That must be how they worked it. Someone had done it for him, now he''d do it for someone else, and these middlemen made sure it all balanced out. They wouldn''t give Dell someone who he couldn''t handle, would they? That would be bad for business. Unless, of course, someone had written Dell¡¯s name and the Brokerage wanted him to die. But who? He didn¡¯t have any enemies left in the world. As Dell¡¯s mind spiraled, the assassin cocked her head. ¡°Not who, captain. What and where.¡± The Brokerage wanted him to move some cargo upriver. He was supposed to go all the way north on the Troldep until he reached Iceloch, the frozen bay situated in the shadow of the Nortmost. Once there, he was to take up residence at the Clear Sky Inn¡ªDell couldn¡¯t imagine what kind of inn operated at the top of the world¡ªand await further instructions. ¡°You will undertake this voyage alone,¡± the woman told him. ¡°Ah.¡± Dell hesitated. ¡°Is that a problem?¡± ¡°No, I can do it,¡± Dell replied. ¡°Slower going, though. Get there quicker and safer with a few hands to aid me. And clients usually like their own security.¡± ¡°Do not concern yourself with timing,¡± the woman said. ¡°Or safety.¡± Later, Dell remembered that she was tanned from the sun, dark-haired, and very beautiful, but he could not have recalled a single real detail of her face. Maybe her ears stuck out a little strangely? She was a smudge in his memory. Except for the dagger and coins tattoo on her throat, which she had revealed with a casual unbuttoning of her high-necked dress. For that matter, he could not remember going to his office or showing her in. The whole experience felt like a dream. Even the coin she handed him was gone, although Dell could feel the weight of it still against his palm. It had been real, though. He knew that. So, what choice did he have? Dell knew the stories about what happened to those who dared welch on the Brokerage. For them, death arrived as a relief. The journey upriver without a crew would cost him an entire season of business. The household budget would be tight, but his wife would manage. He told her a story about some long term contract he needed to honor¡ªone that would end up not paying out and make Dell look like a fool in her eyes¡ªbut that was a small price to pay for honoring this debt. He would sleep easier when it was all over. On the day of his departure, Dell found three large trunks stowed in his cargo hold. The footlockers would¡¯ve fetched a fine price on their own¡ªthey were solidly made, leather stretched across metal, inlaid with gold. One of them was locked, two of them were only latched. ¡°Nope,¡± Dell said to himself. ¡°No, thank you.¡± Dell wasn¡¯t particularly greedy, ambitious, or stupid. If the Brokerage intended to test him, he would make sure to pass. He ignored the trunks, never so much as peeking inside. The Brokerage hadn¡¯t told him that he couldn¡¯t examine his cargo¡ªbut he assumed they would value his discretion. The voyage upriver went off as predicted. It was hard labor and slow-going, as predicted, but the currents were at their winter ebb and Dell didn¡¯t mind the chill that set in from the north. He brought books to read, kept on top of water-wheel maintenance, and put the trunks out of his mind. Early on, he made a few stops at the usual river trading posts, but got tired of dancing around questions from acquaintances about why he was crewed so light and carrying so little. Most people, he realized, assumed that he had run out on his family. All in all, it was uneventful and a bit depressing. Until Infinzel. During northbound runs, Dell had always enjoyed passing beneath the massive pyramidal city. It was a breathtaking experience, and the riverfront hospitality was the finest on the continent. Tonight, however, fires leapt up from the neighborhoods crammed between the great pyramid and its surrounding wall. Boats had dropped anchor or were turning back entirely. Ships jostled on both sides of the river, some trying to escape from the docks and others trying to wedge their way in. Near the banks, he watched shadowy figures wade through the water and board a small craft, a scuffle with the crew ensuing. Dell shook his head. A difficult time to arrive. Dell cranked down the water-wheel to slow his boat¡¯s pace and jogged below deck to grab his crossbow. He knew an environment ripe for robbery when he saw one, though he hadn¡¯t suspected to encounter that kind of thing in typically orderly Infinzel. As he returned to the stairs, Dell skidded to a stop in front of the cargo hold. The two unlocked trunks were open. ¡°No,¡± Dell moaned. ¡°No, no, no.¡± They were empty. In the space of a few minutes, someone had cleaned Dell out. Tasting bile in his mouth, Dell sprinted back up the stairs, aiming his crossbow wildly as he emerged onto the deck. Perhaps he could still catch the bastard and reclaim the Brokerage¡¯s treasures with the assassins none the wiser. ¡°Calm yourself, captain,¡± a man¡¯s deep voice said. ¡°We only wanted a look.¡± Dell¡¯s finger froze on the crossbow¡¯s trigger. Two figures stood on the deck of his boat, staring out at the slowly approaching chaos of Infinzel. A man and woman dressed in silky clothes that resembled pajamas. Neither seemed to mind the chill in the air. As Dell stood speechless, the broad-backed man turned to look at him. Dell stared at a wooden mask shaped like an elephant. The trunk flared outward between eyes that were curved into angry slits. ¡°Continue up the river, please, captain,¡± Wrathful Elephant said. ¡°We will assure you face no trouble on the way.¡± Dell hurriedly set down the crossbow and rushed over to the crank for the boat¡¯s water-wheel. He kept his eyes down until the slender woman started speaking. Dell recognized the voice. He was certain she was the assassin that had visited him. She wore a simian-styled mask, the teeth bared in mirth. ¡°Did you know that I invited a man from Infinzel to join us at the beach?¡± Laughing Monkey asked. Her companion chuckled. ¡°Not just any man, I heard. You set your sights high.¡± ¡°Well, I am not just any woman, am I, brother?¡± Laughing Monkey folded her hands behind her back, bent one knee, and turned her ankle girlishly. ¡°No, sister. You are not.¡± ¡°He disappointed me greatly by not accepting my invitation,¡± Laughing Monkey said. ¡°I think that I will tell him so.¡± Wrathful Elephant paused. Dell heard the clinking of coins and hazarded a closer look¡ªthe bigger man held a small stack of angles, shuffling them from one hand to the other. ¡°Now, sister? Is that wise?¡± he said at last. ¡°Oh, no, not now,¡± she replied. ¡°Soon, I think. I shall find my hammer master in the mountains and he will warm himself by my glow, much like his city warms itself tonight.¡± ¡°Amusing,¡± Wrathful Elephant said. ¡°May the gods be ever blind to our arrangements.¡± ¡°May the gods be ever blind,¡± Laughing Monkey agreed. Dell cranked the water-wheel back up to speed, grateful that the noise of gears drowned out whatever else the assassins said. He did not want to hear anymore.
60. [Infinzel] Solstice, Part Eight
Carina Goldstone and Cortland Finiron, Champions of Infinzel Those they have met so far¡­ ¡­and those they will meet soon
30 Frett, 61 AW The pyramidal city of Infinzel, North Continent 150 days until the next Granting The gods watched Infinzel. And they waited for their moment.
The spy felt the wind shift northward, which turned the fires in the opposite direction. She stood in front of the wagon-sized double doors that fed into the warehouse she had purchased a year ago using a false identity and breathed out lightly. Three more clumps of ramshackle dwellings were all that separated months and months of cautious work from being uncovered by the careless blaze started by these gods damned dust-poisoned idiots. The spy watched a pair of men sprint down the street toward the river, arms loaded with empty buckets. She sneered and edged backwards. Rolling up her sleeve, the spy brushed the gold cuff wrapped around her delicate wrist. It was shaped into the scales of Penchenne¡ªthe same symbol hidden beneath the spy¡¯s scarves¡ªwith two cloudy gems mounted where the pans should be. One gem pulsed with the spy¡¯s heartbeat; the other with her mistress¡¯s. ¡°We are safe,¡± the spy whispered. ¡°The fire will not reach us.¡± The spy needed to say the words aloud. The gem connected the champion to her sponsor, allowed the exile queen to hear through the spy¡¯s ears, but did not give her sponsor access to the spy¡¯s thoughts. The spy appreciated that small bit of privacy. She would not have wanted the exile queen to know how eagerly she anticipated the end of this year¡ªthe fifth and final of her required service. ¡°Good.¡± Deidre said in reply, the words a whisper in the spy¡¯s ear. ¡°Check the men. If any have cold feet, kill them. I can send others.¡± Nodding, the spy slipped back inside, bolting the doors behind her. Officially, this warehouse belonged to a federation of farmers doing business out of the villages between Penchenne and Cruxton. They had enough sacks of oats to pass a cursory inspection. Further back, though, beyond the piles of burlap and the carts arranged in an obscuring blockade¡ªthere was the pit. They had been digging for months now. Slowly, steadily, careful about the noise. No magic, ever. They used machines created by the Gadgeteers that were originally meant for excavating out in the Gen¡¯bi desert. A great corkscrew that loosened the earth, a massive crank-powered scooper that cleared the debris, and then tired arms and shovels and pickaxes. The pit went deeper every day, and still the spy knew they were months away from breaking through. That was as expected. Timing was imperative and they were on track. But the fire had spooked some of the men. A few had gathered weapons and others loudly contemplated fleeing. There were six working for the spy¡ªshe¡¯d selected all of them personally. These were men who didn¡¯t mind hard labor, men who could dabble in engineering should one of the machines need repairs, men who could endure boredom if a fat payout waited at the end. Most importantly, they were men who no one would come looking for. They weren¡¯t allowed to leave the warehouse except on the rare occasions the spy allowed it, when she sensed they might start going stir crazy otherwise. She let them blow off steam, but always under her unwavering supervision. Special care needed to be taken that no one notice their Ink and begin asking questions. As she returned inside, the spy was relieved to find five of her men had returned to their endless card game. They must have reached the same conclusion about the fire as she had, or else they understood that cooler heads would stay attached. Only the youngest of her team was absent from the game. The spy never enjoyed working with young men¡ªthey always thought they had so much to prove. She had only hired this one because he was an adept little monkey when it came to machinery. But, as it turned out, Gadgeteer devices were well made and needed few repairs after proper assembly. The spy found him pacing by the edge of the pit, staring down into the darkness. He smiled shakily when he saw her, his eyes glassy. ¡°We should blow it tonight,¡± he said. ¡°It¡¯s got to be deep enough, right?¡± ¡°You knew the schedule when you took the job,¡± the spy replied. ¡°We stick to it.¡± ¡°But think about it.¡± He snapped his fingers excitedly. ¡°This fire gives us a perfect cover. They¡¯re already at each other. We can make things even worse and get away clean.¡± The spy came closer and put on a smile. Her face had often been described as flat and affectless. It was a good face for her work. Her smile looked like the kind of thing painted on a doll. She put her hand on the younger man¡¯s shoulder. ¡°My friend, wouldn¡¯t you rather go play cards?¡± she asked him. She heard him swallow. The spy let him feel the weight of her hand. She let him see how her shadow moved¡ªindependent from her¡ªflanking the young man so that there were only two directions available to him. The card table or the pit. ¡°Of course, ma¡¯am, cards,¡± he said quickly. ¡°I didn¡¯t mean anything by it. Only excited.¡± The spy nodded and let him go join the others. She stepped forward to peek into the dark gash they had dug into the earth, wondering if the creatures buried down there could yet smell the smoke. ¡°You¡¯re merciful,¡± Deidre said in her ear. The spy snorted. ¡°Keep an eye on that one.¡± ¡°Of course,¡± the spy whispered. Only the gods had more eyes in Infinzel than the spy of Penchenne.
One silver lining, at least, was that the assassin wishing pool had not been rebuilt in Guydemion''s courtyard. Cortland let himself enjoy that small victory for a moment. Then, he turned his attention to the dozens of faces staring at him and the king. Men and women were assembled in loose ranks on either side of the path leading toward the tavern''s entrance. Some of them were old¡ªin their eighties or nineties¡ªand showed the wear of hard living. These elders were allowed to sit on benches closest to the path while the hardier stood behind them, though Cortland saw few faces younger than his own. All of them wore uniforms that Cortland had rarely seen¡ªantique things, gray trimmed with green, cut looser than a Garrison uniform to allow for horseback riding. These were the uniforms of Infinzel''s ranging army. A force that hadn''t existed in some sixty years. ¡°Good evening,¡± King Cizco said. Cortland had sensed the king release the spell that disguised them as soon as they brushed through the threadbare flags that hid the courtyard¡¯s entrance. His hand twitched toward his hammer, but he resisted the urge. The battalion of old timers sized up him and the king and, as a group, maintained a stoic silence. It was quiet enough that Cortland could hear shouting in the distance. ¡°Well,¡± the king said after a moment. ¡°You¡¯re all dressed up. When does the war start?¡± This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report. No one laughed. But, mercifully, a woman did step forward. Unlike the others, she wore a dress somewhat befitting a royal reception¡ªalbeit more like something a school teacher might choose for the first day of classes. She afforded the king the briefest of bows. ¡°The veterans of Guydemion''s host and their living ancestors have come to greet you, my king,¡± she said. ¡°Greet me?¡± Cizco glanced at Cortland. ¡°Have I gone deaf, Finiron?¡± Cortland grunted. ¡°No.¡± The woman smirked. ¡°They have come out to see you, anyway,¡± she said, then stepped aside and gestured for the king and his hammer master to come forward. ¡°The general awaits.¡± ¡°Yes, it grows late, let us not keep him awake,¡± Cizco murmured. The king drew himself up and Cortland thought he made a bit of a flourish with his cloak. Cortland knew the pains the king took to come off as an everyman, but the cold reception from the veterans of Soldier¡¯s Rest pulled the noble imperiousness to the surface. He sauntered through their ranks to the door. Cortland followed a few steps behind, and the woman fell in next to him. ¡°Well met, hammer master,¡± she said quietly. ¡°I''m Hellie Opensky. My husband speaks highly of you.¡± Cortland kept his eyes on the king''s back. He didn¡¯t recognize the name¡ªexcept that it was one of the pretend-noble surnames adopted in the outer districts by those who wished not to be known by their parents¡¯ callings. ¡°Husband?¡± ¡°Watts Stonework. He claims your intervention saved him a worse fate with the Secondson.¡± Cortland winced. If he''d knocked Vitt on his ass sooner, perhaps Guydemion''s man would still have his eye, and they wouldn''t even be here. ¡°I don''t know about that.¡± She touched his arm gently. ¡°My husband would rather lose a fight than have one broken up prematurely.¡± While Cortland considered that, they stepped inside. Hellie closed the wooden door behind them. Cortland hadn¡¯t known what to expect from Guydemion¡¯s and so found himself oddly disappointed by its ordinariness. It was a tavern like any other, albeit one especially well-maintained. A polished bar with an impressive selection, tables and chairs, a wide hearth with a guttering fire, and a stage for entertaining. Flags hung from the rafters. Cortland recognized the broken wall symbol they had adopted in Soldier¡¯s Rest and the skull-headed riders charging out from the pyramid that represented Infinzel¡¯s old ranging army. There were other tattered banners amongst those¡ªprizes collected at battles won by Guydemion¡¯s host¡ªincluding the black-and-white flag of old Orvesis and the red-on-brown smoking volcano of Endpass. Next to the hearth, someone had made a circle of half-finished bottles of wine and dried flower garlands. Almost like an offering, Cortland thought. He tried to catch Hellie¡¯s eye to ask her about that, but she had already moved across the room to stand behind the general. ¡°Cizco Firstson,¡± Bel Guydemion said. ¡°You come to me at last.¡± Guydemion¡¯s voice was soft, high-pitched, with a delicate lisp. There were stories about the savage injuries that he had suffered during his campaign in the Final War¡ªwounds that kept him from continuing his noble line upon his return to Infinzel. Cortland supposed they must be true. The old general looked to Cortland like a pale caterpillar trying to push his way out of a cocoon of blankets. Bel Guydemion was shrunken, nearly hairless, and pudgy. His brown-spotted jowls resembled rotten fruit. In short, he looked every day of his ninety years. None of the hardiness of legend remained in the fleshy geezer nestled in his wheeled-chair. And yet, Cortland detected a sharpness in the old general¡¯s eyes, which combined with a pouting mouth that seem poised for mockery. ¡°King Cizco,¡± Cortland said brusquely. ¡°Of course. Forgive an old man his lapses in memory,¡± Guydemion said in his whispery voice. ¡°I swore my oaths to King Hectore so many decades ago. A day I somehow remember clearly. And yet, I cannot remember the day of his passing. Remind me, when was that, King Cizco?¡± The king¡¯s silence and hesitation surprised Cortland. Cizco stared at the lumpen Guydemion as if a creature from his nightmares had come crawling into the waking world. The man was Cizco¡¯s age and Cortland wondered if the king now contemplated what he would look like if he actually suffered the ravages of time. After an uncomfortable few seconds, Cizco shook his head as if to clear his mind, and plastered on a beatific smile. ¡°As you well know, my brother died a death of the spirit long ago,¡± Cizco said. He approached the table, setting his smooth hands on the back of the single chair across from Guydemion. ¡°Have you brought me here to litigate the past, Bel? Are we to clean our dirty laundry together?¡± He glanced over his shoulder, toward the courtyard. ¡°I had forgotten your colors. They once symbolized heroism and perseverance. Although, that changed once your host returned, did it not? After the rapes and murders?¡± ¡°Ugly days,¡± Guydemion said. ¡°We agree on that.¡± Cizco yanked out his chair and sat. Cortland stood over his right shoulder, with Hellie Opensky mirroring his position behind the general. ¡°And shall we return to them now?¡± Cizco asked. ¡°Is that what you want for your legacy after all these years?¡± ¡°Legacy is for historians,¡± Guydemion replied. ¡°I only care about fair treatment for my people.¡± ¡°Have I not treated you fairly?¡± Cizco made an exaggerated look around the room. ¡°You seem to be doing fi¡ª¡± The king¡¯s head snapped around in the other direction with enough force that Cortland reached for his hammer. Across the table, Hellie took a step backward and Guydemion stirred beneath his blankets. It was as if someone had shouted for Cizco¡¯s attention, yet the room was quiet. While he appeared to be staring at the far wall, Cizco¡¯s gaze was unmistakably aimed back at the pyramid. ¡°Cizco?¡± Cortland asked. ¡°What is it?¡± The king shook his head, slowly turning his attention back to Guydemion. ¡°Something is¡­ amiss.¡±
Carina had come to him on the night of the Open Gate. A little drunk, vibrating from the violence she had seen done to Watts Stonework, and angry with him for his little sermon rallying the folks of Soldier''s Rest. But Traveon Twiceblack knew how Carina''s anger worked. He knew that she enjoyed being frustrated by him. She had always resented the freedom he operated with¡ªhis dumb luck, she called it¡ªthe way he improvised his way through situations that for her would require months of careful planning. A delightful contrast in styles, Traveon always thought. That was why they made such a formidable pairing. Some friction was inevitable. And oh, how there had been friction that night of the Open Gate. First, she yelled at him. Then, she shoved him into bed. How could he deny one of Infinzel''s brave champions? They restarted what had begun when they were teenagers. A heat between them that felt like making up for lost time. Or, Traveon thought, less charitably, perhaps Carina¡¯s was a spark first ignited by someone else. But here he was, the safer, more logistical option. Whatever¡ªsuch romantic distinctions made little difference to him. Traveon knew better than to ask questions of an exotic bird when one came to perch upon his branch. He also knew better than to pursue Carina. She wasn''t one who liked to be chased. Everything had to be her idea, or at least feel that way. And yet, scaling the walls of the pyramidal city for his visits to uncooperative merchants had put Traveon back in mind of their teenage years. Secret passages and dark recesses, ripping each other''s clothes off in the glow of wards Carina wished to study. The city felt like their playground then. Now, it felt like the whole place teetered on the brink of a drop. He would pop by to see here. Just this once. Traveon understood his bad timing as soon as Carina turned to face him. He expected, at worst, outrage and irritation for his trespass, to be yelled at and shoved out a window. Instead, he saw a rare thing on Carina''s face. True fear. ¡°Water, alcohol, towels!¡± She shouted at him, gesturing wildly at the basin and shelves near her dining area. ¡°I need to clean this off!¡± Traveon did not quite understand what this was. The urgency in her voice killed any quip he might have prepared at the half-dressed state of her. She had painted a symbol on her ribs¡ªnot quite finished, he thought¡ªin crimson. A symbol nestled against the rest of her Ink, but one that didn¡¯t exactly fit. He leapt the rest of the way into her room and scrambled toward the items she requested. For a moment, Carina stood there with a paintbrush poised in one hand, as if she might still make adjustments to the symbol. Then, she screamed. ¡°Look out!¡± At first, Traveon thought he¡¯d knocked into something. Stupidly, he glanced down at his feet, expecting to have disturbed some ritualistic chalk drawings or other such Carina-colored madness. He didn¡¯t realize that Carina¡¯s words hadn¡¯t been a reprimand but a warning¡ªnot until the nightstalker¡¯s claws turned the flesh on his back into bloody ribbons.
There was a natural interaction between [Alert] and [Detect Magic]. The two symbols were meant to be joined by a complicated latticework of overlapping lines. Carina knew she had botched that when Traveon surprised her. Given enough time, she could¡¯ve fixed it. But then Vitt¡¯s pet nightstalker leapt through her window and set about mauling poor Traveon. In the seconds before, her [Alert] triggered. And, in response, the liar¡¯s ink caught fire. Carina began to scream as the flames rose up from her chest, puckering and crisping her skin, not so different from the fate that had befallen Arris Stonetender. At the same time, her own Ink seemed to be repulsed by the misfiring chanic, her dark tattoo squeezing and pinching her flesh, peeling backward, until her skin ripped open and fresh blood sizzled down into the growing flames. These pains were merely the beginning. [Detect Magic] worked. It worked too well. The entirety of Infinzel¡¯s layered system of arcane artistry glowed in her mind. She could see through the walls and the floor. Her eyes felt forced open as blinding stratum of enchantment seared across her perception. She was reminded of the pain of Cortland¡¯s hammer crashing down on her skull, but that at least ended with welcoming darkness. As she tried to turn from this knowledge, her eyelids dried into brittle fragments like fingernails and broke off her face. The skin around her eyes peeled backward, exposing bone. She had seen this coming, hadn¡¯t she? The more it hurt, the more she would learn. Carina willed herself to focus. To understand something¡ªanything¡ªthrough this mind-bending agony. She managed to recover her wits¡ªfor a minute? A few seconds? Time was washed away in the pain. All that mattered was that Carina saw the lines, just as Samus Bind had described. Cords of power attached to a hundred points throughout Infinzel, feeding arcane energy into a central location. Why were the lines stretched across the city? Why did this power coalesce somewhere in the outer districts? Carina wasn¡¯t sure when he arrived, but Vitt Secondson-Salvado stood before her. He looked horrified, afraid to come near her. One of the lines of energy was attached to him. She could see how his lungs flexed and struggled, suppressing a cough even now. Always coughing, never healing¡ªand always the line of energy, draining, flowing away, away, away¡­ ¡°Oh, Vitt, he uses you.¡± Carina¡¯s words tasted like copper and ash. She couldn¡¯t suppress the cackle that ripped loose from her. ¡°He uses all you children.¡±
61. [Infinzel] Solstice, Conclusion
Carina Goldstone and Cortland Finiron, Champions of Infinzel Those they have met so far¡­ ¡­and those they will meet soon
30 Frett, 61 AW The pyramidal city of Infinzel, North Continent 150 days until the next Granting Vitt Secondson-Salvado expected treason. Or, if that was too much to ask, to catch Carina and the cocky little bartender in some illicit tryst. He wanted an undeniable, present day link between the logician and the troublemakers in Soldier''s Rest who had raised her. Of course, such a discovery would do little to smooth relations with the striking outer districts¡ªpreposterous to think that some whispered he was to blame for the present chaos¡ªbut Vitt suspected it would be enough to convince his father to take a firmer hand. Or, at least, for the king to again acknowledge Vitt¡¯s existence. However, Vitt had not expected to find the logician on fire. Vitt swung through Carina¡¯s window victoriously and then froze, his leering grin fading. As suspected, he had found Carina in a state of undress. A symbol in the language of the gods burned on her chest, the flames leaping up like from a freshly stoked hearth. Vitt thought the burning symbol read [Detect Magic], but that wasn¡¯t one of the girl¡¯s abilities, was it? Carina¡¯s existing Ink writhed across her torso, bunching and peeling back from the flames, spilling bursts of blood where her skin split. More disturbing yet was her face¡ªruined, Vitt thought¡ªthe flesh around her eyes peeled back, all her features taut and strained, like she faced a powerfully scathing wind. Her wide open eyes were alight with an arcane glow, staring off into the distance. ¡°Fuck me,¡± Vitt mumbled. A low growl to his right momentarily caught the hunter¡¯s attention. His nightstalker Patricia hunkered down, ready to pounce, but she had also been stilled by the sight of Carina. Or, perhaps, it was the two small arrows¡ªone in her shoulder, the other in the side of her neck¡ªthat had given Patricia pause. A zigzagging trail of blood led from Patricia to the far side of Carina¡¯s bed. There cowered the bartender, Traveon Twiceblack, bleeding from the clawing Patricia had delivered to his back. He held a hand-bow in front of him, pointing first at Patricia, then Vitt, and then back to Patricia. And now, a different conspiracy took root in Vitt¡¯s mind. One where the logician¡¯s spurned lover came back for some kind of revenge, or else came to assail her for not being sufficiently supportive of Soldier¡¯s Rest. Perhaps, Vitt thought, he had known this all along, instinctively, and had arrived just in time to protect his fellow champion. ¡°What have you done to her?¡± Vitt snarled. ¡°Done? Me?¡± Traveon replied. ¡°Get fucked, moron.¡± Vitt¡¯s knees bent in readiness. The bartender might get one shot off, but with Vitt¡¯s [Speed+] he was unlikely to hit. And then, Vitt could be on him. Snap his neck with his bare hands. No reason to bother dirtying his blade. ¡°You see that?¡± Traveon asked, pointing upward. ¡°What is it?¡± At first, Vitt suspected a ploy, an attempt to distract him. But, when he glanced upward, he saw a stone plate in Carina¡¯s ceiling vibrating with energy, a glow emanating from beneath. A rune hidden in the logician¡¯s room. But why¡­? ¡°Oh, Vitt, he uses you.¡± Vitt¡¯s attention snapped back to Carina as she croaked out words. Like some cackling undead apparition, she stumbled toward him, reaching for Vitt¡¯s chest and grasping at the air between them. He felt a cough tickle the back of his throat, but fought it down. ¡°He uses all you children,¡± Carina continued. ¡°I can see it now. He drains you. Your father drains you.¡± With Carina now in arm¡¯s reach, Vitt hesitated for only a moment. He whipped off his cloak and spun it around her, using it to pat out the flames on her chest. She screamed in the way he¡¯d heard Garrison cadets scream during surgery when an arrow needed to be pulled out of them, and then collapsed against him. Her body was surprisingly cold, and light, and he worried that the logician might shatter as he scooped her up. He needed her whole. He needed to know what she meant, what she had seen. ¡°Hey!¡± Traveon shouted as Vitt stepped toward the window. ¡°What are you¡ª?¡± ¡°Kill him,¡± Vitt said to Patricia, the order an afterthought. Vitt did not stop to watch the nightstalker work. He leapt out into the night in search of the healer Henry Blacksalve. The man would no doubt be at the fires with his gods damned bleeding heart. Vitt only hoped he could make it there in time, and that Blacksalve would have enough Ink to piece their logician back together.
Cortland had thought the king¡¯s attitude too flippant. Mocking the old general in his own place, using that condescending tone that sometimes even got under Cortland¡¯s skin¡ªit was not like Cizco to be so tactless. Of course, Cortland kept these thoughts to himself, assuming the king knew the best way to handle Bel Guydemion. But then, Cizco¡¯s head had snapped around in the direction of the pyramid. Whatever alert rattled Cizco¡¯s senses, it left him drained of patience. When his attention returned to Guydemion, he leaned forward with shoulders bunched beneath his ward-lined battle mage cloak, looking to Cortland like a man poised to tip the table and throw the first punch. Power radiated from Cizco¡ªa bracing ripple of magic, like heat pouring forth from a furnace. That arcane energy¡ªdrawn from reserves Cortland didn¡¯t understand¡ªwas not pushed into any particular spell. King Cizco simply wanted them to feel it. Behind the old general, Hellie Opensky took a nervous step back. Cortland, reflexively, dropped a hand to his hammer. The fleshy old general, swaddled in his blankets like a babe, simply fluttered his drooping eyes at Cizco. ¡°Do you need a moment?¡± Guydemion asked. ¡°To pull yourself together?¡± ¡°Do I not seem together?¡± Cizco said through his teeth. ¡°I have never been one for magic, so perhaps I am ignorant,¡± Guydemion responded. ¡°But I understand there are costs to such power as you draw now. An impetuous use, is it not? Burning up that which we wish for every year?¡± Cizco snorted. He glanced back at Cortland as if to see if the hammer master could believe the old man¡¯s audacity. Cortland kept his expression carefully blank. ¡°You sit there like a shriveled worm beneath my sun and yet lecture me as if we¡¯re equals,¡± Cizco said. ¡°I merely wonder at the costs of your actions and whether such misappropriations of power are why we in the outer districts must suffer.¡± The king scoffed. ¡°Costs and debts. This is all you have ever thought about. All these decades later, and you still think you are owed.¡± ¡°Am I not?¡± Faced with the king¡¯s harsh tone, Guydemion made his voice softer still. As a man prone to anger, Cortland knew how infuriating calmness could be. The old general seemed to be a master of that provoking unflappability. ¡°My memory has not gone so much. Your brother promised every enlisted man and woman a place upon their return.¡± ¡°My brother promised many things, to many people,¡± Cizco said. ¡°He believed death lurked around every corner, waiting to pounce on him, and so it mattered little what he offered knowing he would not be around to make payment.¡± The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. ¡°A luxury you don''t have, given your insistence on lingering.¡± King Cizco set his hands on the table. Cortland wouldn¡¯t be surprised if he left burnt fingerprints in the wood. ¡°No. You are right about that.¡± The king took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. ¡°And you think this debt falls to me, then? All these years lingering out here in your fiefdom of castoffs, waiting for me to kiss your swollen toes. You hold that I should have long ago made room for your army of broken men, cutthroats, and failures. Is that the thrust of it, old man?¡± ¡°We ask for only what is fair,¡± the general responded. ¡°To be treated in the same way as those who live within.¡± ¡°Those within perform a function,¡± Cizco hissed. ¡°They earn their place through work, as they always have. Did you finish your work, Bel? All that fighting. All that running and retreating. It did nothing to protect Infinzel. The greater service, I think, would have been to die out there and spare the pyramidal city decades of you dangling here like a leech.¡± Guydemion¡¯s jaw set beneath his jowls. ¡°You forget how we kept enemies from your walls.¡± ¡°We could have withstood more.¡± ¡°Said with the confidence of a man who watched battles from his high window.¡± As their elders bickered, Cortland hazarded a glance at Hellie Opensky. The woman¡¯s eyes were elsewhere¡ªon the ring of flowers and bottles arranged to one side of the hearth. Again, Cortland wondered about that, but he¡¯d not get a word in here. ¡°Did I lead Infinzel through the first ten Grantings while peeking out through curtains?¡± Cizco asked. ¡°I don¡¯t remember you volunteering for the Ink.¡± ¡°And who fights your battles now, ageless king? A healer from Soldier''s Rest and a young woman who I¨C¡± King Cizco slapped the table. Everyone flinched, including the old general. ¡°Three hundred and forty-three,¡± Cizco said. ¡°Excuse me?¡± ¡°Infinzel is a perfect system. Every task accounted for. I need three hundred and forty-three from the outer districts to keep it functioning. In time, I will find them places inside, but until then, I will let them build as they wish between the walls, increase their earnings, and allow them to form their own Garrison to enforce the laws as you see fit for the outside. All that you have asked for, but only for the three hundred and forty-three who I need.¡± Guydemion¡¯s eyes narrowed. ¡°There are ten times that in the outer districts.¡± ¡°Their families can stay, of course, if a use can be found for them. I am not cruel. And those with businesses that prove necessary. The inns and the trading posts. Perhaps the taverns. We will assess them on a case-by-case basis. The rest?¡± Cizco waved his fingers. ¡°I have too long let them linger due to my sense of charity. They will leave at the end of winter, or I will have them removed.¡± Cortland¡¯s brow furrowed. An eviction of hundreds, maybe thousands. Given how staunchly they¡¯d resisted attempts to break their strike, Cortland doubted the outer districts would go along willingly. The king¡¯s proposal would lead to bloodshed. As a champion, would he be expected to enforce such a thing? Turn his hammer against these people? Cortland wasn¡¯t sure he could do it. Guydemion¡¯s chair creaked. He tilted back slightly, like a potato bug that had been flicked over, Cortland thought. The old general closed his eyes. ¡°Long have I waited for you to make matters so clear,¡± Guydemion said. ¡°That Infinzel does not work for us, but we for it. And you¡ª¡± ¡°Yes,¡± Cizco said. ¡°I am Infinzel. Blah, blah, blah. I will give you a week to consi¡ª¡± Now, it was the king''s turn to be interrupted. ¡°I accept,¡± Guydemion said, his eyes still closed, head back. Cortland was surprised by how quickly the old general acquiesced. Even the king seemed taken aback. ¡°Ah,¡± Cizco said. ¡°Well, this was surprisingly productive.¡± ¡°Not your proposal,¡± Guydemion said, his eyes fluttering open. ¡°Theirs.¡± The old general gestured toward the circle of flowers and bottles. Cortland glanced in that direction¡ªsaw a vibration in the air, there and gone¡ªthen turned back to Guydemion as the old man tugged his blankets away from his chin. The pyramid symbol on his neck was gone, replaced by a broken wall like the one leading out of Soldier''s Rest. Cortland sucked in a sharp breath. ¡°I knew I felt them,¡± Cizco said flatly. ¡°Didn''t I tell you, Cortland?¡± Cortland could only stare. The pyramid was gone from Hellie¡¯s neck, as well. She tentatively rubbed the broken wall on her throat. ¡°They came to us a week ago, after your Garrison thugs brutalized two masons who refused to return to work,¡± Guydemion said. ¡°Right where you see the offerings. A shimmering in the air. A sensation of power untold¡ª¡± The king clicked his tongue. ¡°Spare me the descriptors. I have been in their presence too many times to count.¡± ¡°Not me,¡± rasped Guydemion. ¡°There is yet awe in this world for me.¡± He squinted at Cizco. ¡°The gods offered my people this boon, their protection, and I told them we would wait. We would give the great King Cizco an opportunity to cleanse what festers in Infinzel. Or to show himself as inseparable from the rot.¡± The old general waved his hand and a golden inkwell appeared on the table before him. ¡°You are more experienced at this game than I,¡± Guydemion said, his pudgy hand wrapping around the inkwell. ¡°So, I will give you a week, Cizco, to decide how we might best work together in this new alignment. But I must warn you, Soldier¡¯s Rest will not countenance a wish wasted on vanity.¡± King Cizco stood up, his fingers clenching and unclenching. ¡°Good for you, Bel. One final losing battle before you retreat for the last time.¡± ¡°We¡¯ll see,¡± the old general said. ¡°We¡¯ll see.¡± With that, King Cizco spun away and headed for the exit. Cortland lingered for a moment, still staring at the new symbol on the necks of the two from Soldier¡¯s Rest. He watched as Guydemion took up his quill and stirred the Ink inside. ¡°Not quite full,¡± Guydemion said bemusedly. ¡°I should have asked the king what that means¡­¡±
Traveon Twiceblack felt his blood stop pumping. The sensation wasn''t so different from when he closed a tap at the bar and could feel the pressure from the keg rattle behind his hand. Except, this was in his guts. His horribly clawed open guts. For a moment, he thought that might be the denouement. The last signal from his body¡ªalready numb from the mauling¡ªthat would mark his ignominious end. He would go out gracefully, at least, having shit his pants only a little bit. But Traveon didn¡¯t die. The nightstalker cocked her head and peered down at him with quizzical green eyes. The vicious bitch made a lunge for Traveon''s throat that he was powerless to evade, but though she whipped her head back and forth like she had a piece of meat in her jaws, Traveon felt nothing but hot breath on his throat. The nightstalker''s fangs did not pierce his skin. His new Ink¡ªthe symbol of the broken wall¡ªremained unblemished. As the nightstalker shrank back from him, uncertain what she should do now that the gods had made her master''s order impossible to complete, Traveon found the feeling returning to his limbs. He scrambled backward, his tattered clothes heavy and wet with his blood. Traveon managed to sit up as the flesh on his abdomen closed over his intestines. He spit out a clotted glob and chuckled, pointing at the nightstalker. ¡°You play too much with your food,¡± he said. ¡°Asshole.¡± The beast growled in response, watching him, tail swishing through the air. Traveon staggered to his feet. He did not attempt to retrieve his hand-bow, uncertain if the gods¡¯ protection would hold if he decided to resume hostilities with the cat. He felt lightheaded and not all of his wounds had closed¡ªonly the most serious ones. He would still need stitches, although the cuts that remained no longer bled. The gods looked out for him. They wouldn''t let him lose more than he could afford. ¡°My luck holds,¡± Traveon said to the cat. ¡°I''ll turn my back on you now, as a demonstration of my confidence.¡± And he did, leaving a bloody handprint on the wall next to Carina''s doorway as he made his escape. Carina¡ªwhat had become of her? She''d unleashed something nasty, which Traveon didn''t understand even a little bit. Vitt Secondson-Salvado had swept her away like some grand rescuer and, while this obviously stung Traveon''s ego, he hoped the hunter proved more effective at finding help for Carina than he had at delegating murder to his pets. He prayed that Carina survived the night. They had much to talk about. Although he knew secret ways down from the high tiers, Traveon Twiceblack decided he would take the elevator. Let the people of Infinzel see him bloody and triumphant, with his new symbol upon his neck. None of them could touch him now.
¡°Blacksalve!¡± Henry turned at his name. He recognized Vitt¡¯s commanding voice, although not necessarily the strain in it. The healer couldn¡¯t remember hearing the hunter sound panicked before. For a moment, Henry wondered how Vitt had found him. But then, he noticed how his gaunt frame stood outlined against the pulsing light of his [Empowering Beacon]. A shining signal to his fellow champion. Wiping the back of his hand across his mouth, Henry handed his bottle of wine off to one of the others. The fires in the outer districts were finally out and the mood had shifted to a chaotic kind of revelry. Even considering the bitter cold, there was an aversion to torches given the day¡¯s events. Henry¡¯s beacon provided the light. All around him, the people of the outer districts danced and clutched each other, staring at their new markings, passing around flagons and shaking their fists at the dark triangle that still loomed at the center of their world but no longer seemed so immense. The people fell gradually silent as Vitt barreled through them, then formed a loose perimeter around the Secondson, ready to collapse upon him at the first sign of trouble. Vitt seemed oblivious to the ire directed at him. He held a bundle in his arms that Henry soon realized was a body. ¡°Heal her, Blacksalve,¡± Vitt demanded. ¡°She¡¯s fucked herself completely and I need her alive.¡± Vitt laid the body down in the ashy slush of the street. Henry crouched there, peeling back Vitt¡¯s cloak to reveal Carina. He grimaced at the sight of her¡ªburns and ruptures and a face that looked half-melted by acid. How many times had he already healed this girl? These were some of the worst injuries she¡¯d managed yet. The logician¡¯s breathing was slow and growing weaker. A lucky thing that Vitt had brought her when he did. An hour ago, Henry wouldn¡¯t have had the energy. All his Ink had been faded. But the gods had seen fit to color him back in. Henry activated his [Healing Touch] and pressed his glowing hands to Carina. He lifted her chin slightly. She still had the pyramid on her neck. Loyal to Infinzel, just like she¡¯d always said. Crouched across from Henry, Vitt¡¯s breath caught in his throat. His hand snapped out and grabbed Henry¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Blacksalve, what the fuck is that?¡± ¡°I¡¯m working, Vitt, please,¡± Henry said. ¡°Your neck, man,¡± Vitt continued. ¡°What¡¯s on your neck?¡±
Henry Blacksalve, Healer of the 8th Renown, Soldier¡¯s Rest
62. [Uicha] Cursed
As the days ticked down to the First Granting, not all on Emza had yet accepted the new order of things. There were some who were not ready to exit the First Age, or to lay down their arms from the Final War. In the woodlands to the southeast of Infinzel, a great host of Orvesians gathered. They had been banished from the walls of the pyramidal city, and from conquered cities like Noyega and Cruxton. They trudged toward Penchenne in the hope that the city of diplomats would remain open, and that they might return home to Orvesis by sea. Some flinched with every step, nervous that the gods would once again rebuke them. Meanwhile, from the northeast, came the mercenary army of Endpass. A nuisance to all sides throughout the war, it would take a second volume to catalog the number of times the Enders switched sides and to unpack their reasons for doing so. Suffice to say, they had run out of battles to fight on the northern continent, yet had stockpiled plenty of enemies. A culture born in the shadow of a volcano for whom combat was a way of life, the army of Endpass had a more difficult time adjusting to the gods¡¯ peace than even the Orvesians. Here was a contingent who lived for challenges, steeped in codes of battle honor, and now found their beliefs outlawed by the gods. The men and women of Endpass were thus frothy with rage, believing still that they could fight the will of the gods if they simply tried hard enough. And finally, from the east, came the last host of Infinzel. The battered army had survived despite being cut off from their home for years, a feat largely owed to the chicanery of the General Bel Guydemion. Some described Guydemion¡¯s host as nearly savage by this time, known for their guerilla tactics and brutality, while others argued that this reputation was cultivated purposely by the general who sought every possible tactical advantage. Regardless, Infinzel¡¯s army could at last return home. These three forces met in the neutral territory to the northwest of Penchenne for what would be the last battle of the Final War, colloquially called The Battle of the Bruises. Despite thousands of soldiers from three armies crossing paths and unwilling to cede ground to each other, there would be no casualties, although not for lack of trying. Five days of nearly nonstop skirmishes proved the totality of the gods¡¯ protection. The weapons discarded on the battlefield would remain for years after, rusting in the woodlands, after scavenging locals realized there would be little market for swords and bows. --Record of the First Granting and Dawning of the Second Age Lyus Crodd, Scribe of the Dead Kingdom of Orvesis
Uicha de Orak, Wildcard of the 5th Renown, representing The Forgotten One, adjusting to life on the sea Akoni de Emasyn, Captain of the Dartmyth, and his crew, preparing to be boarded
8 Trollove, 61 AW Aboard the Dartmyth, Central Sea 142 days until the next Granting They were less than a week out from the Flamingo Islands when they came across the wreckage. Jagged chunks of wood tangled in lines and tattered sails bumped against the hull of the Dartmyth. Captain Akoni tossed a net overboard and pulled some of the debris onto the deck where the crew gathered. ¡°You see this?¡± Akoni held up a wooden plank that looked like it could''ve come from the side of a boat. He directed his question at Uicha. The young man stood with the others, barefoot, checkered shirt open, the bandages covering his crimson Ink freshly changed. Uicha felt sleepy¡ªthe sun was high and he had a bit of sunburn on his nose and ears. He probably would''ve been napping in his small cabin if this little commotion hadn''t started up. He''d grown used to life on the Dartmyth. Akoni treated turning Uicha into a sailor like his favorite pastime, but even with those exertions, life was easy on a ship that practically ran itself. In fact, Uicha had begun to dread that the voyage would soon end, and he would once again have to reckon with the fate he stumbled toward. The crew of the Dartmyth were no longer particularly curious about him. Once they reached the islands, there would be new eyes upon him and new lies to tell. He didn¡¯t want to think about that. Uicha stifled a yawn against the back of his hand. ¡°Wood?¡± he said to Akoni. The captain smirked. ¡°Flamteak,¡± he said. ¡°The trees grow on the islands. Some of our people build boats from it.¡± ¡°Cheap boats,¡± muttered Sheppa, the ship''s medic. ¡°Not of the blessed fleet. Heaps only good for the lowest fuckery. Or fishing.¡± ¡°No one fishing out this far,¡± Chamberly, the Dartmyth¡¯s navigator, said. The waterlogged board in Akoni''s hands looked much different from the glossy chocolate-colored planks beneath Uicha''s feet. The Dartmyth had been enhanced by years of wishes. Whatever Flamingo boat had been scuttled out here, Uicha could sense the rest of the crew''s disdain for it, but also their sense of duty. Akoni toed the salvage again. ¡°You see this?¡± He indicated another scrap of ship, this one with scorch marks running down its length. Uicha remembered his farmhouse¡ªthe way the walls had burnt as streaks of lightning sheared through the roof. He shook his head to toss off the memory; he tried to think of the dead archmage as little as possible. ¡°Lightning?¡± Uicha suggested, his voice cracking. ¡°Weather been clear,¡± said Sheppa, grimacing and shielding her eyes as she turned to look over the side. ¡°Bolt-thrower did this,¡± Akoni said. Seeing the look of confusion on Uicha¡¯s face, the captain elaborated. ¡°Merchant gellezza got weapons that sling bolts of fire like arrows. Gadgeteers cooked them up and sell them high.¡± Over the last couple weeks, Uicha had picked up a few references to the gellezza ships of Merchant¡¯s Bay. They were the only foreign vessels that the sailors of the blessed fleet spoke of with any reverence. Great mansions on the water that¡ªwhile not powered by the gods¡ªwere instead financed by the riches of Merchant¡¯s Bay. ¡°Worth a look, don¡¯t you think?¡± Chamberly said to Akoni. ¡°Could be a nice score, eh?¡± Akoni nodded, twisting his finger in the air. ¡°Lookout stations, everyone. Leeward triangles. Let¡¯s see if we can find any of the fools who tried to mount a gellezza with a dinghy.¡± As the crew broke up, Uicha drew close to Akoni. ¡°What did he mean by that?¡± Uicha asked. ¡°A nice score?¡± Akoni grinned and patted his shoulder. ¡°Little brother, we been mostly cruising these last weeks, taking it easy on our way back to the islands. But we out here to do robberies, yeah? And nobody better at getting robbed than merchants.¡± Uicha wasn¡¯t sure how to feel about that. He¡¯d hoped to avoid danger while on board the Dartmyth. But there was something contagious about Akoni¡¯s confidence. And this had been his parents¡¯ life, hadn¡¯t it? At last, he was living the roguish, seafaring adventures he¡¯d always dreamed of. If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. An hour later, from his spot leaning against the port side, it was Uicha who first noticed a glint of metal on the horizon. He shielded his eyes and squinted. A flickering shine was there and gone, there and gone, repeating itself in a pattern that struck him as too rhythmic to be a trick of light on water. ¡°Hey!¡± Uicha shouted over his shoulder. ¡°Is that something?¡± Akoni hustled to his side, whipped out his spyglass, and tracked the shining signal. ¡°Poor bastard,¡± he muttered. The captain handed the spyglass off to Uicha, who quickly found the stranded man through the lens. He''d draped his body over a barrel and looked like little more than a pile of rags, his face buried in his arm, while his other hand listlessly turned the coin this way and that way to catch the sunlight. Uicha wondered how long the man had been stuck out there and if he even knew that he was still making that signal, or if he''d gone completely delirious from thirst and exposure. ¡°Good trick for you to learn,¡± Akoni said. ¡°Light travels better than sound on the water. Most sailors keep something reflective close to heart.¡± He tapped his chest, jingling the dozens of trinkets and jewels that hung around his neck. Then, he turned to shout up to Chamberly at the helm. ¡°Hard to port! Man in the water!¡± The whole ship creaked and the sail overhead snapped, the Dartmyth turning at an angle that should have been impossible for a vessel its size. Uicha braced against the railing until the turn was completed, then ran to the front of the boat so that he could keep the half-drowned sailor in sight. It felt good to be on this side of a rescue for once. Within minutes, the beleaguered sailor would be in the Dartmyth''s shadow. They would take care of him, like they had Uicha. All he needed to say were the words that Uicha has learned in Noyega. Na flamanga ¡®e na¡ª The man''s head popped up. A shaggy mane of graying coils framed a weather-beaten face. Sharp black eyes seemed to precisely locate Uicha, and a crooked grin split the man¡¯s unkempt beard. The man stood up, his attire unfurling about him¡ªa smock of salt-stained rags and silver feathers. At first, Uicha thought the man balanced on the barrel he¡¯d been floating upon. But then, he started to run. Uicha gasped and stumbled backward, nearly dropping the spyglass. The man sprinted across the water like it was solid ground, foam spraying upward where his bare feet slapped the waves. ¡°What-what is that?¡± Uicha yelped. Akoni was at his side in a flash, snatching the spyglass away. He spotted the man running across the water and let out a hiss through his teeth. ¡°Gods damn it, that¡¯s Curse,¡± Akoni said. He turned to shout at the navigator. ¡°Bring us about, Chamberly! Maybe we can outrun the mad bastard.¡± Even considering the power of the Dartmyth, Uicha didn¡¯t see how that was possible. The man called Curse had closed the distance with preternatural speed and now he launched himself into the air with enough force that a great torrent of seawater exploded in his wake. For a moment, he was a shadow against the sun. Then, two ropes of energy shot forth from Curse¡¯s extended hands, wrapping themselves around the Dartmyth¡¯s railing as the boat lurched into another sharp turn. Curse floated above them like a kite. Instinctively, at the sight of those lashes not so different from Ahmed Roh¡¯s whips, Uicha reached for his [Telekinesis]. As Curse dropped toward the Dartmyth, Uicha made a subtle warding gesture with his hand and tried to shove him off course. To Uicha¡¯s surprise, however, a contrasting force responded by pushing back. Uicha ground his heel into the ship¡¯s deck to stop himself from stumbling. Something had rebuffed his [Telekinesis]. Curse landed on the deck with a thud, ran two steps to slow his momentum, and then dropped to a knee to stop himself. Immediately, he sprang back up in a flurry of rags and feathers, his arms opened wide. ¡°Brothers and sisters, I commandeer this vessel on behalf of the champions of the Flamingo Islands!¡± he squawked. ¡°You don¡¯t get to commandeer shit!¡± Captain Akoni yelled, striding out to meet the shambling man. ¡°The Admiralty made laws against that! Against you, specifically!¡± Curse swung about to face Akoni, a fierce grin on his face. ¡°Ah, Akoni de Emasyn, brave captain of the blessed fleet. My luck is changing. You are perfect¡ªperfect indeed! I could not have been offered passage by a better man.¡± ¡°We didn¡¯t offer you shit, cuckoo,¡± Akoni replied. ¡°You tricked us. If I¡¯d know that was you pulling the drowned man act, I¡¯d have let you float on.¡± ¡°Too noble for that! My partner in waiting, you¡¯re far too noble for that!¡± Curse did an excited little shimmy. ¡°Listen, now, I have a story that will delight¡ªis there freshwater? I have much to tell and am very parched.¡± As the captain and the stowaway argued, Uicha edged backward, trying to evade notice. He found himself elbow-to-elbow with Sheppa, whose usual grimace of annoyance had been ratcheted up a few notches by Curse¡¯s arrival. ¡°Who is that?¡± Uicha asked quietly. Sheppa made a noise like she might spit. ¡°Curse de Mou. So-called champion of the islands.¡± ¡°He¡¯s¡­ he¡¯s a champion?¡± ¡°Supposedly. The only one of our four not allowed to captain a ship in the blessed fleet. Or any ship, for that matter. Very bad luck that he¡¯s here.¡± Uicha watched as Chamberly brought Curse a canteen of water and then hurried away. Only Akoni seemed courageous enough to get close to the man. A champion who walked on water and stank of brine was one thing, but Uicha was more curious about his attire. The rags and feathers reminded him of the Orvesian Witnesses. And then, there were the intricate tattoos that ran down his bare arms¡ªimages of blackbirds plunging underwater, their beaks prying open treasure chests. ¡°Why is he¡­?¡± Uicha hesitated, not sure how to phrase his question. ¡°Why is he like that?¡± Sheppa shook her head. ¡°You remember the dark waters we passed?¡± ¡°Orvesis,¡± Uicha said. He cleared his throat. ¡°I guess so.¡± ¡°Curse been obsessed with diving there. Unearthing forgotten treasures of that dead place. Only reason he became a champion, they say.¡± She sucked her teeth. ¡°He kept wrecking boats, so now he¡¯s allowed only singlehanders. No one will crew with the bastard.¡± While Sheppa said all that, Curse tipped his head back to drink. His dripping caftan fell open and Uicha could clearly see the whorls of his champion¡¯s Ink. He could do more than see the Ink¡ªhe could read it as easily as if it were his own.
Kersey de Mou Flamingo Islands 9th Renown
Will+ Jump+
Speed+ Agility+ Water Breathing
Energy Tether Ocean Master Life Drain
Anchor Water Walking
Summon Sea Turtle Summon Drowned
A couple of the symbols¡ªthe summon abilities¡ªwere faded. As Uicha wondered about that, he realized that Curse¡¯s sharp eyes had settled upon him. ¡°Hey!¡± Curse yelled, slapping his chest. ¡°I see you, boy! I see you reading me!¡± ¡°I¡¯m¡­¡± Uicha swallowed. ¡°No I¡¯m not.¡± Curse lunged toward him. ¡°Take off them bandages, little brother! Who you working for?¡± Quickly, Akoni put himself between Uicha and the champion. ¡°Calm down, old fool. That¡¯s Uicha. A farm boy who never seen where he comes from. Probably never seen a champion, neither. That¡¯s why he stares.¡± ¡°Uicha,¡± Curse repeated, a new glint in his eyes. ¡°Uicha de Orak, hey?¡± Uicha¡¯s stomach dropped. The hidden Ink on his chest felt suddenly hot, like Parrot II was begging to be released. He tried to keep his face blank as Curse leered at him over Akoni¡¯s shoulder. ¡°They been talking about you, little brother,¡± Curse said. ¡°Oh, they been looking for you.¡±
63. [Uicha] Little Brother
Uicha de Orak, Wildcard of the 5th Renown, representing The Forgotten One, has everyone¡¯s attention Akoni de Emasyn, Captain of the Dartmyth, and his crew, commandeered by champions Curse de Mou, Ocean Master of the 9th Renown, the Flamingo Islands, knows a score when he sees one
8 Trollove, 61 AW Aboard the Dartmyth, Central Sea 142 days until the next Granting Slowly, Akoni turned to look at Uicha, who tried his best to maintain steady eye contact, even as he felt Sheppa take a subtle step away from him. Meanwhile, Curse stayed behind the captain, tilting his head back-and-forth, as if to shake water out of his ears. The way the Flamingo champion eyed him¡ªlike Battar Crodd, like Ahmed Roh¡ªmade Uicha feel like a butterfly with pins in its wings. ¡°How does he know your name?¡± Akoni asked. Uicha let his eyes widen innocently. ¡°How should I know?¡± ¡°Man, they talk about this boy like he a legend,¡± Curse said. ¡°Don''t look like much to me, but I bet you he hiding Ink under all them bandages. I bet you a boat, Akoni. This boat.¡± ¡°Burns,¡± Sheppa muttered. The ship¡¯s healer turned to Akoni. ¡°We all agreed that had to be a story, right?¡± The idea that the crew of the Dartmyth had been humoring his lie about injuries made Uicha cringe inwardly. Sheppa and the others were now arrayed in a loose semi-circle around him and the captain. Uicha was relieved that some of them¡ªlike the navigator Chamberly¡ªhad their bodies turned more toward Curse, as if they might protect Uicha from the ragged champion. Uicha wasn¡¯t sure what to make of what Curse had said. Who was talking about him? Who was looking for him? The Magelab? The Orvesian Witnesses? Uicha didn''t know enough to concoct a new lie. And anyway, he wasn¡¯t some master fabulist. Mostly, he relied on being underestimated. The best thing to do would be to keep playing dumb. ¡°This doesn''t make sense,¡± Uicha said, voice getting a little high, which wasn¡¯t entirely an act. ¡°I''m from Ambergran. I''m nobody. Who could be looking for me?¡± ¡°The dusties,¡± Curse answered. ¡°They hear your name in the sand. An islander name. Me? I think they all poisoned from the sun, brains overbaked. But here you are, eh? A boy with the name that¡¯s been haunting the dusties.¡± Uicha wasn''t sure what to say to that. He didn''t know who Curse meant by ¡®dusties.'' Some southern nickname for the ash-covered Orvesians? Regardless, the Flamingo champion didn¡¯t seem like the right person to be assessing anyone¡¯s mental stability. ¡°He fetch us a good price,¡± Curse continued, tugging on Akoni''s arm. ¡°The dusties will bury us in rounds just to break bread with the boy.¡± ¡°I don''t care about the Gen''bi,¡± Akoni said, snatching his arm away from Curse. ¡°I want to know who I¡¯ve been carrying on my ship.¡± Uicha opened his mouth, then closed it. The Gen''bi? What did they have to do with anything? How did they know about him? ¡°Your color comes from their desert,¡± Kayenna Vezz said. At the sound of her voice, Uicha flinched. The spirit of the Orvesian witch had mostly left him alone since he boarded the Dartmyth. Now, she leaned against the railing, her back to the rest of the crew, as if they weren''t worthy of her interest. Uicha did his best not to look directly at her, or respond. She would intuit what he wanted to know. ¡°The chanic,¡± she continued. ¡°If we wish to know more about our benefactor, perhaps it would be worth meeting with these Gen¡¯bi. They have changed much since my time.¡± Uicha remembered the crushing pain that served as his introduction to the Forgotten One, the entity whose strange mark he now wore. Some gods damned benefactor. He didn¡¯t want to know more about that thing. It had been Kayenna¡¯s influence that bound him to the creature and¡ª ¡°Yes, yes, you would float aimlessly forever,¡± Kayenna snapped. ¡°Pretending that you might become one of these people. But you know it is too late for that. Our time runs short and we are not prepared.¡± ¡°I just wanted to see home,¡± Uicha said aloud. The words were meant for Kayenna, but they softened Akoni¡¯s expression. ¡°And you still can,¡± the captain said, taking a step forward. ¡°What''s beneath the bandages, little brother?¡± Uicha blinked and Kayenna vanished. Once again, he was alone and yet surrounded. ¡°You said there wouldn''t be questions,¡± he said quietly. ¡°That was before I knew how heavy the answers could be,¡± Akoni replied gently. ¡°Come, now. Are you not among friends?¡± ¡°Too gentle a touch, Akoni!¡± Curse shrieked. ¡°You cup your hands and expect the fish to swim in, but what we need is the harpoon!¡± And with that, Curse lunged around the captain. He was fast¡ªhis movements like water¡ªand he had pulled Akoni¡¯s scimitar from the captain¡¯s hip before Akoni could even turn his way. Curse came at Uicha with an overhand slash, the blade aimed for Uicha¡¯s collar. Uicha did not have Curse¡¯s [Speed+] or [Agility+]. Later, he¡¯d have time to wonder how his [Swordplay+] would stack up against an opponent with enhanced physical ability¡ªmost opponents Uicha faced were already stronger and faster than him, but he had yet to face someone additionally boosted by Ink. In the moment, though, Uicha sensed that he wouldn¡¯t be quick enough to get his sword loose. Instead, he raised a hand and activated [Ice Mastery]. A v-shaped shield of crystalline ice leapt from Uicha¡¯s hand and caught Curse¡¯s blade on the way down. The ice crackled around the sword, trapping it. When Uicha snapped his hand away, the weight of the ice block was enough to rip the weapon from Curse¡¯s hand. Akoni and the rest of the crew shouted and scrambled backward at the display of magic, but Uicha was too focused on Curse to care about that. The brine-stinking ocean master stumbled forward, weaponless now, and grabbed for Uicha¡¯s face. A darkness radiated from his hand¡ªnot so different than the curls of rottenness that Uicha had seen wafting up from the Orvesian shoreline. Uicha leaned backward and, at the same time, pushed Curse away with his [Telekinesis]. Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings. Just as when Uicha had tried to deflect Curse during his boarding of the Dartmyth, Uicha felt his ability get rebuffed. This time, he understood the source. Curse¡¯s [Will+] prevented Uicha from exerting control over the man¡¯s body or mind¡ªhe could intuit that just from glimpsing the tattoos that covered Curse¡¯s chest. If he hadn¡¯t been under attack, Uicha might have taken a moment to marvel at how the language of the gods so easily filled his mind. Instead, Curse¡¯s clammy hand clamped on the side of Uicha¡¯s face, his calloused fingers curling into the hair at the back of Uicha¡¯s neck. For a moment, Uicha¡¯s knees weakened and black spots floated across his vision¡ªCurse¡¯s [Life Drain] pulling the vitality straight from him. But then, Uicha¡¯s [Regeneration] kicked in, restoring his life force faster than Curse could steal it. Curse¡¯s eyes widened. He must have expected Uicha to drop straightaway¡ªor at least show some reaction to his deathly touch. ¡°My,¡± Curse said, wiggling his bushy, silver-streaked eyebrows. ¡°My, my, my.¡± With a twist of his fingers, Uicha used [Telekinesis] to send the block of ice crashing into the back of Curse¡¯s legs. Caught by surprise, Curse lost his grip on Uicha. He toppled backward, but recovered quickly, springing off one hand and landing on his feet. He shimmied like he was enjoying himself, the feathers decorating his caftan rustling in the wind. ¡°Enough!¡± Akoni shouted, interposing himself again into the space between Uicha and Curse. ¡°This is my ship and you will both stand down!¡± Pressed up against the railing, Uicha had barely moved since the encounter began, and he didn¡¯t move now. Curse held up his hands. ¡°My point been made, eh?¡± he crowed. ¡°That boy¡¯s a champion! A tricky one, at that. All sorts of secrets hiding under them bandages.¡± Curse spun around, as if trying to orient himself. ¡°We need to make haste now, captain! You got two champions on board and there¡¯s Ink out in that ocean¡ªInk that the merchants and the dusties have a head start on. Where¡¯s your navigator, hey?¡± Chamberly timidly raised a hand. ¡°You! Good!¡± Curse darted to Chamberly and pulled him close. ¡°Let me see your charts, man. I show you where we champions want to go. The Ink travels through a merchant channel. We can still catch them before it stops!¡± Akoni paid Curse little attention as he steered Chamberly away. Instead, the captain¡¯s eyes were on Uicha. ¡°We need to talk, little brother,¡± he said. ¡°In my cabin.¡± Uicha nodded. Akoni glanced down at the deck. ¡°Someone thaw out my sword, eh?¡±
Uicha had visited the captain¡¯s cabin on a few occasions during his time aboard the Dartmyth, mostly when one of Akoni¡¯s lectures on seamanship ran long and the captain decided he wanted to have a smoke while teaching. The room was more spacious than Uicha¡¯s cabin, but not vastly so. A hammock hung at one end, a table and benches built directly into the planks at the other. There were paintings decorating the walls, all of them depicting gray-skinned oca¡¯em women in various states of undress, often sharing intimate moments with a man who looked suspiciously like Akoni. The burnt cherry smell of Akoni¡¯s preferred leaf hung in the air. The captain did not smoke now. Instead, he grabbed a knife from his table, cleaned the breakfast residue off on the side of his leg, and thrust it toward Uicha. ¡°Off with the bandages,¡± he ordered. Uicha took the knife, but hesitated. Akoni plopped down on the bench and folded his arms. ¡°I got you out of Noyega because you seemed like a kid in trouble,¡± Akoni said, when Uicha made no move to remove his covering. ¡°Now, I¡¯m starting to think you hustled me.¡± ¡°It¡¯s not like that,¡± Uicha said. ¡°Who¡¯s your faction?¡± Akoni asked. ¡°You said Ambergran up there. That the village you¡¯re from?¡± Uicha nodded. ¡°Never even heard of the place.¡± ¡°That doesn¡¯t surprise me.¡± ¡°So, what? You a champion of some village and skipped town? You looking to take the wash? Because, I¡¯m sorry, little brother, but this ship isn¡¯t going that far east.¡± ¡°What¡¯s the wash?¡± Akoni stared at him in the same way he had when Uicha said he didn¡¯t know how to tie a bowline. ¡°You really are over your head, eh? Or else you¡¯re the best actor I¡¯ve ever met in my life.¡± He shook his head. ¡°Inkwash. It¡¯s a lake on the southern continent. The gods made it for champions to clean their symbols off.¡± ¡°Oh,¡± Uicha said. Unconsciously, his hand fluttered to his sternum. ¡°I wonder if that would work.¡± ¡°You wonder¡ª?¡± Akoni tapped his temple. ¡°I thought the gods filled your heads with this stuff? Told you the rules.¡± ¡°It didn¡¯t work like that for me.¡± ¡°How did it work, then?¡± Uicha cleared his throat. Captain Akoni and the rest of the crew had been good to him so far, albeit when they thought he was nothing more than a fugitive. What would Akoni do if he refused to show him his Ink? Try to throw him overboard? Uicha couldn¡¯t let that happen. He wouldn¡¯t let that happen. The knowledge that he could fight off Akoni, his crew, and probably even the 9th renown champion lurking above¡ªthat he could make the Dartmyth his own, if he wanted¡ªthat thrilled and frightened Uicha. He didn¡¯t want to hurt these people. Better to defuse the situation. He set aside Akoni¡¯s knife and dug around at his neck for where he¡¯d tucked the end of the bandage. ¡°I¡¯m not going to cut them,¡± Uicha explained. ¡°It¡¯d be a waste. You¡¯re going to want me to put them back on.¡± Uicha made one revolution over his shoulder and under his armpit, then dropped the end of the bandage and did the rest with his [Telekinesis]. Easier that way, and he¡¯d already had practice. Akoni¡¯s eyes shone¡ªlike it was all a magician¡¯s trick¡ªuntil he caught the first glimpse of crimson on Uicha¡¯s sternum. Then, Akoni sprang to his feet, his eyes darting about. ¡°You fool boy!¡± he shouted. ¡°We got to clean that shit off you, quick as lightning!¡± ¡°It doesn¡¯t come off,¡± Uicha said. He let the bandages drop, then dragged a thumb across his Ink in demonstration. Akoni lunged forward to slap his hand away, relaxing only when he saw Uicha¡¯s Ink didn¡¯t smudge. ¡°By the tides. Liar¡¯s Ink,¡± the captain murmured. ¡°We stole a bit of that off the merchants last year. Saw a man I knew try to give himself water-breathing. He fucked up the rune and his lungs jumped clean out his chest and hopped into the ocean.¡± Uicha almost chuckled at the story, until he realized that Akoni wasn¡¯t joking. ¡°Seriously?¡± ¡°Not something to play with.¡± Akoni¡¯s hand hovered by Uicha¡¯s chest for a moment, and then he took a step back. ¡°How¡¯d this happen?¡± ¡°Mages,¡± Uicha said, without missing a beat. ¡°Mages doing experiments on me.¡± Akoni¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°And you escaped? That the truth?¡± ¡°The short version,¡± Uicha said. ¡°What can you do?¡± Akoni asked, staring at the red whorls that crossed Uicha¡¯s chest and shoulders, unable to read the language of the gods. He made a box shape in the air with his finger. ¡°What faction is that?¡± For a moment, Uicha covered the empty box on his neck. ¡°I don¡¯t have one.¡± ¡°Everyone¡¯s loyal to something, little brother.¡± ¡°Not me,¡± Uicha said. ¡°When my parents died, I lost my Ink. I always hated that village and just wanted to see my true home. But the mages found me first. They made me like this.¡± The lie practically told itself¡ªanyway, it was almost true. He could instantly read the change in Akoni¡¯s expression. In the space of an afternoon, Uicha had gone from the captain¡¯s charity case prot¨¦g¨¦, to something frightening and unknowable, and now back to a desperate young man in need of help. Uicha sensed that he only needed to press a little more. ¡°I won¡¯t be used, by the mages or anyone else. I¡¯m still asking for help, captain,¡± Uicha said. ¡°Na flamanga ¡®e na emad.¡± Akoni squared his shoulders. ¡°You know, I am in line to be one of our champions. All the captains in the Blessed Fleet are.¡± ¡°No, I didn¡¯t know that,¡± Uicha said. ¡°Will you go to the Granting because of this?¡± Akoni asked, studying Uicha¡¯s Ink. ¡°I can¡¯t see you doing that. I can¡¯t see myself doing that.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know how it will work,¡± Uicha said. The Ink on his chest felt warm at the mention of the Granting, and goosebumps rose on his shoulders in response. He wished he had a shirt and had to resist the urge to cross his arms over his chest. ¡°I only know what¡¯s been done to me, and that I don¡¯t want to go back to the people who made me this way.¡± Akoni nodded once. ¡°You still have my protection, little brother. Unfortunately, that squid¡¯s asshole Curse does have rights. It is my duty to help him, especially if there is Ink on the line. Fastest way to get rid of him is to give him what he wants.¡± Uicha knew about the trials the gods made for their champions. The four champions of Ambergran had been off climbing some mountain when his parents fell ill, and thus the village¡¯s healer had been unable to help. He didn¡¯t know what effect new Ink would have on him¡ªif any. After all, he wasn¡¯t a sanctioned player in the gods¡¯ game. But there was more of interest on the ocean than just Ink. Kayenna wasn¡¯t wrong¡ªhe wasn¡¯t prepared for what was to come. He needed more help than just the Dartmyth. ¡°Let¡¯s go where he wants, then,¡± Uicha said. ¡°And maybe, on the way, you can tell me about the Gen¡¯bi.¡±
64. [Uicha] Heros Journey
Uicha de Orak, Wildcard of the 5th Renown, representing The Forgotten One, possessed of a heartbreaking story Akoni de Emasyn, Captain of the Dartmyth, and his crew, great believers in an underdog Curse de Mou, Ocean Master of the 9th Renown, the Flamingo Islands, reads in languages others can¡¯t The Bloodless Executive, Quill of Merchant¡¯s Bay, and their champion Milena Russi, Duelist of the 11th Renown, who find themselves atop some Ink
8 Trollove, 61 AW Aboard the Dartmyth, Central Sea 142 days until the next Granting The Forgotten One had wanted Uicha to make himself seen, and instead Uicha had hidden his markings beneath bandages. Perhaps that was why, now that it was exposed to the night air, the crimson Ink tingled with what felt almost like appreciation. Was that approval sent from the depths where the Forgotten One sat trapped? Or just Uicha¡¯s imagination? He certainly felt freer without the bandages. A lie had been lifted off his shoulders. Months of hiding one arcane impossibility after another. He was glad to have at least one of his mysteries out in the open. Or a version of one, anyway. A heavily edited story. An island boy stranded inland who lost his farmer''s Ink. A cruel mage who took the opportunity to experiment on him. A daring escape to seek refuge amongst his people. The truth, but not entirely. When Captain Akoni told Uicha''s tale to the rest of the crew, he made it sound much better than Uicha ever could. He filled in little details that were entirely his own creation. For instance, Uicha hadn''t bonked the archmage over the head with his own spell book and he hadn''t dived into the ocean and prayed that his native waters would wash the red away. But these flourishes made for a good narrative and so Uicha didn''t protest Akoni''s telling. At the end, he was surprised to see Sheppa knuckling a tear from the corner of her eye. There was only the matter of Curse de Mou. Akoni had argued, persuasively, that Uicha shouldn''t hide what had been done to him, at least amongst his friends. And that was fine, Uicha figured, since the crew of the Dartmyth couldn''t actually read his Ink. But Curse could, just as easily as Uicha could read the symbols on the ocean master''s chest. So, Uicha watched Curse closely while Akoni spun his hero''s journey. The man wore a lopsided smile beneath his scraggly beard. He tapped his feet in time with Akoni''s words, like they were set to music only Curse could hear. When the rest of the crew came forward to pat Uicha on the back or hug him¡ªa moment that made Uicha feel queasy for leaving out so much¡ªCurse kept his distance. ¡°A delightful yarn skillfully spun!¡± Curse shouted at last. ¡°Well, it could''ve been shorter, eh? Now, captain, we must make haste! The merchants have a lead on us but Curse knows how to beat them!¡± The sails were still full later that night, the Dartmyth cutting across the waves with a silence Uicha found almost eerie. It was Uicha''s turn to keep a watch on the horizon in case any ships appeared, although Curse seemed confident that they wouldn''t catch up to the merchants and the mysterious blot of Ink for another day. Uicha expected the ocean master to approach him and, sure enough, he appeared with a flapping of parchment, sidling up to Uicha in the bow as if they''d planned this clandestine midnight meeting. When Curse held up a sheet of paper to the moon, the briny smell of his underarms made Uicha wrinkle his nose. There were black dots strewn across the scroll that mirrored the constellations smattered above. Straight lines were drawn through the stars, triangulating toward a black smudge further up the page. ¡°Good, yes, good,¡± Curse murmured. ¡°The Ink maintains its course, champion. It has not yet been captured by our rivals and has left the merchant shipping lane, as I suspected it would. That slows them down. They make their boats too big and stupid, you see.¡± Uicha pressed his lips together. He considered saying nothing, but curiosity got the better of him. He nodded toward the paper. ¡°How can you tell all that?¡± Curse shook the sheet at Uicha, then fanned himself with it. ¡°A star chart made by Ronica de Finn, the Quill of the Flamingo Islands. She can see where the Ink goes. I think she might have given such helpful information to one of her more favored champions, if I wasn¡¯t already so close. Can you believe that, young one? That your friend Curse would not be the most beloved champion of his people?¡± ¡°No, I can¡¯t imagine that,¡± Uicha said. ¡°And yet, it is so. Ronica, she draws this map in Ink and¡ªbloop!¡ªit comes blasting out through my eyes. Gives an old man direction, eh? Do you not have one, Uicha the Red?¡± ¡°A direction?¡± ¡°A Quill,¡± Curse said. ¡°A man or lady with a feather to give you orders. Or is that not how it works with your Forgotten One, hm?¡± The empty box on Uicha¡¯s throat stretched as he swallowed. He had prepared himself for this conversation as soon as Akoni decided he should make his Ink known to the others. Of course, he worried about giving too much away, but Curse was also a champion¡ªthe first he¡¯d encountered since getting his Ink. Unmoored as he seemed, perhaps Curse might be able to tell him something about his condition. The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. ¡°I don''t know what the mage meant with that name,¡± Uicha presented the lie quietly, in a voice he hoped sounded sufficiently haunted. ¡°The symbol means nothing to me.¡± Curse snickered. ¡°Perhaps you knew what it meant once, and forgot.¡± Uicha winced. He had forgotten things¡ªhis memories stripped away during his abduction¡ªbut that was before his encounter with the suffocating power of the Forgotten One. ¡°So, you do not know what you fight for?¡± Curse continued. ¡°Or if you have a Quill? Or if there are others like you?¡± Uicha shook his head. ¡°And these other symbols, eh?¡± Curse had shoved his chart into his threadbare trousers and edged closer, his index finger crooked toward Uicha. ¡°[Ink Thief] and [Disloyal]. I do not understand these. Never seen them before. How do they work?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± Uicha said. ¡°You must,¡± Curse replied. ¡°The knowledge should come to you like breathing.¡± Uicha turned to look steadily at the other man. The moonlight made the lines on his face appear deeper, like chasms or trenches. ¡°I only used them once,¡± Uicha said. ¡°During my escape.¡± ¡°Ah, so you know, but you do not want me to know.¡± Curse tittered. ¡°Good for you, wildcard. You pick up the game easily. I will let it go.¡± In demonstration, Curse cupped his hands and mimed throwing ashes out into the water. ¡°I believe you tell some truth, anyway. The mages love to toy with us. I spent time working for them, eh? Did Akoni tell you that?¡± ¡°No,¡± Uicha said. ¡°They once paid good money for us worthless islanders to dive Orvesian waters,¡± Curse said. ¡°Haunted waters. Bloody waters. Dredging up the forgotten treasures of the dead. Even when the mages stopped paying, I kept going down. Much to learn in the dark. Much to learn.¡± Uicha¡¯s eyes drifted to the ordinary tattoo that covered Curse¡¯s shoulder and arm¡ªthe blackbirds plunging under the waves and darting toward a treasure chest. The details clicked together in his mind. His parents had worked a hustle on Ahmed Roh that ended with them holding onto the urn¡¯chan that contained Kayenna Vezz. Roh must have been one of the mages paying Flamingo divers like Curse, which meant the champion standing next to Uicha may very well have known Uicha¡¯s parents. Before Uicha could decide what to do with this, Curse squeezed his shoulder. ¡°I look forward to the rest of your story, little wildcard,¡± the champion said as he shambled away. ¡°I hope I shall see it unfold.¡±
The Bloodless Executive sat in their office aboard the gellezza Mastermind and watched a blot of Ink crawl slowly west. They had been at this vigil for days. The Quill of Merchant''s Bay required no sleep and very little sustenance, and so they could watch the prize sent by the gods make slow progress across the map they had spilled upon this fine wooden table. The Bloodless Executive dragged their sharpened thumbnail over the rolling waves hand-carved into the edge. So many fine objects in the Bloodless Executive''s office, albeit none so valuable as the golden inkwell they kept close at hand. Vases, and sculptures, and furniture that cost more than the house the Bloodless Executive''s current body had grown up in. None of these flashy details aroused any appreciation in the Bloodless Executive. If required to travel in a storage closet, the Bloodless Executive would have been equally comfortable. Although, they supposed, accepting such primitive accommodations would make the merchants lose respect for the Bloodless Executive. As had happened in the past, even a minor perceived lapse might cause someone from the thirteen families to doubt the Bloodless Executive''s effectiveness. And, when such occasions arose, inevitably, the Bloodless Executive ended up having to kill some of them. The Bloodless Executive took no pleasure in that, either. They were not a sadistic or vindictive creature. Nor were they concerned with meting out justice. They simply maintained a balance. Thirteen powerful families had shared Merchant''s Bay¡ªand the same Ink¡ªfor nearly sixty years because of the efforts of the Bloodless Executive. There had never been and likely would never be true peace between the families. It was in their nature to grasp for more. The Bloodless Executive slapped their hands when they reached for too much. However, in matters of the Ink, it was the Bloodless Executive¡¯s job to aid the champions. All families would benefit from a successful Granting. The blot of Ink stopped moving. Ding. The Bloodless Executive tapped the bell on the table. Immediately, one of their aides entered, wearing the white veil and shapeless robe of all who worked in the Bloodless Executive¡¯s office. A female, the Bloodless Executive thought. The cock of the hips gave her away. Perhaps that body would be their next. ¡°Bring me Russi,¡± the Bloodless Executive said. Moments later, the champion of the bay came striding into the Bloodless Executive¡¯s office, careless of how she left wet footprints on the rug. In their past life, the Bloodless Executive¡¯s body might have stirred at the sight of Milena Russi. A youthful shape, sun-kissed and smooth, with curls of chestnut hair that she kept wild and loose, and lips that somehow always appeared painted pink. The woman¡¯s sunwear left little to the imagination, including the splashes of Ink across her torso. In a past body, the Bloodless Executive had dribbled the beginnings of that Ink onto her chest, and they still remembered how Milena shivered at the brushing of the Bloodless Executive¡¯s cold fingers. ¡°The Ink has stopped,¡± the Bloodless Executive said. ¡°About time,¡± Milena replied. She came to stand at the Bloodless Executive¡¯s side, peering down at the map. The Ink had lured them to an unremarkable part of the ocean. Nothing around for miles. For days, the Ink had traveled through one of their shipping lanes, which made following the fast-moving blob simple enough. Then, yesterday, the Ink broke free from the channel and veered westward. Leaving the channel made it slower going for the bulky Mastermind, but now the Ink had stopped, and the Bay would be first on the scene. ¡°Still haven¡¯t actually seen anything,¡± Milena said. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t even know it was out there if it wasn¡¯t for your map.¡± ¡°And our companions?¡± ¡°The Gen¡¯bi still trail us. Been amusing for the crew to watch them puking over the sides.¡± ¡°They are not made for the water,¡± the Bloodless Executive said. ¡°That they would come at all suggests desperation. A need for new power. They prepare themselves. You should find this alarming, not amusing.¡± Milena rolled her eyes. ¡°Whatever. They¡¯ve kept their distance since we lit up that fool Curse.¡± ¡°That was a tactical error.¡± The Bloodless Executive said this without feeling, the same way they said everything, yet Milena¡¯s eyes still widened. The children of the thirteen families, especially the champions, were not used to being scolded. ¡°An error in your opinion,¡± Milena said, tossing her hair. ¡°Don¡¯t act the oracle with me, honey. Curse made a play for the Ink, so I backed him off. He¡¯s faster than us and can breathe underwater. And he¡¯s annoying. You¡¯d have just let him have it?¡± ¡°Better the Ink go to the islands than the Gen¡¯bi. And, had Curse tried and failed, we may have learned something about what we face.¡± The Bloodless Executive paused. ¡°In my opinion.¡± Milena flashed the Bloodless Executive a conciliatory smile. They stared back with eyes turned milky white. ¡°Any theories on that?¡± Milena asked. ¡°What we¡¯ve been chasing around?¡± ¡°The gods favor three trials,¡± the Bloodless Executive said. ¡°Kill something. Reach something. Endure something.¡± ¡°And which do you think this is?¡± The Bloodless Executive came to their feet with graceful speed. Briefly, they felt the warmth of Milena¡¯s body close to them¡ªalmost pleasant¡ªbefore she stumbled backward to clear a path. The Bloodless Executive opened a cabinet and procured first a large tome¡ªAn Encyclopedia of Runes, 7th Edition¡ªthen a small lockbox. They had already bookmarked the page with the details on [Water Breathing]. Setting these items on the table, the Bloodless Executive opened the lockbox. Milena grimaced at the sight of four vials of chanic nestled into velvet-cushioned slots. ¡°We shall prepare you to go down and see,¡± the Bloodless Executive said.
65. [Uicha] From Below
Uicha de Orak, Wildcard of the 5th Renown, representing The Forgotten One, surveying the competition Akoni de Emasyn, Captain of the Dartmyth, and his crew, keeping to a safe distance Curse de Mou, Ocean Master of the 9th Renown, the Flamingo Islands, know what¡¯s down there The merchant gellezza Mastermind and an unnamed vessel carrying the Gen¡¯bi
10 Trollove, 61 AW Aboard the Dartmyth, Central Sea 140 days until the next Granting ¡°Marvelous, isn''t it?¡± Akoni asked, rubbing his hands together. ¡°That hot feeling in your gut, little brother? That''s your islander blood telling you to get the grappling hooks because it''s time to go robbing.¡± Peering through the spyglass, Uicha would''ve sworn that what he felt was more like awe. Besides the fortress casinos of Noyega, Uicha had seen few buildings that rivaled the merchant gellezza for grandeur. The Mastermind looked more like a floating castle than a ship. Four decks of equal size were stacked atop a v-shaped hull that disappeared deep beneath the water. Above, a collection of bright-colored sails were presently tied down, while a dozen Gadgeteer water-wheels sat dormant at the boat''s rear. At a guess, Uicha figured the Mastermind had five times the crew of the Dartmyth¡ªmany of them lined the railings of the side visible to Uicha, peering out across the water much like he did. The massive gellezza had dropped anchor, and the Dartmyth had done the same. ¡°It''s enormous,¡± Uicha said. ¡°They build them bigger and dumber every year,¡± Akoni replied. ¡°Cruising up and down their sea lanes. Pretty soon, they will forget what it means to actually sail.¡± Uicha wondered at that. After all, the Dartmyth mostly sailed on its own. Akoni¡¯s crew needed to do little besides keep the bow pointed in the right direction and see to the routine maintenance. It seemed to Uicha that all the people of the Central Sea had used the gods to make their lives easier and the seas more hospitable. ¡°You''ve really pirated one of those things?¡± Uicha asked. ¡°Pirated,¡± Akoni repeated with a snort. ¡°Oh, indeed, how I have pirated, little brother. Not one quite so proud as the Mastermind. But I''ve gotten my share off these rich assholes, you bet.¡± Uicha''s gaze lingered on what looked like glowing red eyes carved into the gellezza''s side. Those were the bolt-throwers. One of the openings had gone dark¡ªpresumably the weapon they had fired at Curse during their last encounter. The bolt-throwers could not be recharged at sea, Akoni had said, as the weapons required dangerous magics and sacrifices only the merchants could afford to pay. Eleven bolt-throwers still glowed on the side of the Mastermind facing them, and probably a dozen more on the side they couldn¡¯t see. Uicha recalled the burnt and shattered wood that Akoni had pulled onboard. He wouldn¡¯t like to be on the wrong side of that bombardment. The captain assured him that they were out of the Mastermind''s range. All the same, behind them on the quarterdeck, Chamberly lingered close to the controls in case they needed to make evasive maneuvers. ¡°How do you even approach something like that?¡± Uicha asked. ¡°Without them torching your ship?¡± ¡°Quietly and at night. Onboard before anyone can raise a whisper. And then, a hasty retreat. They can''t match us for speed. Never could, so they stopped trying, and now stick with bulk to scare us off.¡± Akoni sucked his teeth and shook his head regretfully. ¡°This is not the way, I tell you that. Midday with a gods damned madman calling the shots? We¡¯ll get no pirating done today, my friend. So, we keep our distance, eh? Self-preservation the richest reward.¡± Uicha lowered the spyglass for a moment to glance to his left. Curse de Mou hung over the railing balanced on his belly, waving his hands over the water like a conductor. It has been Curse who''d told Akoni where they should drop anchor, but besides a delighted little dance, he''d so far had little to say about catching up to the merchants. ¡°What''s he doing?¡± Uicha asked quietly. ¡°Fuckery,¡± Akoni responded. He nudged Uicha. ¡°You get a look at the others yet?¡± Uicha put the spyglass back to his eye and turned his attention from the majesty of the merchant gellezza to the unvarnished galley bearing the Gen''bi. The boat with its torn sails, cracking oars, and rickety water-wheel lacked the elegance of the Dartmyth or the power of the Mastermind. It was a working craft, like a hundred others that Uicha had seen docked in Noyega, nothing remotely special about it. And yet, here it sat in this empty expanse of ocean, one of three ships waiting for some mysterious trial to begin, despite having no advantages given by the gods. The Gen''bi had anchored at a similar distance from the Mastermind, probably also wary of its bolt-throwers. Together, the three ships made a triangle around the patch of ocean in question. As Uicha studied this third boat, he noticed two distinct types of people aboard. He identified a small team of natural sailors¡ªthey wore loose clothes, moved about barefoot, and glided easily between stations. And then, there were the leather clad Gen''bi with their red-dyed hair, most of them looking exhausted and in the way, constantly needing to hold down their wide-brimmed hats whenever the wind picked up. Uicha counted about two dozen in total between both groups. ¡°They aren''t used to the water,¡± Uicha said. ¡°No,¡± Akoni agreed. ¡°Never known them to leave that desert of theirs. Something brewing with that, eh?¡± Uicha swallowed. Could the Gen''bi have come to this place looking for him? Curse had said these people knew his name, that they heard it spoken on the wind or some equally prophetic nonsense. Could they have anticipated his presence? No. This was just a confluence of powerful people, all drawn here by Ink sent from the gods. Uicha wondered¡ªshould the three boats sit out here long enough doing nothing¡ªwho else might show up? ¡°Who''s that with them?¡± Uicha asked. ¡°The ones doing the sailing.¡± Akoni shrugged. ¡°Freelancers. Probably out of Beacon. Next time you want an honest crew, that''s where you head. Only desperate fools try finding passage out of Noyega.¡± Uicha smirked. ¡°I found you guys in Noyega.¡± ¡°Aye,¡± Akoni said. ¡°Exactly.¡± Uicha started to turn his spyglass back to the gellezza when a woman on the Gen''bi ship caught his eye. She stood a bit taller than the others, her red-dyed hair fanning out from beneath a wide-brimmed black hat. Somehow, she looked less haggard than her fellows¡ªfewer puke stains, perhaps. She didn''t have a spyglass of her own, but Uicha could have sworn the woman was staring in his direction. He jumped and nearly bumbled the spyglass when she raised her hand and waved. ¡°What is it?¡± Akoni asked. ¡°I thought¨C¡± The smell cut Uicha off. He and Akoni both reeled, hit by the stink of rotten meat. Uicha buried his nose and mouth in the crook of his elbow, while Akoni tugged his tunic over his face and spun toward Curse. ¡°What is that, you freak?¡± Akoni snapped. Curse cackled, seemingly unbothered by the stench of death. He''d hopped down from the railing and now stood peering over, his hands on his hips. ¡°Captain, my scouts return to me,¡± he said. ¡°I would hear their report.¡± Uicha and Akoni joined Curse in time to see the last of six bloated bodies bob to the surface. Thinning mops of tangled hair hid bluish faces, saggy and waterlogged, the gelatinous flesh eaten away in places by fish. Uicha¡¯s stomach turned. These sad figures had no doubt been called into existence by Curse¡¯s [Summon Drowned] Ink. Now, floating on the water like reeking lily pads, the drowned tilted their empty eye sockets toward Curse. ¡°By the tides, this is disgraceful,¡± said Akoni. ¡°This is why no one will sail with you, man.¡± There was something distinctly Orvesian about Curse¡¯s use of the undead. During their brief skirmish, Curse had also tried to use that [Life Drain] ability on Uicha. As soon as Uicha wondered about the champion¡¯s choices in Ink, Kayenna Vezz manifested on the deck next to Curse. Uicha no longer startled at the witch¡¯s infrequent appearances and, for once, the grisly scar where her head had been lopped off wasn¡¯t the most gruesome sight on display. Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings. ¡°He dabbles in the arts of my people,¡± Kayenna said, eyeing Curse. ¡°You would be wise to make an ally of him. Tell him how you possess me and I suspect he would die for us.¡± Uicha curled his lips in disgust, knowing that Kayenna would sense his disapproval. He waved a hand in front of his face as if to clear the stench, and the spirit disappeared. Meanwhile, Curse paid Akoni¡¯s reprimand no mind. His attention was entirely on the bodies floating below. ¡°Has the merchant champion gone down?¡± Curse asked his servants. One of the drowned moaned in response. Another opened its mouth, only for something dark and slimy¡ªan eel, Uicha thought¡ªto come squirming loose. ¡°Nods or shakes, nods or shakes!¡± Curse bellowed. He glanced in Uicha¡¯s direction. ¡°Does your gargoyle train easier than this, eh?¡± Akoni raised an eyebrow at Uicha. ¡°What gargoyle?¡± Rather than answer either question, Uicha pointed down at the bodies. ¡°They¡¯re nodding.¡± ¡°So they are!¡± Curse yipped. ¡°She has gone down, yes?¡± The drowned continued to wobble their heads in agreement, all except for one whose neck opened with a squelching sound, its head flopping backward between its shoulder blades. Uicha bumped into Akoni as he took a sudden step back, remembering how Ahmed Roh¡¯s head had dangled from the archmage¡¯s body. He steadied himself and shot Akoni an apologetic look. ¡°And has she engaged the enemy?¡± Curse asked. The nodding continued. Curse chortled. ¡°How does she fare, eh?¡± The nodding stopped. Wrinkled faces stared up at Curse. Curse sighed. ¡°Is she likely to win?¡± As one, the drowned began shaking their heads. Curse clapped delightedly. ¡°We are one step ahead, as ever!¡± He waved the drowned away. ¡°Go, then! Return below and raise the alarm when the creature makes to rise!¡± Curse¡¯s face fell as the bloated bodies made no move to obey. Instead, one of them groaned, while two others listlessly waved their arms above their heads as if signaling for rescue. ¡°Ah. So it comes.¡± Curse spun to Akoni. ¡°Captain, fetch me a harpoon.¡± Akoni grabbed Curse by the arm, rustling the seagull feathers that covered his caftan. ¡°Creature, you said?¡± Curse grinned. ¡°Did I?¡± ¡°You know what¡¯s down there?¡± ¡°Many, many things are down there,¡± Curse said with a wink. ¡°Just because the merchants wished away the leviathan does not mean the sea floor does not yet harbor beasts known only to the oca¡¯em. Great creatures that smartly keep to themselves, unless provoked to aggression by the gods. Only then shall we have the pleasure.¡± Captain Akoni glanced over his shoulder at Chamberly, as if considering issuing an order to retreat. ¡°What have you gotten us into, madman?¡± ¡°Adventure!¡± Curse shouted, then leaned close to the captain. ¡°Days back, before you found me, I saw the beast as she tried to flee. I might have warned the merchants if they hadn¡¯t fired upon me. Now, she has grown tired of retreating, and so we let the merchants strike the first blow, draw her attention, perhaps soften her up. And then¡­ I shall have the Ink.¡± ¡°You could¡¯ve warned me,¡± Akoni snapped. ¡°You put our people at risk.¡± ¡°Oh, captain, but then you might not have come.¡± Curse plucked Akoni¡¯s hand off his arm. ¡°Don¡¯t worry. The boy and I will keep you safe.¡± As the men bickered, Uicha scanned the ocean with his spyglass. The water seemed peaceful and still. Perhaps Curse¡¯s undead servants had been mistaken in their evaluation of whatever transpired beneath the surface. Uicha saw nothing except for¡ª He pointed. ¡°Bubbles.¡± Akoni and Curse were at his side instantly. Something was indeed rising from the depths. There was activity on the Mastermind, too¡ªthey¡¯d surely seen the disturbance. Uicha detected less movement on the Gen¡¯bi ship, but before he could really see if they¡¯d raised an alarm, Curse snatched his spyglass away. Squinting, Uicha made out a glistening orb as it broke the ocean¡¯s surface. The bubble was about the size of a wagon and shone in the sunlight as it floated slowly higher. The sphere proceeded on a looping trajectory toward the Mastermind. ¡°Just the merchant champion making her escape,¡± Curse said, sounding disappointed. He sucked in a breath, then, and grabbed Uicha¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Wait! Grab her, little champion!¡± Uicha¡¯s eyebrows shot up. ¡°Grab her with what?¡± ¡°Your mind, fool!¡± Curse clapped his hands. ¡°Quickly, now! Before she makes it back to her boat!¡± ¡°Why would¡ª?¡± ¡°They won¡¯t fire on us.¡± It was Akoni who answered. ¡°Not if we¡¯ve got their champion onboard. They could kill her in the trying.¡± He snorted. ¡°Suppose we will get to do some stealing, eh?¡± Uicha did as he was told, reaching out with his [Telekinesis]. He felt a strain on his chest¡ªlike a muscle pulling¡ªfrom the distance he attempted to bridge. It was the furthest point he¡¯d used the ability from and he sensed there wouldn¡¯t be much left when he finished. The protective bubble offered no resistance. In fact, the thing felt entirely weightless, and got much easier to manipulate the closer he dragged it to the Dartmyth. ¡°Merchant idiots probably wondering why she¡¯d come to us,¡± Curse said, chuckling. ¡°Mine is a much finer boat,¡± Akoni replied. As soon as Uicha had reeled the bubble to a safe distance over the Dartmyth¡¯s deck, it popped. Although the drop was only a few feet, Uicha still used his [Telekinesis] to gently lower the unconscious young woman to the deck. In her sunwear, she hardly looked attired to confront some monster of the seas, but then Uicha supposed one couldn¡¯t exactly wear armor underwater. The sight of the champion¡¯s body made Uicha wince, covered as it was in welts the size of dinner plates, each slowly turning purple and oozing pinpricks of blood. ¡°Sheppa!¡± Akoni hollered for the Dartmyth¡¯s medic. ¡°Get your kit!¡± ¡°Feh,¡± Curse grunted. ¡°She can take care of herself, captain. And if she can¡¯t¡­¡± He made a wanking motion and turned back to the ocean. ¡°Come on, now. Show yourself, lovey.¡± Despite her state, the merchant champion did breathe steadily. Standing over her, Uicha took a closer look at her Ink.
Milena Russi Merchant¡¯s Bay 11th Renown
Open Weak Point Water Breathing
Stealth Shield Assess Taunt
Orb of Safety Duelist
Recovery+ Reaction+ Swordplay+
Speed+ Agility+ Private Arena Dazzling Flourish
Uicha felt confident that the woman¡¯s [Recovery+], a lesser version of his own [Regeneration], would gradually heal her injuries. What truly drew him to the duelist¡¯s collection of Ink was the crimson symbol on her left shoulder. Uicha sensed that it wasn¡¯t like the runes that decorated his torso. Although covered by some glossy sealant¡ªlikely to prevent the seawater from interfering with its magic¡ªthe precisely drawn symbol wasn¡¯t permanent. And yet, something about the sight of chanic made the tips of Uicha¡¯s fingers tingle. Without thinking, Uicha reached out to touch the crimson symbol. And the red leapt forth to meet him. Abandoning its shape, the chanic coiled in a braid around Uicha¡¯s two fingers. He stumbled upright as it slithered up his arm, over his shoulder, and down onto his chest where it finally settled on his symbol for [Wildcard]. MORE! The Forgotten One¡¯s voice¡ªand its unspeakable weight¡ªlanded directly in Uicha¡¯s mind. He clapped his hands over his ears. If you wish a reward, you must find MORE! A cold sweat spread across Uicha¡¯s back, but the presence of the Forgotten One was already gone, restrained, dragged back to its prison as the chanic turned dry on Uicha¡¯s chest. As he dropped his hands, Uicha heard screaming¡ªhowls, in fact¡ªcoming from the direction of the Gen¡¯bi boat. They were wails of pain and confusion, but they were quickly drowned out by the sound of a wave breaking where it shouldn¡¯t. The Dartmyth swayed¡ªrocked by a sudden current. For a moment, Uicha worried someone had seen him take the chanic from the merchant champion, but he quickly realized that everyone aboard the Dartmyth was entirely distracted by the meaty, dark blue tentacle that had burst forth from the depths. The bolt-throwers on the Mastermind crackled to life. Streaks of lightning fired toward the tentacle¡ªthe first went wide, the second sheared off the suckers on the underside, the third filled the air with the aroma of cooking meat. The tentacle slipped back beneath the water and for a moment things were still. And then, two more tentacles shot upward, raking across the side of the Mastermind. Sailors were crushed and tossed into the water. A bolt-thrower discharged¡ªbut the tentacle was too close to the side of the ship¡ªand fire erupted on the lower deck. Like a bulbous sapphire, Uicha watched the head of the giant octopus slowly rise, all eight of its arms now whipping toward the Mastermind. Even from this distance, he could see dark veins of Ink running across the beast¡¯s dome-shaped head. ¡°Captain,¡± Curse said giddily. ¡°About that harpoon?¡± Uicha might have stood there¡ªshocked and frozen¡ªif a cold hand hadn¡¯t closed over his wrist and yanked him downward. ¡°Who the fuck are you?¡± Milena Russi snarled.
66. [Uicha] Grasping Hands
Uicha de Orak, Wildcard of the 5th Renown, representing The Forgotten One, for whom life is a trial Milena Russi, Duelist of the 11th Renown, Merchant¡¯s Bay, knows a treasure when she sees one Curse de Mou, Ocean Master of the 9th Renown, the Flamingo Islands, waiting on that harpoon Akoni de Emasyn, Captain of the Dartmyth, and his crew, keeping to a safe distance The merchant gellezza Mastermind and an unnamed vessel carrying the Gen¡¯bi
10 Trollove, 61 AW Aboard the Dartmyth, Central Sea 140 days until the next Granting Uicha yanked his arm away from the grasping hand of the merchant champion and stumbled backward, bumping into a wall¡ªa wall that shouldn¡¯t have been there. The world had gone very still and Uicha did not really understand why. Across the water, a swollen tentacle swung downward toward the Mastermind in a terrible slow motion arc. Another of the octopus¡¯ appendages coiled through the middle decks, snapping wood and crushing men. Their screams and the steady whooshing of waves reached Uicha''s ears in a low, distorted moan. The air felt oddly stagnant. Despite being out in the open, Uicha had not felt this enclosed since he''d been trapped in the hold of Ahmed Roh''s boat. Nearby, Curse de Mou had gone frozen like a statue as he watched the destruction of the Mastermind. Beside him, Captain Akoni made to turn toward Uicha, progressing only an inch with every ten breaths Uicha took. ¡°Or maybe the better question is: what are you?¡± Only Milena Russi moved at the same speed as Uicha. Her voice sounded clear¡ªsharp, even. She had popped back to her feet, bent slightly like her ribs were injured, squinting at him. The dark welts across her body had begun to fade thanks to her [Recovery+], but she still slumped from her unsuccessful bout with the gellezza-sized octopus. ¡°What did you do to them?¡± he asked. Uicha reached toward Akoni. An invisible force rebuffed his hand. Vaguely, he became aware of a shimmer in the air, an arcane boundary that cut him off from the rest of the ship. He and Milena stood within an oval that encompassed an empty space on the deck. ¡°I didn¡¯t do anything to them,¡± she replied. ¡°Just us. You should consider yourself lucky, islander. Not many who join me here are guaranteed to live.¡± Uicha scanned Milena''s Ink again, noting the symbol for [Private Arena] which had faded since he last looked her over. She had created a sequestered area for them to do battle¡ªor, perhaps less desirable in Uicha¡¯s opinion, for them to talk. As he studied Milena¡¯s Ink, she sized him up in the same way. Hurriedly, he buttoned his shirt, though the gesture felt futile at this point. Milena snorted. ¡°No way for your friends to interrupt, and no escape for you until I decide it,¡± she continued. ¡°Questions, then. Where did you get so much Liar¡¯s Ink, guppy? How did you take mine? How did you get it to replace¡­?¡± Milena gestured toward the empty box at Uicha¡¯s throat, which he had no chance to cover. He stared back at her stubbornly, his mouth tightly shut. She took a step forward, bending at the waist to peer at his chest. ¡°Come on, don¡¯t be shy. You must be a brave one to slather so much of that shit on you. Let me admire you,¡± she said. ¡°Let me¡­¡± For a split second, Milena¡¯s eyes glazed over. Her head cocked sharply and she sucked in a breath, then recoiled. ¡°I can [Assess] you,¡± she said. ¡°That only works on champions. Only works on Ink that¡¯s permanent. How¡ªhow did you make it that way? It can¡¯t be.¡± Milena licked her thumb and reached toward Uicha. He slapped her hand down and took a step back, needing to circle outward from the barrier to put some distance between them. ¡°Ow,¡± Milena said. She tossed her wet hair behind her head, eyeing him hungrily. ¡°How did you do it? The islanders of all fucking people¡ªI can¡¯t believe it. What¡¯s the Forgotten One? What does it mean to be [Disloyal]?¡± Uicha didn¡¯t know what to say under the bombardment of questions. He registered the gleam in her eyes¡ªgods, but he was tired of people looking at him that way. ¡°Let me out of this thing,¡± he said, mostly succeeding at keeping his voice cold and even. ¡°You don¡¯t sound like a flamingo, do you?¡± Milena responded. ¡°You don¡¯t strut around like one, either. Gods, the look on your face. Stiff-lipped, sure, but all confusion in those watery eyes. You¡¯re barely even a man. Are you a man?¡± Milena pouted as she said this, working a thumb under the shoulder strap of her sunwear to adjust herself. Bruised and battered as she was, Uicha¡¯s eyes still tracked Milena¡¯s finger as it traveled down her chest. In that moment, she lunged for him. Milena had her hand on Uicha''s scimitar before he could react. [Speed+] and [Agility+] made her faster than Uicha, and him so easily distracted. Luckily, he still had some [Telekinesis] to even things up. As she tried to rip his sword loose from his scabbard, he held it tight with his mind. For a moment, her momentum brought them chest-to-chest. Milena put all her strength behind one last tug and lost her grip. She staggered backward, shaking out her hands. ¡°Well,¡± she said. ¡°Well, well, well. Aren''t you a find?¡± Uicha turned his head. Across the water, merchant sailors were being dragged from the decks of the Mastermind, their broken bodies disappearing into the frothy churn around the octopus. ¡°While you bother me, your people are getting killed,¡± he said. ¡°Only seconds pass for them while we chat. Nothing I could do for them in seconds.¡± Milena shrugged. ¡°And, there''s a man over there¡ªwell, he''s not exactly a man. Regardless, I wouldn''t mind seeing him drown. It''ll inconvenience him in a way that amuses me.¡± ¡°Inconvenience him¡­? And the others?¡± Uicha shook his head. This woman spoke a different language from him. ¡°Chasing Ink is a dangerous job. That¡¯s why we have to pay those sailors so much. At least, I think we pay them well. I don¡¯t keep the books, personally. Do you like money, red one? I could buy you a villa if you¡¯d just answer my questions.¡± Captain Akoni had finished his turn toward Uicha and, through the shimmer at the edges of the [Private Arena], Uicha could see the lines of concern etched in the man''s face. The captain raised his hands to press against the invisible wall, but made no progress. ¡°The Magelab performed experiments on me, and the islanders rescued me,¡± Uicha said. ¡°I¡¯ll tell you more if you let me go.¡± Milena tapped her toes on the deck as she considered his words. ¡°That sounds like mostly a lie, but it¡¯s a beginning, at least. The start of a trustful relationship between us.¡± ¡°Sure,¡± Uicha said. ¡°That sounds like a lie, too.¡± She turned away from him¡ªUicha was relieved to feel unpinned by her gaze¡ªand finally observed the chaos created by the surfaced octopus. ¡°Oh, yes. That is bad. If the monster¡¯s softened up too much, I might not be able to collect the reward.¡± She snapped her fingers and Uicha staggered as the world came back to life. For a moment, everything felt sped up¡ªthe wind whipping over him, waves crashing, screams and wood snapping from across the water. Captain Akoni grabbed Uicha by the arm to steady him. You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story. ¡°What did she do to you, little brother?¡± ¡°Nothing,¡± Uicha said, clearing his head with a shake. ¡°She''s all talk.¡± Milena either didn''t hear him or didn''t care about his comment. She swayed to where Curse still stood at the railing, standing beside her fellow champion to watch as a tentacle swiped across the listing Mastermind. ¡°Aha,¡± Curse said. ¡°If it isn''t the oily bitch who roasted my best canoe.¡± Milena curtseyed. ¡°You should¡¯ve warned us about what was down there. You can''t have expected to kill that thing by yourself.¡± ¡°As if you would''ve stopped to listen, eh?¡± Curse puffed out his chest, his feathered caftan rustling. ¡°You merchants, always so suspicious. Shoot first, take advice later.¡± Milena wrinkled her nose and peeked over the side of the ship. ¡°Are those dead bodies looking at us?¡± ¡°My friends await instructions,¡± Curse said. He waved a hand at the Mastermind. ¡°Looks like they will have much company at the bottom soon, eh?¡± Milena drummed her fingers on the railing. ¡°How can anyone say we are not a generous people? Look how my loyal crew makes this trial easier for us all.¡± As she spoke, Uicha watched the octopus drag two merchant sailors under the water, thrusting them down in her grip and holding them there. He could not believe how these champions chatted as people were killed not a half mile away. Were they all like this? The four champions of Ambergran had been chasing glory when his parents died, Battar Crodd had made a game of killing an entire village, and the less he thought of Ahmed Roh the better. Sara Free had been kind, at least, but then her faction existed in part to undermine the power of the Granting. All of the bolt-throwers on the side of the Mastermind facing the octopus had gone dark. One of the monster''s tentacles had been chunked half away and another charred to stiff uselessness, but these injuries had only made the octopus angrier. The Mastermind endeavored to turn in order to use the other half of its armaments. However, its decks were smashed and collapsing, and the octopus clung close to it, as if it might leverage the massive ship onto its side. How many would die if the whole ship got overturned? Uicha would not just stand around and watch. He used [Summon Gargoyle] and Parrot II appeared at his feet. Captain Akoni leapt backward, drawing his sword. ¡°By the tides!¡± The mastiff-sized stone monster did not react to Akoni¡ªhe seemed to sense the captain was a friend. Instead, Parrot II flexed its leathery wings and tilted its head toward Uicha, awaiting instructions. ¡°Sorry,¡± Uicha said hurriedly to the captain. Then, he turned to Parrot II and pointed toward the Mastermind. ¡°Go kill that octopus.¡± If Uicha hadn¡¯t known better, he might have thought he read skepticism in the empty-eyed, beaked face of his summoned companion. All the same, the gargoyle took to the air with a great flapping of its wings, talons scratching the deck as it pushed off. ¡°I suppose that¡¯s our cue,¡± Curse said as the gargoyle¡¯s shadow passed over him. Without further word, he leapt over the side of the Dartmyth. He landed with a light splash on the ocean¡¯s surface, his [Water Walking] preventing him from sinking. Curse took off at a run toward the octopus, his haggard collection of corpses swimming along in his wake. ¡°An unfair advantage,¡± muttered Milena. Sheppa¡ªbreathless and wide-eyed¡ªarrived to the bow holding the harpoon Curse had requested. ¡°He forgot¡ª¡± ¡°Perfect, thank you,¡± Milena said, snatching the weapon away from the ship¡¯s medic. She flashed Akoni a girlish smile. ¡°Captain, I don¡¯t suppose you might bring your ship closer.¡± ¡°Absolutely not,¡± he replied. ¡°Fine,¡± Milena said. ¡°Have it your way.¡± ¡°Wait¡ª¡± Uicha said, starting forward as he remembered Milena¡¯s Ink. Too late. She cupped her hands around her mouth and shrieked across the expanse. ¡°Come on, you eight-armed whore! Come to me!¡± The words carried, infused with arcane energy. She had used [Taunt]. Immediately, the monstrous octopus lost interest in dismantling the Mastermind. After disentangling her limbs from the gellezza, the octopus streaked in their direction¡ªa dark blue, gelatinous globe rolling across the ocean surface, tentacles flowing out behind her like streamers. Torrents of water kicked up on either side of the beast as she picked up speed, the pulsing swim matching Uicha¡¯s heartbeat. ¡°Look at that,¡± Milena said. ¡°Fast when she¡¯s angry, isn¡¯t she?¡± ¡°What did you do?¡± Akoni asked. He did not wait for a response, but spun toward the navigator¡¯s perch. ¡°Chamberly! Get the anchor up and bring us around!¡± ¡°Chamberly!¡± Milena echoed the captain, twirling her harpoon over her head in a showy motion. ¡°Keep us right where we are, my love!¡± The navigator stared dumbly at Milena, his arms hanging limp at his sides. She had used [Dazzling Flourish], which the navigator appeared powerless to resist. ¡°Merchant scum,¡± growled Akoni as he took off, racing toward the Dartmyth¡¯s controls. ¡°We need to let her get close if we¡¯re going to kill her, don¡¯t we?¡± Milena said. ¡°Why make such a fuss about it?¡± Uicha considered using the last of his [Telekinesis] to swipe Milena off the deck. He could cast her out into the ocean like a game of fetch with the octopus. He held back, though, worried that tapping out his Ink would leave him vulnerable. Instead, he kept his eyes forward, teeth gritted, as Parrot II reached the surging octopus. The gargoyle pulled its wings in tight and dropped like a stone from a catapult, carving directly into the other monster¡¯s bulbous head. Taken by surprise, the octopus flailed in response, then sank. Parrot II beat its wings in desperation, but was dragged under with the octopus. ¡°Probably not the best environment for a creature made of stone,¡± Milena commented. ¡°Good show, anyway.¡± The octopus resurfaced a moment later¡ªcloser to the Dartmyth now¡ªleaking a trail of dark blue ichor into the water. Distantly, Uicha sensed his gargoyle sinking deeper and deeper, with no hope of rejoining the fight. ¡°You see, she has to come for me direct,¡± Milena said. ¡°We¡¯d be in real trouble if she could smarten up and go under the boat. You¡¯re welcome for that.¡± ¡°Are you going to do anything?¡± Uicha asked. ¡°Besides stand here and narrate?¡± Milena smiled, hefting the harpoon over her shoulder to test its weight. ¡°In a bit,¡± she said. ¡°There¡¯s enough Ink to go around on that big bitch. It¡¯s polite to let everyone have their share.¡± The giant octopus had closed enough that Uicha could now see the veins of Ink that slithered across her sapphire flesh. He could also see the damage that had already been done to the creature¡ªthe rents in her head from his gargoyle¡¯s claws, the ruined tentacles. He felt a pang of sympathy. What had this octopus been doing before the gods marked her and sent these champions in pursuit? Living a quiet life at the bottom of the ocean, bothering no one? And now, against her will, she had been made sport. Uicha could understand how that might feel. Curse and his drowned were the next to meet the charging octopus. As Curse walked upon the water, his approach didn¡¯t take the monster by surprise like the gargoyle¡¯s had. The octopus rotated to meet him¡ªspinning forward now instead of surging¡ªher tentacles thrashing like spokes on a wheel. Two of the drowned were ensnared and crushed, while a third was plucked up between two tentacles and ripped in half. The other undead clambered onto the octopus¡¯ dome-shaped head, pulling and ripping at her wounds. When one of the tentacles slapped down at Curse, he used [Jump+] to burst upward from the ocean¡¯s surface, then hooked the tentacle with an [Energy Tether] from above. Reeling himself in along the rope of glowing magic, Curse landed on the back of the tentacle and pressed his hands into the monster¡¯s flesh. Now, Uicha had a chance to see the [Life Drain] ability that Curse had attempted to use on him. The deep ocean coloring of the octopus tentacle bled away and the limb turned grayish, withering beneath Curse¡¯s touch. As the first tentacle began to disintegrate, another snaked around Curse¡¯s body and hoisted him skyward. Luckily¡ªfor the monster¡ªthe ocean master¡¯s arms were pinned to his sides. Even under this assault, the octopus continued ceaselessly toward the Dartmyth. Uicha glanced to the right, detecting movement from the Gen¡¯bi boat. He had nearly forgotten about the third ship, which had so far done nothing to aid in the fight against the octopus. Now, a glittering whirlwind rose from the ship¡¯s deck, the funnel directed toward the tentacle holding Curse. Ripping winds laden with sand particulates left hundreds of slashing cuts across the tentacle, although the whirlwind broke away when it reached Curse. ¡°Lavenna,¡± muttered Milena. ¡°I wasn¡¯t supposed to let her get any. But then, seeing how she fights might be a worthy trade, no?¡± The name meant nothing to Uicha, but as he watched the twisting winds rise above the octopus, they came together into the shape of a woman. He was sure that she was the Gen¡¯bi who had waved to him¡ªtall, red-haired, with a black hat that miraculously stayed secure as she fell through the air. Lavenna used what looked like a slingshot to fire marble-sized projectiles into the top of the octopus¡¯ head, bursts of blue exploding with each hit¡ªand the head of one drowned splitting from a miss. The octopus tossed Curse¡¯s body in her direction, but Lavenna simply transformed back into a cutting gust of wind, swarming about the remaining tentacles. Curse splashed down further out, his body bouncing across the water as if it were a springy mattress. ¡°Right, we better hurry up,¡± Milena said. ¡°Here¡¯s what we¡¯ll do. I am going to [Open Weak Point] on that sorry cow and throw this harpoon. Then, you¡¯ll put that [Telekinesis] of yours to work, make sure I hit the target. Easy, right?¡± Despite the efforts of the champions, the octopus still came forward in a thrashing and gory mass. Surely, if not driven by Milena¡¯s [Taunt], the beast would have retreated. This was beyond all reason. Uicha has seen enough. ¡°Ready?¡± Milena asked. ¡°Yes.¡± Uicha activated [Ice Mastery]. He threw all of his power behind the attack, hoping that it would be enough to make it quick. In truth, Uicha wasn¡¯t sure exactly what would happen until it was already happening. The surface of the ocean crackled and hissed as an ice floe expanded across it, the thick block trapping the octopus and the drowned still clinging her head. The whirlwind¡ªLavenna¡ªrose above the freeze, returning with haste to the Gen¡¯bi ship. Uicha squeezed his fist and the ice contracted like a vice. Within the block, the octopus exploded, vivid sprays of blue and black hanging suspended like some work of art. The tentacles, severed from the head, sank beneath the water, while Uicha¡¯s cube floated atop the surface. The ocean suddenly seemed very quiet. Next to Uicha, Milena went still. Tendrils of black Ink wormed their way through cracks in the ice. One curled toward Curse, who stood atop the water staring, and another toward the Gen¡¯bi ship. But the largest coil of Ink flowed toward Uicha. He took an involuntary step back, uncertain of what might happen when the Ink touched his skin. Yet, an encouraging heat from his crimson runes told him not to resist. The Ink squirmed through the open air and sought the symbol on Uicha¡¯s throat, pooling and pulsing there, inside the empty box. And then, the Ink dried and turned to ash. Unthinkingly, Uicha reached up and brushed it away. ¡°Oh, you rotten little shit,¡± Milena said. ¡°That was for us. That¡ª¡± Uicha made a backhand motion. With the last of his [Telekinesis], he sent Milena pin-wheeling into the ocean. He turned to look up at Captain Akoni¡ªstanding at the Dartmyth¡¯s wheel and staring down at him. ¡°Captain?¡± Uicha asked. ¡°Can we resume our journey?¡± Akoni obeyed immediately.
67. [Carina] Cold Future
The days passed. The year slipped away. King Mudt and his champions rode the land in pursuit of Ink left for them by the gods, yet found their progress ever impeded by the banishments enacted across the north. Thus, the last Orvesian King spent his days chasing power and his nights screaming at invisible walls, promising those who would shield their lands from him that they would all be put to the sword upon the island. But the world was large, and his shouts small by comparison, and much like his blade and his armies, his words could no longer reach his enemies. And meanwhile, the soft-bodied King Hectore of Infinzel marked his own champions and left them to their own devices, hiding within his rooms at the top of his grand pyramid. It was from there he watched the return of Guydemion¡¯s host, and felt grateful to see an army once again massed in the fields beyond his walls. And meanwhile, the mage-prince Cizco Salvado prepared the pyramidal city¡¯s champions for what was to come, acquiring Ink in lands the Orvesians could not reach, and making bargains with those factions who would stand with Infinzel. And meanwhile, the estranged Queen Jocelyn, freed from her marriage to the cowardly pig Hectore and his scheming brother, returned to the southern continent with her marking of a dagger and coins, and found a beach where men and women had been marked like her. A man in the mask of a Crying Otter waited for her there, and offered her a mask of her own, and so the former queen left her name behind and became the Laughing Monkey. And meanwhile, the oca¡¯em watched from their towering fortress of coral as their leviathan devoured a fleet from Merchant¡¯s Bay, too proud to see how those who sailed upon the seas made plans against them. And meanwhile, the tomes of the Magelab gazed out across the lake that had long imprisoned them and discussed what might be done about their candles. And meanwhile, the horse riders of the Gen¡¯bi desert heard a whisper, though there was much fantasy in those days since the intervention of the gods, and no shortage of false visits by the divine were declared and discarded. And meanwhile, the retired Captain Sulk who had abandoned the blackbird for the shield came to the quiet city of Beacon on the southern continent, a place where many once lived but now were few, the residents taken by the war, or fled, or forgotten. ¡°Here will be the place,¡± Sulk declared. ¡°Here we shall build something and show the gods we have learned their lessons.¡± And then, it was time. Thus, began the First Granting. --Record of the First Granting and Dawning of the Second Age Lyus Crodd, Scribe of the Dead Kingdom of Orvesis
Carina Goldstone, Logician of the 3rd Renown, Kingdom of Infinzel, seeing limited futures Vitt Secondson-Salvado, Hunter of the 9th Renown, Kingdom of Infinzel, a surprisingly tolerable traveling companion
28 Trollove, 61 AW Heading north on the Troldep River, North Continent 122 days until the next Granting Carina Goldstone crawled on her belly across the ice and stone. She could see the sky in front of her¡ªcrystal blue and cloudless¡ªand a drop. The cliff ended up ahead, but she had seen a ledge there before, twelve feet down. Or maybe it had been closer to twenty? Usually, she could keep details like that firmly in her mind. Blood dripped into her eye. Carina had been hit very hard in the head. Her swollen tongue worked across her teeth. She tasted vomit. Carina couldn¡¯t feel her legs. That was, by far, the worst part. They dragged behind her like two dangling weights and she had to buck her hips to jostle them loose every time they snagged on a rock or a root. Actually, no, the desperation¡ªthat was the worst part. Her plan to survive boiled down to throwing herself off the side of a mountain, hoping that the ledge she¡¯d seen earlier wasn¡¯t so far down that she¡¯d die in the doing, and then praying she could stay hidden long enough for her Ink to fill back in. Gods, she had fucked it. If it came down to hoping and praying, what good had been all those years of planning? Wasted time. A sad, fruitless life. She shouldn¡¯t have ended up here. She shouldn¡¯t¡ª Footsteps crunched behind her. Carina groaned and dug her nails into the ice, trying to worm her way along faster. But, it was useless now. He had returned. Carina tried to turn her head, scraping her chin across the rocks in the process. She wanted to get a final look at the man who¡¯d done this to her, the man who had so carelessly destroyed all of her meticulous plans. Carina suspected that he wielded a hammer, but she couldn¡¯t see him. She could never fully see him. Something blocked her. There was a piece missing from this possibility¡ªlike a page ripped roughly from a book. She could tell it had been there, but had no idea what it said. Without that page, nothing after quite made sense. What could leave a hole like that in her future? Carina gasped as she came back to herself. On her chest, buried beneath a sweater and two blankets, her [Future Sight] Ink faded. Once again, she¡¯d used it all up probing this most frustrating possibility. She bounced her knees up and down to prove that she still could, the wooden chair beneath her creaking. Her nose had started to drip from the cold and she tilted her head to wipe it on her blanket. She swayed back-and-forth with the motion of the barge as it steered around a block of ice in the river. Ahead of her, Nortmost loomed. The mountain at the top of the world, the source of the Troldep River, and the towering peak where Carina thought she might be killed if she couldn¡¯t sort out these visions. A fresh dusting of late winter snow glittered in silver bands across the mountain¡¯s icy face. From her spot at the front of the barge, she could see the Nortmost¡¯s frozen waterfall, hanging like an old man¡¯s beard into the cold Troldep. These last few days, their barge had frequently scraped against floating chunks of ice and twice they¡¯d needed to break up an ice dam before proceeding. The water-wheel at the back of the barge shuddered as the gears tightened from the cold. As Carina judged it, they would make the village at the base of the mountain by this short day¡¯s sundown. Tiptop, they called it. The place didn¡¯t have its own faction¡ªit seemed only to exist to host champions for these few weeks every year, and otherwise was home to a few dozen hermetic ice fishermen who didn¡¯t mind the long nights and freezing temperatures. At least, she¡¯d been told, the inn was supposed to be nice. Carina would be grateful to stretch her legs and regain some privacy¡ªeven though there had only been the three of them journeying northward on the barge, the environs still felt cramped to her. If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it. ¡°And how was it this morning, then? Watch yourself die again?¡± Carina half-turned at Vitt¡¯s approach. The hunter appeared rosy-cheeked, underdressed for the cold, his growing curls poking out from beneath a knit cap. He wore a scruffy beard which, at first, he¡¯d claimed to grow because there hadn¡¯t been time to gather his many grooming implements as they fled Infinzel. But, after they¡¯d stopped at two trading posts and still the Secondson remained grizzled and itchy, she¡¯d gotten him to admit that he didn¡¯t know how to trim a beard and had never, in fact, shaved himself in all his life. He¡¯d always paid for hot towels and a beautiful woman to do the grooming for him; the thought of soap lather and a whetted knife repulsed him. Eventually, Carina took pity on him, and trimmed his beard with scissors from a sewing kit she¡¯d acquired. It was the least she could do. Vitt had saved her life. Even after the healing, Carina had not been herself. There had been damage done to her mind that Henry Blacksalve could not fix¡ªdamage she worried still lingered. It had been Vitt who decided they should leave Infinzel, that it would be a good idea to get some distance from his father. They needed to go north for Ink anyway. So, what better time than that very night, while Soldier¡¯s Rest still smoldered and the very boundaries of Infinzel were being redrawn? Carina had been too loopy to decide whether that was a stupid idea or not. The arrangements all fell to Vitt. He had found this barge on its way north, strong-armed its odd little captain into allowing them on board, and paid handsomely for their passage. The Secondson had sold a ring and a bracelet at the first river trading post they passed so that they could purchase various sundries. Of course, the noble hadn¡¯t a notion of what metalwork forged within Infinzel was worth and thought haggling beneath him¡ªso Carina had intervened to broker them a better deal. When Carina didn¡¯t immediately respond to him, Vitt took a deep breath in through his nose. ¡°I like the taste of the air here,¡± he said. ¡°I could have been happy as an ice fisherman, I think.¡± Carina chuckled and shook her head. It wasn¡¯t lost on either of them how Vitt¡¯s lungs had cleared as they traveled further north. He nudged her shoulder, handing her a steaming mug of rapidly cooling coffee. ¡°That¡¯s the last of it,¡± Vitt said. ¡°You managed it all exactly right. Not an angle overspent on superfluous beans.¡± ¡°A logician at work,¡± Carina said quietly. ¡°What good does it do to keep poking around in your future, huh? Nothing but second-guessing and playing against your own instincts.¡± Vitt tossed his head. ¡°It would drive me mad.¡± ¡°I need to be prepared.¡± ¡°Prepared.¡± Vitt snorted. ¡°Were you prepared for this? Did you have a vision of being stuck on a barge with me and the little diddler for weeks?¡± Of course, Carina had not. Vitt knew that. But, as they traveled northward, Carina had become obsessed with probing the sudden gaps in her [Future Sight]. She arrived at potentialities¡ªlike her death on the cliff¡ªwithout a clear understanding of how. Pivots were missing in the mechanism of fate¡ªgears plucked loose, yet others turning still. And then, there was the strange sensation from her [Alert] Ink. Carina could not explain the lingering dread that thrummed through her body¡ªlike the Ink was always on the verge of signaling danger, but never quite getting there. She imagined a hand clasped over a screaming mouth. Were these residual effects of her misfired chanic? Her Ink looked normal¡ªwell, red-flecked, but normal for her¡ªafter Henry had healed the burns and peeled flesh. Or were these malfunctions caused by whatever ward the king had hidden in her room? Vitt had told her of the glow in the ceiling, and Carina assumed that Cizco had planted one of his traps beneath her stones, ready to punish her for digging. She¡¯d hoped to use this time on the barge to recover her wits. But, as they closed in on Nortmost, she still felt lost. Carina hadn¡¯t realized she¡¯d lapsed into silence again until Vitt cleared his throat. ¡°You know, you used to be a challenging conversationalist,¡± he said. ¡°Annoying, yes, but good for a laugh. Not so much of this haunted gazing into the distance.¡± She looked up at him. ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡± Vitt sniffed in response. He gazed back the way they had come, downriver, scratching his cheek. ¡°Well, if you must live in your head, at least be useful about it. What are those other ones doing right now?¡± Carina had explained this enough times to him that she was now sure he asked this question merely to draw her out. ¡°I told you, I can''t see what they''re doing.¡± ¡°But you know they''re three days behind us.¡± ¡°Because that''s when they intersect with my future,¡± Carina said. ¡°Two or three days hence. Although there are some variations where they show up much later, or not at all¡­¡± A smile spread across Vitt¡¯s face and she could tell he¡¯d stopped listening to her. All the better. It was a waste of breath trying to explain these potentialities to Vitt. Perhaps he was right and she had been looking forward too much. She took in a deep breath of steam and then a sip of coffee. ¡°Gods, to have seen the look on the hammerhead''s face when he learned his old drinking buddy turned traitor,¡± Vitt said. ¡°I suspect it was no different than the look on your face.¡± ¡°How would you know? Passed out as you were.¡± Carina had actually regained consciousness while Vitt was still yelling at Henry, petulantly demanding that the healer switch his Ink back. She''d been propped up against a wall, the snow seeping in through the backs of her pants, the sweater they''d covered her with scratchy on her skin. They were on the sideline of a celebration. Henry peered down at her with red-rimmed eyes. She could still feel the warmth from his [Healing Touch] on her face. The older man smiled with relief at seeing her awake and she had a moment to see the familiar-yet-new crumbled wall tattooed on his neck. Then, Henry had turned his back on them and was welcomed into the crowd, leaving her with Vitt. ¡°There aren''t enough healers in Infinzel,¡± Carina mused. ¡°What?¡± ¡°There¡¯s no replacement for Henry.¡± ¡°You think Blacksalve will hold out on us? I didn¡¯t really mean it when I called him a traitor,¡± Vitt said, his tone softening. ¡°If they''re all traveling up here together, then the old men must have worked it out, right? One happy family.¡± Carina knew Bel Guydemion and she knew Cizco Salvado. Neither man would want to make the first move unless it would also be the last, and so it had not surprised her that Cortland and Henry together were leading the newly Inked north. There would be time yet to worry about those dynamics. Her thoughts had drifted elsewhere. ¡°I always assumed it was an unlucky shortfall,¡± she said. ¡°Huh?¡± ¡°The lack of healers,¡± Carina said. ¡°But now, I wonder if your father arranged it that way. A talented healer might have discovered his work.¡± ¡°His work,¡± Vitt repeated the phrase grimly. ¡°Henry healed me a hundred times and never suspected.¡± ¡°He''s a drunk and not prone to deeper questions,¡± Carina said. ¡°I wonder, was he always like that? Was he selected because of that weakness? Or, perhaps, did your father make him that way?¡± ¡°Your wheels never stop turning, do they?¡± Vitt said. ¡°Gods, what a thought.¡± ¡°Will you tell the others?¡± Carina asked. ¡°Your brothers and sisters, your cousins, your¡­?¡± ¡°Stop listing,¡± Vitt said. ¡°I know what you¡¯re asking.¡± Carina had tiptoed around this conversation before, hoping Vitt would share his thinking in his own time. She hadn¡¯t pressed the matter because, in truth, she wasn¡¯t sure which outcome to nudge Vitt toward. Once again, there were too many unknowns. ¡°I haven''t decided,¡± Vitt said, after a moment. Carina could tell he wanted to say more, so she waited. ¡°I should have run back into Infinzel that very night and told them what you saw. Explained what purpose we serve for our father. Instead, I left. While on this horrible little boat, I have had time to think things through.¡± ¡°And?¡± ¡°I¡¯m glad I didn¡¯t act rashly. For once.¡± Vitt shrugged. ¡°Maybe what he does to us is worth it.¡± Carina nodded. ¡°I had come to the same conclusion. Not so terrible a sacrifice, for the good of the pyramidal city.¡± ¡°Well, I dislike hearing you say it.¡± ¡°However, it¡¯s not sustainable and deeply exploitable,¡± Carina continued. ¡°Your father must understand the precariousness of his situation. Thus, the extraordinary measures he''s taken to keep this information to himself.¡± ¡°Like booby-trapping your room,¡± Vitt said. ¡°Yes.¡± Carina paused. ¡°And now, I think it¡¯s likely he''s sent Cortland to kill me.¡± Vitt guffawed at that. ¡°Gods, you¡¯ve had the hammer master wrapped around your finger since the day you sauntered in. He could never.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not so sure about that.¡± ¡°If anyone would be tasked with killing you, it¡¯d be me.¡± Carina fixed her eyes on the mountain ahead, larger and larger with every creaking turn of the barge¡¯s water-wheel. ¡°For both of our sakes, I believe the best way forward is to present the king with an alternative to violence, both against me and his many, many offspring. Now that I understand the needs, I think I can design something better.¡± ¡°Of course. A new Infinzel with yourself at its center.¡± Vitt patted her shoulder. ¡°I am sure that will make my father want to murder you less.¡± Carina started to say more, but Vitt¡¯s fingers tightened. They were no longer alone. The barge¡¯s captain had emerged onto the deck holding the pickaxe he used to break ice off the water-wheel. A little man from Cruxton with a child¡¯s chubby face and the hunched shoulders of a dog ready to be swatted¡ªCarina found him unspeakably boring. He kept his distance, at least, likely still frightened by whatever threats Vitt had made back on Solstice. The captain flinched upon seeing them. ¡°Good morning, champions,¡± he said in his cracking voice. ¡°We¡¯ll reach Tiptop today.¡± ¡°Aye, Captain Dell, aye, we will!¡± Vitt replied with mock cheer. As the captain turned to his work, Vitt rolled his eyes at Carina. ¡°A little pervert, don¡¯t you think? Driven from town for his disgusting crimes. What other kind of boatman would travel north with so little?¡± Carina shook her head and retreated into her thoughts. Though gossiping about the man amused Vitt to no end, she spent little time thinking about their captain. He meant nothing. In all the futures she scanned, desperately trying to sidestep her death on the ice, Carina never saw Dell Whittle again.
68. [Carina] Old Angles
Carina Goldstone, Logician of the 3rd Renown, Kingdom of Infinzel, in a crowd she can¡¯t control Vitt Secondson-Salvado, Hunter of the 9th Renown, Kingdom of Infinzel, back to his old self
28 Trollove, 61 AW The village of Tiptop, North Continent 122 days until the next Granting For a factionless village at the top of the world, Tiptop felt crowded. At the docks, wedged into berths chiseled out from ice, fishing boats scraped sides with barges from further south. The local boats were in better condition than Carina would have expected, many outfitted with steel icebreakers and water-wheels. Their fishermen¡ªheavily bearded and shrouded in seal skins¡ªstopped to helped merchants unload their wares. The locals seemed excessively tolerant of the visitors who crowded their docks. One look around and Carina soon understood why. The locals took a cut of everything and, with a few weeks per year during which the power and wealth of champions gathered in Tiptop, along with the merchants and tradesmen who followed them, Tiptop¡¯s small population profited handsomely. Carina''s eyes tracked a fisherman who''d returned home with light nets¡ªhome being a stately two-story log cabin. ¡°Is this why you thought you could make it as a fisherman?¡± she asked Vitt. The hunter followed her look but didn''t seem to understand the question. ¡°Why?¡± ¡°I envisioned you teetering between frostbite and destitution in a shanty at the edge of the ice.¡± Carina gestured at the cabins spaced generously across the embankment above. ¡°Those look more like the homes the Penchennese lords and ladies keep in the hills for foliage season.¡± ¡°Ah, so you think fishermen should resign themselves to lives of cold salmon guts and drafty hovels?¡± Vitt clucked his tongue. ¡°What would Bel Guydemion think of such a notion, logician?¡± Carina shook her head and continued the trek up the embankment until they reached Tiptop''s single thoroughfare. The street curled south into the frozen tundra and north toward the towering Nortmost¡ªand in between all that forbidding wilderness were delicate cobblestones and wrought iron oil lamps to light the way. Merchants had set up stalls on the roadside, the spaces warmed by coal furnaces built into the street. ¡°Let''s hope they haven¡¯t given away all the good beds,¡± Vitt muttered. As Vitt led the way into town, Carina took one last look down at the docks. They had exchanged perfunctory goodbyes with the captain of their barge whose reaction to their departure had been barely restrained jubilation. Carina caught sight of Dell Whittle then, pulling a large trunk down a ramp from his barge to the dock. A local offered to help, but Dell shooed him away. She wondered what wares he¡¯d brought to sell. The awkward little man would have stiff competition. Following after Vitt, Carina spotted stalls hawking weapons, camping gear, dried meats, and even Gadgeteer-made portable stoves. A handful of men and women browsed the selection¡ªchampions, Carina suspected, although everyone''s bundling made it difficult to identify Ink. Based on the way they shrank back when they caught sight of Vitt, she suspected these were the champions of small factions of the North, farmers and herders and, yes, probably more fishermen. No one important. In all likelihood, most of these champions would be fighting for bountiful harvests. ¡°I did not expect it to be so¡­ social,¡± Carina said, drawing close to Vitt. ¡°Dreadful, isn''t it?¡± he responded. ¡°So many more than the last time I was here.¡± Carina considered that. Perhaps these farmer champions were more interested in Ink this year, given what had happened to Ambergran. ¡°When were you last here?¡± ¡°Three years back, my own first year,¡± Vitt said. ¡°Fucking waste of time, honestly. Twenty days up the mountain, twenty days back down. And not enough Ink to go around.¡± ¡°You didn''t get any?¡± Vitt scoffed. ¡°Of course I did. I meant a waste of time for these others.¡± ¡°Why do they all linger in town?¡± Carina asked. ¡°Why not begin the ascent?¡± ¡°If anyone starts out before the gods plant the Ink, then the Ink won''t appear at all,¡± Vitt said. ¡°Anyway, that¡¯s what the old timers claim. Maybe that''s superstition. No one''s allowed to test it. In fact, we''ll have to pick up shifts guarding the ascent. Nobody was dumb enough to try anything last time I was here. Cortland said the trolkin like rushing the mountain, but I never saw any.¡± At the mention of the hammer master, Carina¡¯s eyes flicked to the Nortmost looming ahead of them. Although she¡¯d spent hours hiking through her futures, none of the terrain looked familiar at this distance. Night had draped itself across the icy peaks and with it came strange whorls of green and purple, twisting like paint streaks in the starry sky. Carina hadn''t seen the like before and her breath caught a bit in her chest. ¡°Those are the gods themselves frolicking, champion!¡± said a man''s voice from her right. ¡°They''re preparing your trial as we speak!¡± Carina glanced away from the dancing lights to find a young man in her path¡ªleanly muscled, with the pine tree tattoo of Fornon on his throat, and stripped down to his underclothes. He was one of a half dozen athletic young people milling about under a snow-laden canvas awning, all of them nearly naked and seemingly unbothered by the cold. ¡°Three hundred angles and I''ll have you up that mountain faster than any of these others,¡± the man said. ¡°Actually, you look pretty light. Two-fifty.¡± ¡°Fuck off,¡± snarled Vitt, cocking his fist back so that the young man flinched away. As he did, Carina noticed the mossy lines of blue that curled up his jawline, into his ears and hair, like mold growing across meat. ¡°Frosswiss,¡± Carina said as they continued up the thoroughfare. ¡°That''s what that was, right?¡± Vitt put a hand on the hilt of his short sword. He hadn''t worn the weapon during their weeks on the river, and Carina had almost forgotten how dangerous he could be. ¡°Fucking slusher would turn blue halfway up the mountain. You¡¯d spend the rest of the ascent trying to stop him from biting you.¡± Carina glanced over her shoulder at the nearly naked men and women¡ªthe slushers. She wondered how many patches of blue growth she could find on their chiseled bodies if she studied them long enough. ¡°Why do they do it?¡± ¡°It''s cold and boring up here? How should I know?¡± Vitt glanced at her. ¡°What''s this? Something you don''t know all about?¡± Of course, Carina had come across frosswiss in her travels. There were mages who burned the plant for their spellwork. And there had been noble salons in Penchenne dedicated entirely to experiencing the hallucinations frosswiss could grant¡ªCarina had stood at the backs of those rooms and watched the moneyed sons and daughters of Penchenne howl with laughter while one of their number shit themselves on account of how the floor had sprouted mouths and decided to devour them. The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. ¡°Just never seen one go blue,¡± Carina said. ¡°To go all the way with it, knowing what comes¡­¡± ¡°Happens more up here,¡± Vitt replied with a shrug. ¡°Surprised you haven''t dabbled yourself. You experiment with enough other polluting substances.¡± Carina frowned at this observation, though she couldn¡¯t dispute it. ¡°I prefer to keep my wits about me.¡± ¡°Of course,¡± Vitt replied. ¡°Silly of me to suggest otherwise.¡± They arrived at the Clear Sky Inn¡ªthe last building on the road, the largest in Tiptop, and the closest to Nortmost. The road continued onward to the mountain, but it narrowed and twisted as the first of Nortmost''s crags broke apart the land, like knuckles of a giant hand rising up from the snow. Figures paced across these rises or huddled in small groups between them, keeping watch on the area leading to the mountain. Those must have been the patrols Vitt mentioned. Outside the Clear Sky, a corral housed dozens of horses and a team of oxen, the animals sticking close to the windbreaks and stalls along the side of the building. Mixing in were packs of sturdy, long-haired goats, a local and brazen bunch, swaggering amongst the visitors. Some of the champions had come by land, their wagons and carts parked nearby. The vehicles were dwarfed by a Fornon trunk-hauler¡ªa brutish conveyance with a flatbed like a wagon, high wooden walls on the sides, and a covered cockpit. The contraption moved on wheels linked by gears and encased in treads¡ªa design pioneered by the Gadgeteers. Carina had looked into buying some of the vehicles for Infinzel, to see if their disbursements of stone to the rest of the continent might be made more profitable, but they''d have lost money on the arrangement. She''d learned then that the northerners of Fornon liked things big and mean, but not necessarily efficient. ¡°Ho! Is that the princeling of Infinzel, come to join us at last?¡± And, of course, Fornon''s champion was the first to greet Vitt when he and Carina stepped through the inn door. Carina was immediately grateful for the wave of heat that washed over her from the dining room''s central hearth, but she kept her hood up, lingering behind Vitt until she could get a better feel for her surroundings. Conversations and music swelled around her, the dining room divided by a maze-like arrangement of banquet tables and bearskin. A bar stretched across one wall, a kitchen behind it, the aroma of smoked meat from within making Carina''s throat itch. On the opposite side of the room, a polished wooden staircase led to the inn''s second and third stories, the doors to the rooms overlooking the proceedings below. Carina wished she had been more circumspect with her [Future Sight]. She would have liked to get a better sense of the other guests, and peek at which conversations were best avoided. Too many mouths and too many ears in this room. Vitt, however, seemed completely in his element. He removed his gloves with a dramatic snapping of leather and spread his arms toward the man who¡¯d greeted them. ¡°My title is Secondson, imbecile,¡± Vitt said. ¡°The princeling is what I use to fuck your mother.¡± Carina made a face at that, and was unsurprised to see the champion of Fornon rise from his table. He was a huge man, taller than Vitt and twice as wide, covered in curly brown hair. His impressive beard was parted in two braids so that the pine tree symbol upon his neck was clear. He''d stripped down to an undershirt and even that was ringed with sweat, the whorls of his sizable collection of Ink visible through the fabric. There were four others from Fornon at the table¡ªthree men and a woman¡ªall of them similar in stature. At least these others didn''t rise to greet Vitt, though they watched the Secondson warily. Lumberjocks, all of them. ¡°My mother lays only with the most virile men of the north,¡± the champion said through his teeth. ¡°Judging by those sparse whiskers you''ve decorated your cheeks with, you''re still but a boy.¡± ¡°Ah, if not your mother, then what did I stick it into on my way up here¡­?¡± Vitt rubbed his cheek thoughtfully. ¡°I suppose there must be a very satisfied bear roaming these lands. Or perhaps it was your hairy sister, Breck Bucksap?¡± Carina pinched the bridge of her nose. Weeks alone with him on the quiet river and she¡¯d managed to forget what Vitt was truly like. How quickly he returned to form¡ªjoking about his cock and sauntering around like one of those goats in the corral. He seemed looser in this company, a burden off his shoulders. Carina didn¡¯t feel the same. Breck, the Fornon champion, woofed a laugh and rushed forward, dragging Vitt under his sweaty arm. ¡°Come on, pretty boy, have a beer with us! We have much to discuss.¡± Allowing himself to be pulled along, Vitt barely glanced back at Carina. ¡°Figure out the rooms, would you?¡± ¡°Did it feel colder on the way up, Secondson?¡± Breck continued, shouting in Vitt¡¯s ear. ¡°That¡¯s because you let that trolkin madwoman live! Winter spreads because Infinzel doesn¡¯t honor its agreements.¡± ¡°Take it up with the hammer master. I¡¯m only here to get drunk and break in his little project¡­¡± Vitt said, the rest of his words lost in the noise as he joined the table of lumberjocks. Carina suppressed a scowl. It wouldn¡¯t do to show any annoyance in this environment. Scanning the crowd, she quickly picked out champions from Cruxton and Noyega, and a pair of candles from the Magelab. That likely meant an archmage was here somewhere. Ahmed Roh¡¯s replacement? She hadn¡¯t devoted much thought to her old acquaintances¡ªnot since Samus Bind had told her about Roh¡¯s killing. Still, she had a standing policy to never let a mage see her rattled. She would move through this room of champions like she¡¯d moved through so many others¡ªas if she belonged. Squaring her shoulders, Carina focused on the silver-haired woman behind the bar who she took to be the innkeeper. In her fifties, broad-shouldered, with the pine tree of Fornon upon her neck¡ªshe leaned on her elbows while a bartender and a server hustled around her. She was in deep conversation with an oddly proportioned man, a horseshoe of hair on his head, his face flushed from ale or the company. There were two finely crafted hand axes strapped to his back. He looked to be some twenty years younger than the innkeeper, although Carina still thought the woman could probably do better. Carina sensed the balding man would be warming that stool long after the dining room had cleared out, and the innkeeper would keep right on pouring for him. ¡°Pardon me,¡± Carina said as she interrupted the flirtation, ¡°I¡¯d like to check in.¡± The innkeeper sighed and straightened. She eyed Carina¡¯s neck until Carina tugged down her scarf. ¡°Infinzel,¡± the innkeeper said. ¡°I almost gave away your rooms. You¡¯ll have a shift on the pass tonight, on account of being so late.¡± She jerked her square chin toward Vitt. ¡°Don¡¯t let that one get too drunk.¡± ¡°He¡¯s not my responsibility,¡± Carina said. ¡°No? Well I don¡¯t see Ben or Cortland around, so you must be wrong about that.¡± ¡°Ben¡¯s¡ª¡± The innkeeper had turned away to fetch keys before Carina could correct her. Not that it was worth updating this woman on the composition of Infinzel¡¯s champions. At least, Carina reasoned, news of the schism with Soldier¡¯s Rest had been slow to travel this far north. That was good. Let these other champions learn the news when Cortland walked Guydemion¡¯s chosen four through the door¡ªa unified front instead of a divided pyramidal city. ¡°Val used to be a champion herself. She knows everybody.¡± It took a moment for Carina to realize the balding man at the bar was talking to her. ¡°Not a bad place to retire, is it?¡± he continued. ¡°I could see myself somewhere like this. Although the men of Fornon keep telling me I should¡¯ve chosen bigger axes.¡± Carina half-turned and smiled politely. She noticed, for the first time, the perfectly balanced scales tattooed on the man¡¯s throat. ¡°Penchenne,¡± Carina said. ¡°Infinzel,¡± the man replied with mock grimness. ¡°I suppose there should be some tension between us, yes? But I don¡¯t believe grudges move the world forward. I¡¯m Theo Adamantios, axe master of the 6th renown, and I meet you, fellow champion, with the open hand of friendship.¡± Carina¡¯s mouth went dry. No¡ªshe would have foreseen this. As she cycled through all the possibilities, she could not have overlooked something like this. Theo raised an eyebrow as Carina¡¯s silence stretched on. ¡°Well, you need not feel any great pressure to tell me your name." ¡°Carina¡­?¡± ¡°Ah!¡± Theo exclaimed. ¡°My noble sponsor rouses from her slumber!¡± Carina spun at the sound of her name and barely managed to stop her eyes from widening. Sylvie Aracia had cut her hair since the last time Carina saw her¡ªhacked it mostly off, in fact, so that it swayed about her porcelain face at jagged angles. She looked smaller than Carina remembered, but then it had been mostly gowns for Sylvie in those days, not woolen sweaters and leather. Sylvie¡¯s features were darkened by heavy bags beneath her eyes, her lips and nose chapped, like she¡¯d made a miserable voyage through the cold and hadn¡¯t since warmed up. ¡°Sylvie,¡± Carina said. ¡°This is unexpected.¡± ¡°Oh gods, if you¡¯re here, then it¡¯s true,¡± Sylvie said, tears in her eyes. ¡°I¡¯m not just losing my mind.¡± ¡°What¡ª?¡± Sylvie lunged in close to Carina, fitting against her in a way that would¡¯ve felt natural four years ago, when they might have come together to share some bit of gossip. Her breath smelled stale. ¡°I¡¯ve been dreaming of her,¡± Sylvie whispered. ¡°She makes me lay down with her in a coffin and tells me what I¡¯ll do. She has our coin, Carina.¡± Carina stiffened. She restrained herself from activating [Force Armor] which would have shoved her old friend across the room. Her eyes danced around the tables, but no one seemed to be paying attention¡ªexcept for this Theo Adamantios, whose stupid grin had puckered with concern. He couldn¡¯t have heard what Sylvie said, but that didn¡¯t mean there weren¡¯t others listening by other means. With the appearance of gentleness, Carina put her hands on Sylvie¡¯s shoulders and eased her back. Carina dug her fingers into the flesh, but Sylvie didn¡¯t seem to notice. ¡°I don¡¯t know what you¡¯re talking about, Sylvie,¡± Carina said. ¡°Have you been ill?¡± ¡°The monkey,¡± Sylvie said. ¡°She¡¯s coming for us.¡±
69. [Carina] Debt Collectors
Carina Goldstone, Logician of the 3rd Renown, Kingdom of Infinzel, encountering ghosts Theo Adamantios, Axe Master of the 6th Renown, and Sylvie Aracia, his sponsor, Penchenne, the latter in a state of fever
29 Trollove, 61 AW The village of Tiptop, North Continent 121 days until the next Granting The room stank of sweat, the tang of anxiety mixed with the cloying aroma of tea, the pot left untouched and gone cold. Hot stones glowed red in the corner stove. The windows were sealed up tight, the heavy curtains drawn and still, not so much as a draft to disturb them. And yet, despite the dry heat, Carina felt a clamminess travel down her back. ¡°I saw one in Besdaden,¡± Sylvie mumbled. ¡°I snuck away to look at the body when the beastlords carried it away. He¡¯d cut open his own belly and let some monster crawl out of him. That''s what they''ll make me do.¡± ¡°I don''t think so, Syl.¡± ¡°Or something worse,¡± Sylvie continued. ¡°And we deserve it.¡± Carina didn''t respond. With the help of Theo Adamantios, she had pulled Sylvie back upstairs. Then, Carina shut the door in the champion¡¯s face and guided Sylvie beneath her pile of blankets. Sylvie writhed there like a caterpillar caught in a web. She seemed teetering on the edge of a nightmare. Her eyes went in and out of focus. ¡°Is there something I can do?¡± Carina asked. She noticed an envelope on the bedside table¡ªcrumbs of herbs stuck to the paper. She wondered what medicines Sylvie had been consuming. ¡°Don¡¯t let them take me,¡± Sylvie said quietly. Carina reached out, hesitated for a moment, and then brushed some dark strands of hair off Sylvie''s damp forehead. Her skin was pale and hot, and Carina suddenly remembered the marble verandas of Penchenne. Years ago, they had laid on those stones warm from the sun and baked like pita bread. They drank iced white wine in the style of Penchennese summer and Carina listened to Sylvie talk about the dashing swordsman she would marry. ¡°Of course I won¡¯t,¡± Carina replied. Did she mean that? Or was it just something to say? In the moment, even Carina wasn¡¯t sure. For once, she didn¡¯t know her own mind. Four years without seeing each other. Carina had never responded to any of Sylvie''s letters. She had read them and burned them and if they had come up Carina would have claimed they never found her. That was not so unbelievable. She had traveled the world while Sylvie had remained in Penchenne, sulking in her gilded cage. Looking at her now, Sylvie appeared older than Carina would have expected. Carina still remembered the girl who had the sharpest tongue in their diplomacy courses, but in private was quick to pout and cry about slights real and imagined. The shorter hair made Sylvie look more like a woman, styled so similarly to her aunt the Exile Queen Deidre, but the rest of her features had hardened, too. Carina wondered what she looked like in Sylvie''s eyes, if her own experiences were likewise etched into her face. Sylvie groaned and rolled onto her side, curling around a pillow. Carina took a step back. ¡°We shouldn¡¯t have done it,¡± Sylvie whispered. ¡°Oh, Carina, we shouldn¡¯t have.¡± ¡°I''ll be back,¡± Carina said. ¡°I¡¯m going to find something to help you rest.¡± She did not wait for Sylvie to respond. Carina fled the room, her mind cycling through herbal mixtures. Something to break the fever. Something to dull the wits. Something to induce forgetfulness. Something that would make the girl sleep for three days. Render her comatose in a way that wouldn¡¯t butt up against the gods¡¯ protection. Carina knew a few mixtures that might work. There were no shortage of merchants lining Tiptop''s solitary thoroughfare. Surely, one of them was an apothecary. The envelope on Sylvie¡¯s nightstand had to have come from someone. ¡°How''s she doing?¡± Carina started at Theo¡¯s presence. He leaned against the wall outside Sylvie''s room, tugging sheepishly at the curls on the back of his head. ¡°How long has she been this way?¡± Carina asked sharply. ¡°She grew weak during our time in the cold, but a healer treated her when we arrived,¡± Theo said. ¡°The fever keeps coming back. I think she makes it so. Taking something to keep herself from sleeping. A side effect of that. Same with these visions she''s experiencing. We¡¯ve been too long on the road, pushed too¡ª¡± ¡°The visions,¡± Carina interrupted. ¡°What has she said? What has she seen?¡± ¡°She keeps talking about a monkey. We spent some time in Besaden but I don¡¯t recall seeing¡­¡± Theo trailed off, studying Carina. Had something in her face given him pause? Or had he merely sobered up and finally realized he shouldn''t go sharing the business of his sponsor with a relative stranger? ¡°A monkey,¡± Carina repeated. Theo shook his head. ¡°I don¡¯t know. Her mind is confused, that¡¯s all. The girl¡¯s had a hard time.¡± ¡°I know all about her hard time.¡± Carina turned away from him and went to stand at the railing that looked down on the tavern below. Vitt still sat at his table, trying to go drink-for-drink with the lumberjocks of Fornon. If she¡¯d been resentful before of how he¡¯d brushed her aside, she now felt grateful for his distraction. She scanned the room, her eyes pausing briefly on the candles of Magelab. Still no sign of an archmage. Something about that tickled Carina¡¯s mind, but she set it aside as she noticed a familiar shape huddled at the bar. The odd barge captain Dell Whittle¡ªchecking in with the innkeeper Val¡ªwhile a group of muscled locals carried the captain¡¯s three trunks upstairs. ¡°How do you two know each other?¡± Theo asked. ¡°If you don¡¯t mind me asking.¡± ¡°I do mind.¡± ¡°Ah.¡± Theo came to stand next to her. ¡°You sound like her. In terms of tone, I mean. And being rude to me.¡± Carina glanced at the dopey axe master. ¡°She shouldn''t have taken on another champion. Why would she do that? Why you?¡± ¡°With great reluctance,¡± Theo replied. ¡°It was her father''s idea.¡± ¡°Of course.¡± ¡°You know her family, then?¡± Carina waved off this man''s stupid question, pressing her tongue against the back of her teeth. ¡°When did you decide to come here?¡± This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it. ¡°Pardon me?¡± ¡°Was this spur of the moment?¡± Carina asked. ¡°Did you just happen to be traveling the area and¡­?¡± ¡°Did we just happen to be traveling the frozen north?¡± Theo chuckled. ¡°We''ve been hunting Ink, same as you, I imagine. Nortmost was always our destination. Why?¡± Because she hadn''t foreseen their presence. Carina kept that answer to herself, though. Could she really have overlooked a meeting with Sylvie? Had she been too focused with her fate on the mountain? She supposed it could be possible. All of the probabilities she had shuffled through, weeks of her future twisting on one innocuous decision or the next. Whether she had two glasses of wine or three. Whether she let Vitt take her to bed or not. She was glad her [Future Sight] remained faded. Her head ached at the thought of using it again. And yet, she itched for it¡ªthe peeking, the glimpses, the knowledge. She wondered if this was how those slushers felt when they smoked their frosswiss, knowing the mold would grow from their veins, and doing it anyway. A bitter taste filled Carina''s mouth at the thought. ¡°I did so much before,¡± she said quietly, digging the heel of her hand into her breastbone. ¡°I never needed this.¡± ¡°Are you well?¡± Theo asked. ¡°I¡¯ve grown too cautious,¡± Carina said. ¡°Too reliant on the Ink.¡± ¡°I¡¯m of the opinion that caution is actually an underappreciated quality.¡± Carina whipped her head around. ¡°What are you saying?¡± ¡°I thought you were talking to me.¡± Carina shook her head. Her eyes returned to Dell Whittle down below. He took his key from Val and started up the stairs behind his helpers. When one man¡¯s grip slipped and a trunk nearly dropped to the floor, Whittle screamed and clapped his hands over his mouth. The locals snickered, hefted the luggage, and continued on their way. The music and chatter below was loud enough that no one else noticed. Carina¡¯s gaze once again flicked to the table of Magelab candles and something in her mind fit together. She couldn¡¯t suppress the urge to grab Theo¡¯s arm. ¡°You saw an assassin in Besaden,¡± Carina said. Theo¡¯s brow furrowed. He didn¡¯t bother asking how she knew that. ¡°Not me, personally,¡± he said. ¡°I was indisposed. But there was talk that one had come into the woods to end his life. A strange people, but then they would have to be, yes?¡± Carina¡¯s mind turned. She folded her hands behind her back, like a lecturer. It would help to speak her thoughts aloud. ¡°Before the Brokerage, they were beastlords.¡± ¡°Is¡­ is that so?¡± Theo said, in the tone of a man who¡¯d lost the thread of the conversation. ¡°This predates the Grantings, and even the start of the Final War,¡± Carina continued. ¡°A century ago, the beastlords warred with the mages. Their fighters couldn¡¯t match the arcane forces on the battlefield, so they fought in other ways. Guerilla assassins with masks that rendered them invisible to a mage¡¯s enhanced senses.¡± ¡°You know your history,¡± Theo said. ¡°But why are we talking about this? Carina turned to peer down the hall. Whittle had arrived with his help. He hurriedly unlocked the door, waved the men inside to deposit the trunks, and then shooed them out. The local muscle lingered for a moment¡ªperhaps disappointed there hadn¡¯t been a gratuity¡ªthen shuffled back downstairs. A coffin, Sylvie had said. The woman made her lay down in a coffin. Or, perhaps, a trunk. Carina faced Theo. ¡°Your sponsor owes a debt.¡± ¡°I doubt that. Her family is very rich.¡± Carina raised an eyebrow and a dawning awareness spread across Theo¡¯s face. He shook his head. ¡°No. I don¡¯t believe she would engage in¡­ in that.¡± ¡°Fine,¡± Carina said, waiting him out. She could see in Theo¡¯s eyes that he did believe her. Carina wasn¡¯t entirely sure why she¡¯d divulged this information to Sylvie¡¯s champion¡ªhe had a kind face, she supposed. A rare thing among champions. ¡°She did ask me once¡­¡± Theo lowered his voice, even though he was already whispering and the room below was still noisy. ¡°She did ask me once about revenge. If I worried about revenge for the killing I¡¯d done at the Granting.¡± ¡°Her debt comes due,¡± Carina said. ¡°Which is why she finds herself in this state.¡± Theo glanced at the closed door to Sylvie¡¯s room. ¡°What should I do?¡± Carina ran a hand through her hair. She might easily convince this man to leave Tiptop tonight. Forgo his chance at Ink and spirit Sylvie back to Penchenne. Carina sensed that he would do it. But wouldn¡¯t that just delay the inevitable? The Brokerage would catch up with Sylvie eventually. She had never heard of anyone escaping a debt to the assassins. ¡°You¡¯ll have to help her,¡± Carina said. ¡°They¡¯ll ask something of her, and she might need your assistance to accomplish it. Don¡¯t let on that you know. But be¡­¡± ¡°Receptive to requests, yes, of course. I am her champion,¡± Theo said. He rested a hand lightly on Carina¡¯s shoulder. ¡°To piece together what ails her in a matter of minutes, while me, her erstwhile traveling companion could not. You are a true friend to her, Madam Goldstone.¡± Carina snorted and stepped back. ¡°No, I haven¡¯t been. But maybe I can redeem myself now.¡± Perhaps Carina even meant that. Certainly, her own self-preservation aligned with Sylvie¡¯s better interests. ¡°Excuse me, Theo,¡± she said, glancing over her shoulder. ¡°I believe I¡¯m due for a watch shift. You should check on Sylvie. Make sure she rests.¡± Carina waited for Theo to disappear into Sylvie¡¯s room, then she marched down the hall toward the door that Dell Whittle had entered. She did not have a plan in mind. Normally, Carina favored subtlety. But, here, she found herself matched with opponents that preferred a similarly calculated approach. Perhaps coming at them head-on was the play. With particularly good timing, Dell Whittle stepped into the hall. His eyes widened when he saw her. Carina closed with the scrawny barge captain and activated [Force Armor]. The invisible buffer slammed Dell against the wall¡ªtrapping him there. ¡°Captain, I have some questions about your cargo.¡± ¡°No!¡± he squeaked. ¡°I¡¯m done! Paid in full!¡± He hadn¡¯t finished closing the door behind him. It creaked open slightly. Invitingly. Pursing her lips, Carina let go of her [Force Armor], feeling little satisfaction as Dell bolted downstairs. She shoved the door the rest of the way open. The assassins waited for her. Wrathful Elephant stood nearest the door¡ªundressed except for a pair of cotton short pants. The man possessed a muscular, bulging physique befitting the flaring trunk of his wooden mask. Carina took quick note of his Ink. He was third renown, like her, a replacement for one of the dead at the last Granting. He stood on one leg, clutching his knee to the chest, and slowly rotated his hips. Laughing Monkey sat atop one of Dell¡¯s trunks, facing the door, her legs crossed, one knee jutting out through the split in her ice-blue ward-weave dress. She was the one¡ªthe one who had killed Ben Tuarez, the one who Cortland hunted. Carina stood in the doorway, uncertain what to do now that she was here. ¡°Brother, look,¡± Laughing Monkey said. ¡°The logician visits at last to thank us for ferrying her to the frigid north.¡± ¡°You should close that door,¡± Wrathful Elephant said. ¡°We aren¡¯t exactly welcome at gatherings like this.¡± ¡°Maybe I¡¯ll shout, instead,¡± Carina replied, her voice low. ¡°Assassins, assassins! I suspect there¡¯s enough champions down there to tie you to stakes and keep you there until the Granting.¡± Wrathful Elephant continued his stretching. ¡°Did you know that if you tie a man to a post and leave him to starve that the gods will stop his hunger? Eventually, they will even untie the knots. Did you know that an innocent man gets released faster than one who has done wrong? You would enjoy our beach, logician, and the experiments we perform there.¡± ¡°If you did shout, then so would we,¡± Laughing Monkey added. She put her hands on her wooden cheeks and tipped her head from side-to-side. ¡°Two champions of Infinzel who think no one can hear them. What might they talk about, hm?¡± Carina stepped fully inside and closed the door behind her. ¡°Thank you,¡± said Wrathful Elephant. ¡°Well, little girl,¡± Laughing Monkey said. ¡°I hear you like to dress up as me.¡± Carina swallowed. She wasn¡¯t sure how the assassin could know that¡ªonly Cortland and Cizco had been present on the morning of her ambush. Clearly, the assassins meant to fluster her. Carina had used that technique often enough. Sometimes, an advantage could be grabbed just by appearing to be two steps ahead. Carina refused to be thrown off course. ¡°You¡¯ve come here to collect from Sylvie Aracia,¡± she said. ¡°I have come to climb the stupid mountain,¡± Wrathful Elephant replied. Laughing Monkey scratched behind her protruding ear and her hand came back balancing a blood-stained coin on the knuckles. ¡°And?¡± ¡°You call yourselves a brokerage, right?¡± Carina said. ¡°I want to buy her debt.¡± ¡°Unprecedented,¡± Wrathful Elephant said. ¡°But not impossible.¡± ¡°I have the riches of Infinzel at my disposal,¡± Carina said. ¡°Do you?¡± Wrathful Elephant switched which knee he pulled on. ¡°Do you, really?¡± ¡°And I could¡­ I could be helpful to you,¡± Carina added. ¡°And what would you do with her debt?¡± Laughing Monkey asked. ¡°Would you forgive it? Given how you¡¯ve already benefited, that would be the noble thing, yes? But you are not a noble thing, are you? You would hold the debt. You would tell yourself you keep it safe. And you would wait until you needed to use it.¡± Carina forced herself to stare steadily at the monkey mask¡¯s googly eyes. ¡°That would be my business,¡± she said. ¡°Mm,¡± Laughing Monkey replied. She held out the blood-smeared angle so Carina could see it. ¡°Here is my counter-offer. Cut your hand, make your mark here atop your friend¡¯s, and I will allow you to share in her debt.¡± ¡°I decline,¡± Carina said. ¡°Don¡¯t be so hasty,¡± Wrathful Elephant said. ¡°We don¡¯t ask much of the girl. An easy task. Easier even than the boat captain who brought us up here.¡± ¡°What, then?¡± Carina asked. ¡°What do you want from her?¡± ¡°A foolish thing, really, that slightly undermines our industry, but¡­¡± Wrathful Elephant stomped his leg down and shrugged. ¡°My sister has found herself smitten with a hammer-wielding lump of your acquaintance.¡± Laughing Monkey put her fingers to her giddy mouth and tilted her head girlishly. ¡°We only ask her to confess,¡± she said. ¡°Confess her crimes to my hammer master and throw herself upon his mercy.¡± Carina¡¯s back bumped up against the door. She¡¯d stepped backward without realizing it. ¡°So?¡± Laughing Monkey asked. ¡°Will you join her?¡±
70. [Cortland] The Cracks
Cortland Finiron, Hammer Master of the 12th Renown, Kingdom of Infinzel, bringing his newest champion north King Cizco Salvado, Quill of Infinzel, Kingdom of Infinzel, in the past Henry Blacksalve, Healer of the 8th Renown, Soldier¡¯s Rest, and the three other champions of the broken wall
1 Trollove, 61 AW The pyramidal city of Infinzel, North Continent 149 days until the next Granting ¡°Mark my words, hammer master, we can use this to our advantage.¡± It was well after midnight when Cortland returned to the pyramidal city with King Cizco. The air still smelled like fire, but the panic of earlier had loosened into something wild and free. If the celebrations they¡¯d encountered during their march back inside had been any indication, the people of the outer districts would be partying until sunrise, and perhaps beyond. Despite not enjoying a single drink, Cortland had a vaguely hungover feeling. He stumbled after the king, his head feeling packed in cotton. ¡°The mages make it work, don¡¯t they?¡± Cizco continued. ¡°Eight champions to carry out their intentions instead of four.¡± Cizco bubbled with an excited energy that Cortland found baffling¡ªwide-eyed, fingers flexing, his cloak unfurling behind him as he jogged up the stone steps. It was as if the king, too, took part in the joy buzzing through the outer districts, even though the people out there celebrated freedom from him. Meanwhile, men and women of the pyramid stood at windows, alarmed by the festivities between the walls. Cizco passed them by, vibrating too much to notice their questioning looks. ¡°The archmages made servants of their candles,¡± Cortland said. ¡°Cursed them.¡± ¡°Yes, and?¡± Cizco glanced over his shoulder. ¡°Bel thinks he¡¯s liberated his people and gained the gods¡¯ protection. But he has lost my protection, Cortland. Our protection. Soon, your hammer will dictate our terms.¡± Cizco yanked open the door to the lift. Cortland stumbled inside after him. ¡°I believe this is the grand change our logician was sent to usher in, to guide us through,¡± Cizco continued. ¡°But the gods have always favored Infinzel, have they not? And here, they provide us an opportunity to strengthen our standing. I am glad our situation has at last been made clear.¡± Cortland half-listened, distracted by the crimson handprint on the wall. ¡°There¡¯s blood,¡± he said. ¡°So there is,¡± Cizco said. ¡°I believe you will have to raise up a new champion after tonight.¡± ¡°What?¡± As the lift rose, Cizco held his open palm out. His golden inkwell appeared and he made a show of testing the weight. ¡°We¡¯re a champion short,¡± Cizco said. ¡°I feel it.¡± ¡°Who?¡± Cortland demanded. ¡°How?¡± ¡°Let us see.¡± They emerged onto the second highest level where Cortland and the other champions lived. On brisk strides, the king made directly for Carina¡¯s apartment. Cortland lingered a few steps behind, noticing more fresh blood on the stone. ¡°I believe our logician has toyed with forces beyond her,¡± Cizco said. ¡°It was bound¡­¡± The king trailed off, stopping in Carina¡¯s doorway. They bumped shoulders as Cortland roughly maneuvered around him, hammer in hand. The scene within the room was a grisly one¡ªblood smeared across the floor, a broken mirror, smashed bottles, bent arrows, and a crack in the ceiling. But no Carina. Vitt¡¯s nightstalker, Patricia, laconically lapped up a pool of blood, arrows sticking out of her neck and shoulder. Her yellow eyes sought Cortland. Without thinking, Cortland covered the distance with [Bull Rush] before the beast could even realize his intentions, and caved in her head. She disappeared in a thin, black mist¡ªreturning to Vitt, wherever he was. ¡°What happened here?¡± Cortland mumbled. He spun to face the king, and raised his voice. ¡°What happened here?¡± But for the first time since Soldier¡¯s Rest, the king had gone silent. Cizco gazed up at the crack in the ceiling, his mouth screwed up in confusion. Cortland realized that the king had been expecting to find something else in this room. A scene of violence, perhaps, but not one absent any bodies. ¡°Find the others,¡± Cizco said quietly. ¡°Vitt, Henry, Carina. We need to know who is lost to us.¡± Cortland ground his teeth. Back into the night, then. When had he ever hesitated to carry out an order? ¡°As you wish,¡± he said. As Cortland made to leave, Cizco pulled out a chair and sank into it. He flicked through the pages spread across the table¡ªdiagrams of Infinzel, maps, ledgers¡ªand brushed them aside. ¡°Wait,¡± Cizco said. Cortland stopped. ¡°Whose man are you?¡± Cizco asked. Cortland tilted his head. ¡°What?¡± ¡°Ben Tuarez was my man,¡± Cizco said. ¡°Over the years, he assisted me with all manner of difficulties. He understood what made this place tick. And you¡ªyou were his man. His most reliable weapon. I admit I have not always seen you as more than that.¡± Cortland grunted. ¡°Never asked to be more than that.¡± ¡°No, you have not. And you are loyal, aren¡¯t you? Loyal, and powerful, and aspiring to fill the shoes of your mentor.¡± Cortland felt heat on his scalp. ¡°What do you want me to say, Cizco?¡± The king sighed. ¡°Nothing. I have to tell you something that shames me, Cortland. It is a night for that, apparently.¡± ¡°Respectfully,¡± Cortland replied, ¡°you don¡¯t have to tell me shit.¡± ¡°It is about Arris Stonetender.¡±
1 Meltzend, 61 AW On the Troldep River, North Continent 119 days until the next Granting Knees bent, balanced on the platform at the front of the riverboat, Cortland flung his hammer into the buffeting wind. The chunk of ice he''d aimed for exploded on impact, its pieces sinking below the river''s surface before bobbing back into view. With [Weapon Return], he snapped the hammer back to his hand, feeling a brief moment of satisfaction at the destruction. Cortland did not need to clear a path for the riverboat. The combination of the spiked icebreaker across the bow and the dual water-wheels at the back meant their boat could smash through most obstructions they might encounter without losing much speed. Plus, there were a dozen crewmen¡ªsome of whom watched Cortland now¡ªready to take up pikes and oars should the water tighten around them. Cortland shattered the ice to pass the time. It felt good to break something. They were fast losing daylight. But, fifty yards ahead, Cortland spotted another bobbing chunk of ice, one side glittering in the sun and the other shadowed. He cocked his arm back. ¡°I don''t think I''ve thanked you, have I?¡± Cortland made a low noise in his throat as the voice interrupted his backswing. He lowered his hammer and glanced over his shoulder. Orryn es-Salvado stood on the deck, one skinny leg laced through the railing. ¡°What?¡± Cortland said. ¡°I have a fuller idea of what you can do now,¡± Orryn said. ¡°I never thanked you for holding back when we fought.¡± Cortland closed his eyes. He would dispute Orryn''s characterization of their previous encounter as a fight¡ªit was more like a beating¡ªbut what would be the point? The boy would probably just agree with him. Orryn had been obsequious and under foot ever since they''d started up the river. He had never left Infinzel before and now he traveled north with Cortland, four champions of a rival faction, and sailors who wore the pyramid but were too lowborn to be worthy of attention. That left Cortland as Orryn''s only option for conversation. ¡°Don''t mention it,¡± Cortland said. ¡°Well, I learned a lot from it,¡± Orryn continued. ¡°Perhaps, when we get back, we could have some more formal training sessions. Private ones. Like you did with Carina.¡± Cortland eyed his latest prot¨¦g¨¦. His ears and nose were pink from the cold, and his short-cropped black hair spiked from the wind. The Ink had agreed with Orryn¡ªhis ears didn¡¯t seem to protrude as much, and Cortland swore that his teeth had straightened. ¡°Maybe,¡± Cortland said. ¡°I want you to know what I¡¯m capable of,¡± Orryn said. ¡°That I can be depended upon.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll see soon enough,¡± Cortland replied. ¡°On the mountain.¡± Cortland did not need to [Assess] Orryn to know his abilities. He had already committed them to memory.
Orryn es-Salvado Infinzel 3rd Renown
Summon Swarm
Restore Familiar Familiar Vision
Beastlord
Agility+
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere. Knife Maker
There had been no gathering of prospects to the sand pit in the early morning hours to select Infinzel''s fourth champion. Cortland had not been consulted. He had learned about Orryn''s rise to champion the day after Solstice¡ªwhen Cortland had been summoned to the Battle Library to make plans for Nortmost. Cortland had remembered, then, how nearly a half-year earlier he¡¯d met Carina for the first time in that room. He remembered how there had been a crack in the wall by one of the bookshelves¡ªstill there¡ªthat he believed one of Orryn¡¯s rats had spied through. As if on cue, the silver-furred rat that Orryn had selected as his familiar climbed out from within Orryn¡¯s jacket. The rodent perched on Orryn¡¯s shoulder, on its haunches, its mouth upturned toward Orryn¡¯s ear as if whispering a secret. ¡°She¡¯s watching us again,¡± Orryn said quietly. Cortland slipped his hammer back into its loop, then climbed onto the deck where Orryn stood. With Cortland¡¯s exercises at an end, the crew of the riverboat returned to their tasks. ¡°Who?¡± Cortland asked. ¡°You shouldn¡¯t have to ask, hammer master. It¡¯s been the same, the whole way up.¡± Cortland turned his head, following Orryn''s gaze to the upper deck where Rivian Stonespirit perched on one of the large wooden spools that housed the riverboat''s anchor chain. The woman kept her balance on one leg, bent in a crouch that must have been hell on her thigh muscle. She faced into the wind, her eyes closed, her sashblade held horizontal in front of her. As Cortland and Orryn watched, she glided through a series of positions with exaggerated articulation. ¡°She''s not paying any attention to us, boy,¡± Cortland said. Orryn leaned closer so he could whisper. ¡°You don''t think so? You haven''t noticed how she mirrors your own training times? I think she takes your measure.¡± Of course Cortland had noticed how Rivian had a habit of appearing on deck to go through her exercises whenever Cortland decided to engage in his own more brutish exertions. However, he did not want to give Orryn any credit for having picked up on that detail. ¡°What else is there to do on this ship?¡± Cortland asked. ¡°I think nothing of it.¡± ¡°No, I suppose I wouldn''t either if I had your renown.¡± In truth, Cortland did wonder about Rivian. The woman was in her twenties, but with a heavy brow and stoic eyes that made her seem older. She wore her black hair in a neat ponytail and dressed always in one of those antique uniforms from Guydemion''s Host¡ªgray trimmed with green, loose-legged pants, and a purple sash around the waist. The gods had made her a blade master of the fourth renown.
Rivian Stonespirit Soldier¡¯s Rest 4th Renown
Disarmer Whirling Blades
Swordplay+
Sword Master
Will+ Agility+ Balance+
The ranking impressed Cortland. He had packed a couple histories for the journey north, wishing to learn more of Infinzel¡¯s past. He had tracked Rivian¡¯s fighting style back to the Final War. She was meant to perch on the back of a horse, launching away from the rider to attack with her twin sashblades. A technique useful only for the circuses, now. And yet, someone had kept it alive enough for Rivian to learn. She spoke little, even with her fellow champions, and Cortland got the sense that they didn''t know her any better than he did, which meant she hadn''t been a regular around Guydemion''s tavern. He wondered where the old general had been hiding her. As Cortland studied her, Rivian''s eyes opened. She pointed her sword at him, then made a hook with it to gesture over his shoulder. ¡°There,¡± she called down. ¡°Look.¡± The heavy gray clouds that hung above the river had parted, and now the Nortmost loomed on the horizon. They were almost there. Cortland squinted, as if he might be able to see champions ascending the mountain from this distance. They had received missives from the two Quills of Infinzel that the Ink had appeared earlier that day. They were already a half-day behind. ¡°I suppose that means tonight''s card game is canceled,¡± Traveon Twiceblack said. Cortland no longer bristled at the former barkeep''s annoying habit of slipping up behind him. He had only lashed out with a backhand the one time and, anyway, Traveon had been nimble enough to duck away and seemed to enjoy the exchange. ¡°No one has any money left to lose to you,¡± Orryn grumbled. ¡°Now, I know for a fact that isn''t true,¡± Traveon replied. ¡°I''ve been keeping you in enough hands, rat master, specifically so that I could crush you decisively on our final night of travel. All these weeks, batting you around with my paws, only for you to escape back into your little hidey-hole.¡± ¡°Beastlord,¡± Orryn said. ¡°Hmm?¡± ¡°I am a beastlord, skulker.¡± ¡°Yes, of course, who would say anything different?¡± ¡°You did,¡± Orryn replied. ¡°You said rat master.¡± ¡°Did I?¡± Traveon shrugged. ¡°Have you ever heard the one about the noble ordering dessert in the outer districts? I said mousse, not mouse!¡± Cortland knew allowing the card game had been a bad idea, but what else were a bunch of men supposed to do aboard a riverboat for two weeks? He watched how Orryn turned to regard Traveon. Cortland recognized that cold, patient certainty in the eyes of the es-Salvado. One day soon, I''ll get to kill you, the look said. For his part, Traveon didn''t seem to notice, which surely made him even more infuriating. His eyes¡ªlined with black, as always¡ªwere focused on the mountain ahead. ¡°I didn''t know they made mountains that big,¡± he said. Orryn snorted, taking the sudden sincerity as an opening. ¡°Of course you wouldn¡¯t.¡± ¡°And you, Orryn es-Salvado, are you so well-traveled that you find the natural world unimpressive?¡± Traveon asked. ¡°I had thought this was your first time out of Infinzel, just like me.¡± ¡°Enough of this flirting,¡± Cortland said. ¡°Get below and gather your things. There won¡¯t be rest tonight. We head straight up.¡± With one last sneer for Traveon, Orryn scurried away. Although he hadn¡¯t been speaking to her, Rivian hopped down from her perch and disappeared below, as well. Only Traveon lingered beside Cortland, considering the mountain like a painter would, in no rush to follow any orders. When he at last made to depart, Cortland grabbed him by the arm. ¡°Do you need reminding of our previous discussions?¡± Cortland asked. Traveon raised a delicate eyebrow. ¡°Which, hammer master?¡± Cortland glanced down at the man¡¯s chest. His coat hung open, and his shirt was halfway undone, revealing much of his Ink.
Traveon Twiceblack Soldier¡¯s Rest 2nd Renown
Agility+ Charm+
Skulker
Deadeye Improbable Occurrence
¡°Cover yourself up,¡± Cortland said. ¡°We don¡¯t want word of Infinzel¡¯s schism to spread amongst these other champions. Not if we can help it.¡± ¡°Surely, they¡¯ll hear eventually. With all the shipments that move through the Underbridge? Sailors talk.¡± ¡°Then let them hear that way,¡± Cortland said. ¡°No point in hastening the process. Give them time to plan ways to probe our weakness.¡± Traveon smiled. ¡°But we aren¡¯t weak, are we? One happy, unified front. A reciprocal exchange of wishes planned by our insightful Quills. Eight champions go to the island and eight return.¡± ¡°Gods, but you fucking chatter,¡± Cortland said. ¡°Only because I sense you enjoy it,¡± Traveon replied. ¡°Orryn doesn¡¯t. You should be careful about that.¡± Cortland grit his teeth. ¡°And I expect peace to be made on the mountain, as well.¡± ¡°Ah, you allude now to the man who tried to murder me and absconded with my betrothed.¡± Cortland exhaled through his nose. Traveon had not been shy about telling the story of his battle with Vitt¡ªthe details grew grander and bloodier with every retelling, and the motivations for the encounter fuzzier. As Traveon told it, Vitt had mistaken him for an intruder in Carina¡¯s rooms and handled him thusly. As for why the logician and hunter had left Infinzel ahead of their fellows¡ªthose decisions puzzled Traveon and he dared not speculate. The actions of Infinzel¡¯s two missing champions were similarly a mystery to Henry Blacksalve, even though the healer had been the last to see them on the night of his changing loyalty. Cortland could tell his old friend wished to evade this topic and, for the duration of the journey, Cortland had allowed him to do so. He already knew all he needed to know. Traveon cleared his throat. ¡°Your grip becomes uncomfortable, champion.¡± ¡°Because I haven¡¯t yet heard my answer.¡± ¡°I won¡¯t make it a problem,¡± Traveon said quietly, meeting Cortland¡¯s eyes. ¡°Can you say the same of them?¡± ¡°Is the boy making a nuisance of himself, hammer master?¡± Cortland released Traveon¡¯s arm as Watts Stonework appeared on the deck. The scarred bouncer was stripped down to his tunic and pants, covered in sweat, likely from working the tension-cranks for the water-wheels¡ªa task no one had asked him to do, but that he had taken upon himself. A man who liked to work. Cortland appreciated that. A thin layer of frost formed on the lens Watts wore over his damaged eye. ¡°Ah, saved from further scolding by umbo Watts,¡± Traveon said. ¡°The gods smile.¡± Watts¡¯ nostrils flared at the nickname. ¡°Move your scrawny ass to whatever task the hammer master has assigned you,¡± he said. As Traveon danced away, Cortland again took measure of Watts. The gods had done the man a disservice. He seemed worth more than one level of renown.
Watts Stonework Soldier¡¯s Rest 1st Renown
Will+
Survivor Force Absorption
Recovery+
But then, there was the matter of his class. Survivor. A rare offering from the symbologist, and one not usually taken up. There were few survivors in the archives. Most significantly, it was the class selected by the Orvesian betrayer Sulk, who would go on to have a Ministry devoted to him. Traveon had become fixated on that auspicious detail. Cortland turned to regard the mountain and Watts came to stand next to him. They coexisted in easy silence, until glasses clinked behind them. Henry sidled up between them. This was usually around the time when the healer crawled out of bed, and today was no different. Cortland had stopped nagging Henry about his drinking. He had been grateful for his friend¡¯s presence these last weeks, even if they spoke only of frivolous things. Sometimes, Cortland still caught himself staring at the new symbol on Henry¡¯s throat. It looked unnatural there. ¡°Good evening, gents,¡± Henry said. ¡°Last chance, I think, to steal this boat and sail it to Inkwash.¡± Cortland shook his head and Watts smirked. Henry had made some variation of that joke almost every night as the three of them sat around their table in the galley, watching detachedly as Traveon beat Orryn and the sailors at hand after hand of cards. The Gruff Gentlemen¡¯s Club, Traveon had nicknamed them. Cortland felt an unfamiliar pang in his chest, recognized it as melancholy, and bit the inside of his cheek. Henry passed out generous pours from his bottle of whiskey, and the three men knocked glasses. ¡°A privilege to come this far with you both,¡± Watts said. ¡°I look forward to a more leisurely voyage back,¡± Henry replied. ¡°And hope to sleepwalk through most of the hiking.¡± Cortland simply grunted and slugged back his whiskey. He doubted they would share any drinks on the way back. Not if Cortland did what was expected of him.
71. [Cortland] The Confession
Cortland Finiron, Hammer Master of the 12th Renown, Kingdom of Infinzel, trudging toward understanding Orryn es-Salvado, Beastlord of the 3rd Renown, Kingdom of Infinzel, a follower Henry Blacksalve, Traveon Twiceblack, Watts Stonework, and Rivian Stonespirit, the champions of Soldier¡¯s Rest Theo Adamantios, Axe Master of the 6th Renown, and Sylvie Aracia, his sponsor, Penchenne, who have a burden to share with the hammer master
1 Meltzend, 61 AW The village of Tiptop, North Continent 119 days until the next Granting On the embankment above the docks, the champions broke apart some snow to get at the frozen dirt beneath. Then, Henry bent down and coaxed upward with his fingers, using [Summon Garden] to raise stalks of a dark green plant with brittle black leaves. ¡°Quickly, now,¡± Henry said. ¡°It doesn''t do well in the cold.¡± The three other champions of Soldier''s Rest did as they were told, plucking leaves off the plant''s shuddering branches and chewing them. Watts Stonework passed around a flask of mulled cider to wash down the bitterness. ¡°What is this?¡± Orryn es-Salvado asked, rubbing his leaf between thumb and forefinger. He sniffed his fingers and winced. ¡°Kafette,¡± Henry answered. ¡°Typically, it only grows in the southeast. A little something to help us all stay awake through the night.¡± Orryn glanced at Cortland, waiting for the hammer master''s curt nod before popping the leaf in his mouth. He gagged at the taste. Henry quickly plucked the rest of the leaves, wrapped them in a handkerchief, and stashed them inside his sweater, right up against his skin. He saved one leaf for Cortland, who accepted it with a grunt. ¡°Gets quiet up here quick, don''t it?¡± Cortland said. ¡°Being late might not be the worst thing, if we can keep a good pace,¡± Henry replied. ¡°Make our move when the clouds clear.¡± ¡°Shit rolls downhill,¡± Cortland said. The well-lit streets of Tiptop with their immaculate cobbles and wrought iron oil lamps were deserted. They had missed the merchant bazaar that followed the champions north. The gods had revealed the usual deposit of Ink on the mountain that morning and the timely champions had obediently set out. By the afternoon, the merchants and other assorted hangers-on had gone, too, albeit in the opposite direction. Only remnants of their passing¡ªshattered clay jars, a wagon stripped of wheels, dark coals from a grill¡ªlittered the curbs. Luckily, the champions of the pyramidal city had come well-prepared, each lugging a pack of camping supplies and rations. Of course, on account of his [Strength+], Cortland''s pack was stuffed heavier than the others. He carried shares for Vitt and Carina, on the assumption they might show up here. Cortland packed the kafette leaf between his cheek and chin. The taste was stingingly bitter, like coffee grounds and sour cherries, and Cortland had a strange affinity for it. He felt the blood rush to his muscles almost immediately. ¡°Come on, then,¡± he said. ¡°Let''s get on with it.¡± Under a pale moon, Tiptop''s single street was eerily quiet. The wind whistled between the log buildings and, below the embankment, the river sloshed loose ice against the banks. The six of them trudging up the road seemed incredibly loud, so Cortland was unsurprised when Watts spoke to him in a near whisper. ¡°What did Henry mean before?¡± the former bouncer asked. ¡°About being late.¡± Cortland lifted his chin toward the looming mountain. There were a couple campfires visible a few miles up. ¡°It¡¯s an arduous enough trek to begin with, but the gods have been known to thaw out some surprises on the way.¡± ¡°Huh.¡± Watts nodded. ¡°So, hang back and let others face them first.¡± ¡°Might go that way, might not,¡± Cortland said. ¡°Sometimes, you get an asshole up there, don¡¯t like trailers.¡± ¡°The other champions, you mean?¡± Cortland nodded. ¡°Traps. Obstacles. No one wants to get passed.¡± Up ahead, torchlight spilled into the street from the Clear Sky Tavern. It was the only building in Tiptop with any lights. ¡°Stop for a drink?¡± Traveon asked. ¡°One last meal cooked by professionals before we spend a month on the mountain?¡± ¡°No,¡± Cortland said. ¡°Let him go,¡± murmured Orryn. ¡°More for us.¡± Rivian Stonespirit had been walking level with Cortland, her long legs easily matching the determined pace set by his shorter ones. As they continued past the tavern, she tapped the back of her hand against his arm. ¡°Eyes up,¡± she said. Cortland glanced to the tavern''s entrance where a broad-faced balding man stepped out to meet them. Rivian shifted her hands beneath the fur she wore, crossing her hands so they rested on the hilts of her sashblades. ¡°Not necessary,¡± Cortland told Rivian, slowing his stride. Cortland recognized the man from last year¡¯s Granting, though it took a moment to recall his name. Theo Adamantios. He belonged to Penchenne who¡ªgiven their frequent efforts to leach Infinzel''s power on the north continent¡ªwere one of the factions Cortland made a point of keeping tabs on. He recalled finding this Theo annoyingly affable. And yet, he''d killed a man from Cruxton last year. In Cortland''s opinion, the ones who treated the Granting like a job were much more dangerous than the zealous types or the glory chasers. Theo fit that profile, which made it strange to find him down here, lingering, when he should¡¯ve been up the mountain. ¡°Cortland Finiron?¡± Theo asked. The hammer master stopped, raising an eyebrow. ¡°What?¡± ¡°Sir, my name¡ª¡± ¡°Theo, Penchenne, axes,¡± Cortland said. ¡°What?¡± The man blinked, surprised Cortland would know him, and bowed stiffly. ¡°Sir, my sponsor would like a word with you.¡± Cortland made a point of looking around, but Theo was alone. ¡°Then your sponsor should get their boots on and start walking.¡± Cortland resumed his path toward the mountain, the rest of the champions falling in around him. Theo had better sense than to stand in the way, so he hustled along the road in an awkward sideways scuttle. ¡°I''m eager to begin the ascent myself, sir, but this is a most urgent matter,¡± Theo said. ¡°Madam Sylvie Aracia is in no condition to attempt the hike or we would not delay you further.¡± Cortland cocked his head. That name meant something to him. She was a niece of the Exile Queen Deidre. Issa Firstdot-Tuarez had brought Cortland a bundle of letters that this Sylvie had written to¨C ¡°Ben Tuarez,¡± said Theo. ¡°It concerns the fate of your friend Ben Tuarez.¡±If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. Cortland stopped walking, and so did the others. Henry spoke up before Cortland could. ¡°I''m warning you, friend,¡± the healer said, with a meaningful glance in Cortland''s direction. ¡°If this is meant as some delaying tactic, I would reconsider using that name, or pushing on any further.¡± ¡°What he means is that I¡¯ve got a long fucking memory and a big fucking hammer, you Penchennese pig,¡± Cortland added. ¡°I take your meaning and intend no disrespect, sir,¡± Theo said, holding up his hands. ¡°Madam Aracia awaits you inside.¡± Cortland exchanged a look with Henry. ¡°Fine,¡± he said. When the two of them started forward, Theo cleared his throat uncomfortably. ¡°Apologies, but, she will speak only to you, Master Finiron. Our instructions are clear in that matter.¡± Cortland scowled. ¡°What instructions?¡± Theo glanced over the other champions and squinted. ¡°Why¡ªwhy are there so many of you, actually?¡± He bent to take a closer look at Traveon. ¡°What symbol is that?¡± With a dramatic flourish, Traveon tossed his scarf across his throat, concealing the broken wall. ¡°You are being very rude to the hammer master, bald one.¡± Theo sighed, turning his attention back to Cortland. ¡°I was told, in the event of your obstinacy, to quote the following: I love an uncurious man. So much pleasure¡ª¡± Cortland silenced him with a hiss. Of course, he recognized the words. He¡¯d turned them over in his mind a thousand times since the Granting. I love an uncurious man, the assassin had said. So much pleasure to be had in setting their wheels to spinning. Well, his wheels spun now. Cortland turned to Henry. ¡°Take them up. I¡¯ll follow soon.¡± ¡°Are you sure?¡± Henry asked. He read Cortland¡¯s expression easily enough. ¡°All right.¡± Orryn edged closer to Cortland. ¡°You mean to leave me alone with them?¡± Cortland clapped his hand on Orryn¡¯s shoulder, pressing his thumb against his throat. ¡°Boy, you are safer with them than you ever are with me.¡± With that, Cortland followed Theo back to the Clear Sky. Smartly, the Penchennese champion said nothing further on the way. The warmth of the tavern was a relief, although Cortland was too distracted to appreciate it. The place was deserted except for the innkeeper, Val, a retired champion of Fornon, who exchanged a curt nod with Cortland before she returned to polishing glasses. Theo led Cortland between tables and chairs, heading for a private room in the tavern¡¯s rear. Cortland made note of one table cluttered with gear not so different than his own¡ªlikely what Theo planned to carry up the mountain. ¡°She¡¯s back here,¡± Theo said. ¡°Do you want¡ªcould I bring you something to drink?¡± Cortland grunted. ¡°No.¡± Behind them, the tavern¡¯s front door clicked open and closed. Cortland glanced over his shoulder and saw Traveon Twiceblack, alone, making for the bar. Again and again, the young man proved himself a nuisance. A reprimand would have to wait. Fingers drumming the head of his hammer, Cortland followed Theo into the back room. The Clear Sky kept these separate areas for champions who wished to broker deals in private. Cortland had never made use of one before. Two high-backed chairs were arranged before a wood-burning stove, a table covered in faded wine-colored rings set up between them. Sylvie Aracia jumped when Cortland entered the room and again when he dropped his pack onto the floor with a thud. The girl huddled beneath a mound of blankets, her hands poking out to cup a mug of tea. She looked to be in her twenties, her features all sharp angles, with a boy¡¯s haircut. At the sight of him, she suppressed a shudder. ¡°I shall let the two of you speak alone?¡± Theo phrased the statement as a question. Sylvie nodded. ¡°Yes. Thank you, Theo.¡± With one last look for his sponsor, Theo closed the door behind him. ¡°You¡¯re shorter even than they say you are,¡± Sylvie said quietly. ¡°What is this?¡± Cortland snapped. ¡°Why am I here?¡± Sylvie met his eyes. Cortland had expected timidity, but there was a resolved set about the girl¡¯s face, like she¡¯d long ago decided to jump and now saw the ground rushing up to meet her. ¡°Do you want to sit?¡± she asked. ¡°No.¡± ¡°Fine, hear it standing,¡± she said. ¡°I had Ben Tuarez killed.¡± ¡°You,¡± Cortland said. ¡°Me,¡± she replied. ¡°And I will tell you why.¡±
The girl hadn''t wanted to become a sponsor, but her father insisted. She had come to her aunt''s attention, which was an honor onto itself. The exile queen herself had made the arrangements, when so many of the Penchennese nobility angled to fill the opening. Taking on a champion would be the final step in the girl¡¯s education. Afterward, she would be worldly enough to occupy a place in the senate, possibly a seat right next to her father. She could shape the future of the city and, perhaps, the world. And so, given her choice of potential champions, the girl had chosen the swordsman. He had been the son of two bakers, but had been recruited to the military college after some promising test results. It was said that no duelist in his cohort had ever so much as nicked him, that the sporting mentors had paired him with men twice his age just to give him a challenge. The girl did not know these facts when she chose him. ¡°If I am going to see through someone else''s eyes,¡± she told him, later, ¡°I want them to be beautiful eyes.¡± For a year, the girl and the swordsman traveled the continent together in search of Ink. They wore their bracelets always, so they could get used to the feeling of being connected. The swordsman said he liked the way her voice vibrated inside his mind. In a field of tall grass, she felt the heat of her own skin through his palms and looked out through his eyes as he slid inside her. ¡°Four years and I will no longer be a swordsman or a baker''s son,¡± he told her. ¡°For my service, the senate will give me a reward of my choosing.¡± ¡°And what will you choose?¡± she asked him. ¡°You, of course,¡± he said. ¡°If you will allow it.¡± ¡°I will.¡± His first Granting lasted two days. When the girl saw the old man with the spear and the shield, she told the swordsman to retreat. The girl recognized this man of the pyramid had more Ink than her swordsman. But the two champions had both been separated from their fellows and, in this moment of isolation, the swordsman saw an opportunity to strike a blow for Penchenne. He had never lost a duel. And so, he ignored the girl''s instructions and engaged. His sword melted upon the shield, liquid metal spattering his cheeks. The man''s one spear became many¡ªand even with the swordsman''s gifts, he could not dodge every thrust. In fact, the swordsman¡¯s feet were sucked down into quicksand, a trap created by his opponent. The shield master took his time. He carved the muscles out from backs of the swordsman''s legs and crunched his shield into the swordsman''s hips, but he did not kill him. Instead, he dragged the swordsman''s limp body to a tree and propped him up there, then found the bracelet on the swordsman''s wrist, the one that connected him to the girl. He pressed the enchanted stones to his lips and spoke into them. ¡°Beg me.¡± The girl did beg, although the shield master couldn''t hear her. The swordsman begged, too, as the shield master made a churn of his guts, spearing down into him again and again, pulling forth looping tubes of gore and holding these up before the swordsman''s eyes so that the girl back in Penchenne could see. The shield master had a coldness to him, like the process disgusted him, as if the swordsman''s body was to blame for the ease with which he picked it apart. ¡°Tell Deidre, this is what happens,¡± the shield master said. ¡°This is what happens when you dare.¡± It took a long time for the swordsman to die. The shield master made sure he kept his eyes open, so the girl could watch. And she did, never taking the bracelet off, until at last the swordsman''s eyes stopped seeing and the stones went cold against the girl''s skin. Only then did she rip off the bracelet with a scream and take up her dagger. The girl cut into her wrist¨C The visitor burst into her room and wrestled the knife away. At first, the girl tried to attack the visitor, because she wore the same mark as the shield master who had killed the swordsman. The visitor had lived amongst them for years now, a favored pet of her aunt, an outsider, but always a friend to the girl. Her best friend, in fact, until the girl had met the swordsman. The visitor endured the thrashing and the wailing and held onto the girl, squeezing her close, until they sagged against each other and fell together onto the floor, like they had themselves just survived a battle on the island. The girl''s wrist still bled, but the cut wasn''t deep. Some of the blood had smeared onto the visitor, though, and she held up her bloodied hand to show the girl. ¡°Do you want revenge?¡± the visitor asked. ¡°I can show you how.¡± ¡°I want to die,¡± the girl said. ¡°Stop it,¡± the visitor said. ¡°No, you don''t. Come on. You need to report what''s happened to your aunt.¡± ¡°Wait¡­¡± The girl covered the cut on her wrist with her thumb. ¡°What did you mean before? About revenge?¡± ¡°Never mind that,¡± the visitor said. ¡°I spoke hastily. You''ve lost too much already.¡± But the girl insisted. And so, the visitor fetched a needle and a coin. The visitor told the girl to write the shield master''s name in her blood. Then, under cover of night, the visitor led the girl to a part of the city where the girl had never been¡ªit wasn''t an area meant for the nobility. There lived the drunks and the impoverished and the black market villains. And, hidden amongst their hovels, in an alley that smelled like piss, the visitor showed the girl a well of sparkling blue water. ¡°You just have to throw it in,¡± the visitor said. ¡°They will do the rest.¡± The girl hesitated only for a moment.
¡°Four years it took them,¡± Sylvie said. ¡°I¡¯d started to think they wouldn¡¯t take the trade. But they did, and I¡¯m glad for it. I was scared of what they might make me do as payment. I thought I might have to hurt someone innocent. You¡¯re not innocent, though, are you? I don¡¯t feel scared, now. The assassin was right. I feel lighter.¡± At some point, Cortland had decided to sit down. His knuckles burned from squeezing his fists. ¡°He wasn¡¯t that way,¡± Cortland said. ¡°Like you described him.¡± ¡°You¡¯re all that way.¡± ¡°He was an honorable man.¡± ¡°You knew him that way,¡± Sylvie said. ¡°I knew him another. Maybe I knew him better.¡± ¡°I loved him,¡± Cortland said. ¡°So what?¡± Sylvie replied. The room felt very hot. The space seemed smaller than when Cortland entered. He felt sweat trickle down the side of his face¡ªat least, he hoped it was sweat. ¡°What am I supposed to do with this?¡± Cortland asked. ¡°Why tell me?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± Sylvie replied. ¡°It¡¯s what the assassin wanted and now it¡¯s done. My part in this is done.¡± Cortland took a long breath in through his nose. He stood up, his knees shaking slightly, and stood over the Aracia girl. Eyeing him, she huddled a little deeper into the blankets. ¡°I¡¯ll decide if you¡¯re done,¡± Cortland said. ¡°Maybe I¡¯ll write your name on a coin.¡± ¡°I think the assassin would like that,¡± Sylvie said. ¡°She¡¯d want you in her debt.¡± ¡°She won¡¯t be around to collect.¡± ¡°Another will be,¡± Sylvie said, chuckling. ¡°And on it will go. And on, and on, and on¡­¡± She was still repeating herself when Cortland left the room.
72. [Red Tide] Lady Mockery
In the furthest east, on the frozen coast of the north, at the edge of the oca¡¯em¡¯s sprawling Reef, in the smoke-shrouded city of Endpass, champions and their Quills watched the first sliver of sun break the horizon. And, in the blinking of an eye, the gods plucked them up and dropped them elsewhere. The first arriving Quills and their champions found themselves in a vast courtyard of stone, a castle with walls as high as the sky rising around them. Inside, they found an uncountable number of rooms, all the same, with beds and basins and privies. The hallways all bent backward, feeding unavoidably to the courtyard. Benches fanned out in tiers around the courtyard, creating an amphitheater. The factions sequestered themselves there, keeping away from each other, uncertain what to do next. The boldest amongst them ventured to fill plates of food from the lavish banquet tables that lined one wall. For many, that would be their last meal. Gradually, the courtyard began to fill. The teleportation came for each Quill and their champions when the sun reached them. Some were better prepared than others. The archmages of the Magelab were disappointed that the cart of ingredients, potions, and artifacts of power that they had painstakingly assembled for the last year was left behind. Only that which champions carried on their backs was delivered with them to Armistice. The ambitious mage-prince Cizco of Infinzel was caught in the midst of trying to drag his oafish brother, the rotund King Hectore, from beneath the bedsheets where he cowered. Thus, King Hectore arrived at the Granting on his back, literally kicking and screaming. King Mudt appeared with his sword laid in his lap, working a whetstone across the blade. Delight filled the Orvesian as the first sight he saw was Infinzel¡¯s blubbering king and his frustrated brother. He sprang for Cizco¡¯s back, his sword traveling a murderous arc. ¡°Brother!¡± King Hectore shrieked. ¡°Beware!¡± Cizco Firstson spun about and power flared from his fist, but whether he would have been quick enough to defend King Mudt¡¯s blow will forever remain unknown. The gods intervened, shoving the two men apart with invisible force. ¡°Not yet,¡± said the ge¡¯ema in a voice like bells ringing through the walls. ¡°When?¡± screamed King Mudt. ¡°Enough of these rules! Let me do what you have brought me here to do!¡± ¡°Soon,¡± the ge¡¯ema replied ¡°First, the declaration and the placement.¡± By then, every Quill and every champion had arrived in the courtyard amphitheater. The stone floor changed, filling in with greens and blues, until a map of the island of Armistice manifested in fine detail, as it would appear for that first Granting and then never again the same. ¡°King Mudt, you will begin,¡± said the ge¡¯ema. ¡°Choose your place. Declare your wish.¡± --Record of the First Granting and Dawning of the Second Age Lyus Crodd, Scribe of the Dead Kingdom of Orvesis
Red Tide, Enchantress of the 4th Renown, The Reef, her music heard from a great distance Cuda Bite, Throne Gazer, Salt Wall, the champions of the Reef, and Turtle Jaw, their Quill, the realm¡¯s second most hated species Mockery, Knife Master of the 8th Renown and Quill of the Trolkin, her long wait at an end
9 Meltzend, 61 AW Trolkin territory, North Continent 111 days until the next Granting They brought the dogsleds to a halt when the giant''s skeleton came into view. Turtle Jaw hopped off ahead of Red Tide, shading his eyes from the low hanging winter sun. ¡°By the tides,¡± he said. ¡°They made men that size?¡± Red Tide ran a hand across her braids, knocking loose the ice gathered in the grooves. ¡°Women, too, I''d bet.¡± ¡°Unless that''s why the big fucker killed himself. Maybe he was lonely,¡± Cuda Bite added, yawning as he uncoiled from his own sled. Salt Wall grunted. ¡°It''s a lonely land.¡± Throne Gazer said nothing, but gathered with the others to observe the leviathan-sized skeleton. The bones were so white they hurt to look at. The giant had died on its back with one knee up and its left hand fallen upon its forehead in an attempt to shield its face. Wind howled through the gap between the tibia and fibula in a way that sounded almost musical. Snow drifts piled up and into the cracked side of its immense skull like spilled brains. ¡°A thing I never thought I''d see,¡± Turtle Jaw said, rubbing his gloved hands together. ¡°Amazing.¡± ¡°You say that like you¡¯ve accomplished something in the viewing, old man,¡± Red Tide replied. He glanced at her and shrugged. ¡°Wouldn''t say I''m worse off having seen a giant''s bones, I suppose.¡± ¡°Does it inspire a song for you, Red?¡± Cuda Bite asked. She took a moment to stare at the skeleton and consider his question. ¡°Don''t look like nothing to me but death.¡± ¡°Lots of good songs about death,¡± Cuda Bite replied. If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. Salt Wall cuffed him on the back of the neck. ¡°We''ll write you a beautiful death song, nibbler. Don''t worry.¡± They were talking more. That was a good thing, Red Tide thought. Their minds were thawing out after the journey north. They had crossed flat, packed, endless snow where even land-walkers with their insatiable hunger for spread hadn¡¯t bothered to put down holdings. The oca¡¯em had fallen into a desultory rhythm over the last month. Short days of sunlight spent riding the dogsleds, breaks to water the animals, evenings around a fire eating whatever game the dogs hunted for them¡ªtypically elk or caribou¡ªbitter meats that needed to be cooked to be tolerable, and then nights huddled amongst the blood-smelling pack for warmth and shielding from the wind. The dogs slept in a braid formation that left open nests of fur for each of the oca''em to snuggle into. The animals were hypnotically disciplined, just as the beastlord Yodor Dominik had promised, and the oca''em soon found themselves completely abiding by the rhythm and timing of the canines. Red Tide felt more and more like an animal in those days. Driven north with single-minded purpose like salmon in a migration. It became easy to forget who she was, what they were doing, and the fate that awaited them. It was Throne Gazer who had named the feeling¡ªa numbing of the mind¡ªand requested that she play her harp more in the evenings. The strings were tight with cold and stung the tips of her fingers, but Red Tide agreed. She sang them songs of warm waters and hidden beaches and spun legends of oca''em warriors sinking merchant ships. Some nights, even the dogs cocked their heads to listen, as if the spell cast over them had been temporarily broken. And now, upon seeing the skeleton, it seemed to Red Tide that the spell on her had been lifted as well. The scenery suggested their endless days upon snowy plains were at an end. Their own songs could resume. The stoic dogs still pointed their snouts northward¡ªthere were more miles yet to cover to whichever destination Yodor had implanted into their minds. Their harnesses creaked as the dogs settled against the ropes, as if the act of standing still required effort on their part. Throne Gazer had his trident out. He jammed it into the snow and reached his hand toward Cuda Bite. ¡°Your knife,¡± he said, voice scratchy. Cuda Bite eyed him. ¡°What? Why?¡± ¡°I am going to cut the dogs loose.¡± Red Tide tilted her head in unspoken question. They freed the dogs of their towlines every night, but always kept their harnesses attached. ¡°What would you want to do a stupid thing like that for?¡± Cuda Bite asked. ¡°Did your mother hide a wagon up here for us and I''m not seeing it?¡± Throne Gazer jerked his chin toward the skeleton. Red Tide followed his gesture. A splotch of crimson had dropped from atop the giant''s rib cage¡ªlike one last drop of blood¡ªand now moved toward them. ¡°One of them comes,¡± Red Tide said. ¡°Yes, one of them comes,¡± Throne Gazer said. ¡°And I will not see these animals butchered to feed savages. They carried us far and served us well.¡± ¡°They eat dogs up here?¡± Cuda Bite asked. ¡°Didn¡¯t think that was land-walker custom.¡± ¡°The trolkin are not like the other land-walkers,¡± Throne Gazer said. ¡°They are predators.¡± ¡°How does that make them not like the other land-walkers?¡± Cuda Bite said dryly. ¡°They eat whatever animals they can kill,¡± Salt Wall added. As she''d come from the northern pods, Salt Wall had more experience with the trolkin than any of them. ¡°They''ll even eat each other if circumstances demand.¡± ¡°By the tides, what drives them to that?¡± Cuda Bite asked. ¡°The madness,¡± Salt Wall said. ¡°Beware the melting, they say.¡± ¡°These land-walkers got too many fucking expressions,¡± Red Tide said. ¡°What''s that mean?¡± ¡°Their snowflake Ink,¡± Salt Wall said, indicating her throat. ¡°Watch out if you see one fading away. Means the transformation is on. They stop being mere kin to the trolls. The gods don''t grant protection from monsters like that.¡± Monsters. They had come all this way north to treat with monsters. Or people on their way toward transforming into monsters. Red Tide supposed she understood the logic of it. Like the oca''em, the trolkin all lived under one faction, and so were free to kill each other, without the protection of the gods offered the land-walkers who divided themselves into dozens of territories. And, like the oca¡¯em, the trolkin were seen as abominations by the rest of humanity. Naturally, it made sense their two groups should be allies against the land-walkers who hunted them. However, the trolkin were more reviled than even the oca''em, and in conflict with territories from the north who could give two shits about life on the sea. The trolkin might provide protection, but they would also bring new enemies. Of course, it was too late to voice this skepticism now. This was one of Deep Dweller''s plans and Red Tide had to believe the old sea witch knew what she was doing. Plus, a champion from the Reef hadn''t survived a Granting in a decade. Meanwhile, the trolkin had one amongst them who had made it through the last two Grantings, creating a true nuisance of herself. At the very least, Red Tide would like to know her secrets. With Cuda Bite ignoring his request for a knife, Throne Gazer had instead knelt next to the dogs and begun trying to tug loose the frozen knots that secured their harnesses. The dogs didn''t react at all to being unbuckled, their misting breaths steady and synchronized. ¡°My friend, will they even go if you let them loose?¡± Turtle Jaw asked quietly. ¡°The beastlord worked some magic on them¡­¡± ¡°I don''t know,¡± Throne Gazer admitted. ¡°But I will at least give them a chance.¡± He glanced at Red Tide. ¡°Perhaps if you were to use [Hypnotic Object] it might break Yodor''s spell.¡± Red Tide lifted one shoulder. ¡°Sure. I could try.¡± She hadn''t given much thought to the ultimate fate of the dogs, but it had clearly preoccupied Throne Gazer. She found herself warmed by this break from his usual aloofness. ¡°But we might need them yet, so don''t go untying all that shit unless you know how to put it back together.¡± Throne Gazer hesitated with his fingers wormed into a knot, then sighed. He stood up. ¡°Fine.¡± ¡°Besides, they didn''t send a horde of cannibals to greet us,¡± Red Tide continued. ¡°It''s just the one.¡± ¡°If I''m not mistaken, that''s the one,¡± Turtle Jaw said. ¡°The knife master quill. Their survivor.¡± The trolkin woman had drawn close enough that they could see more than just the garish red dress that stood out so brightly against the snow. She was large¡ªa full foot taller than Salt Wall¡ªand broad-shouldered. Her skin was a pale blue that blended into the snow and she had a mane of wild, frizzy silver hair. Red Tide knew little of the fashion of the land-walkers, but she understood that the trolkin''s dress had been made for someone with a much smaller frame. The fabric barely reached to her mid-thigh and split open across her chest, exposing her Ink and¡ªRed Tide winced¡ªthe scars where the trolkin''s breasts should have been. She wore nothing else, completely unbothered by the cold, beyond even the oca''em tolerance to low temperatures. Without greeting, the trolkin stopped at a distance of twenty yards and turned her back on them. As the Reef''s champions exchanged looks, the trolkin cupped her hands around her mouth. ¡°Esteemed guests from the ocean!¡± Her words rang clear across the empty tundra. ¡°It is my pleasure to present to you the Quill of the trolkin, wielder of the eight blades, the keeper of winter, redeemer of her lost people, the splendid and valorous¡ªLady Mockery!¡± ¡°What the fuck?¡± whispered Cuda Bite. The trolkin¡ªLady Mockery¡ªspun about as if she were stepping out from behind a curtain and hadn¡¯t just shouted her own introduction. She grinned at the oca¡¯em, her canines long, teeth chipped and cracked, the expression a wild rictus. Mockery laced her heavy hands and shook them in the air, while the oca¡¯em watched in uncomfortable silence. A madwoman, Red Tide thought. They had come here to seek counsel and alliance with a madwoman. Mockery started forward and, as she did, she touched a dark whorl of Ink on her chest. The symbol read [Fireblade]. For a moment, the trolkin¡¯s fingers disappeared within her body, and then emerged clutching a knife that sizzled with fire. The Reef¡¯s champions readied themselves for attack¡ªparticularly Throne Gazer¡ªbut needn¡¯t have bothered. Mockery swept the knife through the space before her, creating the shape of a heart in flames that hung crackling in the air. She then walked through the fire, plunging the knife back into her chest where it harmlessly disappeared. In that moment, Red Tide realized the trolkin stared only at her. ¡°Ah, Lady Mockery,¡± Turtle Jaw began, ¡°thank you for receiving us¡ª¡± ¡°Hush!¡± Mockery hissed without looking at him. ¡°Tuck yourself into your shell, little turtle. I am in the midst of my declaration.¡± None of the others intervened as the trolkin came to stand directly before Red Tide. She would have words for them later about that. For now, Red Tide made a point of not stepping backward, and of maintaining steady eye contact with the towering trolkin. ¡°Battle-sister, you arrive at last,¡± Mockery said. ¡°Didn¡¯t know you had a sister, Red,¡± Cuda Bite murmured. Red Tide swallowed her immediate objection at being named kin with this woman. Instead, she simply raised one eyebrow. ¡°That¡¯s right. Here I am.¡± Mockery fell to her knees before her with a loud whump. ¡°You needn¡¯t sully your mouth with requests. I would never make you ask,¡± Mockery said. ¡°I pledge assistance to you and yours, battle-sister. You will have all the aid from me that you require. And together, our peoples shall be free.¡± ¡°Huh,¡± Red Tide replied. ¡°Good.¡±
73. [Red Tide] A Whirlpool on Land
Red Tide, Enchantress of the 4th Renown, The Reef, the guest of honor Cuda Bite, Throne Gazer, Salt Wall, the champions of the Reef, and Turtle Jaw, their Quill, fish out of water Mockery, Knife Master of the 8th Renown and Quill of the Trolkin, tour guide through the madness
9 Meltzend, 61 AW Trolkin territory, North Continent 111 days until the next Granting They could see the fires and smell the smoke from the trolkin camp from more than a mile out. Their destination cast a hellish glow on the horizon. The night sky already felt closer to the ground this far north and the towering blazes seemed like fingers clawing it lower. Red Tide walked alongside Mockery at the front of their small procession, just as the trolkin champion had insisted. Turtle Jaw and Cuda Bite came next, both on foot, sticking close to Red Tide. They were flanked by Salt Wall and Throne Gazer, each riding one of the sleds. The dogs trotted onward as resolute as ever¡ªindifferent to the thickening air, the cacophonous sounds, and even the trolkin woman who came sprinting toward them. The trolkin approached with her arms flailing and lungs shrieking. As she neared, her bare feet churned up chunks of mud and snow, silver hair streaking out behind her. Throne Gazer readied his trident and Cuda Bite reached for his dagger, but Mockery put up a hand to stay their weapons. The trolkin careened by them as if they didn¡¯t exist. Red Tide watched her disappear into the darkness where they had just come from, fleeing some enemy that only she could see. ¡°Fuck was that?¡± Red Tide asked. Mockery sighed wistfully. ¡°Smoke¡¯s got her. She¡¯s on a journey.¡± ¡°No journeys that way,¡± Salt Wall muttered. ¡°Nothing at all back that way but snow.¡± There were more screams ahead¡ªand hysterical laughter, moaning, and manic chanting. At least two hundred trolkin writhed about in the firelight. Cuda Bite drew closer to Red Tide. ¡°Are we sure about this?¡± Red Tide shot him a look. ¡°Stay attached,¡± she said quietly. ¡°It¡¯s a whirlpool on land.¡± ¡°Come!¡± Mockery said and put her hand lightly on Red Tide¡¯s back, urging her forward. ¡°Come and see our camp.¡± Red Tide allowed herself to be led. There was nothing to do in a place like this but give into the currents and hope that it spat her back out. Mockery entered her camp with a proud tilt of her chin and a wide-swinging arm like the leader of a victory parade. In Red Tide¡¯s mind, the area claimed by the trolkin stretched the definition of a camp. Calling it such was a bit like saying that crabs made a town when they washed up on a beach at low tide. Of course, Red Tide kept this opinion to herself. Some of the trolkin took notice of Mockery and her guests, edging closer to peer at the oca¡¯em with dilated eyes. Others were too busy with the business of madness to care about their Quill returning with strangers. For the most part, it looked to Red Tide as if the trolkin just plopped themselves down wherever they pleased. Some sprawled in the slush and mud with the detritus of their lives strewn around them¡ªbones and baubles and junk¡ªwhile the more industrious, or perhaps sane, had taken the trouble to create rough-looking shelters. There seemed to be no organization to any of the varying structures, which ranged from crumbling domes of ice and mud, to tents of animal skin strung between stunted pine trees, to dark burrows that disappeared into snow drifts. There wasn¡¯t a central gathering place or network of pathways. There was no logical perimeter to the camp to organize a defense. ¡°This is where you live?¡± Red Tide asked. Mockery led them on a zigzag path, kicking aside blank-faced trolkin who didn¡¯t clear the way. ¡°No,¡± she said. ¡°I live in a castle of wonder. This is where I holiday.¡± Red Tide swallowed. She had no idea if the trolkin woman was serious, toying with her, or living in a fantasy. Shaking her head, Red Tide tried to make sense of the madness before her. The oca''em were mostly nomadic, but the pods traveled with purpose, observed routine, and always returned at some point to the Reef for the trading of goods and songs. If there was some logic to how the trolkin organized themselves, Red Tide could not see it. Before her imprisonment in the Grotto, Red Tide had been without a pod. She¡¯d preferred to swim alone. Her fellow champions had proved a tolerable bunch and Red Tide hadn¡¯t often wished for a return to solitude in these last months. As the chaos of the trolkin camp enclosed her, however, she wished for water¡ªshe would dive deep and far and escape this chaos. ¡°Do not fear us, sister,¡± Mockery said. ¡°I have told my people to be on their best behavior.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not afraid,¡± Red Tide snapped at the taller woman. Mockery shrugged. ¡°It seems an ugly place, even to my eyes.¡± All that ugliness was well lit. There were fires throughout the haphazard camp¡ªmore than seemed strictly necessary. The trolkin did not need them for warmth, so the fires were for cooking, or light, or entertainment. ¡°I look around and I have no wonder why the champions of the north fight so hard to kill us every year,¡± Mockery continued. She peered down at Red Tide. ¡°You are a creature of beauty, though, sister. Those who would hunt you should feel shame.¡± Under the trolkin¡¯s intense gaze, Red Tide huddled deeper into her cloak. ¡°If you say so.¡± Smoke hung heavy in the chill air¡ªthe burning wood from the bonfires mixed with something else, a piney aroma that tugged invitingly at Red Tide''s mind. She actually felt grateful for the smoke. Whenever the wind shifted, it carried in the smell of piss and shit from latrines dug at too short a distance. Or, not dug at all. ¡°Have you ever given thought to the decisions of the gods?¡± Mockery asked. Red Tide raised her eyebrows. ¡°Have you?¡± ¡°Of course,¡± Mockery said. ¡°I spend so much time inside my own head, I think about many things.¡± Red Tide blinked her eyes, which stung a bit from the smoke. She had no idea what to say to the trolkin woman. Conversations with her were like trying to grasp an eel. They passed into an area where the snow was packed down from heavy traffic, mud and roots exposed in places. There were a smattering of pine trees and twice that number of stumps. They had picked up a tail of trolkin as they walked through camp¡ªhooting and grinning and shouting nonsense. Others watched warily from around fires. Red Tide made note of a moaning pile of bodies that would not be distracted from their carnal pursuits.If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. ¡°I wonder why the gods curse us so,¡± Mockery said. ¡°All the trolkin you see, they once belonged somewhere else. But then, the gods switched them from that to this. To be marked as monstrous by the gods themselves. What debasement could be left after that?¡± ¡°Looks like they¡¯re working hard to find one,¡± she said, pointing out the orgy to Mockery. Mockery laughed. ¡°Yes! Agreed.¡± The trolkin varied wildly in size and shape. A good many were bigger even than Mockery and towered above the oca''em, some reaching nearly ten feet in height. Others wouldn''t have stood out in a land-walker village. The larger trolkin tended toward the pale blue skin and silver hair, like Mockery, while their smaller cousins appeared more human, except for the curling growths of bluish mold that sprouted from their bodies. Some of the trolkin were muscled and stoutly proportioned, while others were rangy in a way that hurt Red Tide to look at, their skin stretched across bones that had elongated too swiftly for the flesh to keep pace. They seemed to be a group perpetually undergoing painful transformation and even the ones that looked comfortable in their skin¡ªlike Mockery¡ªwere possessed of grisly scars and mutilations. Red Tide¡¯s fingers twitched. The gods granted the oca¡¯em protection here, but that did not lessen the anxious feeling of being surrounded. She glanced over her shoulder and saw how all her companions walked with hands on their weapons, their eyes flitting across the erratic trolkin. They had all fallen into an uneasy silence¡ªvery much unlike the champions of the Reef. ¡°We don''t get many visitors,¡± Mockery said. ¡°No shit?¡± Red Tide replied. The trolkin grinned. Red Tide sensed that she could say anything to this woman without offending her. Perhaps that was her [Charm+] at work, but Red Tide suspected it went deeper than that. Mockery had developed an attachment to her that made little sense considering they¡¯d first met hours ago. ¡°This is a place for letting go, for shedding humanity,¡± Mockery said. ¡°We trolkin do not choose this place, but are driven to it. You see madness. Of course, you would see madness. You have not yet come to the end of the world.¡± ¡°No, I haven¡¯t,¡± Red Tide replied. ¡°You big fucking riddle bitch.¡± Mockery clapped her hands and laughed again. The other trolkin¡ªtoo distant to have overheard¡ªnonetheless mimicked her laugh. ¡°Shut up!¡± Mockery screamed at them. ¡°Keep to your own feelings!¡± Awkwardly, Turtle Jaw chose that moment to edge forward. ¡°Lady Mockery, if I may¡­?¡± ¡°You mayn¡¯t,¡± she replied. ¡°Perhaps we should find a¡­ ah¡­ a quiet place?¡± Turtle Jaw pressed on. ¡°To discuss the terms of an alliance?¡± Mockery rolled her eyes and waved Turtle Jaw away. ¡°You should kill that one,¡± she said to Red Tide. ¡°I have seen him lead two groups of champions to the Granting and always they die badly.¡± ¡°He¡¯s changed his ways with us,¡± Red Tide said. ¡°Still. Better to be the Quill yourself, yes? Choose your own entourage. Take charge of things.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll keep that in mind,¡± Red Tide said. She flashed Turtle Jaw a smile that he did not return. ¡°We can discuss terms here and now,¡± Mockery said. The words were loud enough for Turtle Jaw, but directed at Red Tide. ¡°I will help you survive on the island. I will not expect any aid there in return. Your enemies become mine, and mine enemies stay mine.¡± Cuda Bite glanced over his shoulder at Throne Gazer. ¡°When she says you, why does it sound like she only means Red Tide?¡± Throne Gazer elected not to respond, but Cuda Bite¡¯s words were loud enough for Mockery to hear. ¡°Some of you must die,¡± Mockery said. She patted Cuda Bite on the shoulder with enough force that his knees buckled. ¡°That¡¯s the strategy, isn¡¯t it? Some die so others can be preserved. Gain strength. And then, maybe in years, protect the champions to come.¡± Cuda Bite turned to Turtle Jaw. ¡°Is that our strategy?¡± ¡°No,¡± he said. ¡°What do you get out of it?¡± Red Tide asked Mockery. Mockery grinned at her. ¡°In return, you will spend some time indulging my whims here in the north. Both in the present and next year, after your survival.¡± ¡°We have to travel on soon,¡± Turtle Jaw said quickly. ¡°We¡¯re needed in the ocean.¡± ¡°You just got here,¡± Mockery said to Red Tide with a pout. ¡°A few weeks is all I ask. I will make it worth it for you.¡± She cocked her head. ¡°It only needs to be you, sister. I don¡¯t need these others.¡± ¡°We stick together,¡± Salt Wall said. ¡°The more the merrier!¡± Mockery said. ¡°I assumed you might need some convincing this first night, so I saved a gift for you.¡± ¡°What gift is that?¡± Red Tide asked. ¡°Ink,¡± Mockery said. She glanced at Turtle Jaw. ¡°You have seen it on your map, no? I am holding it for you. We can share it.¡± Red Tide exchanged a look with Turtle Jaw. They had noticed the blob of Ink waiting in the north, uncollected for weeks now. They assumed the trolkin would prevent them from pursuing it. But now, that power could be theirs. ¡°What fucked up whims of yours am I supposed to indulge, then?¡± Red Tide asked. ¡°Perhaps you have noticed that we lack culture here in the north.¡± Behind Mockery, a squat trolkin slowly masturbated into a fire while others counted down from one hundred. Grimacing, Red Tide focused on Mockery. ¡°I don''t know shit about culture,¡± she replied. ¡°Our art lives in the smoke, our poetry here in our minds,¡± Mockery said, vigorously tapping her temple. ¡°But we are in need of music. Your beautiful music.¡± ¡°You''ve never heard me play.¡± ¡°Haven''t I, sister?¡± Mockery bowed her head. ¡°In the smoke, past and future are the same.¡± None of that made sense to Red Tide, but she wasn¡¯t going to be baited into asking follow-up questions of a lunatic. ¡°That¡¯s it?¡± ¡°I have some particular songs in mind,¡± Mockery said. She bit the tip of her tongue excitedly. ¡°I will teach you how to pluck them.¡± They passed by a rusted metal rack where three ram carcasses were hanged by their back legs. The bellies had been opened up and the ground beneath them was soggy with dark blood. Next to the rams, a trolkin leg partly stripped of its skin twisted from a chain. There were other pieces of meat dangling from the rack as well, although Red Tide had more difficulty identifying those given the pulp and bite marks. Standing watch on the rack was a trolkin of considerable bulk. He was entirely blue-skinned like Mockery and kept his silvery hair shaved atop his head, but wispy and long at the back of his skull. The trolkin wore little besides a stained leather apron, and he wielded a long knife that was meant for carving paths through underbrush. Upon seeing the dogs, he let loose an excited cry. ¡°The thaw comes early, Lady Mockery!¡± the butcher shouted. ¡°You honor us with meats!¡± The trolkin managed two steps toward the dogsleds. Before the third, the air crackled behind Red Tide, and she tasted sparks in the air. Then, the arc of Throne Gazer''s [Eel Sting] lit the night a vivid silver, the bolt striking the trolkin in the chest and hurling him backward. The back of his head struck the meat rack and sent the carcasses swinging. He laid in the bloody snow, seizing and clutching at himself. Some of the trolkin cheered and whooped at the violence, while others scattered and sprinted away. Throne Gazer stood with his trident still leveled at the butcher, waiting for him to get back up. And the big trolkin might have regained his feet, if Mockery hadn''t pulled one of her knives from the Ink on her chest and pitched it at him. The blade looked flat and dull, yet it vibrated as it moved through the air, and Red Tide sensed a strange weight to the weapon. It landed between the butcher''s shoulder blades as he tried to press himself up and caused him to collapse back onto his stomach with a sharp exhale. Mockery''s knife¡ªthe symbol read [Gravity Blade]¡ªheld him there like an anchor. ¡°What''d I do?¡± screamed the butcher. ¡°What''d I do?¡± ¡°I don''t know!¡± Mockery replied. She turned to face Throne Gazer, walking backward toward her fellow trolkin as she did. ¡°How did Gristle give offense, kind sir?¡± ¡°He presumed to take what hasn''t been offered,¡± Throne Gazer said evenly. ¡°The doggies, you mean?¡± She rolled her eyes. ¡°But you have so many. In the north, we share. We share smoke, we share food, and in the bad times we share desperation.¡± For emphasis, she slapped the dangling leg. Turtle Jaw cleared his throat. ¡°A misunderstanding, I''m sure¨C¡± ¡°No misunderstanding,¡± Throne Gazer said, his voice rising clear. ¡°These dogs are mine. These sleds are mine. I have not come here to share. You want culture in this hell? Learn how to treat with guests, Lady Mockery. This reception is pathetic.¡± Red Tide scanned the crowd of wild-eyed faces that peered at them in the firelight. Some hooted and clapped as if watching a play, while others grinned and edged closer, tempted to test Throne Gazer. Mockery, meanwhile, knelt down beside the butcher. She looked almost chastened by Throne Gazer¡¯s regal tone. ¡°Of course,¡± Mockery said, her eyes down. ¡°Of course, we will not presume upon your possessions.¡± Mockery lifted the [Gravity Blade] from Gristle¡¯s back and the butcher took in a grateful breath. She inserted the knife back into her Ink and pulled another¡ª[Sharpest Blade]. The edge glinted in the flickering light, thin as a sheet of parchment. ¡°Accept my sincerest apologies, Lord Throne,¡± Mockery said. And, with that, in one practiced motion, she dragged the knife across Gristle¡¯s throat. Red Tide took a faltering step back as the spray from the trolkin¡¯s neck splattered her shins. Around them, the trolkin howled.
74. [Nortmost] Twenty Days Up, Part One
The foremost stratagem of King Mudt were displays of strength. These had rarely failed him on the traditional battlefield. And so, when the gods asked him to choose a place on the map and declare his wish, he did not consider any options that might be regarded as subtle. ¡°I want Infinzel destroyed,¡± he said. ¡°I wish to see it crumble and collapse.¡± The gods registered neither approval nor disapproval. ¡°Choose your place,¡± they intoned. King Mudt eyed the map that had appeared across the floor of the gods-made courtyard. They had shaped the island into a miniature version of the world itself¡ªtwo halves, separated by a river instead of an ocean. An appropriate choice for the First Granting, if a bit predictable. The island would never take this shape again. ¡°Here,¡± King Mudt said, and chose the approximation of the Orvesian peninsula. ¡°Done,¡± the gods said. ¡°Assassins. Killers unaffiliated. Choose your place and declare your wish.¡± All eyes turned to the clutch of masked men and women who had been given ample space in the amphitheater. Their animal masks had long belonged to the beastlords of Besaden, but some shift had taken place in the last year, for now the children of ge¡¯besa kept their distance from their former guerillas. The assassin Quill¡ªin the mask of a weary, scarred lion whose mane had chipped away¡ªcame forward. However, before he could speak, the Quill of Magelab, Huru Alepho, stood up to register her protest. ¡°These fiends do not belong in this company!¡± Huru yelled. ¡°They have no land and no loyalty! To give them a wish is a mistake!¡± ¡°A mistake?¡± Old Lion asked. ¡°Do you suggest, archmage, that the gods are capable of mistakes?¡± The gods made no response. They merely waited, and listened. King Mudt chuckled. He appreciated the swagger of the masked assassin and he enjoyed a haughty archmage being put in her place. Yet soon, King Mudt sensed eyes upon him, and he saw the masked assassin Crying Otter pointed in his direction. King Mudt remembered this one from the villa where he¡¯d killed the traitor Kayenna Vezz. Crying Otter raised a finger to his wooden, animal lips, and held it there. In one day¡¯s time, he would be the first to drive a knife into King Mudt. --Record of the First Granting and Dawning of the Second Age Lyus Crodd, Scribe of the Dead Kingdom of Orvesis
Carina Goldstone, Logician of the 3rd Renown, Kingdom of Infinzel, in need of a ride Vitt Secondson-Salvado, Hunter of the 9th Renown, Kingdom of Infinzel, in need of a few more hours of sleep Emmad Beet and Yasmin Hel, Archmages of the 16th and 5th Renown, Magelab, accompanied by two candle champions Cortland Finiron, Hammer Master of the 12th Renown, Kingdom of Infinzel, in a foul mood Traveon Twiceblack, Skulker of the 2nd Renown, Soldier¡¯s Rest, sticking his nose in
30 Trollove, 61 AW Ascending the Nortmost Mountain Day One of the Trial The Ink appeared with the sunrise, a throbbing blob on the map one of the Quills had courteously summoned on a table in the Clear Sky Inn''s common room. Word spread quickly amongst the champions. All told, nearly fifty men and women would begin the ascent that day. The gods left enough Ink for ten of them, though the champions did not know that. Some of the champions departed swiftly, grabbing packs that they''d kept ready for this moment, and racing toward the trail that led up the Nortmost. Others were more leisurely in their approach. These were the veterans who understood the benefits of a steady pace, and who knew how much could change in twenty days on the mountain. Carina wished to be in the former group, but Vitt belonged firmly to the latter. Or, more likely, it wasn''t a cautious approach that kept him in bed that first morning but a hangover from going drink-for-drink with the Fornon lumberjocks. ¡°Gods damn you, Vitt, come on,¡± Carina urged, standing over his bed. ¡°It''s time.¡± The logician hadn''t slept at all. To her, this inn had all the comforts of a snake pit. Carina doubted she could''ve fallen asleep, even if she''d bothered to try. Instead, she had taken a shift guarding the pass, standing a wordless watch with a flint-eyed champion from Noyega. Then, when that shift was over, she''d volunteered to take Vitt''s turn. A whole night spent pacing across rocks and replaying fraught conversations in her head. A whole night avoiding the inn''s other guests. ¡°A few more minutes,¡± Vitt groaned, tangled in a bedsheet. ¡°Or an hour.¡± ¡°Get up,¡± Carina snapped. She tried to rip the blankets away, even though the hunter was likely naked underneath. He caught her by the wrists and lazily tried to pull her on top of him. He stank of whiskey, sweat, and a bit of dried vomit. Carina recoiled, but not before Vitt had somehow, with his eyes half-closed, managed to partly unbutton her shirt. ¡°Your Ink''s faded,¡± he said. ¡°What''s the matter? Did you see yourself dying if we don''t leave right this minute?¡± Her [Future Sight] was actually still faded from the day before. Carina hadn''t rested enough for the Ink to restore itself. Perhaps that had been another reason for the sleepless night¡ªto avoid the temptation of looking forward, which had become too much of a habit lately. ¡°I need to get out of this place,¡± she said sharply. ¡°I''ll go up without you if I have to.¡± ¡°Don''t be so dramatic,¡± Vitt replied, his hand draped across his eyes. ¡°Act like you''ve been here before.¡± ¡°I haven''t been here before.¡± ¡°Well, look, there''s no advantage to be gained on the first day.¡± He groaned and rolled over. ¡°Let the early birds get eaten by the worms.¡± ¡°That¡¯s not the expression.¡± ¡°Are you sure?¡± Carina stared at his muscled back for a moment, then picked up her pack from the floor. ¡°I''ll be outside,¡± she said. ¡°Yes, yes,¡± Vitt replied. ¡°I''ll catch up.¡± Carina left his room, keeping her hood up and her head down as she made her way out of the Clear Sky. She didn''t want to bump into Sylvie¡ªor anyone else. Eventually, she settled on waiting for Vitt from the knuckle-shaped stone outcroppings that flanked the pathway to Nortmost. From there, Carina could observe the others champions as they began their ascent and at least tell herself that this was information gathering and thus a productive use of her time. And so, Carina was in position to see the two candles from Magelab when they emerged from the inn. The traffic up the mountain had dwindled, which meant the candles were dawdlers like Carina and Vitt. She had seen them hanging around the inn the night before¡ªtwo men, both champions, stoic and hardy as the candles of Magelab tended to be. She didn¡¯t recognize them from her time spent in the Magelab. Besides the Inquisitor Samus Bind, Carina hadn¡¯t spent much time around these conscripted protectors.Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there. As Carina watched, the candles climbed the rocks on the opposite side of the pathway from her, encumbered with bundles of cut lumber. They selected a flat area¡ªthe same one Carina had stood upon last night for her watch¡ªand began to make a pile of the boards. All told, they made three trips back-and-forth to the rocks from a wagon parked in the Clear Sky¡¯s corral, setting up a tidy stack of lumber and some coils of rope. Only when the candles had finished their labors did the archmages show themselves, ambling out from the Clear Sky in no great hurry. Unlike the candles, Carina recognized these two. The first was Emmad Beet. Skinny and depleted, like all the archmages tended to be, Emmad was even older than most at nearly ninety. He wore a thickly furred robe and matching hat, but Carina recognized him by the corkscrew-shaped beard that twisted away from his chin. Of the Magelab¡¯s champions, Emmad had achieved the highest level of renown¡ªsixteen, last Carina had heard. Even with that surfeit of Ink, someone unacquainted with the Magelab¡¯s champions might have thought the man too old and brittle to make a twenty day climb up the mountain. They would have been right. Of course, Carina knew Emmad had no intention of actually climbing. The champions of the Magelab all had their specialties. Emmad Beet¡¯s was travel. The mages spent their whole lives dabbling in the old ways, often sacrificing their health to amass greater and greater power. For those few who were made champion, there was an awkward transition¡ªthe Ink made magic easier, but the gods¡¯ stinginess with renown often meant an archmage¡¯s abilities outpaced their Ink. Thus, the archmages thought it imperative to have one amongst them who could travel swiftly across the continents, finding the trials placed by the gods and letting the archmages quickly amass Ink to secure their skills. Flight, teleportation, portal rituals¡ªthese were Emmad Beet¡¯s specialties. No doubt Emmad was here to make sure the Magelab¡¯s second champion¡ªYasmin Hel¡ªmade it to the top of Nortmost ahead of all the others. Yasmin Hel was only in her early fifties, which made her particularly young to have reached the rank of archmage, much less to have been elevated to champion. Her white-blonde hair rivaled the fresh snow for shine, and it whipped loose around her sharply chiseled features. Carina had heard about Yasmin¡¯s reputation for viciousness¡ªshe had achieved her rank young precisely because she challenged her proctor for the role and nearly crippled the other archmage in the ensuing duel. Universally disliked and brutal in her power, Yasmin made sense as a replacement for Ahmed Roh. She would be a perfect killer for the Magelab, and no one would shed any tears if she died on the island. Her selection as a champion suggested to Carina that the Magelab expected trouble at the next Granting. In the meantime, it fell to Emmad Beet to bring her to the Ink. Carina openly watched the archmages and their two candles go to work. Emmad sketched a rune across the stone, shuffling about and occasionally handing off the chalk to Yasmin so he could knuckle his back. When the rune was finished, the candles began arranging their boards into a flat platform, with Yasmin lashing them together, and Emmad supervising the assemblage while chanting incantations. It looked like they were stranded on a deserted island and constructing a raft. The candles and tomes surely knew that Carina watched them, but they didn¡¯t seem to care. When their platform looked about halfway to completion, Carina hopped down from her perch. She cut across the path and then scrambled up the opposite side, stopping at a respectful distance from the archmage¡¯s rune-work. All of them except for Emmad stopped their tasks to look at her. ¡°Greetings, Master Beet and Master Hel!¡± Carina called, tapping into the hidden fount of joviality she kept in reserve for sucking up to archmages. ¡°It is an honor to see you at your craft!¡± Yasmin glanced at one of the candles. ¡°Who is this person?¡± The candle shrugged in response. ¡°Madam Goldstone.¡± It was Emmad who recognized her, though he didn¡¯t look up from where he sketched a complex design on the underside of a board. ¡°Congratulations on your recent ascendancy.¡± ¡°Goldstone¡­¡± Yasmin muttered, then narrowed her eyes. ¡°Ah. The liar merchant of Infinzel.¡± ¡°A bit of a truncated description, master,¡± Carina responded, smiling. ¡°I was, briefly, a merchant of Liar¡¯s Ink, of which I found many eager buyers in your tower.¡± She hastily bowed. ¡°Congratulations are in order for you, as well, it seems. Both of us new champions, equals in a way, at last. Although I remain as ever a humble student in your presence.¡± Yasmin¡¯s lips peeled back, her perfectly straight teeth clicked together. She gestured toward the Nortmost. ¡°The mountain is that way, child.¡± ¡°Yes, we¡¯re all running late, aren¡¯t we?¡± Carina raised up on her tiptoes to get a better look at their platform. ¡°Do you intend to fly that up the mountain, masters?¡± At last, Emmad Beet finished his design and turned to look at her. The laugh lines at the corners of his eyes and mouth were set deep. He gazed at Carina without the open hostility of his fellows. ¡°We do,¡± he said. Yasmin snapped a glance at him. ¡°Why talk to her?¡± ¡°What¡¯s the harm?¡± Emmad replied with a wave of his hand. ¡°Madam Goldstone was always a source of amusement to me during her time at the tower. She has an incomparable ability to crawl under the skin of her betters. Sevda likened her to a puppy chewing up the ugliest pieces of furniture, the ones most in need of replacement.¡± Carina cocked her head at that. A bit condescending, but it was an evaluation she could work with. ¡°If I might pose an irritating question, why wait so long to build your conveyance?¡± Carina asked. ¡°You could¡¯ve had it ready and been on your way back to Magelab by now.¡± Emmad seemed happy for the break from drawing his symbols. He stowed the chalk in his pocket and began pulling on his fingers one-by-one, making adjustments to the digits. Carina made it a point not to look too long at the archmage¡¯s false hand. The story went that he had lost most of the arm in a teleportation accident and, since then, developed a reputation for caution. ¡°Our thinking is that the gods might view such haste as an affront akin to ascending the Nortmost early," Emmad said. "And, additionally, there is the possibility of sabotage from our competitor champions should we reveal our designs.¡± Carina grinned. ¡°Oh, so am I too late to do some sabotage, then?¡± The candles squared their shoulders at that and Yasmin took a half-step toward her. ¡°Be careful how you joke,¡± Yasmin said. Carina kept smiling as Emmad tutted at the others. ¡°Relax, all of you,¡± he said. ¡°Madam Goldstone means us no harm. In fact, I think she works her way toward a proposition.¡± ¡°Am I so transparent, Master Beet?¡± Carina folded her hands in front of her. ¡°It does seem like you¡¯re building a very spacious floating raft¡­¡± ¡°No,¡± Yasmin said. ¡°Absolutely not.¡± ¡°Do not be so hasty, Hel,¡± Emmad said. ¡°Perhaps there is an interesting offer at the end of this.¡± In terms of influence and tradeable goods, Carina hadn¡¯t been so empty-pocketed since her teenage years ratting around Soldier¡¯s Rest. Her mind worked quickly. ¡°I met the Inquisitor on his way south,¡± she said quickly. ¡°Ah,¡± Emmad said. ¡°And how is Samus?¡± ¡°At a dead end, it seemed to me,¡± Carina replied. ¡°However, I¡¯ve considered his investigation in the weeks since. I could help. Master Roh was amongst my beloved mentors¡ª¡± Yasmin snorted. ¡°I believe I have unearthed new information,¡± Carina continued undeterred. ¡°About the rogue mage who may have slain your colleague.¡± Carina was confident that she could come up with something to feed the archmages once they were up the mountain. She would¡¯ve told them anything if it meant getting up Nortmost quicker, ahead of the future that she¡¯d been probing like a sore tooth. But Emmad Beet smiled at her sadly, and Carina instantly knew she¡¯d misplayed her cards. ¡°A grim and desperate lie, Madam Goldstone, even for you,¡± he said. ¡°I hope you are well.¡± With that, the old archmage waved his hand and the winds picked up. Carina stumbled backward, shielding her face from the snow and ice kicked up by the harsh flurries. She staggered to the edge of the rocks where the air suddenly stilled. Catching her breath, Carina stared up at a swirling wall of wind¡ªthe archmage had used [Summon Tornado]. She could just make out the four representatives of Magelab, returning to their work in the eye of the storm. Carina spat out a bit of grit. ¡°Well,¡± she sighed, ¡°it was worth a try.¡±
1 Meltzend, 61 AW Ascending the Nortmost Mountain Day Two of the Trial At least the scrawny bartender-turned-champion Traveon Twiceblack had the good sense to keep his mouth shut when Cortland stormed out of the Clear Sky¡¯s backroom and headed immediately out the door and up the mountain. He trailed Cortland at a safe distance. A wise reading of the situation. One smart remark might have loosed Cortland¡¯s hammer. Cortland knew these would not be easy weeks on the mountain. He knew he should pace himself and tread carefully. Even the start of the path up¡ªthe most worn terrain on the mountain¡ªwas icy and uneven. A twisted ankle on the way up could be disastrous. In the moonlight, Cortland stumbled multiple times, but bulled his way forward with one hand clutching his hammer''s handle. He snarled and kicked at the rocks, knowing he must look like a child in a tantrum. At least he resisted the urge smash through every obstacle in his path. So, he had his answer. Ben Tuarez had been killed as revenge by a bereaved Penchennese teenager. A niece of the Exile Queen Deidre but, ultimately, not someone angling for power or to undermine Infinzel. A nobody. A killing meant to mend a bitter girl¡¯s broken heart. Sylvie Aracia had almost made Cortland feel like Ben deserved to die. But if that was the case¡ªdidn¡¯t they all? These existential thoughts just made Cortland angrier. He would not think them. There remained the matter of the assassin. Laughing Monkey. She was here, according to the girl. She had ordered Sylvie to confess to Cortland as payment for the assassin¡¯s services. Why? To toy with him further? Of all the bloody coins tossed in all the enchanted wells, why had the Brokerage chosen Ben¡¯s name? And there was the matter of Sylvie¡¯s friend. The visitor to Penchenne who had told Sylvie about the Brokerage and practically slid the coin into her hand. Carina. All things came back to Carina. A ruinous pace up the mountain, then. Cortland would have the rest of his answers. Behind him, Traveon struck a flint and lit a lantern. The skulker had narrowed the gap between him and Cortland, dancing nimbly over stones that Cortland kicked aside. Wiping the back of his hand across his face, Cortland slowed his pace and glanced back at his unwelcome follower. ¡°I told you to go up with the others,¡± Cortland said. ¡°Why did you stay?¡± ¡°I thought someone should watch your back,¡± Traveon replied. ¡°You think I need that? From you?¡± Cortland glowered at him. ¡°I detest these fucking games, pretty boy.¡± Traveon considered for a moment, then shrugged. ¡°I¡¯m meant to keep an eye on you.¡± ¡°For Carina?¡± The younger man¡¯s coal-lined eyes widened in surprise. ¡°What? No. For Guydemion. The old man would better know your character and quality.¡± ¡°My¡­¡± Cortland suppressed the urge to grab Traveon by the neck. ¡°He sets you to this task?¡± Traveon tucked a loose strand of hair behind his ear. ¡°I¡¯m actually quite the astute jud¡ª¡± High above them, a bloom of fire erupted in the night air. Cortland and Traveon both tilted their heads back to see better. Fire rippled across the sky, held at bay by a dull blue glow that Cortland recognized as an arcane shield. As Cortland watched, a second, smaller explosion burst into being, this one behind the shield. Although the flames soon began to dissipate, Cortland saw the blue shield begin a twisting and erratic descent, a trail of black smoke just barely perceptible against the night. Hostilities up the mountain had begun. ¡°What the hell was that?¡± Traveon asked. ¡°Someone was flying,¡± Cortland replied. ¡°And now, they aren¡¯t.¡±
75. [Nortmost] Twenty Days Up, Part Two
Laughing Monkey and Wrathful Elephant, Assassins of the 11th and 3rd Renown, Brokerage of Blades, causing trouble Carina Goldstone and Vitt Secondson-Salvado, Logician of the 3rd Renown and Hunter of the 9th Renown, Kingdom of Infinzel, in good hands Cortland Finiron, Hammer Master of the 12th Renown, and Traveon Twiceblack, Skulker of the 2nd Renown, Kingdom of Infinzel and Soldier¡¯s Rest, debating sonnets
1 Meltzend, 61 AW Ascending the Nortmost Mountain Day Two of the Trial Wrathful Elephant unhurriedly patted out the small curls of fire that still burned on his forearms. When he''d finished, the muscular assassin rolled down his sleeves and stepped backward. Beneath the branches of the sagging pine tree, in the thin northern moonlight, he became nearly invisible. ¡°That will have gotten their attention, don''t you think, sister?¡± Laughing Monkey did not immediately respond. Instead, she watched the flying platform spiral downward. With her [Vision+], she could see the four outlines still clinging to the raft as it broke apart in the sky. She tracked the platform until it disappeared behind the tree line, crashing some miles to the east. That was rough terrain out there. A rocky space that hadn¡¯t been chiseled clean by the Fornon lumberjocks who thought they ran this mountain. Good. The candles and tomes would be slowed down greatly, a fair punishment for trying to cut the line. Soon, the skies were still and the sparse woods around them silent. Laughing Monkey nodded once with satisfaction. ¡°Yes, I think they¡¯ll feel our slap on the backs of their wrinkled hands,¡± she said. ¡°And we want that?¡± Wrathful Elephant asked. ¡°We want their attention?¡± Laughing Monkey breathed out through her nose, the sound muffled by her mask. She bent over to pick up the other two concussion arrows she had taken from her pack. She had been ready to fire three shots, but had only needed the one to bring down the mages. They were always so arrogant. It had been a simple thing, really. First, Wrathful Elephant had launched his [Fireball] into the air. They were sure the mages would see it coming, but they wanted a look at the raft¡¯s defenses. Once revealed, an arcane barrier was a simple thing for an archer like Laughing Monkey to overcome. ¡°Are you worried we may have upset them, brother?¡± ¡°I¡¯m sure we upset them.¡± ¡°Good exercise, though, wasn¡¯t it?¡± she asked. ¡°Isn¡¯t that why we¡¯re here?¡± She carefully stowed the concussion arrows in a compartment on her shoulder-slung quiver. Done with that, she returned her hand bow to the holster at her hip. The mages probably thought they were high enough to avoid archers¡ªand even if they weren¡¯t, they likely assumed none would dare. It should have been an impossible shot with a weapon the size of Laughing Monkey¡¯s hand bow, but few targets were beyond her skill thanks to her many gifts. Taking stock of herself, Laughing Monkey realized that [Trajectory] and [Deadeye] had faded from the strain of the distance. Worth it. ¡°I''d been under the impression that we wished to evade notice up here,¡± Wrathful Elephant said. ¡°Is that a rebuke, brother?¡± ¡°Of course not.¡± ¡°There''s only ever so much Ink at the top,¡± Laughing Monkey continued. ¡°We couldn''t just let them float up there and take it.¡± ¡°No, of course not,¡± he replied. ¡°For a moment, though, it occurred to me that this could be a matter of an old grudge.¡± Stiffly, Laughing Monkey turned to face him. She cocked her head. He stepped out of the shadows and mirrored the movement. ¡°It is always old grudges, isn''t it?¡± she asked. ¡°Between us and them.¡± ¡°Too true,¡± he replied. ¡°I meant no offense, sister. I know we are not meant to pry.¡± ¡°No. But we are meant to be curious and we are meant to be just.¡± She paused. ¡°Mages are not birds. They don¡¯t belong in the sky. I was curious what would happen if we made them fall. Do you think the gods let them bounce up from the earth? I wish we could have seen.¡± ¡°You are as they said you would be, sister.¡± ¡°Mm? What do they say about me?¡± ¡°They say you are chaos given flesh.¡± Laughing Monkey touched the wooden cheeks of her mask and twisted her ankle about. ¡°You make me blush, brother.¡± ¡°Shall we continue on?¡± he asked. ¡°Yes.¡± The two assassins slipped between trees and moved across rocks like whispers. ¡°Imagine if they landed on a ledge abutting a sheer cliff face with no viable way to climb to safety, and the only possible escape to jump a murderous distance to the ground below,¡± Wrathful Elephant mused. ¡°Would the gods protect them in that jump? Would they soften the landing because it was our hand who put them in that deadly predicament?¡± ¡°An interesting thought,¡± Laughing Monkey said. ¡°A good way to pass the time.¡±
2 Meltzend, 61 AW Ascending the Nortmost Mountain Day Three of the Trial ¡°Kendrick, you set that freeloader down whenever you get tired of her, you hear?¡± Breck Bucksap said gruffly. Soft fur shifted beneath Carina''s cheek as Kendrick shrugged. ¡°She hardly weighs a thing, boss man,¡± Kendrick replied. ¡°Breath keeps my neck warm.¡± Breck groaned. Loose stones crunched beneath his boots as he picked up his pace. ¡°Gods, I think the boy''s in love,¡± Carina heard him mutter. ¡°He should be cautious about that,¡± Vitt replied. Carina kept her eyes closed, pretending to be asleep. She had been asleep, actually, pressed piggyback against Kendrick. She hadn''t been successful in her attempt to steal onto the archmage''s floating raft¡ªa good thing if the explosion of the other night was any indication¡ªso she had hitched a ride on a lumberjock instead. She and Vitt had caught up to the champions of Fornon on the second day. Bleary and exhausted by then, Carina had been staggering after Vitt, tripping over every second rock or root. She had been impressed by how easily Vitt tracked the lumberjocks, not realizing until later that Vitt had used [Hunter''s Mark] to follow them, a trick he¡¯d planned since their arrival. The lumberjocks knew the fastest ways up, even if some of them were dangerous ascents.Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road. They had already climbed one rock wall rather than spend extra hours navigating around it to use the switchback trail. Well, Carina hadn''t really climbed it. She had been strapped to the back of Kendrick Branchbull, who pulled himself up the wall using shovel-shaped spikes that had been pounded into place by some previous climber. The handholds were painted a whitish-silver and would''ve looked like nothing more than chunks of ice to any of the other champions making the ascent. The lumberjocks had made secret shortcuts for themselves. Of course, Carina had whispered husky thanks to Kendrick at the top. The boy had stammered his declaration of how easy it was. Upon seeing Kendrick, Carina immediately knew that he could be her shortcut. She hadn''t really taken notice of the big lad when first arriving at the Clear Sky, but she suspected that he noticed her. He had that dopey look on his broad face as if he were forever puzzling out some way to start a conversation. Kendrick was stout, keg-shaped, and Carina would''ve thought him too simple to be a champion if she hadn''t soon seen the power in his arms and the strength in his hands. Like her, this would be his first Granting. Carina had been genuinely exhausted by the time they caught up with the lumberjocks. She hadn''t slept and had then been surprised at the blistering pace Vitt set when he''d at last been roused from the Clear Sky. And so, her collapsing in front of Kendrick hadn''t been entirely an act. She''d given him an opportunity to catch her, and he did. She had also used [Enthralled Defender]. Just a nudge to amplify the romantic lumberjock''s protective instincts. None of the other champions were equipped to sense that Carina had tampered with the lad¡¯s mind¡ªor else, they thought it a harmless amusement. ¡°Not the most inspiring replacement for Ben, is she?¡± Breck asked as they walked. The eldest of Fornon¡¯s champions had a blunt way of speaking. When others might have lowered their voice to make a rude observation, Breck spoke his louder. At least, Carina thought, that made it easier to eavesdrop. ¡°She might surprise you,¡± Vitt said evenly. ¡°She has gifts beyond the physical.¡± Breck snorted. ¡°I¡¯m sure she does, hunter. I suspect my virginal Kendrick means to sample them.¡± Vitt fell silent and Carina wondered how his face looked. ¡°As I said, he should be careful with that,¡± the Secondson replied eventually. ¡°Let me tell you, Vitt, your people seem to be in fucking disarray,¡± Breck continued. ¡°You seem to be in disarray.¡± ¡°What?¡± Vitt chuckled. ¡°You don¡¯t like the beard?¡± ¡°I was at the Open Gate, you know?¡± Breck said. ¡°Couldn¡¯t get a gods damn minute of your father¡¯s time, but I did have the pleasure of seeing you carve up some nobody. I saw your healer piss himself in a corner. And Cortland? Promising his hammer to some Sulkie when you¡¯ve failed two years running to abide by our agreement? What has become of you people?¡± ¡°Our agreement to aid you in killing the trolkin, you mean,¡± Vitt said. ¡°Remind me. What does Infinzel gain from the arrangement?¡± Vitt¡¯s voice had gone cold. With her eyes closed, Carina could have imagined that was King Cizco himself speaking. ¡°Those savages wish for more winter every year,¡± Breck snapped. ¡°The entire north will suffer if they aren¡¯t eradicated.¡± ¡°Yes, but Fornon is more north than most, isn¡¯t it?¡± Vitt replied. ¡°When Infinzel¡¯s enemies come for our blood¡ªthe Brokerage, Penchenne, Orvesis¡ªdoes Fornon stand with us? I seem to remember you telling my father those were southern problems.¡± ¡°I told him those were pissy little political disputes while ours is existential,¡± Breck said. ¡°The colder it gets, the more their trolkin rot spreads. I¡¯ve lost cousins to the smoke. My own brother-in-law¡­¡± ¡°And you say we are in disarray? While your own family gives into such weakness?¡± Vitt chuckled dryly. ¡°Gods, Bucksap, how difficult can it be to kill some trolkin, anyway?¡± ¡°Careful how you flick that tongue, boy,¡± Breck said. ¡°And if you think that trolkin bitch is easy quarry, I¡¯d suggest you give her a try.¡± ¡°You challenge me, then?¡± Vitt scoffed. ¡°Do you have other chores I might accomplish for you, as well? Logs to chop and water to carry?¡± Carina didn¡¯t approve of the growing testiness between the two men. The champions of Fornon would be a help to them on the mountain, so long as Vitt could keep his ego in check. Let Breck Bucksap scold and grouse¡ªit would mean nothing once they reached the top. She shifted against Kendrick¡¯s back, preparing to intervene. Perhaps luckily, at that moment, Carina¡¯s [Alert] triggered. This was not the muted sensation she had felt on the river north¡ªa feeling she now understood was due to the presence of the assassins. Carina felt a full body tingling and a ringing in her ears, the sense of reaching toward a hot object. Her head snapped up and around. ¡°Hold!¡± shouted Geana Woodsmith. The lone female lumberjock, as muscled and hardy as her companions¡ªshe had felt it, too. Carina made a mental note that the woman shared [Alert]. They were passing through a ravine, heading uphill, their boots crunching across a weak stream that had mostly turned to ice. There were ledges and crevices in the walls on either side of them, and Carina tilted her head back to scan the rocks. ¡°What is it?¡± Breck snapped at his champion, his annoyance with Vitt carrying over to this delay. ¡°Felt danger,¡± Geana replied. ¡°There,¡± Carina spoke up, pointing to a ledge thirty feet above them. At first, she had thought it was a child peering down at them, though she knew that made no sense. The creature was small, humanoid, with skin like alabaster that blended in with the stone. Its head was too big for its body, almost as wide as its shoulders, so that it looked vaguely like a worm on two legs. Squinting, Carina sensed an odd flatness to the thing, like a paper cutout. As the others turned to follow Carina¡¯s finger, the creature raised its skinny arms above its head and dropped into the stone. Carina blinked. The sense of danger from her [Alert] slowly faded. ¡°Fuck me,¡± Breck muttered. ¡°The gods sent stone walkers.¡±
3 Meltzend, 61 AW Ascending the Nortmost Mountain Day Four of the Trial ¡°...into the fading light, the horse galloped riderless,¡± Traveon concluded. Cortland waited a moment, but the bartender had fallen silent. ¡°That''s it?¡± ¡°That''s it,¡± Traveon said. Cortland shook his head. ¡°Dumbass poem.¡± ¡°You didn''t like that one either, huh?¡± Cortland shook his head. ¡°You ever ride a horse?¡± ¡°I haven''t, actually. Not much equestrian in the Rest.¡± ¡°Miserable gods damned experience,¡± Cortland said. ¡°You can''t blame the man for cutting the animal loose.¡± Traveon sighed. ¡°The horse is a metaphor for his aspirations.¡± ¡°Metaphor or fucking not, I''d rather walk.¡± Traveon wiped the back of his hand across his forehead and flicked the sweat off his fingers. Despite the chill, the skulker had his coat open to let in the cold air. ¡°You''ve made that abundantly clear.¡± Cortland grunted. He had indeed set an exacting pacing for them over the last few days. There were multiple ways up the mountain, but Cortland preferred the trails, steep and slippery as they could be at times. They had expected to catch up to the others by now, but perhaps Henry had chosen a different way when the paths forked, or else Henry''s magic and herbal aid had the rest of greater Infinzel''s champions moving at an even swifter clip. Good for them, Cortland thought. It would be beneficial for Henry to spend some time as a leader. The role had never suited Cortland over this last year. Maybe Henry would take to it more readily. Much like leadership, Cortland had also never taken to climbing. He did not like to have his feet dangling out in the open air. Cortland''s chosen path was longer than some others, but he could make up for that by pressing. Last night, while Traveon made a show of gagging, Cortland had popped two blisters that swelled between his toes. The pain was good, the exhaustion was better. Cortland¡¯s anger felt easier to let go of when he was tired. He needed to drain some of the fight from his own blood, for his own good. An aching body meant a clear mind. To his credit, Traveon had not once complained about Cortland''s brutal pace. He woke when Cortland did, clambered over icy rocks alongside him, and subsisted on the same dried meats and short sleeps. The bartender was made of sterner stuff than Cortland expected. No matter how hard Cortland pushed forward, Traveon never seemed to run out of wind, which meant he never stopped talking. Cortland had found he didn¡¯t mind that so much, either. Apparently, the bartender had memorized dozens of poems and had taken it upon himself to find one that Cortland liked. Everyone needed a favorite poem, the skulker had said. Cortland thought that was just about the dumbest thing he¡¯d ever heard, but he didn¡¯t mind the recitations. ¡°You know, I saw the axe man¡¯s fire last night,¡± Traveon said. ¡°He¡¯s still trailing us.¡± Cortland nodded. He had seen it, too. ¡°And?¡± ¡°Well, it feels like he should come up and join us, or find his own way,¡± Traveon said. ¡°Rude to dangle about on our coattails, isn¡¯t it?¡± ¡°He¡¯s afraid of me,¡± Cortland said. ¡°So what?¡± Traveon responded. ¡°I¡¯m afraid of you.¡± Cortland glanced at the younger man. ¡°Why?¡± ¡°Hundred days from now, your king might tell you to bash my head in.¡± Traveon smiled at him. ¡°It¡¯s why I show you so much of my humanity. To build rapport. At least I might make you feel guilty about it.¡± Cortland opened his mouth to issue a denial, but then stopped himself. The skulker could be right, after all. He had no idea what orders King Cizco might issue going into the next Granting. Cortland felt his anger rising again, and so quickened his pace. As Cortland and Traveon rounded a bend in their trail, they saw two champions coming down the mountain in the opposite direction. Both of the men were blonde, round-faced, and slump-shouldered. They could¡¯ve been brothers, or cousins, or perhaps were just from some rural patch where everyone looked alike. Their Ink confirmed that suspicion¡ªthe bumblebee of Sweetwood¡ªa village to the west of Infinzel, known for their honey and little else. Cortland suspected there were more smalltime champions trying the Nortmost this year after what had happened to Ambergran. It wasn¡¯t unusual to encounter men turning back once they realized they wouldn¡¯t make the top, although it seemed early for such pessimism. However, the champions of Sweetwood appeared sadly underequipped. One of them didn¡¯t carry a pack at all. ¡°My friends, you¡¯re going in the wrong direction!¡± Traveon said, spreading his arms. ¡°Glory waits up, not down!¡± ¡°It¡¯s you two who are heading in the wrong direction,¡± said one of the dour-faced blondes. The four of them stopped astride the trail. Cortland took his canteen from the side of his pack and handed it over. The champions of Sweetwood murmured thanks and drank greedily. They had no water of their own. ¡°What happened to you?¡± Cortland asked. ¡°There¡¯s an archmage and her candles up there,¡± the less thirsty blonde replied. ¡°Her supplies were destroyed, so she helped herself to ours.¡± ¡°She robbed you,¡± Cortland said. ¡°An archmage.¡± ¡°You should find another way up or she¡¯ll do the same to you.¡± Cortland¡¯s fingers found the head of his hammer, drumming eagerly. There were hot bubbles in his blood. Champions brutalizing their lessors, the powerful pulling the strings. Gods, but he was tired of these stories. He was tired of being part of them. ¡°Oh, my,¡± Traveon said. ¡°Do you see that look, my friends? The hammer master seeks a nail.¡±
76. [Nortmost] Twenty Days Up, Part Three
Cortland Finiron, Hammer Master of the 12th Renown, and Traveon Twiceblack, Skulker of the 2nd Renown, Kingdom of Infinzel and Soldier¡¯s Rest, taking chances Yasmin Hel, Archmage of the 5th Renown, and her two candle champions, Magelab, taking donations Henry Blacksalve, Healer of the 8th Renown, and Rivian Stonespirit, Sword Master of the 4th Renown, Soldier¡¯s Rest, early risers Carina Goldstone, Logician of the 3rd Renown, and Vitt Secondson-Salvado, Hunter of the 9th Renown, Kingdom of Infinzel, in the company of the champions of Fornon, keeping their heads up
3 Meltzend, 61 AW Ascending the Nortmost Mountain Day Four of the Trial Cortland continued up the path, leaning forward slightly into the wind. Behind him, Traveon kept pace. They had left the two champions of Sweetwood behind. Although Cortland had offered to recover their supplies from the archmage who robbed them, the two bumblebees had been unenthusiastic about further confrontations. They¡¯d head back home with nothing to show for the journey but bitterness toward the Magelab. Cortland figured that was a fair result for them. Sweetwood¡¯s champions didn¡¯t have the mettle to make it to the top. They were more likely to die on the way than acquire any Ink. And yet, Cortland still found himself angry on their behalf. Traveon cleared his throat. ¡°Listen, I get putting on a show for the little people,¡± he said. ¡°But are you really going to pick a fight with an archmage?¡± Cortland grunted. ¡°I''m going to stick my chin out and see what happens,¡± he said. ¡°Can you win a fight with an archmage?¡± ¡°Depends on the archmage.¡± Sighing, Traveon pulled his hand-bow from beneath his coat and checked the firing mechanism. ¡°You know, on the way up here, you warned us again and again about precisely this kind of unnecessary diversion.¡± He dropped his voice an octave in an effort to mimic Cortland. ¡°Focus, Traveon. Stop fucking around, Traveon.¡± ¡°We aren¡¯t going out of our way,¡± Cortland said. ¡°So it¡¯s not a diversion.¡± ¡°Oh, well, in that case¡­¡± Cortland said nothing further. He wanted a fight. Here was a feeling from his younger days restored to him. Back then, directionless anger had been a near constant and he¡¯d found no shortage of outlets within the pyramidal city. Men who bumped him at the bar, men who looked at him wrong, men who scoffed at his height, friends of men who he¡¯d beaten on nights prior. How many mornings had Cortland woken up with blood on his knuckles and bruises under his eyes? Ben Tuarez pulled him out of all that. He¡¯d found Cortland in the cells, serving hours for a brawl the night before¡ªa brawl that had continued in the caged space on Infinzel¡¯s lower level. Cortland remembered catching sight of the stately champion in his Garrison uniform and fighting harder. He¡¯d wanted to impress Ben. By then, Cortland¡¯s dues were piling up. Fines from the damages and the injuries both caused and sustained. Shifts missed on his father¡¯s boat. The Garrison didn¡¯t offer every brawler in arrears an opportunity to wear the uniform. Ben had seen something in Cortland. Dogged violence. A young man who saw breaking faces not as an unenviable last resort but as an unavoidable fact of life. Ben had stuck Cortland in the training pits with Garrison soldiers who had trained combat their entire lives. He went from brawling with drunks to battling champions and those aspiring to become them. Cortland sometimes said that Ben had saved him from a life of thuggery and probably exile to Soldier¡¯s Rest, but Ben hadn¡¯t exactly rescued him, had he? Ben just pointed Cortland toward bigger and uglier fights. First in the training pits, where there were weapons and magic instead of fists and headbutts and then, once Cortland had proven himself, onto the island. It was Ben who had chosen the hammer for him. ¡°A working man¡¯s weapon,¡± Ben had said. ¡°You don¡¯t have the upbringing to learn the sword.¡± ¡°My mother wielded a hammer,¡± Cortland had said. ¡°Of course, in the forges.¡± Ben had pinched Cortland¡¯s cheek. ¡°I bet she never made a weapon more beautiful than you, boy.¡± Cortland scowled. Why did that memory come to him now? Why did it send a chill through him? They heard the champions from Magelab before they could see them. The three of them had set themselves up on a ledge where the path cut back and narrowed. A choke point. Cortland glanced back at Traveon and motioned for the skulker to stay behind him, although this was completely unnecessary. Traveon had no intention of leading the way. ¡°These are still only enough rations for a week or so,¡± a man was saying, his voice tired. Cortland and Traveon slowed slightly to listen to what sounded like an argument. ¡°You let them keep too much,¡± a woman responded bitterly. ¡°Only enough to get back down,¡± the man said. ¡°Yes,¡± said the woman. ¡°Too much.¡± ¡°It is folly to continue on, archmage,¡± said the man. ¡°Master Beet had the right of it when he teleported away. There are easier ways to attain your Ink.¡± ¡°Beet¡¯s a coward,¡± the woman said. ¡°Someone dares strike at Magelab and you think we should turn tail like chastened dogs? You think¡ª?¡± Cortland¡¯s boot crunched over a rock and a second man spoke up, cutting off the others. ¡°Someone comes.¡± No avoiding them now, even if Cortland had been the sort to change his mind. He picked up his pace, turning the corner on the trail and ascending to the Magelab¡¯s ledge. Archmages were typically fastidious in their upkeep and their candles followed suit. These three, though, looked exactly like they had crashed from the sky on a flaming raft. Their clothes were torn, muddied, and singed. Their faces were pale despite the cold, dark circles under their eyes, lips chapped¡ªhard travel with little sustenance. One of the candles stood astride the trail while the other knelt over a pair of backpacks. Cortland took the kneeling man for the argumentative one¡ªhe was older than his colleague, spots of gray in his beard, which perhaps gave him some leeway to backtalk an archmage. Except for the inquisitor Samus Bind, the Magelab¡¯s candles were interchangeable to Cortland. They melted quickly and were easily replaced. He never remembered their faces from one Granting to the next. Cortland paid more attention to the severe woman who leaned against a boulder, sizing him up. He didn¡¯t recognize her, which meant she was the replacement for the dead Ahmed Roh. Cortland used his [Assess].
Yasmin Hel Magelab 5th Renown
Force ShieldThis story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.
Wisdom+ Alert
Archmage
Pain Arcana+ Feather Step
Energy Missile
That looked like the Ink of someone preparing for a fight, Cortland thought. Nothing he hadn¡¯t encountered before. But then, the Ink only told a partial story with the archmages. [Arcana+] let them practice their spellcraft at a discount¡ªthe gods offered them a better arcane bargain than someone like the burnt out elementalist Arris Stonetender could have ever hoped for. This Yasmin Hel had been a mage much longer than she¡¯d been a champion, which meant she likely had some tricks up her sleeve that the Ink didn¡¯t account for. The candle standing in Cortland¡¯s way put a hand out as if to stop him. ¡°Hold, fellow champion,¡± he said. ¡°We must make a request of¡ª¡± ¡°Not him.¡± The older candle spoke up quickly. He had glanced over from his spot by the backpacks and recognized Cortland with a start. ¡°Let him pass.¡± The candle blocking the way raised an eyebrow, but started to step aside. He would have, if Cortland hadn¡¯t taken him by the arm. ¡°No, go on,¡± Cortland said. ¡°I want you to shake me down, like you did those others.¡± For a moment, Cortland felt tension in the candle¡¯s arm, but an inclination to resist quickly went out of the man. There wasn¡¯t any malice in this one¡ªjust exhaustion and duty. Cortland could sympathize. It was the archmage who spoke next. ¡°The champions of the Magelab suffered an unprovoked assault on this mountain.¡± ¡°Above the mountain, I thought,¡± Traveon murmured, lingering behind Cortland. ¡°Our supplies were lost, our means to ascend stymied,¡± Yasmin Hel continued. ¡°Therefore, we are requesting our fellow champions provide recompense for this violation¡ªgear and rations¡ªso that we might continue on.¡± Cortland let the candle¡¯s arm drop so he could focus fully on the archmage. ¡°The men we met heading back down made it sound more like a demand than a request.¡± Yasmin shrugged. ¡°Their packs are lighter, but they have the gratitude of the Magelab. A much more valuable commodity.¡± ¡°Someone didn¡¯t like you floating above the rest of us, cheating the trial,¡± Cortland said. ¡°And you think that entitles you to what others carried up?¡± Yasmin ran a hand through her white-blonde hair and pushed off from the boulder she¡¯d been leaning against. ¡°You¡¯ve been making my ears ring since you came up here, Cortland Finiron,¡± she said. ¡°If you intend to do something more than moralize, get on with it.¡± Gritting his teeth, Cortland dropped a hand to his hammer. Resigned as they were, the two candles had still taken up positions between him and Yasmin, prepared to flank, hands on their swords. He could take the three of them¡ªCortland was sure of that¡ªbut it would be an ugly thing even with the gods¡¯ protection hanging between them. There was risk his own supplies could be damaged in a fight. ¡°Ah,¡± Traveon said. ¡°Look at that.¡± The boulder Yasmin had been leaning against teetered and shifted, as if her weight had upset its balance. Ice and loose rocks cracked beneath it and the path began to collapse. Yasmin spun, yelped, and then used [Feather Step] to dance above the shifting ground. Both the candles stumbled and slid, the damage stopping just short of Cortland¡¯s own position. The older candle had left their supplies on the ground. All of it was swept downward in the small landslide. ¡°Idiot!¡± Yasmin barked. ¡°You¡¯ve lost it all again!¡± Stumbling and tripping, the candles charged downhill in the slurry, grasping at whatever they could. Yasmin made a point to glare once more at Cortland before following them. The path ahead¡ªnarrower and broken now¡ªwas clear. Cortland¡¯s shoulders slowly relaxed. ¡°That was¡­¡± ¡°Improbable?¡± Traveon smirked. ¡°I stood here thinking how badly I wanted to see those Magelab pricks punished, but without us breaking a sweat.¡± The skulker idly opened his shirt, peeking at his chest. The symbol for [Improbable Occurrence] had faded. ¡°Nice to see the Ink at work,¡± Traveon said. ¡°I¡¯d only used it for catching flush draws.¡± Cortland patted the other man¡¯s shoulder, though he felt a pang of disappointment that his knuckles were unbloodied. ¡°Good lad,¡± he said. ¡°Come on. We continue.¡±
7 Meltzend, 61 AW Ascending the Nortmost Mountain Day Eight of the Trial Henry Blacksalve wondered if being used to hangovers was working to his advantage. He blinked his eyes open in the purple morning, when the first light of day was still stuck on the other side of the mountain. His body felt stiff from the cold, his muscles ached, and his fingers and toes tingled¡ªnot really new sensations for Henry. He was used to feeling like dog shit. They had spent seven days trudging up the mountain. Seven days of drinking in the warmth and power of Henry¡¯s [Empowering Beacon] and then shuddering as it faded. Seven days of using [Summon Garden] to grow stimulants from the mountain¡¯s cold rock. The comedowns were brutal. And yet, laying there in those moments before another day began, Henry felt a rare sense of pride. It was working. He was getting his three charges up the mountain. They had already passed by a few groups who had set out before them. Cortland and Traveon hadn¡¯t caught up yet¡ªa matter of some concern, especially for Orryn es-Salvado who felt abandoned by the hammer master¡ªbut there was nothing to be done about that. Last night, they had taken shelter inside a crevice in the rock wall barely large enough to be considered a cave. It provided a reprieve from the wind, at least. Even so, their small fire had guttered out while they slept. As Henry slowly sat up, he realized he wasn¡¯t the first to awaken. Rivian Stonespirit was up already, fully dressed in her archaic cavalry uniform, her dark hair looking freshly brushed. Oddly, she crouched in the space between where Orryn and Watts Stonework slept. She stared down at Orryn¡¯s face, his mouth slightly open as he snored, bundled under blankets. His rat familiar was awake, perched protectively on Orryn¡¯s chest and staring up at Rivian with beady pink eyes. ¡°What are you doing?¡± Henry whispered. Rivian glanced over her shoulder. ¡°He reminds me of someone.¡± Henry squinted. Rivian had spoken so little on their journey north and even less on the mountain. He was surprised that she even answered him. ¡°What do you mean?¡± he asked. ¡°Who?¡± ¡°A reflection,¡± Rivian responded. She made as if to drag her finger across Orryn¡¯s jawline, but stopped herself. Instead, she ran her hand down the soft arc of her own face, then stood up, shaking her head. ¡°He looks like the king,¡± Henry said. ¡°Is that who you mean?¡± ¡°Never seen the king,¡± Rivian replied. Standing upright, she had to duck her head to avoid the cave¡¯s low ceiling. She reached up, pressing her palms against the stone and stretching. ¡°Being in here remind you of home?¡± ¡°Infinzel?¡± Henry rolled his neck. ¡°Not really.¡± ¡°No,¡± Rivian agreed. ¡°No hooks in this stone. No pull. This is clean stone.¡± Henry ran a hand down his own face, wondering if he was still dreaming. ¡°What?¡± ¡°You never been hooked, Henry Blacksalve?¡± ¡°Hooked? What--?¡± Beside Rivian¡¯s feet, Watts stirred. The movement seemed to startle her out of the conversation. She checked the sashblades tucked into her belt, then stepped smoothly around their companions and slipped outside without another word. ¡°Hooked,¡± Henry muttered. He dragged his pack closer and rummaged around for his flask. ¡°Yeah, I¡¯ve been hooked.¡±
9 Meltzend, 61 AW Ascending the Nortmost Mountain Day Ten of the Trial They found the body¡ªif you could still call it that¡ªhalfway up the mountain. The head sat in the middle of the path, mouth open in a scream, filled with snow. Flaps of the man¡¯s neck disappeared into the rock so his symbol wasn¡¯t legible, but Carina recognized him as the taciturn champion from Noyega she had spent a watch with. He¡¯d been traveling alone and gotten a fast start on the rest of them. A lot of good that had done him. The Noyegan¡¯s arms were raised in self-defense. Like his neck, these too stuck out of the stone, bloody stumps splaying out where the rock seemed to have closed around him. A bit of his left shoulder jutted up from the path like a fleshy hump. Next to her, Vitt slowly chewed a heel of bread. ¡°Bit much before breakfast, isn¡¯t it?¡± ¡°Gods, Vitt,¡± Carina said quietly. She turned to look over her shoulder, where the four champions of Fornon were huddled in quiet conversation. ¡°Is this the work of a stone walker?¡± They had seen the creatures twice more since that first time. Flattened humanoids with pearlescent flesh, skinny and wormlike¡ªso far they had done nothing but observe the ascending champions, disappearing into the stone as soon as they were noticed. ¡°A territory marker,¡± Breck Bucksap said. ¡°Fuckers letting us know not to go any further.¡± ¡°They pulled him down?¡± Carina said, crouching to take a closer look. ¡°Into the mountain?¡± ¡°Stone¡¯s like water to them,¡± Breck replied. ¡°To what end?¡± ¡°To what end?¡± Breck snorted. ¡°For pleasure? For food? Fuck if I know, first of all, and who cares, secondly. Creatures are as old as the giants. Should be long gone from this world. Gods are trying to be cute.¡± Vitt lifted his feet as if to check the stone beneath him. ¡°How do we stop that happening to us? How do we kill them?¡± ¡°They die the same way a wall does. Piece by piece,¡± Breck said. ¡°They¡¯re strong but they¡¯re slow. They can¡¯t drown you in the stone if you¡¯re anchored above.¡± Carina heard shuffling footsteps behind her and started slightly before realizing it was Kendrick Branchbull. She had released the doe-eyed hulk from [Enthralled Defender] but found his protective behavior largely unchanged. He had already tied a length of rope around his waist and now offered the other end to Carina. She nodded toward the Noyegan¡¯s remains. ¡°Should we bury him?¡± ¡°No,¡± Breck said. ¡°Seeing that might get some of these others to turn around. Less of a race for us.¡± Vitt glanced back the way they had come, peering down the mountain. Carina knew his mind. The rest of Infinzel¡¯s champions¡ªfrom inside the pyramidal city and out¡ªwere somewhere down there. ¡°And if they don¡¯t turn back?¡± Vitt asked. Breck grinned as he began tying his own rope around his waist. ¡°Then they better be well prepared, pretty boy.¡±
77. [Nortmost] Twenty Days Up, Part Four
Carina Goldstone, Logician of the 3rd Renown, and Vitt Secondson-Salvado, Hunter of the 9th Renown, Kingdom of Infinzel, in the company of the champions of Fornon, always on their best behavior Cortland Finiron, Hammer Master of the 12th Renown, and Traveon Twiceblack, Skulker of the 2nd Renown, Kingdom of Infinzel and Soldier¡¯s Rest, on the wrong side of the mountain
13 Meltzend, 61 AW Ascending the Nortmost Mountain Day Fourteen of the Trial Carina had been being good. Well, mostly. On their way up the Nortmost, she had largely avoided using [Future Sight] to probe the possibilities awaiting her. The unforeseen confluence back in Tiptop had shown her the error in becoming too reliant on clairvoyance. Plus, the lurking presence of the stone walkers made Carina hold back on wasting the ability. She wanted to keep it in reserve for when they came under attack, figuring that her Ink would be better utilized staying a few steps ahead of a stone walker than trying to parse the variety of grim fates awaiting her. And they had come under attack. Twice in the last three days the stone walkers tried to enclose them in their grasp. Carina had certainly found it useful to know exactly where to put her feet and what distance to maintain, how best to keep the lumberjocks of Fornon between her and these strange, plodding creatures. The stone walkers would attack if given the opportunity, but more often seemed content to simply herd the champions higher up the mountain. Carina thought it would¡¯ve been a simple thing to stay ahead of the creatures. Breck Bucksap made every encounter a battle, though. He demanded his champions break the stone walkers down to rubble. Carina knew the lumberjocks well enough to keep her suggestions of a better, easier approach to herself. That morning, high above, Carina had glimpsed the cliff. One cliff amongst many, yet Carina knew this one. Even though she had never been up there before, Carina remembered dragging herself across those rocks, desperate to throw herself off and onto the protruding ledge below. She had spent hours in that possible future, poking it like a bit of meat stuck in her teeth. Carina knew it was time to make a move. It was night and she was supposed to be sleeping. Instead, Carina packed herbs into a kettle with some snow and picked her way across the camp to the fire. She was careful not to disturb any of the alarms. The lumberjocks had stretched chains and ropes tied with bits of metal across the ground in a network like a spider¡¯s web¡ªthis was supposed to alert them if a stone walker rose up from the mountain in their midst. Carina felt this was unlikely. For whatever reason, they had never seen a stone walker after the sun set. Carina stepped carefully around the mound of blankets where Geana Woodsmith moaned in her feverish sleep. The woman¡¯s arm had been crushed that morning when she let a stone walker get too close. Geana happened to be Fornon¡¯s healer, but she¡¯d already faded her Ink after an earlier altercation. She wouldn¡¯t be able to mend herself until the gods restored her in the morning. ¡°All that squalling keeping you awake?¡± Vitt asked as Carina nestled her kettle at the edge of the fire. The Secondson sat opposite the hulking Kendrick Branchbull, the two of them on first watch. Carina glanced in Geana¡¯s direction. ¡°She¡¯s not that loud, Vitt.¡± ¡°A thing doesn¡¯t have to be loud to be irritating,¡± he replied. ¡°Empathetic, as always,¡± Carina said. Vitt showed his teeth. ¡°It¡¯s my fault,¡± Kendrick said quietly. ¡°She used up her [Healing Touch] on me.¡± ¡°It¡¯s your leader¡¯s fault, actually,¡± Carina said. ¡°Breck is too cavalier about killing the stone walkers. It¡¯s unnecessary. They can be rebuffed and outpaced. Dismantlement is a waste of resources.¡± Kendrick¡¯s eyebrows drew together in consternation, like he¡¯d never considered that the senior champion of Fornon could be wrong about anything. ¡°He says it¡¯s good training.¡± ¡°Perhaps,¡± Carina said with a shrug. Not so long ago, she¡¯d rebelled against her own training for not moving quickly enough. She felt a brief pang behind her ribs, remembering how Cortland had walked them all through the Underneath, putting himself between them and the danger lurking down there. Her kettle whistled and Carina pulled it out of the fire with a glove. She produced two tin mugs from her cloak and poured, handing one to Kendrick and keeping the other for herself. ¡°Something to settle the nerves,¡± Carina said. ¡°Thank you,¡± Kendrick replied and, though the light was low, Carina suspected he blushed. The young man had probably never tried tea in his life. He held the cup under his nose and inhaled deeply before drinking, smacking his lips as he burnt his tongue. ¡°It¡¯s good.¡± ¡°What about me?¡± Vitt asked. Carina paused with her mug in front of her lips. ¡°Your nerves never need settling.¡± ¡°True enough,¡± he said. ¡°But I do like tea.¡± ¡°Not enough cups,¡± Carina replied, before turning back to the lumberjock. ¡°Kendrick?¡± ¡°Yeah?¡± ¡°Thank you for carrying me those first days.¡± ¡°Of course,¡± he replied, running a hand over his face. ¡°Smish mosh bork.¡± Kendrick¡¯s brow furrowed as his tongue turned to cotton in his mouth. A string of drool dangled from his bottom lip, his eyes rolled back, and his chin dropped to his chest. Carina bounced to her feet, tossing her tea into the fire, and bracing her hands against Kendrick¡¯s chest to keep him from falling over. She balanced him there and stepped back. ¡°Fuck me,¡± Vitt said. ¡°What did you do?¡± ¡°Time for us to make our own way,¡± Carina replied. She glanced up¡ªthey were amongst the stars and clouds now, the jagged last quarter of the Nortmost silhouetted in the night like knives secreted in cloak sleeves. ¡°A blizzard rolls in the day after tomorrow. Breck will cut us loose then, let us get lost in the white. We won¡¯t catch up and the Ink will be theirs.¡± Vitt snorted. ¡°Figured he would try screwing us. Just wasn¡¯t sure when.¡± ¡°We don¡¯t need them the rest of the way,¡± Carina said. ¡°You¡¯ve seen all this?¡± ¡°A combination of foresight and deduction.¡±This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience. ¡°Logician talk. A combination of guessing and bullshit.¡± Even as he groused, Vitt stood up. His movements were completely soundless. ¡°What now?¡± ¡°The rest won¡¯t wake up so long as we¡¯re careful about the chains,¡± Carina said. ¡°I¡¯ll gather our things. You cut out the bottoms of their backpacks.¡±
14 Meltzend, 61 AW Ascending the Nortmost Mountain Day Fifteen of the Trial By Cortland''s count, there were five of the creatures. Stone walkers. He had never seen one in person before, but he had read stories about them in the Battle Library. They were rare things, denizens of the cold and cruel north, and thought to be mostly extinct. Perhaps they had merely been hibernating somewhere deep below, the Nortmost their peaceful cradle, and their emergence now was part of their natural cycle. Or, equally likely, the gods had nudged them awake, maybe even forced them back into existence, as a test for the champions. Their provenance mattered little to Cortland. He had seen the bodies on the way up here¡ªsucked down into the stone, crushed impossibly, smeared across the rock. The stone walkers were not here for discussion. ¡°You run if you have to,¡± Cortland told Traveon. ¡°They''re slow. Watch where you step and don¡¯t get cornered. You''ll be fine.¡± Traveon took a gulping breath in response. The air had grown thinner these last days. The skulker had his hand-bow out, aimed at the methodically advancing stone walkers, although he had already fired one bolt that bounced harmlessly off the lead creature''s front. He stumbled and slipped over loose rocks as he tried to walk backwards. ¡°You hear me, boy?¡± Cortland asked. ¡°Easier for me to kill these fuckers if I don''t got to look over my shoulder for you.¡± ¡°I hear you,¡± Traveon said. ¡°I¡¯m not enamored with leaving you behind.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll catch up,¡± Cortland said. ¡°These things don¡¯t talk, but they communicate. Left those bodies down there for us to see.¡± ¡°So?¡± ¡°So, I¡¯m going to send a response. Chunks of these ones, in our wake. Let their friends know to stop following us.¡± They had chosen a steep trail up, one that at points required them to scramble on hands and knees. The path was exposed on all sides to tilting winds, but Cortland hadn''t wanted to navigate them up through one of the crevices or ravines¡ªhe didn''t trust having walls beside them when the stone walkers were about. It had started with one creature in the morning, watching them from a distance. Then three. And now five. If any more gathered, Cortland might stop liking his odds. The hammer master dug his heels in, getting his balance on the slope. Traveon hesitated only a moment before continuing on without him. ¡°Right,¡± Cortland said. ¡°Let¡¯s see what you cunts are made of.¡± The stone walkers approached methodically, unbothered by the steep incline of the path. They looked almost like they had human features yet, as they neared, Cortland realized that was a trick of the eye¡ªor some predatory camouflage. Ripples and veins in their marble-like flesh gave the impression of faces, but it was like seeing shapes in the clouds. Up close, the stone walkers were like flattened worms. Back in Infinzel, they committed their dead to the mineral garden. In other places, Cortland knew, they buried the dead and raised plaques for them. That¡¯s what the stone walkers reminded him of¡ªambulatory gravestones. Their feet never actually lifted off the mountain. Instead, they rolled upward across the rock, like they were a wave passing through the mountain itself. For the briefest moment, Cortland lost his focus. He remembered Ben Tuarez¡¯s body sinking down into the welcoming sludge of the mineral garden. Ben¡¯s wife, Emelia, had wanted her husband committed to the stone as quickly as possible. She hadn¡¯t cried for him¡ªat least, not in front of Cortland. The stone walkers came on. Walking versions of the mineral slurry that had consumed his old friend¡¯s body. Cortland¡¯s knuckles popped as he squeezed the handle of his hammer. He cocked his arm back and used [Hammer Toss]. Cortland aimed for what he interpreted as the lead stone walker¡¯s head. His hammer struck with a satisfying thunderclap, shattering alabaster and sending cracks through what bits of stone walker were left behind. The creature stilled and crumbled. ¡°You die like men,¡± Cortland said. ¡°Good. Easy.¡± Cortland had thrown the hammer with enough force that it might have flown all the way down the mountain and put a crater in Tiptop''s immaculately paved thoroughfare. He stretched out a hand and activated [Weapon Return]. The wind snapped and howled as the hammer changed direction, returning to Cortland with the same velocity. He hoped he''d gotten the angle right and could pulverize a second stone walker on the rebound. As if sensing the attack, two stone walkers leaned to opposite sides and let the hammer pass between them. One lanced out with an appendage and grasped onto the hammer''s head. Cortland felt a tremor pass through his boots as the stone walker was dragged toward him, careening up the path on the end of the hammer with a noise like nails on slate. The hammer¡¯s handle slapped into Cortland''s hand. But the rest of the hammer was already inside the stone walker''s torso. The creature had pressed the weapon into its chest as if it were mush, its alabaster flesh slurping at the metal forged by the heat of Infinzel. ¡°Stupid,¡± Cortland grunted. He activated [Destroy]. In truth, he wasn''t sure the ability would work on the stone walker. It was meant for walls and shields¡ªand the occasional gargoyle¡ªbut was not supposed to affect the living. Were these creatures truly alive? Or were they pieces of the mountain? Did such a distinction matter? Cortland got his answer quickly. A shudder pulsed through the stone walker and tiny cracks spread across its surface, ruining the network of veins that gave the impression of human features. The creature''s body slid apart and, from within, came a gritty, black mist. The discharge swirled through the air, stinging Cortland''s cheeks like hail, and then retreated with unmistakable purpose. The particles spread across the next nearest stone walker, melting into its flesh. In those moments exposed to the open air¡ªor, rather, disconnected from the mountain¡ªhe sensed the cloud diminished somewhat. Some kind of spirit, then, animating the stone. Not so different from the shades that haunted the Underneath, creating bodies for themselves from old bones. Cortland only hoped he had done some permanent damage to the thing. Wrestling his weapon from the cavity in the inert stone walker''s chest, Cortland grimaced as he discovered the hammer¡¯s head had partially dissolved. His weapon looked like a collapsed honeycomb. ¡°Gods damn you,¡± Cortland said. ¡°I liked that hammer.¡± No sooner had he said these words than the third stone walker was upon him. The creature grabbed Cortland''s weapon arm¡ªnot that he could do much damage with his ruined hammer, anyway. The stone walker''s grip was like a vice and Cortland¡¯s upper arm deadened. He felt the sinking sensation then, like gravity had doubled and the mountain beneath had responded by turning to jelly. The stone walker meant to pull him downward. Cortland leveraged himself backward and relied on [Unmovable]. Nothing could budge him, so long as his Ink held. The ground shifted unnaturally beneath his feet¡ªbreaking and twisting from the conflicting forces. He poured his [Strength+] into his captured arm, wrenching against an impossible weight. Growling, Cortland felt the joint in his shoulder loosen and pop. On the training grounds, he had flipped great stone slabs that were intended as blocks for Infinzel¡¯s walls, but it had been some time since he¡¯d truly tested the limits of his power. Sweat trickled down between Cortland¡¯s eyes. He had wrestled the sinking stone walker to a painful stalemate. The Ink on his chest blazed from the exertion. Meanwhile, the fourth stone walker rolled closer. Though he worried about losing his balance, Cortland decided he had no other choice. He stomped his foot and used [Crevasse]. A seam opened in the side of the mountain, directed by Cortland¡¯s mind. The rock parted around the stone walker, leaving it suspended in the air from Cortland¡¯s arm. As he broke its connection to the mountain, a round hole opened in the creature¡¯s face¡ªa dark recess filled on all sides by flat, grinding teeth. The stone walker released an echoing shriek and then the spirit within poured forth, desperately seeking the safety of stone. Cortland swung the stone walker¡¯s empty body through the particulate mist, spreading it about. Hardened pebbles¡ªlike blackened little turds, Cortland thought¡ªtinkled to the ground as they broke off the whole. Ignoring the jangling pain in his shoulder, Cortland hoisted the stone walker¡¯s empty body over his head and pitched it at the next stone walker. The impact broke apart both creatures, though the fourth kept coming forward¡ªdamaged but not compromised enough, apparently. Cortland reached down, grasped a broken chunk of alabaster, and used [Forge]. The ability had been one of his first, though it hadn¡¯t seen much use since he acquired [Weapon Return] and stopped going through hammers so quickly. An inappropriately timed sense of nostalgia warmed Cortland as the stone crackled and reshaped itself¡ªa new hammer, gleaming marble white in the sun. ¡°Come on, fucker,¡± Cortland snarled. ¡°Come on.¡± He didn¡¯t actually wait for the stone walker. Instead, Cortland marched out to meet the thing. The stone walker grasped for him, but Cortland shunted these attempts away. He pounded and pounded¡ªspitting and howling as he did¡ªaiming for the cracks he¡¯d already made in the stone. Soon, the creature was a pile of rubble at his feet. One left. Cortland grinned as the last stone walker stopped its advance. Here had been the fight he¡¯d been searching for¡ªit had felt good to crush these nightmares of legend, to see them crumble. He even relished the stretched pain in his own shoulder. And now, it pleased Cortland to see that even the Nortmost, even nature itself and its ancient secrets¡ªeven these quaked before his rage. ¡°How do you want it?¡± Cortland asked. ¡°Beaten into rubble or thrown off the mountain entire?¡± Cortland did not hear the sixth stone walker rise from the path, not until it was right behind him and had already wrapped its arms around him like a lover. His arms were pinned to his sides, the air crushed from his lungs. A heavy weight struck the back of his head¡ªonce, twice¡ªso that Cortland smelled blood and saw spots. And then, he began to sink.
78. [Nortmost] Twenty Days Up, Part Five
Cortland Finiron, Hammer Master of the 12th Renown, Kingdom of Infinzel, sinking Carina Goldstone, Logician of the 3rd Renown, and Vitt Secondson-Salvado, Hunter of the 9th Renown, Kingdom of Infinzel, in the embrace of allies
14 Meltzend, 61 AW Ascending the Nortmost Mountain Day Fifteen of the Trial Cortland was surprised by how little it hurt to be dragged into the mountain. The opposite, really. The aches and pains of these last few weeks, the ever-present burning chill across his toes¡ªthese sensations were gone in an instant. Nothing replaced them. Was this how it felt for Ben? He¡¯d spent his last moments choking on his own blood, a wound in his throat that even magic couldn¡¯t close. When had the peace of death set in for him? When had he begun to sink? It took Cortland a moment to realize he was dazed¡ªthat there was a ringing in his skull that made these disconnected and dreary thoughts seem acceptable. He pulled a sharp, clarifying breath in through his nose. Cortland did not want to sink. He activated [Unmovable] and struggled against the stone walker¡¯s grip with his [Strength+]. But in that momentary fog, the stone walker had already dragged Cortland down to his waist. And now, it was the stone walker who tried to pull away¡ªits grip loosened from Cortland and it tried to swim backward into the mountain. Cortland found himself clawing at the thing, trying to maintain a connection. Cortland had seen what happened to bodies left in the rocks. He would be sheared in half¡ªhis legs pulverized within the Nortmost, his torso left propped up as a warning. ¡°Fuck you,¡± Cortland snarled. ¡°You don¡¯t get to have me.¡± Cortland clung to the stone walker and prepared to activate [Bull Rush]. He would fling himself upward and hope to hold the stone walker until he cleared the mountain. It would work. It had to work or¡ª ¡°Hammer master!¡± Cortland heard the shout a split second before a spinning hand axe sunk wetly into the meat of his shoulder. He cried out from the pain¡ªthe axe bit deep, though the gods protected him from sustaining undue damage. Theo Adamantios, the balding axe master of Penchenne, stood twenty yards down the trail. He had been following behind them all these days, though he never approached until now. A chain of arcane energy ran from the axe in Cortland¡¯s chest to the second axe in Theo¡¯s hand. The other stone walker¡ªthe one not attached to Cortland¡ªhad turned to slowly advance on Cortland¡¯s would-be rescuer. ¡°Hold on!¡± Theo bellowed. ¡°I¡¯ll pull¡ª¡± Grunting, Cortland grasped the energy chain. Then, he activated [Bull Rush]. The earth rumbled as Cortland shot forth into the sky¡ªchunks of stone ripped up in his wake. He could still feel the stone walker on his back, the creature turning brittle and crumbling as Cortland broke the connection to the mountain. At the same time, Theo wheeled back on his heels, tightening the energy chain and swinging Cortland. The chain slashed through the other stone walker at an angle, splitting the creature clean in half. Cortland landed with a crunch, fell to his knees, and bounced back upright. He swatted Theo¡¯s axe out of chest and spun toward the stone walker that had grabbed him. The creature was still active¡ªstrangely elongated now, like an experimental sculpture. It had tried to hold Cortland and cling to the mountain. Still, the stone walker wobbled toward him. [Hammer Toss]. [Weapon Return]. [Hammer Toss]. [Weapon Return]. ¡°It¡¯s done, sir,¡± Theo said quietly. ¡°Rubble.¡± The axe master was right. Nothing moved on the mountainside except the two champions. Cortland clenched the smooth, marble coolness of his new hammer. Pain laced through the back of his skull and there was a flapping gash on his shoulder. [Recovery+] would patch him up in time. ¡°I had it under control,¡± Cortland said. ¡°It meant to drag you into the mountain. I found my axes and a luckily placed spruce to be useful when they tried the same to me.¡± Theo glanced at Cortland¡¯s face. ¡°I am sure you had a trick of your own ready.¡± ¡°Someone or something always trying to push or pull me toward a place I don¡¯t want to go,¡± Cortland said. He paced away from Theo. ¡°But I won¡¯t be maneuvered. You hear me? I¡¯m the fucking mountain. Me.¡± ¡°Ah,¡± Theo said. The axe master was wise enough to understand that these words weren¡¯t really for him. Even Cortland himself wasn¡¯t sure who he wanted to hear them. Cortland turned back to Theo. The axe master kept his dopey face carefully neutral, though Cortland knew it was in his nature to smile. Theo didn¡¯t take a step back under Cortland¡¯s hard stare. ¡°This changes nothing between us,¡± Cortland said. ¡°What is there between us?¡± Theo asked. ¡°Nothing,¡± Cortland said. ¡°Right,¡± Theo said. ¡°That¡¯s fine.¡± ¡°Good.¡± Cortland nodded up the path. ¡°Come on.¡±
15 Meltzend, 61 AW Ascending the Nortmost Mountain Day Sixteen of the Trial Patricia growled, steady and long, the nightstalker¡¯s sinuous body bowed and ready to pounce. Next to her, Vitt seemed of the same disposition. ¡°This is madness,¡± he said. ¡°You¡¯re going to get us killed.¡± Carina considered that possibility for a moment. She shook her head. ¡°No. It¡¯s working. I feel it.¡± The solitary stone walker had stopped advancing toward them. The creature had gone still¡ªindistinguishable from a jutting rock formation, if not for the human features etched across its surface in ribbons of mineral. The thing resembled the wooden backdrops they used in plays to make scenes look more crowded. Carina took a step forward. She had used [Enthralled Defender] on the stone walker. At first, she hadn¡¯t been sure the ability would work at all, but it had stopped lurching toward them as soon as she¡¯d drawn upon the Ink. Now, Carina could sense her connection to the stone walker, like a slowly fraying thread stretched between them. The creature was bound to protect her, but she sensed that she wouldn¡¯t be able to maintain that hold for as long as she had with Kendrick Branchbull. The stone held more resistance than the man.Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more. Even so, she had time. Wondering what she might do with the stone walker, Carina took a few more steps forward. She sensed Vitt reach out a hand to stop her, then quickly drop it back to his side. The wind picked up. Carina¡¯s eyes watered and she wiped her sleeve across his stinging nose. They had stopped on an outcropping that bridged two narrow crevices. The air up here was cold and thin and the heavy clouds were close enough that Carina¡¯s ears popped. The stone walker shifted position and Vitt let out a noise. But the creature didn¡¯t come toward them. Instead, it walked¡ªno, Carina saw now, it was more appropriate to say that it churned¡ªon a looping route around Carina. The stone walker pulsed faintly and expanded, growing wider and thinner, its fa?ade stretching into a maniacal grin, until it provided Carina a shelter from the wind. ¡°Did you see that?¡± she asked Vitt. ¡°Of course I saw it,¡± he replied. ¡°You make me nervous, logician.¡± Carina waved him off. ¡°I wonder what else it might do.¡± She snapped her fingers. ¡°You should command Patricia to attack me.¡± Vitt and the nightstalker exchanged a look¡ªthe cat had proven useful since they¡¯d ditched the lumberjocks. She was good at picking out the subtly advancing stone walkers from the rest of the rocks, although her claws and teeth did little damage to their marble flesh. ¡°I think not,¡± Vitt said. ¡°What if this thing decides that the best way to protect you is to drag you down into the mountain?¡± ¡°Then I would see the inside of a mountain,¡± Carina replied. ¡°It can¡¯t hurt me.¡± ¡°You¡¯re wasting time.¡± Carina frowned. ¡°We¡¯re ahead, Vitt. You can indulge me for a few minutes.¡± She hadn¡¯t yet told him that today was the day they crossed paths with the others. They were close to the top now¡ªonly a few more days of trekking up this mountain. Since they left the champions of Fornon behind, the trail had been quiet. Carina had allowed herself a peek into the future. She saw a narrowing of possibilities¡ªthe others, the snowstorm, the fall. Perhaps it was dangerous and desperate to toy with a stone walker like this, but Carina would grasp for any advantage she could find. Carina ran her gloved thumb across the inside of her wrist. ¡°Have you ever used her blood for ritual?¡± Vitt stared at her. ¡°What¡¯s this now?¡± ¡°The cat,¡± Carina said. ¡°If we were to open her throat for a bit of rune-work, would the gods honor that bargain? Or is there no power in her blood on account of her being summoned from Ink? Have you ever noticed if her blood disappears with her body when she dies?¡± ¡°I have no idea,¡± Vitt said. Next to him, Patricia sat back on her haunches and surveyed Carina, her green eyes sparkling despite the overcast sky. ¡°These are essential facts about the nature of your abilities. You should know,¡± Carina replied. ¡°Well, I don¡¯t.¡± ¡°I wonder if we could create a binding ward,¡± Carina said, moving on. ¡°Trap our friend here. Or, better yet, transport it elsewhere. They can travel through stone, so it seems safe to infer that we might coax it into a rock, ward the rock, and then take the stone walker with us.¡± She glanced around the ledge. ¡°I wonder what size stone we¡¯d need.¡± ¡°We¡¯re not doing that,¡± Vitt said. ¡°Any of that.¡± ¡°Why not?¡± Carina faced him, caught up enough to turn her back on the stone walker. ¡°We might learn something¡ª¡± ¡°Isn¡¯t it enough to learn that you can keep one still?¡± Vitt sighed. ¡°I¡¯m going to get rid of it.¡± Carina raised an eyebrow at that. Without Breck Bucksap around to encourage pointless battle, they hadn¡¯t bothered to kill any of the stone walkers. Arrows and swords weren¡¯t the most effective weapons against creatures made of flowing rock, anyway. While Vitt''s arms had been mostly useless, his [Open Weak Point] ability had proven to be a boon whenever one of the creatures plodded too close. Carina had seen the hunter use the Ink to great effect against the gargoyles in the Underneath, their stone bodies parting to reveal the arcane core within. Similarly, the flattened bodies of the stone walkers peeled apart when Vitt used his Ink, but they hadn''t seen any glowing cores to destroy. The stone walkers didn''t stick around to give the champions time to attack their interiors¡ªthe mere exposure to the open air caused them to flee down into the mountain. ¡°Now, hold on¡ª¡± Before Vitt inevitably ignored Carina¡¯s protest, they heard voices and footsteps crunching up the icy switchback below. The stone walker must have registered these noises too, because it dropped the protective posture it had assumed and rumbled forward, as if to guard Carina from whoever approached. Orryn es-Salvado, red-faced and winded, clomped into view first. He yelped at the sight of the stone walker and groped for one of his knives. With him was a woman Carina didn''t know, but the logician recognized the archaic uniform she wore as belonging to Guydemion''s host. ¡°Settle, all of you,¡± Carina said. ¡°It¡¯s tamed!¡± She stumbled between the new arrivals and the stone walker, not exactly sure who she was even trying to protect. In that moment, Vitt used [Open Weak Point]. The stone walker''s smooth marble flesh peeled apart with a sound like earth splitting. Instead of retreating down into the mountain like they had seen the creatures do before, a dark cloud of particulate flowed forth and buzzed around Carina''s head. Carina''s feet slipped as pebbles the size of gnats battered her face. She snapped her mouth closed and her eyes shut¡ªit was as if the insides of the stone walker still sought to protect her, to cling to her. For a moment, sensations that belonged to something very old flowed through her¡ªcold, and loneliness, and a desperate hunger. The Ink across her chest went hot in response, as if it recognized this other force. And then, as quickly as it had come, the cloud dissipated and sprinkled inert at her feet. Carina opened her eyes just in time to see the stone walker''s body crumble and fall, no more than another pile of rocks. Still off balance, Carina found herself held upright by a pair of strong hands. ¡°Hello, princess,¡± Watts Stonework said. ¡°Leave it to you to figure out how to kill one of those things.¡± ¡°I think it was Vitt, actually,¡± Carina mumbled as she rounded on the bouncer-turned-champion. She wasn¡¯t surprised to see Watts¡ªher [Future Sight] had given her a clear idea of who Guydemion would choose to represent Soldier¡¯s Rest¡ªbut that foreknowledge hadn¡¯t lessened her anger. Carina slapped Watts across his chest, right where his Ink was hidden beneath his coat. He grimaced. ¡°What¡¯s that for?¡± ¡°You shouldn¡¯t have taken the Ink,¡± Carina said sharply. ¡°You have a family.¡± ¡°I won the coin flip against Hellie for the honor,¡± Watts replied. ¡°You know how it is with us. One of us was always coming.¡± ¡°Honor,¡± Carina repeated. ¡°Is that what you¡¯re calling it?¡± Watts tilted his head. ¡°To fight on behalf of our people? What else would I call it?¡± Pursing her lips, Carina¡¯s gaze slid over his shoulder to where Henry Blacksalve had reached the ledge. The gaunt healer ran a hand over his face, brushing ice out of the patchy beard he¡¯d grown since beginning the ascent. Carina waited, but no one else seemed to be following Henry up¡ªshe¡¯d seen different possibilities of who could be present. She felt a sense of relief in her shoulders, which quickly tightened up as Vitt sauntered to her side. ¡°Well, well, at last Henry¡¯s champions of the slums catch us up,¡± Vitt said. He meant this to be jocular¡ªthe type of needling he¡¯d gotten used to doing with the champions of Fornon¡ªbut it received only steely looks from Watts and the uniformed woman. Even so, Vitt blundered on, extending his hand to Watts. ¡°Good to meet you, champion. I am Vitt Secondson-Salvado.¡± Watts stared at Vitt¡¯s hand for a moment. He flicked a bit of frost from the lens he wore over his scarred eye, then shook Vitt¡¯s hand. ¡°Watts Stonework,¡± he said simply. ¡°Strong name,¡± Vitt said. ¡°Tight grip.¡± Orryn intervened then, tugging at Vitt¡¯s other arm. ¡°Uncle, I need to speak with you.¡± He flicked a look at Carina. ¡°Grandfather is¡­ displeased.¡± ¡°Look at you, Orryn!¡± Vitt exclaimed. ¡°Did I not tell you that you¡¯d be made champion this year? And I didn¡¯t even have to exert any leverage over the hammerhead.¡± ¡°He abandoned me with these¡­¡± Orryn lowered his voice as he managed to drag Vitt away from the others. ¡°The man put out my eye and he doesn¡¯t even remember me,¡± Watts murmured, more stunned than offended. ¡°Better that way, isn¡¯t it?¡± Carina said. ¡°Appointing two men as champions who the Secondson recently tried to kill isn¡¯t one of Bel¡¯s subtler maneuvers.¡± ¡°Traveon will be pleased that you thought of him,¡± Watts said, his gaze lingering on Vitt. ¡°Perhaps not so happy that you¡¯ve grown close with that one. Our Traveon tells a story of brutality and kidnapping, princess. An ugly Solstice for you all.¡± Carina didn¡¯t know which part to object to first. ¡°Where is Traveon?¡± She steadied her voice. ¡°Where is Cortland?¡± ¡°Behind us somewhere, we hope.¡± It was Henry who answered. The healer ambled over and placed a hand on Carina¡¯s shoulder, squeezing with a warmth that Carina hadn¡¯t felt in weeks. ¡°You look better than the last time I saw you, logician.¡± ¡°Thank you for that, Henry,¡± Carina said. ¡°It¡¯s good to see you, too.¡± Henry breathed out a misty sigh, surveying the quiet uniformed woman who stood apart from the rest, and then the furtively conferencing Salvados. ¡°Strange bedfellows,¡± he muttered. ¡°We¡¯re glad to find you, though. I¡¯d hoped you might use your skills to locate Cortland and Traveon. Better if we conclude the ascent together.¡± Carina looked out over the edge of the mountain¡ªthe bitter sky, the drop, the rocks and ice. In her mind, she could imagine the dogged footfalls of the hammer master. He would catch up to her eventually. She nodded once. ¡°Yes,¡± she said. ¡°I can try.¡±
16 Meltzend, 61 AW Ascending the Nortmost Mountain Day Seventeen of the Trial Like a picket of marble, a half dozen stone walkers stared upward, their bodies tilted away from the Nortmost¡¯s uppermost pass. The mountain terminated in four great chimneys of rock, like pedestals that had once stood proud but now leaned precariously against each other. There were two ways to the top¡ªeither climbing up the shear face of the rock, or squeezing through a series of mazelike crevices carved into the columns. ¡°Look, sister,¡± Wrathful Elephant said. ¡°They come no further.¡± ¡°One test at an end, so another might begin,¡± Laughing Monkey replied. The two assassins stood at the mouth of one of the inclined crevices. Flurries of snow whipped down through the channel. It would be like trying to navigate to the tip of a finger via the lines in a palm. ¡°You know the way?¡± Laughing Monkey said. ¡°I do. But, again, I must note my disapproval of your plan. We should ascend together. You¡¯ve spread enough rot already amongst the others. There¡¯s such a thing as quitting while you¡¯re ahead.¡± Laughing Monkey turned to face her fellow champion. Ice grew in the curl of his mask¡¯s trunk. There were none closer to the top than them. It would be no great challenge to finish the climb and take the Ink. But, though the fresh power called to her, there were other delights to be had on the frozen mountain. ¡°Your prize is at the top,¡± Laughing Monkey said. ¡°I must wait here for mine.¡±
79. [Nortmost] Twenty Days Up, Part Six
Carina Goldstone, Logician of the 3rd Renown, Vitt Secondson-Salvado, Hunter of the 9th Renown, and Orryn es-Salvado, Beast Master of the 3rd Renown, Kingdom of Infinzel, on the precipice Cortland Finiron, Hammer Master of the 12th Renown, Kingdom of Infinzel, getting what he asked for
19 Meltzend, 61 AW Ascending the Nortmost Mountain Day Twenty of the Trial And she fell again. Her body plummeted down through the clouds and snow, helpless and flailing. She could use her [Force Armor] but the impact would still be¡ª Carina gasped and lurched forward. Vitt¡¯s arm snaked across her chest and pressed her back, so that she could feel the stone against her spine. She wasn¡¯t falling; she was balancing. Her toes curled over the edge of the narrow ledge. She¡¯d become disoriented trying to tease some new way forward from the tangle of her [Future Sight] and almost gone over. Perhaps those old spook stories about bumbling clairvoyants ushering in the very future they endeavored to prevent had something to them. ¡°You need to stop doing that,¡± Vitt said. ¡°On the boat was one thing. Now is not the time.¡± ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± Carina replied. ¡°I¡¯m done.¡± That was the truth. But only because she sensed her Ink was close to fading and she wanted to conserve some for what she foresaw coming next. Carina¡¯s possibilities had narrowed over the last few days, thinner now than the jutting rock she perched upon. The ledge was long enough for the three of them to stand side-by-side but not wide enough to sit down. At least it was set back within an indentation and thus shielded from the swirling wind that had threatened to rip them off Nortmost for the last few hours. Pockets of snow whipped around them, muting the daylight in fuzzy whiteness. Vitt stood on Carina¡¯s left. Orryn squeezed in on the hunter¡¯s other side. The representatives of Soldier¡¯s Rest¡ªHenry, Watts, and the mysterious woman called Rivian¡ªhad hopefully found shelter in a similar crevasse. Carina had lost sight of them an hour ago when the snow picked up. ¡°Did you at least see when this blizzard breaks?¡± Vitt asked. ¡°Soon,¡± Carina said. ¡°But not soon enough.¡± ¡°What¡¯s that mean?¡± Carina leaned forward against Vitt¡¯s arm to peer downward. The view from this height was dizzying, like falling into the sky. She could barely see the mountain ten feet below. Carina edged back and breathed out icy mist through her nose. ¡°Fornon aren¡¯t far back,¡± Carina said. ¡°They know the mountain. If they catch us up, there won¡¯t be enough Ink left at the top for us all.¡± ¡°Shit,¡± Vitt said. He glanced upward, searching for the next handhold drilled into the ascent by enterprising lumberjocks of past expeditions. The metallic grips were painted white, making them difficult to spot unless you knew exactly where to look. ¡°You¡¯re saying we have to keep going.¡± Carina swallowed. ¡°Yes.¡± Climbing the final ascent had been Carina¡¯s idea. She¡¯d been able to user her [Future Sight] to isolate the best route. It was more dangerous, yes, but also quicker than navigating the winding crevasses that twisted through these final chimneys. Most importantly, going this way would keep them from encountering Cortland¡ªthat had seemed important to Carina at the time. Henry had asked her to find Cortland and Traveon. She could have done that¡ªsought out a future where their paths intersected. Carina told the others as much. Such a delay would potentially keep them from the Ink, though. Henry still argued for reunion, but the others had been persuaded to keep going. If Cortland had been there, he would¡¯ve urged them not to wait. Carina found that all that maneuvering hadn¡¯t changed her fate. She still fell, whether her future overlapped with Cortland or not. The assassins were on the mountain, as well, their presence blotting out any number of possibilities¡ªCarina knew that she couldn¡¯t trust her visions. And yet, the compulsion to keep looking, to dig through the infinite for an out, had only grown stronger these last few days. Vitt spun on the ledge so that his chest was pressed against the rock. The movement made Carina flinch, but Vitt¡¯s [Agility+] made such acrobatics nearly effortless. She could still feel the thrum of Henry¡¯s [Empowering Beacon] in her muscles, and likely Vitt could, too. He adjusted the studded glove on his right hand, then pulled the pickaxe from his belt. ¡°I¡¯m going up,¡± Vitt announced. Orryn¡¯s face had gone pale, his reddened nostrils flaring. ¡°Are you sure? I can barely see.¡± Vitt tugged the rope that connected him to Orryn; a second length connected Orryn to Carina. ¡°Just follow the line,¡± Vitt said. ¡°We have to be close. Right?¡± Carina nodded. ¡°Don¡¯t come up until you feel two tugs on the rope,¡± Vitt said to Orryn. ¡°I can¡¯t have you right on my heels, nephew.¡± With that, Vitt stretched his arm upward, twisting his pickaxe toward a crease in the stone. Carina leaned close, stopping him. ¡°Wait,¡± she said, quiet enough that the wind swallowed her words not far from Vitt¡¯s ear. ¡°Did you tell him?¡± Vitt squinted. ¡°What are you saying?¡± ¡°Did you tell Orryn about the king?¡± Carina didn¡¯t need to be any more specific than that. Vitt¡¯s lips curled back, ice crackling in the scruff of his beard. ¡°You asked me this morning and the answer was no. Do you think I made time for that sort of heart-to-heart since? While climbing a mountain? In a blizzard?¡± ¡°We discussed¡ª¡± ¡°You want to tell him so badly, go ahead and do it. But do it later,¡± Vitt said. ¡°Get your mind together, logician.¡± With that, Vitt wedged his pickaxe into the rocks and pulled himself upward. Orryn managed the rope between them, making sure it stayed untangled, while eyeing Carina warily. He¡¯d looked at them like that often¡ªwhenever Carina pulled Vitt aside for a hushed conversation urging that the hunter tell his nephew how King Cizco siphoned power from their gushing bloodline.Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website. ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter when I tell him,¡± Carina muttered. ¡°He doesn¡¯t believe me.¡± Although, in the futures she¡¯d seen where Vitt did tell Orryn, Carina¡¯s fate remained unchanged. The getting there became messier, but the drop still waited. Another branch of possibilities. Cut off. A fresh flurry of snow swept across the mountain, causing Carina to press her back against the rocks. She looked up, following the rope to where even Vitt¡¯s silhouette had been swallowed by the freezing white. When she glanced back down, Orryn had edged closer. Carina¡¯s ears began to ring. [Alert]. She remembered her return to Infinzel in the summer. Orryn had been the first person she¡¯d revealed her Ink to. He had been the one to usher her through the door to the Garrison and into her new life as champion. ¡°Orryn,¡± Carina said quietly. Movement at his wrist caught her attention. Orryn¡¯s silver-furred rat skidded across his hand and disappeared up the sleeve of his coat. Briefly, Carina wondered what that creature had been doing. ¡°Do you think this is the highest vermin has ever climbed?¡± Orryn asked. He had a distant look in his eyes. She had seen the same coldness in the king, and in Vitt¡ªperhaps it was a trait that all the Salvados shared. A detachment from those who didn¡¯t possess their noble blood. Carina understood that his question about vermin hadn¡¯t been about his rat, so she didn¡¯t give him the satisfaction of a response. The buzzing in her head became louder. From above, Vitt gave two tugs on the rope. Time for Orryn to go up. Orryn shifted his position. His leg slid between Carina and the wall. His hip leveraged against hers. And Orryn nudged her off the ledge. Carina had seen a version of this where she reacted quickly enough to use [Force Armor] and deflect Orryn backward. That only delayed the fall¡ªand left her with not enough Ink to absorb the impact to come. In that instant, she resisted the urge to protect herself, even though her instincts cried otherwise. Her arms flapped. Her legs kicked out for purchase. The rope connecting her to Orryn pulled taut. ¡°Carina! No!¡± Orryn shouted in a voice so strangled and frightened that even Carina almost believed him. His cry was loud enough so Vitt would hear and know that Orryn had tried. He sounded desperate enough that, should Carina survive, Orryn could claim it had all been an accident. Orryn could¡¯ve reached for her. Instead, he grasped the rope between them in both hands and yanked with enough force that the wind briefly went out of her. The rope snapped. Chewed near to fraying by tiny rat teeth, Carina figured. The fall was no better for having known it was coming.
The woman stood at the mouth of a passage between the rocks. She was so still that, at first, Cortland thought she might be a stone walker. And then, as he drew closer and saw how the snow settled in the open curves of her wooden mask''s monkey ears, Cortland thought she might be a hallucination. Too much cold, the air too thin, and too many days of aimless anger. Then, she shifted, brushed the gathered snow off her slender shoulders, and stretched one leg out in front of her. It was as if she were coming back to life. The cold didn''t seem to bother Laughing Monkey. Cortland was sure the woman was flesh and blood. He knew she breathed¡ªhe¡¯d felt her chest rise and fall beneath him¡ªbut no mist flowed out from under her infuriating mask. Cortland stopped walking, one hand on the marble hammer at his hip. Laughing Monkey¡¯s long fingers caressed the hand bow at her side. Wind twisted through the Nortmost¡¯s uppermost crags, sounding like screams rushing to escape the hollows. ¡°Huh?¡± Theo Adamantios grunted. He trudged a few steps past Cortland before noticing the assassin in their path. ¡°You, axe master,¡± Laughing Monkey called, her voice carrying above the wind. ¡°Keep your hand on the right wall until you reach a passage that seems too narrow to squeeze through. It is more forgiving than it looks, though you may need to hold your breath. Continue on. When the rock cleaves again, take your next two lefts. You will reach a tunnel in the shape of a fishhook. Climb up it and you will find the top and the Ink.¡± With that, Laughing Monkey stepped aside from the crevasse. ¡°A trap,¡± Theo said. He glanced at Cortland. ¡°Right?¡± Cortland didn¡¯t take his eyes off Laughing Monkey. ¡°What reason would I have to mislead the champion of a loyal customer?¡± The assassin cocked her head and put a fist on her hip. ¡°But then, the gods don¡¯t protect from bad directions. We have tested this. So, exercise caution, if you must.¡± Although at times it seemed like Theo might explode from the effort of silence, the last few days ascending in his company had been mercifully without small talk. The stone walkers hadn¡¯t bothered them again and, though Cortland looked for him, he lost Traveon¡¯s trail after encountering a fresh rockslide. Cortland had not minded the relative solitude. ¡°Go on,¡± he told Theo. ¡°Fuck off.¡± The axe master hesitated, but then flinched as if a surprising thought had come over him. Probably the voice of his sponsor¡ªSylvie Aracia¡ªunder her blankets back in Tiptop, observing this whole scene through Theo¡¯s eyes. ¡°Right,¡± Theo murmured. ¡°I will.¡± Whether that statement was meant for him or his sponsor, Cortland didn¡¯t care. The axe master hiked warily up the rocky path, lingered briefly by Laughing Monkey, and then disappeared into the wedge between the chimneys. Cortland waited. ¡°I invited you to my home,¡± Laughing Monkey said. ¡°I was disappointed not to see you.¡± Cortland grunted. ¡°Yeah?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t often get to host.¡± ¡°You put that broken little girl from Penchenne in my path and you think that¡¯s going to square us?¡± Cortland started forward. ¡°I¡¯d have been around to see you soon enough. On the island. Still going to see you there. Nothing changed on that score.¡± ¡°You¡¯re a stubborn folk,¡± Laughing Monkey said. She tapped her mask. ¡°You know, a former queen of Infinzel wore this mask once. She wasn¡¯t born to the pyramid. A Crucifalian, originally. I can still feel how badly she wanted to escape that place. Do you ever feel that way, Cortland Finiron?¡± With a snarl, Cortland used [Hammer Toss]. He aimed for the wall above the assassin, hoping to bring some rocks down upon the woman. She glanced up, then used [Shadow Step] to melt into the shadows cast by one of the falling boulders. Snow erupted from where the rocks landed, but Laughing Monkey was now yards away, stepping out of the darkness cast by an overhang. She curled her finger at Cortland. ¡°Immature,¡± she said. ¡°Whatever you expect to get from this, I swear it won¡¯t be fucking worth it,¡± he replied, snapping his hammer back to hand with [Weapon Return]. ¡°You won¡¯t get what you want.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t be so sure,¡± Laughing Monkey said. Cortland almost made it to within arm¡¯s length of the assassin. He wasn¡¯t sure what he would do if he could catch her¡ªthe gods would hold him back so all of this would just be play. She danced backward, though, before Cortland could test the limits. He followed her into a narrow break in the rocks, barely wide enough for Cortland¡¯s shoulders. ¡°You want me to blame that girl,¡± Cortland said. ¡°But you¡¯re the one who accepted the contract. You¡¯re the one who opened Ben¡¯s neck. You¡¯re the one who dies. I¡¯ll content myself with that.¡± Laughing Monkey tittered. ¡°Wait. Which girl are you talking about?¡± Cortland¡¯s feet caught on a rock and he stumbled, voice rising in frustration. ¡°You think you can weaken Infinzel, but I won¡¯t be baited.¡± ¡°Weaken Infinzel,¡± she repeated with a laugh. ¡°Gods, who cares about that place? You¡¯re twelfth renown. Do you know how many achieve that, Cortland? Do you know how many with your strength exist at this very moment?¡± ¡°Do I give a shit?¡± ¡°Thirty, at most,¡± she continued. ¡°The gods keep our numbers low. Think of it. You are one of the thirty most powerful people in the world.¡± His brow furrowed. ¡°So?¡± ¡°So, you run errands, you do grunt work, you take orders,¡± Laughing Monkey said. ¡°You dance on strings for a withered buffoon in his little fort of blocks and blankets. You could take that hammer and shape the world.¡± ¡°I¡¯m a champion,¡± Cortland said. ¡°A champion of Infinzel. You wouldn¡¯t know what that means, loyal only to blood and money.¡± ¡°Blood and money, blood and money,¡± the assassin chanted. ¡°Gods, they picked you for your lack of ambition, didn¡¯t they? We can work on that.¡± ¡°Big thoughts, higher purpose, bunch of fucking bullshit,¡± Cortland snarled. ¡°Coin goes in fountain. Knife goes in back. You ain¡¯t more than that, bitch. Don¡¯t pretend with me.¡± The passage opened up behind Laughing Monkey and she stepped onto an open ledge, sinking down to her knees in fresh snow. Cortland lumbered forward and took her by the neck. She did the same to him, the point of her thumb digging into the bump of his throat. They broke apart when the body crashed down a few yards away. It glowed on the way down¡ª[Force Armor] offering some protection from what had been a considerable drop. A crater opened up at the impact site, ice cracking, or maybe those were bones. Cortland watched the lump in the snow as she started moving. He recognized the timbre of the ragged coughing and the curls in the blood-streaked hair. He knew the screaming determination as the girl began dragging herself across the rocks, trying to get to gods only knew where, unwilling to concede to legs that flopped uselessly behind her. Carina Goldstone. Fallen from on high. ¡°Go on, then,¡± Laughing Monkey said. ¡°Don¡¯t give me what I want.¡±
80. [Nortmost] Twenty Days Up, Conclusion
Traveon Twiceblack, Skulker of the 2nd Renown, Soldier¡¯s Rest, master of dumb luck Cortland Finiron, Hammer Master of the 12th Renown, Kingdom of Infinzel, will have his answers Carina Goldstone, Logician of the 3rd Renown, Kingdom of Infinzel, almost made it
19 Meltzend, 61 AW Ascending the Nortmost Mountain Day Twenty of the Trial Traveon perched on his tiptoes and slammed the pommel of his knife against the sheet of ice that covered the cavern''s ceiling. Powdery snow sifted down through the cracks and the sunlight leaking in brightened. A few more good strikes and he would be free. Traveon leaned back on the altar-shaped stalagmite that he balanced upon, not wanting to get struck by any of the ice when it crumbled. The Ink on his chest was still warm and ready. This iced-over opening in the cavern ceiling had not been an [Improbable Occurrence], then. He had discovered it with his own natural ingenuity. Dumb luck, Carina called it. Watts was a little kinder in that he often referred to Traveon¡¯s ¡®blessed blunderings.¡¯ Well, whatever name it went by, Traveon had always been proud of his good fortune. He considered only ten percent actual chance, with the rest equal parts improvisation and boldness. He had a knack for escaping high risk situations, but only because he had the courage to put himself there in the first place. The little worm man had told Traveon that his Ink was a rare offering. The gods did not often grant control over chance. Yet, they had taken notice of Traveon¡¯s natural abilities. Of course, that knowledge had appealed to him¡ªto be rare, to be special. But, in the weeks since, Traveon had begun to slightly resent the Ink. Traveon had used loaded dice and marked cards¡ªhe was certainly not above cheating¡ªbut there was still some skill to that. Divine power took a bit of the rush out of things. ¡°Like a king can never know if he¡¯s funny,¡± Traveon muttered as he tightened his grip on his knife. ¡°Everyone compelled to laugh at his jokes.¡± It had felt like one [Improbable Occurrence] after another since he''d left Cortland. He had discovered the cavern in the side of one of the chimney-shaped spires that comprised the Nortmost''s final ascent. He had only squeezed through the entryway because there were stone walkers behind him and they seemed oddly reluctant to pursue him into this part of the mountain, even though it should have been their domain. Strange, senseless creatures. He had planned to wait them out¡ªto hide until Cortland came to smash them¡ªbut then his [Improbable Occurrence] Ink had fired and a modest avalanche had sealed him in. Traveon didn¡¯t panic. It wouldn''t be fair for the gods to equip him with bad luck, right? There must be an advantage to be gained in this cavern. And so, Traveon had delved deeper. He had a torch and plenty of lamp oil. At least it was pleasant to be out of the wind. There were collapsed bits to navigate here and there, but the cavern floor was surprisingly smooth. Traveon prowled comfortable passageways that led gently upward. Only when he counted a dozen jutting rocks in perfect sequence did it occur to Traveon that he was not climbing the north''s most convenient rock formation; he was using stairs. He had found himself in a structure of some kind. A castle, perhaps, or a fort. Built from the mountain or sunk into the mountain or something in between. The cavernous rooms were large, empty, and old. There was little to see beyond steps and ramps and eerie, empty chambers that led nowhere. Traveon figured this place had been picked clean and forgotten long ago. He found the silence unnerving, but only because he liked the sounds of voices, his and others, and had always lived close with people in Soldier''s Rest. Never had he been anywhere as quiet as the stilled heart of the mountain. Outside, his fellow champions hiked or climbed or fell. Meanwhile, Traveon ascended a series of staircases at a leisurely pace, faced only with the dangers of boredom and loneliness. He slept fitfully, huddled in an archway between staircases, worried about hauntings and cave-dwelling creatures. But nothing came for Traveon. And finally, that day¡ªweak light from the ceiling. A window or a hatch or a hole. An exit. The ice broke and sunlight streamed into the topmost chamber of the hidden fortress. Traveon wondered if he should tell the others about this place. He wondered if he could find his way back. Questions for later. He jumped upward, arms slipping across the snowy ground. He levered his legs and dug his fingers in, relying on [Agility+], and eventually kicked his way clear. Panting, he laid on his back and stared up at the blue sky¡ªno blizzard, no threatening clouds. No more mountain. It was the first time in weeks that Traveon could look up without seeing some looming chunk of the Nortmost. He had made it to the top. Traveon sat straight as he sensed the Ink. There¡ªat the center of the flattened peak¡ªa cairn of obsidian rocks bubbled over with the stuff. Like a fountain, just waiting for Traveon to dip his hands in. He laughed. ¡°Gods. Am I first?¡± ¡°Second,¡± a man''s voice responded. ¡°Hello.¡± A rather muscular man sat with his legs dangling over the edge, half-turned so he could look at Traveon. He wore a wooden mask in the shape of an elephant, the eyes slanted in rage, and trunk flaring outward in a curl. Traveon groaned. ¡°First men with stone for bodies, now one with wood for a head.¡± Wrathful Elephant pulled one of his knees up to his chest. ¡°Where did you come from?¡± He pointed down. ¡°The way up is here.¡± ¡°I struck a deal with the stone walkers,¡± Traveon replied. ¡°They carried me up here on their shoulders.¡± ¡°Funny,¡± Wrathful Elephant said. ¡°But the creatures don¡¯t venture this high. They¡¯re bound to the mountain, yes?¡± The assassin drummed his fingers on the stone beneath him. ¡°We aren¡¯t exactly on the mountain anymore, are we?¡± Traveon cocked his head and made a show of glancing around, though he never once looked back at the hole he¡¯d crawled out of. ¡°Not sure what you mean, friend.¡± ¡°Giants and their trolls lived here once,¡± Wrathful Elephant said. ¡°Then, later, the mages took it from them. Centuries ago, this would¡¯ve been. Before the Magelab, even. The sorcerers kept slaves in those days¡ªsuppose they still do, in a way. Regardless. If a slave dared to attempt escape, one of the punishments was to be made living stone. Bound to roam the Nortmost, forever cold and heavy, pining for living flesh. Imagine the madness in those stone bodies.¡± ¡°No, thank you,¡± Traveon said. He glanced toward the Ink¡ªthe cairn bubbled over invitingly. ¡°Is this some kind of final test, then? Am I meant to dazzle you with an anecdote of ancient history before I take the Ink?¡±Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings. Beneath the mask, the assassin sucked his teeth. He waved Traveon away. ¡°I¡¯m no gatekeeper. The Ink is yours.¡± Wrathful Elephant turned back around. ¡°I only thought it was interesting. Old, dead magic. Coaxed back to life by the gods to challenge us. Don¡¯t you wonder if there¡¯s some deeper meaning?¡± Traveon gave the assassin¡¯s question a moment of sincere thought. ¡°No. I think the gods just like to fuck us about.¡± With that, Traveon crossed the flattened top of the Nortmost, shook off his gloves, and dipped his hands into the Ink. He watched the new power coil up his arm, disappearing into his sleeves, and he waited for the symbologist to take him. His mind was elsewhere¡ªreceiving his next symbol¡ªwhen the assassin spoke again. ¡°Ah,¡± Wrathful Elephant said. ¡°Looks like some of your friends are turning back.¡±
Cortland could tell by the determined way the girl crawled through the snow and ice that she had a destination in mind. Even with what must have been a broken back, Carina always had an escape route. He tracked her trajectory and figured she meant to throw herself over the edge¡ªsome hidden outcropping below that she¡¯d probably planned for as a haven. Not the best idea for someone with her injuries, but maybe she didn¡¯t think she had a choice. Perhaps she didn¡¯t. ¡°You and me ain¡¯t finished,¡± Cortland said. Even as the words were spoken, he sensed the empty space behind him. Laughing Monkey had slipped away. Some combination of [Shadow Step] and [Camouflage] most likely. Cortland wondered if the assassin was still close and decided that she probably was and that it didn¡¯t matter. She had baited him this far, might as well keep going. Nothing would be settled between them until he could cave her head in with his hammer. With a grunt, Cortland started across the rocks toward Carina. Wind swirled around him, reddening his cheeks and ears, though the biting flurries of snow were beginning to slow. The snow was packed down tight where her [Force Shield] hit. Carina heard his crunching footsteps and contorted her neck to glance backward, moaned softly at the sight of him, and then somehow quickened the pace of her belly-crawl. Cortland felt the briefest flash of pride. Had he instilled some of that grit into the logician during their time in the training pit? Cortland walked beside her for a moment, letting her strive for escape. A brief thrill of teasing, bullying cruelty. They both knew she wouldn¡¯t make the edge. He pulled his hammer and dropped it¡ªthunk¡ªdirectly in her path. ¡°Far enough, girl,¡± Cortland said. Carina loosed a jangling sigh and stopped. She peered up at him with one eye, the other half of her face pressed into the snow. Blood in her mouth and on her lips, her brown hair tangled and wet where it wasn¡¯t frozen. Cortland thought about trying to sit her up, but worried that moving her might further rearrange her bones. Instead, he took a knee next to her, and placed one hand gently on her back. ¡°Can you speak?¡± The logician wetted her lips. ¡°Yes.¡± Cortland nodded and turned to squint at the ascent. As the snow cleared, he could see vague outlines scaling the rock face, headed in both directions. He eyed those figures rappelling swiftly downward¡ªaway from the Ink. Someone come to check on Carina, he assumed, but to what end? ¡°How did this happen to you?¡± Cortland asked. Carina swallowed. ¡°Accident.¡± He sighed and looked down at her. ¡°Bad decision to begin with a lie.¡± Carina tried to roll onto her side, but quickly became frustrated from the effort. ¡°Orryn,¡± she said after another ragged breath. That made sense to Cortland. King Cizco would have made his grandson a back-up plan, if Cortland couldn¡¯t find it within himself to do what the king clearly expected. ¡°King Cizco told me you killed Arris Stonetender,¡± Cortland said. Carina¡¯s lips twitched. ¡°You killed her.¡± She patted the snow between her and Cortland¡¯s hammer. ¡°With that.¡± ¡°Cizco says you nudged her toward madness. You made her a scapegoat.¡± ¡°His idea,¡± Carina replied. ¡°He said you were distracted. Didn¡¯t want you running off to the Beach of Blades.¡± ¡°No, instead, the assassins came to me,¡± Cortland replied. ¡°We¡¯ll come to that, logician.¡± Carina squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, a glistening track turning to frost on her cheek. ¡°Arris wouldn¡¯t have lasted another year. The fire was eating her. It was mercy.¡± ¡°You get to decide that?¡± Cortland asked. ¡°What¡¯s mercy and when it¡¯s time?¡± Carina knew better than to respond. She laid there¡ªlabored breaths knocking around in her chest. ¡°Why does the king tell me this story about you, like it¡¯s something he¡¯s just discovered?¡± Cortland asked. ¡°On the night that Soldier¡¯s Rest splintered from Infinzel, of all times. Did you do that, too?¡± ¡°He did,¡± she said. ¡°With his ego.¡± Well, Cortland couldn¡¯t argue with that. He had seen Cizco¡¯s performance in Guydemion¡¯s tavern. Cortland reached down and tilted Carina¡¯s chin. She didn¡¯t struggle against him. He knew she was still marked with the pyramid, but he wanted to see it for himself. ¡°Still ours,¡± he said. ¡°I¡¯m loyal,¡± she replied. ¡°Too loyal. To the city.¡± ¡°Cizco doesn¡¯t see it that way.¡± ¡°I discovered how he powers the pyramid,¡± Carina said. ¡°With his life and our wish.¡± ¡°With his children,¡± she replied. ¡°It¡¯s why they turn sickly. It¡¯s why so many wives and so many babes.¡± Cortland stared down at the logician. She watched his face in turn, studying his heavy brow to see if he believed her. Cortland found that he did. He shrugged. ¡°Salvados are mostly assholes, anyway. What do I care what Cizco uses them for? At least they¡¯re good for something.¡± ¡°Unsustainable,¡± Carina said. She must have been able to tell¡ªimmediately¡ªthat this evaluation meant little to Cortland. ¡°If Cizco wants me silenced, it¡¯s too late. Vitt knows. I think he can be kept from telling the others. It could mean disaster for the city if they find out before we¡¯re ready.¡± ¡°Before who¡¯s ready?¡± Cortland asked. ¡°For what?¡± ¡°Us. The ones who will save the city.¡± Despite her pale, blood-streaked face, Cortland saw the heat of belief rising in Carina¡¯s expression. ¡°Ready to provide an alternative. I can do better than some old ways bloodline curse. Cizco could, too. But a new way wouldn¡¯t keep him at the center.¡± Cortland grunted. He did not appreciate being sent north to do the king¡¯s dirty work, like an attack dog given only a whiff of the truth and set loose. And here she was¡ªthe logician who had strolled into the Battle Library and declared herself the savior of Infinzel. He had believed her then. Gods, he believed her now, even with her teeth jiggling loose in her mouth. Better to press on, before he listened to her too much. ¡°Maybe Cizco asked for Arris, but you were all too happy to answer,¡± Cortland said. ¡°Someone else to take the blame for Ben.¡± ¡°Yes,¡± Carina said. ¡°I wanted to protect her.¡± ¡°Your friend who the assassin introduced me to. Sylvie Aracia.¡± ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°Her name on the coin,¡± Cortland rumbled. ¡°Convenient for you.¡± ¡°She suffered something horrible and I wanted to help her,¡± Carina replied. ¡°I was not looking for that opportunity. But, later, I did take it.¡± ¡°Painting yourself to get the gods¡¯ attention.¡± ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°Look where it¡¯s gotten you.¡± She dared to smile at him. ¡°What do you mean? I¡¯m almost atop the world.¡± Cortland snorted. ¡°Why do the assassins want you dead? They use their debt over that girl to make her confess to me when there¡¯s a thousand things more valuable. They lead me here¡­¡± Carina closed her eyes and nodded, as if something at last made sense to her. ¡°I don¡¯t think they care about me at all,¡± she said, after a moment. ¡°I think the Laughing Monkey has always hated Infinzel. And I think she has taken an interest in you.¡± Cortland remembered the assassin¡¯s words, pulsing under his fingers as he squeezed her throat. He had no doubt that he¡¯d been steered to this place, perhaps by more than one person. A tool to be wielded. He looked down at Carina. She was no different. Even now, she probably gamed out in her mind how best to manipulate the brutish hammer master to her advantage. His face had gone cold. Cortland could tell by the way Carina shuddered and then stilled herself. ¡°Promise you won¡¯t hurt Sylvie,¡± she said. ¡°I¡¯ll take her debt. Let her part in this be done.¡± Cortland¡¯s lips curled back. ¡°She¡¯s no champion. Maybe you could sort a way to kill a Penchennese under the gods¡¯ protection, but I lack your skills. And I¡¯m fucking glad for it.¡± Carina closed her eyes. ¡°Thank you.¡± ¡°I would ask some promise from you, in return,¡± Cortland said. ¡°But what would be the point? You would find some way out, if the need arose.¡± ¡°Yes,¡± Carina said quietly. ¡°I probably would.¡± Cortland turned to watch the descending climbers. One of them moved gracefully, speeding down the rock with predatory ease. Vitt, no doubt. The other came slower, legs swinging awkwardly, clinging to the ropes. Henry, perhaps. The hunger for vengeance had seeped out of him. He¡¯d gotten the answers he¡¯d wanted¡ªmore answers than he¡¯d wanted, in fact¡ªand what he had learned was that he¡¯d spent too long fighting battles for other people. Carina gasped with surprise when he used [Bolster]. The ability wouldn¡¯t heal her, but it would give her the energy to hold on until help arrived. Cortland could sense her eyes upon him, searching his face. There was a different kind of satisfaction in that¡ªsurprising someone like her with mercy. ¡°You can¡¯t come back to Infinzel,¡± Cortland said. ¡°Not until I¡¯ve spoken with the king. Maybe not even then.¡± ¡°I know,¡± Carina replied. Her voice was louder now, stronger¡ªyet he heard a sadness there. He knew how much returning to the pyramidal city meant to her. She would begin a second exile now. A champion estranged from her Quill. Some small punishment in that, even though he was sure she would find a way to turn it to her advantage. Well, perhaps that would be for all of their benefit, if she did. A better outcome than one more death. Cortland jerked his chin toward the rock face. ¡°Henry comes for you, I think, but we got some time still.¡± He turned to face her. ¡°Tell me about your alternatives. Tell me how you¡¯ll fix what¡¯s broken in the pyramidal city.¡±
81. [Red Tide] The Crown of the World Eventually, the gods called on Sulk to come forward. King Mudt snarled at the sight of his former captain. Sulk had thrown down his weapons as the siege of Infinzel abruptly concluded, yet there he stood in a new suit of armor made from overlapping plates of metal joined with flexible ward-weave. The armor of a southerner, not something made by proud Orvesian craftsmen. Sulk carried a shield that matched the tattoo on his neck. His fellow Shield Bearers, as they had taken to calling themselves, were a ragtag group, no two hailing from the same place. King Mudt found himself disgusted by the man who had once been his finest warrior. ¡°You are going about this wrong,¡± Sulk said in his gravelly voice, ruined from years of screaming orders at soon-to-be-dead soldiers. ¡°The gods offer us wishes. They do not force us to fight. We should be taking advantage of this blessing for the betterment of all. We should¡ª¡± ¡°Shut up!¡± King Mudt bellowed. ¡°This is the talk of a soft-dicked traitor!¡± Sulk closed his mouth. He surveyed the champions and Quills before him and saw eager, hungry faces. These were not a people who would be swayed. Perhaps once they had seen as much blood as Sulk had¡­ ¡°We wish for a bountiful harvest,¡± Sulk declared. ¡°Any of you others who wish for the same, you will find protection from my Shield Bearers.¡± He turned to King Mudt. ¡°Any of you who wish for harm on others, I will make you my enemy. You have been warned.¡± One by one, the wishes continued. Only the merchants of the Bay took Sulk up on his offer, beleaguered as they were by years of raids from the oca¡¯em and reasoning that a bountiful harvest would put more money into coffers emptied by war. Soon, there remained only one Quill who had yet to declare their wish and choose their place. The fat king of Infinzel. --Record of the First Granting and Dawning of the Second Age Lyus Crodd, Scribe of the Dead Kingdom of Orvesis
Red Tide, Enchantress of the 4th Renown, The Reef, all the way to the top Mockery, Knife Master of the 8th Renown and Quill of the Trolkin, possessed of many treasures Cuda Bite, Throne Gazer, Salt Wall, the champions of the Reef, and Turtle Jaw, their Quill, wishing they could be anywhere else
24 Meltzend, 61 AW The Crown, North Continent 96 days until the next Granting The mad trolkin Mockery had said she lived in a castle of wonder. As it turned out, that hadn¡¯t been a lie. They were lucky to arrive during one of the far north''s few hours of sunlight. Otherwise, Red Tide wouldn''t have been able to take in the enormity of the structure. The castle had been built for creatures whose size Red Tide could barely fathom. Great obsidian spires were carved from the mountain, molded into seamless towers, like it had been possible for the makers to shape and smooth the stone with their bare hands. She remembered seeing land-walker children at play on southern continent beaches, creating towers out of wet sand dumped from buckets, and patting away blemishes with their palms. The thought of something so large toying with the land itself made her suppress a shudder; she longed for the open darkness of the sea. ¡°I have memories of the Reef from when I was a boy,¡± Turtle Jaw said. ¡°Before the merchants wished it in half, and then half again. Haven''t felt this small since then.¡± ¡°You don''t need to whisper, old timer,¡± Red Tide said. ¡°And you''re still small,¡± Salt Wall added. Even as they joked, Red Tide could feel the weight of the place before her. It was almost as if a moon had sunk down from the sky and split apart. The sun slid around the edge of the scene, like the crescent of a nail poking above a fingertip. Crimson light reflected off the castle¡¯s glassy surface. Red Tide craned her neck. From her vantage point, it was possible to glimpse the edges of the jagged hollow at the center of the mammoth structure. Long ago, something had smashed down upon it. The second dogsled pulled up alongside theirs. Throne Gazer remained at the reins, but Cuda Bite hopped down to join them. ¡°Fuck me,¡± he said. ¡°We just full-on live in a nightmare now, don¡¯t we?¡± Red Tide muttered agreement. After some blurry days in the trolkin encampment¡ªdays that Red Tide spent playing the harp, competing with bloody brawls for the attention of smoke-addled monsters¡ªMockery had abruptly declared that it was time to depart. They lit out for furthest north, the landscape more desolate, and the days somehow even shorter. While their initial voyage from Besaden had been one of the numbing routine, this last leg felt dizzyingly dreamlike. Red Tide imagined herself falling up, away from the top of the world, and grasping at the sliver of sun for a handhold. Hard breathing and heavy footfalls announced the arrival of Lady Mockery. She had refused to ride on the dogsleds¡ªor perhaps Throne Gazer made it clear through his glowering looks that she wasn¡¯t welcome. The trolkin woman had no problem keeping pace on foot. She moved across the snow hunched, almost on all fours. Red Tide had caught a glimpse of [Endurance+] on the woman¡¯s scarred chest. An ability like that was one of the ways she had stayed ahead of the northerners for the last two Grantings. Steam rolled off Mockery¡¯s shoulders as she stopped next to them. A stitch in her red dress popped as she kicked one leg back, holding her foot and stretching. ¡°Honored guests of the Reef, welcome to the Crown of the World,¡± Mockery said. ¡°We call it that on account of all the points and that big fucking hole in the middle.¡± As they led the sleds forward on foot, Red Tide saw shapes moving around the Crown. There were trolkin living here. She glanced over her shoulder, toward the bruised purple horizon, remembering the crowded horrors of the trolkin encampment. ¡°Big place like this, why don¡¯t the others live here?¡± Red Tide asked. Mockery dramatically flapped her lips. ¡°Three trolkin walk in a line. First one¡¯s got no mind left so he shits while he walks. Second one¡¯s deep in the smoke, so he don¡¯t notice when he steps in the pile and tracks it everywhere. Third one? She decides walking in a line with these other two is stupid.¡± Red Tide glanced down at Mockery¡¯s huge feet. ¡°That third one supposed to be you?¡± ¡°I been all three,¡± Mockery said. ¡°First year I got the Quill, I cleaned this place out. Only trolkin allowed this far are the ones with proper manners.¡± A few steps behind them, Throne Gazer snorted. Mockery either didn¡¯t notice, or didn¡¯t much care.Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation. ¡°Do you know how this place was made?¡± Turtle Jaw asked. Even though they¡¯d been surrounded by barren snow for weeks, Red Tide had noticed the warden¡¯s wide-eyed curiosity for the world continue to increase. They had only a few months left now. Their Quill would drink in the sights in what time remained to him. ¡°Giants,¡± Mockery said. ¡°How else?¡± ¡°And the crater?¡± Mockery shrugged. ¡°When the mages killed the giants, they turned the earth and the sky against them. At least that¡¯s how Esoteric tells it.¡± She grinned at Turtle Jaw. ¡°You¡¯ll like him. He likes talking boring shit, too.¡± ¡°Esoteric?¡± Red Tide asked. ¡°That one of your champions?¡± They had yet to meet any of the others who would accompany Mockery to the Granting. In fact, Red Tide realized, she hadn¡¯t even mentioned them. ¡°Maybe one year, but not this one. Too soon to risk my mage,¡± Mockery replied. ¡°A mage?¡± Throne Gazer spoke up, a rarity, his interest piqued. ¡°From the Magelab?¡± Mockery¡¯s head bobbed happily. ¡°He got too hands-on with his study of the frosswiss. Turned blue and those bookworms ran him north. A wonderful present for me.¡± As they neared the front of the Crown, the towering arches blotted out the darkening sky. Fires glowed within the castle, though not with the same gleeful pyromania exhibited in the trolkin encampment. These flames were trapped within arteries in the walls, casting light and creating trails throughout the castle. Red Tide thought that sort of technology beyond the trolkin, but would leave such annoying inquiries to Turtle Jaw. Besides, she was soon distracted by the trolkin girl who came skipping out from the castle. ¡°You¡¯re home!¡± the girl shouted. ¡°Welcome home, Lady Mockery!¡± Mockery stifled a groan. ¡°Honored guests of the Reef, may I present my wife. Blanket.¡± She made the introduction hurriedly, without her usual pomp. The trolkin girl¡ªBlanket¡ªlooked to be in her early twenties. She was smaller than Mockery, stout, with bluish skin that suggested frostbite more than the sculpted-from-ice tone of the larger trolkin Red Tide had seen. Her silver hair was pulled into pigtails and she wore a black dress¡ªtorn a bit and stained¡ªbut flowing and more appropriately fitted than Mockery¡¯s. Mockery picked at the fabric on the girl¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Where did you get this?¡± ¡°It was in one of the vaults,¡± Blanket answered. She peeked around Mockery. ¡°Is this her? The musician? She doesn¡¯t look ferocious.¡± Red Tide showed the girl her teeth, but didn¡¯t otherwise respond. She¡¯d learned that there wasn¡¯t any need for her to engage with the other trolkin, especially not while in Mockery¡¯s presence. As expected, Mockery slapped Blanket on the top of her head and shoved her away. ¡°I am putting you in charge of these dogs and their sleds, wife. They are not to be meddled with. Let it be known I shall butcher any trolkin who even thinks of gently petting their furry heads.¡± She glanced over her shoulder at Throne Gazer. ¡°Acceptable?¡± He took a long moment to study Blanket. ¡°I suppose.¡± ¡°Good. Follow me, then,¡± Mockery said brusquely, and made to pass by her sulking wife. Blanket hopped to keep up, wincing as she did so, like she expected to be hit again. ¡°There have been problems, my lady,¡± she said quietly. ¡°What problems?¡± ¡°Gauntlet grows to dangerous proportions.¡± Mockery glanced at Red Tide. ¡°We¡¯ll fix that.¡± Red Tide had no idea what that gibberish meant, but gave Mockery the briefest nod of agreement. ¡°And the prisoner makes ruckus nightly,¡± Blanket continued. ¡°Some have fled the Crown, fearing its escape.¡± ¡°He can¡¯t escape,¡± Mockery said. She paused. ¡°He¡¯s very unlikely to escape.¡± ¡°Well, he did the one time, already, my lady,¡± Blanket replied. ¡°And I fixed that, didn¡¯t I?¡± Mockery dug her hands into her silver mane. ¡°Are you feeding him?¡± ¡°I¡­¡± Blanket made some distance before completing her answer. ¡°Gauntlet had been, but Esoteric declared her not up to the task. The rest of us¡­¡± ¡°Too afraid,¡± Mockery said with a distasteful smack of her lips. ¡°He makes a ruckus because he starves, idiot.¡± She waved Blanket away. ¡°Enough of this bad news. You foul my mood, wife.¡± Red Tide had spent days observing the madness of the trolkin encampment¡ªhow the creatures spun wildly between urges, often without any care for self-preservation. And yet, Blanket and the others living in the Crown were afraid of something. Perhaps that was what Mockery aimed for in creating her society. She wanted trolkin that could understand consequences. They passed under the arch of the Crown and into the castle proper. Vast rooms, like boxes stacked atop each other, spread out from entrance, all of them connected by precise networks of stairs set at intervals uncomfortable for even trolkin legs. There were cracks in some places and in those spots the stone seemed to grow wild, leaving behind the architecture of the giants and sprouting stalactites. In the dim light provided by the arteries of fire, Red Tide could see faded paintings on the walls and ceilings¡ªmeaningless things, all shapes and circles and whorls. The stars, she thought. ¡°You didn¡¯t tell us you¡¯re a kept woman, Lady Mockery,¡± Cuda Bite said, smirking, as he sidled up beside Red Tide. ¡°A Blanket to keep you warm at night. How nice.¡± Mockery made a horking noise, as if she might throw up. ¡°I have had many wives. And a husband, or two, when the need arises. Do you know the king of the pyramid? An inspiration.¡± She sighed. ¡°I took that dumb bitch because she belonged to one of the Wise Ones. I¡¯d hoped to provoke them, but they still hide in the west.¡± Turtle Jaw cocked his head at Mockery¡¯s words. Red Tide exchanged a look with the warden. ¡°The old Quill of the trolkin was one of the Wise Ones,¡± he explained. ¡°I remember him¡ª¡± ¡°Useless and dead, is what you remember!¡± Mockery shouted. ¡°We do not speak of them here.¡± Mockery led them through the many rooms of the Crown¡ªthe vaults, as Blanket had called them. Red Tide soon came to understand the name. Each cube-shaped room was cluttered with junk. Some enterprising trolkin had, at least, put in the effort to organize the rooms by their contents. They passed through a vault packed with wagons and carts, a vault containing columns of mold-smelling books, a vault filled with nothing but chairs of various size, and one littered with potatoes and onions that were likely inedible. ¡°Presents from our neighbors in the north,¡± Mockery said. ¡°Sometimes, they leave us tributes so we don''t visit. Other times, we find their gifts traveling the roads or in their little houses. Help yourself to anything you might like.¡± There had to be decades¡¯ worth of accumulation here, Red Tide thought. None of it serving any purpose but to collect dust in a mostly abandoned castle. ¡°Where do you keep the jewels?¡± Cuda Bite asked. ¡°Or the weapons,¡± Salt Wall added. She scooped up a potato from the floor, brushed it off to examine the green root spiraling out from its skin, then chucked it across the room where it landed with an echoing thud. ¡°Somewhere,¡± Mockery replied with a shrug. ¡°Matters of inventory are beneath my notice.¡± ¡°Of course, your ladyship,¡± Cuda Bite said. His eyed gleamed. While Red Tide saw nothing but waste, she was sure Cuda Bite saw an opportunity to fill his pockets. ¡°What is that smell?¡± Throne Gazer asked. Mockery paused to sniff the air. ¡°Yes. Close now.¡± They had traveled in a straight line through the Crown, toward the center. As they went on, signs of damage became more apparent¡ªcracks in the floor, collapsed walls, caved-in ceilings. Meanwhile, Red Tide now smelled rot in the air. Decay and blood and shit, stenches not held back by the chilled environs. ¡°Through here,¡± Mockery said. She¡¯d brought them to a half-collapsed passage, the ceiling slanted down to make the space triangular. While Mockery pressed forward, the oca¡¯em hesitated. It wasn¡¯t on account of the tilted ceiling¡ªthat damage seemed old and likely enough to hold. It was the dead bodies that gave them pause. A dozen trolkin¡ªor pieces of them¡ªlay throughout the passage. They had been swept to the narrower side, at least, to leave a clear path for walking. The trolkin looked to have been dead for weeks, though it was hard to tell. They had died badly. Crushed, clawed, and ripped apart. The nearest body sat upright, his severed arms laid crisscrossed in his lap. ¡°This¡­¡± Throne Gazer paused to swallow. ¡°This is how you treat your dead? I thought you meant for this to be a civilized place.¡± ¡°These ones died for you,¡± Mockery said over her shoulder. ¡°You think it was easy? Wrestling the big fucker in here?¡± She reached down and grabbed one of the bodies by its ankle, dragging it along behind her. ¡°So judgmental. But we make good use of our dead.¡± More curious than disgusted, Red Tide was the first to follow after Mockery. The hallway was short and terminated abruptly into a deep, tub-shaped pit. The stone here was polished smooth and slippery. The top third of the pit had been purposely lined with broken shards of weaponry¡ªspear tips, sword and knives, hooks and more. These bits of metal had been welded into the stone somewhat recently, not part of the giants¡¯ original construction. An artery of fire lined the lip of the pit, casting an orange glint across the shards. Down below, Red Tide saw nothing but a pile of snow. For a moment, she imagined Mockery tossing her down there¡ªa cell not so different from the Grotto. But then, the snow started to move. It wasn¡¯t snow but white fur¡ªfur which crackled from some internal frost. Once it had drawn itself upright, the troll stood nearly fourteen feet tall. Where its body wasn¡¯t covered with icy fur, its skin was blue and leathery, drawn across the bulging muscles of a predator. Its arms were longer than a human¡¯s, its fists swollen and clawed, its toes slender and capable of grip. The troll¡¯s face had elongated into a fanged snout, like the bear Red Tide had seen at Yodor Dominick¡¯s hunting lodge. Its breath quickened at the sight of them, dark eyes enraged. ¡°We called him Feather once, before he was taken,¡± Mockery said. Feather lunged toward them, his palms squeaking across the slippery stone. Everyone flinched back except for Mockery. The beast scrambled high enough that he began to cut his hands and feet on the broken weapons, dark blood further slickening the pit¡¯s walls. The troll called Feather would fall back before reaching the top¡ªRed Tide was almost sure of that. Not waiting for the troll to give up, Mockery pitched the trolkin corpse into the pit. The body landed with a splat and seconds later Feather was atop it, first pounding the body with his massive fists, then stuffing meat and marrow into its slavering mouth. As Red Tide watched, lips curled in disgust, the self-inflicted wounds on the troll¡¯s hands and arms slowly closed. ¡°Dumbass Blanket is probably right. Held onto him too long for good sense,¡± Mockery said. ¡°We should kill him in the morning.¡± Worming through the white fur on Feather¡¯s back, Red Tide saw the Ink.
82. [Red Tide] Circular Thinking
Red Tide, Enchantress of the 4th Renown, The Reef, sleepless in the house of giants Throne Gazer, Trident Master of the 4th Renown, The Reef, in consideration of his own hostility
25 Meltzend, 61 AW The Crown, North Continent 95 days until the next Granting The sun hadn''t yet inched back over the horizon and probably wouldn''t for hours, but something in Red Tide''s body told her that it was morning. Or, at least, something within her refused to expend any more effort trying to sleep. Before disappearing to her own chamber, Mockery had given no instructions for where the oca¡¯em should stay. So, they had chosen a vault cluttered with chests and trunks, which they were able to quickly rearrange into short barriers to at least give them some privacy from the trolkin roaming the castle. All of the boxes had already been emptied and abandoned, much to Cuda Bite''s disappointment. Some enterprising trolkin must have had the bright idea to unpack the trunks to organize their contents rather than use them for storage. At least that made them easy to move around. Amongst the wood and metal, they had noticed a few clamshell chests, like the ones that Deep Dweller had hidden on the beach for them all those months ago. Red Tide ran her fingers across the smooth ridges of a clamshell and thought of how far they had come. ¡°Nothing inside there, Red,¡± Cuda Bite said. ¡°I checked.¡± ¡°Right,¡± she had said, yanking her hand back and standing up. ¡°You good?¡± Cuda Bite asked. ¡°Tired,¡± she replied. But Red Tide found that her eyes wouldn¡¯t stay closed. It had been weeks since she last slept with a roof over her head. The feeling unsettled her. There were strange vibrations through the stone of this dead castle; the screaming, bleating, and random hollering of the trolkin echoed through the maze of clutter in such a way that Red Tide could never be sure which direction they came from. While the others slept, Red Tide toyed with pieces of coral from her pack, using [Coral Tender] to shape the rough shards into delicate circlets. Eventually, when her body told her it was morning, and the others still slept in the mellow glow of the fire arteries, Red Tide decided to explore. Maybe she could discover something useful in the trolkin vaults, or else some bauble that would amuse Cuda Bite. Red Tide navigated through the cavernous spaces on light feet. She''d gotten turned around the night before, so she decided to follow the cold draft that flowed toward her¡ªeither she would find her way back to the outer ring of the Crown where they''d entered, or she''d make it to the crater at the building''s center and get a firsthand look at a giant''s tomb. Turtle Jaw would be jealous that she saw that before him. She hadn''t gone far when she sensed movement behind her. Red Tide expected a trolkin¡ªshe had seen Blanket peeking in at them during the night. Instead, when she glanced over her shoulder, she discovered Throne Gazer following a few steps behind. He brushed dark hair out of his eyes as he drew level with her; his mane had grown unkempt and bushy while they traveled north, some of his braids popping loose. With his other hand, he clutched his trident. Throne Gazer had rarely set the weapon aside since they''d joined the trolkin. ¡°Following me?¡± Red Tide asked. ¡°Yes,¡± he replied. ¡°None of us should be alone in this place. Especially not you.¡± Red Tide''s lips curled back. ¡°I can handle myself.¡± ¡°I know.¡± He breathed out sharply through his nose. ¡°Our hostess is obsessed with you. Given the opportunity, she might lock you away.¡± Red Tide stopped bristling. A similar thought had crossed her mind the night before, when Mockery had showed them the troll named Feather trapped in his pit. They would be murdering that sad, monstrous behemoth later that day. After that, his enclosure would be empty. ¡°Nobody''s putting me back in a cell,¡± Red Tide muttered. ¡°Anyway, it''s what you wanted coming up here, isn''t it? An alliance. You suddenly give a shit if I''m the fish on the hook?¡± Throne Gazer peered down his nose at her. ¡°All goes as my mother planned it. Yes.¡± He paused. ¡°Though, I do not think she suspected you would be their singular focus.¡± ¡°Jealous?¡± Throne Gazer¡¯s mouth pressed into a flat line. ¡°By the tides, no.¡± He shook his head. ¡°I doubt I would have been able to treat with them if you weren¡¯t here. I did not expect to find them so¡­ repulsive.¡± Red Tide considered his words for a moment, then snorted. ¡°You expected them to be nobly persecuted but reasonable. Like us.¡± ¡°The land walkers tell stories of both our peoples. Of our monstrousness and barbarity.¡± ¡°But we don''t actually fucking eat each other.¡± ¡°We do not.¡± Throne Gazer reached out for the wall of an archway as they passed, leaving a handprint in the dust. ¡°And we are born, not made. They choose this.¡± ¡°So all that shit''s got you thinking, hey, maybe these trolkin deserve to be hunted. They¡¯re not like us,¡± Red Tide said. ¡°And that''s got you feeling like you''re no better than a land walker.¡±This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. Throne Gazer looked straight ahead. ¡°I have no interest in tying our fate to these people. Of aiding the Lady Mockery with whatever she intends.¡± ¡°You do a good job of hiding it,¡± Red Tide said, dryly. ¡°Whatever that mad trolkin bitch truly wants, or thinks she wants, it ain¡¯t any different from what that drooling beastlord Yodor plans for the leviathan we promised him. Problems for next year. When we¡¯ll more than likely be dead.¡± Throne Gazer sighed. ¡°What does it mean that I find that notion comforting?¡± ¡°Means neither of us got enough sleep.¡± They entered a vault filled with plates and bowls on one side and shields on the other. Off to the side with the shields, there was a single table¡ªcircular¡ªcovered with stacks of coins from the southern continent. Red Tide paused to consider the scene, then shook her head. ¡°They sorted everything round into one room,¡± she said. ¡°Wonder if the smoke told them to do that.¡± Throne Gazer veered off the central path toward the shields. He tapped on one with the butt of his trident and the front caved in from rust. Wincing, he poked at a few others. ¡°Useless things underwater, so I never trained with a shield,¡± he said. ¡°But I have considered acquiring one before the Granting. There must be something usable in here.¡± Red Tide fished around in her pouch, producing one of the coral circlets she had been working on during the night. ¡°Here.¡± She tossed him the coral and Throne Gazer turned just in time to snatch it out of the air. He let the coral dangle from his index finger. ¡°What¡¯s this?¡± ¡°Put it on your wrist,¡± Red Tide said. ¡°Let¡¯s see.¡± Throne Gazer raised an eyebrow at her, but squeezed the coral bracelet over his hand. Months ago, he probably would¡¯ve hesitated more. She could crush his arm with the coral now, or sever his hand. They really had come a long way. Red Tide focused with [Coral Tender]. Throne Gazer was about twenty feet away, but she could still sense the coral around his wrist. He flinched when she coaxed the coral to expand, blooming outward into the circular shape of a shield. After his initial surprise, Throne Gazer quickly adapted, hunkering behind the shield and thrusting forward with his trident. ¡°Less weight,¡± he said. ¡°And a handhold for my fingers.¡± ¡°Yes, boss,¡± Red Tide replied. They experimented with shapes and sizes. Once they¡¯d settled on a shield form that Throne Gazer liked, Red Tide committed it to memory. She practiced reducing the coral back to a bracelet and then expanding it again, until she sensed her Ink beginning to fade. ¡°I have one for everyone,¡± she said. ¡°Different ideas. To suit them.¡± ¡°This is good,¡± Throne Gazer said, running his finger over the coarse bracelet. ¡°I do worry¡­¡± ¡°What?¡± ¡°I worry we become too reliant on you.¡± Red Tide scowled. ¡°Then don¡¯t fucking use it.¡± She turned to continue on in the direction they had been going, into the cold wind that drifted through the interconnected vaults. Throne Gazer followed. ¡°I did not mean to give offense,¡± he said. ¡°I only meant that there are limits to your Ink. If you¡¯re using your abilities on us, that could ultimately leave you vulnerable and¡ª¡± ¡°You¡¯re right,¡± she snapped. ¡°I¡¯ll save my Ink for myself.¡± Throne Gazer sighed. ¡°You spent too long without a pod.¡± ¡°And you spent too long thinking you¡¯d be in charge of one.¡± ¡°Not every contrary thought is an insult.¡± ¡°Not every asshole is stuffed with¡­¡± Red Tide trailed off as they reached the next archway. At first, she thought they were looking at some strange sculpture of a forbidding tree. As they drew nearer, though, Red Tide realized they were faced with bones. A skeletal foot, to be precise. The heel was dusty and cracked against the floor, the toes hanging curled above Red Tide''s head. Throne Gazer''s palm squeaked as he tightened his grip on his trident. ¡°These giants,¡± he said, and shook his head. ¡°Hard to imagine.¡± Red Tide cocked her head. ¡°What''s hard to imagine? The bones are right there.¡± ¡°Hard to imagine them walking around,¡± he replied. ¡°Sure,¡± she said. ¡°Hard to imagine anything dead walking around.¡± ¡°You have decided to be obstinate.¡± Ignoring him, Red Tide edged around the foot sticking out from under the archway. From what Red Tide could see, the skeleton looked whole. The giant had died on its back, its arms sprawled out into the next room, like some enemy had surprised it as it came through the entryway. Or perhaps it just had a heart attack ambling around its empty castle. To hear Mockery tell it, the bones throughout the north had been left as they were for centuries. The trolkin harvested them. Red Tide approached a jagged crack in the giant''s shin bone where vivid blue frosswiss spilled out in overlapping ribbons. The aroma of the leaf was strong here, so close to the source. It gave off a piney scent when the trolkin smoked it that Red Tide found almost pleasant, at least compared to the other smells of the trolkin encampment. But where the frosswiss sprouted from the giant''s bones, there were other, deeper odors¡ªa tinge of decay, coppery marrow, and chalk. Red Tide did not quite understand how, but the plant smelled cold. Like a deep breath on a frigid night, simultaneously stinging and invigorating. Without realizing she was doing it, Red Tide had reached out to a tangle of leaves. Throne Gazer gently held her arm. ¡°You should not,¡± he said. She snatched her arm back. ¡°Get off.¡± Throne Gazer nodded further into the vault. There were trolkin watching them. One man and two women, each with clippers and satchels, delicately cutting away the frosswiss from overgrown patches on the giant¡¯s rib cage. For a moment, Red Tide was taken aback. She hadn¡¯t really seen the trolkin doing anything that could be considered productive. The male trolkin was taller than the two women, but lanky in the way that some of them were, like he¡¯d been painfully stretched but not built the muscle to match. His head was bald, shiny blue, but he¡¯d grown a silver beard that corkscrewed down to his waist and was full enough for him to hide his hands within. The trolkin wore a robe¡ªlarge enough that Red Tide could tell it was once a patchwork blanket that he¡¯d stitched pockets into. He said something to the women and they went back to clipping frosswiss. Then, the male trolkin approached. ¡°Honored guests,¡± he said, his voice soft for one of their kind. ¡°I was hoping we would meet soon. I am Esoteric.¡± ¡°The trolkin mage,¡± Throne Gazer said, flatly. ¡°Ah, you¡¯ve heard of me.¡± ¡°You¡¯re Mockery¡¯s favorite monster,¡± Red Tide said. Esoteric chuckled and dipped his angular frame in a bow. ¡°My lady speaks most generously of you, as well,¡± he said, his eyes on Red Tide. ¡°Bet she does,¡± Red Tide replied. He talked fancy for a trolkin, like he¡¯d long ago mastered the courtly manners that Mockery liked to go on about. But Red Tide noticed a strange set to his jaw. His teeth didn¡¯t quite fit together right. Beneath that beard, she saw a hint of a deep groove or scar. Someone had cleaved open the lower half of Esoteric¡¯s face and not put him back together gently. ¡°I see you admiring the frosswiss,¡± Esoteric said. ¡°That is not what we were doing,¡± Throne Gazer replied. The trolkin mage kept his eyes on Red Tide as he maneuvered his spindly fingers into one of his pockets. He produced a fat-bellied pipe into which he plucked a pair of icy leaves direct from the giant¡¯s shin. Using his elongated thumbnail, he began to grind down the plant. ¡°Have you been offered a sample?¡± Esoteric asked. In the weeks of chaos, it hadn¡¯t occurred to Red Tide that none of the trolkin had bothered to share their smoke. Her brow furrowed in thought. These creatures were free with everything else¡ªmeat, shelter, treasures and trash. Even their bodies had been on offer. But frosswiss had never been shared. ¡°No,¡± Red Tide said. Esoteric tutted. ¡°I suspect Lady Mockery wished for your first experience to be here, in a place of relative safety,¡± he continued, reading Red Tide¡¯s expression. ¡°Under my expert supervision.¡± ¡°Thank you,¡± Throne Gazer said coldly. ¡°But we think not.¡± Red Tide glanced at her fellow champion. We. Now, they were a we? Perhaps, she was letting her annoyance with him get the better of her, and this was an unwise decision made strictly to spite him. But then, what was so wrong with that? She met Esoteric¡¯s warm, blue eyes. ¡°Fire it up,¡± Red Tide said.
83. [Red Tide] The Lurker in the Smoke
Red Tide, Enchantress of the 4th Renown, The Reef, high Esoteric, the trolkin mage, a tour guide Mockery, Knife Master of the 8th Renown and Quill of the Trolkin, it was all her idea
25 Meltzend, 61 AW The Crown, North Continent 95 days until the next Granting Warm water reached up to Red Tide¡¯s waist. A small gasp escaped her lips¡ªnot a sound she¡¯d normally allow herself to make, but she was alone. The tension in her muscles, the brittle chill in her bones, both loosened as the gentle waves lapped against her. She dipped down lower, letting the water caress her chest, and slide over her shoulders. The gills on her ribs, unused for months now, greedily puckered. Red Tide wanted to throw herself all the way under. She wanted to be fully submerged. She wanted to click the delicate bones in her ankles together and make the fin. Yet, something in her mind blocked these urges, like a ghost limb that she couldn¡¯t quite will to working. A strange feeling, that resistance, but one that oddly didn¡¯t frighten her. She could be perfectly content wading here. The sea floor beneath her feet felt like smooth stone, though she could see sand squeezed between her toes. The horizon stretched on forever, the sky a rosy pink. There must have been land behind her somewhere. She didn¡¯t turn to check. When she raised her arms, the water beaded and clung like syrup. The little worm man came to mind. The symbologist. When she¡¯d been introduced to Ink, that creature had brought her to a place not unlike this. An ocean that wasn¡¯t. Because this couldn¡¯t be real, right? Red Tide knew, in some detached part of her mind, that this place was just a trick. A trick of the smoke. Even though the temperature here was balmy, Red Tide¡¯s breath misted into curls. Her mouth tasted like pine needles. She sucked saliva through her teeth and spit into the water. As the ripples from her spit dissolved, Red Tide saw a school of thumb-sized fish the shape and color of rubies dart between her legs. They made some kind of stupid fish game of dancing figure eights through and around her knees. Red Tide laughed. She remembered this. Her father had brought her here when she was just a girl. This was a beach on the south continent, a short swim east of the city called Beacon. There were Gadgeteers there who made a habit of leaving valuable debris strewn about where they tested their inventions, and they never put up much of a fuss when her father and his cohort decided to take from them. Red Tide was still too young to participate in the raids, though her father had given her a knife last summer, and shown her where to cut a man to stop him from chasing. He would yell for her soon, she remembered, and she¡¯d be reluctant to leave the fish behind, feeling that she was on the verge of understanding their game. He¡¯d slap her for being slow to respond, and make her carry some half-built contraption on her back, which he would then fail to sell at the Reef because the salt water gummed up the gears. But that idiot hadn¡¯t called to her yet. She could enjoy the peace, the wet, the dance of the fish. She could stay here for as long as¡ª ¡°What a lovely memory,¡± Esoteric said. ¡°Thank you for sharing it with me.¡± Red Tide¡¯s gaze twitched to where the trolkin stood beside her. Although he¡¯d interrupted her train of thought, she wasn¡¯t surprised by his presence. It was as if he¡¯d been standing there all along. Esoteric¡¯s elongated body appeared somehow taller in the shallows, his long beard combed into a stately curl that dangled just above the water like a fish hook. ¡°I didn¡¯t share shit with you,¡± Red Tide said. ¡°You¡¯re just here.¡± Esoteric rolled his shoulders. ¡°I had forgotten warm. All my visions are cold now, it seems.¡± Red Tide squinted at him. ¡°Why are you here? How?¡± ¡°To guide you, of course,¡± the trolkin answered. ¡°The smoke connects us. Your past, your possibilities, the giants experienced life thusly and¡ª¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know you,¡± Red Tide interrupted. ¡°I don¡¯t want you looking at my past.¡± ¡°I am but a passenger. I can only see what you show me.¡± Red Tide eyed the trolkin. She supposed it wasn¡¯t a bad idea to have a guide in this situation. The rational thought made her smirk, especially as the trolkin¡¯s slender legs made no disturbance in the water¡ªas if anything in this cloud made sense. She looked down at her palms, searching for signs of blue amidst the light gray lines. There was a sensation of new strength that Red Tide didn¡¯t think was entirely hallucinatory. She curled her arms and felt her biceps stretch and harden. ¡°Stronger,¡± she said. ¡°That real?¡± ¡°Yes, but for you, short-lived,¡± Esoteric replied. ¡°Do not worry, my dear. You will not transform into one of us. Years of use are required.¡± ¡°I wasn¡¯t fucking worried,¡± Red Tide muttered. ¡°No. Of course not.¡± Red Tide felt a prickling on the back of her neck. That would be her father, on the beach behind her. Any moment now, he would shout for her and she would be wise, this time, and take off running at his call. In anticipation, she turned around to look for him. There was a beach behind her, but her father wasn¡¯t there. No city, no Gadgeteer testing ground, either. The landscape looked unfinished, like a painting abandoned before adding the background. But there was something¡ªsomething far, far off in the distance. A deep blue dot. A pinprick, really, like a hole had been poked in the air and the night sky had come pouring out. For something so far off, the blue felt impossibly in focus. A shimmering silver corona surrounded the dark sapphire, rippling like a coat of fur on a charging animal. Red Tide¡¯s palms felt suddenly clammy, and a cold sweat popped on her back. The sensation was like being followed.The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. ¡°You see it, then,¡± Esoteric said. ¡°The lurker in the smoke.¡± Red Tide shuddered. The longer she looked at the looming hole in the world, the worse her shivers became, until her whole body vibrated with an unnatural chill. ¡°What¡¯s wrong with her? What have you done?¡± Throne Gazer¡¯s voice came through muffled. Though she couldn¡¯t see him, Red Tide felt his hand squeezing her shoulder. ¡°She is fine,¡± Esoteric said, directing these words to the empty space behind Red Tide. ¡°Do not look too hard at the lurker, my dear,¡± the trolkin then said to her. ¡°It looks back.¡± Digging the heels of her hands against her eyes, Red Tide spun forward. The cold that had overtaken her vanished immediately, and she could again appreciate the warm water sloshing against her legs. Still, there remained a distant inkling of something foreign and unknowable behind her. ¡°The fuck is that?¡± she asked. ¡°Explain.¡± ¡°A curse upon the giants and all who share their blood,¡± Esoteric said. ¡°The lurker catches up with all of us, eventually. When that day comes, it must be mastered. Or else, our bodies become vessels for its hunger.¡± As Red Tide tried to make sense of this, Esoteric strode purposefully ahead of her. Now, she could see a dark blue, silver-furred snake coiled up and down his spine. She had no doubt this was made of the same substance as the entity that hovered behind her, though on Esoteric it did not hurt to look at. Without quite understanding how, Red Tide could tell that it was this sliver of the lurker that had stretched and reshaped his body. Esoteric had willed it so. ¡°Crazy bastards,¡± Red Tide muttered. ¡°Power comes at a price,¡± Esoteric replied. ¡°I spent decades in the Magelab toying with the old ways. But there are bargains beyond even what the ge¡¯chan and ge¡¯ema can offer us.¡± Gods of magic and gods of men. These were not Red Tide¡¯s gods. Again, she thought of the island the symbologist brought her to, and how the encounter had been preceded by a visit from the ge¡¯oca, the gods of the oceans. She¡¯d had no fear of their massive, leviathan-sized presence. In fact, she¡¯d felt honored and cared for. ¡°Piss on any bargain that looks like that,¡± she said. Esoteric shrugged and motioned for her to follow. ¡°Come. The Lady Mockery has arranged for you to aid us, yes? I would put a theory to the test.¡± Red Tide sneered at that, but followed anyway. She was stuck in this damned hallucination, might as well ride it to the end. Although they waded our further and further, the water level never changed and the sky remained still. If she hadn¡¯t felt the ground beneath her change¡ªfrom smooth stone to crunching ice¡ªshe would¡¯ve sworn they were simply marching in place. But then, a woman tied to a stake appeared before them. The Queen of the Coralline Throne executed rebels by tying them to coral masts above the ocean and letting them roast in the sun. Red Tide¡¯s own father had died that way after Deep Dweller¡¯s last rebellion. However, this woman tied to the stake was no oca¡¯em. She was trolkin¡ªmuscular and wide, with one hand caught painfully inside a metal glove, the flesh bulging through the armor as if it had expanded too fast. A dark cape, silver-furred, was draped across her shoulders and flowed down her body. No. Not a cape. The lurker again. Untamed and hungry, nearly consuming the woman. Red Tide crept closer. The woman had the Ink of a champion splashed across her chest. A healer of the third renown. So, this was one of Mockery¡¯s champions. But the Ink was faded¡ªbeyond what happened when an ability was overworked, as Red Tide had seen on her own chest. With dozens of tiny tongues, the lurker lapped at the woman¡¯s Ink, stripping it away layer by layer, including the snowflake symbol tattooed on her throat. ¡°The snow melts,¡± Red Tide said, recalling Salt Wall¡¯s saying about when a trolkin transformed into a troll. ¡°Yes,¡± Esoteric replied. ¡°This is Gauntlet, Lady Mockery¡¯s chosen. She loses her struggle with the lurker. I believe you can help her.¡± ¡°Me?¡± Red Tide snorted. ¡°The fuck am I supposed to do?¡± ¡°Sing for her,¡± Esoteric said. ¡°An old song, a¡ª¡± ¡°Mage! You overstep!¡± Manifesting from nowhere, Mockery kicked through the water toward them. Red Tide stumbled backward at the sight of her. She was bigger here, within the smoke, made massive by the six arms of the lurker that spread out from her back like insect legs, each clutching a knife of vivid blue ice. The huge trolkin shot Esoteric a murderous look, but quickly turned her attention to Red Tide. Mockery cupped Red Tide¡¯s face in her huge hands. ¡°Battle-sister, you weren¡¯t meant to undertake this alone,¡± Mockery said softly. She peered deep into Red Tide¡¯s eyes, as if searching for something. Much to her chagrin, Red Tide found the woman¡¯s presence oddly comforting. ¡°You are safe here. Do not be disturbed by these visions, these hideous¡­¡± She trailed off, as if noticing the placid ocean for the first time. ¡°Oh, this isn¡¯t so bad.¡± ¡°It is as you suspected, my lady,¡± Esoteric chimed in. ¡°Her mind is well-suited to the frosswiss.¡± Mockery let go of Red Tide and rounded on him. ¡°You were meant to wait for me!¡± Esoteric bowed deeply, though his beard curled further upward to stay out of the water. ¡°Forgive me, my lady, but the moment felt right and Gauntlet does not have long.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll have your ear for this insolence,¡± Mockery said, and mimed a chopping motion. ¡°A price willingly paid if it means seeing Gauntlet tame the lurker, my lady.¡± ¡°Your conciliatory tone only makes me angrier!¡± Mockery¡¯s screaming sent ripples through the water and made Red Tide¡¯s head hurt. She glanced again to the woman on the stake¡ªGauntlet¡ªand her writhing. ¡°Enough,¡± Red Tide said. ¡°What am I supposed to do?¡± ¡°There is an old song, a song of the giants¡ª¡± Esoteric began. Mockery interposed herself between Red Tide and the trolkin mage. ¡°You need only sing for her,¡± Mockery said. ¡°The rest of his bullshit matters little. Use your Ink and sing.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know any fucking giant song,¡± Red Tide said. ¡°You will know it,¡± Esoteric said, over Mockery¡¯s broad shoulder. ¡°It will come.¡± Red Tide looked down at her hands. ¡°I need my harp.¡± ¡°It arrives presently,¡± Esoteric replied. Red Tide turned to her left and saw her harp¡ªthe beautiful, gleaming instrument¡ªborne across the water. It was carried by a fish, a barracuda, the biggest that Red Tide had ever seen. The fish floated on its back, sliced down its belly, the harp mounted in its guts. For a moment, dread and disgust filled her, and Red Tide quickly snatched the harp away, brushing it off. ¡°Geez, Red,¡± said the fish, with Cuda Bite¡¯s voice. ¡°They told me to get it. I was careful not to scuff it.¡± Red Tide shook her head and squeezed her eyes shut. When she opened them, the gutted fish was gone, leaving her alone with the three trolkin. She sighed. ¡°Fine,¡± Red Tide said. ¡°What now?¡± ¡°Your [Healing Song] and [Hypnotic Object],¡± Mockery said, with a note of reverence. ¡°I will begin and you will take it from there.¡± ¡°Fuck it,¡± Red Tide said. ¡°Go on, then.¡± The three of them turned to face Gauntlet. Red Tide strummed a tentative note. Mockery opened her mouth to sing but, when she did, nothing but sea water came bubbling out. The water was joined by small chunks of ice, the trolkin puking all this out into the ocean below, the noise like a waterfall cascading over a cliff. In the pattering impact, Red Tide heard notes. Red Tide strummed her harp to match, making chords without thinking. As Mockery had instructed, she activated [Hypnotic Object] and [Healing Song]. When she began to sing, it was more than just words moving air, better than some land-walker song could ever be. She found that she could sing like she did under the water¡ªthrough pulses and vibrations that painted vivid pictures¡ªthough the notes of her harp came through clear and sharp. The words did come to her. They filled Red Tide until she felt huge. She sang of where the ice met the water; she sang of giant hands splitting open the horizon and letting light pour forth; she sang of opening arteries the size of rivers and letting poison spill free; she sang of eons waiting for that muck to freeze and then shaping it with careful hands; she sang of muscles and bone molding themselves in the womb of the winter and being born anew. Her Ink felt hot on her chest. The song demanded much. It was a song that even the ge¡¯ema, these gods of man who had given her Ink, found taxing. She would fade soon. But she could see that it was working. Slowly, inch by inch, Gauntlet slipped the binds that tied her to the stake, leaving the lurker stuck to roast in the sun that suddenly burned down from the once rosy sky. Bits of the entity still clung to the trolkin woman¡¯s shoulders, creating a mantle of deep blue shadow and silver fur, but her Ink filled back in and her shaking stopped. Gauntlet straightened and met Red Tide¡¯s eyes. ¡°By Sulk, I was deep. I was deep and you¡¯ve pulled me out.¡± Somewhere, far, far behind Red Tide, her dead father shrieked. He would do more than slap her if he ever got close enough. It was Mockery who caught Red Tide when she passed out.
84. [Red Tide] Killing Feather
Red Tide, Enchantress of the 4th Renown, The Reef, not such a bad hangover Cuda Bite, Throne Gazer, Salt Wall, the champions of the Reef, and Turtle Jaw, their Quill, preparing for a fight Gauntlet, Healer of the 3rd Renown, the Trolkin, once believed in bountiful harvests Mockery, Knife Master of the 8th Renown and Quill of the Trolkin, once believed in meritocracy
26 Meltzend, 61 AW The Crown, North Continent 94 days until the next Granting Red Tide awoke back in the vault filled with empty coffers. Turtle Jaw crouched next to her, the look of concern on his square-shaped face melting away as her eyes fluttered open. He put a hand gently on Red Tide''s shoulder, as if to keep her from sitting up right away. ¡°How long was I out?¡± Red Tide asked, her voice scratchy. ¡°Almost a day,¡± Turtle Jaw replied quietly. ¡°At least, I think so. Hard to tell in this place. How do you feel?¡± Red Tide considered the question. Her mouth still tasted like burnt pine and walrus shit, but the rest of her body felt invigorated. She stretched her arms and legs out across the bedroll, arching her back. The last time she''d tried to sleep in here, she couldn''t manage it. Now, Red Tide luxuriated after what felt like the best rest she''d gotten in months. ¡°I''m fine,¡± she told Turtle Jaw. ¡°I was in the ocean.¡± The quill''s eyes widened like she''d seen them do when the man spotted some majestic feature of the foreign lands they trekked across. He leaned closer and his voice got even quieter. ¡°What did you see?¡± he asked her. ¡°In the smoke?¡± Red Tide''s eyes slid past him. Throne Gazer stood at a respectful distance, though she could tell he watched her with the same motherly interest as Turtle Jaw. Two gods damned penguins standing watch over a precious chick. When he saw that she was awake, Throne Gazer nodded to himself, and slipped out of sight. His departure did not disturb Cuda Bite who napped nearby with his feet propped up on a treasure chest. Red Tide''s eyes lingered on the young skulker. He had floated through her vision with his belly split open. ¡°Nothing,¡± she said, shaking the memory off. ¡°Bullshit. Bunch of trolkin bullshit.¡± ¡°Ah.¡± Turtle Jaw sat back, frowning. She could tell he was disappointed, but the warden didn''t press her further. Of course, Red Tide knew what she¡¯d seen was a bit more elaborate than mere trolkin bullshit. Cursed blood, dead gods, entities of malicious hunger and furious cold. She wouldn''t let herself get pulled into such matters. Mythology was for old men like Esoteric. It was worthless unless she could leverage it in the here and now. Red Tide had learned a song of the giants¡ªa powerful song¡ªbut the words were gone now, faded, and her mind felt stretched and empty as a result, like one of these abandoned vaults. ¡°You didn''t cover this in your pitch,¡± she said to Turtle Jaw, sitting up. ¡°When you lured me out of the Grotto with all your promises. You didn¡¯t tell me I¡¯d end up here.¡± ¡°No, I suppose I didn''t,¡± Turtle Jaw replied with a smile. ¡°It''s more interesting than the Grotto, though, isn''t it? The things that we¡¯ve seen¡­¡± Red Tide licked her teeth and spit. ¡°What good is interesting, old man? What good is interesting when I¡¯m this thirsty?¡± As Turtle Jaw grabbed her a waterskin, new movement drew Red Tide''s attention to the archway. The trolkin Gauntlet entered the room on long strides. She was as bulky and muscular as Red Tide had seen her in the smoke, her shining silver hair cropped close and spiky, her skin an icy blue. The ruined hand wasn''t some symbolism created by the frosswiss¡ªit was truly as mangled as Red Tide had seen, swollen flesh bursting forth from between the overlapping metal plates of a gauntlet. At least, Red Tide didn''t have to wonder how the trolkin chose her name. Gauntlet stopped next to Red Tide''s bed and dropped immediately to a knee, her head bowed. ¡°Red Tide of the Reef, I am in your debt,¡± Gauntlet said. ¡°You saw me through a battle that I had thought lost.¡± Everywhere she went on this continent, it seemed there were land-walkers willing to owe her something. Red Tide sat up a little straighter, but that effort still put the trolkin''s big head above her. So, she decided instead to lean back on her elbows, raising her eyebrows. ¡°What good is that?¡± Red Tide asked. ¡°To have you in my debt?¡± Gauntlet lifted her eyes. ¡°I am a healer. My skills are meant to preserve Lady Mockery, but if you or yours have need of me upon the island, I shall do everything in my power to assist you.¡± As she said this, the trolkin draped her bound hand across her heart. Red Tide recognized the symbol etched there¡ªthe circle in the shape of a shield. ¡°If you''re a healer, why don''t you fix that hand of yours?¡± Red Tide asked. ¡°Get that Sulkie glove off.¡± ¡°I like to remember where I came from,¡± Gauntlet said. ¡°The Ministry was good to me, though I failed them in the end.¡± Red Tide shrugged. The life story of the world''s most noble trolkin meant little to her, but it couldn''t hurt to have another ally on the island. She wasn''t sure what she was supposed to do now¡ªtap the trolkin''s shoulders with a sword like she''d see some of the southern knights do? Red Tide didn''t have anything handy. Luckily, at that moment, Mockery appeared in the archway. ¡°I sense that my battle-sister has returned to us,¡± Mockery bellowed. ¡°I came to tell you as much,¡± Blanket mumbled. Mockery''s wife crouched behind the knife master''s larger form. ¡°You sensed it from words I said to you, my lady.¡± Mockery reached back to slap the top of Blanket''s head, but otherwise kept her attention on Red Tide. Not wanting another trolkin crouched at her bedside, Red Tide scrambled to her feet, accepting a hand from Turtle Jaw as she did. ¡°You have done a great service to me, battle-sister,¡± Mockery said as she swaggered close, brushing Gauntlet aside. ¡°You''ve done my will without my even having to ask. We know each other''s minds, do we not?¡± ¡°It was your mage who asked for help,¡± Red Tide said. ¡°Did you cut his ear off?¡± The trolkin pulled her own hair. ¡°No, I forgot I promised that. Do you want me to?¡± You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story. Red Tide remembered how easily Mockery had murdered one of her fellow trolkin when she thought he had given the oca''em offense. Quickly, she shook her head. ¡°No,¡± Red Tide said. ¡°Leave him be. Ugly enough already with that fucking beard.¡± ¡°Ah, my battle-sister is merciful.¡± Mockery took two bounding steps forward, then hooked a finger in the collar of Red Tide''s tunic and peeked at her chest, a presumption that Red Tide couldn''t be bothered to address. ¡°Good. Your color is back. Let us go kill a troll.¡±
The murder of Feather began with the acquisition of a long, heavy plank of wood that Mockery picked out from a vault full of lumber. Mockery heaved the front end of the board onto her shoulder, Salt Wall took the back, and they set out through the Crown to the pit where Mockery had been housing the Ink-covered troll. Before that, Red Tide had given the gifts of coral she''d crafted¡ªlike the bracelet she had shaped for Throne Gazer¡ªto her other two champions. For Salt Wall, she''d created a coral cuff that fit snugly over the berserker''s thick bicep. And, for Cuda Bite, she had made two crisscrossing chains which he was meant to wear over his chest and back. Red Tide had brusquely explained what she had in mind with these armaments of coral and, unlike Throne Gazer, these other two didn''t complain about their growing dependence on her. Throne Gazer hadn''t spoken to her since Red Tide had come out of the smoke. That was fine. She still felt an unreasoning annoyance toward him. Red Tide didn¡¯t like the thought of him hovering about while she tripped through the frosswiss, acting all protective. She didn¡¯t need that. Even now, he walked beside Red Tide and she could tell by the thoughtful pout of his lips that the trident master was preparing to say something. Red Tide wasn''t in the mood. She picked up her pace so that she walked level with Mockery, figuring Throne Gazer wouldn''t start any conversations so close to the trolkin. She was surprised when Throne Gazer caught up to them, walking on Mockery''s other side. The trolkin simply grinned through the strain of her load, as if grateful for the company. ¡°Lady Mockery, if I may,¡± Throne Gazer began with the formal elocution that came so easy to him. ¡°Where do you come from?¡± Mockery stuck out her jaw, peering around the plank at him. ¡°What? I come from the belly of winter, Throne Man. The end of the world¨C¡± ¡°No, no,¡± he cut her off gently. ¡°Originally. You have a mage and a paladin of Sulk in your service. But what were you, before you were this?¡± The trolkin''s expression darkened. ¡°Past is passed here. The before doesn''t matter.¡± ¡°You told me that past, present, and future are the same.¡± Red Tide wasn''t entirely sure why she spoke up. She supposed she was curious, too. ¡°All the same in the smoke,¡± Mockery said. ¡°You want to smoke with me, Throne Man? We can see whose mommy fucked them up harder.¡± Throne Gazer''s eyes narrowed a fraction, but he kept his tone carefully neutral. ¡°You said everything in the north is shared. Share your story with us, Lady Mockery. I would fully know who we''re allied with.¡± Grunting, Mockery shot Red Tide a questioning look. A look that asked ¡®do I have to?¡¯ Red Tide shrugged her shoulders in response. They had all shared naming songs when they escaped from the Grotto¡ªwell, all except for Throne Gazer¡ªbut he had shown himself in time. After the gruesome scenes at the trolkin encampment, it was only now, after the frosswiss, that Red Tide had started to understand the trolkin more as people than mad beasts. Maybe it was the same for Throne Gazer. He sought some common ground with their new allies. Perhaps Mockery read some of this in her battle-sister''s face, because she sighed through her nose. ¡°I was born to a place of manners and culture and deals. High houses and their powerful bloodlines. Do you know the city of Penchenne?¡± Red Tide nodded. ¡°We met some of them on the road. Sassy little bitch and her dopey champion.¡± ¡°I came from a lesser house, always looking to impress, always scrabbling after our betters,¡± Mockery continued. ¡°The frosswiss was a game to them. A diversion. A dare. And oh, how I wanted to show them how brave I could be by filling my lungs. I was their favorite little sideshow, dancing and screaming and doing battle with the lurker, singing prophecies as they passed me around their salons. I made them laugh and laugh, with my panic, with my baffling strength.¡± With her free hand, Mockery dragged her thumb across her scarred chest. ¡°Not so amusing the night that I cut myself. I needed to make space for the knives, you see? I saw them waiting for me in the smoke. All that blood and meat wasn¡¯t so amusing. No. The little, scrabbling lower house girl wasn¡¯t such a delight then. Dumped on a beach and left to bleed. But soon, the winter came for me, and I walked away from all of that.¡± She turned her head to look around the beam, peering at Throne Gazer. ¡°Do you know me better now, my lord? Are you satisfied?¡± Throne Gazer stared straight ahead. ¡°I do,¡± he replied. ¡°I am.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll see them again,¡± Mockery whispered, her voice only for Red Tide now. ¡°I¡¯ll make them laugh again. Oh, they will laugh, and laugh.¡± They arrived to the half-crumbled passage that led out to the troll¡¯s pit. With the collapsed wall, the hallway was only wide enough for three of them to stand shoulder-to-shoulder. It would be tight for the troll, which gave them an advantage. Red Tide noticed that the smashed bodies that had littered the passage had all been cleaned up. ¡°I fed him well. Got him nice and fat and sated,¡± Mockery said. ¡°Maybe makes him easier to kill.¡± Even from here, Red Tide could hear the troll¡¯s frustrated pacing, his footfalls vibrating the broken stone. She doubted the meal had been big enough that the beast wouldn¡¯t want more. Mockery and Salt Wall set the plank down. Then, Mockery motioned for Salt Wall to switch places with her. ¡°You want to be up front I assume, eh, big girl?¡± Salt Wall nodded. ¡°It¡¯s what I do.¡± Mockery grinned. ¡°So, we push the plank in. Feather climbs up. You kill him. They heal quickly, so you¡¯ll want to hack the head off as soon as you can.¡± She looked the oca¡¯em over. ¡°You know how to game the gods, right?¡± Turtle Jaw stepped forward. ¡°What do you mean by that?¡± ¡°Everybody does their part, everybody gets a little Ink. He¡¯s got enough on him that you should be able to share, long as nobody glory hounds.¡± Mockery looked at Red Tide. ¡°Easy kill if you hypnotize him, so give the others a chance first, huh?¡± She dropped her voice theatrically. ¡°Or don¡¯t!¡± With that, Mockery maneuvered to the back of the plank, ready to shove it forward. Cuda Bite squeaked. ¡°Hold on. You aren¡¯t going to help?¡± ¡°It¡¯s your Ink, that was the deal,¡± Mockery said. ¡°Suppose he gets by you, I¡¯ll have no choice. So don¡¯t fuck it up.¡± Mockery waited for the oca¡¯em to arrange themselves. Salt Wall stood closest to the pit, her hook fitted tightly over her hand. Throne Gazer took position a few steps behind her. Before falling back, Red Tide used [Poisonous], coating both their weapons in a toxic brown sludge, then did the same for Cuda Bite¡¯s daggers. She and the skulker put a good distance between them and the others, nearly at the end of the passageway. Turtle Jaw, meanwhile, wisely put himself behind even Mockery. ¡°I hate this,¡± Cuda Bite said to her. ¡°Be careful,¡± Red Tide replied. ¡°Obviously,¡± Cuda Bite said, then glanced at her. ¡°Wait. Why¡¯d you say it like that?¡± ¡°How¡¯d I say it?¡± ¡°All serious.¡± ¡°Because this is serious, idiot.¡± ¡°Yeah, but¡ª¡± ¡°Whee!¡± screamed Mockery. The trolkin shoved the plank across the ground, it slid into the pit, and the troll scrambled upward like he¡¯d been waiting for the board to drop. More than double the height of an oca¡¯em, rippling with animal muscle, covered with icy fur that crackled as it galloped forward on all fours¡ªFeather didn¡¯t hesitate to assess its situation. He came straight for Salt Wall. Red Tide used [Coral Tender] and manipulated the cuff on Salt Wall¡¯s arm. Tiny coral spikes bit into her skin, activating her [Bloodlust]. Better, Red Tide figured, to damage Salt Wall themselves than to wait for her to be hurt in battle. Feather¡¯s fist pounded down at Salt Wall. She met the blow with a roar and barely lost any ground, burying her hook between the troll¡¯s second and third knuckle. She ripped backward, spilling blood and ripping muscle, and spreading Red Tide¡¯s poison through the creature¡¯s hand. As the flesh tried to knit back together, it bubbled and rotted. Throne Gazer hurled his trident at the troll, but the monster¡¯s reflexes were sharp. He batted the weapon aside with his free hand. Throne Gazer tried to use [Weapon Return], but Feather lunged forward as he tried to make the catch. He slapped Throne Gazer against the wall and maybe would¡¯ve crushed him if Red Tide hadn¡¯t used [Coral Tender] again, extending Throne Gazer¡¯s shield. He braced himself behind the coral as Red Tide formed a cushion of spikes on the barrier¡¯s front that dug into the troll¡¯s forearm. The creature raised its arm, carrying Throne Gazer with it, his legs flailing. Salt Wall bulled into the opening as the troll raised its other arm. She raked at his belly, pulling out guts like digging stuffing out of a mattress. The troll wailed, enraged, and snapped its powerful jaws down at Salt Wall. ¡°Oh, fuck it,¡± Cuda Bite said. There was nothing but shadows in the passageway, so when the skulker used [Shadow Step], he was able to drop right onto the troll¡¯s broad shoulders. He hacked down with his knife¡ªthe eye, the throat, the eye again¡ªbefore the troll bucked and tossed Cuda Bite toward the pit behind him. Cuda Bite used [Shadow Step] again, collapsing in a heap next to Red Tide. ¡°That was good, right?¡± Cuda Bite said. ¡°Enough for me to get some?¡± Red Tide swung her harp off her shoulder without response. She began to play. The troll again snapped down at Salt Wall, but this time reeled backward as a glob of water formed around his head. Throne Gazer had used [Summon Bubble], trapping the creature¡¯s head within an orb of water. Suddenly, animal savagery gave way to survival instincts, and Feather, spilling blackened blood and shredded intestines, gulping water instead of air, tried to double-back for the pit. Red Tide used [Hypnotic Object]. She sang a song of giving in. She sang a song of drowning. And, in blood and water, the troll did as she asked. 85. [The Symbologist] As the Worm Turns
The Symbologist, attendant of the gods, keeper of the symbols
What is time? What is space? The symbologist existed only when one of the champions had need of it. There was no place that it went to rest when it was not in use. The symbologist served its purpose¡ªagain and again¡ªand there was nothing else. But the gods had given the symbologist some awareness. In moments when a champion mulled which Ink to take, the symbologist could let its mind wander. The symbologist had long ago come to terms with itself. Although many of its visitors found the symbologist¡¯s form repulsive, it did not mind being a worm. Its skin was like tightly layered paper and, if someone was to pry between its wrinkles, all the arcane knowledge of the gods would come spilling out. Runes long forgotten by even the Magelab were burrowed deep in the symbologist¡¯s small body. The symbologist did not mind its tattered robe, either. Its holes were familiar, unchanging, and gave some comfort. The gods had imbued the symbologist with logic and empathy. It was important that it be able to guide champions and to offer advice. The gods had their favorites¡ªthe symbologist knew this¡ªbut it was not allowed to show preference. There were rules to the Granting and the gods¡¯ protection that were ingrained in the symbologist¡¯s essence. The gods were bound by these rules as much as the champions and their quills, and the symbologist was their arbiter. Enforcement of these rules was why the symbologist had been created. An unassuming, worm-shaped hinge on which the entire apparatus swung. The symbologist felt discomfort only when a champion who existed in violation of these rules entered its domain. Thus, it felt a vague sense of unease when called upon to serve the assassin Wrathful Elephant. ¡°Hello, slave,¡± the assassin said. The symbologist did not respond. They stood in a darkened alley with a glowing well in between them. The symbologist could read the minds of the champions. It could not go digging too deeply¡ªnor did it ever have the urge¡ªbut the symbologist was allowed to glean enough to make appropriate alterations to its domain. The symbologist was meant to put these people at ease, and so it often made for them a place of meaning. Not so with the assassins. The symbologist could not read them; it could not see beyond their masks. And so, for them, the symbologist always chose this dismal thoroughfare. ¡°Is there a bonus for finishing first?¡± Wrathful Elephant asked. ¡°No,¡± the symbologist replied. The assassin had gotten his Ink from the Nortmost. The cycle of trials was one way that the symbologist kept time. It was not responsible for distributing the Ink into the world, but it could sense how much was available. Ten champions would make gains from scaling the mountain. The gods were slightly less generous this year than last. The symbologist did not wonder why. Wrathful Elephant sighed. ¡°Fine. Show me what you have in emotional manipulation. Anger. Rage. You know what I¡¯m after.¡± The symbologist did. The wearers changed, but the masks tended toward the same patterns. The symbologist showed Wrathful Elephant the rune for [Enrage].
When the bartender from Soldier¡¯s Rest arrived, the symbologist changed its realm to resemble a tavern, albeit an empty one with a floor made of soft sand. Traveon Twiceblack rubbed his hands together for warmth, sighing as he caught sight of the crackling fire in the hearth. Then, he turned to the symbologist, who stood hunched behind the bar, its many-fingered hands folded in front of it. ¡°If you''re leaning, you should be cleaning,¡± Traveon said as he strolled to the bar. ¡°That''s what my boss always said.¡± ¡°Interesting,¡± said the symbologist. ¡°Not really,¡± Traveon replied. He took a seat across from the symbologist and smiled. ¡°So, what rarities do you have for me this time, friend?¡± During their first meeting, the symbologist had been allowed to offer Traveon [Improbable Occurrence]. The rune had strict requirements that were rarely met by champions, and yet Traveon achieved them despite arriving as only 2nd renown. However, there were no more advantages waiting for Traveon. Behind the symbologist, a menu of symbols unfolded, revealing the options for the [Skulker] class. ¡°No rarities, I fear,¡± the symbologist said. ¡°But many choices.¡± ¡°So there are,¡± Traveon said, thumbing his chin. ¡°You know, I saw some crazy shit on that mountain. Mages on a flying raft with some magic shield getting shot down like it was nothing. Could I do that with my [Deadeye], symbologist?¡± ¡°Your [Deadeye] improves your aim,¡± the symbologist replied. ¡°This was more than just good aim, my friend,¡± Traveon said. ¡°What did they use to make that shot, do you think?¡± Beyond generalities, it was against the rules for the symbologist to discuss the choices other champions made with their Ink. Regardless, the symbologist had no way of knowing exactly what had transpired on the mountain that had so impressed Traveon. ¡°I cannot say,¡± the symbologist replied. ¡°Hm.¡± Traveon glanced up at the runes arrayed above them. ¡°[Trajectory]. [Open Weak Point]. [Unerring Shot]. These all sound good.¡± ¡°[Unerring Shot] is beyond your current renown,¡± the symbologist gently corrected. ¡°Nothing gets by you,¡± Traveon said. He crossed his arms and leaned back, reading the symbols again. ¡°Control the path of my arrows or open gaps for them to hit. I guess everyone who favors a bow ends up here eventually, huh?¡± ¡°Either ability will serve you well. And, I suspect you will find that both create interesting interactions with your [Improbably Occurrence]. Angles of fire, perhaps, that would be impossible for others to even theorize.¡± ¡°Oh, well, I do love an impossible angle,¡± Traveon said. ¡°You¡¯ve made yourself a sale, symbologist. [Trajectory] it is.¡± This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
Another champion from Soldier''s Rest arrived next. The politics of the human world mattered little to the symbologist, but it could appreciate newness. As with Traveon before her, the broken wall tattoo on the serious-looking woman''s neck was a variation. The symbologist had seen factions rise and factions fall, and it never knew the fate of individual champions¡ªeventually, they all stopped showing up in its realm. However, the symbologist would consider it a failure of guidance if none of these champions of Soldier''s Rest returned to him after the next Granting. It had advised them well on the rarities the gods chose for them. ¡°I want a horse,¡± Rivian Stonespirit told the symbologist. ¡°Yes,¡± it replied. ¡°That can be arranged.¡±
Next came Orryn es-Salvado, the beastlord of Infinzel. An old faction and an old name. The symbologist had seen much of both over the decades, although the young man''s class was unusual for his people. Orryn''s mind felt agitated¡ªguilt and fear, an unfortunate mixture bubbling into paranoia¡ªand so the symbologist brought him to a tranquil fishing spot on a river in springtime, the great pyramid of Infinzel visible in the distance. Here was a place that Orryn held dear in his mind because his grandfather had once brought him here, just the two of them fishing, a rare bit of attention for any with the Salvado blood. However, the location did not have the desired effect of calming Orryn¡¯s mind. The beastlord paled immediately, shoving his hands into his hair. He looked toward Infinzel as if someone were watching him from the top floor, although such feelings grew entirely from his imagination. Still, the symbologist felt some regret. It did not like to misjudge an interaction. ¡°I tried to do what he asked, but I don''t think it worked,¡± mumbled Orryn. He spun toward the symbologist, who stood in the cool mud of the riverbank. ¡°Why did you bring me here, worm? What is this supposed to mean? Some reprimand from my grandfather?¡± The symbologist chose not to reply. To explain itself would be unlikely to make the Salvado boy less hysteric. Orryn stumbled over to the edge of the river and peered down into the water, peeking over his toes as if looking down from a great height. ¡°They told me to keep going and so I did¡ªI made the top only to see Traveon of all people beat me there. But I got the Ink, didn¡¯t I? And I did¡­ I did my duty.¡± The symbologist rustled its robes. Best to be about their business and release this young man back into the world. The [Beastlord] runes bobbed on the river, etched onto smooth stones, and divided by a gentle current. ¡°You have achieved the fourth level of renown, Orryn es-Salvado,¡± the symbologist said. ¡°Now is the time when many beastlords choose a specialization. Mastery over beasts, or master among beasts.¡± ¡°I need a way to escape,¡± Orryn said, quickly. ¡°In case she survives and turns them against me. I need¡­¡± Orryn pointed at the rune for [Minor Transformation]. ¡°You would become a rat,¡± the symbologist said, no judgement in the words. ¡°There are other possibilities available, but this seems most¡ª¡± ¡°Yes, yes,¡± Orryn replied. ¡°Small and quick. That is what I need now, worm.¡± ¡°Then it is done.¡±
The lumberjocks from Fornon were the next to be summoned to the symbologist¡¯s realm. If the symbologist thought it would benefit the champions to communicate during their selection, it was allowed to bring them all in together. The foremost amongst Fornon¡¯s champions, however, the one called Breck Bucksap, had taken Ink on the mountain but it was not enough to increase his already considerable renown. He would have to endure another trial¡ªor perform well at the Granting¡ªto see his skills improved. The symbologist could sense those champions with unfinished Ink lingering out in the world. Although the symbologist had no mouth, those champions felt to it like words stuck on the tip of its tongue. Like Breck Bucksap, the axe master of Penchenne, Theo Adamantios, took the Nortmost¡¯s Ink but did not earn a new tier of renown. Thus, nine rewards from the Nortmost had been given. Only the tenth remained.
The symbologist had dealt with this one before. It did not particularly care for her. Carina Goldstone¡¯s Ink was unnatural¡ªlaced through with crimson in places. The symbologist had not made those markings. They had been done by the gods themselves in conjunction with some other force that the symbologist was not allowed to devote thought to. Although her initial abilities were beyond her renown, the logician had since abided by the rules. Still, the symbologist found her presence discomfiting. Although, that feeling lessened somewhat, as Carina put her head between her knees and began to cry. ¡°Gods, I regret it all,¡± she said. ¡°I should¡¯ve done something else. I did not need to be¡ªto be¡ªto be this.¡± She sat on the sand in the symbologist¡¯s approximation of Infinzel¡¯s training ground. Her state in the symbologist¡¯s realm mirrored her physical one, and so the symbologist could tell that the young woman had been freshly healed of some grievous injury. The pain still lingered. And guilt, too¡ªguilt at being here, instead of some others, who she felt deserved the Ink more, though this was a feeling at war with her unforgiving practicality. The symbologist sensed that the logician only let herself cry here, in a place that wasn¡¯t real, so that it had never technically happened. ¡°Carina Goldstone,¡± the symbologist intoned. ¡°You have reached the fourth level of renown.¡± The logician ignored the symbologist. She scrubbed her hands across her face, heedless of the coarse grains of sand that rubbed across her lips and nostrils. ¡°My mind is a box of snakes,¡± she said. ¡°All poison and fangs.¡± The symbologist thought it understood. One like Carina Goldstone was not meant to have [Future Sight]. It was a skill reserved for mages of high renown and a few similar classes. She had not accessed the proper skills to support the ability, to prepare her mind. As it had the last time Carina visited, the symbologist brought forth the runes for [Acuity+], [Wisdom+], and [Arcana+]. These would not fully correct course for the logician, but they might make her abilities less taxing on her psyche. ¡°Once again, I must suggest¡ª¡± ¡°No.¡± At last, Carina snapped her red-rimmed eyes to the symbologist. She wiped her forearm across her face and shook her head. ¡°Symbologist, I want [Artificer].¡± The symbologist paused. An ability that would allow her to do rune-work of her own on objects, but with less demanded in return to appease the gods. The symbologist always felt a bit of kinship with those rare few who sought out [Artificer]. Not so with Carina. It wondered exactly what this young woman might attempt to create, and felt a rare sense of threat. However, the symbologist had no choice but to comply.
¡°Fuck yes!¡± Cuda Bite shouted. ¡°That was some beautiful slaying, right? We can all agree that felt good?¡± ¡°Stop yelling,¡± Salt Wall replied. ¡°You¡¯ll bother the worm.¡± In truth, the symbologist did not mind the exuberance of the oca¡¯em. The trial of the Nortmost was over and time had surely moved on in the world of man, but for the symbologist it felt like only seconds ago that it had been dealing with a crying logician. The four oca¡¯em spread out upon the beach, the symbols of their classes and species arrayed on great walls of seashell, were a welcome change of pace. Of course, the symbologist expressed none of this. It stood by in its tattered robes and waited. ¡°We killed a troll!¡± Cuda Bite yelled. He attempted to shake Salt Wall by the shoulders, but the larger woman would not be budged. ¡°We did it together! Like, I¡¯m not saying we do a group hug or something¡ª¡± ¡°Good,¡± Red Tide interrupted. ¡°But by the tides, Red,¡± Cuda Bite continued, spinning toward her. ¡°If we fight like that, I¡¯m starting to think we can survive this bullshit.¡± Red Tide pointedly turned her attention to the runes for [Enchantress]. ¡°It was well fought,¡± Throne Gazer said evenly. ¡°Now, can we take this moment to agree that we leave the trolkin immediately? I have had enough of the north.¡± ¡°What¡¯re you looking at me for?¡± Red Tide snapped. ¡°Yes. Pick a tattoo and saddle up your fucking dogs.¡± Throne Gazer nodded and folded his hands behind his back. ¡°We should choose our abilities with defense in mind,¡± he said. ¡°We must not let ourselves become overconfident.¡± ¡°If I may,¡± the symbologist spoke at last. ¡°I have some recommendations.¡± After some discussion, the berserker Salt Wall chose [Draining Weapon], which would strengthen her body with every wound inflicted by her hook. Cuda Bite, the skulker, chose [Blindness], which would let him inflict a temporary lack of vision on an opponent. Throne Gazer, the trident master, once again selected from the skills unique to his people. He chose [Wall of Water], making good on his suggestion to choose defensively. And, finally, the enchantress Red Tide chose [Wailing Song]. The antithesis of her [Healing Song], the ability would cause the unallied who heard her music to suffer great agony. ¡°It is done,¡± the symbologist said. ¡°I look forward to our next meeting, champions of the Reef.¡±
The symbologist did not dream. The symbologist did not have nightmares. Yet, even in its times of nonexistence, the symbologist was aware when new Ink entered into the world. Even when that Ink did not come from the symbologist¡¯s own supply, but from somewhere dark and hot and ancient. The symbologist felt the crimson Ink like a distant cancer. Like a sizzling tumor hissing its way to the surface of a body. The Granting was governed by rules. The symbologist enforced them. But not all abided by them.
86. [Uicha] Cut Bait The fat King Hectore of Infinzel plodded across the map of the island, pausing every few steps to glance up at his brother. Cizco Firstson-Salvado sat with the rest of the pyramidal city¡¯s champions. He nodded subtly when the king reached a spot on the island¡¯s southern half, a valley where the mountains would be at their backs and no hostile camps would be positioned too close. ¡°Here,¡± King Hectore said. ¡°I choose here.¡± King Mudt hooted. ¡°He chooses!¡± The Orvesian turned around to search for Cizco amongst the champions. ¡°The island is not big enough to hide from me, mage! A week is not long enough to build a wall!¡± Cizco regarded King Mudt coolly but his brother, the Quill, who would not be doing any of the actual fighting, shuddered and grimaced. ¡°Your wish, Infinzel?¡± the gods asked. And here, we arrive at a matter of some historical dispute. It was long believed that Cizco Firstson-Salvado dictated what his older brother would wish for. In the years following the First Granting, as he claimed the throne of Infinzel for his own, Cizco would let these rumors circulate. They served his growing reputation. However, letters recovered from the Penchenne Diplomatic Archive indicate that the brothers had discussed other plans for their first wish. Not wanting to arouse the ire of other factions, Cizco had privately advocated for a peaceful wish, one that would benefit Infinzel and do no harm to their enemies. He pushed his brother the king to wish for stone that would be more susceptible to ward-work. This would be in keeping with King Cizco¡¯s wish at the Second Granting, when he successfully blessed the stones of Infinzel. Thus, in that first year, we are left to conclude that King Hectore made a unilateral decision in discarding his brother¡¯s advice. What possessed King Hectore? Years of siege, certainly. Or, perhaps, it was the blustering presence of King Mudt himself, who had attempted to stab Hectore to death when the gods first summoned the Quills and who had now wished for the collapse of Infinzel. We are reminded, as well, of Hectore¡¯s marital difficulties, his morbid humors, and his loosening grip on reality. Are these factors in their totality enough to turn a sniveling coward into a mass murderer? Perhaps such explanations are unnecessary. Perhaps atrocity becomes simple when the gods are one¡¯s instrument. ¡°Annihilation,¡± King Hectore declared, staring down at his feet. ¡°I wish for Orvesis to be annihilated.¡± King Mudt chuckled. ¡°What did he say? What is this word?¡± ¡°Every blackbird and all their nests, everything they touch,¡± King Hectore continued. ¡°I wish to see it all annihilated.¡± The amphitheater stilled. Even after decades of war, none of the other Quills had thought to make a wish so uncompromising. ¡°Let the Granting begin,¡± intoned the gods. --Record of the First Granting and Dawning of the Second Age Lyus Crodd, Scribe of the Dead Kingdom of Orvesis
Uicha de Orak, Wildcard of the 5th Renown, representing The Forgotten One, just wants to fit in Akoni de Emasyn, Captain of the Dartmyth, time to set sail
12 Rainest, 61 AW Flamboyance, largest of the Flamingo Islands 78 days until the next Granting ¡°Are you the kid with blood for Ink?¡± The two islanders had waited for Akoni to visit the bar before they approached. At a glance, Uicha could tell they were sailors. Leanly muscled, grizzled, with red-rimmed eyes, they were likely burning through whatever pay they''d earned during their last voyage while waiting for the next boat to hire-on. Uicha had seen a lot of their type since he arrived in Flamboyance. These two were small-timers. Thanks to Akoni¡¯s tutelage, Uicha now had an idea of what to look for if he ever needed to hire a crew of his own. The sailors were both in their thirties and bedecked in jewelry that was mostly paste¡ªcheap fakes meant to enhance their reputations. Both were drunk, although the one who''d asked the question seemed sharper-eyed than his swaying friend a half-step behind him. Uicha looked right at them. Gods, half a year ago, he would''ve run from a confrontation like this. ¡°I don''t know who you''re talking about,¡± Uicha said. ¡°Go bother someone else.¡± The lead man snorted. ¡°Where you get that accent from? You ain¡¯t an islander, boy, talking like that.¡± Uicha turned slightly in his chair to gaze over the balcony. It was the rainy season in the islands and a lazy drizzle sprinkled down from the overhang. The bar was on the second floor of the building and overlooked the harbor where ships were still arriving and departing even at sunset. There were all sorts of islander vessels docked there, though the Dartmyth was the only blessed ship currently in Flamboyance, and thus granted a private berth and extra attention from the port¡¯s staff. In the last week, Uicha had watched ships come in from all over. There were deals to be made in Flamboyance. Islanders came here to fence the spoils of their piracy, but also to trade legitimate goods grown throughout the archipelago. And there weren''t any shortage of foreigners, either, particularly those whose reputations kept them from doing business in their homelands. Uicha had been surprised by how many of the Bay¡¯s merchants he¡¯d seen on the streets, at least until Akoni explained how the fourteen families monopolized trade and squeezed out the little guy. There were banks and brokerages on every corner¡ªhell, there was a vault on the ground floor of this very bar, the owner just now locking up for the evening. Foreigners kept their money in the islands when they wanted to keep it hidden. The sailor snapped his fingers in Uicha¡¯s face. ¡°Hey, you,¡± he said. ¡°We still talking.¡± ¡°We aren¡¯t, though,¡± replied Uicha. ¡°They said the boy with blood Ink look like us, but he come from someplace else.¡± The sailor snapped his fingers again. ¡°That sound like you, don¡¯t it?¡± Uicha turned away from the view. ¡°Who said that?¡± ¡°Who said?¡± The sailor squinted his eyes, then turned to his friend. ¡°Who did say, huh?¡± The other man shook his head, and looked like he might vomit from the effort. ¡°People be talking,¡± the first sailor concluded. ¡°They say this creepy boy put the hurt on a merchant champion¡ªpow¡ªslap that bitch halfway across the ocean.¡± Uicha tried not to smile. ¡°Well, it wasn¡¯t me.¡± ¡°Prove it.¡± The sailor pointed at Uicha¡¯s neck. ¡°Show us your mark.¡± Despite the humidity, Uicha kept his short-sleeved shirt fully buttoned. He hadn¡¯t gone back to wearing bandages, though. Instead, Akoni had outfitted him with a choker of beads and feathers that dripped past his collar. The captain claimed the jewelry was in style and Uicha had seen a few other young people wearing similar ornaments, but they were mostly nesters¡ªthe skinny, smooth-handed bureaucrats that kept Flamboyance¡¯s network of businesses and bribery afloat. Non-sailors. Even after months on the Dartmyth, Uicha had to admit that he looked the part. If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement. Uicha leaned forward, his elbows on the table. ¡°If I am who you think I am, does it really seem wise to come over here and get into my business?¡± The sailor screwed up his face like he was trying to do some complex equation in his head. His friend¡ªmore bored than intimidated, Uicha thought¡ªtried to tug the other man toward the door. ¡°No, no,¡± the sailor said. ¡°I¡¯ll make you show me some of that magic.¡± The movement probably felt elegant in the drunkard¡¯s mind. He reached into his pocket, pulled a folding knife which he snapped open, and tossed the blade at Uicha. In all likelihood, the handle would¡¯ve bounced harmlessly off Uicha¡¯s shoulder. Even so, Uicha didn¡¯t hesitate to use his [Telekinesis]. He stopped the wobbly throw just enough so that he could pluck the knife out of the air, close it, and slide it back across the table. ¡°You dropped that,¡± Uicha said. The sailor made a noise somewhere between a grunt and a squeal. It had all happened so fast¡ªwhat Uicha had done could¡¯ve been a case of quick reflexes. Confusion in his bleary eyes, the sailor reached down to grab his knife, but Akoni¡¯s hand slapped down on it first. ¡°That¡¯s mine now, brother,¡± the captain said, his eyes glinting. ¡°Your boatswain been blowing his horn. It¡¯s past time to set sail, yet you ignore the call. Should I discipline you on his behalf?¡± The two sailors recognized Akoni¡ªif not specifically, by his angular beard and tidal wave of hair¡ªthen by the quality of his tailoring and the sparkle of his jewels. Everyone in the islands knew the look of a true captain. Akoni drummed his fingers lightly on the hilt of his scimitar as the two sailors backed away. ¡°No disrespect,¡± mumbled the one who hadn¡¯t spoken at all. As the two sailors slunk out the exit, Uicha looked around. While the drunks were the only ones bold enough to approach him, the rest of the tavern¡¯s patrons were all paying attention. His shoulders tightened at all the eyes upon him. ¡°Come on,¡± Akoni said to him, a bit of impatience in the captain¡¯s voice. ¡°I thought we were getting dinner.¡± ¡°Somewhere else,¡± Akoni replied. Moments later, they were out on the dirt streets of Flamboyance. The city swelled at this time of evening as sailors sauntered in from the water. Restaurants and taverns threw their doors open, their musicians competing to set the rhythm, dancing girls swaying in the windows. Akoni set a brisk pace away from the tavern¡ªhe had picked the place, calling it one of his favorites. Instead, now, he sidled up to a street vendor, dictating a kebob order while Uicha stood nearby feeling like he¡¯d done something wrong. ¡°I have seen your cock,¡± Kayenna Vezz said. ¡°It is not that big.¡± Uicha had largely stopped reacting when the Orvesian spirit inhabiting his body decided to manifest, though he flinched this time on account of her intimate observation. The dark-haired woman stood next to him, the circular scar around her neck like a choker of shadow. ¡°Excuse me?¡± Uicha hissed. ¡°You have the swagger of one of Mudt¡¯s warriors,¡± Kayenna said. ¡°This is unwise.¡± ¡°I didn¡¯t do anything,¡± Uicha murmured. ¡°Those guys came up to me.¡± ¡°You waste our time indulging in these fantasies,¡± Kayenna continued. She flicked her fingers in Akoni¡¯s direction. ¡°You are not a sailor. You are not his little brother. This man cannot help us anymore. Not where we¡¯re going.¡± ¡°He¡¯s the only one who¡¯s helped me so fa¡ª¡± Uicha snarled the words into his shoulder like a cough. But, as was her way once she¡¯d made herself understood, Kayenna was gone, and Akoni returned with charred meat and grilled fruit on a stick. ¡°Rain let up,¡± Akoni said. ¡°Let¡¯s walk.¡± The two of them wended their way through the energized streets, pulling apart their meals as they went. Uicha didn¡¯t think Akoni had any destination in mind, but it seemed like they were heading back to the harbor and the safety of the Dartmyth. They had been in Flamboyance for more than a week now and while Akoni had taken Uicha on a few excursions into the city, mostly they had stayed aboard the ship, continuing Uicha¡¯s education on the sailing skills that Akoni insisted every islander should know. Uicha had been content to let the days tick by. ¡°People are talking about me,¡± Uicha said. Akoni used his little finger to pick a bit of meat out of his teeth. ¡°I know, little brother. Rumors get around this place. They come to ask me, too.¡± Uicha felt a certain pride in this, a warmth spreading through him. He was doing as the Forgotten One had demanded. He still had a blot of unused chanic throbbing on his chest, like an organ his body couldn¡¯t yet make use of. But, did he want to do the bidding of that terrifying entity? Uicha felt the sudden urge to dart into the shadows of an overhang, to be unseen. He touched the beads on his neck to make sure they still covered him. ¡°I haven''t seen much of the others since we''ve been in port,¡± Uicha said. ¡°Chamberly, Sheppa¡­¡± Neither the navigator nor the medic had returned to the Dartmyth since they arrived in Flamboyance. This hadn¡¯t struck Uicha as odd until now. The stories about him had to come from somewhere, though. ¡°They got duties. Families to see.¡± These excuses sounded flat coming from the captain. He sighed and tossed away his skewer. ¡°Truth is, you spooked them a little bit.¡± Uicha blinked. ¡°They''re afraid of me?¡± Akoni shrugged. ¡°They didn''t say it in so many words, but a captain knows his crew.¡± ¡°But we¡ªyou told them my story,¡± Uicha said. He''d first spun up a version of what had happened with him and Ahmed Roh for Captain Akoni, then let the captain embellish it for the rest of the crew. He remembered that some of them had tears in their eyes when Akoni''s retelling had finished. ¡°And they sympathetic to that. An island boy tortured and experimented on by some bastard archmage? That is one thing, little brother.¡± Akoni sucked his teeth. ¡°It''s another to see what you can do. How you handled them champions and the octopus¡­¡± ¡°It''s not like they haven''t seen champions before,¡± Uicha replied. ¡°Curse was there. And you''re in line to take the Ink, aren''t you?¡± ¡°One day, maybe,¡± Akoni said, waving this possibility off. ¡°They seen how the Ink turned to dirt on your skin. They seen how Curse looked at you like you were his better. They think maybe you a dangerous thing to have around.¡± Uicha stopped walking. Of course, he knew that he couldn''t stay with the Dartmyth forever, but it had been the first place he''d felt welcome and safe since leaving Ambergran. ¡°Are you scared of me?¡± he asked Akoni. The captain stopped walking too, raised an eyebrow, and reached into his pocket for his pipe. ¡°Shoot. What reason I got to be scared of you?¡± ¡°No reason,¡± Uicha said. ¡°Exactly.¡± The captain lit his pipe. Nearby, a fast-paced drumbeat pulsed from a tavern, the dancers in the windows casting flickering shadows across Akoni. ¡°I kept your secrets and didn¡¯t ask questions, like I said when we met back in Noyega,¡± Akoni continued. He pointed the stem of his pipe back the way they had come. ¡°But, you know that¡¯s going to keep happening, right? You a prize, little brother. People going to keep trying to pry you open. That¡¯s big trouble for a little ship.¡± Uicha¡¯s mouth went dry and he dropped his half-finished kebab into a puddle. Gods, he was a fool. Akoni taking him out to a restaurant for a special dinner¡ªhow had he not seen the finality in that gesture? ¡°You¡¯re cutting me loose,¡± Uicha said. Akoni exhaled a cloud of smoke and walked closer. ¡°Don¡¯t make it sound worse than it is, Uicha. The Dartmyth needs to get back on the sea. We got to earn. I already spent longer docked than I planned and my crew getting restless. I got you where you wanted to go, didn¡¯t I?¡± ¡°Any port in a storm,¡± muttered Uicha. ¡°What happened to that?¡± ¡°I think it¡¯s all storms for you,¡± Akoni said, putting a hand on Uicha¡¯s shoulder. He wanted to shrug it off, but that would¡¯ve made him look too sullen. ¡°You got to stay ahead of them. Stay ahead of your own story. Better for you. Better for me, too, but better for you, especially, if I can say¡ªnah, I don¡¯t know where that boy went.¡± Uicha nodded, trying to keep his face a blank. ¡°When?¡± ¡°I told the others we¡¯d push off tomorrow,¡± Akoni said. ¡°Listen, I bribed a friend at the Admiralty¡­¡± They had passed by the statehouse of the Flamingo Islands¡ªone of the only buildings in Flamboyance made of stone¡ªon one of their walks. The place had been busy with sailors queuing up for work and merchants looking to pay or extract bribes from the powerful nesters within. Akoni had told Uicha they would stop by again when it wasn¡¯t so packed, but then had apparently gone back without him. ¡°Bric de Orak, that¡¯s your grandfather, right?¡± Uicha nodded, and Akoni produced a small bundle of documents from within his shirt. ¡°He¡¯s retired down on Sugarfoot. I set you up with a ticket for the ferry.¡± Uicha thumbed through the papers. There was a map of the archipelago marked up with his grandfather¡¯s location, a ticket for the cross-island ferry, and a list of the ships his grandfather had worked on. Bric had gotten multiple commendations from his captains, though he hadn¡¯t taken a job in almost ten years. ¡°I wasn¡¯t the first one to come asking about Bric,¡± Akoni continued, his expression turning grave. ¡°My friend said there was a man with the Noyegan dice a few weeks back. And then, just a couple days ago, someone else pulled his records, but my man couldn¡¯t remember who. He¡¯s got a head for faces and numbers, my friend does, so him going fuzzy¡­ that¡¯s unusual.¡± Someone from Noyega sniffing around after his grandfather and then a second party that sounded like they¡¯d used magic to conceal their identity. Uicha rubbed the back of his neck. He didn¡¯t like the sound of that. ¡°Is he in danger?¡± Uicha asked. ¡°With you coming to visit?¡± Akoni grinned. ¡°I¡¯d say it¡¯s those others who are in danger.¡± He grabbed Uicha around the shoulders and dragged him down the street. ¡°Come on. I¡¯d wanted to get drunk before this conversation, and now that it¡¯s done, I still do. You will still drink with me, won¡¯t you, little brother? It will only make me sadder if you¡¯re sore with me. I promise, the tides, they will reunite us one day¡­¡±
Uicha had tried to match Akoni drink-for-drink and, as usual, not quite been up the challenge. He still felt dizzy when he returned to his cabin aboard the Dartmyth. Dizzy and wounded. Akoni was putting him into a dinghy and shoving him out to sea. At least the rum made the sting of this abandonment easier to accept. The captain had laid out plans for him, done everything in his power to help¡ªbut still, Uicha could not shake the feeling that the rest of the crew viewed him like a dangerous freak. And now, he would be alone again. Well, he had Kayenna. In a way, Uicha could never be alone anymore. Of course, the witch did not appear to console him. That wasn¡¯t in her nature. It was after midnight when Uicha found himself stumbling around his cabin, packing his few things into his backpack. Pausing to drunkenly consider his situation, he then hastily unpacked them, rooting around in his pack until he found the vials he¡¯d stashed in the bottom. Chanic. He had three tubes of the stuff, taken from Ahmed Roh¡¯s supply before fleeing the archmage¡¯s boat. He had been ignoring the vials, not eager for another visit with the Forgotten One. But now, Uicha had unfinished crimson pooled on his chest, and if he was going to be on his own, he would need more power to protect himself. He wondered how much he would need to use to gain another level of renown. There was only one way to find out. Uicha uncorked one of the vials and had himself a nightcap.
87. [Uicha] Whats Old is New
Uicha de Orak, Wildcard of the 5th Renown, representing the Forgotten One, getting into shape His patron, the Forgotten One, not unreasonable all things considered And, an interested party
13 Rainest, 61 AW Flamboyance, largest of the Flamingo Islands 77 days until the next Granting Uicha''s second trip down to the Forgotten One was somewhat less agonizing than the first. It got off to an easier start. He did not descend at the end of a panicked escape attempt, after weeks of torture, with glass vials of chanic smashed across his chest and face, and the coppery liquid thick in his throat. This time, he dribbled the chanic into his palm and let it hiss up his forearm. The crimson paint knew where to go, drawn to the pooled blot on his chest. Uicha knew he¡¯d poured out enough when he felt himself begin to sink. As the crushing weight of the world enveloped him, Uicha reminded himself that he had chosen this. He wanted the power. Perhaps all the drinks with Akoni had loosened his mind. Or, perhaps, he was simply getting used to powerful forces toying with his consciousness. As the darkness and heaviness of the Forgotten One¡¯s prison obliterated him, he clung to the notion that this wasn¡¯t real death. His physical body was still slumped in his cabin aboard the Dartmyth. He had not truly been dragged down into the planet''s core. His body was not actually splitting apart from the pressure. His bones were not floating through the earth shiny and fossilized. He would wake up from this nightmare. It was all in his head. And yet, that meant the Forgotten One was in his head, too. A throbbing crimson pulse down in those smothering depths. Uicha could sense the enormity of the entity lurking just beyond his perception. His mind was like a mouse hole in a wall and the Forgotten One had poked but a little finger in to feel around. It could tear the entire house down if it wished. Uicha remembered Akoni''s story of an islander misusing chanic and having his lungs leap out from his body. Could something like that happen to him if he displeased his patron? No. The word rumbled through Uicha like a tremor in the earth and he was nothing but dirt. You do not have the capacity to displease me, child. Those others? Who paint themselves in my blood? Their successes are amusements. Their deaths are provocations. Do you understand? I do not punish small things such as you. Although his body felt like it was pressed into a vice, a strange sense of gratitude blossomed within Uicha. The Forgotten One did not act with malice. Those who botched symbols made from chanic were destroyed because of the rules that bound the world. With the Forgotten One¡¯s protection, Uicha would not suffer that fate. I will guide you, child. Until you die in my service. Well, that didn¡¯t sound so great to Uicha. His mind recoiled. Or until I am freed. Uicha wondered how he was supposed to do that. His teeth ground together in his head. To even move his lips down here was impossible. You will find others. Ones like you. Those who your gods have lost their hold on. People who had lost their Ink. Uicha could not imagine how he was supposed to go about doing that. He knew the Ink could change and he¡¯d heard stories about other people who had lost their symbols for a time. These were rare occurrences, though. Not something that could be predicted or hunted down. Miracles. Yes. You must be known so that the others can seek you out. Uicha was already too well known for his liking. That was why he had used one of his vials of chanic. Because he needed more power to deal with the people after him. The Orvesians. The archmages. Probably Merchant¡¯s Bay now. Everywhere he went, he faced curiosity and confrontation. He could not travel the world relying on bandages or beads to hide his markings. If he was to do the Forgotten One¡¯s bidding, there were times he would need to be discreet. Otherwise, his days would be wasted on petty battles whenever the rumors caught up with him. Yes, child. I see the wisdom in your request. Like razor-skinned worms burrowing through the dirt, Uicha felt the crimson Ink taking new shape on his chest. You have achieved the sixth level of renown. I grant you [Shapeshifter].
Uicha''s shirt was soaked through with sweat, so he tore it off and dropped it wetly onto the floorboards. Blood tingled under his skin, pumping hard through his arteries. He shook out his limbs and felt relief, like he¡¯d just crawled out from a narrow space. He could sense the curved whorls of the new Ink, but he could not see the new symbol on his chest. That wasn¡¯t exactly his chest. Uicha''s skin was darker now, his muscular sternum covered in coarse hair. He gazed down at a sculpted abdomen, each muscle visible and pronounced. Rolling his rounded shoulders, Uicha realized that he didn''t feel any stronger, although he certainly looked like he should be. He stared at himself in the mirror. The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings. Captain Akoni de Emasyn stared back. Uicha touched his throat. He bore the symbol of the Flamingo Islands¡ªa treasure chest with a broken lock¡ªin pure, black Ink. The crimson of his true markings were hidden beneath this illusion. His Ink might not have been visible, but Uicha could still sense the strain on [Shapeshifter]. He flexed one of Akoni''s biceps in the mirror and considered the limits of this ability. Uicha could take the shape of anyone he had ever seen, although the fuzzier the memory, the more difficult the transformation would be to hold. Because he knew Akoni well, Uicha thought he could hold this form for hours. He could not invent a shape for himself, or take on inhuman characteristics, or become a beast. Uicha flexed Akoni''s weathered fingers, but sensed no deft knot-tying ability there, no sturdy power. He did not inherit any of Akoni''s strength or skills when taking his form¡ªhe was still Uicha underneath. ¡°Little brother,¡± he said to himself in the mirror, his voice just like Akoni''s. Uicha shuddered. He had a vision of Akoni entering his cabin to check on him and felt a sudden rush of embarrassment at being caught in this state. The wincing face in the mirror was not an expression he''d ever seen the true Akoni make. Hurriedly, Uicha used [Shapeshifter] to change back into himself. But not his present self. He restored the Uicha of Ambergran. Shorter hair, a more boyish face, not yet so lined and haunted, a wheat stalk on his throat instead of an empty red box. Because Uicha knew his own shape best of all, he sensed that he could hold this form for even longer. He tried to make a minor alteration¡ªto change just the symbol on his neck from the wheat to the chest¡ªbut this took a conscious effort and would be more taxing to maintain. Better to go with what was easiest for now, until he had a better feeling for his capabilities. Uicha pulled at the ends of his hair. The boy in the mirror had come a long way from home. He would still not belong amongst the islanders. They would probably see him as easy prey. Uicha didn''t mind that. There was a thrill in being more than he appeared.
At the first sliver of sunrise, Uicha gathered his things and left the Dartmyth. He looked in on Akoni and found the captain tangled in his bed sheets, snoring into a pillow. Uicha didn¡¯t bother to wake the man. They¡¯d said enough goodbyes the night before. Anything more would be too awkward and too sober. Uicha walked the docks at an easy pace. He kept his shirt open to the humid, salty air. A steady drizzle rolled in from the north, although pink sky in the distance meant it wouldn¡¯t last. He stored his beads and feathers at the top of his pack, easy to access in case his new ability let him down. Uicha didn¡¯t think that would be a problem, though. [Shapeshifter] was like being wrapped in a sail. He could feel the wind tugging the fabric of illusion away from him, but knew that his grip wasn¡¯t yet close to loosening. Some sailors bumped Uicha¡¯s shoulder as they hurried past, but Uicha mostly moved smoothly across the planks. He¡¯d gotten good at navigating through crowds, of slipping to the margins and staying unnoticed¡ªhe no longer felt the need to scurry from place to place like in Noyega, or to keep his eyes always down like he had growing up in Ambergran. Uicha found the ferry easily enough. The captain stood next to the gangway, eating scrambled eggs out of a bowl. Under his loose supervision, a couple of oarsman scrubbed the sides of the boat. Nothing fancy, at least compared to the Dartmyth¡ªjust a single deck, lined with benches, and a sheltered helm for the captain. ¡°You¡¯re early,¡± the man said when Uicha produced the ticket Akoni had procured for him. Uicha shrugged. ¡°I don¡¯t mind waiting.¡± The captain set aside his food, licked his fingers, and then searched around in his belt-pouch for a stamp. ¡°Who do you know, kid?¡± ¡°Sorry?¡± ¡°That¡¯s an Admiralty pass, good for passage wherever there are islanders,¡± the captain said. He stamped the paper, but hesitated to hand it back. ¡°You steal this?¡± Uicha thought quickly. Given the circulating rumors, he didn¡¯t want to drop Akoni¡¯s name. ¡°Kersey de Mou arranged it for me,¡± Uicha said. ¡°You might know him as¡ª¡± The captain thrust the ticket back at Uicha like he¡¯d just discovered it¡¯d been used to wipe an ass. ¡°By the tides, everybody knows who Curse is and wishes they didn¡¯t.¡± He eyed the wheat stalk on Uicha¡¯s neck, but decided not to ask any more questions. ¡°Welcome aboard, I suppose.¡± ¡°How long is it to Sugarfoot? I¡¯ve never been.¡± ¡°A couple hours,¡± the captain replied. ¡°Fourth island we¡¯ll stop at.¡± Uicha was the first passenger aboard, so he had his choice of seats. He picked a bench near the back, under a tarp, and sat there with his arms crossed, watching the comings and goings on the docks. He¡¯d lied so easily to the ferry captain. Gods, he¡¯d been lying to someone since that first day he woke up in his childhood home, newly possessed by an Orvesian spirit. From one lie to the next. Uicha wondered if he was getting any better at it. What was he going to tell his grandfather? His only living family, a man who Uicha had never met. Did he expect this old man to offer him shelter? Protection? Did Uicha even need either of those things anymore? The islands had seemed like a good destination to retreat to when he first fled Ambergran, but much had changed since then. He would be bringing trouble to his grandfather¡¯s doorstep. In fact, based on what Akoni had said, trouble might have arrived ahead of him. Well, the least Uicha could do was look in on the old man. Make sure he was safe. Then, he¡¯d figure out where to go next. Where did the people who lost their Ink gather? He pushed that question aside. The ferry filled up all at once about five minutes before the scheduled departure. Uicha remained deep in thought, rehearsing conversations with his grandfather. He imagined him as an older version of his father, kind and whimsical, and with an infinite amount of patience for grandsons who had run afoul of multiple supernatural entities. Uicha did not notice the man who had sat next to him until he lit a smokeroll. He held out a tin filled with neatly arranged, delicate tubes of tobacco. ¡°Care for one?¡± ¡°No, thank you,¡± Uicha said. ¡°You don¡¯t mind, then, do you? They help with the headaches.¡± The man was pale-skinned, which meant he stood out amongst the islanders. He looked tired¡ªdark bags under his eyes, tousled hair matted from the rain, and an uneven shading of stubble like he¡¯d shaved on a moving rowboat. The man wore a travel-stained brown coat with the collar turned up despite the growing warmth in the morning air, though he didn¡¯t seem to sweat. Uicha expected to see the coffer of Merchant¡¯s Bay on the man¡¯s neck, but as he tilted his head back to exhale a stream of smoke, Uicha instead saw a candle. Magelab. A candle of Magelab. Uicha nearly bolted upright. Then, he considered reaching for his scimitar. He resisted both of these urges, but ended up patting the front of his thighs like he was checking his pockets. Uicha was sure the man noticed his clumsy shifting, although he wasn¡¯t faced in Uicha¡¯s direction. In fact, he kept himself half-turned away from Uicha, as if he couldn¡¯t stand to look directly at him. ¡°Some people are sensitive to pollen. To cats.¡± The man snapped his tin of smokerolls closed and they disappeared into his coat. ¡°For me, it¡¯s illusions.¡± ¡°I¡¯m sorry?¡± Uicha said quietly. ¡°Illusions?¡± The ferry lurched and Uicha steadied himself against the side. They had pushed off. Uicha became suddenly very aware of sound¡ªor the lack thereof. Islanders and other travelers were packed in around them, but their conversations all sounded muffled. ¡°I can¡¯t quite figure out how you¡¯re doing it,¡± the man continued. ¡°Or why, for that matter. But, we¡¯ve got a few hours on this boat, don¡¯t we? Unwinding that will be a pleasant diversion.¡± Now, Uicha did let his hand drop to his scimitar. ¡°Who are you?¡± ¡°My name is Samus Bind,¡± the man said. He offered Uicha a hand, but something told Uicha it would be unwise to touch him. After a protracted moment, Samus let his hand drop. ¡°I am the inquisitor of the Magelab. I have been looking for you, Uicha de Orak.¡± Uicha¡¯s mouth felt dry. ¡°Why?¡± he asked. ¡°I have some questions,¡± the inquisitor said. ¡°Regarding the murder of the archmage Ahmed Roh.¡±
88. [Uicha] Inquisition
Uicha de Orak, Wildcard of the 6th Renown, representing the Forgotten One, under suspicion Samus Bind, Inquisitor of the 9th Renown, Candlefast, closing a case
13 Rainest, 61 AW Flamboyance, largest of the Flamingo Islands 77 days until the next Granting ¡°I don¡¯t know any archmages,¡± Uicha mumbled. He forced an incredulous laugh. ¡°Ahmed Row, you said? Like a rowboat?¡± ¡°Roh,¡± the inquisitor said, puffing a smoke ring as he did. ¡°No.¡± Uicha shook his head. ¡°Doesn¡¯t mean anything to me.¡± Uicha looked over the side of the ferry. They were about three-hundred yards from the shore, bobbing slowly south away from Flamboyance. He could dive overboard and make that swim without a problem. Or, he could use his [Telekinesis] to fling the nosy candle into the horizon, like he¡¯d done with Milena Russi. But, what happened after either of those options? A trio of gulls circled, then plunged down into the water. They fought over a fish yet their splashing made no sound. Samus Bind had enclosed the two of them in some kind of bubble. Uicha figured the tired-looking man could have other tricks. Better to stick with playing dumb for now. Uicha let the silence hang between them. ¡°Well, I suppose that¡¯s my answer,¡± Bind said. He had his legs angled out into the aisle and now crossed one over the other, letting his worn moccasin dangle from his toes. ¡°Still a couple hours to Sugarfoot. Some small talk to pass the time, perhaps?¡± ¡°We don¡¯t have to,¡± Uicha said. ¡°Do you know what the inquisitor does?¡± Uicha decided he could answer that honestly. ¡°No.¡± ¡°I¡¯ve got two jobs,¡± Bind said, tapping ash off his smokeroll. ¡°First, I¡¯m charged with assessing threats to the Magelab. The mages are pretty good at this themselves, though, and prefer their own counsel. There are times when they send me to poke around on their behalf. I¡¯m able to speak with certain people and blend into certain places. Locations where a mage might stand out, or would rather not be seen.¡± Uicha glanced around the ferry. Almost every other passenger was an islander. ¡°You don¡¯t blend in here.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t?¡± Bind scratched his stubbly cheek and shrugged. ¡°Second, I¡¯m tasked with settling disputes between mages. I was brought up to have a sensitivity to the arcane and I¡¯m impartial, you see? I dislike all of them equally. One mage plagiarizes another¡¯s research. An important artifact goes missing from someone¡¯s office. They¡¯re always stepping on each other¡¯s slippers. Only very rarely do these slights escalate to murder. In fact, this is the first one I¡¯ve ever investigated.¡± ¡°He lies.¡± Uicha stifled a flinch at the appearance of Kayenna Vezz. The Orvesian spirit stood in the aisle with her back against the railing, staring at the slump-shouldered inquisitor. Her dark eyes were like smoking embers. ¡°He tries to make himself sound like an errand boy to put you at ease,¡± she said. ¡°The candles have indeed fallen far since my time. They were mage hunters and book burners. This one¡ªhe still remembers the old ways. He¡ª¡± For the first time, Bind turned to look directly at Uicha. One of his eyes had narrowed to a slit while the other had grown almost unnaturally wide. A spasm passed through his face, veins in his temples standing out, and he jerked his gaze away. ¡°You¡¯ve been tampered with,¡± Bind said. Uicha swallowed. ¡°I don¡¯t know what you mean.¡± ¡°Maybe you don¡¯t,¡± Bind muttered. ¡°Additions and subtractions. A complicated account.¡± He flicked the last nub of his smokeroll over the side of the ferry¡ªit passed through Kayenna¡¯s chest and the witch chose that moment to disappear again, almost as if she¡¯d been banished by the inquisitor. ¡°Look¡ª¡± Uicha started. ¡°Another question,¡± Bind interrupted. ¡°Do you know what happens when a mage dies? Not even an archmage, I mean. Any mage who wears the tome of Magelab.¡± ¡°What happens when anyone dies?¡± Uicha replied, shaking his head. For a moment, he thought back to a conversation he¡¯d had with Tabitha Gentlerain, the Quill of Ambergran, when she¡¯d implied it might not be such a bad thing if he volunteered to die. ¡°I don¡¯t believe in soul unification, if that¡¯s what you¡¯re getting at.¡± Bind snorted. ¡°No. Not religion. I¡¯m speaking literally.¡± He put his index finger against the side of his neck, then dragged it down and across. ¡°When a mage dies, two candles die, too. In the exact same way.¡± Uicha put his forearm against the railing, feeling suddenly nauseous. ¡°What?¡± ¡°We knew Ahmed Roh had died because his Ink returned to the Quill, and we knew the grisly manner of his death before we found his body because two candles suffered the same fate. Their heads nearly cleaved off. One of the candles was asleep in her bed, the other out at a tavern. Quite a mess.¡± ¡°Who¡­?¡± The question came out a croak. Uicha worked some moisture into his mouth and quickly decided that was a bad question for an innocent person to ask. ¡°Why does that happen?¡± he asked quickly. ¡°Why do the candles let--?¡± ¡°It¡¯s a punishment the mages wished upon us,¡± Bind said with a flick of his fingers. ¡°With little to go on, I set out to retrace the last steps of Ahmed Roh. A clever friend pointed me toward Ambergran.¡± The inquisitor had moved past the deaths so quickly, Uicha tried to do the same. Even though his stomach felt leaden, he shouldn¡¯t appear rattled. He¡¯d killed three people¡ªnot just Ahmed Roh but also two innocents. He hadn¡¯t known that would happen. He remembered Battar Crodd preaching in the field outside Ambergran¡ªhow the annihilation wasn¡¯t Crodd¡¯s responsibility because the gods were sick enough to allow it. A cold sweat popped out on Uicha¡¯s back. Was he really going to seek comfort in Orvesian philosophy? He stilled his knee from bouncing and focused on Bind. Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation. ¡°What did you say?¡± Uicha asked. ¡°Ambergran,¡± prompted Bind. ¡°Did you ever meet Ahmed Roh in Ambergran?¡± Uicha rubbed his throat where he¡¯d made the wheat stalk reappear. ¡°I told you, I don¡¯t know that name.¡± ¡°You did say that,¡± Bind agreed. ¡°But I don¡¯t believe you.¡± The Ink hidden on Uicha¡¯s chest felt warm. He nearly reached for it. ¡°I don¡¯t care what¡ª¡± Bind cocked his head as if he¡¯d heard a noise, then raised his open hands. ¡°Fine. You don¡¯t know Roh. You had other visitors, though. On my way to Ambergran, I encountered Sara Free, paladin of the Ministry of Sulk. I believe you two were acquainted.¡± ¡°I¡­¡± Uicha hesitated, but what use was there in denying that? This man already seemed to know everything. ¡°She helped me.¡± ¡°Yes. She said you had drawn the interest of Battar Crodd because of your loss of Ink.¡± Bind leaned forward, peering at Uicha from the corner of his eye. ¡°I see, however, that you have rediscovered your loyalty to Ambergran.¡± ¡°The gods,¡± Uicha mumbled. ¡°I don¡¯t know why they do the things they do.¡± ¡°A riddle often pondered at the Magelab,¡± Bind said. ¡°Regardless, Sara told me that you were snatched up by a gargoyle in an attack that left another man dead, and two candles and a mage injured. She believed that Battar Crodd was responsible. Is that true?¡± Uicha grimaced bitterly. In a way, wasn¡¯t Crodd at least indirectly responsible for everything that had happened to him in the last year? ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± Uicha said. ¡°I escaped from the gargoyle but couldn¡¯t find my way back to Sara, so I kept on my journey here. I haven¡¯t been bothered since. Until now.¡± Bind smiled. ¡°Well, I decided to visit Ambergran on my way south. I thought I might ask Master Crodd some questions myself, but he had already gone. Most of the Orvesians had left, actually. Banished by the Quill of Ambergran.¡± Uicha raised his eyebrows. That was news to him. The last he¡¯d seen of Tabitha, she¡¯d been starting to cover herself in ash like a Witness. He was glad to hear the woman had pulled herself together. ¡°The Orvesians who did remain lingered around your former home,¡± Bind continued. ¡°Interesting, I suppose, that you¡¯re a man of the wheat again, but your farm is considered outside the territory by the gods. But, like you said, we can hardly hope to understand why they do the things they do. Anyway, there was a young woman there who seemed quite fond of you.¡± Petra. Uicha crossed his arms and turned to look out at the view. The ferry was passing through a strait, curling around what would¡¯ve been the beak of the flamingo-shaped archipelago. A sparkling white beach appeared on the coast, some of the sun-bathers waving lazily at the ferry. That didn¡¯t seem like such a bad life. ¡°I had a dog, too,¡± Uicha muttered. ¡°Did you interview my dog?¡± ¡°Parrot, yes,¡± Bind said. ¡°A good boy. They were most helpful, as was the Orvesian ritualist Hunn Megeer.¡± Uicha flinched as Bind tapped him on the arm. He looked down to see that the inquisitor was holding something out¡ªit looked like a piece of dried fruit. Without thinking, Uicha started to take it, but recoiled as he realized it was a human ear. ¡°Gods!¡± Uicha exclaimed. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, I dispelled it,¡± Bind said. ¡°I half-expected to learn it belonged to your head. One theory eliminated, at least.¡± He slipped the ear back into the inside pocket of his jacket. ¡°Why¡­?¡± Uicha shuddered. ¡°Why do you have that?¡± ¡°It was part of an enchantment. A way for a Hunn and Battar to converse over great distances. An Orvesian ritualist can be quite a dangerous enemy, especially if they have some of your blood.¡± Bind took a clean handkerchief from a different pocket and wiped off his hands. ¡°The Orvesians had a great deal of yours, as it happens. Did you know that?¡± Uicha pictured the towering ritualist Hunn lumbering around his burned-down farmhouse, soaking up puddles of the blood from the charred porch and the cornfield. He shook his head. ¡°I intervened on your behalf, much to the chagrin of the ritualist,¡± Bind said. ¡°I didn¡¯t think anyone would want Orvesians tracking them. Was I wrong to assume that?¡± ¡°No,¡± Uicha said. He paused. ¡°Thank you, I guess.¡± ¡°Seemed a courteous thing to do,¡± Bind replied. ¡°At this point, word reached me from the Magelab. Noyega had found Ahmed Roh¡¯s body. As I rode south, I developed a theory. Following the annihilation, two mages converged on Ambergran. Ahmed Roh¡¯s research had always been on the controversial side. So, one mage, likely Roh, allied in some way with the Orvesians, and another bent on disrupting¡­¡± Bind waved a hand. ¡°Whatever it is that¡¯s happening between you and Battar Crodd.¡± Uicha kept his eyes straight ahead. A second mage. Of course. That would be the only person capable of killing Ahmed Roh¡ªat least as far the inquisitor could fathom. Uicha fished around in his mind for a name that he could feed the man, but couldn¡¯t come up with anyone. The only other mage Uicha had met was Erhan Teta, the horse mage, who didn¡¯t at all seem like the type wrapped up in a conspiracy that didn¡¯t involve oats and apples. ¡°In Noyega, I met with another clever friend of mine,¡± Bind continued. ¡°I examined the body of Ahmed Roh, listened to reports of another gargoyle attack and a boy fleeing the docks¡ªyou, I presume. And, finally, confirmed that Battar Crodd and his most unpleasant champion had visited the city ahead of me. They chartered a boat from Noyega. Although I¡¯ve disrupted their communication and their tracking, I expect they¡¯re still waiting for you on Sugarfoot.¡± Captain Akoni had warned Uicha that there were people asking about his grandfather at the Admiralty. Someone whose presence was hazy¡ªthe inquisitor, no doubt¡ªand someone from Noyega. It made sense that Crodd would use a go-between. The Orvesian stood out more than Uicha. ¡°And finally, here we are,¡± Bind said. ¡°I expected to arrive in Flamboyance late, which has been my luck since embarking on this investigation. Yet, I came just as rumors began to circulate about a young man marked with crimson Ink, who fought champions to a standstill, and summoned a gargoyle to his aid. I found this young man with relative ease and watched him snatch a knife out of the air with the reflexes of a circus performer.¡± Uicha started. ¡°You¡­?¡± ¡°I do blend in,¡± Bind said with an easy smile. He gestured across his chest and neck. ¡°Wise of you to develop a method of camouflage beyond the beads. Although, toying with chanic is beyond dangerous. One errant marking and¡ª¡± Now, it was Uicha¡¯s turn to snort. ¡°The arrogance of youth,¡± Bind said, misinterpreting Uicha¡¯s response. ¡°So, let me be blunt, in the hope that it inspires some honesty. You are in a desperate sort of trouble, I think. A trouble that aligns with my business. I could be an ally to you, Uicha, but you must answer my questions.¡± The ferry slowly turned toward its first stop¡ªthe island with the crowded beaches. The captain must have shouted an announcement because passengers were filing down the aisle, though Uicha hadn¡¯t heard anything. Bind shifted his legs into their row and began fiddling with his tin of smokerolls, as if resisting the urge to light another. ¡°What happens when you find Ahmed Roh¡¯s killer?¡± Uicha asked. ¡°I gather evidence and then return them to the Magelab, where the archmages will decide their fate,¡± Bind said. ¡°Whoever you¡¯re protecting¡ª¡± ¡°Kayenna Vezz,¡± Uicha said. ¡°She was the second mage involved.¡± ¡°Oh,¡± Bind said. ¡°And did Sulk himself swing the sword?¡± ¡°No,¡± Uicha replied. ¡°That was me.¡± Bind¡¯s fingers nearly fumbled his tin. ¡°Impossible,¡± he said, but Uicha heard a tremor in the word. The inquisitor knew a truth when he heard one. ¡°I didn¡¯t know what would happen to the candles,¡± Uicha said. ¡°I¡¯m sorry for that. I wouldn¡¯t have¡­¡± He swallowed. ¡°Well, the archmage didn¡¯t leave me much choice.¡± Now, Bind did light another smokeroll. He took a deep drag before speaking again. ¡°How? It is¡­ unprecedented.¡± Uicha angled himself to face the inquisitor. He considered revealing his crimson markings, but there were too many people around. ¡°I¡¯m going to see my grandfather. I¡¯m going to make sure that he¡¯s not in any danger from the Orvesians,¡± Uicha said. ¡°After, if you want me to show you how I killed your archmage, I¡¯d be happy to do that.¡± For a moment, Bind was still and silent. Then, he guffawed. It was a sharp, whooping noise that Uicha wouldn¡¯t have thought the man capable of making. Bind pressed a hand against his stomach until his laughter subsided. He leaned back, taking a deeply satisfied draw from his smokeroll. ¡°Gods, I¡¯m sorry for laughing,¡± Bind said. ¡°It¡¯s just been so long since I¡¯ve been surprised.¡± The ferry bumped into the dock and Uicha felt the vibration of the gangplank being lowered. He flinched when Bind popped to his feet. Uicha reached for his scimitar, startled by the sudden rush of sound around him. The inquisitor¡¯s bubble of privacy had been popped. ¡°That beach looked like a lovely place to smoke and think, didn¡¯t it? I¡¯ll get off here,¡± Bind said, knuckling a tear from the corner of his eye as he joined the exiting queue of passengers. ¡°I¡¯ll see you soon, Uicha.¡±
89. [Uicha] High Hand
Bric de Orak, a man of no particular renown, the Flamingo Islands, a grandfather Uicha de Orak, Wildcard of the 6th Renown, representing the Forgotten One, his grandson
13 Rainest, 61 AW Sugarfoot, one of the Flamingo Islands 77 days until the next Granting Years ago, Bric de Orak had stopped trying to fight becoming an old man. There were worse things to be, he figured. As a pirate, he¡¯d refused plenty of opportunities to end up young and dead. He¡¯d made it this far. No shame in raising the white flag now. The seas were crueler in Bric¡¯s day. Back then, pirates of the islands were constantly at each other¡¯s throats. These were sailors who remembered the bloody life before the gods blanketed the world in their protection. For some of the first captains Bric worked under, piracy just didn¡¯t feel the same without killing and other islanders were the only people the gods would allow to be gutted. Bric came up in lawless and bloodthirsty times, before it all became one endless carnival out on the water. Now, the Admiralty kept most of the crews in line. Their magic ships hardly needed sailors to work them. Bric couldn¡¯t deny that the Admiralty had made life better for the islands, even if the younger generations were softer as a result. He¡¯d never reached a rank beyond harpooner, but he¡¯d filled enough coffers to earn a decent pension. His wife had been the decadent sort and he¡¯d let her coax him into retirement. She knew all the best places to eat, all the best spots to dance even if Bric didn¡¯t move so well anymore, and she always dragged him to the Museum of Liberated Bounty when they put up a new exhibit. When she died, Bric had bought the beachside bungalow on Sugarfoot. The noise and hustle of Flamboyance were insufferable without his wife, so he¡¯d opted for a slower-paced island where the focus was agriculture. The irony of this decision wasn¡¯t lost on Bric. He¡¯d given his only son endless grief when the boy decided to become a farmer and now here Bric was living down the road from the cane fields. Well, he never picked up a gods damned machete, at least. Never cut a stalk or walked a row in his life, and wouldn¡¯t ever. His knees were shot, anyway. The puffed-up nesters who supervised the fields wouldn¡¯t have wanted him. Bric hobbled around with his knees always partly buckled and his toes pointed inward. His wife had forced him to use a cane but he hadn¡¯t touched it since she died. Sometimes, if he played a few bad games of tiles and his monthly stipend ran low, the boys down at the press let him work the wheels for a few hours. His arms were still strong; he could turn a crank as well as any of these young bulls. Squeezing every bit of nectar from the cut stalks¡ªBric thought that was a fine metaphor for these last years of his life. He¡¯d stopped by the press that morning, but not because his money was running low. The workers got paid today and Bric knew there¡¯d be action at the table they kept around back. ¡°Aces,¡± Bric grunted, slapping down the tiles. The others groaned as he scooped up the pot of rounds, flicking one in Tully¡¯s direction as he¡¯d been the one to set him up. ¡°Underhanded,¡± sweaty old Mast complained. He wiped his forehead with a rag. ¡°You play too tight,¡± Bric said. ¡°Never tell a man his weakness,¡± Connie said sagely. ¡°That¡¯s why I never call you a fat-headed idiot,¡± Bric replied. The four old men set about the task of flipping all the tiles over and jumbling them up. Of the four, only Connie still worked a regular job¡ªalthough in his younger days Bric wouldn¡¯t have considered peacekeeping to be real work. Mostly, the constable loafed around, supervised the occasional shipment, and made sure bar fights didn¡¯t get too bloody. ¡°You see the Noyegans came into town last night?¡± Tully said. ¡°Should¡¯ve invited them to this game,¡± Bric said. ¡°Might have been some competition.¡± ¡°I¡¯d like to see them move that boat of theirs,¡± Mast said. ¡°It¡¯s a racer. Bet it¡¯d never match the ones I worked on.¡± The Noyegans had been anchored off the coast for a few weeks now. Bric had gotten used to seeing their angular ship on the horizon from the porch of his bungalow. Sugarfoot was a small island, so the strange ship had quickly become a popular topic of conversation. The island had docks on the other side, but the Noyegans didn¡¯t seem interested in putting into port, even when the rains had lashed them. Everyone on the islands knew what it looked like when a ship was hiding out. No one would stick their nose in, even if it was foreigners. Besides, the Noyegans were usually good business or easy pickings. ¡°I met the captain and his mate,¡± Connie said with a smug smile. ¡°They aren¡¯t bad sorts. Just waiting for a delivery they can¡¯t get done up north.¡± ¡°You get a taste?¡± Bric asked. ¡°Of course,¡± Connie said. ¡°All their papers in order.¡± ¡°They sick or something?¡± Mast said. ¡°Why don¡¯t they stay at the inn?¡± ¡°Would you stay in that shithole?¡± Bric asked. ¡°Letty was working at the grocer when they came through,¡± Tully added. ¡°She said they bought enough for four men. Same as the week before.¡± ¡°Anyone hiding on that boat ain¡¯t our problem,¡± Connie said. Bric grunted agreement and flipped the first tile. Like most of the old sailors on Sugarfoot, as soon as the Noyegan clipper had shown up, he had racked his brain for any old grudges those people might hold against him. He couldn¡¯t come up with any. Whoever the Noyegans were waiting for, it wasn¡¯t him. But, when he waddled home at sunset, that person would be sitting on his front porch.
Uicha didn''t expect the old man to cry so much. Bric de Orak didn''t look like the emotional type. He resembled Uicha''s father¡ªshort-legged and barrel-chested, with a patchy gray beard and close-cropped hair¡ªbut Bric had a hardness about him that Uicha never saw in his dad. Bric''s face, arms, and hands all told a story in scars and deep lines. Uicha could not imagine Bric ever walking the land barefoot or cracking jokes. If he¡¯d ever been called whimsical like his son, Bric probably would¡¯ve thrown a punch. Still, there were tears of joy from Bric''s sharp, red-rimmed eyes and he grabbed Uicha''s face in rough hands, kissing him on each cheek. He hadn¡¯t even asked who Uicha was. The old man had seen him sitting on the steps and known. Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. ¡°You look like your mother,¡± Bric said. ¡°Lucky you.¡± When the initial shock had passed, Bric wiped his cheeks with the backs of his hands, then held Uicha at arm¡¯s length to appraise him. He took in the crimson whorls upon Uicha''s chest, the empty box on his neck, and merely raised one eyebrow. ¡°It''s a long story,¡± Uicha said. ¡°Then you better come inside to tell it.¡± Uicha had decided to come as he was. There was no sense in starting a relationship with the old man that didn''t begin with truth. He¡¯d made sure to hide his markings when anyone passed by on the beach. However, if someone had peered at him through a spyglass from the deck of the Noyegan clipper Uicha had spotted off the coast¡ªwell, they would know he was here and they could come when they were ready. Bric''s small bungalow had the look of a place not often cleaned. There were bits of grime, dustings of sand, and clutter everywhere. It was the living space of an old man who had no one left to nag him. Though the windows were open to let in the sea breeze, the air was still vaguely musty with smoke, coffee grounds, and shirts left too long without laundering. A tangle of fishing wire took up most of the kitchen table, though it wasn''t exactly clear what Bric had been doing with it. All the furniture looked to have been repaired multiple times. ¡°Do you drink, boy?¡± Bric asked. ¡°You''re seventeen. Of course you do.¡± ¡°Sixteen,¡± Uicha said. He sat down at the kitchen table in a chair that looked like it should''ve been thrown out years ago but didn''t wobble in the slightest. Bric paused. ¡°Twenty-eight Meltzend, isn''t it? Your birthday two weeks passed.¡± Uicha rubbed the back of his neck. ¡°Gods, you''re right. I didn''t even think of it.¡± ¡°Make an old man question the few things he still knows,¡± Bric muttered. His grandfather went into the kitchen and opened a cupboard sticky with grease. He found two glasses and cleaned the dust out of one on his shirt. Meanwhile, Uicha idly accessed his [Telekinesis], delicately loosening one of the knots in the fishing line. When Bric came to the table, he swept the whole bunch of line away onto the floor, then plunked down the glasses. He poured Uicha a finger of dark rum, then one for himself. ¡°I''m glad you''re here,¡± his grandfather said. ¡°And heartbroken because I know what it means that you¡¯re alone.¡± After last night''s bender with Akoni, the sight of the rum flooded Uicha''s mouth with saliva. Swallowing, he clicked glasses with his grandfather at the old man''s insistence, then slugged back what he''d been given. Uicha coughed into his armpit and Bric hobbled back into the kitchen. He found some leftover pork and rice, plopping this down in a bowl before Uicha. ¡°You''re skinny,¡± Bric said. ¡°Get something in you.¡± Uicha did as he was told. He''d forgotten what it was like to be under the care of a brusque islander parent and half-expected Bric would assign him chores after dinner. The old man just sat back and watched him eat, shaking his head like he still couldn''t believe his eyes. Uicha was hungrier than he thought, especially once he recognized the tamarind and chili spices on the food, flavors he hadn''t tasted since the last time his mother cooked for him. He had to squeeze his own eyes shut. ¡°All right, now,¡± Bric said gently. ¡°How did it happen?¡± Pushing aside his bowl, Uicha told Bric about the pink pox. A disease of the north continent that his parents didn''t have the immunity for. Almost a year gone since then, Uicha realized. Another anniversary that he hadn¡¯t had time to think about. ¡°Your father would stop writing me for months at a time so I didn''t think nothing of it.¡± Bric pinched the space between his eyes. ¡°If I''d known, I would''ve come for you.¡± Uicha realized that word of the annihilation hadn''t reached his grandfather. Of course, it wouldn''t have. What was some northern continent farm town to a quiet life on Sugarfoot? ¡°I told him that he didn''t belong in that place,¡± Bric continued. ¡°Him and his fool notion of starting a farm. He was a good sailor, your father. Not the best pirate, not the handiest man in a fight, but a true operator. A slick one. I didn¡¯t realize that about him until too late. Every crew can use a man that talks them out of trouble.¡± Uicha bit the inside of his cheek. Staring at the space over his grandfather¡¯s shoulder, he could almost picture his dad haggling over wheat rates. ¡°He could talk to anyone,¡± Uicha said. ¡°I never could.¡± Bric sighed. ¡°He got that way because I was the opposite. My own son told me he didn''t like the ocean. Can you believe that? We never fought so bad as when he told me that. He wanted to see dirt under his fingernails. Who the fuck wants a thing like that?¡± ¡°I always wanted to see the ocean, but they never got the chance to bring me,¡± Uicha said. Bric''s eyes lit up with hope. ¡°You''ve seen it now, though. What did you think?¡± ¡°Good,¡± Uicha ventured. ¡°I liked it.¡± Bric slapped the table. ¡°Salt in the blood!¡± He reached across the table and grabbed Uicha''s wrist. ¡°Listen, my boy. I didn''t see eye-to-eye with your father, but I loved the stubborn fool. He was set in his ways and I was set in mine, but we only let it get between us for a short time. I wrote to him-¡± ¡°I know,¡± Uicha said. ¡°I read them. He saved all your letters.¡± Bric''s eyes became watery again. ¡°And I have all of his, if you want them. He planned to bring you here when your schooling finished. Did you know that? Said there were things keeping him in Ambergran but that he could get away if your mother stayed behind to tend the farm. He wanted you to know your roots. This would please him, my boy. I know it would.¡± ¡°I think Dad really did love the farming,¡± Uicha said. ¡°But they had another job in Ambergran. A long hustle they were running that ended up trapping them there¡­¡± Bric hissed. ¡°The mages.¡± ¡°You know about that?¡± ¡°Your mother¡­¡± Bric hesitated, pouring himself another drink as he gathered his thoughts. ¡°Your mother was a lovely woman. Honestly, my idiot son was probably an anchor tied around her waist. She had something about her. She was fierce with that sword you''re carrying. Always in demand with the crews, especially when she returned from the Magelab.¡± Uicha leaned forward. ¡°Returned? What do you mean?¡± ¡°By the tides, your dad was inconsolable,¡± Bric said with a laugh. ¡°I thought it would be good for him. Give me a chance to harden him up some so he wasn''t such a baby seal waiting for a club. Your mom left him, yeah? She tried to join the mages. Had a bit of talent with the arcane. She failed the entrance exam though.¡± He tapped his throat. ¡°Couldn''t get her Ink to change to the tome, so they knew she wasn''t committed. Loved your father too much, gods help them both.¡± Uicha leaned back. He¡¯d heard that his mom had some talent for magic, but he¡¯d never known that she¡¯d gone so far as to try enrolling at the Magelab. It made sense. How else would her parents have first forged a connection with someone like Ahmed Roh? He touched his throat. ¡°You¡¯re probably wondering about all this¡­¡± ¡°Of course I wonder,¡± his grandfather said with a snort. ¡°But you¡¯ll get no questions from me that you don¡¯t want to answer. I¡¯m only happy you¡¯re here, even if you¡¯ve got trouble on your heels. Especially if you¡¯ve got trouble on your heels. I still have my harpoons, boy. I¡¯ll stand in front of you, whatever¡¯s coming.¡± Uicha couldn¡¯t help but smile at that. He believed that his grandfather would do exactly as he said, although Uicha would never let him actually go through with that. Not when he had the Ink of a champion. ¡°Na flamanga ¡®e na emad,¡± Uicha said, repeating the words in the islander language that had gotten him this far. His grandfather clucked his tongue. ¡°No, no,¡± he said, and thumped his chest. ¡°Es ocazi gerde ovee me!¡± ¡°What¡¯s that mean?¡± Uicha asked. ¡°It¡¯s what we¡¯d yell in the good old days when some bastards would try raiding the islands and we needed to rally the captains,¡± Bric said. ¡°All sharks protect the eggs.¡± Uicha told his grandfather everything. He explained the hustle that had led his parents to Ambergran, although some of the details of the arrangement were still fuzzy. They had secured and protected an Orvesian artifact. An artifact that had opened for Uicha and infected him with the spirit of the legendary mage Kayenna Vezz. He told his grandfather about the annihilation, his loss of Ink, and how the archmage Ahmed Roh had come to collect. He recounted his flight from Ambergran, his kidnapping, and his escape. Even when Uicha explained what it meant to kill an archmage, Bric couldn¡¯t keep the prideful grin off his face at what his grandson had accomplished. Uicha explained the Forgotten One as best he could. He was a champion for some foreign entity that wanted to insert itself into the Granting. He described his class and his abilities. And, finally, he told Bric about his pursuers. The Orvesians, the archmages, the candle Samus Bind, and possibly others on the islands and in Merchant¡¯s Bay. When Uicha was done, night had fallen and they¡¯d nearly finished the bottle of rum. ¡°Wildcard,¡± Bric said thoughtfully. Though Uicha had seen a gleam of awe in the old man¡¯s eyes, he largely put on an unruffled front. ¡°Sounds right to me.¡± ¡°How so?¡± Uicha asked. ¡°Well, I never fucked with gods and magic and all that Granting shit,¡± Bric said. ¡°But I played a lot of cards. All them chasing you, they need you to make their hand. They got you running but, fact is, you got all the power, eh? This witch in your head, the god in the dirt¡ªthey want you to do their bidding? You should be asking: what¡¯s in it for me?¡± ¡°They¡¯ve kept me alive,¡± Uicha said. ¡°They kept themselves in the game, you mean,¡± Bric said. ¡°Nah. You should be asking for their best offer. Me? I always liked money. Your father liked his land and your mother had a thing for secrets. But what do you want, boy? Cause all that power on your chest, it¡¯s gonna buy you something.¡± Uicha spent the night in a hammock in his grandfather¡¯s living room. He could hear the old man snoring through the thin walls. By morning, he would decide on the first thing he wanted. He wanted an Orvesian dead.
90. [Uicha] Fear and Loathing
Uicha de Orak, Wildcard of the 6th Renown, representing the Forgotten One, has changed since Ambergran Bric de Orak, a man of no particular renown, the Flamingo Islands, his grandfather Battar Crodd, Death Knight of the 13th Renown and Quill of the Orvesian Witnesses, doesn¡¯t do well in the sun Athur Buss, Bone Mage of the 10th Renown, the Orvesian Witnesses, creepy little guy
14 Rainest, 61 AW Sugarfoot, one of the Flamingo Islands 76 days until the next Granting Uicha woke up with a start when his grandfather dropped a mug. The ceramic shattered next to the living room window where Bric had been standing, though as Uicha opened his eyes the old man was stumbling backward in a painful lurch. It was morning, sunny, a pleasant breeze setting the curtains to swaying. Cradled by the hammock, Uicha couldn''t exactly spring to his feet. Outside, someone screamed. Gulls shrieked in the sky. ¡°What''s wrong?¡± Uicha asked as he untangled himself from the canvas and stood. Bric''s face had gone ashen. His hands were shaking and the muscles in his neck stood out, like he was trying to hold in a scream of his own. The old man looked at once terrified and enraged that he''d lost control of his emotions. Although he¡¯d only known him for a day, Uicha didn''t get the impression that his grandfather was a man who easily gave into fear. ¡°Out there,¡± Bric croaked, pointing shakily at the window. ¡°Blackbirds.¡± So, it was time. Uicha picked up his scimitar and tied the belt around his waist. He nodded once, then stepped over the shards of Bric''s mug and the spreading puddle of black coffee. He peeked through the curtains. The urge to flee struck Uicha immediately. A queasiness came over him that almost caused him to lose his bowels. His knees knocked together and, without thinking about what he was doing, he grabbed the musty curtain and tried to wrap himself in it, like a child hiding underneath his bedspread. A rational part of his mind understood this terror was unnatural, but knowing that did little to stop his body¡¯s response. Uicha forced himself to stay in the window and look out. He caught sight of a mother and her small child who had been playing in the sand. They were fleeing south, the mother outpacing her tottering, crying child. She couldn¡¯t best the panic long enough to scoop the boy up. There were footprints in the sand from others who had already escaped. Birds wheeled away in the sky and even nearby fishing boats appeared to be turning back from the beach. Everything within view of the two black-clad men on the shore was in retreat. Soon, the area would be clear. There were tears on Uicha¡¯s cheeks from the effort of standing still and half-moons in his palms where his nails had dug in. Those wounds, at least, closed quickly thanks to his [Greater Regeneration]. There were two Orvesian Witnesses standing on the beach, a capsized dinghy behind them that Uicha was sure came from the Noyegan ship that had been loitering out at sea. The first man¡ªif it was even a man under that feather-covered hood¡ªUicha did not recognize. He was crouched in a strange position so that his knees jutted up nearly as high as his head, reminding Uicha of a spindly cricket. The Orvesian seemed unbothered by the panic around him. His long hands were at work arranging a semi-circle of bright white objects in the sand. Shells? It was hard for Uicha to tell through his blurred vision. He wouldn''t have blamed anyone from fleeing the strange Orvesian, but Uicha sensed that the sensation of [Fear] emanated from his companion. Battar Crodd. The death knight Quill of the Orvesians hadn''t changed since the last time Uicha had encountered him. Maybe there was some fresh sunburn across his bald head and pale cheeks, standing out sorely between the stripes of ash that covered his face. Battar wore his feathered caftan open down the chest, wide-shouldered and muscular, his broadsword slung across his back. Though he looked completely out of place on the Flamingo beach, the tall Orvesian stood with a loose-limbed, patient dignity. Like a teacher waiting for a dawdling student to approach the chalkboard. Crodd cocked his head. He must have seen Uicha in the window. Like a tide rolling out, the [Fear] ebbed away. Uicha let out a shuddering breath as his muscles uncoiled. He glanced over his shoulder. Bric remained pressed against the bungalow''s back wall, his rickety legs trembling as he tried to will himself forward. The fear had been lifted only from Uicha. ¡°Stay there,¡± Uicha said. ¡°You¡¯ll hurt yourself.¡± ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± the old man snarled, but he seemed relieved to sink back against the wall. ¡°It¡¯ll let up,¡± Uicha said. ¡°Just¡ª¡± ¡°Uicha de Orak!¡± Battar Crodd bellowed from outside. ¡°It is time that we talked!¡± Uicha breathed out through his nose. He¡¯d gone to sleep knowing that this would be coming. He was tired of being chased around and now he would do something about it. ¡°I gave you the night to acquaint yourself with your family!¡± Battar shouted. ¡°I am not without sympathy. But we have traveled long and far for this meeting, and I will suffer no further delays. Come out! Or my bone mage Athur Buss will send his minions in to fetch you.¡± Uicha took a step back from the window and steadied his breathing. He dropped a hand to his scimitar¡ªonce, twice¡ªgetting a feel for how quickly he could reach the weapon. Thanks to [Swordplay+], he was sure it would be faster than Battar could grab that huge sword of his. ¡°Back window,¡± his grandfather urged in a hoarse whisper. ¡°They won¡¯t know you¡¯ve gone.¡± ¡°They¡¯ll just keep chasing me,¡± Uicha said. He started for the door. ¡°What you''re considering is foolish,¡± said Kayenna Vezz. The witch manifested in front of Uicha. Of course she had. The Orvesian spirit infesting his body only seemed to show up when she wanted to scold him. He stopped in his tracks to size her up¡ªwild, dark hair, the deep wound around her neck from her beheading, her stout and short body. From Bric¡¯s perspective, it probably looked like Uicha was hesitating. ¡°We might yet have need of that man,¡± she said. ¡°He is strong.¡± Uicha kept his mouth shut, letting his thoughts do the talking. Back in Ambergran, she had basically told Battar to leave her the hell alone. She''d shown no interest in returning to her people, or of helping Battar with his pursuits. In fact, while at sea, Uicha had sensed nothing but revulsion when they had passed by the gloomy coast of Orvesis. Kayenna disdained the state of her own people. ¡°Be that as it may,¡± Kayenna said, ¡°we may rely on his protection at the Granting.¡± We. Uicha snorted softly. As if they were some kind of partnership. ¡°Fine,¡± replied Kayenna sharply. ¡°Consider, then, that he may know how to separate us.¡± The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation. Uicha''s lips curled back. He gained nothing by playing host to the witch. She only knew how to use the old ways and, the last time she''d tried that, he had nearly been killed from the costs inflicted on his body. His power came from the Forgotten One now. From chanic. She was nothing more than an unwanted guest. But, Uicha remembered the brutal ritual Ahmed Roh had been using to pull Kayenna from his body. There were gaps in his memories because of that tampering. He would not risk something like that again, and certainly not with a madman like Battar Crodd supervising. ¡°Then I am your prisoner, it seems. My survival tied inextricably to yours,¡± Kayenna said. ¡°In which case, I beg you to exercise caution. You surprised the archmage. The champions on the boat underestimated you. These encounters do not make you a warrior. You are yet a child.¡± ¡°I''ll surprise him, too,¡± Uicha said aloud. ¡°Or, you will.¡± ¡°What?¡± Bric asked shakily, thinking that Uicha was talking to him. ¡°Surprise them coming out the front door?¡± ¡°Never mind.¡± Uicha turned to him. ¡°I might be leaving in a hurry after this, grandfather. I¡¯ll send word to you when I can.¡± ¡°Wait¡ª¡± Uicha opened the front door of the bungalow. And stepped outside as Kayenna Vezz. The woman¡¯s body came to Uicha almost as easily as his own. He had Kayenna¡¯s memories to draw on and his [Shapeshifter] ability did the rest. Uicha felt like he could hold this shape for a long time. Although he¡¯d reduced his height, added curves, and gained a grisly scar around his neck¡ªUicha felt no different physically. His body was still his own, underneath the illusion. The breeze ruffled the folds of Kayenna¡¯s black dress. The only detail that he made his own was the scimitar, the belt and sword snug against Kayenna¡¯s waist. Uicha stepped off the bungalow¡¯s porch with Kayenna¡¯s chin held high. He mimicked Kayenna¡¯s haughty cadence. ¡°I warned you in Ambergran, Battar Crodd,¡± Uicha said in flawless Orvesian, slipping into the language easily. ¡°I warned you to leave me be.¡± The grin on Battar¡¯s face was huge¡ªspread somewhere between elation and wolfish hunger. He draped a hand across his midsection and tucked himself into a deep bow. ¡°Ashes remember,¡± Battar whispered. ¡°It¡¯s you.¡± ¡°Her,¡± tittered the bone mage on his right. ¡°Truly, her.¡± ¡°Regretfully, mistress, I cannot leave you be,¡± Battar said as he straightened. ¡°I am a man drowning and you, mistress, are a lifeboat.¡± As he padded slowly forward on Kayenna¡¯s bare feet, Uicha flicked a look toward Athur Buss. The bone mage rocked back and forth on his creaky heels, almost like he were having a fit. The objects arranged around him weren¡¯t seashells as Uicha had first guessed. No, they were bones¡ªof course, they would be bones. Bleached knuckles poked up from the sand next to mandibles separated from heads and other assorted parts. Uicha did not like the look of all that. He allowed the disgust to register on Kayenna¡¯s face. Then, with a dramatic sweep of Kayenna¡¯s hand, Uicha used [Ice Mastery]. Chunks of sweating, crystalline ice exploded up from the sand, swallowing and crunching the bones Buss had so carefully laid out. A waist-high wall of ice pickets formed before Buss, separating him from Battar, and ultimately sending the ragged mage somersaulting backward into the surf with a cry. ¡°You¡¯ve done it,¡± Battar said. He¡¯d barely flinched at the assault on his fellow champion; he couldn¡¯t tear his eyes away from Kayenna. ¡°The old ways are still strong.¡± ¡°What you want from me, I cannot give,¡± Uicha said, as Kayenna. Battar¡¯s eyes glistened in the sun. ¡°But this is proof that you can, mistress. Look at you. Restored.¡± He paused. ¡°What has become of the boy?¡± ¡°His body is mine. I make use of it as I will.¡± Beside him, the true Kayenna snorted resentfully. ¡°You mock me with this performance.¡± Uicha ignored her. He drew closer and closer to Crodd. Unlike when they¡¯d met in Ambergran, Uicha could now read the sprawling whorls of Ink that covered Battar¡¯s chest and shoulders. His eyes danced across the symbols.
Battar Crodd Orvesian Witnesses 13th Renown
Noxious Cloud Fear Greater Shield
Wither Draining Blade Ghost Blade
Death Knight Dead Sight
Regeneration Reaction+ Swordplay+ Will+
Speed+ Strength+ Unmovable
The Orvesian had many defenses. If Uicha was going to succeed, he would have to be fast. He would have to strike as he had done with Ahmed Roh. He would have to make sure the odds were tilted in his favor. He aimed Kayenna¡¯s fingers at Battar and used his [Telekinesis]. The Orvesian stumbled forward as Uicha ripped his broadsword out of its sheath and sent it flipping down the deserted beach. Battar laughed giddily. ¡°I am the son of a historian, mistress,¡± Battar said. ¡°He spent his life studying you and I have followed in his footsteps. He wrote of how you sought to remove the Ink. He thought you were close. He found papers that suggested you began this research before the gods changed our world. And now you have done it, yes? You and the boy. A miracle.¡± ¡°It never worked,¡± said Kayenna. ¡°I never finished.¡± These words meant little to Uicha. He didn¡¯t care about Battar¡¯s obsession with Ink, but he could use it to his advantage. ¡°Do you want me to remove your Ink, Battar Crodd?¡± Uicha asked in Kayenna¡¯s husky voice. ¡°You¡­¡± His blue eyes widened. ¡°You could do that?¡± Uicha glanced briefly past Battar. Athur Buss was still on his belly amidst the teeth of ice Uicha had raised, his forehead pressed into the sand. An obsequious worm. He wouldn¡¯t get in the way. ¡°Kneel,¡± Uicha said. Immediately, Battar dropped to his knees, just as Uicha arrived before him. ¡°You asked me to seek the ones who created your urn¡¯chan and I have regretfully failed to find that information,¡± Battar said hurriedly. Uicha could suddenly imagine the man in his role as a scholar, a pupil eager to please. ¡°But I have something else for you, if you will return with me to Orvesis. I have the Crying Otter.¡± Uicha nearly laughed at this strange, meaningless sentence, but then he rocked to one side, as if buffeted by a strong wind. It took him a moment to realize that Kayenna had shoved against his sense of control. The witch had never done that before¡ªnot without asking. Uicha held her back with merely a thought, but her apparition¡¯s shouting made his ears whistle. ¡°Yes!¡± Kayenna yelled. ¡°Tell him yes, damn you, you insolent boy!¡± ¡°Mistress?¡± Battar asked. He had seen the flicker of hesitation and surprise upon Uicha¡¯s face¡ªupon Kayenna¡¯s face. ¡°We will discuss that,¡± Uicha intoned, recovering himself. He thought, for a moment, of the murdered people of Ambergran, and that was enough to shut out the frustrated screams of Kayenna Vezz. ¡°First, a demonstration and a punishment.¡± Uicha activated [Ink Thief] and thrilled at the screams that tore from Battar¡¯s throat as he ripped away the Orvesian¡¯s [Greater Shield] ability. Uicha couldn¡¯t chance Battar getting up some kind of defense. The man¡¯s [Regeneration]¡ªa lesser version of Uicha¡¯s own ability¡ªwouldn¡¯t matter if Uicha killed him quickly enough. Even Battar Crodd could not grow back a missing head. Spit flecked from Battar¡¯s lips. ¡°You¡¯ve done it! Ashes, you¡¯ve done it! Take it off me, mistress! Set me free!¡± Uicha used [Disloyal]. He made himself an [Orvesian Witness]. He held onto Kayenna¡¯s form so that no new symbol appeared on her scarred neck, even if Uicha could feel it upon his own. And, as Battar¡¯s Ink flowed through the air toward him, Uicha unsheathed his mother¡¯s scimitar. With [Swordplay+], the motion was smooth and practiced. A backhanded killing swing. The blade bit deep into Battar¡¯s neck. A fraction of an inch more through meat to the spine. That was all Uicha needed. Battar¡¯s hand snapped up. He wrapped his heavy fingers around the sword and held it there with unnatural strength. His Ink settled on Uicha¡¯s chest, but neither of them noticed. ¡°The gods don¡¯t protect me,¡± Battar said, mystified, blood bubbling up over the back of his tongue, and dribbling down his chin. ¡°I am liberated.¡± Uicha added a burst of [Telekinesis], but even that was not enough to finish the stroke. Battar wrenched the scimitar free from his neck. His palm was flayed and his little finger flopped into the sand, but still he snatched the scimitar away from Uicha. Dark, rich blood spewed from Battar¡¯s wound, spraying across his feathers and coating his Ink. ¡°I am liberated,¡± he repeated, his voice a rasp. ¡°But I am not ready to die, Uicha de Orak.¡± The death knight stood. ¡°And now,¡± he said. ¡°I will educate you.¡±