《The Journey of an Apprentice》


 Prologue

    I hate these damn soft-skin merchants. If you can¡¯t handle a little cold weather, you have no right to be in a Tower.Garter thought this as he angrily made his way out of camp.I¡¯ve had enough of their complaining. We¡¯ve made it to the 37th floor! And in less than two months to boot. They should be counting their lucky stars, not bitching incessantly about the cold. There are much worse things in Draghiem than the unpleasant weather,he thought as he looked over his shoulder. Garter hated non-combatants. All they did was make his job harder and all he got in return was an earful. Well, that and a handsome fee for escorting this caravan up the Tower.


    Garter isa member of the assault guild, adventurers that dedicated their lives to climbing Towers to fight the dangerous creatures that inhabit them. The group he isescorting just wanted to grab anything they could sell and aren''tmembers of the guild. Theymade a request back at the guild¡¯s public interactions office, and Garter¡¯s teamaccepted.I woulda thought twice about it if I had known how annoying they are. They canlook forward to a bad review when weget back.


    Garter liked to walk when he was deep in thought, and tonight was no different. So he set out, thinking about their trip. Earlier that day, the group had decided to take a detour and went to check out one of the most amazing sights in all of Draghiem. Raigel¡¯s Glacier, certain to be the most spectacular thing Garter had seen on this trip. The glacier was massive. The top of it almost reached the ceiling of the 37th floor, over a hundred meters up, and it was several kilometers wide, taking up nearly one-third of the entire floor. Quite a sight to behold.


    Garter had never had the chance to check it out, but was glad they had. As a general rule,he steered clear of the place because of the Glacier Lions that frequented the area. Massive beasts, the size of a large horse. They were ice-blue, with fangs the size of a man¡¯s arm. The ¡°mane¡± ran from the top of its head to the base of the tail and was a darker shade of blue. Just one could cause a three man team some serious trouble. And they often ran in packs.


    But Garter had close to thirty members of the guild with him on this escort mission, and the Glacier Lions¡¯ fangs wereprecious. They possessed a rare mineral prominent in dangerous monsters in the Tower. With Garter¡¯s team of five, plus several other teams of four to six members each, their little escort group made up quite the fierce fighting force. This was a first for Garter. He had worked with other teams before, but never this many. This group of merchants was serious about being well protected, and about getting their money¡¯s worth too. They even sent Garter¡¯s team, along with a few others, into a spawning den. Sure it was only the fifth floor, but that is not a place any of them wanted to be. Just thinking about it made him shiver,There was so much magic being flung around, half of us were out of commission with Ruha sickness,he thought, bitterly remembering the nausea and other symptoms of being exposed to too much concentrated Ruha.But, they did as they were told and raided one of the spawning dens of the fifth floor, and the rewards might have even been worth it. Spawning dens were always rich in valuable resources, not to mention gear from other members of the assault guild that hadn¡¯t been as fortunate as Garter¡¯s group.


    After they finished hunting Glacier Lions it the leaders of the caravan decided that they try to reach the Labyrinth that led to floor 38 by sun down. They made it to the edge just as it was getting too dark to continue, so they set up camp against an outside wall of the Labyrinth. The spot they picked was somewhatfar from the Labyrinth¡¯s entrance. So far, in fact, that they could just start to see where the Tower¡¯s massive wall met the floor.


    As Garter walked away from the campsite, hemade his way toward the Tower¡¯s wall, deep in thought,Damn. This is the last time I accept an open-ended escort mission. Just when the hell can we go back? Certainly they have enough to make them rich upon their return.Garter scowled as he pulled his coat tighter against his body, stuffing his hands in the pits of his arms. As he walked he realized he had reached the Tower¡¯s wall. Not noticing how far he had walked, he stood there looking up at the massive stone wall before him, rather shocked. As he looked up the wall he noticed a huge crack, some several meters above him. He followed the crack with his eyes as it stretched out towards the ground, narrowing as it went. He took several steps to get a closer look at this crack, certain he could see...something, as if there was a space behind this cracked stone wall.


    <sigh> Now I¡¯m seeing things? Just great.Garter closed his eyes and shook his head, certain it was his imagination. As he regained his wits, Garter felt a slight pressure behind him. He could feel that someone, or something, was watching him. He tentatively reached for the hilt of his sword which lay near his waist. There was a sudden and violent increase in the pressure. As fast as he could, Garter gripped his sword and spun around, drawing the blade.


    Just as he turned something large crashed into him. The force of the impact caught him off balance, and sent him and his attacker crashing into the wall that, just moments ago, he had been inspecting. There was a loud cracking noise when Garter realizedthe creature that had crashed into him wasn¡¯t the only thing falling on top of him.


    After several seconds Garter realized he was still alive, although he was in quite a bit of pain, and something warm and wet was flowing down his forehead, getting in his eye. He went to touch his head only to find his right arm immobile, stuck under something heavy and furry. This same furry something was lying on top of him. With his right eye blinded by what Garter now realized was blood, he opened his left eye to get a look at what sort of situation he had gotten himself into this time.


    This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.The first thing he saw was a large creature with ice blue fur lying on top of him.I¡¯ll be damned. Is that a Glacier Lion? What the hell is it doing all the way out here? Don¡¯t tell me this bastard had been following us ever since we left Raigel¡¯s Glacier.Garter tried pushing the behemoth lion off, but it was obvious it wasn¡¯t going anywhere.Ugh, it¡¯s a big bastard too.Garter lay there, perplexed by his situation. Soon he realized his right arm and leg might be securely caught up under the lion, but the pressure on his left side was far less.Its head must be resting on something. Perhaps if I wiggle just the right way¡­., as he thought this Garter pushed and pulled and contorted his body in every way imaginable untilhe could pull his right leg and , soon afterward, right arm free of the now obviously dead lion.


    Once Garter had gotten himself free, he stood up to get a better look at the carnage. There were chunks of stone wall lying everywhere around him. Some the size of a carriage,Thank my lucky stars I didn¡¯t wind up under one of them instead.As he looked around, Garter also took note of his own body and the condition it was in. Blood poured from his head, his right wrist was in awful pain, along with his right knee. He had a few other cuts, scrapes, and bruises.Overall, not bad. Not a lotta men can get jumped by a beast like this and walk away at all, let alone with mostly minor injuries.As he contemplated his good fortune, he turned to inspect the Glacier Lion that had gotten the jump on him, lying dead on the floor.


    Where its head was supposed to be there was, instead, a pile of rather large stones, clearly part of the wall that had collapsed.I must have had quite the stockpile of good fortune saved up. Not only did those blasted stones miss me, they seemed to have saved me altogether.Garter smiled as he once again thanked whatever deity it was that had spared him a gruesome fate, twice-over in fact.


    As he surveyed the scene a little closer Garter saw a red spot in the lion¡¯s otherwise perfect, blue fur, and there was something that seemed to stick out of the lion. Upon closer inspection he realized it was the tip of his sword. It appeared that, as the lion had pounced on him, he had justmanaged to raise up the tip of his sword and impaled the lion as it crashed into him.Huh, it¡¯s good to know I wasn¡¯t saved entirely by luck. Although, Idoubt that would have killed the damn thing.


    Upon Garter¡¯s inspection of the beast, he had realized it wasn¡¯t just your ordinary, every day Glacier Lion. No, this was a pride leader. The biggest, baddest cat in the group. Garter whistled as he came to this realization. There are only three of these on the entire floor. They are smarter, faster, stronger, and overall much more dangerous than regular Glacier Lions.Damn, too bad that sword to the gut hadn¡¯t killed it. Taking down one of these bad boys single handedly would have made me a legendfor sure.


    Garter figured he was no longer in any immediate danger, so he sat himself down on a rather large piece of rubble, not quite ready to start the long walk back to camp. After he sat down, he looked up and inspected the surrounding area. All this rubble had been from the wall after all, so he had been right before, therewasa space behind the crack.Whooaa¡­., he thought, as he saw what had been lying behind the wall that had come crashing down on top of him.


    There were hundreds upon hundreds of gears and cogs lining yet another massive wall. Some were the size of a gold coin, others were as big as a tavern.This must be the real wall, the other was like a shell, meant to protect this.He sat there mesmerized by the sight. He was inspecting the wall of gears when he realized many lay on the floor, either broken or knocked down by the force of the wall collapsing. Suddenly, Garter also noticed that none of these gears were moving. Why have such an intricate wall of gears if they don¡¯t do anything? Then it dawned on him. Theystoppedmoving when the wall collapsed. It was broken.Awwww man,he thought despairingly,Ireallyhope that wasn¡¯t important.

 Ch 1 With All Your Heart

    The overwhelming heat from the forge leapt up from the flames, staving off the bitter chill of the crisp night air. The sound of metal tapping metal rang out, almost as if each ring lead into the next, forming a beautiful melody. The numerous different smells all combining and creating something new andunique, belonging only to this smithy. A lone figure, tapping away tirelessly with skillful and deliberate strikes, could be seen taking great care to shape the bar of red-hot metal that lay before him. A young man in plain clothes and a simple, yet sturdy, leather apron toiled in front of the forgeintent upon his work as he hammered away.


    From a distance he couldpass as a full-grown man. Standing tall, just over 180 centimeters, with a strong build, due in no small part to the strenuous work that comes with being a blacksmith''s apprentice. It is only when you see him up close that you can still see the last remnants of boyhood on his face and in his eyes. With the light of the forge filling the small smithy his features are clearly visible. Dark,shaggy hair, piercing green eyes, and a small scar, connecting the corner of his left eye to the very edge of his left brow.


    As the young man works, a hulking figure appears in the doorway, eyeing his apprentice with furrowed brows,holding back powerful emotions. No matter how angry he may be, his respect for the work being done outweighed his feelings, if only just barely. The smith waited patiently in the door as his apprentice worked the metal, shaping it with skill uncommon for someone his age. The smith knew, of course, just how skilled his apprentice was, but he would never admit it to the boy. Many talented young smiths would let that fact go to their heads, ruining their chances of everbeing great. For a great smith knew his limitations.


    As he watched, the smith''s rageregressed into something more akin to burning coals than the raging inferno it had been. As the metal being shaped cooled, causing the color to change hues, the apprentice placed it back into the forge to re-heat. Seeing this, the smith took the opportunity to say what he had come here to say, knowing it would take some time for the metal to reach the appropriate temperature. "Still here I see" he spoke, letting just a hint of sarcasm into his voice.


    Sighing slightly, the apprentice turned to face this giant of a man. When he looked into his face he saw past the furrowed brow, the harsh eyes, and instead he saw the face of the man who had raised him. Who had taken him in and had given him life. The man who had taught him how to work metal, ride a horse, even hunt deer. Feeling his resolve soften, he looked away, steeling himself for what was to come next. "I told you uncle, I''m leaving for Draghiem as soon as I''m ready." Even as he said the words he braced himself, knowing his uncle would not be so quick to relent.


    "Ha, when you''re ready? No one is ever ready for that damned place. Do you know how many blasted fools die in that abomination every year?"


    "Uncle..."


    "Countless! So many that they can''t even keep track! Is that what you want? You wanna be just some other cursed fool that dies a pointless death in search of glory and riches?!" The last grain of reason being lost, the smith waves his hands in the air, emphasising each word.


    "I am no fool Uncle!" replies the apprentice, smashing his fist down on a small worktable. "I know the risks! That''s why I''ve waited this long! What, do you think this is just something I thought up on a whim? I''ve dreamt of conquering a Tower since I could even have dreams!"


    "No one conquers Dragheim! It can''t be done! The entire royal army hasn''t been able to reach the top! I''ve told you, that thing is an abomination!" The smith begins pacing around the room, furiously waving his hands. "Dammit Rygart! There are other Towers! Why don''t you just start somewhere...smaller? You could go to Dawnhiem. It''s closer, the city there would be much easier to grow accustomed to, and, most importantly, you wouldn''t be committing suicide just by going into the damn thing!" As his words reached their apex he threw his hands into the air and slumped into a chair in the corner of the room. All the shouting has him almost out of breath. He leans over, putting his elbows on his knees, rubbing his eyes with the tips of his fingers.


    Several seconds go by as the apprentice waits for the heat of the argument to cool down. He walks towards his uncle and crouches down in front of him, bringing their faces eye-to-eye. "Uncle, you once told me, ¡°if ther''s ever somethin'' werth doin'', yuh''d better be tha bes'' at i¡±''" He says, with an exaggerated impression of his uncle.


    The old smith grunts sarcastically, "Huh. Out of all the idiotic things I''ve said to you, that''s the one you decide to live your life by?" Still slumped over in his chair, he closes his eyes and starts to rub his temples, clearly fighting his own thoughts.


    The young apprentice stands up and walks back over to the forge, "Oh I don''t know. You had your moments. Both good and bad. At least your most impactful advice wasn''t, ¡°Don¡¯ ever let a pretty lass tempt you into drinkin¡¯ more thun yer fill. Cause that''s how yuh find yer self merried ¡®n up to wits end in runts runnin all over tha place.¡±" They both couldn''t help but let loose a smile.


    Looking up from his hands the old smith lets out a laugh, "Ha! Someday you''ll wish you''d taken those words more seriously. Assumin'' of course you don''t slip ¡®n fall on your arse, all the way down that damned tower." They smile at each other, both picturing such a ridiculous scene.


    As the apprentice moves back to the forge, readying himself to finish his work, the old smith stands up to walk out the door knowing there was nothing more he could say. Just as he reaches the threshold he stops and turns just enough to see his apprentice going at it again with the hammer. "If you do this, do it with all your heart and soul." The apprentice stops and lowers the hammer. He smiles, "Of course. That is the way I was raised after all." With that said he goes back to his work, letting the heat wash over him as he hammers away. No matter what happens in the world, smithing, one of the greatest tools his uncle had given him, is one thing that will always stay the same.


    Ugh, six weeks. Six weeks of travelling. If I can make it through this hell that Tower doesn''t stand a chance,and with that thought Rygart¡¯s mood was lifted just a bit. Thinking about his upcoming adventures is the only thing that has kept him sane during his six week long journey from his home town, Brekt, to the the capital city of Eisenrahm. Even now Rygart could see Dragheim, the largest Tower in the kingdom, if not the world. Even among Towers, Dragheim was special. So large that Durnea''s capital city fit within its first floor. It''s as if several massive stone trees grew, twisting together, forming what, from a distance, could almost resemble a mountain, so tall that you can only just see the top. The sheer size of it is mind boggling. The first floor is said to be over 10 kilometers in diameter. Big enough to fit the capital city and its 250,000 residents.


    The Tower has been visible for some time now, a lone sentinel giant, whose head rests above the clouds. Rygart was soon thinking to himself,No wonder no one has reached the top. Even if it were nothing but a giant set of stairs it''d still take years just to walk up it.Equal amounts of anticipation and fear took root in Rygart¡¯s stomach.I will not give up. I will reach the top of this Tower. Failure is not an option.To keep his mind off things he walked among the other travellers on the road. This close to Eisenrahm the road was close to 10 meters wide, with dozens of people heading in the same direction as Rygart. This allowed him to mingle between one person or another hearing all sorts of stories about the capital. After many hours of such stories Rygart once again found himself lost in thought.All these people have such wonderful stories. Even tales of monsters and magic.Rygart¡¯s uncle had always been skeptical about such stories. It''s not that he didn''t believe in magic, he had seen his fair share of it after all, but it was the scale of it all that he found doubtful. Brekt didn''t have any mages. The Ruha there was too dense and unpredictable. In the past some have tried to study the unnaturally dense Ruha found in the area, butit was deemed too dangerous, and as such, mages tend to give Brekt a wide berth.If only uncle Brahn could have come with me. He would have had a cow when the Tower first came into view!Thinking of his uncle''s reaction to the sight of the Tower brought a smile to his face. "But still, certainly the stories of the monsters are embellished."


    "Embellished? Oh, I don''t know about that. I take it you don''t know the history of the Draghiem then?" Startled, Rygart looked up to see an elderly man, well on in his years, walking beside him. Left hand on his cane, right hand clenched in the small of his back. It was only now that he realized he¡¯d been speaking out loud.


    "I''m sorry sir, I was just thinking out loud." Rygart smiled at the man apologetically, hoping he hadn''t offended him.


    "Oh, don''t worry about it. I can tell you''re not from around these parts. So tell me, was I right when I said you didn''t know the history?" The old man seemed kind enough, and in fact seemed to be glad to have someone to talk to.


    "Yes sir. I was raised far north of here. As for the history, I know just what I learned in school. That the Tower of Draghiem is home to Durnea¡¯s capital city, Eisenrahm, and has been since the kingdom was founded nearly 300 years ago. Is there something I''m missing?" Rygart had never been much interested in history, and he had difficulty recalling just what he had told the old man.


    "Ah, yes, yes. You were right of course, however, it does seem that your knowledge of Draghiem is a bit lacking. You see, it''s been very nearly 300 years since Draghiem was first risen. It is said that long ago an ancient wizard used powerful magic to rip apart the earth and, in the wake of the destruction, stood the Tower of Draghiem. Such Towers have appeared throughout history, with Draghiem being the third Tower to have been discovered. However, unlike those that had come before it, legions of dangerous bloodthirsty demons poured out of the entrance, devouring the land and the people. In that time, Durnea did not exist. Not as it does now anyway. No, instead this land belonged to one of the neighboring lands, Sarket. As the story goes, this land was forsaken by Sarket''s Emperor. It was left up to those who lived here to fight for themselves. Those that survived the demon plague rallied together, lead by a warrior hero of unparalleled ability. This man, along with more than 100,000 others, marched across the land, vanquishing all the creatures that had spilled forth from Draghiem. Years of bloody war went by until theyreached the entrance to the Tower. Not satisfied with only having pushed the demons back, they marched straight into Draghiem. Straight into the depths of hell itself. Again many years passed, and not a single soul had left that terrible place. Just as the people were beginning to fear the return of the demons was inevitable, the great warrior hero, who had led so many to their deaths, made his way out of the Tower. Once he returned he claimed sovereignty over the land that had been forsaken and laid to ruin. He then proclaimed the start of the new kingdom of Durnea and that, after taking every single life of those that hadfollowed him, the first floor of Draghiem had finally been conquered. In the same breath that he proclaimed himself king, he also declared that the capital would be built within the Tower, as untold riches were hoarded away deep in the Tower."


    This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work.Rygart listened to the old man''s story with great intent. If this was the kind of history he had learned in school, he would have made much more of an effort to stay awake in class.


    "And so goes the story of the Third Tower, Draghiem." the old man finished, with a pleased look on his face.


    "Wow. Is all of that true?" Rygart was mesmerized by the tale he had just been told.


    "That''s just as it was told to me, just as it was to my father and his father before him." The old man couldn''t help by smirk a little. He loved wowing those ignorant of the past.


    "That is an incredible story. How could ithave taken 100,000 soldiers to conquer just the first floor!"


    "Well, they weren''t exactly soldiers. Not all of them anyway. Most were farmers, trying desperately to save their families."


    "And what about this hero? How come I''ve never heard of him?"


    "Why, he was our first king, Loquesh, of course."


    "Oh! King Loqesh." Rygart remembered his teacher going on and on about the old king. Though, no one had ever said anything about a war with demons.


    "Aha, so you do know the name! I told you." The old man let loose a wry smile as he eyed Rygart through the corner of his eye.


    ¡°But, wait, why haven¡¯t I heard all of this before? That seems like a big part of our kingdom¡¯s history.¡±


    ¡°Well, much of the documentation from that time has been lost. As such, we only have verbal accounts of what happened. It¡¯s not surprising that someone from a small town wouldn¡¯t have heard it before. Even to many of those that have heard the story it is nothing more than a legend. Many believe that, over the years, the truth to the story has been stretched to be more exciting.¡± It was clear the the old man held much contempt for those he was speaking of. ¡°My family is what you might call Chroniclers. We protect history. As well as we can anyway.¡±


    And here I thought that old king was just another lazy monarch. Obviously there is so much more to this world than I hadthought. A war with demons, a hero, and a mysterious wizard, powerful enough to create the Towers. I''ve got a long road ahead of me.Rygart looked up at the sky as he thought, then back to the old man who had been kind enough to share his story.


    "Thank you so much for sharing your story with me."


    "Think nothing of it. It isn''tmystory, afterall. It''sourstory. It belongs to every citizen of Durnea."


    Rygart bid the old man farwell and increased his pace. After everything he just learned, he couldn''t wait to get his adventures started in earnest, which wouldn¡¯t happen until he got to Eisenrahm. Rygart couldn''t wait any longer. Nothing was going to stop him from becoming a biggerlegend than even King Loqesh!


    Finally! I can''t believe I''m here! With just a few more steps I''ll pass the threshold of Draghiem!Rygart could feel his excitement overwhelming him. He just couldn''t contain it. This was the first major step to his dreams! He washere, a place of legend and fantasy.This is it,he thought to himself,This is where my story begins!And with that he hefted his pack and walked through the massive opening that serves as the main road to Eisenrahm.


    Rygart found himself in a large tunnel that seemed to go on for about 60 meters, with the width being the same as the road he had been travelling on. The ceiling was incredibly high. Easily a hundred meters. It wasn''tlike walking through a tunnel at all! The tunnel was so large that Rygart could see straight through all the way to the city! He could see the walls off in the distance, along with many large stone buildings. Rygart again increased his pace, eager to reach his final destination.


    As Rygart exited the tunnel he began to look around himself, to get a better look at the first floor of Draghiem. There were several large gaps that formed between the "stone trees" that twisted together to make the base of the tower, through which light poured in. The ceiling, or rather, the second floor of the Tower, was so unbelievably high! He couldn''t even begin to guess. Hundreds of meters for sure! It was like nothing he had ever seen before!Wow, this is not at all like what I had expected!It was all one massive room. Only, the ground wasn''t made of stone. There were gently rolling hills, outcroppings of rocks and boulders. It was like they were outside in the fields, as if they hadn''t just entered a Tower at all. There were trees, and birds. Grass everywhere, except for the road.This really is incredible. I wonder if all the floors are like this.


    Soon Rygart found himself approaching the main gate to the city. Large walls, maybe 40 meters tall and made of thick stone,enclosed the city.I hear it''s because they get attacked by monsters rather frequently. Even though the floor has been cleared, monsters still show up from time-to-time.Rygart was now cursing himself for his lack of knowledge. He had no idea the city was still under threat of attack until talking with travellers on the road, much like what had happened with the old chronicler.Well, there''s a lot I need to do before I can start moving up into the Tower, so I had better start working on settling in first.¡±Rygart walked through the city, thinking about the things he needed to get done today.Well, first I''d like to find work with a smith. It''sthe only trade I know. Uncle always said I was a half decent apprentice, and he did give me an introductory letter. With all the adventurers that make frequent trips into the Tower, there must be a high demand for that kind of work. Although,Rygart looked down, seeming to be worried,I''ve never worked on armor or swords. Uncle Brahn just worked with farm tools.The realization of the lack in his smithing knowledge put a damper on Rygart¡¯s mood.Well, there is the sword I made, the night before I left.Rygart thought back to what he had been doing when his uncle had found him in the forge and they had their argument.


    The next morning Rygart had showed his uncle the sword he¡¯d made. He didn''t say much while inspecting his work. "Where did you learn how to make a sword? Closest thing we ever made to that was kitchen knives." So Rygart decided to tell his uncle how the man that had been teaching him how to properly use a sword also told him a little bit about how they were made. Once he finished, Uncle Brahn gave the sword back, "Not bad", he said, with a hint of a smile. Rygart¡¯s uncle was never quick to give out praise.I thought he''d have said something a little more than ¡°not bad¡±. I had to make most of it up as I went afterall!


    Thinking of all this, Rygart decided he would use the introductory letter, as well as the sword he had forged on his own, as a way to show his skill and get a job.I don''t know much about forging blades, but I think I''m a fair judge of my own work, and my sword turned out fine enough for a first try.And with that he set out, determined to find work as a bladesmith.


    After sometime of asking around, Rygart learned that there were, in fact, several bladesmiths in the area, and so, he hunted down his first lead to a job.


    "Look, I don ¡®ave time to teach ya the basics. There''s no work ¡®ere if ya don''t know what yer doin" Rygart found himself in front of a stout, and angry, bladesmith, trying his best to sell his skills.


    "Sir, please. I promise you won''t be disappointed! I''m a quick learner and a hard worker. I even have a letter here from my master, and a sword I made on my own!"


    "If I gave a job to ev¡¯ry greeny that come round ¡®ere beggin¡¯ for work, I''d be up to me eyeballs in apprentices."


    "But sir, I-"


    "No experience, no work!" and with that he turned his back and walked away.


    Ugh, grumpy old goat!Rygart thought to himself as he stomped down the road.I have plenty of experience! Maybe not with swords, but I''m a quick learner dammit!Rygart scoffed and kicked at a pebble by his foot.Oh well, to hell with that old bastard. There are half a dozen other smiths in this part of the city. Certainly they¡¯re not all angry little men,and again Rygart set off on his quest for a job.

 Ch 2 The Smith

    Dammit! Dammit dammit DAMMIT!Rygart screamed in his head, furious at the days turn of events.Every blasted smith said the same thing, ¡°No experience, no work¡±. It''s ridiculous! You need to work to get the experience, but you need experience to get the work! How does that even make sense!?Rygart made his way into a tavern and slumped down into a chair at a table.


    "Grumpy old bastards. The lot of em" he¡¯d had enough rejection for now. Now, it was time to regroup.


    "Somebody''s had a bad day" As he heard this, Rygart looked up to see a beautiful brunette woman standing next to his table.


    "I, uh" for some reason, he just couldn''t find the words he was looking for.


    "Maybe a nice tall drink will help take the edge off. What can I get for you?"


    Oh, duh, she works here,he thinks to himself, finally regaining his wits. "No, thank you. I''m fine. Just resting my feet. I spent the better part of the day arguing with a bunch of old smiths, telling them why they should take me on as an apprentice." Rygart recalled all the back-and-forths he''d had that day, making his head hurt.


    "Well, that really does sound like a bad day. How about I sneak you some soup? That should help cheer you up" and with that she smiled and walked away, before he could object, or really say anything.


    As she walked away he leaned over, placing his elbows on the table, and started rubbing his temples with his eyes closed. "Ugh, this is a nightmare. I can''t climb the tower without gold, and without a job I have no way to get what I''ll need for an excursion into the Tower. Ughhh" Rygart was talking to himself now, utterly fed up with the way things had turned out. Suddenly, Rygart heard a man with a deep voice talking unnecessarily loud.


    ¡°''Ello there! It seems you a bit down on your luck, eh?¡± The man spoke with great cheer and full of gusto, as well as with a great deal of slurring. Rygart opened his eyes and began to lift his head when the large man practically fell into the other chair at the table sitting across from Rygart. The man¡¯s shoulders were incredibly wide, and his arms must have been as big around as Rygart¡¯s legs. He had a bushy beard that was white at the roots but still had some grey, and even black, mixed in. His jaw was well defined and sat atop a monstrous neck. The man had long salt-and-pepper hair and wore a strip of cloth that wrapped around his head, starting above his forehead and wrapping around to the base of his skull. Due to the cloth band, his hair was pushed back and stuck up somewhat. All-in-all it was a quite an interesting look, and Rygart guessed him to be in his mid-to-late 40¡¯s.


    As Rygart looked the man over one thing stuck out, his eyes. There were ice blue lines reaching out from the pupil, overlaying an incredible lightning blue that Rygart wouldn¡¯t have thought possible, with a sliver of a deep, dark blue running around the rims of his irises. When Rygart looked into those eyes, it felt as though they pierced right through him. Rygart was soon asking himself,Just who is this drunken loon?Rygart then realized that the man hadn¡¯t stopped talking since the moment he sat down.


    ¡°... and I swear, one of these days I¡¯m gonna give that ol¡¯ git a talkin¡¯ too.¡± He finished whatever story he was telling and paused to take a hefty sip from his giant mug. Rygart saw this as his moment to finally get in a word or two and cleared his throat just before speaking.


    ¡°Ahem, uh, thanks for the company and all sir, but I¡¯m afraid I don¡¯t know you.¡± Rygart wasn¡¯t used to this sort of thing, and just didn¡¯t know what else to say.


    ¡°Ohh don¡¯t you worry ¡®bout it one bit! I see no reason why we can¡¯t get along¡±, he said with a huge grin across his face, ¡°My name¡¯s Oberon and I am a frequent visitor of this fine establishment. An old friend of mine owns the place.¡±


    ¡°Uh, I see, well..¡±


    ¡°Yeah, we go wayyy back. Further than he¡¯d like to admit, I¡¯d wager. Hahaha¡± Oberon didn¡¯t even slow down. ¡°He¡¯s a bit of an old stick-in-the mud now, but back in the day we used to get into all sorts of trouble! I¡¯ve got more stories than there are hairs on his head, though I suppose that¡¯s not saying much! Ahahaha¡±, he paused again to drink from his mug.


    ¡°Well my name is Rygart, and it¡¯s nice to meet¡­¡±


    ¡°Rygart, that¡¯s a mighty fine name. Tell me son, do you drink?¡± Oberon was quite the talker, and Rygart could see the direction this was heading.


    ¡°Well, I¡¯m 17, and I¡¯m not sure what the rules are¡­¡±


    ¡°Ah 17 is old is enough for me! Hey Ellie, get this young man a drink, would ya? And put it on my tab!¡±


    ¡°That really isn¡¯t necessary¡­¡±


    ¡°Think nothin'' of it! You seem like a good enough lad!¡± and just like that Rygart was stuck entertaining the old man. He just didn¡¯t have it in him to tell this old man off.


    And that¡¯s how Rygart spent the rest of his evening, listening to old stories, keeping the old man from falling over on himself, and doing his best to not making a complete fool of himself. As the night wore on Oberon¡¯s drinking slowed down as he reached his limit. It was well after nightfall that he seemed to have finally had his fill.Jeez, this guy can barely stand on his own two feet.Rygart found himself stuffed under the giant man¡¯s arm like a crutch, wondering what to do.


    ¡°Um, excuse me miss¡± he said, as he called over to the woman who had bending tending to them all night, ¡°My friend here seems to have reached his limit. I would offer to let him sleep it off at my place, but I just got into town today and haven¡¯t quite settled in anywhere.¡± Rygart blushed as he spoke, feeling embarrassed by the whole situation.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry about it. He always drinks too much. Usually the boss would get him home, but he¡¯s not here tonight.¡±


    Rygart sighs heavily and silently curses his rotten luck.To get stuck with an old drunk on my first night in the city.


    ¡°Well, if you know where he lives I¡¯ll see to it that he makes it home alright. He was kind enough to keep me entertained tonight, and I¡¯d feel bad if something happened to him¡± Again Rygart cursed himself for being too kind.It¡¯s going to get me into some real trouble one of these days. Ha, who says it hasn¡¯t already?


    ¡°Well, you¡¯re quite the angel, aren¡¯t you¡±, she says giving Rygart a playful wink, causing him to blush. ¡°I¡¯ll write out some instructions to make it easier for you to find the place. It isn¡¯t that far.¡± and with that she walked away. Rygart was still blushing when she returned with directions on how to find the old man¡¯s house. He quickly thanked the beautiful woman and set off on his way.


    It was dark out but there seemed to be some lamp posts that dotted the road, giving the impression of little islands of light in a ocean of darkness. Rygart hefted the drunk old man, who was still rambling on about some old story, and together they started the journey out into the darkness.At least he hasn¡¯t passed out. It¡¯d probably take three men to carry this old bastard.


    As they walked, the old man continued to babble on, laughing at his own joke or some part of his story. Before long the duo reached what Rygart assumed to be Oberon¡¯s front door. After several minutes of trying to communicate to the old man what was going on, he finally produced a large metal key, which Rygart took and used to open the door. Oberon began to object but was soon lost again to his incoherent ramblings.


    Rygart hefted the old man across the threshold and found himself in a wide hallway of some sort. He could just make out a door, laid into the wall on his right side, some few meters in. Directly across from the front door was a set of stairs, leading to a landing up above. Rygart looked around, puzzled as to where the bedroom was.


    ¡°Ah, home sweet home¡±, the old man muttered to himself. Rygart could barely make out the next few words before Oberon returned to barely audibly mumblings, ¡°And now I gotta climb these damn stairs again. To hell with gettin¡¯ old ¡­.¡±


    So I guess his room is upstairs. Of course it is. <sigh> Anyway, up we go.And with that Rygart began to help the drunk old man up the flight of stairs. Once they reached the top Rygart could see two doors, just to the right of the stairs. He opened the first one and found what he assumed was the old man¡¯s bedroom, based on the monstrous bed against the far wall. He walked Oberon over to the bed and unceremoniously dropped him onto it.Well, that¡¯s good enough for me. He¡¯s home safe and in bed¡­ well, mostly in bed anyway.


    Having settled his conscience, Rygart backed out of the room, closed the door, and made his way out of the house. Once Rygart was about to close the front door behind him, he paused.Oh damn, I have no idea where I am.The thought hit him like charging bull.I was too focused on getting the old drunk back here, I didn¡¯t even bother to ask where I could find an inn for the night.Rygart softly thumped his head against the frame of the door. Repeatedly.Damn damn damn damn. Now what.Rygart turned and looked back into the house of the crazy old drunk that had gotten him into this mess.I suppose he won¡¯t mind if I stayed here tonight. It is largely his fault, and I did help him get back safely.Rygart stood there, contemplating what he should do, not sure if he evenwantedto stay the night in such a place.


    ¡°Well, it¡¯s not exactly like I have a choice,¡± he whispered to himself.


    Rygart looked back into the darkness of the city, and stepped back through the doorway, heading for the stairs. He opened the second door that had been adjacent to the old man¡¯s bedroom, and found a small, plain room with a bed much smaller than the one he¡¯d seen in the other room. It wasn¡¯t a child¡¯s bed, but it certainly wasn¡¯t large enough for a man of Oberon¡¯s size.


    Once Rygart was sure no one was in the room, he sighed, walked over, and dropped onto the bed. He was absolutely exhausted. Just that morning he had been on the road, headed towards Eisenrahm, and he hadn¡¯t really rested since then. He had spent all afternoon searching for work, and then all evening trying to keep Oberon from falling over himself, not to mention spending the better part of the last hour half-carrying the old bastard home.Ughhh, I can¡¯t feel my legs.And before another thought could cross his mind, he was asleep.


    If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.¡°Rise and shine freeloaderrr!¡±


    For having been deep in sleep, Rygart¡¯s reaction was actually rather quick. He had still been laying on his stomach, just as he had been when he had collapsed on the bed, but as soon as the yelling started he woke and almost immediately found himself flopping on the floor. He had gone to jump up, but slipped on the blanket that had been on the bed. Now, he was on the floor and the blanket had become quite entangled in his limbs. It was several seconds before Rygart realized he wasn¡¯t in danger, and that the monster he thought was trying to squeeze the life out of him was just a blanket. By the time he had come to his senses the instigator of this little ruckus was keeled over in the doorway, laughing so hard his face was beginning to turn purple.


    ¡°Ahahaha you should see yourself, hahaha, thrashin'' on the floor, ahahaha.¡± Oberon could clearly not contain his laughter, and was struggling to get out what he was trying to say, ¡°I couldn¡¯t have asked for a better way to start the morning! Ahahahaha¡±


    Rygart managed to free himself of the blanket and stood up angrily shaking his fist in the air, ¡°I bust my ass to get your drunken fool self home safe and you repay me by scaring the soul right out of my body!?¡± Rygart was clearly upset, but he was more embarrassed about being so easily frightened than he was angry at the old man. Truth be told, if Rygart had been in Oberon¡¯s shoes, he¡¯d be just as incapacitated by laughter.


    ¡°Calm your little fists, there¡¯s no reason to be so upset. I was just havin¡¯ a little fun¡± Oberon had raised his hands in a reassuring manner and had a large grin splitting his face ear to ear. ¡°I do appreciate you kindly helpin¡¯ out an old man who¡¯d had a bit too much to drink¡±


    ¡°Ha, abittoo much?¡±


    ¡°Hey now, I¡¯m a big man! What might seem excessive to you is not quite so to me¡± he replied, still grinning.


    Having been satisfied that no more fun was being had at his expense, Rygart began to stretch out some of the soreness that had crept up on him while he was sleeping.


    ¡°Yeah yeah, justify it however you want. Keep up that pace, and you¡¯ll drink yourself out of house and home¡± For some reason Rygart couldn¡¯t help but like Oberon. He might have been a handful, but he was genuine, and at least he was a cheerful drunk.


    ¡°Haha true enough I suppose. Now, if you want, feel free to join me downstairs.¡± As he said this, Oberon turned and started heading down the stairs, ¡°I¡¯m just about to make me some eggs. You¡¯re welcome to eat your fill of course.¡±


    At the mention of food Rygarts stomach began turning flips.I haven¡¯t had a full meal since yesterday morning. No wonder I¡¯m so hungry.Rygart followed Oberon down the stairs and through the door he had noticed the night before.


    Rygart stopped just as he came through the doorway, and his jaw dropped at what he saw. It was a large room, perhaps ten meters to the other wall across from the doorway that Rygart was standing in. The room stretched perhaps four, or five meters to his left, and continued on another meter or two to his right. The ceiling was maybe eight meters or so up, with large beams and braces. To the left of Rygart, tucked into the corner, there was a little kitchen area with a small wall separating it from the rest of the room. But what shocked Rygart most of all were the contents of the room. There were multiple forges, of differing sizes, along with several work tables, scattered throughout the space. Rygart was so shocked he just stood there, staring like a fool.


    Oberon was in the kitchen, cracking some rather large eggs, when he turned and saw Rygart still standing in the doorway.


    ¡°You comin¡¯? What¡¯s with the dumbfounded look on your face?¡± he said, then turned back, continuing to make breakfast.


    Rygart returned to his senses and hurried over to the kitchen, not quite sure what to make of it all.


    ¡°I don¡¯t understand, you never said anything about being a smith.¡± Rygart thought back to the night before, he was certain the man had never mentioned it.


    ¡°Oh, I¡¯m no smith. Not anymore anyway. Not for a while.¡± As he spoke he continued to cook, cracking an egg or two and tossing them onto a large pan.


    ¡°But look at this place! It¡¯s amazing.¡± Rygart walked back towards the door, walking to the edge of the wall that separated the kitchen from the large smithy.


    Now that Rygart looked a little closer, he could see there was a fine layer of dust covering everything, and there were some large pieces of fabric that were partially covering some of the forges and work tables. It was clear that no one had worked down here in quite some time. He could still see several boxes and barrels that still had metal in them. It was as if someone just stopped in the middle of whatever was going on at the time. Tools were still strewn about, wood chips and metal bits lined the floor. It was all very surreal.


    ¡°Why did you stop?¡± Rygart asked as he walked back over to the kitchen. ¡°From the looks of this place, you used it a lot before you stopped¡± Rygart sat down at the table, contemplating the reasons that could have lead to Oberon making such a drastic change.


    ¡°There just wasn¡¯t anythin'' in it for me anymore. I used to love it. Workin¡¯ the metal, fixin¡¯ things, findin¡¯ new ways of combinin¡¯ metals, but, after 20 years or so it lost its appeal. I used to be one of only a couple of smiths in this part of town. Now, there are a dozen or more. Now everyone calls it the Iron District, what with all the damn smiths that have popped up.¡± He told his story as he cooked, never looking up from what he was doing. ¡°I was popular enough in the old days. Makin¡¯ fancy things for rich snobs. I used to only do that sort of thing sparingly. You know, whenever I had a big payment comin¡¯ up and I didn¡¯t have as much as I needed. But, over the years, I would get more and more such requests, and before too long, all I was doin¡¯ was makin¡¯ stupid, fancy little things for the rich. It had become about the money, and not the work.¡± As he continued, it was obvious he regretted some of the things in his past. What exactly it was, Rygart didn¡¯t know, and he wasn¡¯t about to ask either. ¡°Once I realized that I¡¯d lost the love for it, I stopped. I had made enough that I wouldn¡¯t want for much, and so I settled into retirement.¡±


    ¡°How long ago was it that you stopped¡± Rygart figured this was a simple enough question. He wanted answers, but he didn¡¯t want to bring up any unpleasant memories. He could tell there was more to this story.


    ¡°Hmmm, not quite seven years I think. I hadn¡¯t really thought about it much. By the time I quit, the area was boomin¡¯ with other smiths. Once I had stopped working on orders, they stopped comin¡¯ in altogether.¡± Oberon was now finished with the eggs and started laying thin strips of meat onto the skillet, with the satisfying <hisss> of cooking meat.


    ¡°Well, I¡¯m sorry you lost interest. This place looks like it¡¯d be amazing to work in.¡± This was the kind of place Rygart wanted to have himself one day once his Tower climbing days were behind him.


    ¡°Oh, that¡¯s right. You¡¯re an up-and-coming self-proclaimed bladesmith, right?¡±


    ¡°Eh, kind of. I apprenticed under my uncle. Ever since I was eight years old.¡± Thinking back to his childhood brought a faint smile to Rygart¡¯s face. ¡°Even before that, I was always in there, watching him work. My earliest memories are of watching my uncle work metal. But we never worked with weapons. Mostly tools, things the townsfolk would need. A lot of repair work.¡±


    ¡°Well it sounds to me like you¡¯d put any other apprentice around here to shame. Certainly findin¡¯ a job wouldn¡¯t be too hard.¡± Oberon turned around with two big plates loaded with bacon and eggs. As he finished speaking he slid over a plate, offering it to Rygart.


    ¡°Huh, yeah you would think wouldn¡¯t you?¡± When Rygart spoke he let all the contempt he had inside seep through with each word. ¡°I¡¯ve been to six bladesmiths so far, and every one of them has turned me away. Each one saying a different variation of ¡°No experience, no work¡±. It¡¯s infuriating.¡± Rygart let go of the pent up anger and began eating his breakfast with the gusto of a man that hadn¡¯t eaten in days.


    ¡°Eh, I knew the lot of em were a bunch of gits, but I never thought they¡¯d be stupid enough to turn away fresh talent.¡± Oberon ate as he spoke, taking humongous mouthfuls. ¡°Ya know,¡± he paused, looking up from his plate, thinking about something, ¡°I could put in a good word with you. It might sway one of the old fools to let you get some work in the city.¡±


    ¡°Really?¡± Rygart stopped, mid-bite. At first he felt elated, but then the memories of the day before came rushing to the forefront of his thoughts, and anger once again flared up within him. ¡°Actually, on second thought, to hell with the old bastards. I will not work for a man I don¡¯t respect, and I sure as hell don¡¯t respect fools. But thank you for the offer. I appreciate the thought.¡± And with that Rygart continued eating, slowing down as his stomach filled.


    ¡°Hmmm, I understand that, believe me¡± Oberon was slightly nodding along as he spoke, ¡°I¡¯ve been in plenty of situations, much like your own. I respect a man that keeps to his morals, even in the face of adversity. I¡¯ve no doubt you¡¯ll get far here in the city.¡±


    ¡°Thanks, I appreciate that. Now I just need to find out what to do before I starve to death.¡± Rygart paused as he took another bite, then continued saying, with a mouth full of egg, ¡°Or robbed and murdered from sleeping in the streets.¡±


    ¡°You know,¡± Oberon stopped chewing and looked up at the ceiling, thinking about something, ¡°I suppose it¡¯d be a shame to let this smithy go to waste, when there is an eager young smith right here willing to tend to it.¡± He finished his thought and returned to his breakfast.


    ¡°Are you serious?!¡± Rygart exclaimed, jumping up from his chair at the table, and sending Oberon into a fit as he nearly choked on his breakfast from the outburst. After several seconds of coughing, Oberon finally managed to start speaking again.


    ¡°By the Twelve, boy! You almost sent me to my grave!¡± After another bout of coughing Oberon once again began to speak, ¡°Calm yourself and sit back down. It ain¡¯t nothin¡¯ worth gettin so worked up over. Like I said, I might not be interested in pickin¡¯ up the craft again, but if someone else wishes to use it, I don¡¯t see any reason not to let em. As long as you¡¯re not up all hours of the night, bangin¡¯ around, makin¡¯ an ungodly racket, then feel free to use this smithy as you please.¡±


    ¡°Thank you so much! That is more than I ever could have hoped for!¡± Rygart couldn¡¯t believe what the old man had just said.


    ¡°I¡¯m not promisin¡¯ anythin¡¯ more than what I have here. I¡¯ll find you a customer or two, to help get started, but that¡¯ll be the extent of my involvement. I¡¯m happy enough with things the way they are, thank you very much.¡±


    ¡°This really does mean a lot to me. You¡¯re saving me an incredible amount of trouble. I won¡¯t forget it!¡± Rygart was beaming, the excitement of all the possibilities made him feel like a new man. ¡°And how about this, for every sale I make, I¡¯ll let you have a portion! How about we split everything fifty-fifty!¡±


    ¡°Whoa whoa now, I told you, money isn¡¯t an issue. I¡¯m plenty happy with what I have. There¡¯d be no reason in chopping you off at the knee. You¡¯ll need every copper you earn.¡±


    ¡°I know, but I must do something! How about seventy-thirty?¡±


    ¡°Okay, fine, but make it eighty-twenty, and I won¡¯t have it any other way!¡± Oberon spoke up, cutting off Rygart just as he was about to object.


    ¡°Alright then, eighty-twenty! Looks like we¡¯re gonna be partners from now on, eh?¡± Rygart said, letting loose a grin.Looks like I¡¯ve made my first friend here. I¡¯ll be sure not to let him down.And with that Rygart finished his breakfast, imagining just what his future could hold.

 Ch 3 A Day Late and a Dollar Short

    ¡°Well, now that we¡¯ve gotten all of that taken care of, why don¡¯t you show me that blade of yours? I¡¯ve been curious to see how well you did. With your lack of formal teachin¡¯ and all¡± Oberon smiled and stood up from the table as he started cleaning up from the morning''s breakfast.


    ¡°Oh, right. You haven¡¯t seen it yet. It¡¯s nothing special. I¡¯ll be right back.¡± Rygart got up from his place at the table and started making his way back up the stairs to the room he¡¯d slept in the night before. After he entered the room he found his pack right where he¡¯d left it. He bent down next to it and untied the sword, freeing it. Currently, it was loosely wrapped in some old fabric with some twine tied around it to keep the fabric from slipping too much. He hefted the sword and returned to Oberon, ready to show off his work.


    ¡°Here it is. I shaped it to fit with my sword technique. The best I could anyway. I haven¡¯t really gotten to test it out in combat, but I have done some simple stress-testing.¡± As he was speaking he started to untie the twine and free the blade from the fabric. ¡°I didn¡¯t make a sheath for it or anything, which is why it¡¯s wrapped up like this. Before I head up into the Tower, I¡¯m gonna need to figure something out.¡±


    Once he finished unwrapping the sword he laid it flat across both hands and held it out towards Oberon. All-in-all the sword was a little over 100 centimeters long, the blade being about 80 of that, with a width of roughly 15 centimeters. Leaving about 20 for the handle. The guard was very minimalistic. Just a silver piece of steel just a bit larger than the handle, that was a half-sphere, shaped somewhat like a bowl, with the rounded end facing the handle. The pommel was another small piece of steel, again not much wider than the handle, shaped like a torus*, but without the hole.


    Both edges of the blade were gently angled towards the tip, narrowing faintly as the blade reached the point. Some 12 or so centimeters from the tip, the angle became more noticeable as it slightly tapered to a very fine point. The sword vaguely might resemble what you would get if you combined a longsword and a rapier. But the most interesting aspect of the weapon was that the blade was totally black, including the sharpened edges.


    ¡°Hmmm, interesting blade you¡¯ve made¡± Oberon studied the sword with a very sharp look in his eyes. As Rygart began speaking, Oberon reached out to hold the blade himself and get a closer look.


    ¡°The style my teacher taught me relied on quick, successive strikes.¡± As Rygart spoke he gently handed the sword over to Oberon for him to inspect. ¡°Mostly thrusts to weak points. That¡¯s why the whole thing narrows a little as it reaches the tip. As for the point itself, part of me feels like I may have made it a little too narrow, and started the taper too soon. If I were to do it again, I would probably shorten it a little. Make it more like an arrowhead.¡± Rygart felt a great deal of pride as he described his work. He couldn¡¯t help but feel he¡¯d done a great job for his first attempt. ¡°I carved a piece of wood to fit over the tang, and wound some strips of leather over that to create the grooves, so it would fit my grip better.¡±


    ¡°How did you wind the leather around so loosely? Between each band of leather I can see the wood. How does it not slip around? I can¡¯t say if I¡¯ve ever seen anything like that.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s this tree sap that is pretty common where I grew up. It¡¯s pretty thick when you collect it, but if you heat it it loosens up and flows better, kind of like water. Anyway, then you mix in saw dust, which has been boiled and drained, apply it to whatever you want to stick, cool it rapidly, and then bam, it hardens like stone and is forever stuck to whatever you applied it to.¡±


    ¡°Hmmm, I¡¯ve never heard of such a process¡± Oberon was inspecting the handle, tapping on the leather strips with his fingernail.


    ¡°It¡¯s actually pretty common in Brekt. It can be a pain though. People only do it if they need to. That sap is incredibly sticky, and if you get any of the mixture on your skin when you¡¯re applying it you¡¯ll need to scrape off the skin to get it off.¡± Rygart thought back to the last time he¡¯d gotten the stuff on his hands. He was bleeding by the time they managed to get it all off.


    ¡°What about the color of the blade? How did that happen?¡± Oberon had shifted his gaze to the blade now. Curious as to the process that had caused the metal to blacken all the way through.


    ¡°I¡¯m not really sure. At first I thought it was just black from the forge, like usual. But as I sharpened and polished it, the color stayed consistent.¡± Rygart remembered how he had felt when he first realized the blade was solid black, all the way through. ¡°I think it might have been something I added to the iron. There¡¯s a rare ore that is sometimes found in the mountains, and I had never used it before. So I decided to try and add it to the iron to create a type of steel that was more durable and could hold a sharper edge. It took a lot of testing and failed attempts. Ultimately what I got wasn¡¯t any better than regular steel, but I went with it anyway.¡±


    ¡°Interesting¡­¡± Oberon had stood patiently the entire time Rygart spoke, looking over the blade with a keen eye. ¡°What was the name of the metal you added?¡±


    ¡°Dichalcum. At least that¡¯s what I know it by. I didn¡¯t have much. My uncle never liked working with it, so he gave me what little he had.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, I¡¯ve heard of it. I¡¯ve only ever seen enough to make some jewelry. I tried workin¡¯ with it once. Never liked the way it felt. It was damn finicky though. I remember that. It lost heat too quick and took forever to get hot enough to work with.¡± Oberon looked up once he finished speaking and held the sword out for Rygart. ¡°Although, I hear that it is very reactive to Ruha. Maybe that has somethin¡¯ to do with it?¡±


    ¡°Oh really? I didn¡¯t know that. Hmmm, the Ruha is unusually dense in Brekt. Maybe? I don¡¯t really know that much about magic.¡± Rygart had never thought that Brekt¡¯s dense Ruha could have been the culprit. ¡°What is Black Ruha again? I forget.¡± Rygart had never had much interest in magic growing up, and the schools in Brekt weren¡¯t exactly top magic schools.


    ¡°Black is death, though it could possibly be Onyx, but I highly doubt it. And of course this is all assuming the color of the blade is a direct reference to which color of Ruha it resonated with. The color could just be a coincidence, or a mixture of different colors. Plus, there¡¯s regular iron in there, along with whatever else you added to make this steel. I wouldn¡¯t jump to any conclusions. I doubt there¡¯s anythin¡¯ to it at all. It hasn¡¯t been enchanted right?¡±


    ¡°Of course not. I couldn¡¯t afford that. Not yet anyway.¡±


    ¡°Then it¡¯s doubtful anythin¡¯ will happen until you get an enchanter to work on it.¡± Oberon sat back down at the table and leaned back, placing his hands behind his head and looking up at the ceiling. ¡°That¡¯s a mighty fine blade you got there anyhow. Marvelous work for a first run. The edge was straight, if perhaps a tad too sharp.There¡¯s no real style or character to it, though that¡¯s to be expected. It¡¯s well balanced, although there is one thing¡­¡± Oberon scratched his beard as he thought. ¡°Now, don¡¯t take this the wrong way, as you said it was your first time workin¡¯ a sword¡± Oberon learned forward a little and looked Rygart in the eye. ¡°The weight is pretty far off. Especially for the type of style you said you were goin¡¯ for. I¡¯d say it¡¯s easily twice as heavy as you want it. Have you even tried swingin¡¯ the thing yet?¡±


    ¡°Huh? What do you mean?¡± Rygart¡¯s brow furrowed, showing his confusion. ¡°It weighs pretty closemto what I¡¯m used to. If anything, it¡¯s a touch on the lighter side.¡±


    ¡°Look, it¡¯s no big deal. For your first try you did a remarkable job. With a little bit of practice I¡¯m sure you¡¯ll be one of the best in no time. Don¡¯t let your pride get in the way of you progressin¡¯ your skills. Acknowledgin¡¯ mistakes is a key part of learnin¡¯.¡±


    ¡°I would acknowledge my mistake, if there was a mistake.¡± Rygart was becoming irritated by Oberon¡¯s attitude. At first I thought he was messing with me, but he really thinks there¡¯s something wrong with the weight. ¡°That sword is almost just as heavy as the one I used to spar with my teacher.¡± Rygart had his arms crossed and looked Oberon straight in the eye.


    ¡°You couldn¡¯t possibly swing that thing around! Certainly not as quick as you say.¡±


    ¡°I can, and I will.¡± Replied Rygart, as he grabbed his sword and stood up from the table.


    ¡°Go on then, let¡¯s see it.¡± Oberon spoke with a great amount of sarcasm and amusement, expecting Rygart to make full of himself. ¡°I gave you an easy way out, but if you''re determined to make a fool of yourself, I¡¯m more than happy to watch.¡± Oberon leaned back and crossed his arm as he watched Rygart get into position.


    Rygart made sure to give himself enough room to do some basic maneuvers. He closed his eyes and thought back to all those days he had spent training with his teacher. He imagined two attackers, both in front, one to the left and one to the right. He held the sword, hand-over-fist, and brought the hilt up to the right side of his face, blade parallel to the ground. He leapt forward, swinging the blade in an overhand arc, then he quickly stepped to the right and brought the sword about, swinging horizontally then bringing it up, as if to cut his attacker from chest-to-chin.


    He stepped back to the left, brought the blade across his chest, this time raising the hilt to his left cheek, blade pointing towards the first attacker, and, as fast as lightning, he struck out with the point of his blade, thrusting it into his imaginary attacker three times. Twice to the heart, and once to the neck. Having finished, he swung his blade to his side as if to flick off his attackers blood.


    Satisfied that he¡¯d proven his point, he turned back to look at Oberon, sitting at the table. Rygart couldn¡¯t help but let a pleased look come to his eye, and he felt a faint smirk pull at his lips. He saw Oberon, sitting there with an incredulous look on his face. Evidently Rygart had impressed him.


    ¡°By the Twelve, how the blazes do you swing that sword so effortlessly? You don¡¯t have a lick of muscle on ya!¡±


    You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.¡°I do too! Just because I¡¯m not a giant freak of nature like you doesn¡¯t mean I¡¯m not strong! I¡¯ve been working in my uncle¡¯s smithy for years! Not to mention all the crazy strength training that sadistic teacher of mine made me do.¡± Just thinking about it made Rygart shudder.


    ¡°Ha! You are a strange one, that¡¯s for sure! Who was this teacher of yours? He must have been somethin¡¯ else if he taught you those moves.¡±


    ¡°His name is Embryil Osrowies¡±


    ¡°Hmmm, never heard of him.¡± Oberon stroked his beard as he thought, trying to remember if he¡¯d ever heard that name before.


    ¡°Oh what, you think you¡¯ve heard of every talented swordsman in the world?¡± Rygart¡¯s words were full of sarcasm.


    ¡°Fair enough. Well, you are full of surprises, young Rygart.¡± Oberon smiled and chuckled, easing Rygart¡¯s irritated mood.


    ¡°I think that¡¯s a compliment. That¡¯s how I¡¯ll take it anyway.¡± Rygart smiled back. He liked that people couldn¡¯t figure him out just by looking. It gave him an edge


    ¡°Hahaha of course it is!¡± Oberon again looked up, lost in thought, as Rygart leaned the sword on the table and sat back down. ¡°So tell me, Rygart, what are you going to do for the rest of the day?¡±


    ¡°Well¡­¡± Rygart hadn¡¯t given it much thought. What was he going to do today? ¡°Well, I should probably clean this place up a bit, if I¡¯m gonna start working down here. And, I still need to find a place to live. I have some money for an inn. I just hope there¡¯s one nearby.¡±


    ¡°Nonsense! You can stay here as long as you like.¡±


    ¡°Thanks for the offer, but I¡¯d like to keep things here professional. As far as I see it, I¡¯m renting out your workspace in exchange for a cut of my profits.¡±


    ¡°Oh is that right? Well, there¡¯s a cot down here, on the other side of this wall. It could help you save some money. Like I said, you¡¯re going to need every copper you can get. It ain¡¯t cheap runnin¡¯ a smithy.¡±


    ¡°I see¡­¡±


    ¡°Plus, the nearest inn is a ways off, and I wouldn¡¯t expect to find any long term housin¡¯ without a steady income.¡±


    ¡°Oh, well then. I guess the cot it is. That should do well enough for now.¡± Rygart thought about all things he still needed to do. He hasn¡¯t really settled in yet. He doesn¡¯t have a home, not really anyway, and he might have a place to work now, but there is no work to be done. It will take some effort to find clients and get a steady stream of orders coming in. I can¡¯t forget why I came here. I¡¯m not here just to be a smith. I want to be the first to reach the top of Draghiem. In the 300 years since the first Tower, Norhiem, appeared, only twelve people have been able to reach the top of a Tower and conquer it, and Draghiem is legendary for it¡¯s size. I certainly have my work cut out for me. Oh, that reminds me¡­ ¡°Hey Oberon, do you know how I would go about joining the assault guild?¡±


    ¡°Hmmm the assault guild eh? What you wanna be doin¡¯ that for? If you just want to get into Dragiem and get some materials, there are other ways, much easier ways.¡±


    ¡°Well, you see, I¡¯m not here just to be a smith. That¡¯s only to help me earn enough to buy the supplies I¡¯ll need to survive the Tower.¡±


    ¡°Ohhh I see. Someone¡¯s lookin¡¯ for some thrills eh?¡±


    ¡°Not exactly. I want to be the first to reach the top of Draghiem.¡±


    ¡°Well now, I did not expect that! I haven¡¯t heard someone talk like that in ages! Too many of the brats these days are just in it for the thrills and the gold. Glad to see some still have ambition! Ahahaha¡±


    ¡°Wait, were you part of the assault guild?¡±


    ¡°I sure was! In my younger years. Oh yes, I was full of ambition. To conquer the impossible Tower. It wasn¡¯t just me of course. I had a whole team, dedicated to reachin¡¯ the top.¡±


    ¡°Really? I never would have guessed. You certainly don¡¯t seem the type.¡± Oberon laughed at that. Once Oberon¡¯s laughing fit ceased, Rygart continued, ¡°What happened? How far did you get? When did you stop? Why did you stop?¡±


    ¡°Whoa now, one at a time. Hmm let¡¯s see. The furthest we ever made it was floor 39. Not too shabby I¡¯d say. And as far as why we stopped, well. Get knocked on your ass enough times and you stay there.¡± At that last part Rygart could tell the humor was hollow. He might have been making a joke, but he didn¡¯t think it was funny. ¡°Look Rygart, climbing the Tower is dangerous. Incredibly so. I lost friends doin¡¯ what we did. And I was witness to plenty more death, other than just those I cared about. I know how people talk about it. No one seems to focus on just how dangerous it is. Thousands die every year, and still more thousands flood in to take their place. Draghiem is not to be taken lightly.¡± Oberon had lost all traces of humor, fake or otherwise.


    ¡°I understand.¡± It was odd for Oberon to be so serious and forthcoming. Rygart could see in the old man¡¯s eyes that the Tower had done a number on him. This was the first time Rygart saw a glimpse of just what it meant to challenge Dragiem, and it certainly wasn¡¯t the last. ¡°Thank you for being straight with me, but I¡¯m not weak, or stupid.¡± Oberon seemed to be pleased with that answer. He nodded his head and stood up from the table.


    ¡°Right. Well, in order to join the assault guild you¡¯ll need to pay the introductory fees, which aren¡¯t cheap. But before that, you¡¯ll need to pass the application process. It has been known to take several months to get past the first screening phase.¡±


    ¡°The first phase?¡±


    ¡°Hahaha ohhh yes. Like I said, they get thousands of applicants. It doesn¡¯t help the matter that they only accept applications at certain parts of the year.¡± As Rygart listened a lump formed in his throat, realizing that his plans may get set back even more.


    ¡°Are they accepting applications now?¡± Rygart couldn''t help but hold his breath as he waited for Oberon¡¯s reply.


    ¡°Unfortunately for you, no. Even more unfortunately is that they just ended an acceptance phase a day or so ago.¡± Rygart¡¯s heat plummeted with each word. ¡°It¡¯ll be quite some time before they go through another set of applicants.¡± Oberon had an apologetic look in his eye. He couldn¡¯t help but feel for sorry for Rygart. He was clearly driven, and talented. If he¡¯d made it just a few days before, he¡¯d have made it through the first step for sure.


    ¡°Well, maybe since it was just a few days ago they¡¯ll¡­¡±


    ¡°No, I¡¯m afraid they¡¯re pretty strict about that. I can¡¯t remember the last time they let someone in outside of the application season.¡±


    ¡°What if you wrote a letter? You were once a member and¡­¡±


    ¡°Sorry, but that¡¯s not how it works. Maybe if I had been a key member, but I was just another grunt. Regular members don¡¯t have that kind of pull. It¡¯ll be, maybe, six months before they open it up again.¡±


    Rygart¡¯s good mood had quickly turned, knocking him down, feeling worse than when he¡¯d dealt with those smiths. Six months? I guess it¡¯s not that long, in the grand scheme of things. I wasn¡¯t planning on going into the Tower tomorrow or anything, but still. That¡¯s twice as long as I was wanting to wait. And with that thought Rygart sighed, not the least bit eager to wait so long.


    ¡°Well, it really is a good thing you¡¯re willing to help me out with work. Otherwise I don¡¯t know what I¡¯d do for the next six months.¡± Rygart looked up and smiled weakly, forcing himself to find the good in the situation.


    ¡°That¡¯s the spirit! Don¡¯t let a little waiting break you! I¡¯m sure you¡¯ll find plenty to do in the meantime! There¡¯s a lot to learn before goin¡¯ in afterall. Believe me, you¡¯ll have your hands full. What with the trainin¡¯ and the learnin¡¯ and the workin¡¯. Hahahaha¡± Oberon let out a big laugh, trying his best to raise Rygart¡¯s spirits. ¡°And I¡¯ll tell you what. Since you¡¯re gonna have so much time on your hands, I might even teach you a thing or two.¡±


    Rygart liked the sound of that. This old man might be a handful, but I have no doubt there¡¯s a lot I can learn from him. Oberon¡¯s offer improved his mood quite a bit. Now he almost looked forward to these next 6 months. He was finally here. He¡¯s taken his first steps toward his dream. Sure, they may be small steps, but it¡¯s progress. In six months, I¡¯ll be in front of the door, now I just need to make sure I¡¯ll have what it takes to open it.


    _____________________________________________


    Author¡¯s Note: *If you don¡¯t know what a torus is, that¡¯s the name of the shape of a donut, or inner tube.

 Ch 4 Garters Report

    During the day the city of Eisenrahm is a bustling center of commerce, where people from all over come to trade exotic merchandise. Some, sell fanciful items brought back from the upper levels of Draghiem, while others bring luxurious items from far away nations. However, during the night Eisenrahm is much like any other city. Its inhabitants journey home, eager for dinner and a good night¡¯s rest. A few may venture out into the night to make memories or, more often than not, mistakes.


    After just a few hours of sunset the city is filled with sleeping citizens, not a light to be seen, save for the lamp posts that dot the sides of the roads. However, there is one building which burns bright well into the night. It is a tall building, towards the center of town which rises up as if it rests upon a large hill, full of windows which still burn bright even though all others around it have long since fallen dark.


    The regulatory building for the assault guild often finds itself full of life all night as those in charge of sustaining the guild work, often straight into the morning. Behind every lit window is a man or woman, toiling away with one matter or another. One such window belongs to a man not entirely unlike the rest, or so he would like to think. Afterall, they were all here doing the same work weren¡¯t they? Even if his work happened to envelope a bit more than the others working well into the night. His work was never finished, and never would be. Not until the day he chose another to take his place. And often his work would leave him haggard and in foul spirits for he much preferred simple action rather than the intricate, and often times political, nature of his work.


    Tonight was no different, as he read through one report after another. As this greedy merchant or that rich aristocrat, or any other of a number of entitled fools, was insulted or offended by some poor bastard probably just trying to do his job. Reports like these flooded his office. Some were formal complaints made by those who hired members of the guild for protection in the Tower, while others were from prominent members of the city that were rubbed the wrong way by someone in the guild.


    Oh how I hate aristocrats. You¡¯d think that with all the money they¡¯ll ever need that they wouldn¡¯t have so much to complain about. He thought, as he removed his half-moon glasses and rubbed his aching eyes. How long has it been since I last took a break? Damn, it¡¯s already dark outside? He glanced out the window, trying to determine how late into the night it was. Perhaps if I hurry, I might still be able to sleep in my own bed tonight. The thought of enjoying a few hours respite in the comfort of his own bed gave the aging man the energy needed to continue his work.


    As he drudged on, determined to earn a good night¡¯s rest, he heard a faint knock on his door.


    ¡°It¡¯s open!¡± he shouted, not bothering to look up.


    Across the room from where the man sat at his desk, there was a set of large double doors, ornately carved with large brass handles. At the sound of the man¡¯s voice, one of the large doors opened silently on well oiled hinges. A young woman, with waist-long black hair tied neatly into a ponytail and with sharp eyes behind simple square rimless glasses, stepped through the door.


    She wore something of a uniform, consisting of a predominantly red jacket of a double-button fashion with patches of brown leather on the elbows and shoulders. Her trousers were simple. Mostly brown cloth, with a touch of red on the outside of the thighs, and leather knee pads sewn straight into the fabric, much like the jacket. On her feet were leather boots, the tops coming up to her shins, with her trousers tucked neatly within.


    She was surprised when she saw the old man. His graying hair was disheveled, and his clothes seemed out of sorts. He had ink smudges on his face and hands, and he was obviously weary. He looked well into his sixties, with the all the lines permanently worn into his face. But she wasn¡¯t fooled. She knew the man to barely be in his fifties. She remembered when he had passed that milestone, a few years back. Working himself to the bone again, she thought as she felt a pang of sorrow, At least his beard is well kept. The world could be burning down around us and he¡¯d still keep that thing trimmed.


    ¡°If you¡¯ve brought me more complaints just set them on the stack over there,¡± he said as he gestured towards an end-table with a hefty stack of papers already upon it.


    ¡°Actually, I¡¯d say this is just a tad bit more important than some upset lord or lady.¡± Upon hearing the seriousness of her voice the man looked up from his paperwork to see what she was holding.


    In both hands she clutched a large journal, made of thick leather, clearly aged and well-worn. It was something similar to the journal he had used in his younger days as a member of the guild¡¯s front line.


    ¡°What do you have there Elena?¡± He spoke with genuine curiosity, his interest having been piqued.


    ¡°Sir, this is a report from one of our members, Garter Quin, who has recently returned from an eight month trip into Draghiem.¡± She moved closer and placed the journal on the large oak desk that filled a majority of that side of the room.


    ¡°Hmmm, I don¡¯t think I know him. Did they make it back alright?¡± As he spoke he grabbed the journal and brought it in front of him.


    ¡°Yes sir. He led one of the parties that was part of the 32 man team. The one that was under orders to protect a merchant caravan.¡±


    ¡°Ah yes, I remember the contract. So, tell me, what¡¯s so important about this report? You¡¯ve got my curiosity all fired up.¡± He leaned back in his chair and put his hands top of the journal and threaded his fingers, waiting for her response.


    ¡°Well sir, there was¡­.an incident. While the group made camp on the 37th floor Garter wandered off on his own. He was involved in a scuffle with a Glacier Lion, which he survived, however during the fight it seems that he crashed through a section of the Tower¡¯s inner wall, where it and the wall of the labyrinth met.¡± She paused, as if not certain how to explain what happened next. ¡°On the other side of the wall, Garter found what he describes as ¡°another section of wall lined with what appeared to be varying sizes of gears.¡±¡±


    Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.      The old man leans forward, listening intently as she speaks. As far he knows, nothing like this has ever happened before.


    ¡°Garter also noted that several of these gears seemed to have been broken during his confrontation with the lion, and that if the contraption had been working before, it wasn¡¯t after the events of the fight.¡±


    ¡°Hmmm¡± The old man was staring into nothing, trying his best to recall if any such room or device has ever been seen in the Tower. ¡°When did all of this take place, exactly?¡±


    ¡°A little more than five months have passed since the events he described.¡±


    ¡°Five months?!¡± He was shocked by that last statement. Something like this should have been brought to his attention much sooner. ¡°Why wasn¡¯t I notified of this the moment we heard?!¡±


    ¡°The fact is sir, we¡¯ve only just found out about it. They only returned yesterday. Garter made a special report just for this event, separate from his ordinary review. However, we don¡¯t exactly have a system in place for these kinds of reports. Not for floors that have already been well documented. If this had been found on a floor higher up, where less is known, then you would have gotten it much sooner, but because this is such a¡­.unique event it had passed through several different hands before I got wind of it. We¡¯re lucky it didn¡¯t fall through the cracks entirely.¡±


    ¡°Damn it all. What took so long for them to return?¡±


    ¡°It seems those in charge of the caravan wouldn¡¯t allow it. Since this was a civilian contract they had ultimate say in the matter. In Garter¡¯s report he lays out the details of what transpired between the guild members and the merchants. Again, we have no protocol set forth for this kind of contingent.¡±


    ¡°Damn greedy merchants. All they cared about was their gold.¡± He again removed his glasses and began rubbing the soreness from his eyes.


    ¡°Sir, we need systems in place to handle events such as this. Luckily it seems it was rather trivial, this time. Next time we might all be dead five months after the fact.¡±


    ¡°You have a point, though it will take months to convince the others to act. Ironically, if it had been something more severe I might be able to do something about it.¡± Oh how I hate politics.


    ¡°You are the Guildmaster aren¡¯t you? Wouldn¡¯t a duty such as this fall within your jurisdiction?¡± She was clearly upset by this situation, as evidenced by the way she tossed her arms around, before she finally crossed them and stood there, tapping her foot.


    ¡°I may be Guildmaster, but I am only in charge of those on the front lines. Support staff, like what you¡¯re suggesting, isn¡¯t up to me. That¡¯s Rigot¡¯s jurisdiction. And as far as creating new guidelines to impose on contract holders, that would have to be done by Ingrid. She¡¯s the only one the fool merchants will talk to.¡± The pain had changed now to include a dull headache. So much for getting to sleep in my own bed tonight.


    ¡°That may be, but something must be done.¡± Elena was determined to have the last word, and the Guildmaster was happy to let her have it. There was a long pause while they both sat in silence, pondering all that had been said.


    ¡°You said that it was trivial. Has there been no change in Dragiem?¡± The Guildmaster found it hard to believe that it was truly nothing.


    ¡°No other reports from the other floors.¡± She paused as she thought about everything that had been contained is Garter¡¯s report, as well as all the others that flood through their offices. ¡°Although¡­.Garter¡¯s report, as well as a few others, have mentioned that floor 38¡¯s labyrinth is missing it¡¯s archfiend.¡±


    Each floor in Draghiem has a labyrinth, which leads to the floor above, and each labyrinth is patrolled by an archfiend, a monster with incredible strength that far surpasses the power of the other creatures on that floor, as well as other powerful monsters that are unique to that floor¡¯s labyrinth.


    ¡°Well now, that is unusual, isn¡¯t it.¡± Again they sat in silence, until, ¡°and there has been no other mention of any changes?¡±


    ¡°None besides the missing archfiend. And no other room like the one described in Garter¡¯s report has been discovered. Although, that doesn¡¯t mean much. The room from the report was hidden behind a wall, and as far as I know no one has ever before been able to breach one of Draghiem¡¯s walls.¡±


    It was true. Even King Loqesh hadn¡¯t been able to break any part of Draghiem. Half the capital was even built on top of the first floor¡¯s labyrinth, as they couldn¡¯t break the walls and needed the space. No one has ever been able to destroy a part of Draghiem. Something must have weakened it. But what? Nearly 300 years have passed since the thing was rizen. Maybe it¡¯s just getting old? He very much doubted that. No one has ever been able to understand the magic used to create the Towers. The Guildmaster found it hard to believe that simple age could have such an effect.


    ¡°I¡¯ll read over the report. Tomorrow, send for Garter Quin. I want to hear it straight from the horse¡¯s mouth. And, after you¡¯ve done that, order an emergency meeting of the guild Heads. I want Ingrid and Rigot in my office tomorrow before noon.¡± The guildmaster rubbed his hands together, thinking about what he needed to get done before that meeting. ¡°Oh, and get me a drink.¡± Elena consented and turned to leave the room. ¡°And Elena, make it something strong¡±

 Ch 5 The Opportunity of a Lifetime

    Eisenrahm was now in full bloom, overflowing with citizens hustling and bustling about. It was quite warm out, as the final days of spring were ending and the hotter temperament of summer was just setting in. On days like today citizens could be seen in every nook and cranny of the capital city, working to earn their wages or otherwise taking what free time they had to relax.


    Rygart was on his way home with some materials he¡¯d just purchased from one of his suppliers. He was pulling a cart, bristling with metal. Some were in the shape of fine ingots, yet others were bent rods or springs, and other tools. Rygart often kept a stockpile of old metals on hand. The quality of the tools here in the city was a marked improvement on what was found in Brekt, and Rygart often reforged the old metals into something useful he needed.


    Oberon¡¯s smithy had been well stocked of course, but once word had gotten around of a young smith working out of the old man¡¯s smithy Rygart had quickly used up what Oberon had left him. Business was slow at first, Oberon knew some tradesmen that had been quite pleased to have him fashion a chisel or knife, but Rygart was afraid he wouldn¡¯t be able to sustain himself on his smithing skills alone. However, one day, while in a particularly depressing mood, Rygart started working some metal to clear his mind. He¡¯s found that whenever he was at the forge the world seemed to stop, and all focus was drawn in to the work.


    Rygart had toiled away for hours, only stopping to eat or relieve himself. He made countless tools, some of which he¡¯d just thought up. Hammers of differing sizes, clamps, wrenches, chisels, you name it, he made it. Having been satisfied that his skill hadn¡¯t waned, he began working with blades again.


    First, he¡¯d made a simple short sword, with an oval guard and a tightly wrapped leather handle. The blade flared out a little as it got longer, up until the wide taper he¡¯d put at the end. He¡¯d used a simple steel that had been left in one of the various barrels or boxes that were scattered across the smithy.


    Once finished, Rygart started again, this time creating a broadsword. And again he finished and, yet again, he¡¯d start anew. Hours he worked. By the time he came to himself again, it was nearly morning! He had worked every hour of the previous day, and as Rygart realized this, he felt exhaustion like he¡¯d never known before.


    He put the finishing touches on his current work, a fine rapier, and prepared himself for bed. He could only afford a few hours rest, which he slept through second, and had left a note asking Oberon to wake him. As he climbed into his cot, he found himself at greater peace than he had known in quite a while.


    When Oberon had seen the work that Rygart was so thoroughly exhausted from, he was shocked. A half dozen blades lay neatly in a row on a worktable which had been cleared of everything except the fine works of steel and iron. Oberon could actually tell the order that the blades had been made. Each time this kid makes a sword he gets better. He¡¯s a natural. Oberon smiled with pride as he thought. His young friend was quite the budding smith.


    Oberon woke Rygart, as he¡¯d asked, although it took a fair effort to pry him from his dreams. As Rygart finally relented Oberon began speaking with him about the blades. Rygart quickly explained that he had been in a lousy mood, and so he worked to clear his mind. Oberon left it at that, not wanting to inflate the young man¡¯s ego. And so, Oberon set out on his own business as Rygart returned to the smithy.


    His entire body ached from the hours spent relentlessly hammering the metals. His forearms felt as if he¡¯d never be able to grip anything the rest of his life, and his shoulders couldn¡¯t even be bothered to lift his arms. His entire body was a testament to the pain that always followed progress.


    As Rygart sat at his worktable laiden with blades, he thought of just what to do with them. He spent the morning fashioning a display where he could show off his works, using some wood and old bits of iron. There was a section of the front wall that was segmented, and could be opened up leaving a hefty portion of the smithy open to the street. Rygart set his display of tools and weapons around either side of the opening, and went inside to a forge nearby and began heating it. Before long he was working at full speed and, shortly after that, a crowd had formed, interested to see what was going on.


    Rygart worked as fast as he could, not making tools or weapons, he had plenty of those now. No, instead he made decorative candle sticks, intricate iron canes, and many other items. Anything that could be done relatively quickly. As he finished a piece some in the crowd would applaud and ¡°oooo¡± and ¡°ahhhh¡± at his work.


    After a few hours of work Rygart walked to the front of the crowd and called out to them, ¡°Welcome to the newest smithy in town! Where you can not only get your tools, but also a show!¡± The crowd seemed quite pleased, and let out a modest cheer. ¡°As you can see we can make anyone anything! On the table over here,¡± he gestured to one of the tables holding a display with a pair of swords and several other tools as well as a large leatherbound book, ¡°I have an order book. Any time during they day, if you you can¡¯t find what you need on display, write it down and I¡¯ll be sure to add it. Prices are negotiable up until the first hundred orders! First come, first served!¡± That last part seemed to get some of the crowd stirred up, and before too long Rygart was selling his work hand over fist.


    The first day had been the hardest. He was still incredibly sore and weak from the previous day, not to mention the exhaustion of only having a few hours of sleep, but it was all worth it. After that day Rygart never had to worry about finding work. He soon added more books to hold the orders, and then more again. He worked diligently, every day, and every morning he would open up his shop and work, seldomly stopping throughout the day.


    It was the most he¡¯d ever been behind a forge. Every night he went to bed exhausted, only barely managing to make it to his cot in the corner of the smithy. And every morning he woke, sore and weak from the previous days exertions, and so a routine developed. He would wake early, just as it began to brighten outside, and then he would stretch his aching muscles and eat breakfast. Just as the street was beginning to fill, he would open his shop and get to work.


    Three months went by like this, and Rygart could feel his strength growing. Not only did his strength improve, but so did his skill. The time it took for him to complete a project greatly diminished as these two things grew. Rygart¡¯s experiences certainly helped him improve his skill, especially with swords, but what really pushed his skill to grow were the days he spent with Oberon.


    The old man didn¡¯t often lend him time to learn, but when he did Rygart devoured everything Oberon said. Whether it was smithing , city politics, or Draghiem, Rygart always listened and observed. He would spend days trying to perfect the skills he was shown, or to commit to memory what information Oberon would share about the state of the city and Draghiem.


    Truth be told, those three months flew by like they were but a fleeting dream. Which brings us to today. As Rygart pulled his cart of metal he thought about a particular technique Oberon had showed him a few days ago. A forging process unlike any he¡¯d ever seen, where the resulting blade had been immaculate, and curved gently with the sharpened edgeon one side.


    Rygart had never seen a single-edged blade before, and he had been very curious. He had asked all about the benefits and the disadvantages. It was quite the novel concept, however it wouldn¡¯t lend itself well to Rygart¡¯s fighting style. Oberon agreed, saying that he himself had never wielded such a blade in battle, but that there were many in the assault guild that used such blades, and that they would pay an outrageous amount of gold for one that was well crafted. Apparently none of the smiths in the city frequently made any such blade. Some were known to forge one upon request, but the quality was often lacking.


    ¡°I¡¯m decent enough, though far from any sort of mastery of the technique¡± that¡¯s what Oberon had said when telling Rygart of this new technique.


    Earlier, Rygart had decided to give it a try, and the result was, well, not what he had hoped for. But, he shrugged it off and tried again. And again. There was something off about it. Rygart had never had such trouble before, and he vowed to master the art. Which is what had brought Rygart to his metal supplier. He believed that this process was just as much about finding the perfect balance of metals as it was the process of forging.


    One of the most impressive things about Oberon¡¯s smithy is that it had a blast furnace, built into the back wall. Rygart hadn¡¯t noticed it at first because it was obscured by tables and machines. When he made the discovery, Rygart couldn¡¯t believe his eyes. It was a massive thing, made of sturdy, giant stone bricks. He had worked with one of course, but not often.


    Rygart had pressed Oberon for an explanation, but the man acted like it was no big deal. Well, for all Rygart knew it wasn¡¯t. Here in Eisenrahm anyway. Ever since he discovered the behemoth, Rygart was consumed with the idea of creating new steels and alloys. Rygart spent a lot of time learning about the process, and trying to perfect it. There was progress that had been made, though it was incredibly slow.


    Rygart had intended to get right to work upon returning to the smithy, however as he was just about to pass the threshold into the building, he heard Oberon holler from the opposite direction.


    ¡°Oy! Rygart! I¡¯ve got some good news for you.¡± The giant of a man was unusually chipper, which is saying quite a lot for him, and he had a joyful, yet mischievous, look in his eye.


    ¡°Oh? Did the doctor do something about that poor face of yours? Hmmm, nope, still looks the same as ever¡± Rygart replied with a wry smile.


    ¡°Haha don¡¯ you wish! Then maybe you¡¯d find yourself a lass! Instead of ¡®em always fallin¡¯ for old Oberon here.¡±


    ¡°The women I¡¯m interested in don¡¯t have beards¡±


    ¡°Hey now, I told ya, she didn¡¯t have no beard! It was just...a couple of little hairs on her lip. Hardly noticeable!¡± They both laughed, knowing that there was more than just a grain of truth to the story.


    ¡°So did you really have something important to say, or was that just a ploy to brag about your bearded lady.¡± Rygart spoke as he entered the smithy through a small door against the far wall, opposite the side that leads to the rest of the house.


    The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.¡°Oh, right. I have it on good authority that, soon, a certain guild will be allowing for new members to join.¡± The mischievous look returned once again to his eyes.


    ¡°You''re kidding! You said it¡¯d be six months before they took in applications!¡±


    ¡°I said it could be six months. Use those things on the side of your head more often.¡±


    ¡°Oh, whatever! What exactly did you hear??¡± Rygart had abandoned his cart of metals against the wall, and turned to face Oberon, with excitement burning through him.


    ¡°Well, it seems that instead of the usual application process, they have somethin¡¯ a little bit more¡­.flashy in mind.¡± He had closed his eyes and began to stroke his beard, seemingly deep in thought.


    ¡°What¡¯s that supposed to mean? Oh, just out with it you old git!¡± Rygart went to grab something to smack the old man upside the head with, when the old man raised his hands, as if to surrender.


    ¡°Alright alright. Don¡¯ get your danglies in a twist. It would appear that, in honor of the foundin¡¯ of our nation, the guild Heads have decided to host a tournament of sorts.¡± Oberon paused and looked around the room, hoping to find a place to sit.


    ¡°A tournament? Have they done anything like this before?¡±


    ¡°Oh yes, it¡¯s called the Eisenverd Festival. Since the guild was first established they¡¯ve held, maybe, 75 or so of these festivals. There¡¯s an entire district of the city dedicated to it!¡± Oberon finally cleared himself a seat and sat down with a <humpf>.


    ¡°Eisenverd?¡±


    ¡°Well, I¡¯m told that it comes from an old language, meaning iron-blooded. Eisenrahm is supposed to mean iron beast, or some such. They say that to have fought off a horde of demons, our ancestors must have had had iron for blood.¡± He scratched his beard as he settled down into his chair, explaining the festival to Rygart. ¡°Now then, as I said earlier, there is an entire district dedicated to these festivals. It¡¯s a big deal. There are large coliseums, where various competitions are held. Usually there is at least one combat-oriented contest. Sometimes they are one-on-one duels, though there are others. At the last one, they captured a creature from one of the upper floors! They set 16 men against it! Damn crazy if ya ask me.¡±


    ¡°They captured something from the Tower?¡± Rygart was surprised to hear that. In all his time here he¡¯d never seen or heard of people bringing monsters out of Draghiem.


    ¡°Yeah, but it¡¯s unusual. It takes someone very large and at the top of the city hierarchy to arrange something like that. Even the assault guild needed permission.¡± He cleared his throat before continuing, ¡°Anyway, I doubt they¡¯ll do that again. Most likely it will be filled with other types of contests. Feets of agility, strength, cunning, all things that are needed to survive Draghiem. Obstacle courses are common enough.¡± Oberon leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms as he finished speaking. It appeared as though he was having a hard time getting comfortable.


    ¡°That¡¯s all very interesting and everything, but did you find out when this will all be happening? That would be good to know,¡± he let an ample amount of sarcasm seep through his words.


    ¡°Oh, right. About that. It seems they¡¯re keeping it all hush hush, but I have it on very good authority that the games will begin in no more than four months.¡± He closed his eyes and nodded his head, reaffirming what he¡¯d just said.


    ¡°Hmmm, four months huh? So it''s still a ways off. From the sounds of these events, it¡¯s not going to be a picnic, that¡¯s for sure. And fighting? I¡¯m rusty. There¡¯s only so much I can do on my own¡­¡± Rygart was biting the end of his thumb, which he did whenever he tried to figure out a particularly difficult problem. At this point he was more talking to himself than he was to Oberon, ¡°It would help a lot if I knew what events to expect. I wonder if they¡¯ll release that information as time gets closer.¡±


    ¡°Nah, they never do. They only announce the event just before it starts. They like to play it all very close to the chest, that¡¯s for sure. Somethin¡¯ bout thinkin¡¯ that the more spontaneous it is, the better they can judge the competitors. Draghiem doesn''t exactly hand out itineraries, now does it?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, that makes sense, but still¡­¡± he trailed off into thought again, worried that he might not have the skills necessary to succeed.


    ¡°From what I hear, not only does the 1st place participant get a guaranteed spot in the guild, they¡¯re even going to hand em a 1st class C rankin¡¯!¡± Oberon said that last part with an amount of incredulousness that caught Rygart by surprise.


    ¡°Is that a big deal? What is a ¡°1st class C ranking¡±? I¡¯ve never anything about that.¡± Rygart had an inquisitive look on his face. For it to get Oberon so worked up must mean that it was something of value.


    ¡°What? I haven¡¯t told you of the rankings at the guild?¡± Taking Rygart¡¯s questioning look as an answer to his question, he continued, ¡°Well, the assault guild ain¡¯t exactly military, ya know? And as such, they don¡¯t have any ranking system commonly found in armies. Instead, they have their own unique system.¡± Oberon rubbed his beard, as he spoke, ¡°You see, at the top of what you might call the grunts, is A rank. Under them sits B, then C, and so on, down to F rank. Each rank is split into ¡°classes¡±, which indicates how far along they are in their rank. Ranks A through C have three classes, 1st class, 2nd class, and 3rd class. Ranks D through F have four. Understand so far?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, I think so. Your rank is an indicator of your strength and skill, I¡¯m assuming, and the classes gives you a way to compare yourself to those within your own rank, right?¡±


    ¡°Yes! Exactly. Now, most who start at the guild start of in either ranks D or E, depending on how well you do during your first week of training, with trainees being deemed rank F. Now, the only way to increase your rank, is to reach the 1st class of whatever rank you¡¯re in, and then ask for an evaluation. That, in itself, is fairly complicated, and will be explained to you better when you get there. It usually takes years to reach a 1st class C ranking. Them giving away such a prize will put whoever it is that wins it on the front step of the big leagues, right out the gate!¡±


    ¡°Wow, that is a big deal.¡± They both sat for a moment, Rygart mulling over everything he¡¯d just learned, and Oberon reminiscing about his own years spent with the guild. ¡°Wait, you said this A rank is still considered the ¡°grunts¡±? What is above that?¡±


    ¡°Ahhh, right. Always quick with the observations, aren¡¯t ya? Well, once you¡¯ve reached the 1st class of A rank, the next step would be to earn a Title. Only a few ever get that far. I mean, not even one in a thousand, no not even one in ten-thousand, get that far. Those with Titles are called The Named. Usually it is some great feat of skill, power, or bravery that earns them a Name, from the royal court even! The only way to get that far is to be recognized by the most powerful people in the kingdom. So naturally, not many ever get that far.¡±


    Again time passed as they sat in silence. Rygart was curious as to the identity of The Named. I wonder how many there are. I would love to meet someone like that one day. Imagine what I could learn from them! After that, a thought came to Rygart.


    ¡°Hey Oberon, how high ranked were you?¡± Rygart knew it was probably rude to ask, but he just couldn¡¯t help it. His curiosity had gotten the better of him.


    ¡°Oh ho! Curious, are ya, to see how the old man stacks up? Well, I was a proud member of the 1st Class of B rank! Not too shabby eh? Ahahaha¡± Oberon really was quite proud of himself.


    And for good reason too, thought Rygart, if what Oberon said was accurate, it¡¯ll take me years to reach that. I have to admit, the old man surprised me. I never would have thought he had such drive. I wish he would be more forthcoming about his life. Rygart again felt his curiosity bridling beneath the surface of his mind. This time, however, he kept it in check.


    ¡°Ya know..¡± Oberon spoke, with a look of deep contemplation on his face, ¡°I know you¡¯re worrying about bein¡¯ ready and what not. But I might be able to help with that.¡± Rygart looked up, wondering what Oberon might be talking bout. ¡°I¡¯m not much of an adventurer anymore, but there¡¯s a friend of mine that occasionally takes on a student. If you want, I could set up a meetin¡¯. See if he¡¯ll help you train for the festival.¡±


    ¡°Well, since you¡¯re the one that knows him, would it help?¡± Upon hearing Rygart¡¯s question, that mischievous look returned to Oberon¡¯s eye.


    ¡°Oh, I¡¯ve no doubt about that. Assumin¡¯ you survive and all.¡±


    ______________________________________________________________


    Hey guys! Some great stuff is comin'' up, so don''t forget to come back! Also, if you haven''t gone to checkout the new cover art, what are you waiting for? Go! Go! Go! Anyway, that image is of Draghiem, from a great distance, of course. The damn thing is huge after all! I know it''s not perfect, and I haverequestsout there for artists to do something better, but until then, my cover will just have to do! I wanted to give it a cover ASAP, but I also didn''t want to just throw something together. Now that it has a cover, it feels more "official". Anyway, I hope you guys are enjoying the story so far! Thanks for reading!

 Ch 6 Cat and Mouse

    Damn Oberon. Damn that old man straight to the lowest circle of hell. Rygart thought this as he lay there, broken and shattered, nearly on the brink of death. I thought that old bastard was just kidding, but I might actually die. Rygart had faced a new hell ever since meeting with Oberon¡¯s ¡°old friend¡±, culminating in the pain he felt now, after being hurled through the forest with devastating force. As he lay there, Rygart thought about everything that had happened since Oberon had told him about the man that had now, undoubtedly, killed him.


    Rygart had, obviously, taken up the offer to meet with the man Oberon had told him about. Evidently, he was some sort of mentor to Oberon in his early days. His name was Doran and, back in the day, he was a 1st class A rank member of the assault guild. Supposedly he¡¯d even come close to earning a Title, but, according to Oberon, Doran didn¡¯t get along with the city officials, which evidently stopped him from progressing.


    Oberon had said, ¡°He might not have been formally Named, but he is every bit as worthy as the others, if ya ask me¡±, but Rygart suspected that he was exaggerating. Probably because this man had been his teacher. Either way, Rygart held off on making any judgements until he met the man in person, which had only been a couple days after Rygart accepted the offer.


    He had been instructed, by Oberon, to bring sturdy clothes, and whatever weapons he planned on using, with him. Rygart left the smithy early in the morning, before the light had begun to peek through the holes that lined the walls of the tower. Oberon had said to take everything he thought he might need, which was now in Rygart¡¯s pack, and meet Doran by the entrance to Draghiem. Evidently they would be training outside the Tower.


    Rygart had asked what the man looked like, since he assumed there would be a steady flow of traffic, even this early in the morning. According to Oberon, the man was well into his sixties, long silver hair with two large braids, wrapped in leather, hanging down on either side of his face. Even though this, along with some cryptic words about knowing him when I see him, was all that Oberon had given him to go off of, Rygart expected it¡¯d be enough. This man seemed to be the type to stand out in a crowd.


    As Rygart approached the giant tunnel that acted as the entrance to the Tower, he began searching through the crowd of travellers, looking for the silver haired man that Oberon had described. He spent some several minutes looking and hadn¡¯t found anyone he thought accurately fit the description. There were some elderly men, though they looked too frail to be the man he was looking for.


    There was a bit of a lull in the crowd of people coming to and from the city, and suddenly Rygart saw him. Oh, I¡¯d say he¡¯d stick out in a crowd alright. Rygart had spotted the man, standing some ways off to the side of the road, leaning against the wall, with a large pack sitting next to him. Rygart had seen the man earlier, out of the corner of his eye, but didn¡¯t think anything of it, but, as he grew nearer, he knew this was the man.


    Once Rygart had gotten close enough to tell it was Doran, he stopped dead in his tracks. Now Rygart realized why Oberon had said he¡¯d stand out in a crowd. The man must have been nearly 250 centimeters tall! If Oberon was a giant of a man, Doran was titanic. His silver hair fell just past his shoulders, and of course he had the two braids, which hung to his jaw, framing his face.


    Another remarkable feature was that the man didn¡¯t look nearly as old as Oberon had said. Hell, with the clean shaven look the man wore he looked just a bit younger than Oberon. This man is a good 20 years older than Oberon, but hardly looks it. Not only did his face have a distinct lack of the wear that comes with aging, but the man¡¯s arms rippled with muscles. He wasn¡¯t as thick as Oberon, but the muscles were much more defined. In fact, every part of the man¡¯s skin, that Rygart could see anyway, was rippling with taut muscle. As Rygart looked on, he couldn¡¯t help but get the feeling of well contained power. Like the man had to willfully stop his muscles from bursting forth. It was clearly evident that Doran was in peak condition. A feat that was all the more impressive considering his age.


    He wore a simple cloth tunic, with some leather padding seemingly strapped around his waist. The sleeves only just extended past his shoulders, leaving his arms fully exposed to the air. There were leather bracers covering his forearms, starting at the wrist and extending very nearly to his elbow. And he wore plain, brown trousers. On his feet he wore, what seemed to be, thin-bottomed sandals.


    After Rygart recovered from the sheer size and stature of the man, he began walking over, readying himself for introductions. Doran was leaning against the Tower¡¯s wall, arms crossed with one leg propped up behind him, and with his head bowed a bit, eyes closed. Rygart couldn¡¯t tell if he was asleep or deep in prayer. Or possibly neither, I suppose. Now that Rygart was just a few paces away, he could see the details of the man¡¯s face.


    He had smooth skin, slightly more pale than Rygart¡¯s own. His jaw was strong, with hard edges. Overall his face had a bit of an angular look to it. He might be what some would consider attractive, although Rygart was hardly a judge of such things. His eyebrows still had a touch of black in them, but only just, and his face lacked any sign of great age. There was, however, a long, thin scar, forming a near perfect line that extended from his right brow all the way down past his jaw, and disappeared beneath his tunic.


    Rygart was about to announce himself when the man spoke with a deep, yet silvery, voice.


    ¡°So you¡¯re the kid Oberon spoke of.¡± Rygart had been caught a little off guard, and wasn¡¯t quite sure what to say.


    ¡°Uh, yes sir, I suppose I am. I take it you are Doran?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s right. I hear you want to join the assault guild, and that you plan to participate in the upcoming Eisenverd Festival.¡± By now he had opened his eyes, which were inspecting Rygart with a very scrutinizing look. ¡°Oberon says you¡¯ve got spirit. He compared you to himself when he was younger. So tell me, young Rygart, do you believe you have it in you to surpass Oberon?¡±


    Rygart hadn¡¯t been expecting a question like that. Did Rygart even want to surpass Oberon? He¡¯d never thought of him as a rival or anything else like that. However, he did know one thing.


    ¡°My only goal is to be the first to reach Draghiem¡¯s top floor, and add my name to those that have defeated a Tower. And I believe I have more than enough to accomplish that¡± Rygart spoke with purpose and determination etched onto his face.


    Upon seeing Rygart¡¯s intense look, the corner of Doran¡¯s mouth pulled back just a bit, leaving the slightest hint of a smile.


    ¡°Is that all? I just hope you know it won¡¯t be easy, and I intend to show you just how much blood, sweat, and tears it will take to achieve that goal.¡± Doran pulled himself off the wall as he spoke. ¡°If you can¡¯t survive a few monthswith me, you won¡¯t stand a chance in Draghiem¡±, and with that Doran hefted his pack, which was nearly as big as Rygart, and set off, leading the way out of the Tower.


    I guess that means I passed his test? Rygart followed just to the side of Doran, as they began their trek, walking through the massive tunnel that separates the inside of Draghiem from the rest of the world.


    Together they walked, heading away from the Tower. Walking until nightfall, in complete silence. After several hours of walking, Rygart had gotten annoyed that the man chose to walk in silence, instead of spending the time getting to know Rygart. This guy is a bit of an odd ball. Who walks for this long with someone and doesn¡¯t start some kind of conversation? But Rygart kept quiet, not wanting to be the first to break the silence.


    As the sun began to hang low, they entered a large forest, having long since left the main road. Still they walked, with the sun sinking ever lower and the forest growing thicker. After the sun had disappeared completely Rygart had lost all patience. He could hardly see where he was going, and was just about to say so when Doran finally stopped and spoke.


    ¡°This looks like a good place to get started¡± He looked around as he spoke, and then set his pack down at his feet. ¡°We¡¯ll make camp here and go over a few things.¡±


    Rygart followed suit, and soon they both began searching for firewood. Once enough was gathered, Doran built a small campfire while Rygart unrolled his bedding. Just as Rygart finished he felt a burst of warmth as the fire came to life.


    ¡°That was quick¡±, he said as he sat down next to the fire.


    ¡°You learn a trick or two after doing it a thousand times. I¡¯ve become quite adept at setting up camp¡± Doran said, with a slight smile.


    Rygart began unpacking his cooking utensils and some of the food he¡¯d brought with him for the trip. It was nothing special. Just some salted meat, a few pieces of fruit, and some dried roots that Rygart had been told would keep for months and would add flavor to his food.


    Again they sat in silence, with Doran keeping a watchful eye on everything Rygart did. As Rygart finished preparing his food, Doran riffled through his pack and pulled something out. It vaguely resembled bread, the likes of which Rygart had never seen before. Together they sat by the fire and ate their food. Only after finishing did Doran speak.


    ¡°Your patience is better than I thought it would be. You¡¯ve gone this entire day without saying a word. There was one moment, when I thought you¡¯d had enough and were about to go stark raving mad, but you held it in. Not many could do the same.¡± He poked the fire with a stick, pushing the coals around and rolling some of the logs.


    ¡°Being a smith means you often have to wait and be patient. Metal takes time to heat after all.¡± Rygart hadn¡¯t realized it was all a test, and that Doran had been judging him ever since they left Draghiem. Probably ever since he¡¯d first laid eyes on Rygart, in fact.


    ¡°True enough. A lack of patience is often the deadliest killer in Draghiem. I think it is apparent you¡¯ll do well in that area. Now, let us talk a bit about what we¡¯ll be doing in the coming months. Oberon says you¡¯re decent with a blade, but ,ultimately, I will be the judge of that. Tomorrow, I will put you through your paces. Testing your skill, strength, and stamina. I¡¯ll push you hard, just so you know. And I will for the rest of our time together. Tonight will be the last night you go to bed without us crossing blades¡±, he paused a moment before continuing, ¡°and some sore muscles.¡±


    Rygart sat by the fire, listening to what was in store for him. He didn¡¯t expect an easy time, though he was more than confident he could handle himself. All the time working at the smithy had brought both his strength and stamina to new heights. He very much doubted any sort of training here in the woods could do more for him than that. As it would turn out, however, he was very wrong.


    ¡°We have roughly four months to prepare. We will split that into two halves. The first half will let me see what you can do, and how quickly you can progress. This will be our first two months here. First, we will start with some basic strength building, and I will get to know how you fight and see where you need improvement. Then, we will go through rigorous skill instruction. You might think you¡¯re good, but no one is ever done learning. If you are willing, I have much I could teach you. After that, we will move on to survival training. There is a lot that could kill you in Draghiem, not just the plethora of creatures that exist solely to hunt you down, but also more mundane things. Cold, sickness, hunger, thirst, these are all things that few think to prepare for before challenging the Tower.¡± Rygart was getting the feeling that he wouldn¡¯t be the same person after leaving these woods.Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    ¡°What about the festival? I have to do well if I hope to become a member of the assault guild.¡±


    ¡°Believe me, the festival will be much more than games. Everything we do out here will prepare you for what is in store for you when you compete.¡± Rygart was nodding along as Doran spoke. He was determined to surpass every other applicant at the festival. That first place prize was his. ¡°Now,¡± Doran continued, ¡°at the end of these first two months will be survival training. One week out here in this forest on your own. As if you were scaling the floors of Draghiem.¡± Rygart almost laughed at that. How bad could a few days of camping in these mundane woods be? ¡°On top of gathering food and water, as well as preparing adequate shelter, you will need to fend off attacks from the creatures of this forest, including myself.¡±


    With that last statement Rygart realized this would be the real test. There was no telling what all Doran had install for him for that week.


    ¡°So, it would be a little like cat-and-mouse then?¡± Rygart¡¯s mouth had dried, and he spoke with a weak voice.


    A wicked little smile crept into Doran¡¯s eye, ¡°I suppose it would.¡±


    In the mornings to follow Doran would wake Rygart just as the sky began to lighten. Doran¡¯s morning routine was simple enough. He would either meditate, or pray, while Rygart made himself a small breakfast of dried fruit. Rygart was never quite sure which it was. Meditation or prayer. Doran didn¡¯t say much about himself. Instead he focused entirely on the training. Only ever speaking to explain or to criticize.


    As the days passed Rygart found that every one of his expectations had been blown apart. He was a fool to think this would be easy. Doran worked him harder than he ever thought possible. Rygart had been confident that his time swinging hammers had prepared him for anything Doran might throw at him. He was so astoundingly wrong.


    Doran knew ways of working a man¡¯s muscles that Rygart could only have ever dreamed of. Doran would create elaborate exercises that Rygart was certain weren¡¯t even possible. And failure often meant a world of pain for Rygart. The man was an animal.


    Rygart often got a glimpse of just what Doran could do with his strength. Once, when Rygart was exasperated and suffering from one of his recent failures, Doran upheaved a tree just to prove a point. The man lifted the tree straight out of the ground, roots and all. Rygart couldn¡¯t believe his eyes. Such a thing shouldn¡¯t even be possible! He¡¯d thought, not willing to believe his own eyes.


    After seeing Doran¡¯s strength in action, Rygart never again complained about the necessity of his rigorous strength exercises. If it means having power like that, I¡¯ll move all the boulders the old man wants.


    It wasn¡¯t just raw strength Doran cultivated. Other things like balance, judgement, reflexes, all of these and more were pushed, and often lead to one injury or another for Rygart. Doran¡¯s exercises often required some form of agility, as well as strength. Nothing was ever simple, and Rygart loved it. He could feel himself changing. Becoming sharper. Quicker.


    Everyday Doran¡¯s routines would put Rygart¡¯s body through its paces, and every night he¡¯d do it again with a sword. There was instruction, of course, but there was also pain. Lots and lots of pain. They wouldn¡¯t use their own sharpened swords. Instead, Doran had brought along two dull-edged longswords. Even though they wouldn¡¯t cut, that didn¡¯t mean they didn¡¯t hurt.


    And so went the next few weeks.Until the eve of the survival training was upon them. Doran and Rygart sat by the fire, with the night stars circling above. Rygart was nursing some new injuries from the day of arduous events.


    It was all quiet, except for the crackling of the fire, until Doran spoke, ¡°You¡¯ve do well. You have an impressive ability to grow. Very few I¡¯ve seen can boast the same level of adaptability you¡¯ve shown these last weeks¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d appreciate that a little more if I wasn¡¯t covered in bruises. Much like I have been since we started this torment you call training.¡± Rygart winced as he cleaned a fresh scrape, in too ill a mood to truly appreciate the compliment.


    Doran let the corner of his mouth pull back slightly, the closes the man ever got to smiling. ¡°Pain is needed for any kind of growth. And I¡¯ve found that the more pain there is, the quicker the growth.¡±


    ¡°A theory I¡¯m sure you enjoyed testing on me. Quite thoroughly.¡±


    ¡°You talk as though it were over. Don¡¯t forget, we¡¯ve only just begun. Tomorrow is the start of the survival training. Up until now you¡¯ve had it easy. The true test is about to begin, and after that, the true training.¡±


    Rygart¡¯s heart sank at the thought that the old man had been going easy on him this whole time. ¡°Are you going to enlighten me anymore on this ¡®True training¡¯ or are you just going to be cryptic. Like you are every other time you speak.¡±


    Rygart knew Doran have a great appreciation for sarcasm. But Rygart didn¡¯t particularly care for the cryptic way Doran often spoke. So, as far as he was concerned, they were even.


    ¡°A full explanation of what is to come would be completely unnecessary if you didn¡¯t live long enough for it to matter¡± Again Doran¡¯s little half smile crept to his face. God I hate that smile.


    ¡°If I live through this test of yours you¡¯ll be more upfront with me?¡±


    ¡°I will make an effort to.¡± Doran spoke with the same deep, silvery voice as always, though his eyes seemed to cast a solemn mood into the air.


    ¡°Oh boy. That¡¯s reason enough to pass. Now I¡¯ve just got to make it seven days in these woods. It¡¯ll almost be relaxing.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t think this to be any mundane task. Don¡¯t forget, starting at sunrise I will begin to hunt you down. Much like the creatures of the Tower. You will not have come as far as I had hoped if you truly expect this to be easy.¡±


    ¡°Oh, don¡¯t worry. I have a very good idea just how these next seven days will be¡±


    For the past week Rygart has been the mouse, while Doran has hunted him relentlessly. Nowhere was safe. Try as he might Rygart was never able to evade Doran for more than a few hours. He must be part bloodhound. It¡¯s the only explanation.


    Even at night, it seemed that no matter the time Doran was on the hunt. Rygart only ever managed a few hours of sleep, which he only got by being unpredictable. Doran might be his biggest adversary out here, but exhaustion wasn¡¯t far behind. Not to mention the plethora of other creatures that called this forest home. Most were harmless enough. Most. Rygart has had his share of run in¡¯s with the more harmful creatures, and some were nearly as terrifying as Doran.


    Seven days Doran said. And only one day remained. Only hours, in fact. It was rather late into the night, and Rygart was beyond exhausted. He knew it was only a matter of time before Doran found him again. And again Rygart would have to fight for his life.


    It might have been the final night, but the sun was still a ways away, and their little ¡°game¡± didn¡¯t end until sunrise. Rygart let his anger rage inside him, giving him the power he needed to fight back. Rygart didn¡¯t know if he could take too many more skirmishes with the beast that was hunting him. To hell with being the mouse. Tonight, Rygart would hunt Doran, and repay the man, 100 times over. I will put everything I have left into our next confrontation. I¡¯m going to end this.


    Ever since Rygart had started his training he hadn¡¯t been able to strike the man even once. Fighting him was nearly impossible, however it seemed that Doran was feeling these weeks of training as well. The last time Rygart had found himself facing off with Doran, just hours ago, something had seemed off. He had been slower, careless even. Rygart hadn¡¯t noticed it until later, as he was busy trying to escape like he had done since the start of the week, but he was certain now. The old man was tired, and Rygart would exploit that for all that it was worth.


    Rygart knew that his greatest asset was his speed. Doran¡¯s strength was nearly absolute, and not something to underestimate. His speed was great, to be sure, but this late in the game, it had been the first thing to diminish. Rygart was certain he could get the upper hand, as long as the conditions were right.


    After every skirmish, Doran would give Rygart an opening to flee. He was certain it was intentional. Every time Rygart broke free, the old man would stand there and smirk, as if it had been his plan all along. And after months of fighting him, Rygart new how the man thought, and he knew better than to think Doran left those openings on accident.


    Rygart was going to let Doran find him again, and go through the motions of their fight, with Rygart trying desperately to get free of the man¡¯s relentless barrage. This time, however, Rygart had something special in mind for the moment he makes his escape. For Rygart had developed, what he liked to call, his trump card. He had worked tirelessly on an attack that pushed his body to it¡¯s very limits. He highly doubted he could pull it off completely with the shape he was in, but he knew he had enough strength left for just one final strike.


    Rygart had walked through the forest, treading lightly, trying his hardest to go unnoticed. He knew, of course, that it was all in vain. Doran had managed to find him no matter how hard he¡¯d tried to avoid him. Rygart only crept low through the forest for appearances sake. He had to make Doran believe this would be just like all the other skirmishes they¡¯d had up until now.


    Hours went by as Rygart made his way, slowly and quietly through the forest. Every fiber in his being ached and screamed, begging him to rest. Yet he continued, staying on his feet through sheer force of will. Suddenly, Rygart felt an intense pressure ahead of him. Luckily, the moon above was full, and there wasn¡¯t a cloud in sight.


    ¡°You hide yourself well.¡± Each word rang out in the darkness, dripping with sarcasm, ¡°If the beasts in Draghiem were blind and deaf, you might even make it past one or two.¡± The old man smirked as he stood there facing off against Rygart, with his longsword in his hand, resting against his shoulder. ¡°Not getting tired are you? Think you can make it through the night?¡±


    ¡°Did you just come here to talk?¡± Replied Rygart, with equal amounts of sarcasm and humor, ¡°If so, I could do this straight into winter¡±, he smirked, trying his best to get underneath the old man¡¯s skin.


    ¡°Very well, have it your way.¡± And with that Doran lunged at Rygart, bringing his blade down in a heavy blow. Rygart parried it as best he could, and returned with a strike of his own. Doran danced to the side, easily dodging the attack. Back and forth they went, blow after blow, parry, dodge, attack, together they danced, neither one showing any sign of relenting.


    After a few minutes of fighting, Rygart feigned exhaustion, which wasn¡¯t too hard, as his body was nearly falling over anyway. As the fight raged Rygart would soften his attacks and slow them down, as if he couldn¡¯t fight any longer. Seeing this, Doran relented, just a bit, until he eventually gave Rygart yet another avenue of escape.


    Just as Doran relaxed, seeing Rygart step away, as if to flee, Rygart drew every ounce of strength he had to the surface, prepared to end not only this fight, but this game of cat-and-mouse as well.


    Rygart gripped his sword and lunged towards his enemy with all his might. He flew through the air at unbelievable speed, only stepping again once he was within striking distance of his target. Rygart planted his feet, and struck out with the tip of his blade so fast, no human could possibly defend themselves.


    The muscles and bones in Rygart¡¯s legs screamed in agony from the force of his moves. He could feel them give out, tearing and breaking, just as he had launched his final attack. His arm, which he had used to deliver the devastatingly fast blow, was in much the same condition, but Rygart didn¡¯t care. Not as long as he won.


    During the moment Rygart attacked, it was as if the world itself slowed to a stop. Rygart could see his blade sailing through the air, aimed directly at his enemy¡¯s heart. As the blade approached, time began to slow, until its tip was all but piercing the skin. Just as Rygart¡¯s sword made contact with Doran¡¯s skin, time itself stood still. The air around Doran warped and rippled, and a silvery, shimmering energy arced out from the place of contact, striking Rygart in the chest.


    The force of the energy, coupled with the force of Rygart¡¯s own attack, almost crushed every bone his body, and sent him flying, breaking through dozens of branches as he sailed through the forest. Rygart finally came crashing down to the earth, bouncing and flipping, coming to a halt as he slammed into the trunk of a large tree.


    Rygart lay there, motionless and dying, cursing Oberon and his own rotten luck. The thought had never occurred to him that he might actually die while training with Doran. Rygart¡¯s consciousness was slowly ebbing away, as his final thoughts drifted through his mind. He actually killed me. That bastard.

 Ch 7 The Advent of Magic

    Damn Doran, when will you ever learn restraint? Doran quietly thought to himself as he tended to Rygart¡¯s many injuries. Of all the wards to forget to deactivate¡­ <sigh> Doran sighs deeply, fully regretting his mistake. It was never his intention to put his young pupil¡¯s life in such great danger.


    Doran thought back to the events of the previous night. The events that had put Rygart on the very brink of dying. That last attack truly was impressive, Doran thought as he recalled Rygart¡¯s last ditch effort to win their little game. Rygart had moved as fast as lightning, maybe a step or two faster. The force of the blow had been equally as impressive. In fact, if it had been anyone else on the receiving end they would have been the one¡¯s on the brink of death, not Rygart.


    Impressive is a word I find often used with this kid, he thought. He clearly has some control over Green Ruha. Such speed would be beyond anyone with purely mundane skills. Doran leaned closer to Rygart, inspecting him with a keen eye, It isn¡¯t just an increase to speed and strength. Most people would have been killed by my ward¡¯s counterattack. Doran had realized rather quickly that Rygart¡¯s body was different. His strength was disproportionate to his size and his recovery time had also been above the norm. Even now, his muscles knit themselves back together, repairing damage that would leave any normal person lame.


    Doran had been enthralled by the phenomenon when he¡¯d approached the young man, after having blasted him through the forest. Doran was no master mage. He could not begin to perceive just what was happening to Rygart¡¯s body. It had been subtle at first. Doran found him, assured that the boy was dead, and had knelt on the ground next to him. He was just about to lift what he thought was a lifeless body, when he noticed something odd. This dead kid was breathing. After being taken aback, Doran came to his senses and checked Rygart¡¯s vital signs. Much to Doran¡¯s shock he found a heartbeat. And not a weak and dying heartbeat, but a strong and vibrant one.


    After the revelation that Rygart was still alive, Doran had done all he could to help Rygart¡¯s body heal. After all these years of being a warrior Doran possessed many skills in the art of prolonging life. Most mundane, but more than a few were a bit¡­.arcane. Doran set to work, setting bone, cleaning and dressing open wounds. There was much that could be done, but so much more that was beyond even Doran¡¯s abilities. There was no way to know what kind of damage lie beneath the surface of Rygart¡¯s skin. Doran chose to hope the boy¡¯s natural, yet impressive, healing abilities would be enough to repair the damage that Doran¡¯s neglect had wrought. And so, he waited. In the very spot Rygart had landed after their encounter.


    Many hours passed, yet Doran was confident in Rygart¡¯s recovery. It was dusk before Rygart finally moved. It was faint. Just a slight shift in his position. But, it was confirmation that Doran hadn¡¯t killed the kid. Once it was no longer a question about if Rygart woke up, and more about when, Doran¡¯s body released a bit of his pent up tension. He finally relaxed, if only a little. Now he had to prepare for what he was going to say to the boy, once he finally did wake up. Doran was certain there would be questions, and he deserved answers.


    Rygart could feel himself falling. It felt like he¡¯d been falling for an eternity. Wait, something changed. He isn¡¯t falling. Is he...flying? That¡¯s different. At least it''s a change in pace. I wonder how long I¡¯ll be flying. It certainly can¡¯t be for as long as I was falling. Something else had changed. Now he was hot. Unbearably hot. What is with this heat. Am I flying through the surface of the sun? I still can¡¯t see anything, no, wait. What was¡­ For a brief instant there was light. But it went by so fast, there was no telling what it was.


    I just want to see where I am! I hate this feeling. I know someone one is watching me. I can feel their eyes on me, but I can¡¯t see who it is! Who¡¯s there? Another flash of light. Wait, was that Draghiem? Ugh, why can¡¯t I see!? Now, there were many flashes. It was as though Rygart could only perceive the world as a picture book. The flashing image was the same each time. Draghiem, as if seen from a great distance. Wait, no, there are subtle differences each time. It¡¯s as though he is being told a story, but through pictures. Something is happening. It isn¡¯t just Draghiem. Now there are people approaching the base of the Tower. Lots of people. Now there is¡­. something coming from the Tower¡¯s entrance. Is it a man? It¡¯s all so far away. The people are but tiny black dots. The multitude of people stopped before the lone figure. Then, the figure changed. The figure was no longer shaped like a man. No, now it was something much more. Something unmistakeable. A dragon. Those that had stood before the dragon charged, and in an instant the monstrosity was among them. Monstrous is the only way to describe it. The size was baffling. The power tremendous. Even at this distance Rygart new just how terrifying of a force it was.


    The skirmish didn¡¯t last long. It couldn¡¯t be called a battle, yet calling it a skirmish when tens of thousands of people just died seems...misrepresentative. Rygart watched on. Not sure of what he was seeing. In yet another instant, the dragon was again shaped like a man. Now, Rygart¡¯s view was changing. After each flash he was closer to the carnage. Closer, and closer. He could now see that the man was the lone survivor. One creature to kill so many. And now, he could see the man was on his knees. Still closer. Rygart could now make out the man¡¯s appearance. Long, silver hair. Hefty, ornate armor adorned his body. A white cape hung from his back. And as he grew closer, Rygart could begin to make out the face. Was that¡­.remorse? Yes, he was certain of it. Guilt radiated from the man.


    The man just knelt there, among the countless lives that he had taken. His eyes cast down at his hands, no doubt covered in blood. Rygart grew closer still. The flashes came faster, and faster. Before long, it was as if Rygart truly were there. Standing among destruction the likes of which he had never witnessed. He was standing just to the side of the orchestrator of all this death. So close he could reach out and touch this lone figure.


    ¡°Who are you?¡± Rygart was startled by his own voice. Had I meant to say that out loud? Well, doesn¡¯t matter now. I just hope he doesn¡¯t tear me in half.


    ¡°Who am I?¡± The man¡¯s voice was so deep, and rich. It hardly seemed human at all. ¡°I am the Bringer of Cataclysm. Death¡¯s Disciple. Or am I...something else.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t know?¡± Why did the man seem so uncertain? Rygart could feel the sorrow emanating from this man. No, this creature, for he has most certainly been broken, like one would break a wild horse.


    ¡°Sometimes, it is best not to know.¡± The man still knelt on the ground, his eyes covered by shadows.


    ¡°Only for cowards¡± Rygart was surprised by his response. Who was he to judge this man?


    ¡°Hahahahaha!¡± The man¡¯s laugh seemed only half genuine. The other half seemed...mischievous? ¡°If only you knew the irony of your remarks. When all is said and done, irony is all we will have left.¡± Rygart hadn¡¯t liked the sound of that.


    ¡°We?¡± His voice had tightened. For some reason, he knew he wouldn¡¯t like the answers to his questions.


    ¡°Ah, yes. We. As in you and I.¡± Now, for the first time since Rygart¡¯s arrival, the man began to lift his head.


    ¡°WHO ARE YOU!?¡± Rygart was feeling desperate. Afraid.


    ¡°Don¡¯t you know, boy?¡± And with that last word the man¡¯s face turned to face Rygart.


    Tears of blood ran from his eyes, leaving crimson streaks down each cheek. The man¡¯s piercing green eyes bore into Rygart¡¯s soul, and as Rygart looked back at the man, his eyes widened ever more. Rygart knew those eyes. Yes, there, just above his left eye. A small scar, running from the edge of his brow to the corner of his eye. Rygart knew that scar. He still remembered how much it had hurt when his cousin, Reina, had thrown a stone at him for picking on her. Rygart was certain. The face staring back at him was, unmistakably, his own.


    ¡°NO!¡± Rygart screamed, and flung himself upright. Doran had, unfortunately, been leaning over him, and as Rygart had sat up the two collided.


    ¡°Dammit Rygart! Your head is thicker than stone!¡± The man bellowed as he rubbed his forehead, the site of their unfortunate impact.


    ¡°Aghh, damn! My head?! Yours is like a damned steel beam!¡± Wait, what was I just doing? Rygart was certain something had just happened. Something important. Dammit all, what was it? That head-on collision with sir brick-for-brains certainly didn¡¯t help. No matter how hard he tried, Rygart just couldn¡¯t recall what was so important.


    ¡°I¡¯m suddenly wishing you had died. I would certainly have less of a headache right now¡±, Doran said, as he sat back on an old stump.


    ¡°Wait, died?¡± Rygart was so confused. He hadn¡¯t been dying, had he? Was that the something important he couldn¡¯t remember? Then, he suddenly recalled where he was and what had transpired just before he¡¯d lost consciousness. ¡°Ohhh, right! You killed me, you old bastard!¡±


    ¡°If I killed you, then how exactly are we having this conversation?¡± That got Rygart to calm down a bit. ¡°I¡¯m afraid not even I can reverse death, though, you did a pretty good job of it.¡±


    ¡°What does that mean? What the hell happened? I remember attacking you, then some seriously weird nonsense, and then flying through the forest, literally through several trees.¡± Rygart was getting irritated again.


    ¡°Well first, let me explain the ¡®seriously weird nonsense¡¯, as you called it. That was a defensive ward.¡± Doran could tell by Rygart¡¯s quizzical look that he didn¡¯t quite understand. ¡°Think of it as a kind of magical counterattack. It activates under certain conditions, like when attacked with a sufficient amount of force. You were able to bypass all my physical defences, but by doing so you got hit by that particular magical one.¡± Now Doran could see a bit of understanding in Rygart¡¯s eyes.


    ¡°Fantastic. Would have been nice to know that any successful attack was likely to get me killed.¡± Rygart lied back down, still very sore.


    ¡°The fault is entirely mine. I should have deactivated it before we started sparring. Although, the fact that you managed to attack with enough force to meet its requirements is impressive. You should take it as a sign of progress.¡± Doran had hoped that by telling him this, Rygart would be appeased.


    ¡°Well, have you deactivated the damn thing now?¡±


    ¡°To be honest, I thought you were dead for sure. I didn¡¯t see the need to, until just now.¡± Doran was lying of course. He had long ago deactivated the ward, but he was trying to lift Rygart¡¯s spirits. Having a near brush with death can really leave a person shaken.


    ¡°Well I¡¯m not so much as poking you with a stick until you make sure all of your damnable¡­.whatevers¡­ won¡¯t kill me.¡±


    ¡°Wards. They are common enough among those of us that fight for a living.¡± Doran was only half telling the truth. There were any number of different types of wards that could be found throughout the world. Some were constructed by spells, woven together by a mage. Others were instilled into objects by enchanters. It just so happens that Doran¡¯s is of the latter variety, however his was far from common.


    A moment or two passed without either saying a word. Doran knew what it was like to come so close to death. He himself had more than his fair share of near death experiences. So he was content to wait. Eventually Rygart would ask his questions. And then they would be able to move on.


    ¡°So,¡± Rygart had finally collected his wits and was eager for some answers. ¡°Just how the hell am I still alive? You said I did it?¡±


    ¡°Yes. In a manner of speaking. Tell me Rygart, have you ever noticed anything, different, about yourself?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not certain what you mean.¡± Rygart had always felt normal. He was just another member of the family. He did his chores, worked in the smithy. He would eat, drink, and sleep, just like everyone else. He¡¯d never had much of an exciting life. Before he¡¯d left for Draghiem anyway.


    ¡°Well, I¡¯m not sure where to begin. How much do you know about magic?¡±


    ¡°Not much. Brekt is known for its dense Ruha, but because it is so unstable mages and the like steer clear of the area. Magic isn¡¯t much a part of life back home.¡± Rygart felt a pang of loneliness when thinking about his hometown. How long had it been since he left? Nearly six months now, right?


    ¡°You know of Ruha, and that there are different types that allow a mage to perform different tasks, correct?¡±


    ¡°Yeah. I learned them as the colors though.¡± Again Rygart thought back to his hometown, and growing up there. He hadn¡¯t realized just how much he missed it.


    ¡°Yes, the naming of Ruha as a color is a very old tradition. I suppose, the best place to start with anything is the beginning. I apologize, but in order to fully understand I think it best to work on a strong...foundational knowledge.¡±


    ¡°Magic has never really interested me. It feels almost like cheating. And I don¡¯t quite understand how this has anything to do with me. I¡¯ve told you, I don¡¯t know any magic.¡±


    ¡°Well Rygart, the only reason you are alive right now is because of magic.¡± Doran paused a moment while he collected his thoughts. ¡°You see, Rygart, you have an enormous gift. Your body, without your own knowledge, can draw in and manipulate Green Ruha. To be honest, I¡¯ve never known of any individual who can instinctively use magic. Yet, here you are. It is undoubtedly the reason you not only survived my counterattack, but also why you are so much stronger than you would appear to be. Certainly, you¡¯ve realized that much by now?¡±


    ¡°I¡­.¡± Rygart had always shocked people with his strength. But how is this possible? ¡°I don¡¯t understand how that is even possible. I¡¯ve always been told that magic is a...scholarly pursuit. That without knowledge, magic is impossible.¡±


    ¡°Well, I believe growing up in Brekt had a lot to do with it. I don¡¯t believe you truly understand just how dense the Ruha there is. The air there contains several magnitudes more Ruha than what is found here.¡±Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    ¡°But lots of people live in Brekt. They don¡¯t all...do whatever it is that I do.¡± Rygart hated trying to understand magic. It has no rules, no order. Thinking about it always made Rygart¡¯s head hurt.


    ¡°Well, you can¡¯t be certain of that, can you? You didn¡¯t even know yourself that there was anything different about you. There very well could be others.¡± Rygart hadn¡¯t thought about it like that. ¡°Look, your gift may never be explainable. Even after a lifetime of study. I am no great mage. I look at magic through a more practical point of view. It is merely a means to an end for me. There are many much more enthralled by the underlying works of magic.¡±


    ¡°I see. So, my achievements are not my own.¡± Rygart was truly disheartened. He didn¡¯t like to admit it, but he was prideful in his abilities. He always thought he had worked to achieve his speed and strength, and now he is learning that it was only a twisted chance of fate that he is able to do what he does.


    ¡°No, not at all. Rygart, many people are born with advantages. Some are born smarter, some swifter, and others are born into rich families. The circumstances of our birth hold no sway in who we are, but rather, it is what we do with our lives that will define us.¡± Doran¡¯s words did comfort Rygart, but only a little. ¡°Listen closely Rygart.¡± Hearing the sincerity in Doran¡¯s voice, Rygart looked Doran in the eye. ¡°You are wrong to think that magic is cheating, or that by using magic you are bending the laws of nature. Ruha exists everywhere. Every man, woman, and child in this world has access to magic. If they choose not to pursue it, then that is their decision. It does not lessen those that do. If anything, only a fool would choose to reject the use of magic. I guarantee you, every fighter of a certain caliber uses magic. Nearly all those in the Assault guild will, undoubtedly.¡± Doran could tell that his last few words finally started easing Rygart¡¯s mind.


    ¡°Is that true? I thought there were many that fought like I do. With sword skill, and not with magic.¡± Doran sighed a little bit. He¡¯s just not getting it.


    ¡°Rygart, magic is so much more than conjuring flames or lightning bolts. What you can do, instinctively, others learn to do by will. Without a knowledge of manipulating Ruha, especially Green Ruha, no one could possibly survive in a place like Draghiem.¡±


    For a few moments Doran and Rygart both sat in silence. Rygart had a lot to take in, and Doran was willing to give him the time he needed. There was no need to rush, yet.


    ¡°If it means getting me closer to my goals, then I will do whatever it takes.¡± Doran looked back at Rygart, locking gazes. The steel in his eyes had finally returned. That same steel that had so impressed him when they first met.


    ¡°Magic is a lifelong endeavor. There are basics which you can learn here, of course. Which I had always intended to teach you. However, if you want a true understanding of magic, and of Ruha, then you will need a much better teacher than I. And many more years.¡± Doran might be downplaying his knowledge of the arcane, but he had never been a good teacher. Sword technique, and proper form, sure, those things came easy enough. But magic is deeply rooted in the world, and consists of ideas not so simple to convey to others.


    ¡°The basics will be fine. Whatever it takes to succeed at the Festival.¡± Rygart was eager to get started. He knew his body wasn¡¯t quite up for the physical exertion of training, but magic was more of a mental exercise, than it was physical.


    ¡°Well, first of all, we will focus on Green Ruha. You can already instinctively gather and manipulate the Green, but with some training you will be able to do so much more than run a little faster and hit a little harder.¡± Doran made himself comfortable, knowing they would likely be going at this for a while, seeing as how Rygart was in no condition to continue his other training.


    ¡°You see, Green Ruha is also referred to as Life Ruha. It can be used to give life where before there was none, well, to an extent. One cannot create life, per se, but one can¡­¡±


    ¡°Um¡­ I have a question?¡±


    ¡°Oh, already? Alright, let¡¯s hear it.¡± If there were already questions Doran wouldn¡¯t be quite as eager as Rygart.


    ¡°Well, why is Ruha given a color? Isn¡¯t that kind of...ambiguous? Why not just call it Life Ruha?¡±


    ¡°Hmmmm, well, perhaps I should have started there to begin with. You see, when man first discovered Ruha the easiest way for them to identify it was to associate it with a color.¡± Doran saw that look in Rygart¡¯s eyes again. ¡°Question?¡±


    ¡°Well, you said ¡®when man first discovered Ruha¡¯. Have we not always known about it?¡±


    ¡°Actually, thousands upon thousands of years ago, Ruha did not exist in this world. Most believe that it has been about two thousand years since Ruha first came to our world. And no, I don¡¯t know where it came from or how it got here.¡± Doran had sensed that question coming.


    ¡°Back then, the world was very different. Not only was the world devoid of magic, so too was it lacking in monsters. When this world was exposed to Ruha for the first time, it caused a great shift. Most call it The Changing. Nobody knows for sure what caused it, though there are many theories.¡± Doran leaned back a little and looked up into the sky, recalling what he himself had learned.


    ¡°Some suppose it might have been man-made, while others believe it was a gift from some God, or Gods. Still others maintain that some otherworldly creature came to our world, and with it came Ruha. My mentor, however, believed that the veil, between this world and the next, weakened, or was altogether destroyed, which allowed the monsters, and Ruha, that lived there to escape to our world. At any rate, the ¡®how¡¯ doesn¡¯t truly matter, not for our purposes.¡±


    ¡°So,¡± Rygart was trying to internalize all of this new information. ¡°The world was entirely magicless? And suddenly there were monsters roaming around? That couldn¡¯t have been fun.¡±


    ¡°That would be quite the understatement. After The Changing, our world went through a very dark time. It was truly a terrifying time to live. However, with the introduction of nightmarish creatures, so to was there the advent of magic. To be more specific, this was when man first learned to manipulate Ruha to perform great feats. Where there is darkness, there is also light, and so, after a time of great darkness and despair, came a great time of light, and innovation. Now, this is when the tradition of naming Ruha after a color began. At first, mankind only knew of three types of Ruha: Red, Blue, and Brown. Or, Heat, Water, and Stone.¡±


    ¡°But, there are many more, aren¡¯t there?¡± Rygart truly was doing his best to be a good student. Perhaps asking questions helps him learn? Doran was happy to indulge Rygart¡¯s need to ask questions.


    ¡°Yes, there are many, many more. You see, there may be a fundamental difference between the Ruha, but it is slight. Describing them as colors doesn¡¯t quite fit, if you ask me. They are more like, smells.¡± That got a chuckle out of Rygart. ¡°No, really. Imagine you walk into the kitchen while food is being prepared. You find yourself surrounded by smells, do you not? Unable pick out any but the most potent? Well, that is very much the same with Ruha. As it turns out, Fire, Water, and Stone Ruha are the easiest to distinguish from the rest.¡±


    ¡°Okay, I guess that makes sense. It''s certainly an easy enough image to understand.¡± Rygart was still grinning. See, this is why I¡¯m a terrible teacher.


    ¡°Well,¡± Doran continued, ¡°as time went on mages learned that there were many different types of Ruha, and many have spent their entire lives dedicated to exposing these new types. And thus, we have the current classifications of Ruha: Red, Blue, Brown, Silver, Cyan, White, Black, Green, Onyx, and Obsidian. Or, Heat, Water, Stone, Air, Lightning, Life, Light, Death, Space, and Destruction, respectively.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s...a lot.¡±


    ¡°Yes, but, we will only be focusing on Green Ruha. The power of Life.¡± Finally, some progress. Oh, maybe I spoke too soon¡­. Doran thought, as he saw Rygart¡¯s expression. ¡°Let me guess. You have a question?¡±


    ¡°Um, I was just going to ask, what is Ruha?¡± Rygart had never truly understood the concept of Ruha, and how it was different from the concept of magic.


    ¡°That, is a good question.¡± Doran paused, trying to think of the best explanation for Rygart. ¡°Well, you could think of it as fuel. You see, Ruha is the fuel for all magic. Now, certain kinds of magic can only be fueled by certain kind of Ruha. Some magic takes more than one type of Ruha. Actually, most do. But it is easiest to think of Ruha as some, invisible substance that exists...mostly everywhere, and which flows through the air, like wind, and can even pass through solid objects. Also, it is important to know that using Ruha to fuel magic ¡®burns¡¯ it up.¡±


    ¡°Okay, so, it¡¯s like a giant river? One that flows everywhere, even through things likes walls and mountains?¡±


    ¡°Yes, actually. That is a decent way to look at it. Just know that this river has no shore. Meaning that the flow sweeps across our entire world, mostly.¡±


    ¡°So, how does one, ¡®use¡¯, Ruha?¡±


    ¡°First, you must sense it. Most have this sense. You can probably sense it right now, only, you don¡¯t know that¡¯s what it is. You must first learn to identify your Ruha Sense, then, you will focus on drawing in Ruha, and finally, filtering out only the Ruha needed. It really isn¡¯t as difficult as it sounds. Again, the smell analogy I used earlier quite aptly describes what it will be like. You, in particular, are not only able to instinctively sense Ruha, like most, but you can also draw in and filter the Ruha instinctively. How you do it I couldn¡¯t even guess at, but, we can most certainly take advantage of that fact and, hopefully, it will make learning all the easier for you. Now, let¡¯s talk a bit about Ruha Sickness. Everyone exploring magic needs at least a basic understanding of what happens when someone comes into contact with too much Ruha.¡±


    ¡°Well, I saw plenty of that growing up in Brekt. I¡¯ve had many friends suffer from it, but mostly when we were kids.¡±


    ¡°Yes, that doesn¡¯t surprise me. Children are more susceptible to it, as their bodies haven¡¯t quite built up the tolerance. What about you? When was the last time you came down with Ruha Sickness?¡±


    ¡°Well, actually, I don¡¯t think I ever have. I don¡¯t recall anyone in my family ever having had suffered from it.¡± Rygart thought back, certain there must have been at least once. ¡°Oh, actually, when I was younger, my aunt was often sick, but she¡¯s the only one in our family that I can recall ever having come down with Ruha Sickness.¡±


    ¡°That is very surprising. I¡¯ve mentioned just how dense the Ruha is there. The fact that people even live there is astonishing, but to hear that there are those that don¡¯t deal with Ruha Sickness at that level of concentration is truly remarkable. You see, the more concentrated the Ruha in a given area, the more likely it is that one will succumb to Ruha Sickness. Though, each person does have a different level of tolerance.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve never really thought about it, to be honest. I¡¯ve never suffered from it, so I guess I¡¯ve just put it out of my mind. What¡¯s it like? Ruha Sickness, I mean.¡±


    ¡°Well, first, you get fatigued, then your hands and feet...tingle. They might even go numb. Then there¡¯s the headache, followed by nausea, and, finally, loss of consciousness.¡±


    ¡°All of that from just being around too much Ruha?¡±


    ¡°Yes. Ruha Sickness is a mage¡¯s worst enemy. You must have a good indication of your own tolerance, as well as how much you¡¯ve been exposed to. Reaching that threshold is never good. Not only does Ruha Sickness generally mean you¡¯ve lost the fight, but in extreme cases you can even suffer from Ruha Poison, if the concentration is high enough.¡±


    ¡°Ruha Poison? What is that? I¡¯ve never heard of such a thing¡± Rygart didn¡¯t know what it was, but he was certain it wasn¡¯t something he wanted to experience.


    ¡°Ruha Poison is an extreme reaction to Ruha. It truly is as if you¡¯ve been poisoned. You start to sweat, your whole body aches. You can¡¯t think clearly, and your veins turn black. You lose your eyesight, and then your body just fails. Eventually, you die.¡±


    ¡°Whoa. So, not fun. How do you cure someone of Ruha Poison? Is it even possible?¡±


    ¡°Well, it is possible, but not easy. You have to isolate the afflicted from all Ruha. Create an area with absolutely no Ruha, which is very difficult, given the nature of Ruha. Once you have them isolated, you wait. It isn¡¯t easy, and it doesn¡¯t always work. You don¡¯t ever want to find yourself in the position of having Ruha Poison.¡±


    ¡°No, I would imagine not.¡± The conversation had taken a dark turn, and now Rygart realized that magic was a double-edge sword. It could cut both ways. If you weren¡¯t careful, your own attempts at victory will be the very thing that brings you down. ¡°Is it even possible to create an area with no Ruha? Didn¡¯t you say that it¡¯s everywhere?¡±


    ¡°Well, I said it was mostly everywhere. Much like how Brekt has immensely dense and concentrated Ruha, there are other places that have extremely thin Ruha, and some that are completely devoid of any Ruha. Though, these are rare, and probably won¡¯t do you any good if you ever come down with Ruha Poison. Your only hope then would be to have an exceptionally capable mage nearby that can erect a barrier to expel all Ruha. It is immeasurably complicated, and is far outside the scope of our lessons.¡±


    ¡°Okay, well then, I have another question.¡± Of course he does. Doran smiled. Rygart is really taking to this well. All he ever needed was someone to teach him.


    ¡°Go on.¡±


    ¡°How is it that we can manipulate something that has no physical form. At least, that¡¯s what I¡¯ve come to understand about Ruha.¡±


    ¡°You are correct in saying that Ruha has no physical form. You can¡¯t see it, you can¡¯t even touch it. However, you can feel it. Again, that will come later. Today we are only going over theory. Tomorrow we will begin practical application. The why of it is very much a mystery, at least to me, but the how of it I can elaborate on at least a little bit. You see, Ruha reacts to human will, and the expression of human will is speech. Mages use Commands to manipulate Ruha. When one combines Commands, with the force of will, you get magic. Alright? Now, Commands are simply words combined with intent. Of course, the sensing of Ruha, as well as the ¡®filtering¡¯, is done internally, but gathering and ¡®activating¡¯ the Ruha is done through Commands.¡±


    ¡°So, is there some kind of ¡®command language¡¯ that I¡¯m gonna have to learn?¡± That thought was particularly disheartening. Rygart was not eager to attempt that.


    ¡°Actually, no. The language the Command is given in doesn¡¯t matter. Remember, words are just an expression of will, and intent further defines that will. Some can even cast great magic without the use of words.¡±


    ¡°Huh¡±, Rygart paused for a second, going through some of his own thoughts. ¡°So, how does enchanting work? Do they have to write out these Commands word for word?¡±


    ¡°Ah, enchanting is one of two special branches of magic. Enchanting is relatively new, only in the past, say, thousand years have we begun to use enchanted items. The second of the two is summoning. This technique has only been around for the past several hundred years. Both are well outside the scope of our lessons, however I can try to answer your question. The short answer is, no, they do not have to write out word for word what they want the enchantment to do. That would be impossible. You see, some complex spells can take upwards of a hundred commands. Some, thousands. You couldn¡¯t possibly ¡®write¡¯ that onto an object. Instead, enchanters use a system of Runes. Runes are a difficult subject, but think of it like this: Each Rune is like a shape, or symbol, that is representative of an idea. By combining these Runes, which are etched onto the object, with Commands spoken over the item during its creation, we get enchanted items. There a dozen different Rune systems, each prevalent in a different part of the world. Interestingly, many, if not all, Rune systems predate The Changing.¡±


    ¡°Wait, so Ruha can be manipulated by something that existed before Ruha? How is that even possible?¡± Rygart might be learning more about magic than he ever intended, but the more he learned the more questions he had.


    ¡°I really don¡¯t know. I¡¯m certain it ties into what exactly Ruha is, and the nature of its existence and its origin. But, all of those things are a mystery.¡±


    Rygart truly was ignorant of the world. He always knew there would be things he didn¡¯t, or even couldn¡¯t, understand, but this went so much deeper than he¡¯d ever realized. Rygart couldn¡¯t possibly ever know everything there is to know about magic. How could he ever be effective with magic if there is still so much he doesn¡¯t know? Doran saw the look Rygart had, and he could guess why Rygart was feeling demoralized. Doran himself had to come to grips with feeling inadequate when he first began training.


    ¡°Magic is vast. Incredibly so. There are things about magic that I will never know, but that doesn¡¯t mean I cannot use it. I told you, I look at magic for practicality. I see it as just another tool. Theory and supposition is all well and good for a scholar, but I do not care about scholarly pursuits. I think of a way to use magic, and then I find a way to accomplish that task. Understanding the innermost nuances of magic is not necessary to actually use magic. Think of it like this, you and I both have lungs, but neither of us know how they work, right? We inhale and exhale, and that¡¯s all we¡¯ll ever need to know. We can use our lungs without ever needing to know more than that. Don¡¯t let what you don¡¯t know deter you from your goals. Only focus on what you do know.¡±


    Doran and Rygart both sat in silence for a while. Doran knew that this was only the first such conversation the two will have. The first of many, no doubt. Rygart¡¯s reaction is not unlike Doran¡¯s own. He knows what it¡¯s like to be sitting where Rygart is, and that will help him get through to his young friend.


    Time passed as the two sat in the forest, neither saying as much as a word. Doran sat on his stump, while Rygart lay across from the titanic man. The sun disappeared beneath the horizon, and still there was silence, all except for the noises of the forest. After a while it was Rygart that finally broke the silence.


    ¡°So, where do we go now? I might be able to use Ruha without meaning to, but will that really help me learn any faster? I have no idea how I do it.¡±


    ¡°Well, it might be difficult at first. But, once you discover for yourself just what Ruha feels like you will catch on very quick. It will be like teaching a child to blow their nose. It will be a strange concept at first, but once you get a feel for it you will be able to do it with ease.¡±


    ¡°And you¡¯re confident I can do it?¡±


    ¡°Rygart, you are a natural. I promise you, once I¡¯m done with you, you will be a force to be reckoned with¡±

 Ch 8 A Will of Iron

    Far away from Draghiem, high in a tower, overlooking a grand and magnificent city, a boy peers off into the distance. Unkempt black hair and pale, freckled skin. No more than perhaps 14 or 15 years of age. Seemingly normal, if not for his eyes. For this boy, barely over a decade old, possesses the God''s Eye. Large, iridescent green irises, with pupils akin to a shining star. His irises appear to be constantly shifting. Like a pool of green, swirling water, with traces of gold flashing here and there. All who meet his gaze are mesmerized by the sight.


    ¡°Dorian, what has you looking so pensive today?¡± Another boy, only several years older than Dorian. Perhaps 20 years old, with long, dirty blonde hair and olive skin. Clearly of Sarketian descent.


    ¡°Hm?¡± Dorian half responds, not truly paying attention.


    ¡°Dammit Dorian, I thought we talked about this. A little warning the next time you decide to peer into the very fabric of our existence.¡± Sarcasm was perhaps Soren¡¯s favorite thing that Dorian had taught him.


    ¡°Impressive. You got it in one.¡± He replied, flatly and without any humor.


    ¡°Wait, I was kidding Dorian! I was trying to be sarcastic. You can¡¯t possibly be serious. Do you need me to remind you of how it went the last time you tried¡­ what did you call it? Peering into the Ether?¡±


    ¡°If you could, that¡¯d be great.¡± Again, just as plainly as before.


    ¡°You nearly went mad! As a matter of fact, for several months you were mad! You couldn¡¯t even feed yourself, let alone get dressed. And then, you went stark raving mad, and started spouting off pure gibberish.¡± Soren very clearly remembered the events following Dorian¡¯s first forays into the Ether. Seeing his friend in such a state was not something he was keen on repeating.


    Dammit Soren. We really do need to have a chat about your keen sense of humor.


    ¡°I know, Soren. Believe me, I remember.¡± Of course he remembered. Never before had Dorian¡¯s gift frightened him. Not in his 14 years of being called a freak, or monster. Harsh words, he could take. Awkward staring and spite filled glances, he could take. Losing nearly a year to madness, that is where Dorian drew the line.


    ¡°I don¡¯t wish to subject myself to that fate any more than you do, my friend. I¡¯ve been feeding myself since the ripe old age of 8 months. I don¡¯t wish to be reduced to that again.¡± Doran still remembered the day he finally managed to grasp his tiny fingers around that rage-inducing spoon. He remembered even it, with perfect clarity. His mother had long since left him in the care of the church. Leave it to a Le¡¯ Lision to think I was some kind of devil.


    ¡°Then why even entertain the idea? Certainly you learned enough from the first experience. Even after your sanity had been regained, I was certain you¡¯d relapsed. Talking of the Ether, and Theria particles, and Barrier fields. I doubt there¡¯s a soul in The Institute that could make heads or tales of your nonsense.¡± Sometimes, Soren was truly amazed by Dorian. And after he had...returned from his venture into the Ether, Soren had found himself yet again amazed by this 14 year old child. The wonder and enthusiasm that he¡¯d spoken with, let alone what was very possibly reality altering insight into Ruha and magic. Soren, despite his...distasteful background, was still a scholar at heart, and knowing that he¡¯d been a part of so much discovery gave him more joy than he¡¯d ever thought he¡¯d know.


    ¡°Because, my friend, there are dark forces at work in the world. Something...truly dark. I caught glimpses of it the first time, and perhaps, if only for a bit¡­¡± and again he was lost to thought.


    ¡°You¡¯re starting to sound like an addict. Dorian, really, look at me.¡± Soren reached out to his friend, who had been straddling the back of a chair.


    Feeling Soren¡¯s hand on his shoulder, Dorian let out a light sigh, and then turned around, righting himself in the chair and coming face-to-face with the olive skinned Sarketian. Damn him and that perfect skin, and that perfect hair. How is any woman ever going to look at me with him around?


    ¡°I understand you feel there is something important held within that world. Some secret that might very well undo us all,¡± Dorian¡¯s eyes were already starting to droop again. ¡°But,¡± Soren snapped his fingers in front of his face, capturing Dorian¡¯s attention once more. ¡°You don¡¯t know that peering beyond the veil again will give you any answers. For all you know it could elude you once more. Leaving us right back where we started. Perhaps, this time you are able to see more of this dark force, and learn this terrible secret, but we lose you to the madness. Forever lost ranting about brittleberries and fairy wings or who knows what. For all you know, the next time you cross that threshold you are gone forever. Swallowed whole by this Ether. And where would we be then? The world would have lost the one with the Sight, and we would stand absolutely no chance of defending ourselves from whatever darkness may lay ahead.¡± Soren paused a moment to let his words sink in.


    ¡°Where there is darkness, there will be light. And I believe you are that light, Dorian.¡± After having said what needed to be said Soren stood back up and crossed over to the one window in the little room that was Dorian¡¯s study. He turned and leaned against the wall, as he shifted his head to peer out onto the sprawling city beneath.


    ¡°There is another way Dorian. You just need to find it.¡±


    Several minutes passes as both friends sat in silence. Dorian, lazily folded over in his chair, resting his chest upon his knees, and Soren, leaning against the stone wall, watching the citizens of Rahk Sur mill about far down below, no bigger than ants.


    ¡°There might be another way, though, I highly doubt you¡¯ll like it.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sure it will be infinitely better than watching you go mad.¡±


    ¡°Fair enough. So tell me, Soren, have you ever been to visit the Tower of Draghiem?¡±


    ¡°....You were right. I don¡¯t like it.¡±


    ****


    Two figures, eating alone in the woods. A warm campfire, burning brilliantly in the night, between them. One figure is clearly a man. A titanic man, who made the other figure look small and insignificant, even while sitting. The other, not quite a man, but not quite a boy either. Toned muscle ripples across his skin, all except a few places along his abdomen, which is bare to the night air. Here, there is red, cracked skin, and deformations within the muscle. Clearly a grizzly wound that was still on the mend.


    Rygart sighs heavily, unhappy with his progress. Doran had said that it would be slow going at first, but Rygart thought that there would have been some progress. Something to show for the hours of meditation. Yet still nothing. Rygart felt no closer to actively sensing Ruha now than he had the night before. Sure, it had only been a day since Rygart began trying to open his mind to the Ruha, but to Rygart it had already been a day. A full day. He had thought that, with this being the easier part, he would have made at least some progress. But all he¡¯d gotten today were some cryptic words about feeling, breathing, and life. Nothing that Rygart really understood, or found helpful.


    Noticing Rygart¡¯s mood, Doran tries his best to lift his spirits.


    ¡°So tell me, Rygart, how was it growing up in Brekt? You have family there, yes?¡±


    Hearing Doran mention Brekt, Rygart begins to reminisce about his home.


    ¡°Yes, I have family there. I was raised by my uncle, and I lived with his family. For as long as I can remember.¡± A smile creeps across Rygart¡¯s face. ¡°Once, when my uncle was teaching me to ride horses, I fell off the damned thing. Nearly broke my leg. My uncle runs over, thinking for sure I was dead, and he grabs me, and gives me a good look over. I¡¯m not crying or anything, just kind of...stunned. Anyway, once he¡¯s done examining me for any protruding bone fragments, he stands me up, gets down on one knee so we¡¯re both at eye level, and he says to me, ¡®Don¡¯ you tell your auntie about this, understand¡¯. And in that instant, in the ridiculousness of the situation, I just burst out laughing. We both do. I laughed so hard that day, I nearly peed myself.¡± Rygart¡¯s smile grows bigger.


    ¡°And then there¡¯s Master Osrowies. I think you would like him. Straight-laced, and by-the-book, usually. Firm when he needs to be, but full of kindness. He always treated me like I was his son. Even when I was an obnoxious little brat. For 10 years he taught me. Not just swordfighting, but everything school, or uncle Brahn couldn¡¯t. Etiquette, survival, but most importantly, The Towers. Man, I just¡­.fell in love with the idea of the Towers. 2 parts magical, 1 part terrifying. A place where only the truly strong could thrive.¡±


    Doran leaned back, stretching out his muscles, sore from sitting. He really was getting old. Every day he felt it more and more.


    ¡°Well, it sounds like you had plenty of people who loved you. More than most, I¡¯d wager.¡± Rygart smiled and nodded his head. ¡°It makes me wonder, why would you leave all of that? And to come to a place like Draghiem. You won¡¯t find much of love within those walls.¡±


    Something about that question...affected Rygart. His eyes seemed almost, glazed over. It was as if something had walked over his grave.


    ¡°Well, to understand that, we¡¯d have to go back a ways. Back to when I had just barely turned 6. I was brat back then. Although, I suppose most kids are. My poor aunt and uncle, they had three of their own you know, and I was quite the...spirited runt. Anyway, I may have been high-strung, but I had someone there to keep me grounded. He was the first kid to come up and talk to me, after my uncle took me in. I can hardly remember it now. He just walked up, and asked if I wanted to be fiends. For the longest time people treated me like I was...some sort of walking memorial to my parents. But not him. To him, I was just Rygart. The stupid kid he had to keep bailing out of trouble. Well, one day, as we are getting into said trouble, we were taken. A gang of bandits had come through town. Me, my friend, Wane, and several others. Men, women, children. Dozens of us. All chained together. At first, I didn¡¯t understand. Why would anyone want to chain up so many people? But then, one of our captures comes over to gloat. Some man, one of us that¡¯s chained up, he¡¯s begging, pleading. Says he¡¯ll give him everything he owns to set him free. Well, mister bandit, an ugly little man. Face pockmarked, teeth half rotten, he just smiles at the man, showing off his hideous little smile. He goes on to say that the man is gonna be sold for more than he could ever earn in a lifetime of farming. These bandits weren¡¯t bandits. They were slavers. This, merry band of men, he¡¯d called them, was headed to Sarket, to sell every last one of us. The Sarketians didn¡¯t care if you were man or child, woman or not. They had a need for all kinds of slaves.¡± This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.


    Rygart falls silent for a bit. Obviously overwhelmed by powerful emotions and unable to continue.


    ¡°I¡¯ve come across slavers before,¡± Doran says, ¡°Vile creatures. Truly twisted, to do what they do. I¡¯m surprised that a child, barely even 6, was able to escape them. You must have shown true bravery, and cunning, to escape with your life.¡± Rygart shakes his head, and tears begin to well up in the corners of his eyes.


    ¡°No. That¡¯s just the thing. I did nothing to escape. Nothing to deserve my freedom. Wane, you see he was the one. He got the stupid bastards to remove the chains. They thought they were being smart. Coming to beat us for being naughty children. But Wane played them. The moment he had the chance, he leapt at their faces. Scratching, kicking, biting. Took an ear off one of em. All the time he was screaming, ¡®Run Rygart, Run¡¯. And...I ran. As fast and as far as I could, I ran. I cried, but I ran.¡± Rygart stopped to wipe the tears from his eyes. ¡°At some point, during the skirmish, I had gotten a pretty nasty cut. I still have no idea who or what it was. The whole thing was just, insanity. It wasn¡¯t just Wane. Several of the other grownups saw what was happening, and they threw themselves at the slavers. Tripped them up, did whatever they could to help me escape. In all that chaos, all that emotion, I never even felt it. I just ran. Bloodied, half dead, soaking wet from the rain, I ran. Until I fell over, face-first right into the mud. I could still hear Wane screaming for me to run, but I just couldn¡¯t anymore.¡± Rygart paused for a second. He took a deep breath before continuing.


    ¡°Anyway. Not long after I collapsed, some soldiers found me. There was a local garrison, and evidently they had been called in to go after the slavers. They found me, cleaned me, bandaged me, and took me home. I was the only one to escape. None of the others were ever found. Including Wane. The next day, after all that had happened because of my weakness, I swore to myself, to any and every deity that exists, that I would become strong. So strong that I will never be at the mercy of someone else ever again. That I would never lose a friend like that again.¡± After Rygart finished his story, several minutes of silence passed by between the two.


    After hearing Rygart¡¯s story, Doran finally understands just what it is that drives him. What compels him to become stronger. And he sees the appeal of a place like Draghiem. For there is no better place to forge yourself into something stronger. Rygart¡¯s soul has been tempered by the flames of despair. His will was iron, and would not bow to pressure. Doran found himself constantly surprised by Rygart, and still his respect for the young man grew. After another few moments of silence Doran decides they should get some rest, and he tells Rygart that he would have something special for him in the morning.


    When morning comes, Rygart and Doran go through their usual routines, only now Rygart has to be careful not to overexert himself, as his body still wasn''t fully healed after their little "training accident" as Doran called it. Once they were both done with their morning rituals, Doran explained to Rygart that focus was integral to any kind of magic. He expressed his concerns that perhaps Rygart''s focus was lax lately, with the impending Eisenverd Festival growing nearer everyday.


    ¡°Listen Rygart. There are two steps to awakening your Ruha sense. Clear your mind. Everything from your mind. All thought and emotion must be purged. Then, you must focus. You must achieve a razor sharp focus.¡±


    ¡°That sounds nice and all, but do you have any tips on how this is supposed to be done?¡±


    ¡°As a matter of fact,¡± as Doran speaks he pulls something out of his pack and hands it to Rygart. It is a wooden medallion, with a strange, archaic symbol carved into the front. The medallion wasn''t perfectly flat, like a gold coin, yet neither was it perfectly round, like an egg or a ball. It was somewhere in the middle, perhaps leaning a little more towards being flat. The wood was perfectly smooth, all except the subtle signs of age. The medallion had clearly been well used, though for what Rygart couldn''t even begin to guess.


    ¡°This, is a totem. Most mages use some sort of totem as a focus. Some use rods, or staves. Others, use pendants or weapons. Life magic, is a bit different though, as we are manipulating Ruha within our own bodies. This totem, will help you concentrate during your meditation. It is difficult for the human mind to focus on nothing, after all. Your mind is a bit like a blank canvas. If I just leave you to stare at it, your eyes will wander all over the place. This totem, will be like placing a dot on that paper, which will immediately draw your attention to it.¡±


    "Does it do anything?¡± Rygart asked, half expecting there to be some arcane purpose beyond just helping Rygart focus.¡±


    ¡°Not at all. This is just an ordinary piece of wood, with a symbol from an ancient language carved on the face, to give it character.¡±


    ¡°Oh.¡± Rygart was a little let down. After all, the last trinket that Doran had produced had sent Rygart flying through the air, nearly killing him in the process. ¡°Well, what does the symbol mean?¡±


    ¡°Power.¡±


    Rygart stared at the wooden medallion for a bit, just eyeing it over as he passed it between his hands.


    ¡°I¡¯m ready to start whenever you are.¡± Doran had already made himself comfortable on the ground, and was eyeing Rygart expectantly.


    ¡°Oh, er, right. Sorry.¡± And with that, Rygart positioned himself across from Doran, and sat on a small mat, which he¡¯d been using as a bed.


    And so, Rygart sat, legs crisscrossed, with the medallion clasped between the palms of his hands. At first, he focused on his breathing, finding a rhythm that he was comfortable ?with, then he focused on the medallion. He pictured it within his mind. He saw the lines of the wood, the slight wearing, and finally, he saw the symbol carved onto the face. Power. For a long time Rygart sat there. Yet he was so intensely focused on that lone piece of wood, he lost all concept of time. Rygart felt nothing. He thought of nothing. Soon, he even forgot himself. His world consisted of nothing but the shape carved into that one piece of wood.


    Finally, something happened. Without Rygart ever even realizing it, there was something there. He could hear it...no. He could see it...no, that''s not right either. There was no way for Rygart to describe it. At first. But then, he felt it. Before he knew it, he could truly feel it. Nothing could have prepared him for this sensation. He could feel it everywhere. Then, suddenly Rygart truly could see it. It was as if Rygart''s world had consisted of nothing but darkness, but then suddenly, an incalculable number of infinitesimally small explosions of light erupted all around him. Inside him. There was nowhere these bursts of light weren''t. Rygart''s body didn''t exist. The trees and the earth didn''t exist. Nothing but tiny stars swirling through infinity. Rygart could focus on one, and follow it forever. Bursting and collapsing, flowing, never stopping. It was beautiful. Rygart had never seen anything so beautiful. The colors were indescribable. Shades that he didn''t even know were possible. Rygart could truly lose himself in the swirling energy of his new world. But in an instant, it was gone. Nothing but darkness again.


    Something was happening to Rygart. What was this? Oh, hearing. I think I''m hearing something.


    ¡°-y-r-t!¡±


    Yes, that''s it, I can definitely hear something.


    ¡°Rygart!¡±


    What is that again? Oh, right, that''s my name. Me. And with that sudden realization Rygart was thrown back into his body.


    ¡°RYGART!¡± Doran was shouting, shaking Rygart furiously.


    Several hours after Rygart had starting meditating, there had been a shift. Something changed within Rygart, Doran could feel it. Then, Rygart''s breath had nearly stopped, along with his heartbeat. That''s when Doran began shaking Rygart, yelling in his ear. Even slapping him across the face. At one point, he had even grabbed the water meant to douse the flame, and used it instead on Rygart, desperately trying to wake him. Finally, after another hour of this, Rygart''s eyes opened, slowly. When he looked up, there was clearly some confusion as to what exactly was happening.


    ¡°Who are...? Doran? I don''t understand... What just happened?¡±


    Hearing his young friend speak finally allowed Doran to release the breath he''d been holding since he saw his eyes twitch.


    ¡°<sigh> Damn kid, I''d thought I''d lost you for good.¡±


    Rygart still seemed confused, but much of his color had come back to him, and he was looking around now, eyes just beginning to get their youthful gleam back.


    ¡°What...the hell? I feel like I''m waking up after dreaming for a few thousand years. Is this real or....another dream?¡± Rygart was now looking at himself, patting his arms and face.


    ¡°Trust me, this is real. If you want, I can smack you around a little bit more. That part I was actually kind of enjoying.¡± The corner of Doran¡¯s mouth pulled back. The closest he ever got to a smile.


    ¡°Oh, so that''s why my face feels like I passed out, face-first on to a glacier.¡± Rygart griped as he felt his cheek and worked his jaw.


    ¡°Sorry kid, but I had to get you back somehow.¡±


    ¡°Yeahhh, about that. Get me back from what exactly? What the hell happened?¡±


    Doran''s brow furrowed slightly as he thought.


    ¡°Well, to be honest, I don''t quite know. I thought you were just, really really taking the whole ''razor focus'' thing seriously, but then the Ruha in the air shifted suddenly, and your heartbeat and breathing all but stopped. You''d have a better idea of what happened then me, I''d wager. Did you see something?¡±


    Did I see something, Rygart thought. I can''t remember what the hell I''ve been doing for the past, damn nearly 12 hours from the look of the sun. Rygart was shocked. How could an entire day, and an apparent near death experience, all go by without him remembering a single damn thing.


    ¡°I don''t...know. The last thing I really remember, was trying to focus on that medallion you gave me.¡±


    For the first time Rygart turned his palm upwards and opened his hand. There lay the medallion, much the same as it ever was.


    ¡°Well, can you sense the Ruha now?¡± Rygart looked back up, looking about himself.


    ¡°What? I don''t¡­¡± And then it hit him, the image of innumerable tiny stars, cast in a sea of darkness. ¡°I can... I can! Oh, wow, Doran. How.... how did I never notice this before!?¡± Rygart truly could feel it. Power swirling all around him. The new sensation made the hairs on his arms stand on end.


    ¡°See, I told you, all you needed to do was recognize it.¡±


    Rygart''s face was lit up with wonderment. It truly was just as Doran said it would be. But still... he thought. The smile slipped from his face, and again his eyes cast downward. What the hell was that? I''m starting to remember, some of it.


    ¡°Doran, have you ever had someone....whatever, when trying to find their Ruha Sense?¡± Doran shook his head.


    ¡°No. That was an entirely unique experience for me as well. I suppose it has something to do with your innate ability to manipulate Ruha. Perhaps you are more...sensitive to it than most? That''s the only thing I can think of.¡±


    ¡°Sensitive? How do you mean?¡±


    ¡°Well, you know when your eyes have been exposed to the dark for a really long time, and then suddenly a candle gets lit, and there''s all this light? So much so that your eyes hurt. Maybe it''s similar to that?¡±


    ¡°You think?¡± Rygart was again contemplating himself. Looking at his hands, and arms. Any part of him he could easily see.


    ¡°I''m not sure Rygart. I told you, I''m no true mage. I am not neary qualified to suppose just what the hell to expect with you.¡± Doran could see Rygart was letting the strangeness of the day overshadow the good.


    ¡°Rygart, you can actively sense the Ruha now. We can finally truly start your training. Today marks the first day of a new Rygart.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re right.¡± Rygart smiled, and looked Doran in the eye. ¡°I think it''s time you taught me what magic can really do.¡±

 Ch 9 Resumed Training

    A young boy wakes late at night. He crawls out of bed, careful not to stir the sleeping parents on either side of him. He slides down the thin sheets until his bare feet rest upon the stone floor. The boy maneuvers his way through the dark, much like he does most nights, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. The boy reaches his destination, relieves himself, and begins to make the journey back to bed, when he notices a shadow pass through the cracks around the front door. Curious, the boy walks towards the front window, and lifts the shutter to peer into the night.


    Moonlight envelops the cobblestone street as well as the stone buildings that line the street. One-by-one, side-by-side, as only found in a dense metropolis. The boy only opens the shutter a crack, curious, yet afraid. Unsure of what he would see. The boy continues to examine as much of the street as he can through only a few centimeters of space, unwilling to open the shutter all the way.


    Upon seeing nothing, the boy lets out a breath, relieved, with just a touch of disappointment. He closes the shutter, eager to crawl back into bed, and return to his dreams. As the boy is drifting off, again safely nestled among his sleeping parents, he wonders what he had hoped to see. However, even this young boy¡¯s imagination could not have conceived the truth of that night.


    Outside, no more than just a few meters from where the boy now slept, two cloaked and hooded figures appear. The two figures crouched in a shadowy alleyway, pressed against one of the two walls on either side. Both figures are wearing grey cloaks, and both carry small packs. Neither seems to be carrying a sword, or any other weapons, though they are anything but defenseless.


    Several minutes go by, and still they crouch in the street. Each one with their eyes raised to the sky, almost as if they are waiting for something. Just as a cloud rolls in, obscuring the moon and casting the city into shadows, the two figures move.


    The pair moves through the street with caution, making every effort to go unnoticed. As quickly and quietly as they can afford, they move from street to street, until the shadows drift along, following the cloud that cast them. Caught in the moonlight, the pair of cloaked figures enters another alleyway, and once again press themselves up against the wall.


    "Dammit Dorian, for just once I would appreciate it if your great knowledge and skill with magic would be of some use to us." Soren moved as close to his friend¡¯s side as he could, whispering his discontent.


    "Do you realize how hard it is to clear your mind when you can see everything?" Dorian responds in the same, emotionless, flat tone as he always does.


    "Damn, those eyes of yours. Never helpful in the real world."


    "Well excuse me, sir. I was unaware how inconvenient it is for you."


    "Oh, shut it. You were the one that wanted to sneak away from The Institute. Did you really think that saying pretty please would work? And after that colorful tidbit about them being, and I quote, ''Used up old goats that haven''t made a useful contribution to the world in a century.''"


    A moment or two of silence passes between Dorian and Soren.


    "How was I to know they didn''t have a sense of humor? Besides, have you forgotten? You''re a mage too."


    "Yes, but I can''t use spatial magic, you twat." Soren hissed in his ear, not pleased with the most recent turn of events.


    "Twat? Really?" Dorian turned to look his friend in the eye, raising one of his eyebrows as he does so.


    "I''m expanding my vocabulary."


    "Well keep at it. Before too long you''ll be able to curse like the best of them."


    "Pipe down, little boy. Another cloud is coming in." And with that they were off, back into the street, under cloud cover yet again.


    Soren''s apprehension was understandable. If The Institute caught them, the worst that Dorian would get is a slap on the wrist, but the same is not true with Soren. Whether or not he belongs to Dorian or to The Institute could be up for debate. However it is a debate that the Triumvirate would most likely win. In which case Soren could find himself sent to the Pits, or worse. Soren knew all too well how some rich men liked the company of pretty boys.


    He pushed those thoughts from his mind, determined not to get caught, and on they went, street to street, alley to alley. Several hours of careful and cautious movements, crossing Rahk Sur in the dead of night, gradually making their way to the river.


    "Dorian, I can see the docks." Soren whispered over his shoulder. They were to meet a man. Someone Dorian had said could be trustworthy.


    "Did your friend happen to mention the particulars of how we are to meet him?" Soren whispered, still using hushed tones.


    "I never said he was my friend."


    "Oh great. That inspires confidence."


    "There. The man with the lamp." A rather round man had just stepped around a corner, holding a lit lantern up above his head, as he peered into the darkness.


    Once they were sure they were clear, together they crossed the last stretch of open space, meeting up with the man holding the lantern. As they approach the round man Dorian produces a pair of tented spectacles. He had fashioned them himself, quite a while ago. Strangers often reacted poorly when they saw his eyes.


    "Ah, so you are my employer. Not quite the sort I tend to deal with." The man rubbed his hand over his stomach, his round face split by a smile.


    "We are the sort that pays, good sir. And that''s the only sort I believe you care about." Dorian had stepped up to the man, holding several gold coins in the palm of his hand.


    "Hahaha, as you say, my friend." Upon seeing the coins in Dorian''s hand, the man''s eyes gleamed, pleased with the offering.


    "And our arrangement is that you are to receive the rest of your payment upon our safe arrival at our destination, yes?" Soren was dumbfounded. How did Dorian do all of this? Where did he meet any smugglers? He''s a 14-year-old magical prodigy who never left The Institute.


    "Aye, sir. Now then, we must hurry. I believe our guard friend will be distracted by a rather peculiar sound for only another couple of minutes." Together the three headed down the docks until they came across a rather quaint little boat. "This is us here. She might not seem like much, but she''s hidden away much more than just two skinny rich boys." The round smuggler spoke as he crossed the gangplank. "And here, young sirs, is where you will be staying. Until we pass inspections and are clear of the city." He motioned toward a tiny alcove nestled in the floor at the nose of the ship.


    "Dorian, I really don''t like this."


    ****


    An endless expanse of pure darkness, filled with nothing but a whirling sea of tiny starbursts. This is what Rygart saw as he experienced what he called the ¡°Ruha world¡±. As Rygart watched the eddy spiral and flow around him, his focus adjusts narrowing in on one starburst. It expands and contracts, almost shrinking out of existence. The colors are always shifting, never stopping on any one color. Doran calls out Rygart''s name, which snaps him out of his reverie.


    "You did it again, didn''t you?" Doran asks in his deep, silvery voice as he rubs his eyes as he does when irritated.


    "I''m sure I have no idea what you''re talking about." A sly grin split across Rygart''s face ear-to-ear.


    "Fine. Spend as much time as you want floating in your little, ''Ruha world''. I thought you wanted to learn how to enhance your body with Ruha. Sorry if I was wrong."


    "Come on Doran, this stuff is boring. This isn''t magic! It''s...school!" Rygart''s smile was gone now, replaced by exasperation.


    "It''s biology, Rygart. You must know how something works before you can improve upon it. Simple logic."


    For the past several days Doran had been teaching Rygart the inner workings of the human body. Things that Rygart never thought he would need to know. Things he¡¯d never wished, nor cared to know. Rygart''s enthusiasm had long since worn out. He was yearning to get up and do something. No more talking. Rygart was more than ready to move on with real magic.


    Ever since his first foray into the arcane, Rygart had taken to sensing Ruha, and even drawing it in, like a fish takes to water. He had expected the next step to be magic and not learning how human muscles worked.


    "But I learn by doing. Not by sitting on a stump listening to you drone On-and-On."


    Doran let out a little sigh. He understands well the frustration an endeavor like this can cause. He also knows that a key aspect to Rygart''s success would be avoiding burnout at all costs.


    "Alright. Then let''s do something." Rygart lifts his head a little, hopeful of what his teacher is about to say. "I think it is about time you and I continued with your other training. Your body should be healed. We won''t have to worry about reopening any of your injuries."


    "When you say ''other training'' you mean..."


    "Swordsmanship, Rygart. Along with strength, endurance, agility, all the things we were working on before you got yourself hurt."


    "Um, I''m sorry, correction. When you almost killed me, is what you meant to say, right?"


    "Call it what you want. Do you want to get beat up or not?" Doran smiles his oh-so-familiar 1/4 smile.


    "Fine, but I won''t go easy on you anymore, old man." Rygart sstands up, beaming. His enthusiasm rekindled into a blazing inferno.


    "Whatever you say, kid." Doran stands, brushes himself off, and says, "Grab that sword of yours. Let''s see if you''re still so cocky tonight."


    Doran leads Rygart thourgh the forest, passing tree after tree. After what couldn''t have been more than a dozen or so minutes, the two step into a bright clearing, perfect for their needs.


    "We''ve lost quite a lot of time due to your injuries. I''m not sure what kind of shape your muscles will be in after recovering from such severe damage. Let''s start easy and judge where you''re at. First, we will start with the Yozu movements." Rygart gets into position across from his teacher. "Remember, Yozu is about breathing. Breath creates the tempo at which our bodies move. If it is too slow or too fast, our bodies can''t operate at their full potential." Rygart nods his head as he sets his feet and clasps his hands together above his head. "Now then, we will start with the first movement, The Dawn."


    Rygart eases his hands down in front of his face, slowly filling his lungs with air and making the hand sign for life as he does so. His hands continue to descend as they shift to the next hand sign, energy. Again Rygart''s hands shift, lowering to his navel just as his hands and arms complete the movement with the final sign, the sign of beginning.


    Rygart holds the end of the pose for just a second, then releases his breath in a steady stream as he transitions to the next movement. Rygart turns his body and sweeps his right leg around behind him, drawing a semicircle in the ground. Together Rygart and Doran move. Each with their eyes closed. Both controlling their breath.


    Several minutes pass as the two go through the Yozu movements. The final movement brings their legs together and their hands, once again, in front of their faces. This


    time making the sign for the end. The pair begin to exhale as their hands descend, forming the sign for creation. Again their hands fall to rest at the navel, forming the sign of rebirth.


    "Well done Rygart. You remembered and executed each of the movements quite well." Rygart opens his eyes and looks at his teacher, the faintest smirk on his face. "Now we will move on to the Yomu movements." After hearing that, Rygart''s little smirk is replaced with a scowl.


    "Ugh, not that. My body can''t handle it."


    "Rygart, the Yomu movements help the body recover. They may be difficult, but nothing worth having comes easy."


    "Alright alright. Let''s just get this over with."


    "Do you remember the movements?" Rygart nods, already getting into position. "Good. Now, this time we will increase the tempo. Elevate our heart rates. Ready?"


    Both Rygart and Doran move in concert. Often bending and flexing in incredible shapes. After some time of contorting their bodies the two slow, finishing the final movement. By now, Rygart''s heart was beating hard in his chest and his muscles burned from the effort.


    "Well done Rygart. Your muscles seem to be healed and ready to go. I''d say they are even better than before."


    "Great, can we stop with the stretches now? I feel like my muscles are about to peel off my bones." Rygart caresses his sore muscles, hoping to work some of the ache out.


    "Not yet. I''d say you''re ready for the Yoru set now."


    "Oh come one! I''ve never been able to complete that set! The human body was never meant to bend like that."


    "Rygart, the Yoru set is the most important one. It is designed to keep the body in peak condition. Not only does it work your flexibility, it also improves your balance, coordination, and control. How do you think I''ve maintained such good condition at my age?"


    "Because you''re a freak" Rygart mumbles to himself.


    "Not a freak. Just dedicated. How far will your dedication take you?"


    "Fine! Let''s do the stupid movements."


    Doran sighed to himself. He knew Rygart''s begrudging mood would make it almost impossible for him to complete the complex set of movements.


    "How about this? If you complete the set to my expectation, I will answer any question you have about my past. Is that enough to get your full cooperation?"


    Rygart thought about that for a moment. Doran never talks about his past. Never. Rygart had often tried to learn more about the man, but he had always answered as vaguely as possible.


    "You mean a real answer? Not something laced with ambiguity."


    "Yes. A real answer. As thorough an answer as I can give."


    "Alright then. I think that is fair enough compensation. Let''s do some stretches!"


    Rygart wasn''t as familiar with the Yoru set as he was the others. This time, he would have to watch Doran and follow along as best he could. Throughout his training, Rygart had tried several times to complete this set. His attempts had always ended in failure, leaving him on the ground contorted in pain.


    The Yoru movements were all long and complicated things. It was often required to lay on the floor or even lift yourself with your hands. Each movement took a precise amount of concentration, yet it also required focus on breathing. This split Rygart''s attention, which would lead him to collapse. Not today though. Not this time. Rygart was determined to succeed. If only to spite Doran. Rygart knew the man didn''t part with details about his life willingly and getting one up on Doran would please Rygart to no end.


    Doran gets into position, with Rygart following suit. Doran''s eyes drift close as his hands come together. His right arm and leg arc away from his body. His hand comes to rest just above theright shoulder, with his leg spread nearly as far as it could go. Doran then tilts backwards, placing the palm of his left hand on the ground. Next, his left leg is lifted straight into the air, balance spread between his outstretched right leg, and contorted left arm. Rygart follows, desperate to keep up with his teachers movements, muscles threatening to give out. But they don''t. Movement after movement, stretch after stretch. No matter the malformation.


    After over an hour of body contortions, the duo finishes the final movement. At long last, Rygart has completed the Yoru set for the first time. His heart is pounding against his ribs. Sweat pours from every inch of his body. His muscles and tendons burn with an all new vigor. Butit was over. He had done it.


    "Well, your movements were a bit off at times. You have a ways to go before you''ve mastered them. But," Doran saw Rygart begin to object and cut him off before the words left his mouth, ¡°you did an adequate job for your first completion. Well done." The corner of Doran''s mouth raises just ever so slightly.


    "So that means I can ask any question about your past, right?"


    "Of course. I am a man of my word. However, we have much more to do today. Once we are done with today''s training, you may ask your question."


    Rygart beams, more than pleased with his prize.


    "Alright. What''s next?"


    "Aren''t you enthusiastic? If you''re ready, then next we will begin to work on your sword skills. Grab your weapon."


    Rygart had left his sword by the edge of the clearing, stuck into the soft ground. As Doran sips from his waterskin, Rygart runs over to his weapon and pulls it from the earth.


    "Now then. It has been a while since your last instruction. Let''s see what you remember. First, we will go through the different sword stances. Then, the real work begins. From today on you and I will begin daily sparring sessions."


    "It¡¯s about time. I''ve missed holding my sword in my hand, strange as that might sound." This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.


    And so they began. Both Doran and Rygart held their swords and faced each other. Together the two crossed their blades and began to step around one another using slow, deliberate motions. Doran had taught Rygart several dozen different sword stances, and now he moved through each one of them.


    "Good. Now, let us increase our pace." Again they crossed blades, increasing the speed of their steps. Faster and faster they moved until they were no longer going through the paces. Now, it was an all out battle. On and on the two danced throughout the clearing, and as theyfought, the intensity of each attack grew. The sound of clashing metal rang throughout the forest. Eventually, Rygart fell to the ground, unable to stand against the constant barrage of Doran''s attacks.


    "Not bad. Your skill hasn''t dulled at all. It might be less than a week since you were injured, but for some that''s all it takes." Doran reaches down, and clasps Rygart''s forearm. He smiles his characteristic 1/4 smile, and hefts Rygart up onto his feet.


    "I''m glad. To be honest, I was worried too. But once I held my sword in my hand, it all came flowing back to me."


    "Good. Ready for round two?"


    "I was born ready."


    "Ow. Ow. Ow." Rygart limps over to his little cot by the campfire circle before collapsing all together.


    "I thought you weren''t going to go easy on me anymore?" Doran says as he too comesto rest at his spot by the campfire ring.


    No sooner as the last word had left his mouth did Rygart shoot the man a look that could kill.


    "I didn''t want you to throw out your back." Rygart spoke as he massages all his aching bits. "Where would I be if you went and broke a hip? You really think I could carry a giant like you back to camp?"


    "Mmmm, how very generous of you." Doran collects a few logs for the fire. Then with a flash of light, they had a roaring flame.


    "Be honest, you use magic to do that don''t you? And here I thought you had some secret fire starting technique."


    "Wouldn''t you call using magic to start a fire, ''some secret technique''?¡± Doran cocks an eyebrow, eyeing his young friend.


    "Huh, good point." Rygart continues massaging his aches and pains, willing them to go away.


    "With magic you could be back on your feet in no time."


    Rygart rolls his eyes a bit.


    "Fine. If it means not dealing with achy muscles and your condescending tone. Where did we last leave off, oh great teacher of mine?"  Doran rumages through his pack and produces the same bread-like substance he always seems to be eating. What, does he have an endless supply of that stuff? Jeez.


    "Ya know, if you ever want to lose the attitude, I''d be willing to live without it." Doran returned to his usual space by the fire, sitting on a log that has seen quite a bit of use since Rygart''s injury.


    "I could, but I''d hate to make you suffer." Rygart replied, as he, too, rumaged through his pack for food.


    The two sit in silence, as they often do, both eating whatever provisions they still had enough of. Rygart soon sees this as an opportunity, and decides to try asking his question.


    "Before we get back to the boring lessons, and seeing as how we''re both just sitting here eating, would now be a good time to ask my question?"


    Doran sighs, "Fine. What is this burning question of yours?"


    "Well, Oberon said that you were powerful, and after all this time training with you I''ve learned he wasn''t exaggerating."


    "I suppose."


    "Oberon also explained that certain members of the Assault guild earn a Title, and that you haven''t yet because of something that happened between you and the city officials. So, I was wondering what happened."


    "I see. Oberon and his big mouth." Doran looks up at Rygart to see a big grin splitting his face.


    "Alright, fine. Well, this was several years ago. It''s been almost 15 years now, in fact." Rygart makes himself comfortable while Doran tends to the fire.


    "You see, my team was set to escort a rich noble up the Tower. He wanted to go to the highest floor at the time, that being floor 40. At that time, no one had been able to find the Labyrinth¡¯s exit. But, many had come across the Archfiend for that floor. A big, dangerous thing. Apparently, the creature possessed a valuable gem imbedded within its forhead. This rich noble wanted us to hunt down the Archfiend and retrieve said gem. We were never told what for, but we didn''t care. A job was a job.¡±


    ¡°Well, as we traversed the 40th floor, on our way to the Labyrinth, we encountered a demon. One only found on the upper floors. Tall with leathery skin. Nasty claws, thick muscles. They''re called Strega, and not something to be taken lightly.¡±


    ¡°During the encounter, our benefactor decided we weren''t getting the job done to his satisfaction. He got himself in a bad situation, and when we moved to save him, several of my teammates got injured.¡±


    ¡°I told our employer we needed to retreat. To remain on the 40th floor with most of our members too injured to fight was suicide. Of course, the man wasn''t satisfied with that explanation. He was furious, and threatened to ruin our reputations. I was beyond angry, yet I didn''t want the rest of my team to suffer the wrath of this idiotic nobleman. They were still young. Younger than me, anyway. And all talented. If this noble followed through with his threats their budding careers would be over. So, I continued on. I led my team to the entrance of the Labyrinth and entered it on my own. And so, I alone hunted the Archfiend.¡±


    ¡°I wandered the Labyrinth. Clashing with other demons and monsters. Labyrinths, you see, are a nesting ground of creatures. Well, the ones on the upper floors are. For days I stalked through the passageways until I came face to face with the very thing I had been searching for.It was a horrible creature, with... alien, cloven feet, several meters tall and carried a vicious blade. Truly a monstrous demon. For 3 whole days we clashed. I threw everything I had at that monster. It was like nothing I had ever encountered before. Nightmarish.Eventually, it fell. But not before giving me this," Doran pulls the neck of his tunic down, indicating the long scar that stretched down from his brow and disappeared beneath his tunic, "as a souvenir.¡±


    ¡°I was gone for just over a week before I returned to my team, dragging the creature''s head along with me. The noble wasn''t so quick to be pleased. He was the most belligerent person I have ever met. He continued to snivel and moan. Still displeased, he said he might be merciful upon our return to the city. Calmly, I removed the gem from the Archfiends head held it out to him and crushed it in my hand, right in front of that nobles eyes. After that, it was all over. We returned, with him in a rage the whole way back. I was rather impressed. It took us several weeks to return, yet that noble raged on the whole time."


    "I don''t understand. Why did you piss off the noble if you were so worried about your reputations? Why go through all the trouble of risking your life and fighting that thing?"


    "Well, I had to try appeasing that noble. But when I saw that he wouldn''t relent, I took all his disdain upon myself. By crushing his prize before his very own eyes, I ensured that I became the sole object of his rage."


    "Damn."


    "Well, I think it''s obvious that ever since then I''ve been on something of a blacklist. Very few of the high level contracts accept me. These days, I just venture into the Tower for myself. Occasionally returning with something valuable."


    "All of that from one loud mouthed noble?"


    Doran nods his head as he stares into the flames dancing between he and Rygart.


    ¡°Now then.¡± Doran¡¯s words break the silence. ¡°We still have some time before night falls. You¡¯ve had your fun. Now it¡¯s time to return to your studies.¡± Rygart groans, loath to go back to listening to Doran¡¯s lectures.


    A squirrel scampers about the forest, eager to find its breakfast. Rays of sunlight break through the forest canopy. Birds and other animals scurry across the ground and call out. The smell of the untouched forest fills Rygart''s nostrils as he takes a deep breath, enjoying his walk through the trees. Another day, another lesson, Rygart thinks as he continues on his way.


    Rygart only woke an hour or so ago. It didn''t take long before Doran gave him his task and sent him off into the forest. What was today''s lesson? Search the forest for an herb. This particular herb was helpful with aching joints, according to Doran. No doubt another discipline he''ll want me to learn. I''m sure the Eisenverd Festival will be full of difficult, herb related tasks. Rygart was certain even the squirrels could feel the sarcasm. But can I say anything? No. Or else Doran would subject me to another of his vague responses.


    By now Rygart was used to just going with the flow. If Doran asked him to do something it was for good reason, more often than not. Doesn''t mean I can''t curse the day the man was ever born though.


    On and on Rygart walked, looking for a plant he only somewhat knew of. Several hours of searching passed, to no avail. Rygart eventually got frustrated, and sat down on the forest floor, leaning back on his hands and looking up at the tops of the trees. He closes his eyes and begins to focus on that ever present feeling again. Once more, Rygart''s dark-filled world exploded with light. He shifted his focus around him, taking in the swirling spectacle.


    After a few minutes, something caught his attention. There was a slight deviation in some of the stars. Some weren''t quite swirling in the same direction as the others. Curious, Rygart shifted his focus again, trying to follow the direction of this new flow. It was ever so faint, like a tiny stream that formed after a long rainfall. Rygart opens his eyes and looks in the direction of the flowing Ruha.


    Rygart decides he has nothing better to do, and so he gets up and follows the path he believes the Ruha had taken. Every now and then he stops, closes his eyes, and focuses on the deviant Ruha flow. The farther he walks, the stronger the flow. After a while, it was no longer a tiny deviation. Instead, it was an all new flow. Rygart continues to walk, gripped by curiosity.


    Rygart was narrowing in on the source of this new flow when he heard a voice break through his thoughts.


    "Who the hell are you?"


    Rygart opens his eyes to find a beautiful girl staring at him with a quizzical look on her face. She had tanned skin, her hair was as dark as raven''s feathers. There were a few tufts of hair that hung by her face, but the rest of it was in a loose braid that was currently resting on her shoulder, with the end stopping at her chest.


    Even from this distance Rygart could see her intense, ice blue eyes. She was about average height. Maybe a bit tall for a girl. A few inches shorter than Rygart. She was skinny, yet she hardly looked dainty. She had a fierce presence that ran contradictory to her size and stature.


    "Oh, uh, hi. Sorry, I was just following the Ruha." You didn''t answer her question, stupid. "My name''s Rygart. Mind if I ask what you''re doing way out here in the woods?"


    The girl eyed Rygart up and down, sizing him up like a seasoned veteran. So Rygart did the same. The girl really was pretty. Rygart guessed she was his age, maybe a little older. She wore a plain tunic, with a broad opening for her neck and shoulders, as well as a pair of trousers that narrowed as they went and cut off just below her knees. She also wore tight fitting leather gloves, with the fingers cut off, and a leather jerkin. There seemed to be something she was carrying. Some sort of basket, hanging from the crook of her elbow.


    "I''m just out gathering herbs. I''m...something of an apothecary." She was still on guard, but at least her eyes seemed to have settled on Rygart''s own.


    "Well, if you don''t mind, I''m actually looking for an herb myself. It''s called monksroot? I''m not sure if you know it..."


    "Of course I know it." Rygart stopped, letting her interject. "Why would a strange boy be all the way out here in the absolute middle of the wood looking for monksroot?" Her eyes narrowed, almost imperceptibly.


    "Well, from my perspective, you''re the strange one." Idiot, idiot. "Um, I was told it helped with aching joints, though to be honest I''m only out here looking for it because my teacher told me to."


    "Teacher? You do realize that you''re, more than, a day''s ride from the nearest town, let alone school."


    "He''s not that kind of teacher. You see," By now Rygart has loosened up. He was fairly certain if the girl posed any threat she would have acted by now. "I''m looking to join the Assault guild. And the Eisenverd Festival is a little over a month away. We''ve been out here for a while now, and he''s teaching me how to manipulate Ruha and use magic."


    The girl eyes Rygart with a condescending look before saying, "You''re only just now learning magic? And you think you have what it takes to compete in the festival?"


    "Ay, you don''t know anything about me. I could be some kind of prodigy."


    "Well, are you?" Rygart hesitated a bit before answering,


    "Not technically."


    "Ah, right. Not technically." By now the girl had also relaxed. She had an amused look on her face as she eyed Rygart once again.


    "Look, I''m a great sword fighter, and I''m a quick learner. You should be careful of whom you underestimate."


    "Perhaps." She paused, chewing on her next words. "Well, Rygart, I suppose we''ll both see just how...estimated you''ll be. I''m joining the festival too." After a couple of minutes of speaking with her, Rygart wasn''t all that surprised. She seemed to be able to handle herself. "Anyway, I found some monksroot earlier. Do you know how much you need?"


    Rygart thought a bit before he spoke. Doran hadn''t specified. He''d only told Rygart that he needed to find it.


    "To be honest, I''m not sure. All the instruction I received was, ''Go find me some monksroot.''" Rygart used what he was certain was a poor imitation of Doran. He flexed his chest, and held out his arms like his muscles were too big rest by his side, and adopted a deep, slow voice. At first Rygart was a bit embarrassed, feeling dumb for his display. But all that went away when the girl smiled and laughed a little at his failed impersonation.


    After a second or two she spoke, with a smile and a friendlier tone.


    "Well, if I had to bet, he just wanted you to sense it."


    "Sense it?"


    "Yeah. Monksroot, along with a few other herbs, has a funny way of interacting with the local Ruha. It pulls it in, which can lead to an increased concentration of Ruha in the area. It must have been part of your training." That does sound like Doran. Stupid, vague bastard.


    "Well, thank you. I think that''s what I was following when we bumped into each other here."


    "Yeah, now I''m not so surprised. I have quite a few herbs here with me that do something similar. If you want, I can give you a bit of monksroot to take back with you?"


    Rygart thought about it for a moment, but decided against it.


    "As much as I would love to cut the corners, something in me knows the crazy old bastard would know. And that''s the last thing I want." The thought of Rygart getting caught cheating by Doran must have had some physical impact on Rygart because the girl smiled and laughed again.


    "I get what you mean. Teachers can be like sometimes."


    "Yeah. Sometimes." Again she smiled as she started back on her trek through the woods.


    "It was nice meeting you, Rygart. And I''ll look for you during the festival."


    "Thanks, and good luck. In case we don''t see each other again before then." Rygart smiled and watched her go. Pleasantly surprised at the day''s turn of events.


    As she was several steps away, a thought struck Rygart.


    "Wait, I didn''t get your name!" He called after her, feeling stupid for forgetting something so important.


    She turned around, and kept walking backwards, before shouting back, "Aria!" And then turning her back to him once more.


    Rygart returns to camp with the sun high in the sky, deep in thought, contemplating his interaction with that girl, Aria. Once Rygart walks back into camp and sits in his usual spot, Doran notices that his young friend''s mood is much more positive than he would have thought. He was certain that Rygart would return peeved and his usual sarcastic, snide self. Yet he seems different. At peace almost.


    ¡°Did you have a nice stroll through the woods?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, actually. It was nice to just...walk around and enjoy the forest.¡± Rygart thought about telling Doran about running into Aria. After a second or two of thought, Rygart decides to keep it to himself.


    ¡°Well, did you find what you were after?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, I found your stupid herb. Was that really worth the time? Sending me on some useless errand.¡± Rygart tosses the monksroot at Doran¡¯s feet, then crosses his arms in haughty derision.


    ¡°Look, Rygart. There were reasons. Two reasons, to be specific. I wanted you to gain a little experience using your senses to track down an objective. I also wanted you to experience first-hand how some things can affect Ruha. You are bound to come across many things that act similarly. It might even be the goal of some of your future missions.¡±


    ¡°I guess.¡± Rygart sighs. He wasn¡¯t truly upset with Doran for sending him into the woods in search of the herb. But he couldn¡¯t let Doran know that.


    ¡°You shouldn¡¯t rely on slipping into the Ruha world. Fighting with your eyes closed would prove difficult after all.¡±


    He does have a point there.


    ¡°Fine fine. I get it.¡±


    ¡°Besides,¡± Rygart looked up to see Doran crushing the herb in his mortar-and-pestle, ¡°In my old age these joints of mine do tend to ache.¡± He takes the ground herb and sprinkles it into a kettle of boiling water that he had just taken out of the fire.


    ¡°Are you making tea? You sent me out, all across the forest, so you could make yourself a cup of tea!?¡±


    ¡°It was just an added benefit.¡± He responds, while he smiled that oh-so-familiar smile of his. Rygart rolls his eyes as he sits back, resting on his hands.


    The two sit around the fire, Doran sipping his tea, for several minutes with no one saying a word. Taking advantage of the lapse, Rygart decides to ask a question that had been on his mind recently.


    ¡°Hey, why are there no monsters in the forest? Of come across plenty of animals. Some of which are terrifying, like the bears and the wolves and such. But those seem¡­.mundane. I¡¯ve dealt my fair share of monsters. Both in Brekt and on the road, on my way to Draghiem.¡± Rygart pauses a second, and Doran continues to sip his tea. ¡°I had expected to run into more monsters around the Tower, yet it seems to be the opposite.¡±


    ¡°Well, the Towers act as a kind of...repellent for the more vicious creatures out there. I¡¯m not quite sure why, yet it seems that most monsters that live outside the Towers avoid the surrounding areas.¡±


    Another few minutes pass in silence. As the two friends sit by the fire, Rygart¡¯s mind begins to wander. He soon finds himself missing his forge as he often has these months he¡¯s been away.


    ¡°I hope I can return to smithing, once we get back.¡±


    ¡°Ah, that¡¯s right. Oberon said you were a talented young smith.¡±


    Rygart looked up, a look of surprise on his face.


    ¡°Did he say that? That I was talented, I mean.¡±


    ¡°He did. He said that each time you forge a blade, you become better. Oberon''s enjoyed your presence, you know. Oberon has had a rough life and having you around has really brought a spark back in his life.¡± Rygart blushes, not knowing what to say.


    After a while, the red in his cheeks go away, and he looks into the open flame of the fire. His mind wanders again, this time falling on the different weapons he¡¯s seen and worked with.


    ¡°Have you always used a long-sword?¡±


    ¡°I have. It¡¯s simple, and versatile. Not to mention rather easily replaced as opposed to some of the more exotic weapons I¡¯ve come across.¡± Doran¡¯s mention of exotic weapons piques his interest.


    ¡°Exotic weapons? Mind if I ask what kind? I¡¯m still knew, but I have seen single-edged blades. Oberon taught me the processes involved with making them, but I haven¡¯t quite managed to perfect it.¡±


    ¡°Ah yes. No doubt it was a katana. That particular style of blade comes from Eastern and Western Eurelia. They are beautiful, yet still unremarkable compared to some I¡¯ve come across.¡±


    ¡°Eurelia?¡± Rygart rarely got a glimpse at the larger world, and couldn¡¯t help himself.


    ¡°Yes. Long ago, it was an island nation known as Eurelia. It is far from here, to the south east. Many years ago there was a large civil war, which split the nation in two. Now, there is Eastern Eurelia, and Western Eurelia.¡±


    ¡°And this is where single-edged blades come from?¡±


    ¡°Well, the katana, yes. There are other styles.¡±


    ¡°Could you show me these other styles?¡± Rygart loved exploring new ideas and concepts.


    ¡°I¡¯m afraid I don¡¯t own any myself, and they are very rare for this part of the world.¡± Rygart¡¯s eyes became downcast. ¡°But if I ever come across one, I¡¯ll be sure to let you know.¡±


    ¡°Thanks. That¡¯d be great. Becoming powerful, and reaching the top of Draghiem might be my life¡¯s ambition, but forging blades is another aspiration of mine.¡± There is no better feeling than working in front of the forge and then showing off your work. Rygart smiled as he thought back to all the time he¡¯s spent in front of a forge.


    ¡°We all need our hobbies. And I think blade smithing is an honorable trade. Now then,¡± Doran sets down his empty cup and looks Rygart in the eye, ¡°we should get back to your lessons. You won¡¯t learn anything if we get distracted with conversation.¡±


    ¡°Ugh. You really know how to ruin a good mood.¡±

 Ch 10 Misfortune in the Wilderun

    ¡°Ya know, I¡¯m really getting tired of roots and flavorless meat.¡± Rygart was eyeing his unappetizing meal as he spoke. ¡°How much longer are we gonna have to deal with this?¡±


    ¡°You should be thankful. These woods are bountiful. In Draghiem, you¡¯ll have far less appealing meals. Eating squirrel isn¡¯t the worst you¡¯ll be subjected to¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m just tired of eating the same thing every morning.¡±


    Rygart pokes at his food, daydreaming about the savory dishes that awaited him back in Eisenrahm. After a moment or two he sighs, realizing it will yet be some time before he gets to indulge in true culinary perfection.


    ¡°So what are we going to be learning today? What to do when you stump your toe?¡±


    Doran remained silent a few moments as he stowed away the food he didn¡¯t eat.


    ¡°Today, we will be taking a break from biology. We will focus on some concepts that will help you better understand magic and help you create better Scripts.¡±


    ¡°Scripts?¡± Rygart hadn¡¯t heard that term before.


    ¡°That is just the term mages use to describe words used as an incantation. Since magic requires words, and ¡®script¡¯ is what written words are called, that is the term that has become commonplace.¡±


    ¡°Mages aren¡¯t an overly imaginative bunch when it comes to naming things. Commands, Scripts, both are rather literal.¡± Rygart takes a few more bites of his squirrel stew breakfast.


    The corners of Doran¡¯s mouth pull back into a terse smile.


    ¡°Perhaps. And it doesn¡¯t end with Scripts and Commands. There is one more term that you should know. Methods. You see,¡± Doran sat back, just as he has been when lecturing Rygart about the finer points of biology. ¡°Some ideas are rooted into a person¡¯s subconscious mind. By taking advantage of this, we have a greater flexibility in the Commands we can use to create a desired effect.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure I follow along.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll try using some examples. Suppose a mage wants to create flames. He may try to command the Ruha to create those flames, without first defining what flames are. By only using the word ¡®flame¡¯ in his Script, the mage ensures that nothing will happen. That is because the nature of a flame is complicated and involves an intricate process.¡±


    Rygart nods along, somewhat understanding what Doran was getting at. After all, Rygart couldn¡¯t say how flames were made. Sure, he knew that you could set a stick on fire but he was certain there was more to it than that.


    ¡°Now, if that same mage were to command the Ruha to create stone, then there would be a reaction. However, the exact reaction that took place, if using such a simple Script, would be random. Things like shape, size, and position must also be defined when using a Script. Otherwise, the reaction can be erratic.¡±


    ¡°Well, what makes stone so different from flames?¡±


    ¡°Stone is a far simpler concept. One which most everyone has a fundamental definition of ingrained in their minds. Which concepts are ingrained in one¡¯s mind can vary depending upon experience. For example, it is possible that you possess a fundamental knowledge of iron, due to your extensive background in blacksmithing.¡±


    Doran paused while he took a swig from his waterskin.


    ¡°An important thing to note. Even if you were to command the Ruha to generate iron, what would be created is only a close facsimile. The element would have all the characteristics of iron, at least all the characteristics that you know of, yet there would be some type of fundamental difference. Just what that difference is, is impossible to say. Even if you were to examine it, you might not be able to discern any difference at all. It would look and act just like iron. This is why anything generated through the use of Ruha is prefixed with ¡®mage¡¯. Mage-stone, Mage-iron, Mage-fire, and so on so forth.¡±


    Doran pauses, waiting for Rygart¡¯s questions. After none are asked, he continues.


    ¡°Using this knowledge, it is possible to create a Method. Continuing with the previous example of iron. Without using a Method, for a mage to create a blade, he would need to do several things. First, define shape with precise detail. Commanding the Ruha into a specific width, height, and thickness. Then, the Ruha would need to be told where to sharpen. Things like the degree of the angle, and how many centimeters from the center should the sharpening begin. The mage would then need to repeat the process for the tip. Finally, the Ruha would need to Commanded to generate a material with its properties defined. Hardness, durability, flexibility, all of this, and more, would need to be defined through the use of Commands.¡±


    Up until now, Doran had been writing in the dirt using a sharp stick, and creating diagrams as some sort of visual aid.


    ¡°Creating a blade this way would take dozens of commands, if not more. By using a Method, one can ¡®store¡¯ that kind of information into a single word. This would reduce the number of commands, making it faster to finish the Script.¡±


    Doran then circled a group of words he¡¯d written. All descriptive words used to define a blade. Above the circle he wrote the word ¡®blade¡¯.


    ¡°The same can be said of more than just defining the material. Shape can defined through the use of Methods as well. However, the more complicated the shape, the more difficult it would be to create a Method for it. Square is simple enough, with well defined sides and angles. Creating a Method for something more complicated, like an arrow, would be far more difficult, and take several years. You would need a universal idea of what an arrow is. Things like length, width, thickness, edges, and point would need to be clearly defined within your mind.¡±


    A few moments passed as Doran let Rygart study the diagrams and mull over their conversation.


    ¡°How do you create a Method? I understand that some Methods exist naturally, like stone, but how does one go about altering their own mind?¡±


    ¡°It is a complicated process. One that takes years of reinforcing the same image. If I ask you to imagine an arrow, the first image that comes to your mind is what matters. The clearer the image, the higher your rate of success when trying to use it as a Method.¡±


    Rygart nods along. I think I get the gist of it. When Doran sees that Rygart isn¡¯t going to ask another question, he continues.


    ¡°The concept of Methods can be taken much further than generating a blade from thin air. It can also be used to create Methods for healing, or attacking.¡±


    This time Rygart did ask a question.


    ¡°So, I could even heal a friend that has been injured in combat? With just a simple word, like ¡®heal¡¯?¡±


    ¡°Using Life magic on another person is possible, but incredibly difficult. Things like distance, clothing, physique, injury, and even gender must all be taken into account and adjusted for. Creating such a simple Method for healing is nigh impossible, as the Script must be tailored to the specific incident, in most cases.¡±


    There is another pause, and Rygart begins to understand just how much of an advantage it would be to have a collection of Methods.


    ¡°So,¡± Rygart began, thinking aloud. ¡°This would allow you to create ice from Water Ruha in one or two words, as opposed to generating water, and then lowering the temperature of that water to freezing.¡±


    Doran nods, pleased at his young friends understanding.


    ¡°Exactly. I¡¯m glad you¡¯re getting it. The more Methods one possess, the quicker he can finish his Scripts. The faster you can finish your Script, the less time your enemy has to react.¡±


    Rygart and Doran both sit in silence as Rygart contemplates how this will impact his own actions.


    ¡°You know what, I think it might be a good time for you to try your hand at some real magic.¡±


    Rygart¡¯s eyes shot upward, looking his teacher in the eye. He had been dying to practice with magic.


    ¡°Do you think I¡¯m ready? Be honest.¡±


    ¡°I do. You¡¯ve been a good student...for the most part. Let¡¯s start with something simple. Command the Ruha to gather, take shape, and form a basic material. Like water or stone. And remember, don¡¯t forget that only certain colors can be used depending on the material you wish to create. You draw in all the Ruha in can, and then you filter out what you don¡¯t need.¡±


    Rygart¡¯s brow furrows, and he casts his eyes down at his hands.


    ¡°Alright. I think I got it.¡±


    Rygart closes his eyes and concentrates, clearing his mind. He feels the ever present sensation of the Ruha around him. Rygart¡¯s breath slows as he reaches out with his mind.


    ¡°Gather.¡± Upon uttering the Command, Rygart can sense the Ruha shift.


    Doran also feels the Ruha change as it draws closer to Rygart.


    ¡°Don¡¯t forget, you must Command the Ruha into a shape, and a material.¡±


    Rygart nods, as he decides what he wants to do.


    ¡°Form a rod.¡± Again the Ruha began to shift.


    ¡°Location as well.¡±


    Rygart holds his hand to be parallel with the ground, palm up.


    ¡°Above my hand.¡±


    Rygart could feel the Ruha condense above his hand.


    ¡°Materialize stone.¡±


    Just as the final word rang out, a thin, meter long, stone rod appeared just centimeters above Rygart¡¯s hand. Rygart had expected the rod to be horizontal, yet much to his surprise, the opposite was true. He had to act quickly to ensure it didn¡¯t fall to the ground.


    ¡°Weren¡¯t expecting it to be vertical, huh? You forgot that location also includes orientation.¡±


    Rygart inspects his handiwork as he holds it in his hand and swings it about.


    ¡°It feels just as I had imagined it would.¡±


    ¡°That would be because of the nature of intent and Methods. Mind if I take a look?¡±


    Rygart looks up and sees Doran holding out his hand. Rygart relinquishes the stone rod and awaits Doran¡¯s assessment.


    ¡°All in all, not bad. You showed good control, and you even used a Method. Probably without realizing it.¡±


    ¡°I did?¡±


    ¡°You told the Ruha to form a rod, without defining what that means. And that is exactly what a Method is.¡±


    Rygart looked down at the stone rod Doran held in his grip.


    ¡°Blacksmiths often shape metal into rods, much like this one, to store for later use. I suppose that was the image I held in my mind.¡±


    ¡°And that is the secret to mastering Methods. Imagination. Remember Rygart, the Ruha reacts to not only our will, but also our intent. And using your imagination to further define that intent is what separates the unremarkable from the very best. A mage with a powerful imagination can do wonderful, awe inspiring things.¡±


    Doran returns the result of Rygart¡¯s first attempt at magic as he spoke.


    Rygart began inspecting the stone object once again, and notices that it has started to disintegrate and flake. He looks closer at the areas of degradation and sees that the edges of the erosion are glowing red-hot.


    ¡°Ah, so I see you¡¯ve noticed the decomposition. As I stated earlier, anything constructed by using Ruha crumbles and becomes free floating Ruha once more.¡±


    ¡°Hm. So it would be a bad idea to drink Mage-water then?¡±


    ¡°Oh yes, I¡¯d say so.¡±


    Rygart looks back at Doran, with a bright smile splitting his face.


    ¡°I think I¡¯ve found the motivation I need to deal with your monotonous lessons old man.¡±


    ¡°Hm.¡±


    ¡°And I already have some ideas just how to incorporate this into my fighting."


    ****


    The sun had long since risen over Rahk Sur, and by the time it had reached its apex, Soren found himself stretching in the bright sunshine. The ship he was aboard sailed up the Irona River, causing a gentle breeze to sweep across the deck and ruffle his loose robes.


    ¡°You look pleased.¡± Soren looked next to him to see his young friend standing beside him, arms crossed and with his typical look of nonchalance.


    ¡°Of course I¡¯m pleased!¡± Soren held his hands up, reaching towards the sky. ¡°We were locked away in that miserable smuggler¡¯s hole for hours. I am beyond pleased.¡±


    ¡°Sorry about all that, friend.¡± This time it was Grail who spoke. The portly round man that had met them out by the docks. He was walking across the ship¡¯s deck, coming up from behind Soren. ¡°But when doing what we¡¯re doing, being cautious often pays dividends.¡±


    The two mages had been kept in the smuggler¡¯s hole the remainder of the night, and all through the morning, only being released once they were a few hours outside of Rahk Sur.


    ¡°Our little voyage has only just begun. We still have four days of sailing ahead of us. But, fear not. We shall reach Dimwell before you know it.¡± Grail smiles, showing a mouth full of pearly teeth.


    ¡°Thanks.¡± Soren had turned to face the man as he had walked up. ¡°We appreciate what this takes.¡±


    ¡°Just don¡¯t forget your appreciation when it comes time to pay the bill. Now then, I have other work that deserves my attention.¡± Grail waves as he walks away.


    Dorian looks up at his friend and notices his mood had suddenly shifted.


    ¡°What¡¯s got you in the dumps?¡±


    ¡°The Triumvirate has no doubt noticed our disappearance by now. Oh man, there¡¯s going to be hell to pay once we return.¡±


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t worry about it. We are no doubt setting in motion events that will leave The Institute no other choice but to excuse our departure.¡±


    ¡°You have a higher opinion of the Triumvirate¡¯s understanding than I do. Much higher.¡± Soren pushes any further thoughts of the Triumvirate out of his mind. ¡°So tell me, just how in the hell did you set all of this up?¡±


    ¡°Ah, I was wondering how long it¡¯d take you to ask.¡±


    Soren moved to lean against the ship¡¯s rails, taking in the passing scenery.


    ¡°Well?¡±


    Dorian lets a small smile loose as he moves to stand beside Soren.


    ¡°Fine. It¡¯s pretty simple. Several years ago I was smuggled out of Le¡¯ Lisia. The Church thought I was possessed by some kind of devil and had me under lock and key. The Institute learned of my existence and sent people to extradite me.¡±


    ¡°I thought you just lived there, I didn¡¯t know you were...a prisoner.¡±


    ¡°Prisoner might be a bit of an exaggeration.¡±


    ¡°They had you under lock and key? That sounds like a prisoner to me.¡±


    ¡°Eh. Call it what you will.¡± Dorian paused as he examined his nails.


    Only Dorian could treat being a child prisoner with such apathy.


    ¡°Well, as you might imagine, traversing such a large distance took several years. We didn¡¯t have the luxury of boarding a boat and just drifting down the river. As time went on, I became close with those that I travelled with. I had been six, when they came for me, and by the time I arrived in Rahk Sur I was approaching my ninth birthday.¡±


    ¡°Your ninth birthday? That¡¯s when we met.¡±


    Dorian looked up and smiled, thinking back on the first time they¡¯d met.


    ¡°As a matter of fact it was. At that time, the only people I considered my friends were the smugglers that had brought me from Le¡¯ Lisia. And I had been strictly forbidden from seeing them. However, as I got older, I found my own ways of meeting with my old friends. And so, I sent a message to them to set up this little voyage.¡±


    ¡°You sneaky devil.¡±


    ¡°Um, excuse me, sirs.¡±


    Soren turned to see who was speaking to them and was greeted by the sight of a man far younger than the members of the crew he¡¯d seen so far.


    ¡°Yes?¡±


    ¡°If you will follow me, I¡¯ll show you the way to where you will be sleeping.¡±


    The two are then led to to a small cabin above deck, adjacent to the captain''s quarters. It is a small room, able to fit no more than two men standing side by side. The beds stick out of the left wall, one slightly raised above the floor, with the other above the first, resting just under the ceiling. Other than the beds, there are two chairs and a small ''table'' that is attached to the wall with a hinge that allows the table to be folded into the wall.


    The young man turned and left the two alone in the room. Once alone, they set about the cabin, Dorian finding his way to the lower bed, and Soren moving to the table, releasing the latch and lowering it. Soren settles into one of the chairs and begins to ruffle through his pack and removes some dried fruits and nuts. Dorian soon joins them, and the two eat in silence.Stolen novel; please report.


    After a few minutes of eating the door there is a knock on the door and Grail enters the little cabin.


    ¡°Ah, so you found your way to your room. Good.¡± A look of surprise comes across Grail¡¯s face. ¡°Are you two not tired after being crammed in that hole all day? I half expected to catch you two passed out on your faces. Certainly you didn¡¯t get much sleep down there.¡±


    ¡°Well, while we couldn¡¯t get any real sleep, we were able to meditate and use magic to curb the exhaustion.¡± Soren responded between bites of his food.


    ¡°Ah, so you two gentlemen would be mages then?" He asks, his curiosity piqued.


    "We are. Mages from the city, on a mission that our betters had no interest in letting us go on."


    Grail chuckles lightly.


    "I know how that goes. I''m glad you two are in high spirits then. I''ll be out on deck if you need anything." He then nods and turns to leave the room.


    "Do you think that was such a good idea? Telling him we''re mages and all" Dorian chimed in, as he tore into a piece of bread.


    "Oh I don''t see the harm in it. They were certain to notice after all."


    "Mmm, maybe." Dorian, still with his emotionless expression, continued chewing as he spoke. "Le'' Lisians are a bit suspicious of mages you know."


    "I doubt he''s Le'' Lisian. He doesn''t quite seem the religious type. I''m rather certain smuggling is still a sin."


    "Not really."


    "What do you mean? Sure it is."


    "No. Stealing is. Murder, of course. But smuggling?"


    "It is against the law you know."


    "Yes, but Le'' Lisians have a funny way of not caring about any laws that aren''t divine. Smuggling is an earthly law, not a heavenly one."


    "Why are you so certain he''s Le'' Lisian?"


    "Couldn''t you tell? It''s rather clear in his accent and complexion."


    "Hmm. Well, I''m not as well travelled as you, I suppose."


    "I don''t know if I''d say I''m well travelled. I''ve just seen my share of Le'' Lisians."


    "Yes, I suppose you have. Perhaps we should keep a sharp eye on our new friend, just in case."


    The two finished eating their meals and went out on the deck, not having much else to do. As Dorian and Soren stood to the side, watching the crew go about their work, Grail walks up and greets the two.


    "Hello there, good sirs. Enjoying the view?"


    "Hello, Grail. Your men do seem to know what they''re doing."


    "Of course they do. Each one of em is a veteran, through and through." The man beamed, a prideful smile splitting across his face. "I''ve been with these men for years now."


    This time Dorian spoke.


    "It''s good to know we are surrounded by such competent sailors."


    Grail nodded his head, still smiling away.


    "Master Grail, do you mind if I ask you a question?"


    "Oh please son, no need to call me master. Grail will do just fine. Or Captain, if ya like."


    "Alright, captain. Are you at all worried about passing through the Wilderun? I hear there''s been trouble there recently."


    "Well, it is true that things can often get...exciting passing through the forest, but I wouldn''t let your head worry too much about rumor"


    A knot was forming in Soren¡¯s stomach.


    "I''m sorry, rumor?"


    "Well, I wouldn''t want to put you gentlemen under any undue stress, but if you''re curious, then I''ll just repeat what I''ve heard myself. It would seem that the last ship to pass through the Wilderun met with some...misfortune."


    "What kind of misfortune are we talking about?"


    "The kind that leaves a vessel that left with 16 sailors empty and adrift, without a single passenger onboard. Dead or alive." Grail''s face had grown grim, but a moment later it sprang back to life. "But I don''t hold stalk in simple rumor, my young friends. And I don''t believe you should either."


    Now it was Dorian''s turn to speak.


    "And just what are the chances that these aren''t simply rumors?"


    "Well enough that I saw fit to use a bit more...precaution when picking the men for this trip."


    Soren decided to chime in once he saw that Dorian''s curiosity had been sated.


    "So you don''t employ all your men for each voyage?" Soren knew that it was a common practice to keep a roster of sailors larger than what one would need for any single voyage. That way captains could rotate the men around, giving some of them much needed shore leave while the rest began the next journey. "How many did you decide to bring this time?"


    There was a moment or two of silence before Grail answered.


    "All of them."


    Soren was sound asleep, lying on the top bed in their little cabin. Night had fallen several hours ago, and Dorian and Soren had decided to get some real sleep this time. Using magic to sustain oneself was never as good as a full night''s rest.


    Time passed, and as the moon rose high in the sky, something in the cabin moved. Soren, being a fairly light sleeper, woke and peered throughout the room. The small portcullis which lay on the wall opposite the door, let in plenty of moonlight which allowed Soren to see around the cabin.


    Dorian had crawled out of bed and let down the table. Soren saw him now, sitting in one of the two small chairs. Soren moved, trying his best not to hit his head on the ceiling above him, and slid out of bed, before sitting at the other chair across from Dorian.


    "Couldn''t sleep?"


    Dorian let out a soft sigh before he spoke.


    "No. Not a wink."


    "Have you tried using a Script? I thought you knew several that could repel Ruha?"


    "Yes, I''ve tried. But it''s because we''re moving. It''s hard enough to account for the Ruha''s movement. Doing the same for the ship is just too difficult. Perhaps if I had a few months..." Dorian trailed off.


    Soren nodded after his friend had fallen silent. He had expected there to be some trouble although he hadn''t thought the fact that they were moving would cause this kind of issue.


    "I had forgotten. After so long of having the room at The Institute, I suppose I''ve grown complacent." Dorian spoke softly as if remembering an almost forgotten dream.


    Soren still remembered what it had been like before they''d found a way to repel and conceal the Ruha. Without those enchantments, Dorian''s eyes wouldn''t let him sleep. Not when he could see...well, everything. Not just Ruha, but things Soren couldn''t hope to understand. Even when he closed his eyes, Dorian said he could still see the Ruha flowing throughout the world. Seeing even while your eyes are shut makes it difficult to fall asleep.


    Soren had tried several times to fall asleep while securing his own eyes open. It might have been foolish, and a far cry from what it was truly like for Dorian, but he had wanted to put himself in Dorian''s shoes. He had wanted to gain a better understanding of what it was like, and that was the best he could come up with at the time.


    After that, Soren proposed the idea of using Green Ruha to curb the fatigue that came with a lack of sleep. It took quite some time before they managed to figure it out, but Soren did remember how happy Dorian had been once they found the right Commands and created the Script for it.


    Dorian''s mood had improved after that. His productivity had just about gone through the roof. After that the boy just kept pouring out one discovery after the next. Even discovering an all new color of Ruha! He''d labeled it Violet Ruha, after the color of Soren''s eyes. It was then that Soren realized even though the two were technically master and slave, Dorian was the closest thing he''d ever had to a family.


    Not long after its discovery, Dorian discovered that this new color of Ruha, which Dorian said could manipulate ''Gravity'', the force that kept all things on the ground, could also be used to repel Ruha. It could do much more, of course. Dorian had once used a Script that employed Violet Ruha to cause one of the other members of The Institute to float up into the sky as if he were lighter than air. The Script wore off over time, of course, which caused the man to float back down to the earth, but not before the wind had carried him several kilometers away.


    The Triumvirate had not been happy about that. They''d had some luck, however, as Celia, one member of the Triumvirate and something of a mother figure for Dorian, convinced the others that it was only because Dorian had to interact with the other, lesser, members of The Institute. She explained that this man was jealous, and would continue to harass Dorian. She convinced them to give Dorian his own area to live and work, to avoid any future mishaps.


    This soon became Dorian''s study as well as a small bedroom. The latter was eventually modified to create a room completely devoid of Ruha. Dorian said he had never known anything akin to darkness until that day. And now Soren wished there was someway to recreate that room, here on this ship.


    "Perhaps one day we''ll find a way to block that Sight of yours."


    Dorian smiled weakly, not lifting his eyes from the spot on the table he had been eyeing.


    "But until then, any night that you are awake, I too will remain awake."


    "Don''t be ridiculous. There is no need for both of us to go without sleep." Dorian had looked up and met Soren''s gaze as he spoke.


    "I''m not being ridiculous. This way, you won''t go mad from boredom, and I won''t let you forget to find a solution. We''re a team, aren''t we?"


    This time Dorian''s smile was genuine, as he looked his friend in the eye.


    "Thank you."


    The next few days passed, without incident. Dorian and Soren mingled with the other sailors, hearing stories of grand adventure. Most truly were seasoned veterans. All but a few were well past their hundredth voyage. Those few that weren''t, were son''s or nephews of those that were. All in all, they were a tight knit group.


    Soren and Dorian learned that the captain, Grail, rarely called on all of them for a job. They also said he was a bit over precautious at times, especially when it comes to passing through the Wilderun. Those trips always cost the most, yet they often paid the most. Grail''s crew was one of perhaps three in Rahk Sur with a vessel of this size that was willing to make the trip.


    The Wilderun was massive and surrounded a large portion of the Irona River. If you wanted to follow the river to go anywhere other than Soreem or Cordia you''d need to pass through the Wilderun.


    The Irona River was the largest river in all of Auraxia, and if you were willing to pass through the Wilderun, it could take you nearly anywhere. Within the heart of the Wilderun the river forks, heading east and west, with each branch acting as Durnea''s southern border. The east branch reached all the way to the eastern coast, connecting the southern coast to places like Verdia and even the far north eastern League of Free Cities. The western branch would take you to Le'' Lisia, The Dionysian Republic, and even Buraka and The People''s Commonwealth Of Fordia, the furthest north any sane person would live. Anything beyond that lies in the Frozen Lands.


    There were a few other rivers, like the Caedican River which ran through the heart of Soreem, the land to the east of Sarket, but it was a tenth the size of the Irona. Then there was the western river, Ragen'' El. It was perhaps half the size of the Irona, and ran through Areem, far to the west. Grail''s men have been to them all. These were the epitome of of what it meant to be well travelled men.


    Soren had asked why so few are willing to venture through the Wilderun if Grail and his crew had done it so many times. That¡¯s when they¡¯d learned that most Sarketians are terrified of the Wilderun. Something about an old fable that spoke of Demons springing from the land and taking residence within the forest. Dorian chastised Soren for not knowing, but Soren had said it wasn¡¯t his fault. It¡¯s not as if slaves are often told fables.


    The sailors had then said they believe this played a big role in why Sarket has never moved to recapture Durnea. Whatever happened there left a scar on the entire culture. Sarketian children are told horror stories about the Wilderun, and every Emperor since Durnea''s founding has avoided the area. Durnea and Sarket might be on amicable terms, but that probably has more to do with the Wilderun than it does any sort of diplomacy from either side.


    Soren had also asked whether the sailors have ever come across anything strange in the forest, and the sailors respond by saying that strange is a relative term. They told the two they shouldn''t worry. With this many veteran sailors, even if they run into any of the forest''s inhabitants the sailors could adequately protect the ship.


    Around dusk on the third day, the ship reaches the edge of the forest. Both Dorian and Soren stand on the deck, watching as the ship sails into the thick forest. Neither mage notices anything dangerous about the place. The trees seem normal. No foul presence can be felt. Absolutely nothing out of the ordinary. Until around midnight.


    The pair were, again, out on the deck, playing a popular Sarketian card game, when Soren noticed something. As they were drifting past the trees Soren looked up from their game and saw a white strand of some kind hanging from a branch that was extended over the water. The string would pass over the deck, about shoulder height. Curious, Soren walked up and reached out his hand.


    Dorian looked up to see his friend fast approaching something. Dorian focused on the white string and noticed something terrible.


    "No!" Dorian yells at his friend and jump up from his chair.


    Out of nowhere, one of the sailors tackles Soren to the ground.


    ¡°Agh! What the hell!?¡± Bellowed angrily. Upset by his rough treatment.


    The sailor stood, helping Soren up to his feet.


    ¡°Just watch.¡±


    All those present on the deck watch on as the strand comes into contact with the wood. The wood hisses and blackens, and a small wisp of smoke rises from the point of contact. Soon the ship moves on and the string glides over the ship, leaving a smoking black trail everywhere it touches


    ¡°What the hell was that?¡±


    Soren hears Grail¡¯s voiced rise from behind him.


    ¡°Misfortune.¡±


    Soon, there were many strands of white, presumably made of the same substance, strewn all about the forest.


    "Dorian, is it me, or does this look like..."


    "A spider''s web." Dorian finished.


    By now several men had appeared on the deck, each with a sword strapped to their hip.


    "My friends,¡± Grail had turned to speak to both Soren and Dorian. ¡°I think it might be best if you returned to your cabins."


    "If it''s okay with you, captain, we can be helpful. We might not look it, be we can handle ourselves in a fight."


    Grail nervously looked around, unsure of what to decide.


    "I can''t make you do anything, just be sure to protect yourselves. If things get too troublesome, bar yourselves in your cabin." The captain''s eyes had narrowed as he searched the trees for signs of danger. "With the webbing this thick, we''re bound to run into at least a few Arachas."


    "Arachas?"


    "Yes. Devilish things. Spiders the size of your family dog. Some bigger. Their webbing is toxic and they have a nasty habit of biting off limbs." The captain''s face contorted into a scowl. "Agh, damn! If only we had better light. These little lamps aren''t doing a damn thing."


    After hearing the captain¡¯s comments, Soren piped up.


    "Perhaps I can help with that."


    Soren pulled an ornate metal rod from his robes, perhaps a meter long, and began chanting his Script. Eyes closed in focus, rod held in front of his face, clasped in his hands. Once he was done chanting, several orbs of light sprouted about the ship, anchored to rails, masts, anything. Light filled the forest.


    "Haha!" exclaimed the captain. "Very well done my friend! It truly does pay to have a mage around." Soren smiled, pleased he had been of some assistance.


    "Captain! We got incoming!"


    Just as the sailor finished his sentence, a black mass fell onto the ship''s deck. It had eight giant legs, and thick hairs sprouted across its body. The creature spun around, all eight legs moving in tandem. It eyed the sailors, reared its head and screeched.


    However, before it could even take a single step, Soren finished yet another Script, and a metal spear three meters long and as big around as a fist, fell from the air above the creature, impaling it, through-and-through. A cheer rose from the sailors as the thing bellowed and died. A few called out Soren''s name, but their jubilation was short lived. The surrounding trees swayed, and branches flexed. A sound of rustling leaves and bending wood permeated the air. And then, they were upon the ship. Dozens of giant, spider-like creatures rained down from the trees.


    Sailors roared into the air and charged the foul monstrosities. Soren looked over to his friend, only to see him nodding, already knowing what to do.


    "I''ll monitor the sailors'' conditions, you provide support as best you can!" As Dorian spoke, he brandished a long, twisted stick with a large knot upon the top. So he can be serious, Soren whispered to himself, as he set about chanting Script after Script.


    Dorian also chanted. Much longer and more complicated Scripts than Soren''s own. As he finished each Script, the air changed. Before long the air cooled as a faint mist rolled in. Soon, thousands of icy scales flew through the air, creating a storm of wind and ice. Some would find a human target, and swirl about them, coalescing into a single entity to ward off attacks from the vicious Arachas. Other scales would descend upon the creatures, fusing together and forming razor thin discs, which would slice into the monster''s skin and sever legs.


    Dorian himself was the eye of this storm of swirling scales. No creature ventured close without being struck down.


    "Soren!" he called out, " A group of sailors is too far for me to reach! Head to the bow of the ship!"


    Dorian had used air magic to make his voice seem as though it was right at Soren''s ear, otherwise there was no way he would have heard his friend over the sound of chaos that engulfed the ship.


    Soren made his way through the carnage, smiting any enemy that dared get to close. After only a minute or two, he emerged from the icy cloud of Dorian''s Script. He saw three men, standing back to back, surrounded by several giant Arachas.


    Soren chanted, as quickly as possible. If there was more time, Soren could have used a Script that would kill the creatures, but as it was, Soren could only conjure a violent wind, which swept around round the sailors, keeping the deadly monsters at bay. Once the sailors were removed from immediate harm, Soren altered his Script, adding Command upon Command as he continued chanting.


    As he spoke, the wind shifted. Soon it was doing more than just halting the Arachas¡¯ advance. It pushed them back, pressing the creatures against the ship''s rails. And on Soren spoke, adding more and more complexity to his Script. The wind wasn''t just wind anymore. It became a gale of black sand, blowing over the violent monsters as they thrashed, helplessly caught by the force of Soren''s Script. When Soren halted his Script, the Arachas were nothing but piles of putrid flesh. Only the vague resemblance of spiders remained.


    Soren sighed, satisfied with his work. He was making his way to the sailors, when he noticed they looked out of breath, wincing in pain.


    "Are you alright?"


    "I don''t...feel..." The sailor that spoke collapsed to the ground. Soren ran to his side, wondering what could have caused it, when he too began to feel its effects. A tingling sensation in his arms and legs, a slight knot in his stomach. Ruha Sickness! The realization hit him as another sailor loosed the contents of his stomach upon the deck.


    "Dorian! You''re using too much Ruha! The sailors are collapsing! Switch to a simpler Script!" Dammit Soren. How could you have forgotten? Agh, Dorian and his damnable tolerance.


    The gale of icy scales ceased, almost as if it had never existed. Those scales that remained, fell to the ground, gliding as if they were snowflakes. Arachas corpses lined the deck. Sickly blue-green blood oozed from the dead creatures. A few of the sailors were bent over, retching what was left in their stomachs.


    Soren looked over at Dorian, no longer surrounded by the whirling icy death. Soren could see his friend''s mouth move, forming but one word. ¡®Whoops¡¯. Soren rubbed his brows with his free hand, exasperated by his friends attitude.


    The Arachas'' attack had faltered, that is until Dorian''s Script had ceased. Now the creatures dropped from the branches once again. Both Soren and Dorian ran to meet each other, standing in the middle of the ship.


    "Keep it simple this time. Don''t expose the others to any more concentrated Ruha."


    "Soren, that was simple."


    Soren rolls his eyes, fed up with his friend.


    "Fine. Just stay behind me."


    Soren had backed himself to the center mast, with Dorian between. Soren again chanted, this time keen on where he was drawing in the Ruha. As he chanted, metal spears formed, floating in the air, creating a circle around the mast facing outward. Soren finished his Script with an exclamation, and the metal spears flew through the air. By this time several of the sailors had regained their wits and were locked in battle with the Arachas once again.


    Soren''s spears impaled the creatures, killing some as they hit, others were pinned, unable to move. The sailors quickly dispatched those that remained and no more descended upon the ship. Soren looked into the trees, searching for enemies. None could be seen, and neither could he see anymore webbing strewn about the branches.


    "I think it has passed." Soren said, turning his head to the side as he spoke, never taking his eyes off the tree-line.


    A voice rang out, breaking the relative silence.


    "Well, that was something else!"


    Soren and Dorian turned to see the captain walking over, covered in the blue-green blood from the Arachas.


    "Yes, it really was." Replied Soren, giving Dorian a harsh look as he did.


    His friend shrugged his shoulders as if he had forgotten to tie his shoes.


    "I about tossed my dinner all over the ship''s deck! I take it you two gentlemen forgot that we don''t have quite the tolerance to Ruha as you."


    "That is one way of putting it. Sorry captain. If any of your men need medical attention, I assure you we can take care of it, without making things worse."


    "Hahaha! Don''t you worry about it. I''m sure this isn''t the first time they''ve lost their stomachs. Most of these men probably spent the better part of their nights, head firmly stuck in a toilet!" The captain laughed again as he rubbed his stomach and swept his eyes across the deck. "You two sure know how to throw a party though, that''s for sure."


    The ship''s deck was coated in the Arachas'' blood, and corpses of all shapes and sizes littered the floor. Sailors were moving about. Some were kicking the corpses, ensuring they stayed corpses. Others were already cleaning up, pushing the dead Arachas over the rails and into the water below.


    "Your men don''t waste time."


    "And you don''t want them to, trust me. If these things smell up the place, you''ll long for the days when a few giant spiders were your biggest problem." The man shuddered, rubbing his arms. "How long does this damn Ruha Sickness last? I still can''t feel my fingers and toes."


    "It will take a while. Some recover faster than others. If you have any bread or crackers that will help settle your stomach."


    "Well, I''ll worry about getting this place free of these damned corpses first. I''ll pass the word along to the rest of my crew." Grail fell silent as his gaze fell on a pile of deformed Arachas corpses. "Thanks for the help. I''m sure we''d have had worse than an upset stomach or two if you two hadn''t jumped in." He smiled, as he walked away.


    Soren and Dorian both took in a deep breath, and let it out slowly, unwinding from the battle. As he was walking away Grail turned back just before he spoke.


    "Try to keep the magic to a minimum from now on. I like my meals to stay right where I put em." He laughed again as he continued to walk off.


    "See." Said Dorian. "It was nothing." Soren rolled his eyes and shook his head as he walked away, leaving Dorian standing alone. "What?"

 Ch 11 Just a Man

    It took a few more days for the ship to arrive at Dimwell. When it finally did float into port, the sun was high in the sky, casting long shadows across the quaint wood structures that dotted the small town. The road which ran through its center was just simple packed dirt. Not the elegant cobblestone that sprawled all throughout Rahk Sur, and most of the Sarket Empire. The road ran straight through the town, connecting the river to the dense treeline of the forest. It wouldn''t take more than ten minutes to walk it from end to end.


    This is a vast difference when compared to Rahk Sure, Soren noted. How these people can live in the Wilderun is beyond me. Even if it is only the outer edge. Soren turns and looks back over the deck and across the water where he sees the opposite shoreline. This part of the river is much narrower. Perhaps half so as it had been before the fork. Although, Soren thinks, that really isn''t saying much, as the Irona river''s widest portions are several kilometers wide.


    Soren turns again to face the village. He sees a number of the town''s inhabitants milling about, just business as usual, no doubt. Soren hefts his pack and strides over to where Dorian and the captain are standing, watching the crew unload the ship''s precious cargo. As he approaches he calls out, catching the attention of the two lone figures. "I suppose you will be expecting quite the earnings after this trip? From the looks of this payload I''ve very little doubt you will be pleased."


    "Not to mention your proceeds from us." Dorian added. "You have done an outstanding job, captain."


    "Aw, it twas nothing. It has been my honor, young gentlemen. If you ever need my services again, don''t hesitate to ask." Grail''s lips part in the broadest of smiles.


    As the rotund man speaks, Dorian produces a thick piece of parchment, bearing a fresh wax seal. "This is your payment. You may take this bank note to any bank that calls the Sarket Empire it¡¯s home, and they shall exchange it for the sum that has been inscribed here." Dorian indicates just where this amount was written, and as he does so the captain''s eyes gleam like never before.


    "Oh ho! Thank you very much, good sir. I will keep this close, right above my heart." Grail delicately removes the note from Dorian''s hands and places it within his jacket.


    As the little group begins to make their way to the gangway, Soren voices his concern for the crew of the ship. "I must admit I am a little worried about your return trip, captain. You will have to pass through that den of Arachas yet again, won''t you?"


    Not even breaking stride the captain smiles and lets loose a hearty laugh. "Haha! Worry not, friend. We will be travelling with the current this time, meaning we will pass through the forest much faster." The captain rests his hands on his round belly, letting no trace of apprehension escape from his voice. "Besides, my men are no pushovers! We''ll be ready this time. We know where they are and what they are. It should pose little threat now."


    The captain''s words did ease Soren''s worry, but only a little. "Well, take care captain. We might just have need of your services again one day."


    Grail stops, just at the edge of the gangway, only a few steps short of the dock. "You''ve made a lifelong friend here, gentlemen. Don''t you ever forget that." Grail smiles and clasps hands with Soren as he says so. Still smiling, Grail releases his grip and sets off towards his cabin. No doubt heading to secure Dorian''s bank note within the ships strongbox.


    "Well," Soren looks over to his friend, who returns his gaze, craning his neck to look the taller man in the eye. "We are nearly there my friend. I believe the hardest part yet lies behind us."


    "Oh Soren," he responds, as he fiddles with his tinted glasses. "Don''t you know you''re not supposed to say such things? It''s bad luck."


    The two young friends disembark, each carrying rather empty travellers packs. "We need to restock our supplies. I am not too keen on the idea of heading into the Wilderun with what we have." Soren speaks as he casts his eyes about himself, searching for a place that might carry the provisions they need.


    "Oh come now Soren," Dorian responds. "We left the heart of the Wilderun far behind us. We''re less than a day''s travel from the open plains." No sooner had the last words left his mouth could Dorian feel Soren''s discontent radiating like the heat from the noonday sun. Without ever even needing to look at the young man. "Alright, fine. As you wish. Just remember, it''s not your gold we''re spending here, now is it?"


    "It''s not yours either! The Institute gave you that gold. Don''t even try to act like it''s some great personal loss for you." Soren rolls his eyes and crosses his arms as he walks.


    "I like to think that I earned that gold. I''ve done a lot of good work for them you know." But Soren was right about one thing. Dorian didn''t really feel like it was any great loss to spend the gold. He had very little sense of value, being raised as he had been. He''d never bought a thing in his life. Truth be told, he probably paid Grail far too much for their voyage. "We''ll find what we need then set off. We could probably ferret out some information while we''re here as well." Soren nodded along in agreement, having been appeased.


    As the two go about the town they meet a number of people that warn them of the dangers of travelling in the Wilderun. They hear of creatures, and even worse, people, that make the dense forest dangerous. One old woman urged them to stay on the road and never wander from it. "You see, the road winds throughout the forest, meandering wherever the trees are thinnest." The old hag had said, "And one might expect that leaving the road behind and venturing straight through the forest would be the quicker option, yet that thinking often costs men their lives."


    Soren had been thoroughly distressed by much of what they heard, yet Dorian''s attitude of nonchalance never broke. Often he seemed downright bored. It isn''t natural, Soren had thought. It''s like he has no fear. I sometimes envy that about Dorian. Soren was watching his friend, yawning with not a care in the world.


    Soren had caught his friend''s attention as he stared, "What? Is there something in my teeth?" Soren only chuckled, amused by his friend¡¯s attitude.


    "It''s nothing. I was only thinking that perhaps it is time for us to set out? We shouldn''t waste any more of the daylight. Are you ready to hit the road?" Soren stored away the last of the provisions they had purchased for the trip and lifted his pack.


    "It''s about time! I am more than ready." And with that the two made their way back to the main road and began walking towards the edge of town where the forest lay untouched. Just as they were about to enter the forest they heard the clip-clop sound of hooves on dirt and the monotonous squeaking of axle and wheel approaching from behind.


    Soren turned to see a horse towing a small, covered wagon rolling up behind them. A bald, elderly man sat at with the reins in his hands and a young girl peeked out from behind. Not much more than blonde curls could be seen of the little girl, but the old man could be seen clear enough. He was whip thin and wore only simple clothing. He was smiling as the wagon rolled to stop a few paces away.


    "''Ello dere good sirs! I see you too are making th'' trek out of town." The man smiles and leans over, resting his elbows on his knees. He speaks joyfully though with a thick accent. Almost slurring his words together. "I thought I was th'' only one brave enough to travel this road! What brings two young men such as yerself out this way?"


    As Soren ponders what exactly he should tell the man, Dorian beats him to it and speaks first, "We''re from Rahk Sur and we''ve stopped here on our way to Eisenrahm." Again his voice is filled with his usual apathy and disinterest. Hardly even looking at the man as he spoke.


    "Ahhh, the great Tower of Draghiem, eh? Well, it just so happens that me and my granddaughter here are headin'' that way ''rselves! If''n you please, you''re more''n welcome to join us! Th'' more th'' merrier! S'' long as ya not make any trouble, that is." The man raises his eyebrows and gives them a stern look.


    Before Soren can politely decline the invitation Dorian again speaks up, "Sounds good to me." He looks over at Soren and, seeing the look on his friend''s face, he shrugs. "Walking the whole way sounds tiresome." And with that he moves to join the old man on the wagon.


    "Alright fine." Soren joins the others, partly glad to have a ride and partly angry that Dorian had so easily accepted the offer. Dorian sat beside the old man, making Soren sit back in the wagon which was partially filled with crates, barrels, and even large sacks. The little blonde girl was glued to her grandfather, with both arms firmly wrapped around the old man.


    "This ''ere is my granddaughter." The old man spoke and put one hand against the little girls back, pushing her to face the others. "Marga, be polite now. How do you greet others?" The man spoke with a firm, yet loving tone. He was clearly used to scenarios similar to this one.


    A second or two passed until the girl unfurled her limbs from her grandfather and introduced herself, "Hello", she said, with a beautiful, meek, little voice. "My names Marga. It''s nice to meet you."


    "And I''m Daniel," the old man added as he took the reigns back into his hands. "Little Marga and me were just on our way back to the city. I transport goods to and from Eisenrahm. On occasion at least."


    "Thank you very much for the ride." Soren knew better than to let Dorian do the introductions. "My name is Soren, and my terse little friend there is Dorian. We''re mages from Rahk Sur on our way to Eisenrahm."


    "Ah, mages you say? Don''t see many of them wonderin'' around. What brings you this far from home? Rahk Sur is a mighty large city. Even Eisenrahm pales in comparison."


    Soren was careful not to divulge too much. To be honest, he probably couldn''t even if he wanted too. He didn''t truly know why Dorian had felt so compelled to travel all the way to Eisenrahm. But still, I need to tell him something. And so, Soren told him as close to the truth as he could. "To study. The Towers are fascinating. And where better to study Towers than at the largest of them all?"


    Daniel seemed content enough with that answer. He simply nodded his head as they rode on down the road. "I don''t know much about what would interest a mage such as yourself, but for me and little Marga here Eisenrahm is much the same as any other city. Tower or no Tower, a man''s gotta eat, and to eat a man''s gotta work." Daniel might not be a mage, but he has wonderful spirit. Soren quite liked the down-to-earth mentality the man displayed. It seemed far-and-away different what he was used to dealing with. Members of the Institute were far from those like Daniel.


    As the quartet ride on they speak of experiences and the different journeys they''ve had. Soren tells Daniel and Marga what it is like in Rahk Sur. How the air is thick with the salt from the ocean, and how the cityscape sprawls in every direction. Marga especially enjoys the stories of magic. She sits across from Soren, knees pulled up to her chest with her arms wrapped around, each hand clasped in the other. Her eyes full of wonderment.


    The Institute has rules when it comes to what their members can and cannot say to outsiders. For most in the world, the Institute of Magic doesn''t exist. None but the most powerful and influential people in the world know of its existence. Which is by design. Ever since its inception, the Institute has gone out of its way to ensure their very existence is kept a secret. As such, Soren is bound by a covenant of secrecy. Which means he cannot willingly tell anyone of the Institute''s existence. However he can tell of his own experiences with magic. It''s a rather tight rope to cross, yet Soren finds Marga¡¯s reactions more than worth it. Her face lit up with every story Soren told of magic.


    It was in the middle of one such story that Dorian finally spoke up. "Quiet! Soren, something is coming." The sudden outburst from Dorian shocked Soren, but only for a moment. Just as he began to understand the meaning of the words, his world turned end-over-end.


    Before he knew it, Soren was suddenly no longer sitting on the wooden floor of the wagon. Instead, he lay sprawled across the forest floor. Wood crates lay all around. Many with their contents spilled out. The wagon had been meandering along the dirt road when something had crashed into it. The wagon very nearly split in two, and only just managed to hold together. The wagon''s covering had ripped in many places. One rip in particular was vaguely Soren-sized.


    It took several seconds for Soren to finally right himself. His head swam as he lifted himself up on his hands and knees. His ears were somewhat muted, yet he could still hear the sound of breaking wood and the rummaging of boxes. Soren tried to look for the source of the noise, only to find himself falling flat onto his face. Again he tried to get up, fighting to clear his mind and get his body under control. Something...is...wrong, he thought. It shouldn''t...be this hard. Someone....interfering...with my mind. The realization came to Soren as again he fought to get to his feet. Someone was using magic. There must be a mage that used some sort of mind altering Script. That was the only explanation.


    Soren ceased his efforts to stand and began to sharpen his focus instead. He now knew that they were under attack. And even if he could get to his feet, with this Script scrambling his mind, he would be of no use. Thankfully, this wasn''t the first time Soren has come up against this type of Magic. He knew that if he blocked out every other sensation, and focused only on his mind, only on the Ruha flowing around him, he would be able to use his own Script to break the mind altering effects he was now under.


    And so, he lay there. Several seconds passed, then a minute or two, until he was finally able to wrest control of his mind away from his attacker''s Script. The moment he was able, Soren countered with his own Script. One he knew would cause the attackers to panic. Just as the last Command was spoken, the entire world went black.


    "What the hell?!" Came a gruff, deep voice, astounded and caught off guard.


    "Shit, one of ''em is a mage!" Another man spoke. This one higher pitch than the last.


    "What the hell kind of magic is this??" A third man, far more frightened than the others.


    "It doesn''t matter," The first man said. "Grab what we want and let''s scram. Diega, you know what to do. Cover our retreat."


    "You''ve got it boss." This time a fourth man spoke. Cool and calm. Just the sound of this man''s voice sent shivers up Soren''s spine.


    By now Soren had managed to get to his feet, though he crouched low, unsure of what was about to happen. He still couldn''t see, in fact, no one could. That was the purpose of the Script he''d cast. A rather brilliant piece of Magic. It removed all of the light from the area. Being assailed by sudden darkness is usually enough to rattle even those adept at arcane arts. The fact that the fourth man was so calm under these conditions truly worried Soren.


    Only moments after the fourth man spoke, Soren could hear him again. Only, this time he wasn''t speaking Common. Or even Sarketian. Soren didn''t recognize the language he spoke, yet it sounded more sinister than any he''d ever heard before. He must use this language when he uses Scripts, to confuse his enemy. That isn''t good, Soren thinks. That means he''s used to fighting other mages. Moments later the man finishes his incantation, and just as he does so an ear-piercing sound erupts into the air. Soren clutches the sides of his head, trying desperately to muffle the sound, yet to no avail. The horrible screeching continues, constantly changing pitch and tone. The sound is like a cacophony of thousands of out of tune birds. Soren soon finds himself paralyzed by the sound. Unable to move. To even think. He can''t stand the horrible shrieking. After only moments, Soren loses consciousness. Succumbing to whatever magic that had been unleashed upon him.


    Dorian lazily lifted himself to his feet, still not fully aware of his surroundings. His vision was blurry, almost as if someone had spilt a cup of water on a fresh painting. The colors were washed, lines bled together, and then there was the light. Brilliant starbursts pulsed and flowed around him, sometimes so bright Dorian winced. Yet he could not escape the light. Eyes open or closed, it made no difference. Dorian could shut his eyes as tight as he wanted, yet he would still be unable to escape the dazzling light of the Ruha.


    Dorian¡¯s head ached, feeling as if he had been bludgeoned over the head before being trampled by horses. He shook his head, desperate to retain some semblance of control. Ugh, shouldn¡¯t have done that. Dorian clutches his head as his world explodes into pain. The dizziness returns and soon he can feel the ground rushing up to meet him. Dorian steadies himself as he feels his body approaching collapse again. Damn that bastard. I never would have thought I¡¯d run into a Banshee¡¯s shriek, he thought. Or at least, a very close facsimile to one.


    He couldn¡¯t help but be impressed by the mage that been the cause of this current predicament. Creating a Script that so closely replicates the creatures signature howl is most impressive indeed. Dorian thought to himself as he fought back the feelings of dizziness, nausea, and the splitting headache. I¡¯ll have to remember that one. Who knows, it could come in use somehow. Dorian might not have been able to understand the words the man had used to create the effect, yet nothing escaped Dorian¡¯s eyes. Even in the darkness created by Soren¡¯s Script, he had seen how the Ruha had acted. The changes that had taken place. Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.


    ¡°I have half a mind to hunt down those bastards and give them a taste of their own medicine.¡± He muttered to himself, letting only a hint of scorn penetrate his characteristic brand of apathy. ¡°But first,¡± he said as he raised his head to survey the surrounding carnage. ¡°I must find Soren and the others. It wouldn¡¯t do to chase after them by myself only to end up lost in this damn forest.¡± As he spoke to himself Dorian pushed to his feet and began hobbling past the overturned wagon. ¡°Ah, Soren my friend. There you are. Sleeping on the job again are we? Yes, that¡¯s just like you isn¡¯t it?¡± Dorian had seen his friend in a crumpled heap just on the other side of the wagon.


    ¡°Ha bloody ha. You¡¯re a real laugh, you know that? Now, get over here and help me up, you little shit.¡± Soren moved, doing his best to untangle himself from his limbs. His face was contorted into a constant sneer of pain. No doubt suffering much the same as I had been, Dorian thought to himself.


    Dorian made his way over to his friend while Soren tried his best to get his unruly limbs under control. If it hadn¡¯t been for the dire circumstances that had led up to this, Dorian might have dropped to the floor laughing at his friend¡¯s inability to maintain control over his own appendages. Hell, circumstances be damned. Soren looks downright comical, flopping on the floor like a fish. Dorian stopped just out of reach, cocking a sly grin at his friend.


    ¡°Don¡¯t just stand there grinning like an idiot, help me up! My head is spinning, and I feel like I might lose my lunch at any moment.¡± Soren spoke through grit teeth as he worked his way onto all fours.


    ¡°We haven¡¯t head lunch yet, so I wouldn¡¯t be too worried,¡± Dorian replied, through his cocky little grin.


    ¡°Ugh, there really is a time and a place for jokes, Dorian. And I don¡¯t think right after being attacked by highwaymen is either.¡± Soren finally managed to lift himself into somewhat of a kneeling position, panting as if he had just run the Imperial Marathon.


    ¡°If we can¡¯t laugh then what else can we do?¡± Soren clasped his friend¡¯s hand in his own as he spoke and helped lift Soren to his feet.


    ¡°Mmm.¡± Was Soren¡¯s only response.


    ¡°Marga?¡± A weak voice called out from somewhere near the broken remains of the wagon. ¡°Marga¡­.where¡­?¡± The sudden, pitiful voice caused a touch of dread to settle upon Dorian¡¯s heart.


    ¡°Daniel? Where are you?¡± Soren called out for the old man as he and Dorian walked nearer to the wagon, searching.


    ¡°Where...is...Marga? She¡­.needs...me¡­.¡± It was obvious from the faintness of his voice that Daniel was hurt, and desperate.


    Soon, Dorian found the old man, bloodied and bruised. He had somehow managed to get his legs caught underneath the side of the wagon. Both legs were pinned under the wood, and the old man had a nasty cut above one of his eyes. Daniel lay on his stomach, with the cart laying across the backs of his thighs. The old man clawed at the ground, desperate to escape from the overturned wagon. Blood covered his face, obscuring his vision.


    ¡°Soren! I found him, come quick!¡± Dorian hurried over to the man¡¯s side and quickly began surveying his condition. ¡°It¡¯s okay Daniel, I¡¯m sure Marga hasn¡¯t gone too far off. Let¡¯s focus on fixing you up first, okay?¡± Dorian inspected the man¡¯s head wound as well as the wagon pinning the poor old man.


    ¡°No, find Marga...please...she must be¡­.¡± The old man pleaded, desperate for his granddaughter¡¯s safety.


    ¡°It¡¯s okay Daniel. Everything is going to be fine.¡± Soren¡¯s calming voice reached out as he knelt down by the old man¡¯s side. ¡°We¡¯re going to find Marga and make sure she¡¯s safe. I promise.¡± The old man tried to look up at Soren, but couldn¡¯t open his eyes all the way with the blood flowing into them. ¡°But first, we need to take care of you. We will have you out from under this cart and back on your feet in no time, just relax and let us work, okay?¡± Soren¡¯s words must have had the intended effect, because the old man stopped his scrambling and lie still, letting the other two do their work.


    Dorian had been the first to find the old man and had more time to examine the wreckage than Soren. Dorian already had a good idea on how to get the old man out, but first he¡¯d have to explain to Soren. ¡°Look, since the wheels lay outside the edge of the cart, they are keeping it from pressing all of its weight on his legs.¡± Dorian pointed to the front wheel as he spoke. ¡°However, the rear wheel is broken in a few places, which is why Daniel is pinned as tightly as he is.¡± Again Dorian pointed, this time to the rear wheel which lay in the dirt in several pieces. ¡°If we were to raise the rear wheel, say a dozen centimeters or so, we should be able to gently slide him out from under the wagon.¡±


    Soren nodded along as his friend spoke. ¡°Yes, I agree. Could you use Violet Ruha to lessen the weight of the wagon? That¡¯d make this whole ordeal quite a bit simpler.¡±


    Dorian paused as he thought about the idea. Could I? It would make this far more simple. Dorian¡¯s brow creased as he dove deep into thought.


    ¡°Well?¡± Soren¡¯s impatient voice broke his friends reverie.


    ¡°No, I don¡¯t think I can. I¡¯d need to know how much this thing weighs. I could guess, but I might be way off.¡±


    ¡°Alright, looks like I¡¯ll find a way. When I get the rear end up far enough, help pull him out, got it?¡± Dorian nodded, signaling to his friend he was ready.


    Soren moved to stand by the broken remains of the wheel. He eyed the wagon for a bit, laying his face against the ground to get a better look underneath. After a few moments, he began chanting his Script. Dorian could tell it was something simple. He was creating a stone block, in the gap between the ground and the wood of the wagon. Once that was done, he began to chant again, this time creating a heavy stone rod, which he then wedged between the block and the wood.


    Ahhh, I see, Dorian thought. He¡¯s going to use the bar to leverage the wagon up. Hmm, not very elegant, but effective, I suppose.


    ¡°Are you ready?¡± Soren grasped the bar which stuck out from between the wagon and stone at a somewhat high angle. Dorian simply nodded, readying himself to help pull the old man free of the crushing weight of the wagon. ¡°Here we go.¡± Then Soren began to chant again. This time using Life Ruha, amplifying his own strength.


    Soren¡¯s face contorted as he pressed his weight upon the bar. He grunted and flexed, pushing with all his might. The block of magestone dug into the ground, and then the wagon began to move. Ever so slightly at first, but then more, and more, until Soren held the bar almost entirely against the ground.


    ¡°NOW!¡± He shouted, straining to keep the wagon lifted.


    Dorian gripped the waist of Daniel¡¯s trousers and pulled as the old man clawed at the ground trying to crawl out from underneath the wrecked wagon. They only had to move the man just enough to get the rest of his legs free and only took the briefest of moments. Yet it felt like an eternity. Soren pushing with all of his might, Dorian and Daniel scrambling in the dirt.


    And then it was over. Soren released his grip on his conjured magestone rod as Dorian and Daniel collapse into each other. Soren sat there on his knees, hands in the dirt panting. ¡°Well,¡± he said. ¡°Glad that¡¯s over. Now then.¡± He huffed. ¡°Let¡¯s look at those injuries of yours.¡± He spoke as he crawled to Daniel¡¯s side as the old man lay on his back, hands raised to his face, barely contained tears in his eyes.


    ¡°I thought for sure I was a dead man.¡± The old man croaked, between grit teeth and painful breaths.


    ¡°Not as long as we¡¯re around, isn¡¯t that right Dorian?¡± Soren spoke with a reassuring tone in his voice and a hearty smile across his face.


    ¡°So you say. I was already starting the man¡¯s grave. I just needed to know what kind of flowers he¡¯d prefer left by his gravestone.¡± Dorian sat at the man¡¯s head, letting his sarcastic tone drift through the forest.


    ¡°Ha!¡±, the old man laughed. ¡°I ain¡¯t ready to be put in th¡¯ ground jus yet.¡± The old man had regained his composure and sat up, resting on his forearms. ¡°Hurry up with your blasted magic so I can go find my granddaughter and bash in the skulls of whatever guttershite did this to my wagon!¡±


    ¡°Easy there old timer. Dorian will have you fixed up, as good as new. It¡¯ll take a little while though. But don¡¯t worry, he¡¯s very good at what he does.¡± The old man nodded along as Soren laid out the plan. ¡°In the meantime, I¡¯ll look for Marga. I¡¯m sure she just hid herself when we were attacked."


    ¡°Yer probly right. I trust ya. Just, please, bring back my Marga.¡± The old man looked up at Soren, desperation clear in his eye.


    ¡°I will. I swear on my life, I¡¯ll find her and bring her back to you.¡± Soren¡¯s voice rang out with a conviction as hard as steel. And the embers of a cold fury could be seen in his eyes.


    ¡°Maybe we should go together.¡± Dorian spoke quietly, a touch of fear breaking his usual stoic reserve. ¡°There were many of them. And they seem dangerous. They might still be nearby¡± He looked up and locked gazes with his friend.


    ¡°I know, my friend. But if I run into our friends from earlier, I doubt it would end without the need for violence. And I won¡¯t put you into that kind of position. Killing a man is entirely different than killing a few overgrown spiders.¡±


    ¡°What about you?¡± Dorian¡¯s voice was quiet, yet filled with anxiety.


    ¡°I¡¯ll be fine. It won¡¯t be the first time.¡± Soren was stern as he spoke. Perhaps a little too stern. Even so, it was necessary. The last thing he needed was for Dorian to follow him into the woods.


    Dorian¡¯s eyes dropped to the dirt, his face clearly stricken with worry. ¡°You haven¡¯t been that person in a long time. It¡¯s been years since the pits¡±


    Soren sighed before he spoke again. ¡°I¡¯m sorry my friend, but once you¡¯ve done what I have you are changed forever. I can do what is necessary. But only what is necessary. I promise.¡± Soren stood and dusted himself off. Then he pulled his focus rod from his robes and set out into the forest. Taking care to keep his eyes forward, and to not look back.


    Soren scoured the forest, looking for any sign of little Marga¡¯s presence. He started near the site of the attack calling the young girl¡¯s name and fanned out. Constantly looking at the leaves and other foliage. So far the only signs he¡¯d found were those of their attackers. That is not good. He thought to himself. The only explanation I am left with is that she was taken. A lump formed in Soren¡¯s throat. Not only at the thought of the poor girl being in the custody of these men, but also at the thought of confronting them. It is almost certain to end in violence. Something Soren truly wished he could avoid. I said I would do what¡¯s necessary, and by the Mother I will.


    Moment flowed into moment as Soren followed the tracks of the four men that had attacked them. Every passing second he thought about what he would do. How he would confront them. Soren struggled with the knowledge of what he would have to do. Within himself his feelings warred. His value for life, along with his willingness to do what he must. He knew that if he hesitated, even for a moment, he would lose. He desperately wanted to talk with the men. Convince them to leave the girl and his friends in peace. But he knew they wouldn¡¯t.


    Men such as these only care for themselves. Nothing would change that. The day they chose to prey upon others was they day their fates were sealed. Soren could make no concessions. Not here, not now. Not this time. He would offer the men an out. Offer them gold to just leave them be. But he knew they wouldn¡¯t take it. But in order for Soren to justify it to himself he had to try. Maybe he felt so compelled to end things peacefully because deep down he wanted this. He knew they were bad men. Bad men that would go on to prey on others. Even if they took the gold and left his friends alone. What about the others? Those that these men would no doubt go on to hurt.


    Soren had the power to stop them. He knew it. That other mage might be powerful. Even sinister. But Soren had been trained by the best in the world. Combine that with being trapped in a corner and Soren knew he could do it. He could kill them. Probably as easily as a butcher slaughters his cow. But who was he, Soren, to determine the fates of men? Only the Mother could judge those who lived on the earth. Only She had the right to determine who lives and who does.


    Yet, does She not work through men? Could she not have set Soren on this very path, knowing exactly what the outcome would be? Shouldn¡¯t that be all the proof he needs to do what must be done? There is no doubt that this is Her will, and Soren has been chosen to enact her will upon these men. He is but a single piece which has been placed on this spot to do but one thing. There is no other way to interpret it. I must do what must be done. And with that Soren steeled himself for what was to come. I will offer these men one final chance to be gone and done with us. And if they choose to forsake my offer, then it will be clear to me that this is the Mother¡¯s will. And I shall be the instrument with which She will use to judge these men.


    As Soren ceased the two warring sides within his soul, he heard the distinct sound of laughter ring out through the trees. Soren followed the sound, and soon, more noises could be heard.


    ¡°What the hell are you so chipper about?¡± The gruff voice of the leader broke out as he berated his man. ¡°We¡¯ve gone and lost all of our product to this godforsaken forest! Yet here you are, laughing like a school boy.¡± Soren crept low and hid behind a tree. He poked his head just enough to get a look at the men in their camp.


    There were four men. The one that had just spoken, clearly the leader, was giant of a man with thick muscles. Scars crisscrossed his bare arms and shoulders, upon which rested a thick neck and hairy face. The man¡¯s head was as bald as could be, yet his face sported the most impressive beard Soren could ever remember seeing. Thick, braided brunette hair stuck out in every direction, all the way down to the man¡¯s stomach.


    ¡°Aww don¡¯t be like that! We¡¯ve got ourselves a pretty little thing now!¡± This second man was the polar opposite of the other. Incredibly scrawny, with scruffy patches of hair sprouting from his head. His voice was grating and high pitched. ¡°Sure, we¡¯ve lost a lot, but you know how much those stuck up rich Sarketians love cute little girls! Besides, we¡¯ve got a long way until we reach Rahk Sur. And there¡¯s that little town not too far from here. I bet we could pilfer quite a few from around there. Some are bound to wonder a little too far from home.¡± The sound of the foul man¡¯s snickering made Soren¡¯s blood boil with hatred.


    ¡°Wade does have a good point.¡± Soren recognized this voice as the mage from before. His cool, uneven tone made the hairs on the back of Soren¡¯s neck stand on end. ¡°The girl will fetch a high price. And we might just be able to grab a few more our way to make this trip worth it. Dimwell isn¡¯t a particularly well defended settlement. A group such as ourselves would definitely be able to grab a few, perhaps women and children, and then steal a boat and sail down the Irona.¡± The calm manner in which this man spoke of stealing these people from their homes infuriated Soren even more. There were few in the world who hated slavers as much as Soren did.


    As the others spoke the fourth member of their team just sat around the fire in silence. He was a big man as well, though his size was mostly due to his many layers of fat, and not the hard chiseled muscle of the group''s leader. The man just sat by the fire, staring blankly into the flames. Soren wondered if the man was all there in the head.


    All the members of the group wore rather simple clothes. The only thing resembling armor was a leather jerkin that the mage wore. The leader wore a vest, with some kind of fur exposed at the neck. The skinny man wore a simple shirt, sleeves cut off at the elbows and a leather belt wrapped around his waist.


    It¡¯s now or never Soren. Keep your resolve. Whatever is about to happen is the Mother¡¯s will. So it shall be. With those final words to himself, Soren stepped out from the tree¡¯s shadow and approached the four men.


    ¡°Excuse me.¡± Soren spoke with as much conviction as he could muster. Trying his best not to let his anxiety broadcast itself to his enemies.


    ¡°What in the hell?¡± It was the skinny man that spoke up. All four men jumped to their feet, reaching for their weapons. The leader brandished a large, dual-sided battle axe, while the skinny man drew two curved daggers from his belt. ¡°Who the hell are you, ey?¡±


    Soren raised his arms, doing his best to seem nonthreatening. ¡°I am the envoy of my lord. You attacked our caravan earlier. My lord has sent me to offer you gold for the girl. I assure you our gold is good, and all we wish is that you return home without causing any further mayhem or bloodshed.¡± Soren¡¯s voice was level, even cold, as he spoke. He was determined to not let any fear show in his voice. But at that moment, a memory came to Soren.


    It was a memory from long ago, during his early years in the fighting pits of Rahk Sur. ¡°Always seem like less than you are, Sorensa. The greatest error a man can make is to underestimate his foe. The less you seem, the more likely you are to be underestimated.¡± The voice belonged to his mentor, all those years ago.


    Just as the memory struck Soren, he shrunk before the men. ¡°P-p-please sir.¡± he stuttered. ¡°We only want the girl back. No harm, sir. Please. She is only a little girl.¡± Soren did his best to seem meek and little before these men.


    ¡°Hahahaha do you believe that?!¡± The skinny man shouted out in glee. ¡°A sarketian noble here? In the wilderun? Ha! I¡¯d believe you were my dead nanny before I¡¯d believe that!¡±


    ¡°Shut it Velor!¡± The big man eyed Soren for a moment or two before a big grin split the man¡¯s face. ¡°Alright then, mister envoy. I want ten thousand pieces of gold for the girl! What do you say boys? That seem like a fair price?¡± All four men chuckled at their leader¡¯s mention of the outrageous sum of gold.


    So it is. This is the way it must be. Soren thought to himself just before he responded. ¡°I¡¯m afraid I couldn¡¯t possibly pay you ten thousand pieces of gold¡± Soren carried on his ruse, acting the part of a scared little slave.


    ¡°Well, isn¡¯t that a pit-¡± Before the last word could even pass the grisly man¡¯s lips, his head disappeared in a detonation of heat, wind, and blood.


    Each of the remaining men¡¯s eyes grew to the size of saucers. Their leader was dead before they ever even knew they were in danger.


    ¡°Mage!¡± The skinny man screamed, equal parts shock and terror.


    ¡°Raahhhh!¡± The other large man roared his anger at Soren as he charged the lone mage, brandishing a massive greatsword easily as large as Soren himself.


    Before the man could even make it three steps, he was pincushioned by a half-dozen large spears, piercing him from every direction.


    ¡°Dammit Diega! Kill the bastard!¡± The skinny man¡¯s face was full of fear. As he yelled, he threw one of his curved daggers at Soren. The deadly weapon flew towards Soren¡¯s chest, yet was deflected by Soren¡¯s metal focus rod. ¡°He¡¯s gonna kill us all if you don¡¯t do somethin-¡± and just like that, the man¡¯s head fell from his shoulders as a spray of blood shot into the air.


    ¡°What the hell are you.¡± The last man had a look of pure terror emblazoned upon his face. His skin was white as a ghost, all hope drained from his eyes. ¡°Using magic without a Script. I-I never thought¡­ Take her! Take the girl!¡± Soren had begun to walk towards the man, causing him to frantically back way. In his haste, he tripped over his own feet, and fell into the dirt. ¡°I¡¯ll leave! I¡¯ll go anywhere you want me to go! You¡¯ll never see me again! Just please, don¡¯t kill-¡± And in another spray of blood and bone, the final slaver was laid to rest.


    ¡°I am just a man.¡± Soren said, with cold, dead eyes as he stepped over the lifeless corpses.

 Ch 12.1 Aria Reikua (I)

    How strange, Aria thought to herself. What are the odds of me running into some boy in the middle of the woods? As she thought Aria continued on her way through the woods. Oh well. She continued, Probably just some glory-hungry fool chasing fame and fortune. Aria had never understood why people would flock to the Tower in droves. Having grown up in the Wilderun, Aria was well aware of the sort of dangers that dwelled within the mountainous structure. She had her reasons, to be sure, but Aria knew all too well the kind of people Draghiem lured. Although, he did seem different, didn''t he? There was just something about that boy.... Aria had seen something in the boy¡¯s eyes. Only for an instant, but she was certain it was there. It was almost as if something had been moving just beneath the surface. Aria walked, lost in thought, as she made her way to her small camp. "Rygart..." Aria spoke his name aloud, almost as if it had a power to it. "I will have to remember that name." She said to herself, expecting that one day she might yet again be face-to-face with the curious boy she had just met.


    Not long after her encounter with Rygart, Aria found herself back at camp where her horse and tent still stood. "Hello there Feora." Aria spoke softly and with a smile, setting down her collection of herbs and crossing over to the beautiful mare she had grown up with. "I think I have something here you will enjoy." The mare neighed and kicked its head back in an obviously enthusiastic manner. "I can''t put anything past you can I?" She chuckled as she produced a handful of grassy herbs from behind her back. "Don''t get used too it. Angel''s Hair may be one of your favorites, but it is very difficult to come by. Sometimes I doubt how much you appreciate what I go through for you." Aria held the Angel''s Hair in her hand just a few inches from the horse''s mouth. As she spoke the horse neighed yet again, stomping the ground with her hooves before lowering her head and eating from Aria''s hands. "Alright alright! I guess you do appreciate it." Aria continued to smile and pet her horse until none of the horse''s delicious treat remained. Aria rubbed her mare''s neck and shoulder, speaking softly as she did so. "I hope you savored that. It might be quite some time before we can find more."


    Once Aria was assured that her horse was satisfied she turned back to her basket and eyed it''s contents. I didn''t get as much as I had hoped, she thought, but I''ve been gone for too long already. Aria glanced up at the sky, peering through the treetops. The sky was already alight with the evening colors, meaning dusk had already settled over the little forest. I''ll leave at first light. With any luck I''ll be able to get home before dusk tomorrow. Thinking about the long ride ahead of her gave Aria no joy, yet the thought of returning home to be with her brother was more than enough to lift her spirits. I''ll have to tell Sota about that strange boy I met. Although, knowing him, he''ll probably prance around for days telling anyone who will listen how his sister has fallen madly in love with some outsider. Thinking about her brother''s antics always warmed Aria¡¯s heart.


    Pushing all thoughts of her brother aside Aria set about preparing for the trip home. She still had herbs that needs to be prepared and others that needed to be packed away. Little-by-little Aria broke down her camp and packed away that which she intended to bring back with her. As she worked dusk turned to night, and Aria once again climbed the trees and settled into her bed-sack, which swayed between two thick trees, several meters off the ground. From here Aria could make out a larger portion of the sky, and she watched the stars move across the sky, as she did night-after-night, before gently falling asleep.


    The next morning Aria stowed away the last remnants of her camp, ensuring that it was almost as if she were never even there. She took a firm hold of Feora''s reins and began leading her out of the forest. Moving between the trees proved to be quite time-consuming, as expected, but eventually the two found themselves out of the woods and heading for the open road. Draghiem could be seen off to the distant west, towering over all. However Aria''s destination lay to the south, where the Wilderun is found. Even though the area comprised mostly of rolling plains, the dense tree line of the Wilderun wasn''t visible. And wouldn''t be for quite some time.


    Aria mounted her horse and prepared herself for the long ride. Thankfully, Feora was a breed above most, and could traverse the distance rather easily. Something most other steads would find impossible. "Alright girl," Aria said as she patted Feora''s neck. "You know what they say, ''Sooner begun, Sooner done,'' right?" The horse reared up and let loose a long neigh in response to Aria''s words, and broke out across the plains. See you soon, Sota.


    Aria''s trip went as expected. As she had made the trip several times before she was well aware of what lay ahead. She came across few other travellers, only once passing another on the road. The day was filled with nothing but the rhythmic beat of Feora''s hooves pounding the hard-packed dirt of the road. After several hours of riding Aria brought her horse to stop near a small stream. Here they rested, drank, and ate. Making sure to recover enough to continue the pace. Once Aria was satisfied that Feora was ready to continue, they once again set off, making their way towards the Wilderun.


    After hours of travel Aria once again found herself walking into her village, through the gate and passing the first house of many that she will see before she reaches her own home. And as usual the other villagers rarely looked her in the eye. And those that did always did so with a look of disdain. Home sweet home, Aria thought, as yet another villager cast a scornful look her way. Different day, same thing. Aria sighed, feeling the weight of being the local outcast. Whatever, I''m used to it by now. As far as I''m concerned, they can all be eaten by goblins.


    As Aria walked through the center of the village she heard an all-too-familiar cackle from behind, "Ohhhh, well if it isn''t little miss Aria!" A shrill and ear-piercing voice called out.


    Aria closed her eyes and lowered her head, wishing she were anywhere else but here. What Goddess have I offended so, to have to deal with this shrill girl upon only just returning home. "Ah, hello Belatrice!" Aria responded, stopping and turning to face the source of her current mood. "It really has been a long time, hasn''t it?" Aria reached deep down within her soul and summoned the closest thing to a smile she could manage.


    "Come now Aria, you know you can just call me Bela!" The woman, Bela, spoke with a disingenuous smile and radiated contempt. Her hands rested on her hips, and she was accompanied by an entourage of others, most of whom were stupid, drooling men. Her arms, chest, legs, and stomach were mostly bare. Opting to wear as little clothing as possible and still be comfortable. The busty brunette crossed her arms over her chest before continuing, "It has been such a long time since I''ve seen you! And here I''d thought you''d up and died. Or at least, had hoped anyway."


    Aria''s eye twitched almost imperceptibly as the woman spoke. "Oh dear!" Aria replied, "I feel awful. You''ve been putting so much thought into my well being and yet, I haven''t thought about you once!" A rueful smile spread across Aria''s face. Take that, conniving bitch.


    It was clear that Aria''s comment had gotten to Bela, as her fake smile lapsed for a moment, and her retinue of idiots all shared a look of equal parts shock and anger. "Yes, well,¡± She said, as she regained her air of conceit. ¡°It is hard to forget about the Clan''s disgrace. There isn''t a day that goes by that we don''t all wish that you and that Hashi you call a brother would just die already."


    That last comment was enough to put Aria over the edge. She would dare call my brother a Hashi to my face? Aria lost all composure as the full impact of the words hit her. The false smile that she had been hiding behind fell away, and left only a blank stare. She will live to regret her words, Aria thought as her hand fell to grip the kukri blade she kept at her hip.


    "Belatrice, that is enough." A firm and menacing voice rang out from behind Aria. Recognizing the voice of the clan Chief, Aria froze, well aware of the fact that she was skirting a very dangerous line.


    Aria turned as the man stood beside her. The Chief¡¯s massive arms were folded across his bare, and equally large, chest. He eyed his daughter with a look of cold detachment. As Aria inspected the Chief her focus fell on his braided beard, and the wooden dowels that represented his years of leadership over the clan. A palpable nervousness took hold of Aria. There were none among her clansmen that could equal the Chief¡¯s strength. And she had just been about to maim his eldest daughter.


    "But father..." Bela pleaded, before being cut off by the Chief.


    "Aria knows full well what her brother is. She alone has the responsibility of returning her honor. Also," He begins as his eyes dropped to Aria''s hand, "I do not wish to lose a daugher today." Shit. He knows exactly what I was about to do. Aria stood, uncertain of how the Chief would react. It was a grave sin to raise a weapon against a fellow clansman, let alone someone of the Chief¡¯s own blood.


    "Oh please." Bela spoke with her normal haughty derision. "She wouldn''t dare. She doesn''t even have the guts to kill that worthless..."


    "I said that''s enough!" The Chief''s eyes flared to life, and the force of his presence exploded out and engulfed all those close by. Aria was instantly wrapped in fear. The blood drained from her face and arms. She only stayed upright due to sheer force of will. Whatever she had been thinking of doing had been replaced by an unending, irrational fear.


    By now they had drawn the attention of everyone nearby. Many others showed clear signs of terror on their faces, and some of those that stood by Bela collapsed altogether, overwhelmed by the Chief''s presence. Eventually Aria was able to grasp a hold of her senses again. As she looked up she saw the casual, stoic face of the Chief. No trace of the suffocating presence from before. Almost as if nothing had happened.


    "You may go about your way, Aria." The Chief said, sending chills down Aria''s spine. She will not soon forget the fear she felt just from the man raising his voice.


    "Yes sir." Aria spoke, barely able to squeeze out a meek, little response of acknowledgement.


    Aria turned and continued leading Feora down the road, not daring to look back.


    It was some time before Aria reached the front stoop of her modest house. Aria''s home was little more than a shack. A roof with four walls. But it wasn''t the worn down little building that she considered home, it was what lay within. Aria smiled as she hefted her pack and crossed the threshold. "Is it too much to ask for a little help over here?" Aria called out after stepping passed the door. The entrance led to a narrow hallway, which opened up on the right a few meters in. Aria could make out the faint sounds of light footsteps thumping on the floor, just out of sight.


    Only a moment or two after Aria had spoken, a small boy of perhaps nine years of age turned the corner. Upon seeing his sister''s face, Sota lit up with surprise and adoration. "Aria! You''re home!" He shouted and ran up to his sister, wrapping his frail arms as tight as he could around his sister''s waist.


    Aria returned the gesture as she hugged her brother, careful not to use too much strength. "It''s good to see you haven''t burned down the place while I was gone." She said with mock surprise.


    Aria''s younger brother looked up, feigning a hurt expression. "Oh please, if it weren''t for me this place would fall to ruin!"


    "Are you sure it hasn''t already?" She replied, smiling and rustling Sota''s hair.


    "Ha.Ha.Ha." He responded, "Maybe if you did something a little more lucrative, besides frolicking in the woods all day, we''d be living like..." His sentence was cut off by a fierce fit of coughing, by the end of which he was practically doubled over kneeling on the floor.


    The sight of her brother''s fit filled Aria with worry. "Oh Sota, I''m sorry. I shouldn''t have gotten you so worked up." As she spoke Aria kneeled down in front of her younger brother.


    "Oh, shut up ugly!" He wheezed, "not everything in this world is your fault." He coughed some more, swallowed a few times, and cleared his throat. "Most things, sure, but not all." He smiled, doing what he could to ease his sister''s worry.


    "Well," Aria smiled back, "too bad your attitude is the same as it ever was."


    "You seem to be implying the need for my attitude to change." He said smugly, crossing his arms in defiance.


    Aria scooped up her younger brother in her arms, and nuzzled her face against his. "Mmmm, maybe not yet."


    "Ewwwww, you''re gonna make me as ugly as you if you keep that up!" Sota yelled, blushing as he did so.


    "What else am I to do?" She replied. "If I don''t, all the other girls will go crazy and come steal you away from me!" As she talked Aria walked through the house, carrying her brother in her arms. "But if you''re really worried about becoming as hideous as your big sister, then you better get plenty of beauty sleep." She added as she entered the small room her brother occupied.


    "Fine, but you don''t have to put me to bed like a baby!" Sota began squirming in his sister''s grasp, trying to get free.


    "Okay, but you better go straight to bed. It will be getting dark soon." Aria set her brother back down on his own two feet, giving him enough space to brush himself off, like he had just finished crawling through the dirt.


    "I know, I was just getting ready for bed before someone rudely interrupted me." He turned and looked at his sister before sticking out his tongue. "I don''t need you to baby me every time you come home ya know!" Sota climbed into the small bed that was tucked away in the corner of the room.


    "But you''re my baby brother!" Aria responded, with a mocking look of shock on her face. "I''ll baby you until the end of time", She smiled.


    "Ugghhh, sisters are so weird." Sota replied, rolling his eyes as he pulled the covers up over himself.


    "That''s what makes sisters so great!" Aria laughed and kneeled by her brother''s bed.


    Sota yawned and turned on his side, looking at his sister as his eyes began to droop. "I am glad you''re home again sis. Even if you are ugly." Sota yawned once more and closed his eyes.


    Aria sat on the edge of the bed, humming a melody their mother used to sing, and waited until her younger brother was fast asleep, before silently standing up, and walking out of the room.


    The next morning Aria awoke just before the first light of dawn. She moved about quietly as she headed for the door, taking extra care not to wake her slumbering brother. Once outside, Aria began her morning routine, working hard to keep her athletic physique. First, she stretched, making sure each and every muscle burned from the effort. Next she would put those muscles to work, pushing against her own body, pitting muscle against muscle. Only after dripping with sweat and aching from the effort did she stop.


    Yet still she was not finished. After another bout of light stretching Aria set off, heading in the direction of the west wall. Once a few paces away, she turned, running alongside the curvature of the three meter tall wooden structure. Aria pumped her arms and thrust her legs, not stopping, not even slowing down. One kilometer, and then two. As she neared the seven kilometer mark Aria angled inward, running the same path she always has. Here there was an open meadow, with an ancient oak tree at it¡¯s center. This was a place Aria frequently visited growing up, and it quickly became one of her favorite places within the walls. Aria stopped beneath the shadow of the massive tree and listened to various sounds of the Wilderun all around her as she caught her breath and gave her legs a short reprieve. After several moments of enjoying the serenity the meadow provided, Aria once again resumed her steady pace, heading back the way she had come.


    By the time Aria had returned home dawn had long since passed, and Sota meandered about inside their home. ¡°Good morning Sota¡±, Aria said as she walked through the entryway and into what might have passed for a kitchen. ¡°I hope you¡¯ve made breakfast! I don¡¯t know if I have the energy to even lift my legs.¡± Aria collapsed into a chair by the small table that sat against the wall, exaggerating every motion of fatigue.


    Soon after Aria sat down Sota brought her a plate, upon which sat a single fried egg, and two measly strips of fresh, hot bacon. Aria eyed the plate in obvious disappointment. ¡°Sorry sis, but that¡¯s all we¡¯ve got. Someone¡¯s going to have to get to work if she wants a real breakfast.¡±


    ¡°Oh alright¡±, Aria moaned. ¡°Although, I¡¯d much rather have a full stomach before dealing with the villagers.¡±


    ¡°Well, you¡¯ll just have to make do.¡± Sota said as he brought his sister a hefty glass of water.


    Aria eyed the glass with a ravenous look. Almost as if she had been lost in the desert, without water for days. ¡°Aren¡¯t you a good little brother!¡± She exclaimed just before downing several gulps.


    As Aria ate Sota set about cleaning up the remnants of his cooking, trying his best to keep his stomach from growling. The last thing he wanted was for his sister to find out that he had given her everything they had left.


    ¡°Alright.¡± Aria said after she gulped down the last bit of water in her glass. ¡°I got a decent enough haul from my trip. That, plus what¡¯s been drying in the storeroom should give us enough to make do with.¡± Aria stood and placed her plate and glass on top of the pile her brother was working to clean. ¡°Thanks again for everything.¡± She said as she tousled Sota¡¯s hair.


    ¡°Knock it off.¡± Sota grumbled, blushing all the while.


    ¡°I¡¯ll be outside getting some things together. Make sure you don¡¯t work too hard and that you get plenty of rest.¡± She said with a firm look in her eye.


    Aria left the house once again, this time heading around the back where their small storeroom was located. Once inside Aria took stock of her robust inventory. The inside of the storeroom looked like it was a dense jungle, as dozens of different kinds of herbs lined the walls and hung from the ceiling. Some were ready for use, and others still needed time to dry out before they could be properly used. That which needed to be fresh when used grew, either in meticulously maintained pots, or in the garden just outside the door.


    Aria collected that which she needed. Some to make poultices or oils, and others meant to simply be sold as ingredients. Once collected, Aria left the storeroom and brought what she needed to a small tabletop attached to the wall outside. Once there Aria began the real work. Preparing and mixing the herbs and animal fats to make a variety of concoctions. Some were meant to heal, others to clean, and even some to poison or paralyze. These were used by the hunters, and would rake in a large sum due to their usefulness and rarity. Aria was one of the most talented herbalists in the village, due in no small part to the help of her teacher. A woman most of the village revered as a witch or a devil. A thought that Aria could certainly sympathize with.


    Time passed as Aria worked, and she soon fell into a rhythmic cadence. Before long Aria found she was running out of supplies, indicating she was just about finished. At least with this part. The part that Aria actually enjoyed about her work. Making potions and oils appealed to some part deep inside Aria¡¯s soul. She was rarely as at peace as she was when grinding and mixing ingredients. And most everything paled in comparison to discovering a new concoction. For as much as Aria knew of her talent, so too did she know the limits of her knowledge. The thought of which, recently, caused her to feel a deep sorrow. Damn that old crone, Aria thought, breaking away from the sadness. What business is it of hers if I wish to go to Draghiem? As she thought to herself Aria remembered the last conversation she¡¯d had with her teacher. I can¡¯t believe she dismissed me like that. Refusing to continue teaching me. Crazy old bat. Try as she might Aria could not replace the sadness she felt with anger. No matter how much she wanted to, she just could not hate the old woman. Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    Aria rid the thoughts from her mind as she finished her work and then wrapped each vial or flask in strips of leather. Once finished with that, she cleaned each of her tools, making sure to be thorough, as she was taught, so that there were no remnants that might contaminate future projects. Once sufficiently satisfied that her tools and implements were clean, Aria placed each one of her finished products into a large, leather rucksack, along with what herbs she had set aside for the express purpose of selling. Now that she was done with all the necessary preparation, there was but one final step: Trading her wares with her fellow clansmen.


    Aria lived far enough away from the village center that she didn¡¯t have to worry about the others accosting her or, more importantly, her brother. As it was, her home rested on the very edge of the village, just a stone¡¯s throw from the easternmost wall, and as such, it took Aria nearly half an hour of walking to reach the market. By now, the sun shone brightly overhead, filling the forest with equal parts sun and shadow.


    Many others could be seen throughout the market which made up the trade center of the village. At one point Aria even saw an outsider, which was very rare, as most of her clansmen were wary of any individual not of the clan. From the distance Aria couldn¡¯t make out very many details, though it was clear that the man was some kind of trader. He wore lavish clothes and seemed to be in possession of a large wagon, full of trade goods, and was even accompanied by a lone Sarketian guard. No doubt the rest of his entourage were told to wait outside the village walls.


    Aria ignored the man, as he haggled over the price of some trinket or another, deeming him not nearly interesting enough to warrant her prolonged attention. Instead, she focused on making her usual rounds. Aria knew many villagers or shops that would pay well for her stock. Ever since her parents passed away, and after the villagers generosity wore thin, Aria had used her knowledge of herbs to support herself and her brother. Over the years she had built quite the customer base. Enough so, at least, to feel confident she wouldn¡¯t need to bargain with some outsider. One probably too stupid to even know the value of what I carry, she thought to herself. More than once Aria was praised for the quality and rarity of her items. It was for this exact purpose that Aria often left the safety of the village, in search of the ingredients she needed to make such items.


    Slowly Aria made her way from customer to customer, trading her wares for coin. As she made her way to her next potential customer, she was struck by a thought. Now that I think about it, Sota¡¯s clothes were looking a little...worn, she thought as a boy and his mother made their way down the street ahead of her. Most of his stuff is either too small for him or too worn out. Aria checked the weight of her coin purse to determine whether or not she had enough to buy her brother some new clothes, becoming disheartened at the weight of the little leather pouch. Ah to hell with it. I suppose I¡¯ll just have to skip a meal or two, Aria thought to herself, once she decided to do whatever she could to dote upon her little brother. Once she reached her next customer Aria was able to include some clothes into the price of some cleaning solutions. The woman she dealt with said her son had outgrown the clothes last season and that she was happy to give them to Aria, as long as she dropped a few coins off the asking price. It was an easy decision for Aria. She didn¡¯t care, as long as she got to see her brother grow into the oversized clothes she¡¯d gotten out of the deal. That would be more than worth it.


    Eventually Aria made her way to her the village¡¯s most well known apothecary and, incidentally, one of Aria¡¯s best customers. The very same apothecary that supplied most of the clan¡¯s hunters with their healing poultices. Most knew, of course, that it was Aria who made that which often saved so many of their lives, yet they still couldn¡¯t be bothered to look her in the eye, let alone deal directly with her to buy her remedies. Aria didn¡¯t care either way. She was happy for the chance to support her brother.


    Aria had saved her best healing items to sell to the woman who ran the little shop. She was always polite enough, but never so much so that Aria felt compelled to stay any longer than necessary. It never bothered Aria though, as she wasn¡¯t much of one for niceties. Once they agreed upon a price that each was happy with, Aria collected her earnings and went on her way.


    As she was leaving the apothecary¡¯s shop Aria ran into one of the few people whose company she actually enjoyed. ¡°Deja!¡± She exclaimed. ¡°I¡¯m so happy I ran into you.¡± Aria smiled and embraced the young woman, who seemed equally pleased with the chance encounter.


    ¡°Aria!¡± she replied, as the two separated. ¡°I had heard you were back! Why didn¡¯t you come by?¡± She asked, as she tucked a loose strand of platinum blonde hair behind her ear. ¡°Here I¡¯d thought you¡¯d outgrown me.¡± She pouted, sticking out her bottom lip, her iridescent green eyes feigning an expression of hurt.


    ¡°Oh please,¡± Aria responded. ¡°If I hadn¡¯t outgrown you when we were children I think it¡¯s fair to say I never will. I¡¯ve been meaning to come see you, really, but, well¡­You know how your parents can be.¡± Aria began to explain.


    ¡°If I¡¯ve told you once I¡¯ve told you a thousand times! Don¡¯t worry about my stuck-up parents. They¡¯ve got far bigger worries. Did you hear? My father was, once again, caught in a very compromising situation with a certain young woman.¡± Deja continued, completely oblivious to the looks the nearby villagers were giving her. ¡°Do you remember Reiya? That brainless¡­¡±


    ¡°Um, do you really think now, here, is the right time or place to have this conversation?¡± Aria had begun blushing, which surprised her. Only when she was with Deja did she feel like a normal girl, being embarrassed by normal things. But that¡¯s just how Deja was. A brash, impulsive girl that cared very little for what others thought and the one person who brought out Aria¡¯s girlish side.


    ¡°Oh what do I care? I mean really, father¡¯s the one that¡¯s hunting for fawns a few years too young for him, if you get my meaning.¡± Deja leaned over and whispered as she said that last part, almost as if she were actually trying to be subtle.


    Aria sighed, ¡°Yes Deja. Everyone gets your meaning. The damn birds all the way in Draghiem got your meaning.¡±


    ¡°Well good,¡± She replied, letting her good nature and charm radiate from a dazzling smile. ¡°I don¡¯t care much about the birds, but as long as you got my meaning.¡± Aria did what she could to navigate Deja to a more private corner of the market.


    ¡°You know I don¡¯t care much for the village gossip, Deja.¡± Aria said with a smile.


    ¡°Well I hope that one of these days that will change! Gossip is only fun if you can share it.¡± Deja adopted a rueful smile, almost as if she were plotting something. ¡°Anyway,¡± she continued with a wave of her hand. ¡°How was your trip? Anything noteworthy happen?¡±


    For a second or two Aria thought about telling her friend about the strange boy she had met, but ultimately decided against it. Sota¡¯s imagination was nothing compared to what Deja could dream up. Aria had no doubt that if she mentioned it, Deja would no doubt jump to imagining a very different type of encounter. ¡°Hmm, nothing really. More of the usual. Although, I did find some really interesting plants. I suspect they will be great as a substitute for¡­.¡±


    ¡°Aria!¡± Deja exclaimed, cutting off the other girl mid-thought. ¡°You are entirely too preoccupied with plants! At our age girls should be impassioned by more...carnal thoughts.¡± She said as her eyes locked on to some boy walking by in the distance.


    Aria rolled her eyes, ¡°Oh please. Don¡¯t lump me in with the likes of you. To be honest Deja, I think you¡¯re quite the exception when it comes to your...interests.¡± Aria looked to her friend, who had since become distracted with making suggestive looks at that same boy.


    After a moment or two Aria cleared her throat, hoping to get her friend''s attention. ¡°Ahem!¡±


    ¡°Oh, sorry what?¡± Deja said as she turned back to face Aria.


    Aria sighed, ¡°I was just going to thank you for looking after Sota.¡± Aria shifted moods, hoping the more serious tone would keep her friend¡¯s attention better. ¡°It really means a lot to me that you check in on him. If it weren¡¯t for you, I would never be able to leave on my trips.¡± Aria looked Deja in the eye, trying to convey as much gratitude in her look as she was in her words. ¡°I just really want you to know¡­¡±


    ¡°Aria,¡± her friend responded, with a soft expression in her eyes. ¡°That¡¯s really unnecessary. Sota is like my own little brother. Hell,¡± now her expression changed to align more closely to her characteristic good natured bravado, ¡°your parents raised me as much as my own! Our parents were friends long before either of us were born.¡± She explained. ¡°There wasn¡¯t a time in my life where you weren¡¯t there with me!¡± Deja smiled and laughed, no doubt imagining the time the two girls spent together growing up. ¡°I remember all those times the two of us would stay up, late at night, trying not to worry as our parents went out to hunt all manner of beasts in the Wilderun.¡±


    Aria¡¯s eyes glazed over a little at the mention of her parents, and the all-too-familiar twinge of loss returned to her heart. Almost at once Deja noticed Aria¡¯s shift in demeanor, and just as she noticed it she realized it¡¯s source. Deja¡¯s eyes dropped just a fraction, as she regretted her words almost immediately. ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± she said softly. ¡°I didn¡¯t mean to¡­¡±


    ¡°I know.¡± Aria said with a smile, pushing the feelings away. ¡°You never have to apologize to me Deja. We are family, after all.¡± Aria¡¯s smile betrayed no sorrow, not wishing to cause her friend any worry.


    Aria and Deja exchanged a few more words, having said all that was really necessary. The two friends smiled, then they gripped each other¡¯s forearm and bid farewell. Deja went about her business, and Aria left to sell what remained of her stock. And neither friend looked back, confident they would see each other again soon. Although, neither friend could have ever imagined the circumstances that would lead them together once again.


    Soon the leather rucksack that Aria had stocked full of her work lay limp across her back. Now it only held the few pieces of clothing she had managed to finagle out of her business dealings. All of which were used, yet certainly in better shape then what her brother currently wore, and most of which was just a touch too big. Not so much as to be unwearable. Just enough to give a little room for Sota to grow in.


    Aria weighed the little leather sack in which she kept her coins. She was rather pleased, for the most part, and glad to be done with the haggling and the sidelong glances. Coming to the market was never something she enjoyed, and most likely never would be. Still, I made out pretty good today.


    As she made her way through the hustle and bustle of the village market a prolific growling sound echoed out from Aria¡¯s stomach. Oh, I can¡¯t forget to buy food. I do not want to make this trip again. And with that thought Aria made the familiar turns towards the butcher¡¯s shop. Meat first, she thought hungrily, the rest later.


    There was only one official butcher¡¯s shop in the village. A large portion of Aria¡¯s clan were hunters, and as such most knew how to skin and gut their prey, only seldomly selling to the local butcher for some extra coin. There were some families that either didn¡¯t have hunters, or didn¡¯t care to do the work of cleaning their kills themselves, and these families would come here, so they wouldn¡¯t starve.


    Here, just like at the apothecary, the butcher was polite enough, caring more about Aria¡¯s business than clan politics. Well, only by a little. He spoke in short, terse sentences and exuded an air of pure business. So Aria did the same, keeping the exchange professional. The butcher was a nice man, to most, so he was always willing to haggle a fair price, which Aria saw as a blessing. If the man wanted to he could easily take advantage of Aria and ask for an unreasonable sum for his products. Luckily either the thought never occurred to him or he had no taste for such behavior, as he only ever treated Aria fairly. There were others in the village that did not. They had rules against unfair treatment. Like increasing the prices for certain individuals, or flat out refusal to accept their business, but Aria knew of no one that had been punished for such behavior. In fact, Aria knew of a few who did exactly that whenever she approached them. After a while she knew who would or wouldn¡¯t allow fair business. It was this she was thinking of as she walked past one produce stall and then another. Knowing she would never get a fair deal.


    This process made what, for most, is a relatively simple act into something far more complex and time consuming. Aria often found herself having to walk from one corner of the market to the other, passing several other vendors. For most it was a simple matter of finding who would give you the best deal out of the lot of vendors. For Aria, however, it was about knowing who wouldn¡¯t cheat her. It was a rather small pool of shops or produce carts, many of which didn¡¯t open every day. And so, Aria made her way about the market, buying what she could where she could.


    By the time Aria finally walked back through the door of her own home the day was just about over. The sun wasn¡¯t quite into dusk, though it wouldn¡¯t be long. Aria hefted her rucksack as she stepped into the little kitchen of her home. ¡°Sota?¡± She called out, surprised that her brother hadn¡¯t welcomed her home.


    Aria ditched her load on the table before moving to the door of her brother¡¯s room. She knocked lightly a few times before calling out once more in her soft voice, ¡°Sota? I¡¯ve come back from the market. Do you want¡­¡± Aria¡¯s voice trailed off as she opened the door and saw her brothers small frame lying on his side beneath his covers. Sota¡¯s ribs gently moved up and down, indicating the young boy was sound asleep. Aria backed out through the doorway, taking care to make as little noise as possible as she closed the door.


    Now that she was aware that her brother was sleeping, Aria didn¡¯t want to wake him. So she went about unpacking and separating the provisions she¡¯d brought back from the market. With every step and every motion, Aria kept silent. She was happy to do the work and to let her brother sleep. It didn¡¯t take long before she had everything separated. That which needed to be cured or preserved was left on the table. The rest was put away in the cupboard, out of reach of any mice that might wish to nibble away at Aria¡¯s hard work.


    Once finished with that Aria left the house once again and made her way to the small smokehouse they used. It was a tiny thing, barely more than sticks tied together. Aria lacked the necessary skill to build a true smokehouse, and often had to rebuild theirs after it fell apart. Thankfully the structure still held together, saving Aria the trouble of having to reconstruct the pitiful thing. Aria built a small fire, taking care to keep it the right size and not let it get too hot. Once she was satisfied with the result she retrieved the several meats from inside the house and began the arduous process of smoking and preserving it.


    Hours go by as Aria works, daylight giving way to dusk, which in turn turns to night. Just as the sun sinks below the horizon Sota appears from the front door, carrying something in his hands. ¡°Hey!¡± He calls, ¡°I thought you might be hungry, so I put something together with what you left out.¡± He walks up to his sister, brandishing a bowl. ¡°I hope that¡¯s okay. I did the best I could, given what I had.¡±


    ¡°Well hello there little brother!¡± Aria exclaims, stepping away from the heat and smoke. ¡°It¡¯s good to see you up and about.¡± Aria wipes the sweat off her brow before reaching for the bowl her brother carried. ¡°Mmmm I don¡¯t know what this is but it smells good!¡± She says, casting longing glances at the stew her brother presented her. ¡°C¡¯mon, let¡¯s eat some together.¡± Aria smiles and walks towards a soft patch of grass in front of their house.


    ¡°There¡¯s more inside.¡± Sota responds, beckoning towards the rundown little building. ¡°I can just go in and eat¡­¡±


    ¡°Nonsense!¡± His sister shouts, cutting him off. ¡°I haven¡¯t seen you all day little brother!¡± Aria exclaims, bumping Sota with her hip. ¡°C¡¯mon, we can share. I promise, you won¡¯t catch anything.¡± Aria sits in the grass, taking care not to spill the contents of her bowl.


    Sota sits beside her, both siblings sitting in what little light remained of the day. Each take turns taking a bite of the stew as they talk about their day, with Aria leaving most of the beef for her brother, and Sota leaving the carrots for his sister. Aria tells Sota about the strange merchant she saw in the market, and who bought what from her throughout the day. The bowl that Sota brought had been large, but it was soon emptied.


    ¡°Alright, let¡¯s go in for seconds.¡± Aria said with a grin on her face. ¡°I know you¡¯re still glutton for more.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t project your own feelings onto me!¡± Sota responded. ¡°The only glutton around here is you!¡± Sota rolled his eyes as he pointed towards his sister¡¯s belly.


    ¡°Excuse me? Are you implying something, little brother?¡± Aria tackled Sota to the ground, wrestling with her younger brother, yet taking care not to be too rough.


    ¡°H-hey!¡± he laughed. ¡°Cut it out! And I¡¯m not implying it, I¡¯m stating it outright!¡± He shouted as he broke away from his sister¡¯s grasp. Sota jumped to his feet, stuck out his tongue, and ran back into the house.


    Aria simply laughed and jumped up to her feet. ¡°Oh, I¡¯m going to get you for that one!¡± She yelled as she too ran into the house, chasing Sota.


    Aria and Sota soon finished off what remained of the stew, both satisfied with a full belly. Once finished, the two siblings both cleaned up, with Aria once again returning to the smokehouse afterward. After a thorough inspection of her work Aria found herself content with the finished product, which she brought back into the house. Once all was said and done, Aria was confident they would have plenty of food in reserver, enough for her to make another trip out of the village. This time probably going deeper into the Wilderun, instead of travelling for hours on end to a safer nearby forest. It might be more dangerous, she thought, but I¡¯d be gone for half as long. Aria contemplated her plans as she watched as her brother retrieved some linens from the line outside.


    Oh, that¡¯s right. I almost forgot. Aria had nearly forgotten to give Sota his new clothes. ¡°Oh Sota!¡± She called out. ¡°I have a present for you!¡± Aria pulled the clothing from the rucksack, first ensuring her brother couldn¡¯t see what it was.


    ¡°What?¡± He replied. ¡°A present? Oh please don¡¯t let it be something girly.¡± He said with a doubtful look in eye.


    ¡°Well I won¡¯t give it to you then.¡± Aria said, with just enough seriousness to elicit a reaction out of her brother.


    ¡°No, don¡¯t do that! I was just kidding, honest.¡± Sota had just about leapt across the room, the change in his demeanor almost instant.


    ¡°That¡¯s better.¡± Aria said with a smile. ¡°I hope it¡¯s not too girly for you.¡± Aria pulled the clothing out from behind her back as she spoke, going for the full dramatic effect.


    ¡°New clothes!¡± Her brother yelled. ¡°Thanks so much! There¡¯s only so many times you can repair a rip.¡± Sota smiled as he accepted Aria¡¯s gift. ¡°I was afraid I¡¯d have to start walking around here in the nude!¡±


    ¡°Alright now, go try them on!¡± Aria replied. ¡°I want to see you in them!¡± Aria shooed her brother into his room. ¡°Go on now! Git!¡± After a few minutes of rummaging sounds coming from behind the door, Sota stepped out, dressed in his new breeches and shirt. ¡°Well?¡± Aria asked. ¡°How do they feel?¡±


    ¡°Mmmm they''re a little...big.¡± Sota responded, swaying this way and that, trying to get a feel for the new clothes.


    ¡°Yes, I got them that way on purpose! Now you¡¯ve got to grow up big and strong, so that they fit properly.¡± Aria smiled at her brother, who only blushed in response. ¡°Deal?¡± She asked.


    ¡°Okay deal.¡± Sota answered, before being engulfed in a bear hug from his sister.


    As Aria embraced her brother, a distant, yet distinct, howl tore through the night. Only a moment later several other howls echoed after the first. Both siblings froze as they recognized the sounds, and their implications.


    ¡°Aria, was that¡­?¡± Before Sota could finish his sentence Aria was already moving. First she went to the front door and peered out into the night.


    ¡°Yeah, those were definitely weir. A whole pack from the sound of it.¡± The dull ache of fear had taken root in Aria, though she tried as best as she could not to let it enter her voice. ¡°Don¡¯t worry.¡± She comforted. ¡°They¡¯re far off. Sounds like...the north? Northwest maybe. Definitely beyond the wall.¡± Aria closed the door and returned to her brother¡¯s side, smiling in an attempt to ease his fear.


    ¡°Will you have to leave?¡± He asked.


    ¡°Let¡¯s just wait and....¡± Before she could finish her sentence, another set of howls tore through the air. Aria sighed. ¡°I¡¯m sorry Sota, but I have to go.¡± Aria began to move once more, much more urgently than before. ¡°Lock the door after I leave, and stay away from the windows. Keep the lights low. They¡¯re outside the walls, so the danger here is minimal, but best be safe.¡±


    ¡°But why!?¡± Sota yells, tears welling up in the corners of his eyes. ¡°Why do you have to go?¡± Aria pauses, knowing that this must be hard on her younger brother.


    ¡°You know why Sota.¡± Aria crouches down low, reaching eye level with her brother.


    ¡°But¡­¡± Sota starts, before being cut off by his sister.


    ¡°You know how it is. It is my duty. Everyone in the village must respond when there is a threat.¡± Aria attempts to consul her brother, knowing that she will be distracted if she were to leave him like this.


    ¡°Please don¡¯t go.¡± Sota says, his voice barely a whisper.


    ¡°Hey.¡± Aria responds, speaking softly and with confidence. ¡°Who do you think I am? I¡¯ve gone up against worse than some old weir.¡± Aria looks at her brother with a gentle look in her eye.


    ¡°I know.¡± Sota says, looking up from the spot in the floor he¡¯d been staring at.


    Aria pulls him in close, and touches her forehead to his. ¡°As long as I¡¯ve got you waiting for me at home, I¡¯m unbeatable.¡± Aria¡¯s words lighten Sota¡¯s fear and the two separate as Aria begins moving about, collecting her hunting gear.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry about me little brother.¡± Aria reassures as she strings her bow. ¡°I can drop a boar at a hundred paces. You really think some fancy wolf can do any better?¡± Once her bow is strung, Aria rests it in a specially designed pack. After that, she grabs a special leather contraption, which she straps to her thigh. Inside this device there lies special compartments, each laden with potent oils, designed to cripple or impair Aria¡¯s prey. She then puts on her leather jerkin, which contains many more compartments that housed salves, pellets, and other trinkets Aria was accustomed to using during her hunts.


    Once she is satisfied that her pack has everything she will need, including her quiver and a few other basic survival supplies, she straps it on her back, before finishing off her attire with her kukri blade, which she secured to her hip. Once all was said and done Aria looked like a totally different person. Her raven hair was pulled back tight, into a long ponytail. She had dark paint around her eyes reaching almost to her ears. She wore leather bracers on her arms, and a long knife tucked into her boots, the tops of which reached almost to her knees. Sota stared up at her in wonder, as if seeing a legend from an old fairy tale.


    ¡°Alright Sota. I¡¯m heading out. Lock the door behind me, and don¡¯t go outside until I get back. Okay?¡±


    ¡°Alright.¡± Sota responded, having shaken off his earlier fear and replaced it with brave determination. Sota stood ramrod straight with his arms by his side. Almost as if he were receiving orders in some imaginary army.


    Aria smiled at her little brother, glad to see that he had come around. ¡°You promise?¡± She asked.


    ¡°Yes ma¡¯am!¡± He answered. ¡°I promise!¡±

 Ch 12.2 Aria Reikua (II)

    By the time Aria reached the town center activity buzzed everywhere. Villagers milled about, each one moving with purpose. Aria saw many like her, geared up for the hunt. Most were men, some of which were laden with heavy leather and other kinds of hide. No doubt these were the less experienced clansmen. Any seasoned veteran could tell you that all the hide in the world wouldn¡¯t protect you from the claws of a weir. And even the best plate armor would be rendered useless in the jaws of such a creature. Aria had learned the lesson the hard way as some of these men were no doubt about to. She had made the mistake of attempting to deflect a Weir¡¯s slash with nothing but her leather bracer. She¡¯d almost lost the use of her arm due to that little mistake. That experience is why her current bracers each had been lined with a special chain-mail her master had made for her. Each of her bracers were worth a king¡¯s ransom to some, though they were priceless to her.


    Soon after Aria arrived at the statue of The Mother, the movement ceased. The Chief climbed up the podium that surrounded the statue and stood before the entire village. A look of hard determination set upon his face.


    ¡°Tonight we hunt.¡± The Chief said, causing the entire village to grow quiet. ¡°Our prey: a weir pack. However, be warned. According to our reports the one leading the pack is a white weir.¡± That last part had people talking again. A weir was one thing. They¡¯re little more than mindless lupine monsters. Tough, to be sure, and not to be taken lightly, but as long as you were mindful you could deal with the creature. A white weir is altogether a different experience. They are stronger, faster, and smarter. Eerily so. There are stories of a white weir being able to set ambushes. Use feints. Act almost...human in combat.


    The Chief raised his hand, and the talking died down once again. ¡°The best we can tell right now is that there are eight or nine in total. They¡¯re pretty spread out, but they were definitely headed this way. The last sighting was north of the center of town. However, since then they¡¯ve turned west, and seem to be heading toward the gate. I¡¯m afraid we won¡¯t know their exact location until we find them. Until then, keep sharp and don¡¯t let your guard down. Dismissed.¡±


    At the Chief¡¯s dismissal the crowd of villagers broke up. Some grouping up while others, like Aria, chose to go it alone. Of course going out alone wasn¡¯t exactly Aria¡¯s choice. She didn¡¯t really have a choice. The only clansman in the entire village that could stand to talk to Aria for more than five minutes was Deja, and she wasn¡¯t a hunter. She was somewhere in the village center, preparing for the injured that were sure to show up.


    As the crowd thinned villagers made their way for whichever exit they preferred. Most went to the gate, others chose to climb over the wall. There were many sections designed just for that, with stairs leading up to the top and ropes available to throw over the edge and climb down. Having an entire village evacuate through the single gate, in case of emergency, would most likely not end well.


    Aria chose one such up-and-over, as the villagers call them, just north of the gate. No others had chosen this particular point, as most who wished to venture east went out the gate, and those that wished to venture west climbed over further to the north. If groups started meeting in the middle it would give a better idea of where the creatures were. Or weren¡¯t.


    Aria¡¯s feet hit the dirt as she repelled down the side of the wall. The dark of the night had fully set in, and a slight fog rolled in, clinging to the forest floor. Before doing anything else, Aria closed her eyes and concentrated. Once her eyes were closed, Aria began speaking softly, as she was taught.


    ¡°Spirits of Life, gather before me.¡± She whispered. ¡°Nurture my eyes and grant to me the ability to peer through the darkness.¡± Aria could feel the air shift around her. A warmth spread through her core and reached up to her eyes. Once she opened them again, Aria could see through the forest. Perhaps not as well as if it were daytime, but the full moon shone bright above the forest canopy, and Aria could see for some several hundred meters before the darkness obscured her vision.


    Satisfied with her work, Aria freed her bow from its perch on her back, and readied an arrow. A distant howl echoed off the trees around her as she stalked through the forest. As Aria flowed from tree to tree her head never stopped turning. Her eyes continuously peered through the darkness in search of her prey. What felt like hours passed. Howls periodically pierced the night sky, reverberating off the trees. All the while, Aria stalked through the forest methodically with a practiced ease.


    Eventually Aria grew tired and paused to drink from her waterskin. She leaned her back against the trunk of a large tree as she drank. The feeling of the cool liquid spread around her tongue and then down her throat. An almost euphoric feeling, as Aria realized she had not had anything to drink since her dinner with Sota. That feels almost like a lifetime ago. As Aria¡¯s mind wandered her eyes shifted up, trying to see through the dense forest canopy above. It has been a while since the last of the howls. Maybe¡­ Aria¡¯s thoughts were brought to a screaming halt as something caught her attention.


    Acting on pure instinct Aria contorted her body, twisting away from an inexplicable feeling of danger. Her arms had risen to either side of her face in a desperate attempt at protection. An instant later a powerful force struck one of Aria¡¯s forearms and continued across her upper arm and even slashed across her pack. The blow forced Aria to the ground and a searing pain erupted from the spot where she had been struck just below her shoulder. Aria could feel a warm sensation spreading down her arm as blood streamed from the laceration.


    As she hit the ground Aria rolled, maneuvering so she faced her attacker. Before her stood a terrifying creature whose silver eyes rested nearly two-and-a-half meters above the ground. Thick, snow white fur covered its back and arms, with a shorter, grayer coat covering its front. Aria stared at the lupine creature as she chastised herself for her complacency. Dammit, she thought. I should have enhanced by other senses as well. That mistake is going to cost you Aria.


    The white weir dropped onto all fours, never taking its eyes off of Aria. Powerful fangs protruded from its elongated snout. Drool dripped onto the ground as the creature snarled. The smell of putrid rotting flesh rose to Aria¡¯s nostrils. Everything about this creature exuded death. From its cold, calculating eyes, to the sharp claws which adorned its fingers.


    Aria faced the weir, her hand gripped tightly around the kukri blade at her waist. Aria knew her bow lay less than a meter to her right, lying on the ground near the tree she had been resting at just moments ago. Though she was tempted to, Aria did not chance a glance in its direction. Instead, she kept her eyes locked on the weir¡¯s movements as it paced before her. Aria¡¯s heart thudded against her chest and her brow became slick with sweat. There was no doubt in her mind that the weir could taste her fear.


    Aria crouched low, her right hand grasped the hilt of her blade in her patented reverse grip, still with the blade in its sheath. She made no sudden movements. Her left arm slowly rose in front of her as her stance widened ever so slightly. She knew going for her bow would mean death. There was no way she could reach the weapon, knock an arrow, and fire before the weir gutted her. Instead, she would have to wait. If this were a normal weir it would lunge at her, without thinking of the consequences. Making it easy to parry and retrieve her bow, if not out-and-out killing it on the spot, if she got lucky. But of course I¡¯d have to run across this damned white monster.


    Aria and the weir stared each down as the monster paced from side to side. It watched Aria with a cautious eye. Almost as if it were studying her. I won¡¯t get anywhere at this rate, Aria thought. The longer we¡¯re stalemated here the more likely it is another one of these blasted things will show up. Hoping for reinforcements from the village is certainly out of the question. Aria almost laughed at the thought. Her hoping the villagers might save her? The sooner she banishes the idea the sooner she can make a move to save her own life.


    After a few moments of thought Aria decided on her strategy. Her left hand slowly moved to one of the compartments at her chest. Inside she keeps a special kind of smoke pellet. Something she designed for just this kind of occasion. A few more seconds passed by and Aria¡¯s hand retrieved a couple of her special pellets. The weir¡¯s eyes narrowed, almost suspicious of what it saw. The creature stopped in its tracks, unsure of how to respond to Aria¡¯s slight movements. Now! Aria thought, as she snapped her hand out, sending her smoke pellets smashing into the ground between herself and the weir.


    Aria¡¯s movement changed the creature¡¯s indecision into action as it leapt forward, preparing to strike at Aria once again. However, an instant after the smoke pellet struck the ground an acrid smoke exploded into being. As the weir leapt through the smoke its eyes and nostrils burned, causing it to shout in pain and surprise. The sudden loss of two of its senses, as well as the unexpected pain, caused the monster to lose its balance, and crash into ground.


    While the weir was stunned, Aria made a break for her bow. She dashed across the ground, leaping onto her bow, rolling across the dirt, and raising her raising her weapon to bare. With a deftness of hand that could only be achieved through years of training Aria simultaneously rose her bow and drew an arrow. Not a moment later the weir was once again charging towards Aria. And it kept charging, even as an arrow struck the creature''s shoulder yet failed to penetrate its tough hide. As Aria did not wish to be mauled by the charging weir, she spun out of the way, narrowly avoiding a deadly slash of the weir¡¯s claws and accumulating another cut. This time, a thin red line sprouted along Aria¡¯s jaw. If she had moved just a second later, her neck would have been split wide open, and she would have bled to death in moments. Aria did what she could to create distance between herself and the weir, while it huffed and wheezed, tearing into the ground in frustration. Aria hoped to get off another shot, however the weir had no intention of giving her the time to do so. Aria was forced to loose the arrow before it had been fully drawn, and yet again it failed to penetrate its target. The weir¡¯s senses were clearly still under the effect of Aria¡¯s smoke, as the creature flailed wildly, passing only centimeters from Aria¡¯s chest as she dodged out of the way.


    Mere moments after its failed attack the weir renewed its efforts, again attempting to disembowel Aria with wild swings. This time Aria was forced draw her kukri blade, and use it as well as her bow to parry the blows, as desperation gripped her panicked heart. Even with her blade drawn, Aria still couldn¡¯t do any real damage to the beast. Its hide reduced what would normally be life threatening blows to merely scrapes and shallow cuts. Meanwhile Aria accumulated wound after wound. Her arms soon became covered in dirt and slick with blood, as her flesh was torn again and again. The ferocity of the weir never letting up. Over the course of the desperate struggle the weir¡¯s actions become less panicked, and more calculating. The effects of Aria¡¯s smoke had begun to dwindle. If she didn¡¯t do something quick to turn the tide of this fight she was going to die. Either she¡¯d bleed out from the plethora of wounds that decorated her body, or by being torn in half by the ferocity of the white weir.


    As the battle raged on Aria was thrown from her feet, sent flying by the backhanded swing of the weir. Aria sailed through for forest air, crashing into a large boulder. As she made contact with the stone Aria could feel something in her arm give way. White hot pain exploded from her limb. Tears welled up in Aria¡¯s eyes and she struggled to catch the breath that had been knocked out of her. She tried raising herself but her injured left arm couldn¡¯t even move, let alone support her weight. Aria struggled to get to her feet, as she peered through blurry vision. The weir was moving toward her, slowly, like a predator stalking its prey. In that moment, Aria had never experienced anything as difficult as it was to get to her feet, yet she still managed to do it. Aria fought with all her strength and resolve to stand to her feet. Her useless left arm simply dangled by her side. Even so, Aria refused to give up. She had dropped her bow at some point, yet it mattered little. She had long since given up trying to kill this beast with her bow and arrow. As Aria stood there she fished something small out of one of her pockets. A powerful painkiller. Something to make moving in her torn body easier, but not so powerful as to dull her senses. She chews and swallows the concoction, hoping the effects will kick in quickly.


    Aria thought back to what other supplies she had brought with her, hoping that perhaps something in her pack would be of some use, only to realize her pack had also been lost during the fight. Aria looked down to the kukri blade she still held in her hand. It was all that stood between life and death. None of Aria¡¯s conventional weapons had had any effect on this beast. Its hide was just too tough. She didn¡¯t have the strength necessary to cut it deep enough.


    Aria leaned back against the cold stone surface of the boulder that had rendered her left arm useless. It was all she could do to stay on her feet. She readjusted her blade, switching from her usual reverse grip, to a traditional one.


    ¡°I¡¯m gonna kill you, fucker.¡± Aria said as she pointed the tip of the blade at the approaching weir, doing her best to stare daggers at the creature. Looking into its eyes, Aria could swear she saw the damn thing grin back. Smug bastard, she thought. If only I had some kind of leverage. Then this stupid beast wouldn¡¯t be grinning. I could force this damn blade into its ugly heart. Aria began looking around, desperate to formulate some kind of plan. Some weapon or strategy she could use against the thing. It was finally giving Aria the time to think. This was her chance.


    ¡°Ugh. Dammit!¡± She swore, as she loosened her death grip on her blade and let her arm fall to her side. ¡°I just need¡­.¡± Aria froze as her the pommel of her blade struck the boulder upon which she leaned. Hmm. Now there¡¯s an idea, Aria thought as a maniacal grin spread across her face.


    Aria strengthened her grip on her blade and she pulled the edge into the pouch still strapped to her thigh. Inside that pouch were two different oils. One meant to poison, the other to paralyze. Aria wasn¡¯t sure what would happen if she mixed them, as she had never done it before. Everything she knew about the concoctions and herbology told her that they would still be effective. It won¡¯t matter if all goes according to plan, she thinks to herself. The oils are only plan B. Let¡¯s just pray plan A works. Not to mention the fact that the oils aren¡¯t exactly fast acting. Either one of them took several minutes before the effects set in. Hopefully, this will all be over by then.


    Aria stood, bracing herself for what was to come. She would need to be faster than ever before to pull this off. And luckier. But first, Aria must test her left arm. The only way this will work is if she can manage to goad the creature into pouncing. And she wasn¡¯t sure how to do that and be able to react without the use of her left arm.


    First, she wiggeled her fingers. Aria braced for pain yet there was none. Guess that painkiller is doing its job. Next Aria made a fist. It was weak, but doable. Now comes the real test. Aria knew that something in her arm was broken. Perhaps multiple somethings. But all it needed to do was reach the compartment at her chest. Aria braced herself for pain once again and attempted to move her arm. Slowly, the limb began to bend at the elbow. Her hand shook as she twisted her wrist and she became aware of an ache that radiated throughout the entire limb.


    Seeing her arm move caused the weir to slow, still cautious of Aria¡¯s tricks. Aria¡¯s hand was able to reach into the same pocket as before, and from it she produced one of her acrid smoke pellets. A look of imperceptible recognition and then anger flashed through the creature¡¯s eyes.


    ¡°That¡¯s right you ugly bastard. You recognize this don¡¯t you?¡± Aria grinned at her attacker. ¡°Let¡¯s see if you¡¯d like another taste!¡± Aria feigned an attempt at throwing the pellet, as she knew her broken limb did not have the strength to do so. However the weir did not know that. The beast snarled and leapt at Aria, none too keen on letting her poison its eyes and nose again. And as the monster leapt to deliver the finishing blow Aria dove down and to the side, reaching up with her right hand and planting the pommel of her kukri blade squarely into the stone behind her. The weir¡¯s claws sailed just a hair¡¯s breadth from Aria¡¯s skin and the force of the leap sent it plowing right into the blade Aria held. As the weir made contact with the blade, Aria ducked and rolled out from under the creature, landing in the dirt just a few paces from the weir. Aria had hoped that the monster would impale the blade through its own heart, killing it instantly. She was lucky enough to not be torn to ribbons as she ducked the weir¡¯s last attack. It would seem, however, that she was not quite as lucky as she had hoped. The weir had managed to drive the blade rather deeply into its flesh, but it was only the shoulder, and not the heart.


    The weir howled and roared as it thrashed from the pain of having its shoulder run through. The weir tore at the ground and stone. It howled and howled into the night. It tore at the hilt of the blade, desperate to remove the object of its torment. Several moments of pain induced hysteria gripped the creature, during which Aria lay on the ground, trying to crawl away and create distance. Her attempts were mostly in vain, as she clawed at the dirt with her one good arm. She kicked and scrambled, whatever it took to create distance. To buy time until either of the oils¡¯ effects set in.


    While Aria struggled in the dirt, the weir was at last able to remove the blade in its shoulder, and regain its senses. Blood stained the creature¡¯s fur and spilt onto the ground as the pale white beast turned to Aria, fury in its eyes. The creature stood on its hind legs and howled into the night one final time. An ear piercing, blood curdling wail. Then it returned to all fours, and prowled through the night, closing the distance between itself and Aria.


    The sound of the weir¡¯s final howl had stopped Aria dead in her tracks. An all-consuming fear gripped her heart. Aria¡¯s very soul turned dark. Her skin paled and her eyes grew wide with terror. As she looked up at the weir from her place in the dirt, all she saw was a figure of white death. She could already feel its sharp claws tearing her open. She could hear the sounds of her bones crunching in the beast¡¯s putrid maw. She had no delusions of escape or of victory. She could have been naked for all it mattered to this harbinger of death. Aria had heard the stories of the white weir. And now, lying helpless before this unstoppable force of nature, she understood the true meaning of the word hopeless.


    No longer did the weir¡¯s eyes emite that of a grin. Aria had angered the beast. Angered it in such a way as it has never known. The weir no longer had any intentions of toying with Aria. The only thought that passed through the terrifying creature¡¯s mind was pain. The pain this girl had caused it and the pain it intended to do unto her. What little distance Aria had managed to create between the two was no more. The white weir stood directly over its prey. Its face lowered to look Aria in the eye, just moments before it reared its massive claw back to eviscerate the helpless girl.


    In that very moment, just as Aria saw death straddled over her, something very unexpected happened. One second all she could see was the white fur of the weir as it prepared to maul her flesh. Then, without warning and in a flurry of wind, the white death before her was gone. In a sudden explosion of air and dirt the weir was replaced with the head of a massive, ornate warhammer. Aria followed the hammer to the hands of its wielder. Then she followed those up to the wielder¡¯s face.


    ¡°Are you alright, Aria?¡± The Chief asked, eyes cast ahead, focusing on the cloud of smoke that indicated where the weir had gone, some dozens of meters away. Aria could not speak. ¡°Torren, Daran, with me. Larissa, stay and do what you can for Aria¡¯s wounds.¡± The chief and the two other men he¡¯d named spread out, encircling the now dissipating cloud of dirt.


    Aria was stunned. She couldn¡¯t believe her own eyes. She was so sure that she was dead. Not seconds ago. The sudden shock and realization that she would live hit her, along with all the emotions she¡¯d been struggling with since her desperate fight with the weir. Tears formed in the corners of her eyes. Aria shut her eyes in a desperate attempt to keep the tears at bay. She raised her one good arm up to her face, gritting her teeth and fighting back the urge to weep.


    ¡°It¡¯s okay Aria. You¡¯re safe now.¡± Larissa kneeled on the ground by Aria¡¯s side as she spoke. ¡°I¡¯ll tend to your wounds now. You¡¯re still in one piece, so you have nothing to worry about.¡± The older woman softened her eyes into a reassuring smile. ¡°I¡¯m sure my husband can handle one measly weir, don¡¯t you?¡± And with that Larissa began treating Aria¡¯s wounds. First cleaning them as best she could. As she did that, Aria chose to watch the fight, which had now resumed in full. The Chief swung his massive hammer, attempting to either crush the weirs skull or break its neck. The weir ducked beneath the blow and lashed out at the chief¡¯s exposed stomach. Just before its claws could tear into the big man¡¯s flesh, one of the other clansmen appeared from behind the Chief, crouched low and thrusting his blade at the monster. The weir redirected its claw, parrying the blade. At that exact moment, the third clansman appeared behind the weir, sporting a crazed grin as he brought his sword down with both hands. In response, the weir spun, almost too fast to even see, and swatted the blade away harmlessly. The weir had broken the man¡¯s attack, which left him wide open. However, before the weir could take advantage of the opening, it was struck in the side by the Chief¡¯s hammer, and again it was tossed to the side.


    Aria was amazed. The teamwork displayed by the Chief and his fellow clansmen was remarkable. They didn¡¯t speak. They didn¡¯t even look at each other. Either each one knew exactly where and what the other was doing, or they each responded to the battle instantaneously. Either way, Aria was dumbfounded. Perhaps even more astonishing was the weir¡¯s ability to hold its own against three such talented fighters. Aria could not believe she had successfully fended off the creature, let alone actually managing to wound it. No wonder my little gamble pissed it off so much, she thought. This thing has probably never been seriously wounded in its life.


    Aria watched as the battle raged on. Several minutes of back and forth confrontations between the men and the beast had gone by. Everyone involved in the brawl had accumulated injuries. The Chief sported a nasty laceration across his chest. One of the other men looked as if he could barely grip his sword due to a deep crimson line along his forearm. And the third man, who still held a battle crazed look in his eyes, had endured the most damage. He was even missing an ear. Which Aria was fairly certain had been there at the start of the fight. Even so, the man looked like he was having the time of his life. Like there was nowhere he would rather be than staring down death itself. Even the weir was starting to bleed. Its once pristine, snow white coat of fur was stained red in places. There were many shallow cuts along its arms and back, however quite a few seemed to carve a little deeper. One of its arms didn¡¯t seem to move quite right. Perhaps it had taken one too many hits from the Chief. The weir¡¯s breath was haggard, even wheezy. Even from Aria¡¯s vantage she could tell the monster was wearing down. Certainly my poisons have taken effect by now, Aria thought to herself. Even as Aria thought the words the creature swayed and shook its head, trying to stave off the effects of Aria¡¯s final attack. Seeing the creature¡¯s state, the crazed and bloodied man saw his chance and leapt forward, overflowing with confidence. ¡°I¡¯ve got you now you bastard!¡± Daran bellowed as he soared through the air with his weapon held above his head, intent on ending the fight with this single attack.


    ¡°Daran, NO!¡± the other man, Torren, shouted at his unyielding friend. Torren knew better. The weir¡¯s strength might be waning, but a warrior never dropped his guard in battle. Torren¡¯s voice was filled with desperation as he tried to dissuade his friend¡¯s actions. However, it was too late.


    No sooner had Daran¡¯s feet left ground did the weir turn and face its attacker. Daran¡¯s face contorted into a maniacal scowl. He believed he had won as he brought down his sword, intent on cleaving the monster in two. However the weir was not as exhausted as Daran had believed. The creature moved at speeds far beyond what any natural being could achieve. One second it was beneath Daran¡¯s blade, moments away from being split in twain. Before Daran could even blink the monster moved, crouching low and springing forward, thrusting its clawed hand towards Daran¡¯s chest. There was nothing anybody could do, but watch.This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.


    With a sickening crunch it was over. The others watched on as Daran had come to rest, mid-air, with the weir¡¯s arm impaling him through-and-through, the beast¡¯s blood soaked talon protruding from the man¡¯s back. Daran¡¯s eyes grew twice their size as he looked down at the arm sticking through him, and into the face of the creature that had just taken his life. The weir pulled its bloodied appendage back through the dead man¡¯s chest, pools of blood erupting from the gaping wound. Aria watched as Daran¡¯s body fell, almost impossibly slow. It was as if time itself had slowed. Some god high above wanted this single moment to last an eternity. The look of delight within the weir¡¯s eyes. The horror and grief etched onto Torren¡¯s visage. And the bloodstained arm of the white weir, in stark contrast to the otherwise pure white of the beast¡¯s fur. As the man¡¯s dead body reached the ground, the Chief struck. Without warning and with all the might he could bring to bare. The weir had been solely intent on Daran, flying through the air, that it didn¡¯t even see the blow coming. The Chief had blasted into the air, with enough force to shake the leaves from the trees. He brought his hammer to bare and fell towards the beast like a meteor. The hammer struck the weir¡¯s head full-on and with all the force the Chief had behind it. The weir¡¯s head disappeared beneath the mighty warhammer, which, even with all that power behind it, still only came to rest on the monsters shoulders, refusing to penetrate any further. The weir¡¯s body did not crumple. First it swayed, almost confused as to what to do next. The Chief pulled his hammer from the weir¡¯s shoulders, releasing a torrent of dark blood. The Chief lowered the gore covered head of his warhammer and as he did so the white weir¡¯s body toppled to the floor, headless.


    Aria couldn¡¯t believe it was over. She stared down at her feet as she sat, her back against one of the many trees of the forest. Her body radiated pain. The painkiller she had taken during her fight was slowly wearing off. Soon she would feel every stitch and every fracture. Something she was loathe to experience. I can¡¯t believe I¡¯m alive. Aria thought, as she examined her injuries, hastily stitched together by the Chief¡¯s wife, Larissa.


    ¡°Ah! Dammit woman, easy with the needle!¡± Torren¡¯s voice peeled Aria¡¯s attention back to the here and now. She looked over to see Larissa tending to a particularly nasty looking wound that ran the length of his forearm.


    ¡°Oh shut it.¡± Larissa responded. ¡°You¡¯re lucky to still have use of this hand. I wouldn¡¯t push that luck any further. We need to get this tended to quickly and effectively.¡± Torren winced once again at the woman¡¯s touch. ¡°Oh toughen up. Aria didn¡¯t make so much as a peep when I was stitching her wounds.¡± At the mention of Aria¡¯s name the man looked over Larissa¡¯s shoulder, eyeing the spot in which Aria sat. ¡°You¡¯d better be thankful girl.¡± He said, speaking to Aria. ¡°The Mother clearly has a soft spot for you. If not for Her, you¡¯d be a bloody stain in the dirt.¡± Torren shifted his gaze to the lifeless remains of Daran. ¡°What was he thinking? Damn fool.¡±


    ¡°Fool indeed.¡± The Chief agreed, standing just a few paces from where Larissa treated Torren, stroking his impressive braided beard. ¡°There is no other word to describe his actions. Foolish beyond measure.¡± Torren¡¯s eyes closed as he shook his head at the Chief¡¯s words, saddened by not only the loss of his friend, but the embarrassing way it had happened. ¡°However you, Aria.¡± The Chief turned to look Aria in the eye as he spoke. ¡°You did well to survive the encounter. Not only to survive, but to wound the creature so deeply. Very few can say to have done either, let alone both.¡±


    Aria wasn¡¯t sure how she should feel about the Chief¡¯s praise. Of course it was true, but was it really an accomplishment? To not die in a fight. Isn¡¯t that what the standard should be? Aria may have survived, but it was only due to other¡¯s actions. Aria looked over at the weir¡¯s headless body. I can¡¯t rely on anyone in this life. I must get stronger if I wish to protect Sota. What would have happened to him if I had died tonight? The thought brought Aria¡¯s world crashing down around her. There was no other choice. She must get stronger.


    The sound of running footsteps and hurried breathing drew Aria¡¯s attention away from her thoughts. ¡°Chief!¡± A blonde man, perhaps in his early 40s, called out as he neared. He was well built, no doubt in peak condition for his age, and yet he looked haggard. No doubt having run very far to deliver whatever information it was he brought.


    ¡°Hey Shin!¡± Torren called out. ¡°Nice of you to show up after the fight¡¯s all said and done.¡±


    The middle-aged man looked confused for a moment, until he saw the lifeless corpses lying in a substantial pool of blood. ¡°Is that¡­?¡± ¡°What¡¯s the report?¡± The Chief asked, not wanting the conversation to derail before he heard what the man had come here to say.


    ¡°Right. Sorry about that. From the looks of things the rest of the weir have been dealt with. There have been no other sightings since your team came in this direction.¡± Daran¡¯s eyes shift from the Chief, to Daran¡¯s dead body, and then to Aria.


    ¡°Good. We¡¯ll stay on alert, but I am confident the danger has now passed.¡± At the Chief¡¯s words Shin¡¯s eyes shift once more to look the intimidating man in the eyes. ¡°Ensure that all those who have been injured are cared for, and all those who have fallen are collected and sent to their families for last rights. I won¡¯t leave a single clansman to be food to the beasts beyond the walls.¡± And with that Aria releases the tension she hadn¡¯t realized she still held. It''s finally over. She thinks to herself. Time for me to go home.


    Not long after the Chief declared the danger over Aria found herself once again walking through the town center. It had taken quite a while to do so, since she was rather far from the gate and she hadn¡¯t had the strength to scale the wall. Her distance from the gate coupled with her injuries made Aria¡¯s trip much longer than she would have liked. Afterall, she wanted to get home as soon as she could to see Sota again. Something she sorely needed after the night¡¯s events.


    As Aria made her way through the town center she found herself surrounded by chaos. People streamed through the streets, left and right. Large tents had been pitched and light washed away the darkness. The light made Aria¡¯s eyes hurt, reminding her that her sight enhancement Script was still active. After a few words her sight returned to normal, and her world was washed half dark and half light.


    Inside the tents were men and women. Some lay on makeshift tables, in desperate need of medical attention. Others sat, having already been treated, and still others stood, doing their best to treat the wounded. The sight shocked Aria. There were dozens of injured. Most much the same as herself, but several were worse, and still others were far beyond any medicine.


    The pained cries of the injured mixed with those learning of a lost loved one. Healers and families rushed from one place or another. The sight was all too familiar to Aria. The village faced such attacks perhaps once a month, maybe less. Aria remembered the last such attack. A horde of Arachas had flooded through the forest. The sheer volume of the monsters had been astonishing.


    Aria shook herself out of her reverie, wishing to be home already. As she walked through the tumultuous crowd she learned that the night¡¯s events had already claimed a dozen lives, with more certain to pass before all was said and done. Aria just kept walking. There were none here who cared to learn of her plight, and none whose story she particularly cared to hear. Except perhaps Deja¡¯s. Aria thought for a moment or two, wondering if she should try to find her friend. As she looked around at the chaotic scene though, she decided against it. Deja has her hands full, I¡¯m sure.


    As Aria continued on her way through the village she heard more than one conversation spark up about her. Apparently word of her encounter with the white weir was spreading already. Somebody sure does have a big mouth. She thought, wondering who it had been that spoke about Aria¡¯s ordeal. The only one¡¯s who knew about it were those that had come to her rescue. One of whom was already deceased. I bet it was that twit Torren. Aria thought to herself. Although Larissa has been prone to gossip if she finds it interesting enough.


    One after another the people would begin talking about her, many of which doubtful it was even true. And then there were those that didn¡¯t doubt their source, but were certain it was due to some sort of trickery on Aria¡¯s part. They were certain one as honorless as her couldn¡¯t have possibly stood against the white weir without some underhanded ploy. I guess they¡¯re not exactly wrong. Aria thought. I did stun the thing with my smoke pellet. Aria laughed to herself. What do I care what they think. I just want to be home already.


    Aria made her way through the commotion of the village, trying her best to move as quickly as her wounds would allow. As she made her way east, away from the village center, a new uproar broke out among the villagers. Aria just had just begun to wonder what it was that had stirred up the villagers again, when she heard a man shout that a fire had broken out somewhere on the east edge of the village. Somewhere on the outskirts, near the east wall.


    Wait a minute. Aria froze as the ice cold realization gripped her heart. The east edge, near the wall? Aria¡¯s heart pounded in her chest. ¡°Sota!¡± She screamed before breaking out into a sprint, ignoring her body¡¯s protests.


    No no no no no. Aria thinks as her feet pound at the hard packed dirt beneath her. Please let Sota be safe. She prays, sprinting as fast as she possibly can. Her stitches popping in places, pain radiating from every injury, ber busted arm flailing as she ran. A desperate fear settled within Aria¡¯s mind.


    By the time Aria arrives her home is fully engulfed in flames. Aria¡¯s eyes widen in horror as she takes in the sight before her. A hungry blaze laps at the walls of her small house. Her storeroom an uncontrollable fire, fed by Aria¡¯s years of collecting and storing herbs. The tiny ramshackle smokehouse was little more than blackened coals, the heart of which still released flames.


    A crowd had formed around the edge of the inferno, yet no one made an attempt to fight the fire or put it out. Some carried pails, soaking the nearby grass and trees in an effort to keep the flames from spreading. Most just watched, mesmerized by the flames.


    ¡°Sota!¡± Aria yelled her brother¡¯s name, desperate for a reply. ¡°Has anybody seen my brother?¡± Aria made her way through the crowd, searching for her little brother. She stared at the onlookers, pleading. ¡°Somebody, just tell me where my brother is!¡±


    No one responds as they continue to stare off at the flames, some shake their head and close their eyes, assured of the worst. Some even turned to leave, showing no interest in what is taking place. What is it to them if Aria¡¯s brother has perished in the fire? To them, it was simply nature correcting itself.


    ¡°Aria!" Deja¡¯s voice rang out from behind the crowd. ¡°Aria, what¡¯s...Oh my god.¡± As Deja saw what had become of Aria¡¯s home she stopped dead in her tracks.


    ¡°Deja! Have you seen Sota? Do you know where my brother is!?¡± Aria desperately clung to Deja¡¯s arms, looking her friend in the eye with utter terror. ¡°Deja!¡± Aria screamed at her friends unresponsive figure. Deja simply shook her head, a look of dreadful shock and sorrow breaking out across her face.


    Aria turned to face the blazing inferno that once been her home. A cacophony of emotions boiling within her. Fear, hatred, sadness, to name but a few. Aria stared as her entire world burned in front of her. An all consuming pyre straight from the depths of hell itself.


    ¡°Dammit!¡± Aria screams, running toward her burning home. Deja yells after her friend, trying to stop her. A few villagers even move to stop her, yet they are too slow. Aria bursts through her home¡¯s front door as a blazing heat surrounds her pained body. Moments after Aria¡¯s impulsive entry into the flames she is obscured from the villager¡¯s view as a wall of orange fire fills the gap left by the now missing door.


    As Aria enters her burning home she screams for her brother, ¡°Sota!¡± Tears stream from her eyes, her skin burning from the heat, and her lungs choking on the caustic smoke which fills the narrow entryway. Aria attempts to shield her face from the flames, leaving her arms exposed and vulnerable to the intense heat.


    Aria moves as quickly as she can, walking through fire and smoke. ¡°Sota!!¡± She screams, desperate to save her brother. The smoke is so thick that Aria can barely see around her as she moves through her home. After a few steps Aria¡¯s foot catches something sprawled across the floor. Aria bends down, attempting to free herself of the thick smoke, only to discover the unmoving form of her brother. It seems that he had attempted to escape the fire, only to succumb the smoke and lack of oxygen.


    Aria¡¯s own lungs burn as she uses all her remaining strength and fortitude to lift her brother¡¯s body. Her wounds from the fight with the weir fill Aria¡¯s mind with pain. The heat from the fire sears Aria¡¯s flesh as she attempts to carry her brother out the way she came. However, the way to the front door is barred by intense flames, making escape impossible.


    Aria¡¯s mind races as she thinks of another way out. Fire closes in all around and pieces of the thatch room rain fire and debris down from above. Every inch of the house¡¯s walls and roof were ablaze, with the floorboards not far behind. Aria clung to her brother¡¯s body, her blood being replaced by cold hard resolve. Aria eyed a spot in one of the walls. Large tongues of flames lap across its surface but Aria knows it is their only way. She takes several steps back, nearing the raging inferno which has crept across the floor. Getting so close as to cause her own clothes to ignite. Aria ignores the searing pain lancing up her legs as she bolts towards the wall. Aria thunders into the flimsy structure with all her might, throwing her shoulder into the wall.


    Only through sheer force of will, and a large amount of luck, does Aria manage to break through the wall of the small shack that had once been her home. Aria comes crashing out of the inferno, slamming unceremoniously into the dirt. Not yet safe of the raging inferno only inches away, Aria drags her brother across the dirt and grass, pulling him away from the hungry flames, lapping at the edges of the hole she had just created. Deja sees Aria¡¯s flaming figure come crashing out of the house and runs to her friend¡¯s side. She helps Aria pull Sota to safety, and uses her hands to snuff out the flames which cling to Aria¡¯s body. Satisfied that they were far enough away, Aria bends over her brother¡¯s motionless body, unsure of whether or not he still lived.


    ¡°Sota!¡± Aria cries out, noticing her brother is no longer breathing. ¡°You can¡¯t leave me!¡± Tears stream down Aria¡¯s cheeks.


    Engulfed in pure panic and desperation, Aria begins attempting to resuscitate her brother, using every means she knew of. Again and again she attempts to breath life back into his lungs. Fearing her brother was gone for good, Aria succumbs to the pain and sorrow in her heart. As Aria lay across her brother¡¯s body, in the full throes of her agony, a cackling screech of laughter rings out above it all.


    There stands Belatrice, eying the pitiful sight before her with a look of utter disgust. She has traded her rather whorish outfit from earlier for one much more fitting a hunter. She wears a vest of animal pelt under which rest leather armor, her hair pulled tight across her head and tied in a knot.


    ¡°Well well!¡± She crows. ¡°It would appear the trash has all but burnt up. Nothing left but ash, as it should be.¡± Bela stands only a few paces from Aria, and Sota¡¯s lifeless body, looking at Aria down her nose with an expression of pure delight.


    The words hit Aria like a hammer stroke to the heart and her eyes go wide with madness. ¡°IT WAS YOU!¡± She screams as she leaps at the evil woman, her left hand grasping Bela¡¯s throat as her right hand reaches for the Kukri at her hip. Bela¡¯s eyes widen with shock, and then horror, as she realizes she is but moments from death. ¡°I¡¯LL KILL YOU!!¡± Aria bellows.


    By now Aria has lost all reason. Madness and grief fills her mind, body, and soul. Just as Aria draws her blade and moves to plunge it into Bela¡¯s chest, the hands of several villagers find purchase, grabbing onto Aria¡¯s body and clothes. The villagers hold Aria in place, forcing her blade to a stop, only a hair¡¯s breadth from its target. Just as tears pour down Bela¡¯s face, weeping, eyes filled with terror, so too do tears streak Aria¡¯s ash covered face. As weak as Aria¡¯s injuries have made her left hand, it still has enough strength to choke the life out of the evil woman within its grasp.


    ¡°DIE!¡± Aria screams. ¡°DIE! DIE! DIE!! DIE!!! DIE!!!!¡± The taste of blood rises to Aria¡¯s lips as she screams, her throat cracking with the force of her bellows.


    ¡°That¡¯s enough!¡± A booming voice and a powerful wind tore through the scene of chaos.


    Aria¡¯s feet left the dirt as she was torn away from the black hearted fiend she had been driven mad to kill. Aria¡¯s body was sent flying through the air, landing with enough force to sap whatever strength she still possessed. Who¡­ She thought weakly, searching for he whom wrenched Aria¡¯s prey out of her grasp. As she looked, Aria noticed she was not the only one to be abruptly thrown to the ground. All who had been involved in the scuffle, including Bela, had been blasted to separate corners of the area. Not only that, but the raging inferno that had once been her home was now gone. Replaced instead with the charred remnants of what used to be.


    Only a single man stood within a dozen paces of the blackened remains of the house and those lying in the dirt. The Chief. The realization killed whatever remained of Aria¡¯s blazoned desire to kill Belatrice. At the mere sight of the man the hellfire that was her fury was replaced by smoldering embers. For no matter how much Aria wished to kill Belatrice, she knew power she could muster would be enough to get past the Chief.


    The Chief stood amongst the former site of chaos, eyes narrowed, not a hint of emotion etched into his face. ¡°What happened here.¡± He asks, chewing on each word before spitting it out. The sobbing sounds of Bela¡¯s voice ring out as she sobs unintelligible words, crawling through the dirt with pleading eyes, crying to her father. ¡°I said enough Belatrice.¡± He spoke, as if were a warning. ¡°Warriors of this clan do not wail like infants.¡± Bela, obviously not getting the message, continued sobbing as she clawed at her father from the ground. ¡°Silence, girl!¡± Another blast of air rocks Bela back several paces, depositing her squarely on her rear.


    Not wanting Bela to have the chance to plead with her father, Aria spoke first. ¡°It was her!¡± She shouted. ¡°She was the one who did this!¡± Aria gestured desperately at the wreckage of her home. ¡°She murdered my brother and burned down my home! Aria¡¯s shouts mixed with the bitter emotion of saying out loud her worst nightmare. Her brother was dead. Using every bit of resolve under her control, Aria fought to stave off the torrent of tears she knew were just beneath the surface of her soul. Even so, she could not hold back every tear, as a single, solemn drop rolled down her cheek. ¡°Belatrice did this.¡± She said, trying to force the truth upon the Chief.


    ¡°Is this true?¡± The Chief turns to ask his daughter, who had finally managed to stop her weeping.


    ¡°What does it matter!?¡± She screamed. ¡°That horrible bitch just tried to murder me father!¡± Bela shrieked and choked, grasping her already bruising throat. It was clear from the sound of her voice just how much it pained Bela to speak, yet she would not let that stop her from getting her way. ¡°Ask anyone here! She attacked me unprovoked, and even drew her weapon! If not for those here I would be dead! A blade through my heart!¡± Bela waved her arms maddenly through the air, before clutching her own pained throat.


    ¡°Unprovoked!?¡± Aria screams, ¡°you MURDERED my brother! While he slept you set fire to my home! As I was out fighting¡­¡± Aria¡¯s thought was left unfinished, as she saw the Chief raise his hand, indicating he¡¯d heard enough.


    ¡°I understand.¡± He spoke with his eyes closed, voice still cold and distant. He turned to face his daughter, replacing his emotionless visage with one of pure disdain. Belatrice,¡± he said, such a way as to ensure his daughter knew the severity of her sins. ¡°I have told you time and again that it was not your responsibility to deal with the Hashi. However, you have defied me, and defied the will of the Mother!¡± By now Bela¡¯s face was contorted in terror.


    ¡°B-but father¡­¡± she began, standing and reaching for her father.


    ¡°You have stolen Aria¡¯s honor! Honor which she will never be able to reclaim! As such, you too shall know how it feels to stand before your clansmen in dishonor.¡± By the time he finished his sentence, the Chief¡¯s voice was low and menacing. Barely more than a whisper. The Chief¡¯s hand reached out, and Bela flinched away, and just like that, with but a flick of his wrist, Bela¡¯s clothes were torn asunder. So thoroughly as to not even leave a single strand still clutching the woman''s body.


    As the force washed over her, and as Bela realized what had just happened, she dropped to her knees and covered herself, screaming in anguish. ¡°Stand up, daughter.¡± The Chief¡¯s menacing voice reached out. ¡°You will stand, naked and honorless, as you have done to Aria.¡± Bela remained hunched over on the ground, unwilling it move. ¡°Do not make me tell you again, girl.¡± With the sound of the Chief¡¯s unwavering voice, Belatrice stood, with tears streaming down her face, and with her arms clutched across her chest. ¡°You are not permitted to cover yourself.¡± Bela¡¯s arms slowly fell to her side, and a look of shame and embarrassment spread across her face. All those around averted their eyes, taking pity on her. ¡°Now, go to the village square, kneel before the Mother, and bef for her forgiveness.¡± All Bela could manage was a slight nod, as she began her somber walk towards the village center.


    As all of this unfolded, Aria looked on. A look of sheer shock plastered to her face. She wanted to feel pity for the girl, but she could not. It was this woman, and her alone, who murdered Sota. She killed Aria¡¯s brother, for no other reason than pure malice. Whatever she suffers, it isn¡¯t enough. It will never be enough. Aria thought to herself, as her gaze made its way to her brother¡¯s still body. Seeing him there, so small, and so helpless, brought fresh tears to Aria¡¯s eyes. She averted her gaze, unable to look at her brother¡¯s corpse.


    ¡°Wait!¡± Deja shouted from Sota¡¯s side. ¡°He¡¯s still breathing!¡± She shouted as she lay her ear against his chest. ¡°Yes, I¡¯m certain of it! Although¡­¡± Deja trailed off as a sorrowful look clouded her face. Aria lay on the ground, not but a few paces from her brother¡¯s side. She dragged her body, broken and burned, over to his side, hope rekindling within her chest. As she bent low to to inspect his body, Aria confirmed it. He was alive. Sota was alive. His breaths were faint, labored and wheezing, and he was clearly in pain, yet still unconscious. But alive nonetheless. Whatever plagued his body growing up had clearly been made worse by the fire and smoke. Sota, please, just open your eyes. Aria pleaded, begging any deity that would listen.


    ¡°We must put the boy out of his misery. Once and for all.¡± The Chief¡¯s voice rose from just above Aria.


    ¡°NO!¡± she screamed, throwing her body over her brother¡¯s, desperate to protect him.


    ¡°Aria, the boy¡¯s illness has spread. He lives, it is true, but he lives in agony. Every breath paining him.¡± Aria looked up to see an unusually soft look in the Chief¡¯s eyes. A look Aria had not seen before. ¡°Even so, he is alive! And I know Sota! He would want to live. Whatever the pain. Pain is nothing to our people!¡± Tears streaked down Aria¡¯s face.


    ¡°But Aria, as a member of this clan¡­¡± The Chief started, before Aira cut him off.


    ¡°To hell with the clan!¡± she shouted. ¡°What the hell has the clan ever done for me? For us!?¡± Aria fought back the sobs filling her chest, knowing that if she let even one out, she could not stop the rest. Aria looked down at her brother, tears welling in the corners of her eyes. ¡°Our parents died for your stupid clan.¡± As she spoke, Aria¡¯s hands gently caressed the side of Sota¡¯s face. ¡°I won¡¯t let Sota die for you too.¡± Then Aria looked up from her brother¡¯s face, clear determination written across her face. ¡°I¡¯m done with this goddamned clan!¡± she shouted. ¡°I¡¯m taking Sota, and I¡¯m leaving! We are no longer part of your clan.¡± she finished, staring daggers into the Chief¡¯s eyes. The crowd that still lingered grew uneasy, unsure of how the Chief would react. Aria continued to peer into the Chief¡¯s eyes, letting all of her resolve wash over him.


    And the Chief stared back. Icy slits letting no emotion escape. It was such a stark contrast to the softness that Aria had seen before, she wondered if it had ever been there to begin with.


    ¡°So be it.¡± The Chief said, after what seemed like a lifetime of silent staring. The crowd collectively looked taken aback, shocked by the turn of events. ¡°You may take what belongings you still possess, and you may leave. But if you wish to do so it must be this very second. You will either leave this place now, or kill your brother and return your honor as a member of the clan.¡±


    Aria sat stunned, but only for a moment, for she knew the Chief was serious. If she delayed a moment too long neither her nor her brother would live to see the sunrise. And so, Aria hefted her brother Sota, gritting through all her pains from the fire and fight with the white weir, and she began carrying Sota away. She locked eyes with Deja, trying to convey as much in the single look as humanly possible. Regret, admiration, gratitude, everything she felt when she looked into Deja¡¯s eyes, possibly for the very last time. As Aria turned to carry Sota through the village, the crowd that stood before her parted like a wall of water, as Aria set out to leave her home, and her clan, behind.