by Chad Corrie
“I thought only Asora healed.” Dugan ignored the elf’s comment as religious mumblings. He needed to know what had happened. He needed to know just what sort of goddess Gilban really served. Maybe one strong enough to—
“She does . . . for the most part.”
“But then—”
“I suggest being wiser next time you get into a fight,” Gilban continued. “Saredhel might not be so willing the second time around.”
“It’s still nothing short of miraculous!” Alara exclaimed. Clearly, this sort of thing was just as uncommon for her as it was for him. It made him wonder how much she knew about this blind priest she was following.
“So what do we do now?” He cautiously stood, making sure everything else was as it should be. It was. In fact, he felt better than he had in days.
“We?” Alara raised an eyebrow. “You’ve decided to come with us?”
“I think I’ve been convinced to stay.” He motioned to his healed side.
“Then as soon as you’re ready, we’ll find the others and get off this island.”
“What then? What’s this mission about?”
Alara paused as if sizing him up one last time. “You’re to aid Gilban and me on a matter of dire importance to the Republic of Rexatoius. You already know Gilban and I aren’t the same type of elves you’ve come to know. It’s the Elyellium who have sought to build a vast empire in ages past, and it’s the Elyellium who took you as a slave. We Patrious departed from their fold thousands of years ago and look to keep them from repeating the mistakes of the past.
“Recently, Gilban received a vision from Saredhel. It told of the Elyellium calling for the rebuilding of their empire through some knowledge hidden away in ancient ruins in the jungle of Taka Lu Lama on Talatheal. If they get their hands on this knowledge, they’ll use it to expand their power and influence, and the Republic of Colloni will become an empire once more.”
“And you’re sure about all this?” Dugan went from Alara to Gilban.
“I have foreseen it,” came the priest’s reply. “We must make sure the Elyellium don’t gain what they seek.”
“So what is this knowledge?” Dugan pressed Gilban. “And what are you planning to do with it once you get it?”
“We Patrious have long known that before mortalkind first emerged, there was a single race, called dranors,” said Gilban. “They were powerful beings blessed by the gods, able to do things we mortals can only dream of, but they fell into disgrace.” The elf’s unseeing eyes seemingly locked on to some far-off vision as he spoke.
“They became self-righteous, self-worshiping, and in their arrogance, they attempted to control the world. Some even claimed themselves to be gods, until the true gods punished them for their sins and sent them to their doom. However, before eradicating the dranors, the gods used them as the seedbed of mortalkind. That is the true history of the world, and very few know, save the Patrious and those who take the time to seek it out.
“The ruins hidden away inside Taka Lu Lama are what remains of a once-powerful dranoric stronghold. They contain information on how to build and maintain a strong empire for countless millennia, if not an eternity. We need to stop this information from passing into the hands of the Elyellium, for it was fragments of this knowledge that enabled them to establish their empire in the first place. To gain greater insight into such information would be to assure the new empire they’d build would be mightier than the current races have ever seen.” Gilban sighed, shaking his head. “I’ve foreseen the time when all I have told you will come to pass, and it is fast approaching.”
“You believe all this?” Dugan asked Alara.
“The priests of Saredhel don’t lie, and Gilban is one of the strongest among them. I trust him with my life, as do those who sent us and chose him as their representative on this mission.”
“But what happens to this information once you get it?” Dugan kept an eye on Alara.
“The Patrious have always been lovers of knowledge and history,” she replied with a small degree of pride. “Since the days of Cleseth, our nation’s founder, we’ve sought to record what has transpired in the world, both incredible and mundane. Through our efforts, we’ve managed to restore lost insight from ages past, after the various dark ages that covered the world. We also look to keep potentially harmful knowledge—like what the Elyellium seek—hidden from those who would abuse it or use it for great evil. We respect peace and don’t want to see another war for domination of Tralodren.”
“Their story checks out if you’re having second thoughts,” a gruff voice speaking Telboros said from the darkness. “At least as far as I’ve come to understand it.”
Dugan instinctively spun around, brought up his swords, and planted his feet. All he found were shadows in the street outside the alleyway.
“Show yourself.”
A figure slowly materialized out of the darkness. Dugan was amazed to see a dwarf stepping forward. Dwarves normally didn’t frequent the arena. He’d only learned about them through exaggerated tales from the other gladiators. Such stories gave them mythical qualities this dwarf apparently didn’t possess, like fiery eyes and a frosty breath capable of freezing a man solid.
The dwarf stood four and a half feet tall, stout and strong with thick muscles bulging from his arms and legs. His leathery skin was tinted a charcoal gray—darker than the two Patrious’ lighter gray complexions. His stern mouth was enshrined in a salt-and-pepper beard braided in two distinct strands cascading over his copper-studded brigandine leather armor, with the tips of each braid dyed a deep crimson.
His double-bladed axe swung from a holster on his belt. It was decorated with a collection of runes carved deep into the metal’s surface, twisting down the handle before ending at the dwarf’s ankle. He walked with a shortened gait and slight limp, which Dugan suspected was the result of him counterbalancing the axe’s weight. Not until he looked straight into the dwarf’s face did he see that his left eye was covered by a black leather patch decorated with golden runes similar to those on the axe.
Alara gestured to the new arrival. “Dugan, this is Vinder, one of the others we’ve gathered for this mission.”
“And what have we here?” The dwarf tugged at his braids. “This wouldn’t be the fellow who raised all the ruckus with the guards I saw a few blocks back now, would it?”
“Maybe.” Dugan lowered his weapons.
Vinder closed the remaining gap between them, narrowing his ice-blue eye as he neared. “Don’t tell me I have to work with an escaped slave!” He motioned at the mark on Dugan’s shoulder. “And a gladiator no less. I won’t join this mission if he’s along.”
Dugan saw Alara direct a concerned glance at Gilban, who simply stared blankly into space, a thin smile piercing his lips. “Why?” Alara calmly approached the dwarf. “I told you I was getting another sword arm. You knew he was coming. Why back out now?”
“We have enough to worry about without having to keep watch for bounty hunters. Trouble follows this one. I know his type. We don’t need trouble. I don’t need trouble.”
“But he’s a good fighter,” Alara rebutted.
“Most gladiators are. I just don’t want to be watching my back more than I have to. I have enough to worry about as it is.” Vinder crossed his arms. “You’ve seen what happened with the guards here. I’m not looking forward to a repeat of that wherever we go.”
“Once we get out of the Elyelmic lands, we’ll be less likely to run into any bounty hunters,” Alara continued. “We’ll be safer once we leave Altorbia. Trust me.”
Vinder lowered his head and closed his eye. After a moment he looked up again with a sigh. “You haven’t dealt falsely with me yet. I suppose I can afford you some more trust. But if we start getting more than our fair share of unwelcome guests, I might have to reconsider.”
“Your trust isn’t misplaced.” Alara’s faint smile helped smooth whatever rough patches remained.
“I wouldn’t wor
ry about it too much,” Gilban added. “You, as well as Dugan, are twined in this thread of fate. As are we.”
“He makes those flowery speeches a lot,” Vinder told Dugan.
“I noticed.”
“Well, I suppose you want the armor now, too, huh?” Vinder disappeared into the shadows once again. “Probably need it sooner rather than later.”
“Armor?” Dugan asked Gilban.
“You need to be properly outfitted if you’re to be effective,” explained the priest. “I sent Vinder to fetch some for you, along with a few other supplies.”
“We already spoke about this.” Alara’s face echoed the slight frustration in her voice as she cast Gilban a sideways glance. “I thought once we reached Talatheal we’d outfit him with armor there.”
“I have foreseen—”
“You told me confrontation could be avoided if we moved in haste.”
“The future is always in motion, Alara. You should know that. When I told you of potential conflicts, they could have been avoided. But the future is always changing its course. It’s still possible we can move ahead unmolested, but it’s wise to have him outfitted for further travel. That’s why I sent Vinder to retrieve some suitable armor before you arrived.”
Dugan raised an eyebrow when the dwarf returned toting a large sack, which he dragged across the cobblestone street to the mouth of the alley. “It took me a while, but I found it,” he huffed.
“I trust the funds were sufficient,” said Gilban.
“To the last copper piece. I’m just surprised they even had the suit for sale.” Dugan watched Vinder pull the armor out of the sack. “I hope it fits.”
“Your armor, Dugan.” Gilban gestured to Vinder and his sack. “Go ahead and try it on. You’ll need it in the time to come.”
Dugan sheathed his swords before picking it up and holding it to his shoulders. The armor, chiefly a scale mail shirt, appeared newly forged. It shimmered in the moonlight with a rainbow incandescence and, at first glance anyway, appeared to match his frame perfectly. The studded brigandine leather sleeves reached his wrists, and the shirt completely covered his torso.
“Oh.” Vinder dug out a gray tunic from the sack. “You might need this too.”
“Haven’t worn one of these in a while.” Dugan placed the armor at his feet and shed his cloak before donning the tunic. He stretched his arms across his chest, testing the garment. It was of good quality—far above anything he could ever have expected in the arena.
“It’s a perfect fit.”
“Gilban thought you might like some pants too.” Vinder rummaged through the sack once again. “I don’t blame him. I wouldn’t want to be looking at that breechcloth any longer than I have to either.” The dwarf thrust a wide leather belt and a pair of black trousers into Dugan’s grasp.
He kicked off his boots and undid his sword belts. “So Gilban had you shopping for me?”
“Just be thankful I did it,” the dwarf growled. “If you had that wizardess doing it, you might still be waiting. The lass keeps her head in the clouds more than her feet on the ground.”
“You have a wizard too?” Dugan slid the pants up under his breechcloth and belted them to his midriff. The pants, like the tunic, were a perfect fit. He pulled the mail shirt over his head. Having become accustomed to wearing all sorts of armor, he found it easy enough to don.
“We needed two strong sword arms and an extra hand in the matters of magic,” Alara replied, watching him drape the cloak over his shoulders. “And we have reason to believe the knowledge we seek might be protected by magical forces of some kind.
“Speaking of which”—Alara focused on Vinder—“have you heard anything about Cadrissa?”
“I’m here.” A sable-haired woman of Telborian descent entered the alley.
Dugan glanced up from putting on his final boot just as the moon returned from behind a cloud, allowing clear sight of the young woman. She was clothed in golden robes which flowed gracefully around her slender body. Silver runes embroidered the collar, hem, and cuffs, glistening where the moonlight hit. He also noted the handful of pouches hanging from her belt and the simple pack resting on her back. As with dwarves, the tales he’d heard in the arena about mages were fairly wild. And just as he’d learned when he first saw Vinder, it seemed not even a quarter of them were true.
“So this is the mighty warrior you went through all that trouble to acquire?” Cadrissa eyed him as if sizing up a prize bull. He noticed a slight turn at the corner of her lips as she did so.
“Cadrissa, this is Dugan,” Alara said, introducing them.
“I’m impressed.” Her manner was womanly, but her face and soft green eyes spoke of a naive nature, mingling with a strange aura he couldn’t quite identify. Dugan guessed she was fresh into the bloom of womanhood by no more than a few years. Her smooth, pale skin, delicate hands, and slim waist attested as much.
“A bit young to be a mercenary.” He busied himself with retrieving his sword belts, realizing just how naked he felt without them.
“Mercenary?” She was taken aback at his appraisal. “I prefer to think of myself as an explorer—an adventurer. You can only get so much knowledge from books. The rest you have to glean from experiencing the world around you.”
“Great,” Dugan moaned while strapping on his swords. “Another philosopher.”
Vinder chuckled beneath his breath. “She’s not too bad. If you can keep her from daydreaming. Haven’t had a chance to see her in a fight, but maybe she’ll be able to help as a distraction.” Vinder shot Dugan a mischievous wink. “The pretty face and all.”
“Just because I don’t rush headlong into every situation brandishing an axe like some drunken ogre doesn’t mean I’m useless,” Cadrissa retorted.
“Nobody said you were.” Alara came to stand between Cadrissa and Vinder. “And in time each of you will help fill your place in this mission.”
“Indeed,” Gilban added. “Now, we haven’t much time, so listen carefully.” He motioned for everyone to draw near. “You have all been told the reason for your selection for this journey. You’ve also been promised certain rewards, but only upon the mission’s completion.”
“Rewards?” Dugan shot Alara an ocular jab.
“Don’t tell me they didn’t tell you about the reward?” Vinder was surprised at Dugan’s ignorance.
“Not yet.” He noticed Alara seemed rushed to move on.
“You wouldn’t see me here without it,” said the dwarf.
“Once we get to the ruins and finish our objective, you’ll be free to take whatever you like back with you as payment,” Alara informed Dugan.
“Anything?” he asked.
“The ruins hold more than just knowledge,” said Gilban. “Riches of all sorts are hidden there too.” Dugan’s mind was suddenly alight with a whole new world of possibilities.
“Be patient and you’ll know everything.” Alara pulled Dugan’s attention back into the conversation, and to Gilban, whom he now watched with even greater interest than before.
“We are to leave this island tonight,” Gilban continued, “on the same boat that brought Alara and Dugan here. We head to Elandor. There, we’ll purchase supplies and provisions before setting out for Taka Lu Lama. Once we have retrieved the information from the ruins, Alara and I will return to the Republic of Rexatoius, and you three will be free to go anywhere you like, with any treasure you can secure.”
“So we’ll truly be free?” asked Dugan.
“The Patrious are masters of no one,” Alara reassured him. “As we’ve told you before. Once your task is complete, you can go anywhere and do anything you like.”
He nodded with satisfaction. The more he heard the more he liked. Working his fingers under his armor, he took hold of the breechcloth’s waistband and ripped it in two.
“You aren’t thinking of taking that with you, are you?” Vinder eyed the flaps of cloth dangling from Dugan’s hand as if they were something infected. And he
wasn’t the only one—both Alara and Cadrissa clearly had some reservations. The splotches of blood added from his recent wound no doubt increased the unease.
“No,” he replied, casting the garment into the nearby alleyway. “And I’m never going to wear another one ever again.” It felt good not only saying the words but also having it free from his waist. He was cutting some of the last strings tying him to his old life, and once he’d made it to Talatheal he’d make swift work of the rest. “Now, let’s get to that boat.”
“There it is,” Alara pointed as they neared the lamplit dock. Only the slapping of the waves broke the still quiet of the area. “Looks like we’re going to have a calm evening after all.” She was wearing her hood again, while the others did their best at maintaining a low profile.
“We haven’t made it into the boat just yet.” Gilban’s commentary didn’t dampen Alara’s hopes but didn’t fill her with peace, either.
“That’s right.” Vinder charged ahead. “Keep thinking positive now.”
“Once we’re on board, we—”
She was interrupted by twenty elven guards emerging from a small cluster of simple storage buildings on their right. With gladii drawn, brigandine vests, and nose guard–equipped helmets, they quickly lined up and formed a wall between the group and the sloop. Alara’s heart sank as she tried to decide what to do next, though the guards’ expressions made it quite clear her options were limited.
“What did I tell you about him causing trouble?” The frustration was clear in Vinder’s voice. And while she was tempted to blame this all on Dugan, she knew her own actions had caused an uproar as well. She was the one who’d actually killed the hunter, after all. For better or for worse, they were in this together now.
“I count twenty guards ahead of us, Gilban.” Alara tried keeping as much concern out of her voice as possible. “And they’re not going to let us pass.”
“Have you tried asking them to?”