The Keeper's Codex: Ashen Memories

by A. D. Wills

  “But we didn't do anything suspicious,” Sappo's teeth chattered, seeing guards in all directions.

  “Crap, that was quick,” Caden fumbled around.

  “They're beginning to block our exits as well,” Snillrik looked around at the gathering guards to cut everything off ahead of them.

  Caden looked around as the guards closed in around them, and spotted a stand full of fireworks. “I've got an idea.”

  Caden dashed over to the stand, grabbing as many fireworks as he could carry, and spotted an open flame just across the street at a fancy looking food-stand that served all sorts of delicacies. Caden clutched the fireworks tight, and approached the food-stand.

  “Sorry, I'm gonna borrow this for a minute!” Caden butted in, and tossed all of the fireworks on the open roasting flame built inside of the cart. “Out of the way, live fireworks coming through!"

  Caden shouted out, waving like a madman behind the cart he kicked, and rolled along through the crowd tempted to jump in and do something, but the lit crackling fireworks kept them away with sparks shooting out—threatening to go off any second. Just as Caden hit the steps of the gambling house, he jumped away from the runaway cart, and all the fireworks exploded in unison—blowing up the awning, and ensuing widespread panic.

  “Got'em,” Caden beamed an accomplished grin as the roof caught fire.

  “What are you doing!?” Sappo yelled over, nearly dropping all the food in shock.

  “It's either us, or help put that out, right?” Caden reasoned with a cocky look as if it were any kind of remotely intelligent plan.

  “I suppose it will suffice for the time being,” Snillrik conceded. “But we should take advantage of this while we can.”

  The three of them slithered away through the panicking crowd, with the seemingly endless chain of fireworks distracting all the guards. Slipping through unnoticed, they escaped outside the city.

  “You! Get back here with my contract!” An emphatic voice shouted out.

  Caden, Sappo, and Snillrik turned around in stride to see the same hooded person from the guild.

  “Do you know them?” Snillrik asked.

  “They saved us in the guild, but we never took a contract,” Sappo replied.

  Caden stayed quiet, shifting his eyes over as Sappo caught him in the act.

  “What are you hiding?” Sappo's face dropped.

  “I might've snagged a contract on the way out.” Caden reached inside his shirt, pulling a contract out.

  “Then I would guess that is the contract they're referring to,” Snillrik pointed out the obvious.

  “We were in the clear too...we were so close,” Sappo repeated in a nervous groan.

  “We're fine, and besides, it's ours now. Not like I stole it from them.”

  “Maybe we can lose them if we just get the wagon, and ride away,” Sappo conceded, knowing there wasn't much they could do about this.

  Caden took out a whistle from his shirt, and blew on it as hard as he could.

  “Great, and now the whistle for the wagon doesn't work,” Sappo sighed.

  “Not necessarily,” Snillrik lifted a finger in the air. “Perhaps it's just us who can't hear it.”

  On cue, the land-lizards stomped around the corner, whipping the wagon behind them on their way toward the whistle's source.

  “Come on, let's go!” Caden hurried them along.

  They all climbed on, and Sappo snapped the reins with anxious fervor, but the land-lizards took a few seconds to get up to speed, more than enough time for their hooded pursuer to climb aboard.

  “I said give me my contract,” their cold words frosted over them.

  The land-lizards jolted up to speed, and threw their pursuer into the back of the wagon, smacking their head to knock them out cold while unfurling their hood in revealing their identity.

  Chapter 9: The King's Tournament II

  “To the arena please, Bels of Crakus, and Typhon representing Tortsia's Adventurer's Guild,” Lorin announced in keeping the tournament rolling along on a snappy schedule as planned.

  The crowd roared for Typhon, a renowned hero known all over the country for his extraordinary accomplishments, and claiming to explore the most dungeons in all the land.

  “You, and you, let's go.” Reiner pointed to both Bels and Typhon, and carried on ahead down the tunnel.

  Typhon made sure his thin pristine cutlass was secure on his waist, and combed through his perfect flowing golden hair he looked to have spent a great deal taking care of. His jeweled armor looked to be specifically fitted for him, and perfectly polished, without so much as a dent tarnishing its pristine appearance. When he discovered Bels was his opponent, Typhon grew a creepy smirk.

  Bels wore her same old casual beige shirt, and didn't pay Typhon any more mind than an unimpressed look of exhaustion. On her way out, she felt Yango tug at her baggy white pants tucked into her tight footwraps.

  “Don't get hurt, or lose now,” Yango opened one of his eyes, yawning through a lazy halfhearted caution.

  Bels looked down at Yango with a look of scorn filling her cat-like eyes, and smacked the back of his head. “Just wait, and stay alert for once.”

  “Relax, we've got tons of time. I'll be ready in case anything interesting pops up.” Yango clutched his scythe like a comforting pillow.

  “Time that I can't believe I'm spending here with you...” Bels muttered walking away down the tunnel.

  “Oh come on, don't be like that!” Yango shouted in teasing before closing his eyes once again.

  Shyn examined both Yango and Bels. It was bothering him to no end as to why the Trust was here. But for now, he decided it was best to just keep an eye on them. He knew if he tried anything, it would at best delay the tournament, if not outright cancel it. Crossing a member of the Trust wasn't likely to end in a neat, easy manner.

  Upon revealing himself to the crowd, Typhon was showered by praise he had become so accustomed to. “My adoring fans!”

  Typhon twirled around—basking in the glory, and unsheathed his sword from its golden hilt, revealing a pristine blade shining bright into the sunlight. He put on a show, and jousted about with himself, showing off a quick riposte, followed by a boastful laugh filled with arrogant pride.

  “Are you about done?” Bels rolled her eyes with crossed arms on her side of the arena.

  “So eager to get to the action, are we?” Typhon spoke with a creepy smile.

  Bels reviled at Typhon, and looked up to Lorin with an intense glare, imploring him to get this bout going.

  Lorin got the message loud and clear, with a little shudder to go along with it, waved his arm to begin the bout.

  “It's a shame we must fight. You truly are stunning, if I may be so bold,” Typhon turned on his charms, or at least what he thought to be charms.

  “Say whatever you want, I don't give a shit either way,” Bels couldn't have cared less.

  “Oh, but so crass,” Typhon's shoulders curled. “We'll have to amend that. Perhaps after this, we might be able to acquaint ourselves more personally, and I can show you a few...manners.”

  “Not interested,” Bels refused.

  “I'm sure my reputation is enough to convince you of a good time,” Typhon didn't relent or miss a beat, continuing to leer his greedy eyes up and down Bels.

  “Never heard of you before.” Bels rolled her eyes in disgust.

  “Playing hard to get I see.” Typhon leaned in right in front of Bels, and blew into her ear.

  Bels' face changed to one expressing intense terrifying fury, and she swiftly kneed Typhon in his gut before he could do anything to defend himself.

  Typhon vomited everywhere on the grass, and with widened bloodshot eyes, gasped desperately for air that escaped him. His body felt momentarily crippled, and his legs wobbled on his way to his feet, as if to dance like a waddling chicken. More worried about his ego and reputation, Typhon was embarrassed to see those in the crowd shocked at him being downed so easily. He coul
d see them whispering to one another, surely laughing at his expense.

  “You...stupid bitch...you should have just gone along with what I said,” Typhon sucked in what air he could to recover, and held his thin sword up.

  Typhon lunged forward hoping to stab Bels, but she stopped it with her bare hands.

  Bels smirked, and with a mere flick of her wrist, shattered Typhon's thin blade into bits all over the ground.

  Typhon persisted, tapping one of the jewels in his gauntlet, and when it started to glow, he threw a punch in desperation to preserve his reputation.

  Bels caught his fist, and squeezed it—crumpling the armor around Typhon's hand, causing him to scream out in anguish.

  “Tell me, how much do you get paid for being a fraud? I'd love to know, it would be a lot easier than my line of work.”

  “Please, if you stop this—if you concede, I will give you anything you want...” Typhon shamelessly pleaded under his breath so the crowd couldn't hear.

  Bels let go of Typhon's hand, relieving him for a moment.

  “T-Thank you..I promise I...”

  Before Typhon could finish, Bels clutched his face with one hand, and slammed Typhon's head over and over again into the ground. When she let go, Typhon's body lay there limp, but not quite entirely lifeless. Just for good measure, Bels ground her foot on Typhon's unconscious face, spat on him, and went to head back down the tunnel.

  “Bels is the winner!” Lorin shouted out—at first a little nervous that Bels killed Typhon, but a few twitches indicated he barely clung on enough for the healers to take care of.

  None in the crowd believed their eyes, shocked into a near humming silence. A renowned adventurer, destroyed, and taken out just like that by an unknown entrant.

  “At least it wasn't all a waste,” Bels said, tossing Typhon's jewels up and down in her palm.

  The healers rushed out to tend to Typhon, while Bels casually walked back to the waiting area unscathed.

  “Nice going, sounds like you sucked the fun out of the crowd,” Yango commented the moment Bels walked back into the resting area.

  “Not my problem,” she replied, taking her spot leaning against the wall by Yango.

  In the meantime, Lorin scanned over the ledger, and this time, with a great sense of urgency. He could feel a little bit of tension rising up in the crowd, and none of this was going how he had mapped out either. First Shyn and Ackar’s bout going but a minute at most, and now this—Lorin was reeling.

  “This should very well do the trick to inspire the crowd once more.” Lorin pointed at the ledger with a determined fury, and stood to make his announcement. “Boroku of Um'Den, and Baldomir of Ashwyn, to the arena please!”

  Baldomir's name spurred the loudest amount of cheering thus far in the short life of the tournament. The vast majority of the audience knew his name, and the few who haven't quickly heard from those more than willing to hype up his appearance here.

  Advancing deep in the tournament every year, putting on fantastic fights together one after another, they respected Baldomir a great deal, despite never having won a tournament just yet. But that didn't matter. He came back every single year to put on a great show—displaying his roaring heart, fiery determination, honorable efforts in proudly representing his small volcanic island nation of Ashwyn.

  Instead of canals filled with water, trenches were dug in for the lava to flow throughout the city. To protect itself from the onslaught of ashen air, filtrees surrounding the city—a tree unique to Ashwyn—filters out the harsh air.

  Ashwyn was known to have a small royal family ruling it, but in recent years they have been left with only a young boy, far too young to rule on his own yet. Thus, Baldomir has taken that responsibility for the time being—a placeholder of sorts, but does so with great pride as if he were their true ruler.

  “Let's go, monk, Baldomir. You're up.” Reiner corralled the two entrants to be on their way.

  Baldomir dragged his heavy spiked steel ball and thick chain behind it, as he followed Reiner. He didn't wear any armor, other than Ashwyn's red tabard, and red baggy pants with bare feet. It was all Baldomir needed. Baldomir's hardened body, much like the molten rock Ashwyn rests upon, had been through much worse than a one on one fight.

  Most in the resting area looked worried for Boroku's well being. Compared to Baldomir, Boroku looked to be meager and frail. It wasn't as though Baldomir was the same hulking man Ackar was, but next to Boroku, he seemed to be just that.

  “Good luck, my friend,” Boroku turned his head, granting Baldomir a warm respectful smile devoid of nerves.

  Baldomir returned the early mutual respect with a stoic nod, and a shifting glance.

  Both Boroku and Baldomir took their places on opposite sides of the arena, and while the cheers heavily favored Baldomir, Boroku still had his fair share of support in being recognized as a Monk of Um'Den.

  “Now, begin!” Lorin swung his arm down to start without delay.

  Baldomir wasted no time in charging ahead—dragging his heavy spiked ball and chain with ease ripping through the ground, and sending bits of dirt and grass all over the place.

  Boroku didn't feel like waiting, and ran ahead to meet Baldomir in the middle—his baggy robed sleeves dangling limp at his sides.

  Baldomir came to a sudden stiff halt, and carried all of his momentum through to swing his spiked ball—letting out an echoing furious cry, hurling it at Boroku.

  Boroku smoothly shifted out of harm's way, and found a momentary opening with the spiked ball firmly planted in the dirt.

  Baldomir saw right away he missed, yanked on the chain with his immense strength, and the spiked ball launched toward Boroku from the rear.

  Boroku noticed in the corner of his eyes just in time, and once again avoided the ball that would have surely ended the fight if it so much as grazed his brittle body. He took this chance to dart in close to Baldomir, and jabbed two fingers into Baldomir's collarbone. That blow alone buckled Baldomir's whole right side, seemingly rendering it useless as his arm fell limp. Before Boroku could do the same to Baldomir's left side, Baldomir headbutted Boroku down, and threw a desperate elbow up to create some distance, causing Boroku to slide back in the grass a good few feet away, if only for a moment or two.

  Boroku refused to allow a moment of reprieve. He dashed back at Baldomir, and stopped dead right in front of him—sinking down below Baldomir's grasp, and swept his legs out from under him in one smooth swinging trip. As Baldomir's body fell to the ground, Boroku jabbed his other shoulder and neck in quick succession, rendering Baldomir's entire body limp, and helplessly falling to the ground.

  No matter how much he tried, Baldomir couldn't move an inch. All he could do was lay there, bite down, and look up at the bright sun that shined upon his welling eyes in defeat. He always fought with the entire pride and reputation of Ashwyn on his shoulders, and wanted nothing more than to bring home the reward of coin to his poor nation. But here he was, an early first round exit that he hadn't once pictured or expected.

  “Boroku of Um'Den is victorious,” Lorin shouted and the crowd gave a standing ovation in respect to both competitors, especially Baldomir. They could see the struggle in his face, and willed him on, giving him their support.

  “You fought with great valor, Baldomir. I might have taken a win this time, but none including myself can take away your pride, isn't that right?” Boroku offered a welcoming smile, and a hand. “Oh do forgive me,” it slipped Boroku's mind for a moment that Baldomir wasn't in a state to get up under his own power. Boroku reached down to grab Baldomir, and hoisted him up to carry back. “I do assure you, these effects are temporary. They will no doubt dissipate sooner than later.”

  The healers ran out, and offered to take Baldomir off Boroku's shoulders, but Boroku waved them off. They insisted on at least checking on Baldomir for injuries, but he appeared to be fine, at least on the outside.

  “Monk.” Baldomir turned his head to Boroku. “I wouldn't have
thought you stood a chance before, but you best win this tournament now. I at least want to say I was stopped by the winner...” That was as close to praise and acceptance as anyone was about to get from Baldomir, especially after a loss.

  “I'll certainly do my best,” Boroku donned his usual tame squinted smile, and Baldomir felt an odd guaranteeing peace from him.

  “Answer me this though, why's a monk even bothering with this tournament?"

  “As you rightfully suspect, I have no need for riches and glory. I suppose winning this tournament provides me with the best opportunity to speak personally with the King. A silly reason perhaps, though, I'd like to think it to be a fair one."

  “Fair enough then,” Baldomir shook his head, unable to fathom someone merely fighting for such a simple reason.

  Atop the balcony, Lorin looked to be more relaxed now after such a raging good bout, despite its brief nature.

  “You look awfully devious, Lorin. But I have to say, it's a little bit off putting. I'm sorry...” Calaera noted.

  “Apologies, m'Lady, but I'm confident to say, this will be a bout to be savored,” Lorin spoke with brimming confidence, and proceeded to get up and announce what he had in mind. “Now, to the arena...Thungar of Belbur and Aldriss Brynmor, of Rhogar!”

  Chapter 10: Skala

  The early morning sun peeked up over the frosty mountaintop, reflecting against the white snow sparkling in its light as Eszu and the others lined up along the edge, ready to take off on their hunt.

  “Alright, we should get going,” Eszu beckoned to his fellow Dracus on either side of him. “Remember, Skala's in charge, so whatever she says, treat it like it's coming from me. And Climor, Goga, try not to get in the way of things for once while we're gone,” Eszu picked out the two veterans sharing a friendly laugh with everyone at Goga and Climor's expense.

  “We'll make sure to help and give Skala some tips,” Goga replied.

  “That's exactly what Eszu's talking about,” Ralak remarked.