The Keeper's Codex: Ashen Memories

by A. D. Wills

  “Whoa...good thing we ended up stopping here eh?" Caden smacked Sappo's back with gusto, gazing at the Torportoise.

  “No, there's nothing good about this other than we managed to get away,” Sappo snapped on the reins, carrying them well away from the beast, when it took one single step forward.

  The ground quaked, and threw the wagon up in the air—tossing Caden up with it, barely managing to hang on upon crashing back down.

  “Perhaps making as much haste as we can would be wise...” Snillrik politely urged.

  “I'm trying, I'm trying!” Sappo waved his arms around in a panicked fury.

  These three are going to get eaten alive out here...Zasha grimaced watching Sappo, Snillrik, and Caden as they all raced away from the Torportoise, and on toward the next village.

  Chapter 13: The King's Tournament Final

  With most of the competition having been thinned out, only the elite were left—waiting for the last few bouts to finally take place, edging ever closer to the anticipated finale.

  Lorin cleared his throat and stood up to announce the next bout. “Wulfsige the wandering warrior, and Yango of Estrana.”

  Inside the waiting area, Reiner met the others to relay the word. “Alright, looks like the next round's started. Wulfsige, Yango, you're next.” A stammering Reiner didn't even bother to lead them out at this point.

  Wulfsige with his battle scarred face, and missing right eye that's been cauterized shut, lumbered his way toward the arena with his collection of weapons all over his heavily armored body, clattering around with every step. He looked like a walking weapon shop more than a wandering warrior. Yet somehow, they didn't bother, or weigh down his thumping deliberate stride.

  Very few heard of Wulfsige. Only those who came across him during his travels across Gamriss knew about him, let alone recognized him in any way. He wasn't any general or soldier in the war of regions, nor was he any adventurer seeking fame and power. Instead, he merely wandered on his own without clear purpose. He belonged to no Lord, no duties to fulfill, or any goals known to anyone but himself.

  “Hey, Bels,” Yango nudged Bels who stood next to him.

  “What is it now? You've already won our wager, I said I'd handle Ezekiel for you...coward,” Bels sneered at Yango, one upset she lost, and two, at how spineless her partner was.

  “Come on now, at least wait before I tell you what I've got in mind.” Yango patted her shoulder, before just as quickly withdrawing his hand upon Bels striking a threatening glare. “How about double or nothing? I lose, you still have to talk to Zeke, because honestly, that's kind of a deal-breaker for me...but I'll give you double the amount of coin I owe you.”

  “Then what do you want if you win? Out with it already."

  “All I want in return is for you to help me get my hands on some of that glynt down in Avara. Just a quick in and out visit, it'll be easy.”

  “You're still on about that?” Bels looked away with a sigh. “If we get caught, Tirli will plead for the Divines to get involved.”

  “Ah, who cares about that fatass, no one likes him anyway,” Yango dismissed. "Besides, those Divines already hate our guts."

  “Fine, just get this over with, I honestly don't care anymore.”

  “Well it's no fun if you just leave it at that,” Yango pouted, but Bels ignored him. “Alright fine, but I'm holding you to it, I'm taking this as a yes.” Yango picked up his hulking scythe, and went to meet Wulfsige who was already in the arena.

  Everyone joined in unison to boo and hiss down at Yango, tempted to throw whatever they had down at him, but Yango reveled in it.

  “You're all too kind!” Yango egged the crowd on some more, waving his arms to bring it on.

  “Him again? I had already forgotten what his name was,” Calaera threw a scowl Yango's way. “Hopefully Wulfsige will be able to teach him a valuable lesson.”

  “Oh I'm sure he will, Milady," Lorin assured Calaera, and swung his arm down, eager to see Wulfsige take out Yango like everyone else.

  Yango and Wulfsige stood across one another, neither of them willing to make the first move, not yet.

  “Damn, so you're not gonna give some speech like the last one? You're actually gonna make me fight, aren't you?” Yango said with a disappointed sigh. “You know, it's a lot easier the other way.”

  Wulfsige didn't oblige in Yango's inane speech. He remained standing still, brooding in place— deciding what weapon to choose.

  “Not the talkative type eh...” Yango grabbed his scythe, and casually walked over to Wulfsige with his usual slumped relaxed shoulders. “Let's just get this over with then.”

  “You're from the trust aren't you?” Wulfsige asked in his gruff, hoarse voice.

  “Huh? What's it to you?”

  “I thought so the second I saw you and your friend's marking."

  “Friend? I bet Bels would crush you for saying that."

  “I know what your group does. I've seen your like around in my travels—killing without honor, doing dirty deeds for the highest bidder. It's disgraceful.” Wulfsige gripped a battleaxe from his broad back, and stalked down Yango.

  “Listen, it's none of your business what we do, alright? And what do you care about a few random dead people anyway?”

  Wulfsige, stoic, and focused, marched Yango down in stone-faced silence.

  “Alright, fine. But don't blame me for what's about to happen,” Yango shrugged off, meeting Wulfsige in the center of the arena.

  Wulfsige swung down his massive battleaxe the second he was close enough to Yango.

  Yango wore a sneaking grin, as if he had already won, and grabbed the bottom nub of his scythe when a large cloud of black smoke appeared from nowhere between him and Wulfsige—interrupting their impending clash.

  Thin white cloth wrappings sprung out from the cloud, entangling themselves all around Yango's hands and scythe to hold in place. Wulfsige was no exception either, restraining him with ease, without being able to do much more than muster a struggling twitch.

  “Oh come on!” Yango groaned in disappointment.

  “I guess it's time to get going...” Bels watched from the tunnel—this time wisely left alone by Reiner, and casually walked out into the arena.

  As the smoke cleared, a tall man, at least seven feet tall, completely hidden behind a baggy dark cloak stood between Yango and Wulfsige. The only part of his body that could be seen were his built vascular forearms, with thin white wraps around them that went all the way up his arms into his baggy cut off sleeves.

  “We're leaving, Yango,” the man said in a deep foreboding voice, widening his barely visible shadowy eyes at Yango.

  "Oh, Zeke, didn't even know it was you there for a second. Hard to tell sometimes when you wear that weird brooding cloak,” Yango awkwardly tried lightening the mood. “Can ya just give me a couple more minutes? It was just about to get good.”

  “You're not using that here,” Ezekiel quickly shut Yango up with that. “What we're looking for isn't here, and there's a new job for you two to take care of.”

  “And you can't do it?” Yango let slip to the thought of immediate sinking regret.

  Ezekiel glared down at Yango as though he was about to rip his head off.

  “Eh, what I meant to say was you obviously can't do it, because you're so busy and all. Can't any of the others do it? Just give it to Yaz and Taz. It'll keep them busy so they don't annoy me when we get back.”

  “Those two are already occupied, and I'm not the one asking for you and Bels, it's Midnight,” Ezekiel explained.

  Yango shut his mouth with a frightened gulp. "Ah, so it's the big boss eh..."

  “So what's this job?” Bels asked as she approached Ezekiel and Yango in the arena, the three of them without any care they were interrupting everything for their own affairs.

  “There's word of a Vessi having surfaced somehow. You're both going to find them, and make sure they stay alive, got it?” Ezekiel ordered.

  “Would y
ou look at that Bels, that's perfect! That means we get to go to Avara anyway."

  Bels cracked her knuckles in frustration. “You never completed the second bet.”

  “You're only there to find them. I didn't say anything about Avara, that's up to Midnight,” Ezekiel clarified.

  “Yeah yeah, fine, I got it,” Yango said. “But not even just popping by, and taking a little bit of glynt with us back?”

  Ezekiel stared back in silence, already fed up with Yango's presence.

  “Fine...oh and by the way, Zeke, Bels is gonna take care of our little debt thing you wanted to talk about, alright?”

  “I don't care, let's just go. I'm sick of you already, so anything to avoid dealing with you is all the better. Honestly, I can't believe I finally found a partner that can actually tolerate you.”

  “I don't tolerate him, but rather make sure he knows his place,” Bels said with a flat tone, before she took Ezekiel's hand.

  “The both of you just suck the air out of the room, you know that right?” Yango said before Bels clamped his mouth shut with her fingers by force.

  Ezekiel summoned another cloud of black powder, and when it dissipated, the three members of the infamous Trust were gone. The wraps faded away to nothing around Wulfsige, and collapsed face first, lying motionless on the ground in confusion sapped of all his strength.

  “He wasn't even given the chance he deserved...” Calaera felt sorry looking down at Wulfsige.

  “You're certainly right, but now, it seems as if we're left with a bit of a problem," Dreymond hinted to Lorin. Without either Yango or Wulfsige being able to participate, it left an awkward number of three entrants.

  “Seeing as we are left with an uneven number of three, perhaps we might allow Boroku and Shyn to fight one another to determine who gets to fight Lord Aldriss?” Lorin suggested, though not without an audible sigh. He knew Aldriss was worthy of getting a free-pass into the final, but he was hoping perhaps someone might have thwarted that on the way there.

  Calaera was all for the idea—excited at the prospect to see Shyn finally show her something he was waiting all day to see, but Dreymond couldn't be more against it.

  Dreymond trusted Shyn would withdraw the moment Shyn hears about the situation, but for now, he had to kill some time until Reiner let everyone know.

  “Well, perhaps we mustn't be so hasty,” Dreymond began to stall. “There should be a small reprieve after such a sudden event."

  “And just what might you be stalling for here, father?” Calaera obviously caught wind of it.

  “What? Stalling? Where is this coming from, Calaera? I simply feel they might need a moment or two to take it. Especially being so close to the final bout and all. It's a very weighty decision to make at this point in the tournament after all.”

  “You once again show how terrible of a liar you are. A word of advice, say as little as possible when it comes to crafting a lie. The longer you go, the more obvious your holes become. Really, I wonder sometimes where I get my wits."

  “Your mother, I have no shame in admitting, just as you've so easily inherited her terrifying presence...” Dreymond trailed off that last bit once he realized he was still speaking out loud. Anytime his wife, and Calaera's mother came up, Dreymond quickly shifted his attention.

  Calaera didn't even know her mother's name, and no matter how many times she asked when she was younger, Dreymond could never bring himself to say anything about her. Calaera wanted to know more, but she also couldn't bear seeing the pain on her Father's face at the mere mention of her.

  Back in the waiting area, only Aldriss, Shyn, and Boroku remained. None of them knew how it came to this, but all of them had a clear sense that somehow, they were the only three remaining now if Wulfsige or Yango hadn't returned yet.

  This means it's my time to leave, unfortunately. I don't want to, but I have to respect Dreymond's wishes. I wanted to have another fight at least, but these aren't circumstances I control. Shyn thought while scanning over the room.

  Shyn seized the first chance Aldriss and Boroku took their eyes off him, and darted away out of the arena unseen.

  When Boroku turned around, he noticed Shyn was gone, leaving himself and Aldriss alone in awkward silence. “Well, it would seem as though you and I are the only entrants left, Lord Aldriss.”

  Aldriss turned around to see Shyn had departed in the short moment he turned to grab another drink. “What? Oh yeah, guess you're right.”

  “Regardless of my admittedly slim chances, it will be my high honor to exchange fists with a vaunted Starborn.” Boroku approached Aldriss, leaning on the counter beside him. “At least perhaps take it easy on me for a little while, so as to give the crowd a good show,” Boroku tried breaking some of the tension.

  “Sure, whatever you say...monk...” Aldriss looked over at Boroku, but started feeling a dizzy sensation overtake him—seeing Boroku splitting into two images. “...What...what's this?” Aldriss looked at his hands with blurred vision, tensing his face to try and shake it off, but he fell off his stool—limp, and helpless as he smacked the back of his head on the unforgiving floor.

  “Lord Aldriss?” Boroku rushed to kneel down over him, thinking perhaps he had too much to drink, but Aldriss didn't reply. “Quick, I need a healer immediately, someone please hurry!”

  Boroku saw Aldriss breathing heavily, and already breaking out into a cold drenching sweat with his eyes tightly shut. He checked around Aldriss' body for any sign of injury or anything, but didn't find a single hint of one. Boroku closed his eyes and hovered his hands above Aldriss' body to sense any inner damage, trying to use what trained healing he as a monk knew, but again, nothing.

  “What's the meaning of this?” Reiner charged in with healers rushing in behind, and saw Aldriss convulsing on the floor. “What happened here, did you do this?”

  “I had nothing to do with this. I went to speak with him, and he suddenly collapsed on the floor. I already tried sensing any damage I might be able to heal, at least temporarily, but I wasn't able to. There's no trace of anything,” Boroku replied in a worried panic.

  Aldriss' body continued convulsing, no matter how tight the healers tried holding him down in place, shaking them wildly all over, until finally, his body went limp. But he was anything but calm. Aldriss' breathing intensified, struggling to gasp anymore than a short breath of air.

  “Whatever this is, he needs to be brought back to Rhogar immediately where his people can take care of him. We will escort him to ensure he remains stable, but he should be back home recovering. No point waiting around here when he won't be ready in time to fight anyway,” Reiner reasoned with a heavy hanging of his head. He knew the tournament was all over without any way out.

  “Are you absolutely sure he is stable enough to travel in his current state?” Boroku inquired.

  “For now, yes,” a healer replied. “While his breathing remains erratic, it is slowly calming down. Rhogar knows Lord Aldriss' needs better than anywhere, and it will offer the best place of rest and comfort. If we leave now, we will be able to arrive just before morning.”

  Boroku nodded, and accepted the healers' wishes. “Then I leave him in your able care.”

  Chapter 14: Calaera

  Once Aldriss collapsed, panic ensued between Reiner, Dreymond, Calaera, and everyone in attendance, not to mention Lorin who had no choice but to end the tournament. Without any participants remaining other than Boroku, he was declared the winner, and albeit a bitter end to a wonderful tournament, the circumstances were non-negotiable. Even Boroku expressed disappointment, but was grateful to be bestowed the honor by King Dreymond of being his escort in his travels to the Summit beginning first-thing tomorrow morning.

  By the time they returned, it was night, and the stars were out in a clear perfect sky—a good sign for a day of safe travels ahead tomorrow. As much as Calaera would have liked to have had one last dinner with her Father before he left, Dreymond didn't have any time. As per usual of late, he
rushed to his study, to bury himself in his work he never spoke of, at least not to Calaera, not in any detail. But she wouldn't be eating alone.

  “Care to join me, Shyn?” Calaera asked while she looked at her plate, sensing Shyn's presence from somewhere in her room. At this point, she would be able to guess when Shyn showed up, no matter how sneaky he might try to be.

  Shyn appeared in Calaera's windowsill, and climbed in, shutting the window behind him.

  “I've told you countless times, it's rude to spy, not to mention beyond just a little bit tasteless. Especially when you aren't so adept at doing so,” Calaera teased.

  “I wasn't spying, I...I just figured you might want some company is all,” Shyn stumbled a little over his words.

  “Then have a seat, no need to lurk in the shadows,” Calaera couldn't help but find Shyn's behavior amusing as always—smirking at his discomfort. “Here, have something to eat,” Calaera offered up a piece of steamed fish skewered on her fork, holding it up to Shyn sitting across from her.

  “It's alright, I'm not hungry,” Shyn turned her down.

  “You're not fooling anyone. I know you must be hungry after the tournament.” Calaera pushed the fork forward closer to Shyn's mouth. “Or are you simply being bashful?”

  Shyn turned away, pulled his concealing garb down just enough, and plucked the piece of fish off Calaera's fork to quickly shove in his mouth, before pulling it back up, and turning to face Calaera. “You're not fooling me trying to get a peak underneath.”

  “Could it really be so bad? I wonder...” Calaera mused, before finishing off her plate.

  “That's not the issue here."