Circuit World

by Daniel Pierce

  I had a pang of panic, fearing that Safira might be leaving me then, but she did not join the rest of the party when they made to leave. I watched from a distance at my breakfast fire as several of the women went up to her and exchanged words. I could not make out what they were saying, but each of these interactions ended with the women taking their leave of Safira to rejoin the others as she sat at the opening of her tent looking off into the distance.

  The trackers bid me farewell and departed with their entourage in tow. I hoped to see them again soon, when the mood was considerably lighter. When they had disappeared over the crest of a hill to the south, I turned to see Safira’s attention on me. She got to her feet and made her way over to my fire. I looked to Henrik’s tent to find that he was still asleep, his feet poking out from the open flap.

  “Hello,” she said. “You are Si1ence, also known as Rixon, correct?”

  “Yes,” I said. “And you’re Safira, right?”

  She nodded and took a seat. I offered her a tuber from the tip of my knife that I had just finished roasting.

  She waved it away. “I have seen you in a vision. You are a hero, or at least you are on the path to becoming one. I admire that.”

  I looked into the flames, not exactly sure how to respond. Instead of replying directly, I changed the subject, saying, “Why did you decide against returning home with the others?” A bit of discomfort flashed across her face, so I added, “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

  “No,” she said. “It’s fine. I just . . . I do not feel that I would be welcomed back. My father… he is a warlord, and I—I hate to think this—but I believe that he is working for that cursed Dukayne.”

  “That name keeps coming up. I haven’t met the guy, but he sounds like a piece of shit, this Dukayne.”

  “That is a nice way of putting it,” she said without a hint of sarcasm. “He is one of the masterminds behind the Gray Favor. He is directly responsible, I believe, for my capture as well as the enslavement of scores of the others maidens that just left us. My own kidnapping was far too easy for his henchmen, which only served to further my suspicions that my father is in his thrall. I believe that, if I were to return home, I would only find myself at his mercy again. I suspect that my father made a deal with the bastard to trade me for something—power, gold, or perhaps the aid of mercenaries.”

  “I’m sorry you’ve been through so much. You can stay with Henrik and me for as long as you need.”

  “That is kind of you, Rixon. But I could not impose.”

  “It would not be imposing,” I countered. “I know for a fact that Henrik wouldn’t mind having a beautiful woman accompany us. I for one wouldn’t mind learning any magic that you could teach me. It would be a fair trade—more than fair—as far as I see things.”

  A radiant smile stretched across her full lips and she said, “Then it is settled. We will join forces and see what the future has in store for us.”

  There were several horses left at the camp. The trackers had taken a few, but there were more than enough for Safira to choose from. Henrik and I saddled up on our own steeds and released the rest into the wild, wishing them luck but not willing to expend the energy to bring them safely from the desert. The paladin seemed confident that they would be able to retrace their steps, proclaiming that those desert ponies had an impeccable sense of direction.

  Our return journey gave Safira ample time to talk more about her situation. Her mother, she told us, had died of a fever three years prior, and her father was stricken with grief ever since. The warlords in neighboring territories along the eastern border of the Zone of Leaves had been slowly chipping away at her homeland’s boundaries during that time, since her father’s army could no longer receive the aid of the forces belonging to her mother’s family.

  Her father had grown desperate to maintain his hold on what little land he had left and offered Safira’s hand to a cruel old man who governed a neighboring military power. This man was known for mistreating his women, having killed several wives over the years in fits of rage, and Safira was not willing to be another of his victim’s. She suspected that this was what drove her father to turn to Dukayne and Kerzin, trading her for their help.

  After learning all of these finer details, I was more fully able to appreciate her reluctance to return home. It seemed that there was truly nothing left for Safira to return to. In that sense, we were both adrift—me in a different world, and she in a world with no safe harbor.

  Our second trek through the Fetid Wood was no easier than the first, save for the lack of a man-eating house, but Safira’s company was enough to lighten the experience immeasurably. That and the fact that I had actually gotten a full night’s rest was more than enough to provide a little extra pep in my step as we climbed over rickety vines and trudged through muck that was knee-deep in some places. Not underestimate the power of sleep—or the presence of a beautiful woman. Together, those factors made me feel damned near invincible.

  It was through this stretch of our journey that I got more of a glimpse of how strong Safira was. There was never a moment where we had to pause for her to catch up, and not a breath of hers was wasted on pointless complaining. I had to wonder if I would have been able to hold up as well as her if I was marching through the mud in my own body without the help of this avatar’s shredded waist and bulging quadriceps.

  We emerged hours later, relatively unscathed. There were, of course, several wounds from those vicious barbed thorns and my dreaded swamp ass had returned with a vengeance, but other than that, all was well.

  This time, I decided to follow the entire length of the Windswept Path back to where it met the eastern edge of Tir’Nadrun. The idea was that having a solid road beneath our feet would hasten our approach to the city. This would have been the case had we not run across a small group of Gray Favor lackeys on our way.

  We met them as we came to a bridge over a stream that my map informed me was called Pidgeon Brook. The stream appeared to flow for miles all the way into the forest that was our destination.

  My first thought was that these were the men who had escaped the battle of the previous day, but there were no wizards among them, so I assumed that this was a separate group entirely. As with Conn Felvid and his cronies, I attempted to at least have some initial discord with the men before we came to blows, but before I could open my mouth to greet them, their swords and maces were already in their hands.

  Henrik and I dismounted, and I urged Safira to stay a safe distance behind us. My scimitar was out and ready to draw blood. This time, I noticed that Henrik had chosen to use the cinderblock-sized war hammer that had been hanging at his waist the whole time instead of pulling out his sword like he had during the previous battles. He spun it around in his palm as we crept closer to the men intent on doing us harm.

  There were only six of them, and after the scene we had just left behind, I had no doubt we could wipe these assholes out in no time at all. They didn’t know what was coming.

  One man led the charge, running straight for me with his herd stampeding behind. My arms went rigid against the weight of his mace as I lifted my sword to meet it at a 90-degree angle. Another man came to assault me from the side while I stood compromised, but Henrik stopped him short, swiping at the back of the man’s head with his massive hammer. There was a gut-wrenching crack as the blunt metal met the comparatively thin layer of bone around the man’s brain. He toppled over and was kissing my feet in the next instant.

  I turned back to the man who still stood with his bludgeon pressing down for my head and kicked him back. I took the moment of freedom to draw my second blade and lunge forward, ramming both of my weapons into his tender stomach. He squealed and dropped to his knees, not yet dead but surely out of commission.

  The next man approached to my right, and in a single fluid motion I took my decorative sword and plunged it into his exposed chest as swift as the wind. He was down before he even had a fighting
chance. Time seemed to creep by as their blood splashed over Henrik and me, the two of us dancing in the glory of it all. My ability to handle multiple enemies in battle was quickly becoming second-nature.

  I watched Henrik drop the fourth man who charged the paladin with his sword out to the side, leaving him no less exposed than if he was carrying the blade over his head. Henrik jabbed outward with the end of his hammer and knocked the man back, almost forcing him to stumble over his own feet. The mighty warrior stepped in to fill the void that his adversary had left behind and brought the end of his solid brick of iron down on the guy’s head. He clenched his teeth so hard that several of them shattered, sending blood drooling down his chin.

  The fifth rogue charged between us, and I caught him between the ribs with my blade. Henrik swooped in to assist, although needlessly, and hammered the man further onto my spike from behind, like he was driving a tent stake into the ground. He screamed each of the three times the big man slammed his weapon into his shoulder blades. I kicked him off to make him lie on the ground with his vile companions, thinking how this might have all been avoided if they’d just taken a moment to talk as I wanted to do in the beginning.

  Henrik handled the sixth and final vagabond, jamming his hammer up into the man’s stomach, forcing the breath to evade his lungs and lifting him a full foot off the ground. He dropped face down in the grass, and Henrik sent his weapon sailing downward to meet the back of his head. The fight was over quicker than it had started.

  The end-of-combat user interface window showed me nothing unusual—simply that I earned 150 experience for two full kills and a partial kill of 3 Gray Favor henchmen. I had earned 25 silver coins.

  I smelled the iron of their blood as I turned back to face Safira, who was watching me with her jaw hanging slack. The blood was already beginning to form bubbles and drip off of me and my clothing, as was the tendency with all the liquids that came into contact with my avatar as I was leaving the scene that had caused them to stain me. I worried, not that I was simply seeing fear in her face, but that her fear was coming from feelings she had about me.

  “Do you see a monster, Safira?” I asked her, trying not to appear timid and worried about her answer.

  She tightened her jaw and sat up straight on the horse, saying with proud conviction, “No. I see justice. And justice is something I can respect.”

  13

  I threw Conn Felvid’s sword down in triumph, blood still flecked along its reflective exterior. The Presence was already gathered around. Several of them had begun shouting, protesting my entry before my foot even crossed the threshold from the library into their precious Hearth, incredulous that I would dare to defy their ruling. Now they had changed their tune. Each of them, from the ones who vehemently opposed me to those who were willing to give me the benefit of the doubt, were standing in stunned amazement.

  Frey stood at the group’s head, as did Faun and Binari. Henrik and Safira had accompanied me all the way there, as had Horan, who jumped to join our party upon seeing us ride through the clearing that was the town square.

  I did my best to explain over all the yelling why I had returned against their wishes. I had solved their little slave problem and thought they would be grateful to me. If they heard any of my words, it did little to endear me to them. As tended to happen with people, their egos got in the way of the facts, and few of them could see past my act of defiance, least of all Elder Frey, who was the epitome of a crotchety old man. After an initial expression of shock at seeing me toss the sword to the stone floor to further illustrate the favor I had done for them, his scowl returned.

  “Proof enough?” I asked, breaking the sudden silence. And then, asking a question I already knew the answer to, I added, “Are there any of you who still doubt my intentions?”

  Frey stomped his foot on the floor. “What is that sword supposed to demonstrate, boy? That means nothing to us! You say you have killed this Conn Felvid and then you throw this blade on the ground. Are we to assume that it is his? On whose word? Yours? This is preposterous!”

  “Well, then,” I said. “If you won’t listen to my account, at least hear what Safira and Henrik have to say.”

  I stepped to the side to allow my two newest companions to tell their tales. The gathering was oddly quiet while they both presented their cases. I supposed that neither the massive paladin nor the alluring young woman had yet offended the Presence—they were more pleasing to look at, perhaps—so they were immediately seen as having more credibility than me.

  Henrik told of our adventure so far, from the point we met all the way up to when he set foot in the Temple. He explained his ability to see the wickedness in others and vouched for my ethical alignment. Though he was not around when I claimed to have slayed Conn Felvid and his lackeys, he wholehearted believed my story and explained that, although the Presence seemed like generally reasonable people, he could not understand why they had such a hard time taking my word as proof.

  Safira was the next to speak, explaining what a strong hero I was and how she would still be in chains or even dead if I had not come along to rescue her and the dozens of others who had been enslaved. I chimed in only for a moment to tell of the trackers who I rescued that promised to arrive at the city when they finished returning the slaves home. I was sure that they would testify and vouch for both my character and the validity of the events.

  When Safira had given her perspective on what happened, she went on to tell of her desperate father and how she suspected that he was behind her imprisonment in the first place. She was not shy in proclaiming that she was highly suspicious that her father was involved in shady dealings with the enemy. There were murmurs among the onlookers at this statement. It seemed that at least a few of them were aware of her father and the other small factions to the east. I focused on whispers among these murmurings which expressed fears that these other factions were rallying behind the Gray Favor’s cause in an attempt to expand their own influence. Apparently, or so I thought I heard, the Gray Favor already had a strong foothold in the western half of the forest, and it could be disastrous if they allied with the armies to the east of the Zone because this would allow for easy flanking of Cul’Maryn.

  “The woman is full of lies!” came a cry from the tail end of the crowd.

  Everyone turned to see a middle-aged man robed in green pointing a shaky finger at Safira. His body was overcome with tremors, and I had a feeling that it wasn’t his nervousness behind it. He took a rigid step forward, his left foot leading while the rest of his body lagged behind, eventually catching up. His second step ahead was just as awkward, as if he was still trying to get used to his physical form after so many decades of life.

  People parted to allow him through, their faces etched with as much confusion as mine. He continued to berate Safira as he progressed, but not once did the man make direct eye contact with the warrior princess. Instead, his eyes looked off to his left as if he were enthralled by something hanging on the high wall somewhere over other the entrance. I made a quick glance over my shoulder but found nothing out of the ordinary there.

  For the longest time, his feeble footsteps were the only sound in the room aside from a few of the older Presence members’ labored, raspy breaths.

  “Lies! All lies!” he decried, offering up no explanation for why he felt this way. Just by looking at the other members, I could see that they were less willing to distrust this pretty young woman than they were willing to regard me with suspicion.

  Elder Frey actually stepped forward as the man passed him by and said, “Now now, Ulran”—he held up a hand to calm the man down—“let’s give the girl a fair chance and decide on the merit of her story after—”

  “Lies!” Ulran screamed over the Elder, as if he had not heard the old man. “How dare any of you waste your time on these louts!”

  Without another word, he reached into the folds of his robe and withdrew a metallic object that glinted in the dim lighting of one of the cub
bies nearby. I sprang into action before consciously recognizing that what I was looking at was a dagger. My scimitar was in my right hand in the next half-second, and I sprinted over to intercept the attack. He was within arm’s reach of my princess, and I wasn’t about to let him get any closer. Indeed, he had already gotten close enough.

  His tiny blade was halfway between him and Safira when I was close enough to do something about it. It had traveled closer still when my iron sliced his hand from his wrist, sending the dagger and the fingers latched around it flying the rest of the way to brush against Safira and fall to the stone at her feet with a loud clang.

  He dropped to his knees and began screaming in agony, grasping his severed arm with his remaining hand, looking at the fresh bloody nub in shock. It was clear to me that I’d made the right decision—the only decision—but I was doubtful that the Presence would see it that way.

  “Someone, take this man to the clinic!” commanded the Elder. Several druids, both men and women, rushed over to lift the man to his feet and lead him away.

  “I’m sorry!” he wailed. “Dear god, forgive me! It was out of my control!”

  I watched everyone that remained, waiting for the next wave of insults and accusations to come my way. Elder Frey was not looking directly at me, but instead was watching me from the corner of his eye.

  “It, uh . . . it appears,” he stammered, hesitating, “that, uh, Brother Ulran was under some sort of mind-control spell.” He looked to several of the others, who were all nodding agreement. “I think that fact is undeniable to the seniors here. You all saw the shimmering halo around his head, yes?” More nods. Frey was blushing with what I could only assume was embarrassment. “I, uh, supposed that we did not notice it before because there was some sort of trigger that brought the spell out of virtual dormancy.” More nods. I was beginning to get the idea that they were all ashamed to have not noticed this detail about their brother until it was too late. I wondered if that would have any impact on any of their standing with the Presence. “It is only right to . . . thank you, Si1ence,” he admitted, stepping forward to extend a hand of apology.