Severance Lost (Fractal Forsaken Series Book 1)

by Unknown

  At the Bellator complex, the rising sun cast an eerie light on the Bellator Guardsmen preparing for the day’s mission. Villifor took a brief second away from his conversation with Magnus to address Slate.

  “Slate, you’ll be driving the supply cart. Make it to camp by lunch or the troops could kill you before you see your first battle.” Villifor pointed to a horse-drawn cart filled to the brim with food and supplies. Slate bit his tongue. He couldn’t afford to offend another headmaster.

  Instead, Slate climbed atop the cart and Villifor spoke to the assembled guardsmen before departure. “Today we travel to the village of Minot. It’s a small collection of houses gathered in the woods a 3-hour ride from here. I plan to make it there in two and be home by dinner. Any questions?” Why are we going to Minot? Are all the attacks so close to Ravinai or were they getting closer? How do I drive this fractal-forsaken cart? All of these questions came to mind for Slate, but they didn’t seem appropriate. “Good, let’s ride!”

  The Bellator Guardsmen kicked the flanks of their mounts and left Slate behind. Slate tried to remember the commands Rainier used to steer the carriage from Ms. Babblerone’s house to the Regallo estate, but his inexperience with horses prevented him from keeping pace with the seasoned Bellator Guardsmen. He drove the cart out of the northern exit of Ravinai and was able to glimpse the guardsmen disappear into a wooded path in the distance. Slate spent the next two hours progressing from a road through the woods, to smaller paths, and finally a trail so small his cart barely fit. With each fork in the road he passed, Slate’s confidence in his direction decreased. Just when he questioned his ability to return to Ravinai, much less find Minot, he heard a familiar voice. “This is a quiet path and yet it has seen much activity today. Perhaps you can tell me whether I should expect more travelers?”

  Lucus released his camouflage spell and appeared with Sana in the path ahead. The woodcutter made a habit of appearing when Slate needed him most. “Lucus! What are you doing here?”

  “Rainier found me last night and told me you planned to accompany Villifor on a Bellator mission. I thought you could use some friends to keep an eye on you.” Sana pointed out Slate’s obvious disorientation. “We followed Villifor’s troops out of Ravinai. You must be using some of your Sicarius training to ride in circles and disorient any potential enemy?”

  “Do you know where Minot is located?” Slate didn’t bother to explain the food cart.

  “Yes, I know Minot well. They are a simple people that welcome wandering woodcutters into their homes and tell tales by the fire. It pains me to think they could have been harmed.” Lucus continued with a solemn expression. “I don’t think Villifor will set up camp in the town, though. This path empties into a large meadow that would serve as a more suitable army camp. You should come across them in a short while.”

  “What do you plan to do?” Slate asked Lucus, who thought for some time before answering.

  “Villifor has too many people for us to investigate Minot undetected. Sana and I will help where we can but must remain hidden in the woods. I trust that you will investigate thoroughly and we can meet soon to discuss our findings.”

  The ease with which Lucus trusted him contrasted sharply with his own mistrust of Lattimer. “I’ll be sure to investigate thoroughly. Will you join me for breakfast with Ibson tomorrow?”

  “Of course… Fractal’s blessing to you.” Lucus left through the woods, guided by signs that only a master woodsman could decipher.

  Slate followed the small path until it opened into a large meadow, just as Lucus described. The guardsmen spread out to form a perimeter while Villifor stood in a command tent erected in the center of the meadow. Slate tied his horse and cart to a tree and headed for Villifor. “The tournament champion joins us.” Villifor announced as he approached. “If he starts now, he may have lunch ready for Magnus and his men upon the scouting party’s return from Minot.”

  Slate couldn’t swallow his pride completely and said, “I’ll serve Bellator in the manner in which I am needed, but why invite me on the mission if all I do is drive the food cart?”

  “You used a public gathering, an admitted weakness of mine, to force your invitation. I conceded to your inclusion in this mission, and to that end, I have fulfilled my obligations. Perhaps you can use this as an opportunity to learn horseback riding.” Villifor answered Slate, but his mind was somewhere distant.

  Slate wanted to get his attention. “What about your obligation to personally teach me? I have hardly seen you since the Bellator competition. Surely a war hero such as you would have at least a few words of wisdom for someone who can’t even ride a horse…” Slate added a little bit of derision in the words war hero, and it wasn’t lost on Villifor.

  “You ungrateful bastard! I have kept you away from these missions because you aren’t ready to fight with guardsmen.”

  “I’m a tournament champion and a survivor, the last from Pillar.”

  “You are a liability. I don’t expect you to understand since you haven’t taken a single Bellator course beyond individual combat, so I might as well just show you. Hop onto my horse and I’ll carry you like the dead weight you are to learn from Magnus and the reconnaissance party.” Villifor offered his arm to Slate with a sneer.

  “I’ll run. No one from Pillar needs a horse to carry them anywhere.” Slate’s wounded pride played a role in that last comment.

  “Suit yourself. Hya!” Villifor kicked the flanks of his horse and took off, leaving Slate to run in full armor and track the hoof prints through the woods. He churned his legs at a steady clip, not wanting to burn all of his energy at once and the physical exertion helped him to clear his head. He may have gone about it poorly, but he had managed to get Villifor alone. Slate intended to take advantage of the opportunity. The run worked up a good sweat by the time he came upon Villifor atop a rocky ledge. “You wouldn’t make a good horse, Slate. You are too slow and sweat too much.”

  “What is it you wanted to show me?” Slate asked respectfully, biting his tongue for once.

  “So you can hold back when you want to…maybe you aren’t a lost cause after all. Come here and look.” Slate stood beside Villifor and looked down upon a tiny, empty village situated against the rocky bluff upon which they stood. Magnus and his troops searched building after building. “Do you see how they work together? One person scouts ahead while another watches the rear. No one is trying to be a hero. This is the strength of Bellator. We don’t have magic and we don’t slink around in the night. We fight the battles that need to be fought…you would know this if you had proper training. By only taking the individual combat courses, you have made yourself into a liability. We fight together, but no one can trust you to know your role on the team. That makes you dangerous.”

  Slate kept quiet and watched Magnus and his teams methodically move throughout the village. The Bellator headmaster was right. “I understand your point. Why are you taking the time to teach me this? If I can’t be trusted to fight, than I’m of no use to Bellator.”

  “Magnus’ technique is perfect. His execution is superb. He would be a formidable commander to face in any battle, but he lacks one thing. Do you know what it is?” Slate watched Magnus more closely. He moved precisely and with absolute confidence, but it was almost too regimented. After a long period of observation, Slate had his answer.

  “Creativity…”

  “Correct. We don’t know who or what we will be facing. We haven’t had a direct encounter with our enemy in any of these missions. There have been signs of battle, including bodies, but we don’t know who sent them and we don’t know how to fight them…” That explained Villifor’s distant gaze earlier. The man had a lot on his mind.

  “Do you think it’s a Blood Mage responsible for the attacks?”

  “Blood Mage is a meaningless name. What does that tell us? We’ll be fighting an enemy with limitless power who can rain fire upon us and turn the man standing next to us into an enemy?” Villifor s
norted. “These are childhood stories. In reality, no one knows the capabilities of a Blood Mage because we’ve lost all knowledge of them. That is the most troubling piece out of everything. We don’t know anything about Blood Mages. We don’t know anything about whatever is attacking these villages. When the real fighting begins we will need to learn, and learn quickly. If we don’t, it will be too late.”

  Villifor turned his gaze from the village below to Slate. “You won the tournament by tricking Magnus and beguiling Lattimer into attacking when he should have maintained his defensive tactics. You adapted to your opponents, finding their weaknesses and exploiting them.” The look on Villifor’s face was more intense and focused than he had ever seen from the headmaster. In that moment, he knew for certain that the peacocking, crowd-pleasing act he put on for the public was a disguise every bit as effective as a Sicarius mask. “Malethya will need you. It won’t need you for your fighting skills. It will need you to adapt and lead us against our hidden enemies once they expose themselves. Do you understand me?”

  Slate had never thought of himself in that way before, but from the intensity of Villifor’s expression, he found himself nodding. “I understand.”

  Villifor turned back toward Minot again. “The search is wrapping up. I’m sure we have found the same thing we find at every other empty village…nothing. Let’s walk back to camp to get the report. I think you’ve run enough today.”

  Slate walked beside Villifor through the woods as he led his horse by the reins. The headmaster continued talking to Slate as he went. “Despite your directness back at camp, I believe you are right. I haven’t spent enough time teaching you, because I’ve been caught up in these investigations. Your final lesson for the day is adaptability. You might think this means the same thing as creativity or ingenuity, but it doesn’t. I have survived by being adaptable and there may come a time when you understand what I mean…”

  That didn’t make any sense to Slate, so he changed the direction of the conversation. “Are these attacks on tiny villages worth investigating? Brannon believes they only serve as a distraction from preparation for the true battle with the Blood Mage.”

  “Brannon has been spending too much time in his tower lately. I should go over there and beat him in a game or two of chess again to remind him of the importance of pawns. He is very clever, but he spends all his time positioning the kings, queens, and knights. Whatever is attacking these villagers may be a pawn in the eyes of Brannon, but he forgets that the tide of a chess match is usually established by the pawns. Pawns are like Bellator…individually we may not be as powerful as Ispirtu or Sicarius, but few can withstand us when we attack in numbers. Do you know my favorite piece on the chessboard?”

  Slate shook his head no.

  “The pawn that is left standing at the end of the game. I’m sure Brannon doesn’t even notice them, but they remind me of myself. If a Blood Mage surfaces, try to be the pawn left standing in the end…”

  Slate was beginning to understand Bellator and maybe even Villifor. He had viewed the guild simply as a collection of the kingdom’s best fighters. Now he knew better. Of all the guilds, Bellator was the most cohesive unit. Ispirtu fought incestuously and Sicarius didn’t even have knowledge of the other members, but Bellator Guardsmen depended on each other. Slate’s thoughts were interrupted by Villifor. “So what has your friend the Sicarius headmaster been up to?”

  “This morning, it involved throwing a knife a few inches from my head. If that is friendship, you can keep it…” Slate was happy to hear Villifor chuckle. He had managed to put the headmaster at ease for once. Wanting to stay in his good graces, Slate offered up some information.

  “The King has charged Sicarius with identifying the person behind these attacks. I’m sure this doesn’t come as a surprise, since he admitted giving similar objectives to Ispirtu and Bellator. What may surprise you is that the headmaster hasn’t found anything yet.”

  “If the Sicarius headmaster can’t find something, it is either because our enemy can outwit the headmaster or the headmaster is hiding something.” Villifor sighed, “I don’t know which outcome is more concerning…”

  The two of them re-entered camp to find it abuzz with excitement. Magnus awaited Villifor’s return with pride and arrogance smeared across his face.

  “Report,” Villifor commanded.

  “Minot was deserted, headmaster. We discovered signs of a struggle at multiple locations, including blood mixed with the dirt floors of the houses. Like recent missions, there were no bodies left behind.”

  “Then tell me why the excitement in the camp is so high, and why the guardsmen were privy to information that hasn’t yet reached my ears.”

  “Because we found this…” Magnus produced a small patch of fabric. On the fabric was the familiar symbol of King Darik. It was embroidered onto fabric bearing the familial colors of House Regallo. “It was hanging from the corner of a broken window. It must have gotten torn as the attacker entered the house.”

  “…and what does it mean? What are we to learn from a piece of fabric bearing the colors and crest of the two most powerful figures in Malethya?” Villifor looked to Magnus for a suggestion, but Magnus hid his ignorance with silence. Villifor studied the fabric for a second before understanding reached his eyes. He handed the fabric to Slate. “Let’s see if the cook can figure it out.”

  Slate studied the piece of purple fabric. It was unremarkable in every way, with the exception of a seam below the embroidered lion. Slate tried to picture the part of a shirt or uniform it would have belonged to, and he couldn’t pinpoint the location. If it was on the chest or the shoulder, the seam would be above the lion. He flipped it over, and the seam was a perfect match for a shoulder. “It’s not an emblem of a lion…it’s an emblem of an upside-down lion.”

  “Correct, Slate. Just for that, I’ll have someone else do the cooking today.” Villifor smiled and Magnus glared discreetly at Slate. “This is a cheap way for revolutionaries to get their point across. The lion is a prevalent symbol throughout Malethya and would be readily accessible to anyone. By sewing it upside-down, it signifies overturning the reign of King Darik.”

  “What about the Regallo fabric?” Magnus asked, attempting to make up for his initial ignorance. “That would seem to indicate Brannon, but he would never use his own colors on uniforms during an attack that he’s worked so hard to keep secret.”

  “You are right…and that’s what makes this piece of evidence even more damning. Brannon would not have purchased uniforms, but soldiers want to display their allegiances and tell everyone who and why they are fighting. Some passionate peasant purchased a lion patch and sewed it upside-down on purple fabric as a proclamation of their intent. We will need to show this to King Darik.” Villifor carefully tucked the fabric away. “Magnus, Slate, you have both done good work here today. Let’s see if you can combine your talents. I want you both to lead the clean-up crew. Magnus, you will be in charge of defense and Slate will be responsible for clearing the village.”

  “Why do we need to clear the village?” Slate inquired.

  “What was your first reaction when you heard the words ‘Blood Mage’?” Villifor knew the answer without a response. “If you thought that, how do you think the general population would react? They would board up their homes and cry themselves to sleep over bogeymen, blood mages, and every other campfire story. We need to keep this quiet until we know what we are dealing with…” The distant look reappeared on Villifor’s face, and Slate held any further questions. The headmaster was lost in his thoughts, probably trying to figure out how to combat an enemy he didn’t know.

  Magnus brushed past Slate and headed for his horse. “I’ll grab my men and meet you at the village. Try not to make them wait for you.” As much as he hated to take advice from Magnus, Slate wanted to impress the Bellator Guardsmen he hoped to one day lead. Slate took off running while Magnus gathered the troops. It may have been embarrassing to run, but not as emba
rrassing as if the guardsmen saw him trying to ride a horse again.

  Slate arrived in Minot with just enough time to catch his breath before Magnus rode in with the guardsmen. Magnus ordered, “At ease soldiers. Slate, you’d better get to work.”

  “What do you typically use to clear the village?”

  “Oh, I thought a leader would know what to bring. I would have brought men to help and pitch to pour on the houses, but I didn’t want to interfere. What do you plan to do?” The guardsmen laughed with their commanding officer.

  “Which guardsmen do I get to help me?”

  “These men are needed for defense. I can’t spare one because you failed to plan ahead. Maybe you should run back to camp and ask for help…or tell Villifor you weren’t up for the task and let me handle it for you.” The guardsmen laughed again.

  “It doesn’t appear that you need all of these men for defense…” Slate gestured toward a few men lounging on a crate.

  “To the untrained eye, I can see why you would think that, but these men are perfectly ready and capable to defend themselves from the many hidden dangers this deserted village has to offer. Now, I suggest you complete the task assigned to you.”

  Without help from the guardsmen, Slate looked around the village and found someone’s stash of alcohol. If this was anything like the alcohol in Pillar, he wouldn’t have any trouble starting a fire. Slate tied some straw from the thatched roofs into a torch and soaked the end of it in alcohol. He used the flint from his traveling sack to spark and ignite the makeshift torch.

  The flames caught quickly on the alcohol-soaked straw, but it burned too quickly to ignite the thick, rain-dampened thatch roofs. From somewhere in the southern woods, Slate heard the cry of a meadowlark. He walked around the edge of town, out of sight of Magnus and imitated the call of a dove. Lucus stepped out of hiding in the woods. “It looks like you could use some help…”