by J. T. Wright
Cheap wine aside, Orion found the night’s events gratifying. He had paid back his tormentors, and the scraps of paper he found turned out to be notes on local Trials and hunting areas. Those notes weren’t of much use to the Al’rashian, but the information they contained was worth knowing.
According to the rough maps, Orion could reach a Guildhall with another day or two of travel. The Clans left word with the Guild concerning their movements so that lone Al’rashians and potential employers could locate them. There would be hints for Orion in Sweet Meadows.
Tomorrow! The night was too fine for hard travel. A third swallow of wine said maybe Orion had misjudged the bottle. It was unwise to become drunk in the wilds. Dale and his friends could testify to that, but Orion felt he had earned a break. Setting Wind Elementals to stand watch, the Al’rashian warrior settled in for the night.
Chapter 24
The northern gate of Al’drossford’s keep was as busy as always. Most of the stables housing the Guard's mounts lay outside the city’s walls, and craftsmen that supplied the goods to the fortress worked within the city itself. There were still more than a few Blacksmiths, Butchers, and Stable Hands that occupied the Keep, and their workplaces all crowded this back entrance.
Servants, butchers, animal handlers, and Smiths all went about their tasks as Sergeant Cullen announced his return and led Tersa into the outer ward. He was home! It had taken nine days of running to traverse the land from the Garden and Terah’s temple to Al’drossford. It should have only taken six.
Cullen could only blame himself for the delay. He found his feet dragging as he neared the city. He knew Al’drossford needed him, but he missed the days when he was nothing more than an Adventurer. He missed traveling from city to city, exploring new Trials, and seeing new wonders.
Cullen had a good excuse for slowing his return. Arrival at the Keep meant that, in the morning, Recruit Tersa would become Junior Guardsman Tersa. The girl wasn’t quite ready for that promotion, but it couldn’t be put off. The Sergeant couldn’t have an Advanced Class Holder training with Recruits. It would be humiliating for the girl and for her training squad.
Cullen had worked Tersa hard these last few days. Her Class fit her new position, but her Skills were still lacking. Tersa had yet to master even Unarmed Combat! In many ways, the runty Recruit, whose name always escaped the Sergeant, was Tersa’s superior. He was a lower Level, but with or without a blade, Tersa hadn’t been able to knock the boy down once during the trip.
He didn’t think the runt had a future in the Guard, though, no matter how promising the boy seemed. The Recruit was perpetually out of uniform, hiding behind his mask constantly, and never said a word. If you weren’t looking right at the boy, you would forget he was there!
Inside the wall, Cullen led Tersa to the side of the gate. “Recruit Tersa, you’ve done well during this exercise. I'm… proud of you. You are free from duty for the rest of the day. In the morning, you will report to me on the training ground.
“We are in Al’drossford now,” the Sergeant continued as Tersa scrubbed at the cobblestone with her foot and lowered her head bashfully. “I've cut you some slack recently. A great deal of slack. That is done with. You will always keep the fact that you are a member of the Guard, at the forefront of your mind. You are through with backtalk, whining, and tantrums! Am I understood?”
Tersa wanted to preen under the Sergeant’s praise some more, but his question, which wasn’t really a question, straightened her back. She lifted her chin as she sounded off with a, “Yes, Sergeant! “
A moment of silence and then, “You are dismissed Recruit! If you can’t find anything to do until morning, I will provide you with ways to occupy your time. Just standing there with your head up your ass is unacceptable. Move out or…”
Tersa scurried away before Cullen finished his threat. She ran as if pursued, and if you couldn’t see her face, you would have thought her terrified. Seeing her face, however, a person might wonder what could make a Recruit smile like that. Hadn’t the girl just been reprimanded?
Tersa’s face glowed. She was home! She was a Guardsman and back within the walls of Al’drossford. Life was normal again. Life was good. She’d even gotten praise from Sergeant Cullen! He’d said he was proud of her. The hug-yell was just icing on the cake!
Wait till she told everyone back at the barracks! They’d… Tersa’s headlong rush faltered. The Recruits at the barracks would laugh at her. They wouldn’t believe her stories. She could offer her Status as proof, but they’d probably think it was a trick. In the barracks, Tersa’s presence was only welcomed because her antics distracted authority figures away from the other Recruit’s own misdeeds.
Maybe Arisa would listen. The Mage had been in the Trial. She would believe Tersa. And they were… friends? Tersa was sure she had made a friend. There was a person who always listened to her, who always believed her. Who trusted her! Wasn’t there?
Arisa, Geoffen, Bailey, Devon, Learner. Tersa listed the names in her head of all the Recruits that had been part of the field training. None of those names sparked the warm bloom of friendship in her. But there was someone… Tersa, who had been on the verge of skipping at Cullen’s dismissal, dragged her feet gloomily as she approached the barracks which housed Guard Recruits. Suddenly, home didn’t feel quite as inviting.
The friend Tersa knew she had, but couldn’t recall, crept along the pathways of the outer ward and tried not to get in anyone’s way. At Tersa’s departure, Cullen had chuckled to himself. Trent had expected his own orders to follow, but Cullen merely shook his head and walked away without a word.
Not one word! Trent was at a loss. He couldn’t just stand at the gate until someone remembered him, but he didn’t know where to go. He couldn’t go to Kirstin. If the Adventuring noblewoman was in the Keep, Trent didn’t know where. He’d never been shown her quarters. And he doubted he could bring himself to go there even if he did know. That part of his life was gone.
Michael? Lieutenant Nell? Would either of them have a place for him? Trent didn’t see how that could be possible. Trent had spent more time with Cullen then he had the Captain or the Lieutenant. If Cullen was done with him, then didn’t that mean all members of the Guard were?
Trent walked the outer ward. His new secondary Attribute, Perception, made him more observant, but that wasn’t a blessing in the Keep. Over there, that was where he had fallen, twice, on that first day. Over there was where a servant had yelled at him for almost touching a flower. That spot was where he had collapsed, certain he couldn’t go on (Michael carried you. He was worried).
On the hard-packed dirt of the training grounds, Trent picked out the area where Cullen had screamed at him (He yells at everyone. He still cares). That was the dummy he’d been forced to hit for hours (You learned unarmed combat).
Round and round, Trent went, circling the outer ward as his thoughts churned. He had memories of this place, but they were all bad. A small voice, a reasonable voice in his head, tried to point out the good experiences as well, but Trent refused to hear it. Eventually, he found himself standing next to the main gate, in the very spot Kirstin had once abandoned him.
He was done with this place! No one wanted him here! (Where will you go?) Doesn’t matter, anywhere! (What will you do?) That question didn’t faze him; he was still a Swordsman and Survivalist. He could be an Adventurer! He would roam the wilds, challenge the Trials, see the world!
(Talk to Duke Lewis.)
Trent shook. The other thoughts were easy to dismiss, but that one shocked him out of his temper. Talk to the Duke? Why would he do that? He’d only met Lewis Al'dross once, and the Duke, with his presence and expectations, was terrifying! No, Trent wouldn’t go to the Duke’s study. He was leaving.
There was one thing the nagging voice in his head couldn’t refute. Trent had a Quest! A Class Quest to survive in the wilds, alone, for two weeks. He’d assumed he would never be allowed to complete it, not while he was a Bond. Now,
that Quest forgotten for so long in his Status gave Trent purpose, a destination!
(Tersa…)
No! That wasn’t going to work! Tersa had left him behind the same way Kirstin had. Trent would find his own way now. His feet carried him to the Keep’s main gate. He approached deliberately, but cautiously. He was half afraid (and hopeful) that a Sergeant or Corporal on duty would grab hold of him and demand that he explain just where he thought he was going. They didn’t.
Trent passed through the first gate, under the wall, and out a second gate without being challenged. The Guardsmen, responsible for keeping watch, never spoke to him. They looked over his head and right through him like he didn’t exist.
**********
Ranar Wygon stalked the fortress halls like a ghost. He felt like a ghost! No heads turned to follow him, and no one questioned his presence. That was his intention. It was a result of Ranar’s Level and Abilities. It was the memories that caused him to feel displaced in time.
Memories swarmed him with every step. Memories of victories and defeats, recollections of friends long dead, and students whom he couldn’t protect. He was a ghost visited by failure, haunted by a fallen nation.
Ranar had followed Trent, Tersa, and Cullen to this place. He had stayed back on the journey. It was when the small group entered the city that he closed the distance between himself and the three. He had been almost next to them as they traversed Al’drossford’s well-ordered streets, but the multitude of life within the walls prevented the Sergeant from sensing him the way Cullen had in the wilds. Ranar still wasn’t sure how the man managed to do that.
While Cullen reminded Tersa of her obligations as a Guardsman, Ranar had wandered away. He was pulled by an irrefutable force, tempted by an invitation that would not be denied. It was fine. Ranar was here for Trent, but the boy wasn’t going anywhere. He couldn’t, not as long as he was a Bond, and a Bond was a connection that was not easily severed.
Al’drossford. The Fortress at Al’drossford. The Keep. The names were wrong. The mark of the Dross Clan was as apparent here as it was in Terah’s temple. The clean lines, the subtle defenses, the enduring enchantments, all spoke of that Clan. The Clan that was once first amongst all Al’rashian Clans.
The Dross Clansmen wouldn’t have named the city after themselves. The founders had probably called the location something simple like River Ford. It was clear to Ranar that this place was meant to be a rallying point, a gathering place for all the scattered clans. The Dross had put their stamp here, but it was one that would inspire all. They wouldn’t have spoiled it by naming it after themselves.
Dross craftsmen and builders had perfectly recreated Al’rashia’s greatest fortress. It wasn’t as large, its walls were not as towering, but in all other respects from the outer ward to the inner keep, from the kitchens to the vault, the Dross Clan had rebuilt Windshire Stronghold. The only imperfection was the throne room. Or rather, the throne.
Located on the top floor of the Keep, the throne room was separated from the weather by Mage shields and illusions instead of stone. That was as it should be. Al’rashians were tied to the Elements and there were times when their king must sit under an open sky. The lengthy hall where Darak Fairdor had once held audience, was the same. It was the throne that was different.
Darak’s throne had been an elaborate creation of metal and jewels. It was a visible symbol of the majesty of Al’rashia and her king. Nobles and soldiers had knelt before that throne and felt awe. They had risen with pride, eager to defend that throne and the man that sat upon it.
Al’drossford’s throne was a wooden chair. Masterfully carved and beautiful in its simplicity, but still, just a chair. It was a throne that was meant to be replaced when the Clans chose a new king to lead them. Ranar knew no one had sat on that throne.
The Dross had produced Al’rashia’s first leaders. When the time came, the Clan gave up their royalty willingly, and they had served loyally ever since. They hadn’t built this Keep or placed that throne in order to recapture their old glory. They had done it to restore Al’rashia. Ranar honored them for that.
No Dross had claimed the throne, and when Ranar tried to touch the seat in remembrance of a king that had become a Lord, he found that none ever would. His hand had hovered over the chair, repelled by a force that denied his authority as Elder and Paragon. The throne was enchanted to prevent anyone from occupying it.
That was also as it should be. Ranar approved, though he couldn’t say what had led to this state of affairs. Only two Clans had made their way to this corner of the world. The Verrens might have sat in that place of power. After all, they had claimed and named a kingdom for themselves, but this throne would stand empty until the Clans gathered and a true king arose.
Ranar fled the throne room. He ran from the Keep and out into the open, not stopping until he was atop the outer wall. He needed air. There was too much here he hadn’t expected to find. So much of Al’rashia that the subtle differences only reinforced what this place had been meant to be.
Hard-eyed and disciplined Guardsmen stomped passed Ranar as he leaned against the battlements. The Dross had diminished to become the Al'dross, but the men that served the family were well-trained, another thing Ranar approved of. It wasn’t the sentries’ fault they couldn’t see him. The walls, and the enchantments they bore, recognized and welcomed the eldest Al’rashian. What were the eyes of men in comparison to those ancient wards?
Ranar let go of his ghosts as he scanned the city, spread out in front of him. There was potential here; the past had to be left behind. He needed to find a spot to place the Dusk Tower. Ranar didn’t know why the Clans had failed to heed the call of the Dross, but the reappearance of the Tower would draw them in. He would train Trent Embra, and together they would create a new force to protect the foundation that Clan Dross had built…
Ranar’s musings were interrupted by a vibration at his waist. Storage could not contain the Dusk Tower. In order to carry it with him on the rare occasions he wandered, Ranar had invested a kingdom’s worth of rare materials to craft a pouch that could. For that pouch to be moving, only one creature sprang to mind, Arakai, Ranar’s Bond. The Dire Wolf was probably hungry. The gluttonous Beast was always hungry.
Ranar’s fingers worked the drawstrings of the pouch and opened it. Before he could take out the miniature Tower from the pouch, a shadow surged forth to puddle at his feet. This was unexpected. It had been so long since the shadow had communicated with him, Ranar had forgotten the Tower had an inhabitant besides himself and his wolf.
“What are you thinking, Master of the Dusk Tower? The scornful voice that addressed him came from the shadow. A formless mass of swirling black, the shadow’s movements conveyed impatience and disgust. “Why do you hold back? Why aren’t you with… the Survivalist!?”
Ranar heard an odd pause in the shadow’s last question but couldn’t pick out its cause. “The boy is still a Bond. Until that relationship is confirmed or abolished, I will not interfere.”
“Not interfere! Have you gone blind? Daft? Have your wits deserted you?” The shadow condensed into the form of a black ferret and flowed up the stone battlements to stare at Ranar with red eyes. “You are! You can’t see it! It would be amusing… amusing if it wasn’t so pathetic!”
“What can’t I see?” With another, Ranar might have reminded them that the Master of the Dusk Tower was not one to be casually insulted. A god he would have stared down, confident he would be treated not as an equal, but as an unknown variable. His tone remained respectful as he queried the shadow, that had become a ferret, but the ferret didn’t answer him.
The creature let out a booming laugh, a wild explosion of sound, that couldn’t possibly come from an animal so small. The laugh held the howling of wolves and the hunting roar of lions. The sound caused Ranar to take a step back, and the man looked around to see if any Guardsmen had heard.
The Guardsmen remained oblivious. The shadow’s scorn was for Ranar alone
. When Ranar looked back, the ferret was gone. Had the shadow returned to the pouch? Ranar searched but caught no glimpse of swirling shadow. He took out the Tower, but other than the sleeping form of a Dire Wolf at the top, there was no movement or sign of life in the shrunken structure.
Ranar drummed his fingers on his sword hilt and considered what the shadow had said. What had he missed? What hadn’t he seen? The Paragon extended his senses and employed every resource at his disposal. Nothing felt wrong or out of place.
The shadow was a great one for pranks. Its words could be a joke. Ranar felt unsettled. The shadow hadn’t sounded playful. It had been alarmed. That was an emotion Ranar hadn’t known the creature could feel.
He couldn’t get over the frustration he felt at his inability to make any sense of the shadow’s words. If he had looked down at that moment, he might have seen a masked youth slip out of the wall’s gate, someone he would have recognized. He might even have seen the formless shadow that joined itself to the shadow cast by this youth. He might have detected the defeated slump to the youth's shoulders. But there were some things even the Master of the Dusk Tower didn’t notice.
Chapter 25
The Change that had introduced Beast Cores to the Infinite World revolutionized the field of enchantment. Before Beast Cores, the inscriptions and runes that made up the World’s permanent magic had been powered by the Enchanter. With the advent of Cores, the days of channeling mana into an object, while carefully carving the desired effect, was gone.
Beast Cores provided an alternate power source that allowed Mages to concentrate on the crafting instead of the empowerment. Enchantments that were once out of reach became everyday conveniences. Lights lit the streets at night, and whisper rods could be found in the pockets of any that wanted them. Storage Devices adorned the belts and fingers of Adventurers as soon as they could be afforded.