by Sean Oswald
The worst that could happen was he would get an increase into his defense while wearing armor. The result was that his Defense score went up from 14 to 19, which seemed like a sizable jump. He still needed to remember to ask someone what the Defense and Offense scores actually meant because he couldn’t seem to figure out how they applied.
He didn’t get any notification saying that he was now being offered the class, so that wasn’t the missing requirement. Dave sighed but didn’t worry too much about it. It had been a long shot to begin with. He still had 8 stat points and 92 character points unspent, so he would be able to continue to shape his character.
There was no particular reason that he could think of why one of the other basic weapon proficiencies would be any more appropriate than the Long Sword, Unarmed, and Bow skills that he already possessed. Maybe one of the stamina based skills, but he already had Offense Stance, and so what was to make any of those other skills any more likely than the ones he already had? He definitely didn’t want to spend character points on a skill he didn’t need, and he wasn’t aware of any way to respec his points. Hmm, it occurred to him that he should ask Steffen about that.
“So, Steffen, is there a way to reset your character points?”
The man turned from whatever he had been thinking about and replied, “You mean like turn them in for other skills?” When Dave nodded, he continued, “No, but that would be amazing if you could. I could definitely use different skills now as a general than I could as a warrior.”
“Yeah, I guess I never thought of it like that. Does that mean that once you reach max level you can’t improve yourself anymore?” Dave’s concern showed through in his tone.
“No, it’s still possible to earn character points after you reach max level. It is just that you have the same penalty that you had to XP when you were level zero, and beyond that, you can’t increase your skills beyond a level based upon your tier. With the rare exception of certain master craftsmen.”
Hearing that, Dave explained his dilemma to Eikhorn, and they discussed the probabilities. In the end, they both determined that it would be better for Dave to try and obtain a Tier 3 shaping spell to see if that would meet the last requirement. The general pointed out that the class description did say that it was intended to prove that spells were better than swords, so it would be somewhat odd if there was perfect balance between physical and magical. That point helped put Dave at ease since he realized the spell books contained a Tier 3 shaping spell that he had wanted to learn anyway. With both men lost in thought again, they rode the rest of the patrol circuit in quiet till finally reaching Eris’ Rise just before the second sun set.
Interlude 7
Naraan, 1st of the Ironclaw Orcs, Gerige, Innkeeper, King Bornstein, Captain Maxwell Smart
The past couple of weeks had seen huge changes for the Ironclaw orcs. The First of their clan, Naraanbataar, had reached a deal with the dwarven smith, Aden Doonholt. The old smith had refused to give up the secret of adamantium or how it was forged and shaped. He couldn’t be broken by torture, and Naraan had quickly realized that cracked fingers and burns meant very little to a man who, for nearly two hundred years, had worked in a smithy. He would be well acquainted with such things.
The shamans and priests of Bal Zar wanted to use magical means of compulsion, but both Naraan and Khunbish, his brother and the champion of the clan, agreed that such was below an orc’s honor. The First of the clan thought more than once of turning the matter over to his sister, the Third of the clan and final member of the triplets his mother had borne. She was the one who did in secret what Naraan could not be seen to do in public.
Yet something held his hand. It was as he lay sleeping that Naraan awoke with the seed of an idea which eventually bore fruit. He gave immediate orders that the dwarf’s injuries were to be healed, and not with the often-cruel healing offered by Bal Zar, but by using one of their precious healing potions. Then the prisoner was to be fed and allowed to bathe himself. Furniture was to be moved into the yurt which acted as his prison, and his chains were to be removed. Guards were doubled and the door was kept locked from the outside, but as much as possible, he was to be treated as a guest not a prisoner.
Still, for a week Naraan did nothing more. The priests grumbled about their ancestral enemy being treated so, and even his brother and sister looked at him with a question in their eyes. Finally, after seven days, the First went to the prisoner. He did not order him dragged before the judgment seat, but instead, he humbled himself and went as a petitioner before the dwarf, treating him as a king in exile of sorts.
“Master Smith, I come to barter a contract with you,” were the first words out of Naraan’s mouth.
The glint in Aden’s eye at those chosen terms was not missed.
“Lest there be any misunderstanding, if we are unable to reach a contract before the moon rises in the sky tonight, you shall be given a swift and merciful death as befits an honored enemy. If, on the other hand, we are able to successfully conclude our bartering, then you will be afforded a forge to work in and a home to live in. Either way, you will never be allowed to return to your home alive. Although, if you die as my prisoner, then your body will be thrown into a trough to feed the hounds. But if you die, hopefully someday many years from now, your remains shall be returned to your clan to receive whatever honors and customs are appropriate as is the dwarven way.” Naraan finished his words, which he had rehearsed in his head many times. Then he simply waited.
The dwarf too was patient, and so the two sat there in silence taking each other’s measure for nearly an hour. “Aw richt whit dae ye have i mind for a bargain?”
“I will offer to you what I have said, a measure of freedom, food, and comfort as you shall desire it and the honest work of the forge. You shall not have to share any of your secrets with us that you do not wish to but instead will be allowed to work in private crafting weapons from the adamantium that we have as I shall direct.”
“Sae ye be askin me tae make weapons for ye tae spill ma kinsmen's blood?” Aden asked.
“Not at all. I am willing to bind the entire clan by magical oaths to not use the weapons against a dwarf upon pain of death.”
“An whit aboot gin ye lose the weapons tae another clan?”
“I can’t speak to everything that could happen, only to the conduct of the Ironclaw Orcs.” Naraan knew as he answered that the deal was as good as struck. Now all remained was for the details to be worked out.
A few days later, the new forge was completed, and the rhythmic ringing inside spoke to a new future for the clan. Spirits were up even though winter had already descended upon the clan. Now it was only a matter of time, then the work of uniting the clans could begin, a forging no less complicated than the adamantium that their dwarven guest was even now working with.
For nearly two weeks, Gerige had been turning away patrons from his inn. At first it had seemed to be a worthwhile cause, for he was sheltering Melani, the scorned mistress of King Bornstein. He was being paid by Baron Vichie as if his inn was full and ostensibly was earning the favor of Duke Holstein, the girl’s father. As the days passed, Gerige began to lament the loss of customers though. Sure, he wasn’t losing money now, but he might in the future since obviously this arrangement wasn’t going to last forever. More than that, he was losing the company of his guests. If there was one thing that Gerige loved more than hearing the tale of young love ruined by social conventions, it was telling such tales.
The real breaking moment came, though, when he heard cautionary advice from one too many friends about just what a king might do to secure his line of succession. A bastard child would throw that all into confusion, especially since the queen had only ever born a daughter for the king. By Albian law, Princess Stefanie could not inherit the throne except as she sat upon it beside her lawfully wed husband. With the current state of affairs between the king and queen, it seemed unlikely that there were going to be many more attempts at producing a m
ale heir. So if this baby, illegitimate or not, was male, he might have a superior claim to the throne in the eyes of many. Even if not, he could be used as a tool for breaking the succession.
This fear led to a conversation one morning when Baron Vichie put in his usual appearance to ensure that everything was being taken care of to Melani’s satisfaction. After handling the business matters, Gerige broached a new subject. “So m’lord, I mean no offense by this question, but I was wondering if you know how long I can expect Melani to be taking up the entire inn.”
The nobleman stared back at him as if to wonder that a bug had the temerity to crawl upon his sleeve. “It’s just, well you see, um m’lord, there are many other patrons who have been asking about getting a room in my inn.”
“And how many of those other patrons are the daughter of your own duke, or how many of them are carrying a child with royal blood?” Vichie asked, although he didn’t allow Gerige time to answer the rhetorical questions. “You should consider it an honor to provide shelter for what could be your future king. More than that, you are being paid handsomely for the service that you render. Do we need to renegotiate our deal?”
Gerige paled as he rubbed his sweaty palms together, “No, no you have been most fair. It wasn’t that I was asking for myself, but more so that I might know what to tell the knights and others who like to avail themselves of my inn.”
“Tell them? Why you should tell them nothing. Say you are closed for repairs or that you are just taking some time off. I can trust that you haven’t been telling them about Melani. Isn’t that so?”
“Why of course, m’lord. I would never utter a word. My tongue isn’t one for going about wagging,” Gerige replied.
“See that it stays that way,” Vichie said absently as a letter was handed to him. He read the contents completely ignoring the innkeeper’s proximity. He then turned and said to the messenger, “Tell the guards to get ready to move. We will leave at dawn tomorrow.” He finished up by looking at Gerige. “Well it appears that your question was most prophetic. Now just remember, not a word of this to anyone.”
Gerige simply sat back on one of the bar stools while trying to catch his breath. The small noble was likely to give him a heart attack. He determined in his mind to stay at the inn tonight and eat alone, better to keep this news to himself. Of course, Miss Annabess had baked some fresh peach cobbler. He had caught the scent of it while walking out to get more fresh cream for the inn this morning. She did always like hearing the tales he had to share. Perhaps it wouldn’t hurt if he just went and visited a friend, just one after all.
Far to the south, King Harold Bornstein was having an even less pleasant conversation with his secretary and major domo, Eleazor.
“Your majesty, I am telling you that you can’t afford to disregard this. There is rumor that the nobility are starting to question your fitness, and I know the church of Mishpat is pushing for a full investigation. Things have not gone well for the kingdom of late. The lumber shortages, the kidnapping of Duke Taarstadt’s granddaughter, the prolonged war on the western front, and now these rumors of marital infidelity. Without a male heir, your position is notoriously weak, and the Albian people as a whole are far more conservative in their values than to condone your liaisons with Melani,” Eleazor said, practically exasperated as he tried for the fourth time to explain just how serious the current situation was to his king.
“I am not a moron, but how was I supposed to predict an unprecedented level of goblin invasion, and besides that, it is over now. We have won, and the goblins are not to be found.”
“Yes, but if Baron Eikhorn is to be believed, the goblins have migrated to the north.”
“Steffen always worries too much. He is rather stuffy you know.”
Eleazor sighed. “Yes your majesty, but he only has your best interests at heart.”
“I suppose so. As far as the affair, it will blow over. The queen will eventually forgive me. She knows that she needs to give me a son just as much as I need it,” Harold said.
“It won’t blow over if the latest rumors are true. If Melani is pregnant, then that is the sort of thing that topples royal houses, your Majesty.”
“Bah, I always took precautions …” Harold’s voice trailed off. “Well, there was that one time that I woke up and couldn’t even remember our time together.”
“So what you are saying is that the young woman may have drugged you specifically for the purpose of getting with child. Your Majesty, if you don’t let me, I can’t protect you from things like this.”
“Eleazor, you are already in my business so much. A man, even a king, wants privacy for certain things.”
“I am sorry your Majesty. I am only trying to help you. If you wish to be left alone, I will ask for my leave.”
* * *
“Stop being petulant. I am not trying to push you away. We will just have to weather the storm about the affair and hope that these latest rumors about her being pregnant are not true. Now what about the lumber shortage, our newest baron is supposed to be helping me with that, or has he proven as untrustworthy as Edwin?”
“Far from it your majesty. Lumber production is at an all-time high. We are getting shipments regularly now, and more caravans are headed up to bring back as much as they can before winter stops most trade. If it were not for the fact that they need lumber to build walls and homes, we would be getting even more,” Eleazor reported.
“Well I guess it can’t be helped. They have to protect themselves, and it does get cold that far north. They will need to be adequately sheltered. It’s too bad that we can’t just send more forces north, and then they wouldn’t have to bother with a wall,” Harold mused.
“You know why we can’t send more troops to the north simply on rumors of goblins, your Majesty.”
“Faelora,” Harold said, managing to invest a great amount of disgust into a single word.
Leyna, Karl, Olga, and Ahren all sat around a table in the darkest corner of the seediest inn that Max could find. They were all that remained of his squad. Ronald and Engel had been found dead, their throats cut. The replacements he needed after his trip to the north had never been obtained because of the urgency with which the king sent him on this mission. Max did his duty as always, but he hated losing the people who served under him. More than that, he hated finding them face down in a gutter left like human refuse by people who in his estimation were not worthy to carry their water.
“It is obvious now, and probably should have been after Ronald’s death, but someone in power does not want us speaking to the king,” Max said as he made contact with each of them in turn. It was a sign of how serious the situation was that Leyna didn’t even make an off-color remark about how well she knew King Gaspard.
“No one could have known for sure. He was killed down by the harbor, and there is plenty of violence there,” Olga said reassuringly.
Smiling at the newest and youngest squad member, Max said, “It is my job to know those sorts of things. Now though, the question is what do we do from here? I am of a mind to take what we know and leave.”
“But, Captain, what do we really know?” Ahren asked. “A little pillow talk about growing his kingdom from Leyna, some indications of training exercises for larger groups of troops out in the field, and requisitions from the Faeloran army to almost every blacksmith in the city, who is capable of crafting serviceable weapons.”
“If that doesn’t paint a picture of a nation preparing for war, then I don’t know what would, and trust me, I know the difference between a man making bedroom boasts and a man who is sharing secrets with a woman he is trying to seduce,” Leyna said.
“That’s enough. I want all of you out of town before morning. Stay on guard. We will all travel back separately so that we have the best odds of getting a message to the king. Olga, I know your bind spot isn’t in Konig, but I still want you to gate home and then get a horse to the capital,” Max instructed.
Chapter Sixteen
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The spark of ingenuity is not limited to those who have ascended. — Nor Sian, anti-purge activist.
Eris’ Rise - Mira, Emily and Sara Nelson
While dad and Jackson were out playing soldier and mom and Sara were playing house all over the village, Mira had work to accomplish. Her day would be regimented with time allocated for learning spells and for practicing her enchanting. Hiroto was always wanting her to spend more time on enchanting, and it was definitely something she wanted to do, but she first wanted to get the low hanging fruit of the spells in those books. It irritated her to no end that dad kept insisting on guarding the books like a mother hen guarding her eggs.
Then, when he did give her the book today, it was with strict limitations on what spells she was allowed to study out of it. As if he could keep up with her mind or determine the best use of the spells contained in these books. Besides the books, she had hoped that she would be able to talk to the royal mage some. He was supposed to be some important, all-powerful wizard, but he just seemed like an overstuffed windbag to her whenever she had heard him speak. The couple of times that she tried to approach him to talk privately, he almost seemed scared of her.
Now though, she had the book, and she was going to spend her morning learning new spells. She found a quiet place in her room and shut the door, oblivious to the luxury of having her own room in a town that didn’t have sufficient housing for everyone even before the attack. Her mind was entirely focused on the passion she felt for magic. It was so beautiful. She didn’t know how she had ever lived without having magic, everything else was a pale shadow of life besides this. Finally, she was going to get some Tier 3 spells.
