“All five thousand pages?” another lieutenant challenged, speaking for the first time.
“No,” Astrid replied. “It was just ten pages. I read the original Charter—the one before the cruelty, the greed, and the fear. There was a lot of good stuff in there about loyalty, service, and keeping people safe. How to have power and use it without being rat-cocks.”
“Now she insults us!” a third lieutenant grumbled.
“Well,” Astrid said, leaning back from the table. “Maybe some of you are just plain assholes and not rat-cocks—I don’t know. Prove me wrong by sticking to the principles of justice laid out more than a century ago by the first Protectors.”
“We’re not going to get anywhere with that high-minded crap,” Mika growled.
“Sure we will.” Astrid smiled easily, stunning them all. “You’ve come this far. You’ve done the hard thing—you turned away from the wrong side. Welcome to a new world. You stick with me, and I’ll prove that you made the right choice.”
“You’re gonna have to offer something more than that,” one of the lieutenants snapped.
Astrid stood and leaned forward over the heavy table. “My offer has only two options: either work with me to set the Protectorates on the path of justice or go join those other shit-sticks. I gotta be honest here—dying is a lot easier than standing up for what’s right. If you want an easy road, by all means take option two.”
It was a risk well-taken; the first lieutenants seemed to respond to that statement. Astrid sat back and watched them debate the two-option offer among themselves. In the end they decided to stick with the Protectorate and its Charter, but not necessarily Astrid.
“With that,” Astrid declared as she stood. “I will leave you to work out the details with my associate Gormer.”
Gormer didn’t bother to hide his shock and surprise. “Why me?”
They both turned their backs on the lieutenants, who had already begun to bicker amongst themselves.
“Because we’re the Dregs. We work as one. You make decisions and I’ll support them.”
“Come on, Astrid. Are you sure I’m right for this job?”
“You’ll do it right, I’m sure. If not, we’ll fix it together.” She patted him on the shoulder and gave him a gentle shove toward the table.
Before he turned around, his eyes turned white and glowed intensely. “Wow,” Gormer exclaimed. “I’m reading fear and uncertainty, but at least they don’t want to kill us.”
“That’s kind of a relief,” Astrid replied.
“Unless we end up losing,” Gormer added. His eyes cleared up and returned to their normal icy blue-gray. “But in that case we’ll probably all be dead anyway.”
“You do have a knack for seeing the bright side of things,” Astrid replied, clapping him on the shoulder.
CHAPTER NINE
Sorry, You’re One of Us Now
They rode the rest of the day feeling a bit paranoid. Conversation was subdued, and Moxy took off into the branches regularly. She came back with the same story: whoever was following them did not want to be seen. Not yet, anyway.
They got to the camp just after sunset, navigating by the light of a strange white glow Vinnie projected from his hand.
An old man stepped out onto the icy trail and put two fingers in his mouth and whistled. Only his face was visible under all the furs and hides that kept him warm.
“It’s the man-mountain, the pixie woman, and the mean fucker,” the old man said. His face split into a grin with not so many teeth.
“It’s good to see you too, Curtis,” Tarkon said.
Curtis frowned. “Where is that great big sexy brawler woman who goes around with you?”
A tall, slender old woman with wild and wiry gray hair burst out of the trees. She came up behind Curtis and kicked him squarely in the rear.
“I can see you like ‘brawler women,’” Vinnie said, immediately recognizing the signs of affection among the woods people.
“He’s a dirty old goat,” the woman screeched.
Curtis held up his fist to her, and she made a fist back. They play fought for a few seconds before the old man cupped her face and said, “That’s my Misty—just as savage and brutal as the day we met. She gave me this scar, you know.” Curtis pulled away the furs to reveal a long pink scar behind his left ear.
“How lovely,” Moxy said with a tight grin.
“Hey!” a deep, gruff voice called.
An even older man lumbered out from behind a rock. “Damn kids! Stop messing about. Youngsters are always playing games,” he rumbled in low tones that rolled out of the broad barrel of his chest.
“Youngsters,” Tarkon mouthed toward Vinnie with wide eyes.
Vinnie choked on a suppressed laugh. The motley crew led them to the mouth of the caves.
“Picked a damn cold night to show up,” Curtis said. “But it’s warm in the caves. Always comfy at home. My home’s your home. Ain’t much, but we like it that way.”
“Even though you made it bloody last time when you saved us all from Jank’s monsters,” Misty added.
“You did a fair bit of fighting yourselves, as I recall,” Vinnie observed.
The burly old man laughed. “I got me a few, yes I did.” He ended the brag with a wet cough.
Deeper into the cave, it grew warmer. Vinnie wasn’t sure how this was possible, but he suspected it had something to do with the strange composition of the rock here. Soft, yellow light spilled from random patches of crystalline material on the walls.
“I’d still like to know what this is,” Vinnie remarked, tracing his fingers across the glowing surface. It didn’t feel warm but it didn't feel cold either, even being more than a hundred feet underground.
“We just call them friends,” Curtis said. He patted the wall and the little rocks glowed a bit brighter. “They’re with us all the time.”
“OK…” Vinnie gasped. “I’ve never seen that before.”
“Because you haven’t spent happy times with us. Before, it was all fightin’ and scramblin’ for salt to clear the road and this to build that; copper, iron, coal…” Curtis went on as he led them deeper, “You’re part of the woods people now. Sorry about that. Can’t be helped. You’re pretty much fucked.”
“We’ve adopted you sorry lot,” the oldest warrior rumbled. “It’s official now.” His ancient face split into a smile that featured shockingly bright white teeth. “Yup,” he said, noting Vinnie’s surprise. He snapped his jaws together. “All originals.”
After following winding passages deeper, they entered a large chamber where small cook fires sent smoke straight up to a ceiling shrouded in absolute darkness.
“Must be vents up there,” Vinnie marveled. “But I don’t feel the draft.”
The caves were home to the woods people who were too old for fighting or the harsh life in the forest, or those who needed more care than others. Vinnie was always touched by how the woods people kept their community strong. They were hard and sometimes harsh, but they cared deeply for one another.
A robed figure with long silver hair protruding from her hood in a chaotic mane strode out of the shadows.
“Gerty,” Tarkon said with due reverence.
The old woman smiled and greeted them like the matriarch she was. “I’m so glad to see you all again. Especially you, Tarkon.” She turned to Moxy. “Believe me, girl, if I was just thirty years younger I’d take that boy away from you in a heartbeat.”
Moxy, catching on to the local customs, hissed and let the claws of her right hand extend past the fingertips. That cracked everyone up and the old sentries walked away, already making up stories about the exchange.
Vinnie was shocked and embarrassed at first. He’d traveled far and wide, but it still took him a while to get used to the quirky ways people expressed friendship in new places. This was certainly far different from the hyper-formal and complex etiquette he had grown up with—and he liked it better.
Gerty led them to
a campfire near the wall of the cavern. They’d never been this far into the living area of the cave system. Vinnie and Tarkon had only been to the working depths, where the woods people sometimes mined the minerals they needed.
A young boy dragged over a jug of cool mineral water.
“We have many springs here,” Gerty told them. “Purest, most energizing water around. It has different properties, depending on what we need. This water should refresh you.” She brought out a copper flask. “And this,” she continued with a wry smile, “should ease your minds.”
Gerty poured just a bit of the aromatic liquor into her cup, then passed the flask around.
“Is that absinthe?” Vinnie asked, astonished.
“No, no,” Gerty said. “Nothing so harsh. We call this ‘nectar.’ But not too much, even for you, man-mountain.”
Vinnie pondered the affectionate name. He could get used to it. He poured himself two fingers of the liquor and passed it on.
Even the fumes from the nectar produced a response. His nostrils felt warm as the sweet scent filled his head. At first it smelled like licorice, but then the aroma faded into vague florals. He took a tentative sip.
The fire seemed brighter, as did all the sounds around him.
“Slow,” Gerty said. “Savor this. We share the nectar when we need to speak our minds. Makes things go easier.”
The boy who brought the jug came back with a tray loaded with roasted meat and root vegetables.
“Then you know why we’re here,” Vinnie said.
“I have a pretty good idea,” Gerty replied. “Eat now, talk later.
They ate and made small talk. When the food was gone—Vinnie made sure of that—Gerty opened the floor to deeper conversation.
She took a deep breath and sighed. “The protectors had become cruel even before they discovered magic. After the Madness was over they turned their aggression toward us and the other villagers.”
“That policy never made sense to me,” Tarkon said. “Why would a leader remove people from their homes just because they couldn’t give the leader what they wanted?”
“Cruelty, greed, and arrogance,” Gerty answered. “Plain and simple. And for nearly a century, people who were evicted from villages all over the Lungu—can’t call it that anymore—the protectorate came to the woods to live. We’ve been living this way for a very long time.”
They sipped and thought about Gerty’s words. She was right. The nectar helped smooth things over.
“And now we bring change.” Tarkon said, letting his eyes drift to the glowing mineral grains on a nearby stalagmite. “We came to defend and help you, but we are asking you to take part in a system that rejected you long ago.”
Gerty locked eyes with Tarkon in the firelight and nodded. “It’s not that we don’t want the change. What elder doesn’t want a better life for the young? You’ve even taught many of our young how to use your Forge magic.”
“They are naturals.” Tarkon smiled. “I’ve never seen people learn so quickly.”
Gerty nodded. “But my generation doesn’t want the change. It’s too late for us. We just want a better life for those who have more of it to live.”
Tarkon’s eyes suddenly turned black. He set down his mug and kneeled before the fire, placing his hands on his thighs palms-up. His hands began to glow.
Nobody jumped when the fire flared. Tarkon’s eyes glowed to match it. The luminous stones embedded in the stalagmite also began to shine brighter, then dimmed.
A soft hissing came from the ground around him and dust rose from the floor like mist, then flew into the shadows. Suddenly long streamers of dust coalesced and flowed in from all directions.
Several seconds later, four perfect spheres began to form by Tarkon’s knees. One was bright white, reflecting what little light there was in the cavern. Another a deep yellow. The other two were nearly black, but one had a slightly reddish tint.
After they had formed, Tarkon’s eyes turned back to their normal brown. “These are the four sacred minerals of my order— silver, gold, iron, and carbon. We Forge Monks use these minerals to create the sacred steel.” He rapped his knuckles on his chest plate. “Since I’ve come to this place and had these experiences, I’ve realized something about them.”
Tarkon stopped speaking.
“Don’t be a bad storyteller,” Gerty waited, then chuckled. “Tell us your damn point.”
“These things mean nothing,” Tarkon replied.
“I take that back,” Gerty said. She surveyed the shocked looks on Vinnie’s and Moxy’s faces. “You’re an excellent storyteller. I’m snared now.”
Tarkon gave a rare smile. “I was banished from my home because I wasn’t able to follow the rules of my order. I drifted for years, thinking that I was unequal to the magic. It wasn’t until I met all of you that I realized that the form of magic doesn’t matter. Before leaving home, I had no idea a man could use magic to tunnel through the ground or make quakes.” He gestured to Vinnie. “Seeing magic in so many different forms made me understand just how little I know and how much there is to learn.”
“I’m lost again,” Gerty said. “What are you getting at?”
“The same thing you are,” Tarkon said. “Let me stay here. I will teach more Forge magic to your people. I’ve learned something of the ways of other magic, thanks to my new friends. I’m sure there is more to discover, and we can do that together.”
“What good will that do?” Gerty asked. “It takes most of our labor to keep everyone fed.”
“I understand,” Vinnie interjected. “But just like you’ve accepted us into the woods people, the new Protectorate accepts you now. You are back in the fold. You can trade these metals with the protectorate. Nobody is out to arrest you anymore.”
“Who is going to take care of food when everyone is studying magic?” Gerty asked.
“We have plenty of surplus food in some of the other keeps,” Vinnie replied.
“Charity?” Gerty balked. “No. We survive by our own means.”
Vinnie smiled and stroked his pointed beard. “As I recall, those means included theft from the toll roads the various clans brought to you to take care of those who can’t care for themselves.”
Gerty’s eyes widened. She cleared her throat. “Well, you got me there, man-mountain. I suppose I could stand to look into other things.” She nodded to the perfect spheres of pure minerals.
Tarkon scooped up the spheres as he stood up and presented them to Gerty. “Then hang on to these. Reflect on them as we go forward.”
“Forward,” Gerty said, shifting the objects from palm-to-palm. “We’re going forward whether we like it or not.”
Vinnie sighed. “That is always the way. Won’t it be fun?” The big man paused. “But there is something more.”
“You want more from us?” Gerty asked, suspiciously.
“There’s more to this place” Vinnie looked at the glowing rocks that lit all the caves. “I suspect that the magic here runs far deeper than anyone realizes. What if the woods people of these caves have been using magic all along?”
“Don’t be silly,” Gerty replied. “Don’t you think we’d have known? No, we are simple people. We don’t want much more than to be left in peace to be with our own.”
Liesel’s Road Trip
She felt naked without the rifle, since the magitech weapon had been her constant companion for months. She had used it to defend her father and herself, and she’d hunted with it. It literally gave them life. She’d used it to escape from Arcadia, taking the lives of more than a few of the lawless scum before they eventually drove her out.
But now she had to leave it behind. There was no way to conceal it in the Fortress wards, especially with the heightened alert. Not everyone was happy that the old Protector was gone.
Liesel was on a mission to find some of those unhappy people.
She had arranged to meet them in the Lake District, but that Astrid bitch had done her nasty work there
too. She’d taken the rightful property of those better than her. Liesel wondered why that pattern always seemed to repeat itself.
It didn’t matter. Once they got their hands on enough amphoralds, Liesel intended to put overwhelming power in the hands of those who deserved it. That was the only way to put any question of authority to rest.
All she needed was labor—and the Fortress wards had plenty of recently unemployed people.
She checked the crude map provided to her by Hagan and Morgon, which had served her well so far. She had bypassed the lake district entirely and headed toward a district across town where the houses were built farther apart and were much larger than those shabby-looking dwellings on the outside of town.
“This is where the money is,” Liesel murmured to herself as she moved down the broad boulevard until she found the family name “Maran” formed from wrought iron atop an imposing gate. She found it curious that the houses had no numbers, even in the tightly-packed areas.
She was startled by a man who stepped out of a small guardhouse wearing a uniform that didn’t identify him as part of the Civil Guard.
A house guard, Liesel noted silently. That means money and power.
“State your business,” the man said.
“Liesel Ruggerd to see Gerolf Maran.” She took note of the steel chest piece beneath the heavy wool coat, and a short sword hung from the man’s belt. Well-equipped, she thought.
“Up the stairs. Use the bell,” the man said as he opened the gate.
Even with all the snow and the sub-zero weather, the marble steps leading up the small rise to the house were clear of ice.
A flash of moonlight drew her eye to the roof, where two more guards paced with crossbows in their arms. They could use some upgrades, Liesel thought to herself.
She didn’t need to use the bell since someone had seen her coming. A man in a strange black suit and a blindingly-white shirt answered the door and bowed.
“Right this way, please,” he said, sweeping his arm as he lowered his head. “Your coat, if you please,” he said as Liesel undid buttons in the warm, brightly-lit foyer.
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