Severance Lost (Fractal Forsaken Series Book 1)

by Unknown

  “No. Merchants and peddlers travel through town occasionally, but we’ve heard nothing of the Tallow tribe. What reputation?”

  “You should form your own opinion, but most villages consider the nomadic tribes to be cut-throats and thieves. They have vast personal wealth and their abilities as fighters lead many to believe it was gained through improper means.” Lucus paused to emphasize his point. “I do not believe this is the case. In my time traveling with them, the Tallow tribe exhibited the most admirable of qualities. However, the Tallows are extremely guarded about their beliefs. Very few people understand the nomadic tribes or their motivations. They are cunning fighters and astute merchants, but they do not look for battle or seem interested in attaining additional wealth.” Finally, he added, “I must admit though, there is much I do not know of the tribes…”

  In Ravinai, the marketplace quieted with the setting sun and the smells of dinner wafted from open windows. Since his time to question Lucus was running short, Slate dug for more information. “You have not mentioned what the nomadic tribes expect from their teachers.”

  Lucus answered, “I have only witnessed two other teachers being named: a cobbler within Ravinai and a mother of two from an outlying village. This is what brought me to your tent in the first place. I wanted to meet you to understand the tribe better, but I still haven’t been able to link any commonalities between you and the other teachers. Whatever reason Rainier chose you for this honor, it does not relate to battle tactics. What are your plans following the tournament?”

  “I don’t have the means to stay within the city, and the quiet of Pillar could help me sort through life’s recent events.”

  “That is wise. Reflection reduces mistakes, and you have many decisions ahead of you.” Lucus ended their conversation. “Ibson is waiting for me.” Slate squinted into the setting sun to see the old wizard pacing back and forth in one of the arena’s many entrances. The woodsman made a twirling motion with his hand to restore the hearing of the guardsmen and left to meet Ibson.

  The guardsmen led Slate back to his empty room and took up post outside the closed door. “Slate, we need to talk.” the raspy voice of the Sicarius headmaster floated to him, alternating in both pitch and inflection, leaving no clues to identify the headmaster. Startled, Slate spun and chopped downward where the shock stick had previously touched his neck.

  “I’m in the room next to you. After finding where Brannon was holding you, I took up a temporary residence in the adjacent room. I’ve listened to some of Ibson’s conversations through the wall. He is conducting a very thorough investigation, but even taking into account the old wizard’s penchant for details, the investigation should be complete by now. Something is amiss.”

  “Why are you doing this? Are you trying to help me? It is difficult to trust someone I have never met.” Slate questioned.

  “I don’t care whether you trust me, Slate. In my line of work, I am often the bearer of ominous news based on vague and incomplete information. You must be patient and then act decisively according to the information at your disposal, as I do. People are impatient by nature, and that trait is heightened in wizards with magic at their disposal. I’m worried that Brannon’s patience with Ibson is ending. If you have any indication that Brannon will assume control of the investigation, find Ibson or Lucus and leave. Investigations conducted under the rule of the Wizard Council are very different from investigations conducted by Ispirtu. It is not an experience I would wish upon anyone…” The Sicarius headmaster ended the one-sided conversation. “My time has run out, as other business in the city requires my attention. If you require a covert escape from Ravinai, use what little skill you have in this area, and I will help where I can. Good luck, Slate.”

  Slate threw open his door, trying to catch sight of the mysterious headmaster. The surprised guardsman barred his way, and with their attention diverted, a fully cloaked figure slipped out of the adjacent room undetected. The figure bowed slightly to Slate for the diversion he hadn’t intended to create, but he suspected the headmaster anticipated his actions from the beginning. The guardsman shouldered Slate back into his room, and the headmaster disappeared into the night.

  Alone in his room again, Slate reflected on his encounter with the Sicarius headmaster, the most recent of the puzzles in his life. He understood the headmaster’s point…information was information. It was not good, nor bad. It didn’t require trust. The holes in the information and the validity of the information was what required trust. Did he trust the headmaster? The alternating voice could have belonged to a man or a woman. The full cloak and a slightly hunched posture left Slate with only the vaguest of physical descriptions. Even the actions of the headmaster were contradictory. A knife to the throat was followed by an apologetic letter placed upon his pillow. The headmaster found him in a guarded room within the depths of the arena to deliver a message of impending danger and the promise of aid if needed. Yet knowing the headmaster had been eavesdropping on him and Ibson for days left him with a sour taste in his mouth.

  Before he finished contemplating the morality of the headmaster or devised an ingenious plan of escape, Lattimer entered his room flanked by guardsmen. “Guardsmen, escort the champion to my father and don’t hesitate to teach the cheater a lesson or two as we go…just don’t leave any marks.”

  A few painful minutes later, Slate entered the arena and located Brannon in the twilight sky. He knelt at the bottom of a set of stairs, but the object of his attention didn’t come into view until he got closer. Drops of blood descended the steps and turned into a pool at the bottom. Brannon knelt over an unidentifiable body, his resplendent robes soaking in blood. Brannon placed one hand on the head of the recumbent and a second hand gripped an ornate scepter made of petrified black wood that cradled a large orb upon the distal end. Brannon looked up as they descended toward him and revealed the identity of the fallen figure. The ashen face of Ibson stared lifelessly into the night.

  “Get Slate down here!” Brannon barked. The guardsman nearly shoved Slate down the rest of the stairs, while Lattimer stood behind his father and gazed down at Ibson in shock.

  “What happened?” Slate managed to spit out.

  “He lost a lot of blood from a head injury. I closed the wound, but he needs more blood than I can give. You hold some of his blood within you from your recovery. It is time to repay his kindness.”

  Brannon grabbed Slate’s hand and touched the orb to Ibson’s body. The orb glowed. Slate gladly helped heal Ibson, but as time went on Slate weakened. Light-headedness followed and Slate fought to maintain consciousness. Just as his vision began to narrow, the feeling subsided and the orb dimmed. Slate knelt to recover.

  “I was able to save his life, but his mind may be irreparably damaged. I will send him to the infirmary in the hopes that they can do more. A pity…” Frustration appeared on Brannon’s face. After the brief moment of near humanity, Brannon continued. “This investigation has continued for too long. It has claimed one of the kingdom’s best minds and you are not worth that cost. Let us be done with this.”

  The Sicarius headmaster’s warning about Ispirtu investigations came crashing back and a cold fear swept over Slate. The imposing wizard extended his hand toward Slate, blood dripping from the sleeve of his robe. The futility of the Sicarius headmaster’s warning struck Slate. A canary had a better chance of escaping the mines of Pillar than Slate had of escaping Brannon.

  “Wait.” Lucus’ voice descended the staircase and Slate never felt so grateful. “What are you doing?”

  “What I should have done a long time ago...I’m going to figure out what secrets Slate has been holding.”

  “This investigation is under the authority of the Wizard Council, is it not?”

  “Ibson is unable to carry out his duties. I plan to put this mess behind us.” Brannon spoke with finality.

  Lucus tried to temper Brannon’s resolve. “You were the last person to see Ibson before his accident. How wou
ld it look if you closed out the investigation? Even the Regallo name would not sufficiently withstand the criticism and scrutiny of such an act. Would you agree to let me investigate? I already tire of the incessant chatter of the city and wish to leave. I would be most expedient in the manner involving Slate.”

  The sound logic convinced Brannon. “Be done with it then.”

  “To do the job properly, I’ll need some help.” Lucus inclined his head toward Brannon’s scepter.

  Brannon laughed a joyless laugh accentuated by the silence in the air that followed. “I suppose you do need help, woodcutter. Hold up your axe.”

  Lucus ignored the condescension in Brannon’s voice and held up his axe.

  Axe touched scepter and the orb glowed brilliantly, transmitting an orange hue to the axe. When the axe reached a steady but dim glow, Lucus took back his axe and spoke to Slate. “This spell will give me access to all of your memories, feelings, and thoughts leading up to the championship bout, as well as your conversations with Ibson. I apologize for the invasiveness, but it will help us to conclude the investigation.” The look on Lucus’ face was truly apologetic. He did not wish to do this.

  More than anything, the anguish of Lucus convinced Slate that this was the best course of action. With the axe dimming slightly, Slate provided his answer quickly by meeting the eyes of Lucus and nodding. Lucus touched Slate’s hands.

  Ripping. Pain. Confusion.

  Instantaneously, it was done. Slate collapsed to his knees. Touching Lucus, Slate felt he lost part of his self. He was not just exposed or naked, but part of him had been taken. His memories were intact, and he couldn’t pinpoint anything physically wrong, but Slate understood the anguish on Lucus’ face before the spell began. Lucus collapsed as well, remaining on his knees even after Slate recovered. Lucus eventually opened his eyes and Slate helped him to his feet. The man had been through a lot.

  Brannon’s patience was at an end. “What did you uncover, woodcutter?”

  Lucus gained strength in his voice as he spoke. “The iron in Slate’s blood merged with the bones in his hand. Ibson had decided to exonerate Slate from any wrongdoing since his lack of spark precluded the ability to cast such a spell. Slate should retain the title of tournament champion. Whatever was done to Slate was done by a third party and without his knowledge. The identity of the third party has been lost along with Ibson’s mind.”

  “Pitiful. Two of the Wizard Council’s most prominent wizards have failed to identify Slate’s accomplice. Meanwhile, the Regallo name has been irreparably damaged by these proceedings.” Brannon sneered at Lucus and then turned toward Slate. “All past champions earned the right to choose training in Ispirtu, Bellator, or Sicarius. Ispirtu is open to you, but you will not be welcomed there. Now leave me as I tend to Ibson.”

  Lucus had recovered a great deal in the short time Brannon addressed him with some of the gauntness disappearing and the color returning. The wizard helped Slate back to the arena exit before saying, “You planned to return to Pillar. I would travel with you if you allow it.”

  The request surprised Slate, but of all the mystery and intrigue building in his life, Lucus was the one person who had provided some answers. He didn’t want to miss the opportunity for a few more. “It would be an honor, but I fear Pillar won’t offer much to your liking. It is a small town that survives by the rock beneath it. The people are as simple as the soup they make for lunch.”

  Lucus smiled. “After all this, a good cup of soup and simple conversation sounds pretty nice. I’ve had my fill of Ravinai, wizards, and cleverness for a while. Let’s find Rainier and prepare to leave. Is there anything you need from your room?”

  “I left my travel sack and staff. The guardsman took me before I could grab it.” The wizard and the famous fighter now known as Stonehands took a short detour to Slate’s room before exiting through the maze of arena tunnels.

  Slate stopped and looked back at the arena. The four quadrants had moved back to their original positions and the floor consisted of normal, everyday sand. Everything appeared as it had the first time he laid eyes on it, and yet it looked completely different to Slate. The arena was the site of his greatest triumph, a place where people from all of Malethya had cheered his name, but the victory came with consequences. He could live with the changes to his hand, but the investigation introduced a whole host of questions and Slate was at the center of it all. Even with the investigation officially closed thanks to Lucus, Slate felt like the journey was only beginning and the questions were coming faster than the answers.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  ESCAPE FROM RAVINAI

  “Where should we look for Rainier?” Slate asked Lucus as they walked the lamp-lit streets of Ravinai.

  “You don’t find a tribesman by looking for them.” The wizard offered no further explanation. “Let’s get out of the city as fast as possible.”

  “Should I expect trouble?”

  “Brannon’s name carries more import than every name other than the king’s, and some say more. Many will seek to avenge your achievement in the championship bout to curry his favor. We should leave until some other perceived slight has arisen and dulled people’s memories of your own.”

  The Sicarius headmaster’s promise to master his surroundings made Slate wonder if the first step was the realization that he was completely exposed in the well-lit streets. “If what you say is true, anyone on the lookout for us would spot us quite easily on this lamp-lit street.”

  “What do you suggest?”

  “Let’s slip through the darkened alleys and exit the western part of the city. The alleys will help avoid notice and people would expect us to take the main road to the north.”

  Lucus agreed to Slate’s plan and they entered into the first alleyway. Slate stopped to adjust his eyes to the darkness, staff at the ready. After a moment the crates and refuse of the alley came into view, and the two companions made their way forward. Shuffling feet identified an attacker behind the crates. Slate swung his staff only to connect with wood and send the crates tumbling along the alley floor. An agitated cat hissed up at Slate before leaping to a windowsill and eyeing Slate suspiciously. A muted chuckle from Lucus forced Slate to swallow his pride and calm his nerves. There were many alleyways in the city, and he needed his instincts intact.

  Slate and Lucus traversed the alleyways of Ravinai slowly, but with each street crossed, Slate became more confident in his abilities to navigate the city and distinguish the sounds of rats and alley cats from more dangerous foes. Most importantly, they avoided contact with people, any one of whom could be a supporter of Regallo. The buildings decreased in size and spread out as they neared the outskirts of the city, consisting mainly of pubs and taverns in which the locals appeared to be excellent patrons.

  Slate peered at a tavern entrance from the cover of darkness when a drunken argument spilled into the street. Steel flashed, but no alarms were raised, indicating this was a common event in this region of the city. The fight drew a crowd of revelers, however, and Slate wanted to circle around the commotion. He signaled to Lucus and reversed course.

  Retreating through the alley, a silhouetted figure appeared ahead with a sword unsheathed. Before Slate attacked, Lucus mimicked the shrill cry of a meadowlark and the figure ahead returned the song of a sparrow. Lucus’ hand fell on Slate’s shoulder and he whispered, “Relax. Rainier has found us.”

  Relief flooded Slate. He could handle a single attacker, but the sounds of fighting would have drawn the attention of the drunken mob in the street. “Ho, Rainier,” Slate greeted the tribesman in low tones.

  “Ho, Teacher. The city is still abuzz with talk of Stonehands Severance. I even heard a few peddlers advertising trips to Pillar with promises of tours into the depths of the iron mines to find the secret to your success…” Slate flashed a smile at the thought but hoped people didn’t spend their hard-earned money on such lies. If they did, they almost deserved to lose it. Rainier asked, “Why are you lea
ving like a thief in the night rather than the champion you are?”

  “I’m a champion that has made some enemies. One of them has gravely injured Ibson, the wizard in charge of investigating my Stonehand and I may be next on the list. I’ve offended the Regallos, and their supporters might hope to avenge the family name in the form of a battered and bloodied tournament champion.”

  “Ah, offend you did, and it worked beautifully. Well fought! Now, let’s get out of this city.” Rainier greeted Lucus and the group went down a few alleys to gain some distance from the drunken crowd. Slate found the quietest section of the tavern-filled street and, despite being better lit than he preferred, darted across the street. A jovial patron exited a nearby pub as Slate was fully exposed in street light and recognition spread across his face followed by a boisterous greeting. “Ho, Stonehands! Fractal’s grace! Let me buy you a drink!” His exuberance was only surpassed by the volume of his voice. It drew the attention of the nearby crowd and Slate fled. Preferring speed to stealth, Slate led the group through the city streets until they reached a small park that provided plenty of darkness in which to regroup and strategize.

  Rainier spoke first. “A group left the crowd to chase us, but we distanced ourselves from them.”

  Lucus added, “Unfortunately, our pursuers gave away our direction of travel to Brannon’s supporters. Our night is not done yet…”

  On cue, a group of ten men appeared from a side street brandishing lights and an amalgam of weaponry. The leader of the group carried a mace in one hand and a lamp in the other. They appeared too surly to have been drinking. His followers had less intimidating short swords, but Rainier had already proven they were formidable weapons if used correctly.

  Slate had chosen this spot to see their attackers coming, but there was nowhere to escape unseen either. Streets surrounded the park on all four sides and the low shrubbery didn’t provide adequate cover to sneak away.