by J. T. Wright
The Immortals’ disciplined formation could be seen riding up the hill, and Frank risked his life by whispering that the Sergeant might want to change. Cullen shook his head irritably. He had always hated the pomp that came along with his position. Usually, he put up with it. Today he was in no mood.
The clattering of hooves cut off anything Frank may have wanted to add. Cullen sneered as the Immortals peeled off to the sides, allowing a group at their center to come forward. The precision of the soldiers was ruined by the mob they allowed through. Slumped in their saddles, looking bored, the Nobles showed no appreciation for the display that had been arranged for them.
The two women that led the group tried to make up for their companions’ lack of decorum. Vanessa Al’dross and a silver-haired girl Cullen did not recognize smiled as they brought their horses to a stop and dismounted. Cullen brushed at his breastplate, self-consciously, when he caught sight of Vanessa’s cheerful face and graceful form. In his temper, he had forgotten he was coming to welcome a friend home. Reminded of it now, a hint of shame that he kept from his face crept into him.
Grooms hurried forward to take the reins from the Duchess and the girl. More servants helped the rest of the Nobles dismount and guided their horses away. Vanessa smoothed the front of her shirt and, with steady flowing steps and a tired smile, she brought herself to stand before Lewis.
“I’ve returned, husband,” she said, taking his hands.
Lewis brought her knuckles to his lips. “You were gone too long. The Keep has been empty these last months. And you've brought guests with you.”
Lewis’s tone was even, and the words appropriate but the crinkle at the corner of his eyes told Vanessa he would have liked more warning. Vanessa moved to his side and linked her arm through his.
“You remember Eliora,” The Duchess started to introduce the silver-haired girl, standing a step behind her but was interrupted by a disdainful voice.
“Are we through with this? You have prepared rooms, Baron, show us the way. And I trust you have competent servants available. Ours were ordered to remain with the barge for some incomprehensible reason.”
Cullen sighed with relief as the silk-clad man, with the face of a woman, strutted arrogantly forward to make demands. The Sergeant had been itching for someone to unleash his pent-up frustrations on, and with Tersa left behind, asleep on a Dire Wolf, he had been afraid he wouldn’t get any volunteers.
“Corporal Francis, this young man desires appropriate accommodations. See him to the cells and arrange for our prettiest jailers to see to his needs.” Cullen tapped his sword hilt, his eyes on the Immortals as he gave the order he was entirely serious about.
Frank saluted, his fist ringing off his breastplate. His eyes were hard as he went to work. Seth Al'verren found his arm in the Corporal’s unyielding grip before Cullen’s words had finished bouncing off the nearby walls.
Seth futilely tried to wrench his arm away as he shrilly shouted, “Unhand me, peasant! Colonel, deal with this man. I am a prince, you unwashed oaf! Baron Al’dross, unless you wish to see…"
Colonel Bromden had been running to resolve the issue but came to a stop and closed his eyes as Lewis spoke, “Prince? I was unaware the Kingdom’s Heir was planning to visit.”
“Uncle,” Eliora said casually, “Your Grace, he is not the Heir. He is the eleventh born son of our father, the King.”
“I see,” Lewis inclined his head towards Eliora. “In that case, Colonel, was it? Do you wish to execute the criminal personally or should I?”
“Perhaps, leniency could be shown, Your Grace?” Colonel Bromden said respectfully, “He is the King’s son. It’s a minor mistake.”
“What!"
“You will keep your mouth shut,” Lewis hardly raised his voice. In comparison, the click of Seth’s teeth as they slammed together was much louder. Lewis rarely used the Right to Rule, granted to him by his Greater Noble Class, but when he did, any loyal subject of the kingdom had no way to resist his commands.
“I will overlook his transgression this time. An execution would spoil my wife’s return. Release him, Corporal.” Lewis lifted his gaze from Seth to address the rest of the Nobles. “Rooms have been prepared for all of you, and an early dinner will be served once you’ve had the opportunity to freshen up. Colonel, your men are welcome to stay in the barracks.”
Servants rushed forward to see Lewis’s orders carried out, and the Duke clasped his wife’s hand to lead her inside the Keep. Freed from Lewis’s influence, Seth whirled on Colonel Bromden.
“What was that? You allowed a Baron to speak to me that way? How will you answer for this?”
Bromden kept his voice low as he answered, “Your Highness, Lewis Al’dross is a Duke, granted the title by the World itself. In your father’s capital you may outrank him, but here…"
“Here, you step one toe out of line, and I'll hang you from the city wall myself.” Cullen stood behind Seth and growled into his ear, “Welcome to Al’drossford, highness.”
Chapter Eight
It took Orion Embra longer to reach the Trial town of Sweet Meadows than he anticipated. He found his feet dragging as he neared his destination. Sweet Meadows would have a Guildhall, and in that Guildhall, Orion might find word of his Clan. It was why he headed towards the town in the first place, but each step that brought him closer to his goal had been harder to take.
Technically, Orion was still an exile. Though unsealing his Spirit Summoner Class fulfilled the conditions of his return, until the Clan Elders officially confirmed it, Orion was an outsider. And there was a possibility that that declaration might never be made.
There were forces at play that were beyond Orion. His crime, the execution of his own brother, had been serious but justified. He should never have been exiled to begin with. Exile was the most severe punishment the clans handed out. At most, Orion should have been set a task to redeem himself.
As the first Al’rashian to gain the Spirit Summoner Class since the fall, Orion should have been protected. His crime should have been reasoned away. If not for his secondary identity as the adopted son of the First Elder, it would have been.
However much Orion’s Class had been celebrated when it first appeared in his Status, along with the joy came the rumors. What good was a Spirit Summoner without an Orb? How could Orion not instinctively know how to guide Al’rashians to their Bonds? The Elders had seized the opportunity provided by Albion’s death to rid themselves of an embarrassment and apply pressure to Orion’s mother.
Castalia Embra was First Elder by right of birth. She was the purest descendant of Clan Embra, and instead of marrying, she had adopted two boys to make her heirs. It rankled the old men of the clan council to no end, especially since they had no right to question Castalia or the means to persuade her. They didn’t until one of her sons became a traitor, and the other a Kin Slayer.
Orion was sure Castalia had been offered a choice, to marry and produce true heirs or see Orion exiled. Orion had never considered the Council of Elders fools before. They should have known what the results of their meddling would be. Castalia had wished Orion well and sent him away as if his exile would be a tempering and temporary journey.
Orion looked at the mud-speckled walls of Sweet Meadow’s Guildhall and sighed. He placed his palms against the worn wood of the door and pushed it open. His feet might hesitate, but the note from a king pushed him on. Whatever welcome awaited him at the Clan's current camp, he had to return.
Romantics would tell you that each Adventurers’ Guildhall had its own charm, its own stories to tell and secrets to share. In Orion’s experience, if the walls of a Guild could talk, they would be hard to hear over the sounds of Adventurers bragging and calling for drinks, while men fought in the arena or haggled with Attendants for better Quest rewards. He braced himself for the wave of sound that would sweep over him when the doors opened.
Silence. Orion thought he had come to the wrong place. But no, the structure was all ther
e; it was only the color that was missing. The Guildhall at Sweet Meadows was a narrow two-story building. Inside, the designers had fit all the necessary pieces of a Guild into a limited space.
An empty railed pit sat at the center of the room. This arena should have contained Adventurers honing their skills or settling disagreements to the delight of gamblers. Orion had never seen an unused arena before. Most of Sweet Meadow’s Adventurers sat at the tables which were scattered about, while a few leaned against the bar at the right side of the room.
No one was lined up at the Questing Pillar or the Attendant’s counter. No shouting, cheering, or ringing of coin being slapped down greeted Orion. Whispered conversations cut off as the Al’rashian entered, and every eye turned to look at him.
Orion drifted into the room. It was probably his imagination, but he could swear his boots created an echo in the stillness. Pretending he could not feel the gazes burning into him, Orion slipped passed tables and made his way to the counter.
The middle-aged Guild Attendant wore an anxious expression as Orion approached. That look concerned Orion more than anything. The Attendant should have been leaning against his station, looking bored from the lack of activity. Or if not bored, then he should have worn a prideful air of irritation, being upset that Adventurers weren’t making use of his expertise. He should not have hunched his shoulders and looked about nervously as Orion stood before him.
The man cleared his throat and tried to smile. His efforts made him look like he wanted to vomit. “If your business isn’t urgent, it might be best to wait.”
Orion reached into his robe and removed three melted lumps of metal from an inside pocket. He set them on the counter one at a time. The Attendant’s attitude annoyed him. Orion might be uncertain how his Clan would receive him, but in a Guildhall, he was a Silver Ranked Adventurer. Whatever problems Sweet Meadows might be facing, they weren’t his.
“I am here to collect a bounty, and…” Orion’s hand went to his sword, as everyone in the room rose from their chairs. He had placed his Staff in Storage, and that suddenly felt like a mistake.
The roomful of Adventurers were not looking at Orion any longer. They stared at the Attendant as the man took out a monocle with shaking hands and used it to peer at the ruined Guild Tokens Orion had set out on the counter. When the man gasped and rubbed at his lips, muttering in disbelief, Orion eased an inch of his blade clear of its sheath.
The Tokens belonged to three outlaws he had killed on the road. They may have been scum, that didn’t mean they didn’t have friends. From all appearances, Orion had walked into a room filled with those that sympathized with Dale of Kilpond and his cronies. Orion’s sword almost finished freeing itself as a young woman pushed her way through the crowd towards the counter.
The woman swayed as she came forward. Her steps were light and graceful, but her hips had more drunken stagger than seductive grace in them. Hazel eyes, blurry and reddened, confirmed Orion’s guess. The woman’s long brown hair hung loosely around her shoulders, and a cloak concealed most of her body. Where the cloak hung open, Orion spotted chainmail shoulder guards over red leather and the hilts of at least three knives.
Sagging against the counter, the unsteady woman ignored Orion and his half-drawn sword. She hiccupped as she asked the Attendant, “Is it them?”
“Yes, all three of them,” the Attendant responded softly. Raising his voice, he repeated his announcement, “He killed all three of them!”
The crowd erupted. Orion had allowed his blade to sink back into his sheath, and he couldn’t get it out in time. The woman was drunk, but as close as she was, she hardly needed to be fast. Her arms closed around him, holding his arms to his sides.
Her mistake. Orion needed physical contact to cast Bind, and this woman had sealed her own fate. Before he could cast the Spell, she pressed her forehead against his chest. Her voice broke as she repeatedly sobbed, “Thank you, thank you…”
Orion nearly cast Bind anyway. He just wanted to get away. The crowd of Adventurers closed in around him and pulled him to a nearby table. The woman never released her hold as they were both shoved into chairs. She slumped awkwardly, still muttering, while Orion was subjected to thudding blows on his shoulders and pelted with questions.
“Quiet!” The young woman shouted, straightening up in her chair. She grabbed hold of Orion’s sleeve. “How did they die? Was it slow? Painful?”
“No.” Orion tried to tug his arm away and stand up, but the woman’s fingers and the press of the crowd held him in place. “It was over in seconds.”
“What did you do with the bodies?” the woman leaned forward, her eyes clearing slightly as she focused on the Al’rashian.
“I threw them into the Blackmire,” Orion replied.
“Better than they deserved! You should have hung them naked from the trees. Should have plucked out their eyes and…better than they deserved…” Her hand fell away as she trailed off. Then she came to her feet with a roar, “Drinks, drinks for everyone! Dale and his scum are dead! And the world is a cleaner place!”
Orion would have had to cut his way out of the Guild to leave. He was tempted to do it. The Adventurers of Sweet Meadows made up for their earlier solemnness by filling the hall with an uncontrolled celebration. The arena meant for duels became a stage for musicians and dancing. Men stood on tables and shouted his praises. They stamped their feet, and the barmaid couldn’t bring drinks fast enough to satisfy the demand.
Orion heard the story of his battle with the three outlaws told repeatedly. The Adventurers filled in the details themselves, expanding on the few sentences he had been allowed to speak. By the end of the night, Orion had become an avenging angel, who pursued Dale of Kilpond for several days and nights without rest. The epic chase culminated in a fierce struggle on a cliff at dawn, where Dale, unable to escape, flung himself to his death rather than face Orion’s fury.
It was only a few hours until daybreak when the party finally fizzled out. Orion had never moved from his seat. Despite that, he felt as exhausted as the men curled up asleep under the tables. He would have slipped out of the hall then, run for the Wilds, and never looked back only he still hoped to finish his business.
The Guild Attendant, his anxiety gone, sat down in a chair on Orion’s left. The seat to his right was still occupied by the young woman, who had laid her head on the table and had been unconscious for hours. Orion doubted she would remember the night’s events when she awoke. Someone else would have to remind her, Orion planned to be long gone.
“Probably didn’t expect all that, hmmm?” The middle-aged Attendant said, setting a heavy pouch in front of Orion. “Your bounty, sixty silver. Twenty for each Token.”
Orion opened the pouch and counted the contents. Confirming the amount, he tied it to his belt, unwilling to announce that he had Storage. “You take bounties seriously here. Most halls wouldn’t react so fervently for men worth twenty silver apiece.”
The Attendant nodded at the sleeping woman. “Girl’s name is Reann, she’s the one who reported Dale and his lot. Reported them for killing her friends. They were popular around here; pretty girls always are. The hall took their deaths hard.”
“Then why wasn’t anyone out searching for their killers?” Orion had come across Dale, Brins, and Kurt days ago and had not seen a soul on the road since.
The Attendant snorted. “Sympathy is easy. Tracking three Iron-Ranked Adventurers for sixty silvers? Not many here willing to do that. Mostly soft metal on the Kilpond circuit, you understand?” He spread his arms as if begging Orion to do just that.
Orion nodded. Soft metal, Adventurers who did not adventure. They never delved too deep, never hunted outside of familiar terrain, and considered every step before they took it. Adventurers like that were necessary for local economies but they would never be great, never hold a Guild Token that was more precious than steel.
The Al’rashian didn’t judge. He pulled out his own Silver Token and laid it on the ta
ble. “I'm looking for word of Clan Embra.”
The Attendant waved the Token away. Guild policy said he should verify it but what he had to say wasn’t official. “We don’t get Ridings through here often. I did hear a rumor about a Clan doing mercenary work around Wallander. Nasty bit of fighting up that way just now. But I can’t say if it’s the Embras or not.”
“You don’t need to check?” Orion asked, looking towards the counter. Records would be kept there, records which would hold messages from the Clans if they were available.
“Like I said, we don’t get many Ridings through Sweet Meadows. Rumor I heard was from a trader.”
Orion tucked his Token away and rubbed at the back of his neck. “A month to Wallander?”
“Month, month and a half, depending on the roads. I’d lean towards it taking longer. Unsettled that way, like I said. Might make better time if you’ve got a good mount.”
That sparked an interest in Orion. It faded after he considered his finances. He’d have to work the local Trial for a lot longer than a month or two to earn enough coin for a decent mount. “What about local weapon shops? Are there any you can recommend?”
“The First Strike sells decent blades. Should meet the needs of a Silver, barely. You'll pass it on your way north if you’re headed for Wallander.” The Attendant regretted not looking closer at Orion’s Token. Generally, Silver Ranked were Level 75 or higher. The Token would have told him the Al’rashian's specifics. Finding out now would mean using Identify, which wouldn’t work if Orion was at such a Level, not to mention being considered rude. More than a few duels started with careless use of Identify.
Orion tossed a coin on the table,.“I'll take a room for the night if one’s available. Please send someone to wake me an hour before the shops open.”
The Attendant took a key out of his pocket and pushed it, as well as Orion’s silver, over to him. “Room at the end of the hall is free and empty.”
