by J. T. Wright
It would have today as well, if not for what lay behind Al’dross. The great hall was rarely used in Al’drossford. Seth had never had a reason to enter it before. He was determined to remain unimpressed by the architecture and craftsmanship that surrounded him. He refused to acknowledge the history that was marked by the weapons, banners, and flags hung on the walls. What grandeur hadn’t he seen before?
The sight of a masterfully carved wooden seat, however, caused his blood to seethe. Seth knew a throne when he saw one. His father sat on one forged of precious metals, decorated with shining jewels. That throne was in all ways more expensive looking than the simple wooden chair with its high back. The one that he couldn’t tear his eyes away from.
The crowd murmured around him, but Seth couldn’t hear them over the blood that thundered in his ears. The throne was beautiful in its simplicity, and Seth had never wanted to possess a thing more in his life than he did that chair. He wanted to rest in its embrace and issue his proclamations from it, surrounded by the scent of power and authority. That the chair belonged to Lewis Al’dross was a grave injustice.
Lewis opened his mouth to call the assembled crowd to order and paused. His eyebrow lifted as Seth set a foot on the stone steps and began to climb. He ascended with graceful, calculated steps under the watchful eyes of a man called Duke by the World. Seth held his head high and peered down his nose as he walked closer, daring Al'dross to stop him.
Avery melted back into the mass of people who had fallen silent. He would not follow his master in this path. Seth was encouraged by Lewis’s lack of response to his provocative actions. Avery recognized the look on Lewis’s face for what it was, not a dare or warning, but a judgment.
When Seth brushed by Lewis, his shoulder ruffling the man’s sleeve, Avery held his breath. He could not imagine what Seth was up to. This had never been in the plans they had discussed. As foolhardy as those plans were, they were the epitome of sense compared to what Seth was doing now.
Seth could feel Lewis turning his head to watch as he paced by. He walked, floated as if in a dream, a cloud on the wind, high above the man whose hall he strutted through. When Lewis failed to chastise him, Seth didn’t question it. This was right. This was his destiny.
He arrived at the throne too soon. He hardly had the chance to savor the moment before he was standing in front of the siren wood. He ran his palm along the armrest, breathing deep to draw in the rich, warm scent of wood.
Had he looked back, Seth might have awoken from his dream. The look on Lewis’s face, the craving and disbelief, might have given him pause. Seth was already lowering himself into the throne before he noted Lewis again, and by that time, it was too late.
Seth crossed his legs and clutched the armrests in the quiet. He did experience a moment of uneasiness when he saw the wide eyes of the Duke. A quiver spoiled Seth’s complacency, but his natural arrogance suppressed it.
He lifted his right hand in a lazy waving motion. “You may continue, Baron–"
Then the screaming began. The heady wood smell was replaced by the scent of burning leather, silk, and skin. Seth ripped his hand away from the throne, leaving a good portion of his palm behind. Blood stained the cuff of his shirt as it ran down his arm. Horrified shouts from the crowd mingled with his own as Seth tried to lift himself from the throne and was unable.
One man stood untouched by the chaos that erupted. Lewis Al’dross observed it all with unfazed blue eyes and the satisfied look of a cat drowning in cream as Seth twitched and burned. Seth had walked as if in a dream, but it was Lewis who was sure he was dreaming now. The Al’verrens kept their citizens ignorant; it was the basis of their power. Never would he have dared to hope that they extended that policy to their children so completely. Surely, the king warned his sons that there were some things they must never do.
When Lewis acted, it was to confirm the reality of the situation, not to save Seth. Swift strides carried him to the seated, screaming man. A hand that steadied a territory grabbed Seth by his shoulder and flung him from the chair that was trying to consume him. Seth thudded against the stone platform, shuddering and shivering, his throat already raw from screaming.
Lewis stood before the empty throne and reached out trembling fingers to brush away the ash that remained from Seth’s clothing and flesh. For the first time, his fingers brushed against the throne that must not be touched. Once it was clean, Lewis laid his palm on the high back. The wooden seat did not resist his touch. The enchantments that had protected it were broken.
“Your Grace, he won’t heal. It’s not working.” Helmand, in his panic, tugged at the Duke’s sleeve. “What’s happening?”
In a daze, Lewis lifted his hand and turned. Seth was on the ground, surrounded by medics from the Guard and a pool of his own blood. All Lewis had to do to ensure of his death was… nothing.
“Bind his wounds, no magic,” Lewis hoarsely ordered. He cleared his throat. “Bandages and ointments. Tell Colonel Bromden to prepare plenty of Healing potions for the trip back. He will need them.”
The medics heard the Duke’s orders clearly. Helmand repeated them shrilly anyway and would have kept repeating them if Lewis hadn’t grabbed his shoulder. “Leave them to their work. I need you to summon everyone. Send these people home. I want this hall filled with my council, immediately, both administrative and military. Do you hear me, Helmand?”
Helmand’s head wobbled on his neck as he nodded. He fussed with the front of his robes and tried not to look in the direction of Seth, whose screams had turned to moans. Bobbing a bow to Lewis, who had already swiveled back towards the throne, Helmand rushed off to summon every person of authority he could. He was certain he was gathering them to plan how they would appease the king as soon as news of Seth’s injury reached the capital.
Lewis knew appeasement wasn’t in the cards. The Al'dross were bound to the kingdom by charter. They had never sworn loyalty. There were only two ways to revoke the charter that constrained them. In his wildest fantasy, Lewis failed to imagine an insignificant person like Seth would be responsible for breaking the chains that had been wrapped tightly around Lewis’s family.
Lewis felt like thanking Seth. Maybe he would if Seth regained consciousness before Lewis had him, and all the Nobles Seth had brought along, tossed out of the city. A stretcher was brought, and the wounded Seth carried away for treatment. Lewis listened to the footsteps of Guardsmen as they exited. He rested his hand on the back of the throne and ran his fingers around the curves carved into the wood.
“Will you sit?” Ranar asked, stepping into view from out of nowhere.
“It was never meant for an Al'dross… for a Dross.” Lewis’s voice was rough with suppressed emotion. He was a Dross now. That would take some getting used to. How long had his family waited for this day? How long ago had they given up hope that the day would come?
“Is that what you are now? Should I call you Elder Dross instead of Your Grace?” The jumble of emotions in Lewis’s gut settled into a single flame of anger at Ranar’s prodding.
“Do not test me, Ranar.” The coolness in his words chilled the room without seeming to affect the unflappable Ranar.
“No test.” Ranar crossed his arms and leaned a shoulder against the throne. “I merely wonder what happens now. I've read the charter; it’s not hard to see what happened.”
“The seat is meant for a king.” Lewis drew his hand away and took a step back. “Until the Clans come, none will sit in it.”
“You sound uncertain.” Ranar tucked his thumbs behind his sword belt. “Will the Clans come? How will you summon them? What awaits them when they arrive? I've seen the vault, seen all the preparations your family has made. Is it enough?”
“You've seen the vault then you know the answer to those questions.” Lewis’s eyes narrowed. “Within a week, the Guildhall will be converted into a Hub, and I will issue a Quest to bring the Clans. Inside of a month, the materials we've gathered will be used to build a teleportati
on circle. The Clans can use all the rest to build a nation! I will not stand in their way.”
It pained Lewis to say it. For centuries the Al'dross had hoarded all the resources necessary to expand their borders and strengthen their people. All of those treasures could be put to use now. They would be used by strangers to change the home he had grown up in into a place he could not picture himself.
“You mistake me, Eldest of the Clan Dross.” Ranar lowered himself to perch on the armrest of the throne. “I do not accuse you or test your resolve. You asked if I would go to collect Trent Embra. Do you understand why I don’t?”
Ranar didn’t wait for Lewis to reply. “I leave Trent to find his own way to this place because I see a greater need. A violet-eyed Al’rashian will bolster the clans moral. The Spirit Summoner I've heard of can restore the ties that once held our nation together. Who will lead them?”
“You think I should fill that role?” Lewis laughed at the suggestion in the ancient Al’rashian’s words. “My eyes are blue, not gold, Ranar. Do you know how many generations you have to go back in order to find a full-blooded Al’rashian in my lineage? The Clans will never accept a Human king.”
“Is that what you saw when you looked into the mirror earlier?” Ranar closed his eyes and lowered his chin. “We are not Elves, Lewis Dross. There are no Half-Al'rashians. Yours is first among all the Clans. A drop of Dross blood is sufficient for me to see you in this throne. Unless the Clans have fallen beyond all recognition, they will acknowledge you as well. If they don’t, I will help you toss them from this place personally.
“There will be no golden-eyed kings, Lewis Dross.” Ranar’s eyes opened and he stood. “There is no Spirit of Al’rashia to anoint a leader. Your ancestors must have forgotten to take that into account. You see a Human in the mirror. Do you know what I see?”
“This place was built to resemble Windshire Stronghold. Ther biggest difference I've found here is that Windshire had a statue guarding her gates. Perhaps your people should have recreated that as well. If they had, you would be able to see that, other than a few superficial differences, you are the spitting image of Aldren Dross.
“He built our nation and his eyes were blue for the majority of his life.” Ranar place a hand in Lewis’s shoulder briefly as he walked past the stunned Duke. “The Clans will follow the violet-eyed into the abyss, screaming defiance. It will take a Dross to lead them back into the light.”
The Elder’s voice echoed in the great hall, bouncing off the walls and columns to slam into Lewis. “You look tired, Your Grace. Sit upon the throne and think it over.”
Lewis couldn’t bring himself to lower his body into the chair. Left alone, with Ranar’s words ringing in his ears, he was held back by chains forged by the expectations of the men who carved the seat.
A united Al’rashian nation. A golden-eyed king. The journals left behind by the original founders of Al'drossford made it seem like those things were within reach. The preserved pages containing all of the plans of his family had made it sound like a simple task with the right preparations.
Those plans had been made nearly a thousand years ago. Maybe Ranar was right. Maybe a home wasn’t enough to draw the Clans. Perhaps only a leader could do that.
Chapter Twenty
Trent came to his feet, knives in hand. When no threat presented itself, he stood, muscles clenched, and waited for the surge of adrenaline to fade. He hadn’t meant to sleep so casually, in the open without setting a single trap or alarm or concealing himself in any way. His dreams, dreams of flinging darts and fighting rats, had reflected his inner worries.
Breathing deeply, Trent started to return Sorrow and Strife to their sheaths when it occurred to him that Strife felt far more comfortable in his hand than it ever had before. A check of his Status left him stumped. Clever Hands was a welcome addition, but how had he learned it? In his sleep?
He also had 10 Free Attribute Points still waiting to be spent. That should have been done the day before but had somehow slipped his mind. Adding 7 to Dexterity and 3 to Strength left Trent a little light-headed, a result not only because of the changes to his Attributes, but also the realization that he could finally draw the short sword he had received in the Garden of Clarity.
The Weapon came out of Storage, and Trent held it tightly as he Appraised it. The sword almost fell from his hands as he read the results. He managed to hang on, which was probably for the best. Dreq had already been spilled to the ground by Trent’s abrupt rising and was expressing his displeasure by gnawing at Trent’s boot. Having a sword dropped on his head probably wouldn’t have cheered the Dog up much.
Crystal Key
Damage rating +30
Go West
The weapon wasn’t a weapon. Was it a key? Drawing it, Trent saw the blade for the first time. Two feet long and made of translucent crystal, it certainly looked like a sword, and it had a heft to it that his wooden blades lacked. Testing the edge, Trent found it dull. The Damage Rating probably came from the item’s unusual weight. It was more club than a sword and, according to Appraisal, it wasn’t meant to be used as either.
The note, go west, in the description was curious, though not enough to cover his disappointment. Storing the useless thing, Trent rubbed at his neck. He might go west. It wasn’t like he had anywhere else to be. He balked because he didn’t like taking directions from an inanimate object with no clear purpose.
Trent nudged Dreq away from his boots. Before the Dog could spring back, Trent tossed a portion of meat and a Beast tooth to the ground. That should distract Dreq while Trent went about his morning routine.
With the words “go west” at the forefront of his thoughts, Trent stretched. He exercised and practiced for an hour but wasn’t able to work up much enthusiasm for it. As he ate the last of his dried rations under the watchful eyes of Dreq, he found himself growing excited at the prospect of discovering where the Key’s direction might take him.
First, he had to return to Bellrise. He needed supplies and weapons. The Keeper of the Moonlit Forest had said Trent needed to learn that there was strength in numbers. The lesson Trent actually took from that Trial was that Healing and Stamina potions were necessities. Spare weapons would help as well.
He figured he and Dreq could make it back to the town by midmorning if they hurried. A glance at Dreq made him reevaluate that estimate. Somehow the Dog had gotten smaller in the night and lost two-thirds of his Stamina and Health. Training was called for; Trent was not going to carry the pup, no matter how many hopeful looks were sent his way.
**********
On the road south of Bellrise, the figure of a young man could be seen trudging towards town. Very little stood out about the young man, Kerry Moss. Kerry’s shade of brown hair and eyes could be found everywhere, his face was plain but honest, and he was average in height. Only his build set him apart.
Kerry’s chest and shoulders went on for miles. He was a squat tower on legs, and he probably had to turn sideways to go through a doorway. Dressed in simple tunic and trousers, with hands tucked into his pockets, Kerry resembled a boulder that had learned to walk.
Looking past his width, two things would draw the eye of an observer. The first was that Kerry’s abnormally wide shoulders were slumped, and his eyes never looked farther than the tips of his boots. He had the air of a man who had lost it all, with no chance of recovery.
The second thing of note is that Kerry was covered in what one would hope was dirt. Those hopes would be dashed upon approach. Kerry stank! The smell was bad enough to drive away Beasts and men, and worst of all, Kerry’s nose refused to adjust to the odor that lingered about him. He was subjected to the scent constantly.
Scuffing his feet, Kerry was thinking about how he had always planned to join the Guard. That was still his plan. His aunt was a member of the City Watch in Al’drossford, and she could get him a place as a Recruit easily enough, but Kerry had grander dreams.
Guard Recruits were not provided wi
th Skill Stones; they learned their weapons through drills. They would not be given any external help until it was time for them to Specialize their Class, a process which could take years under the exacting standards of the Duke’s trainers.
It had seemed like a brilliant idea to enroll at Bellrise Academy. Recruits had limited time to delve Dungeons, and while they could keep whatever they found during their instructional expeditions, the fact was it could take dozens of trips into a Dungeon before you found a Skill Stone. Paired with the fact that there was no guarantee of learning the found Skill, Guard Recruits were stuck with what they could pick up manually.
Theoretically, the opposite was true for Academy students learning to be Adventurers. They were encouraged to explore the local Dungeon as often as they could. They were presented with a wide variety of courses where they could study any Skill they desired. If they found a Skill Stone they couldn’t absorb, there was always someone willing to trade. Bellrise students should have been overwhelmed with the number of Skills available for them to master.
In the six months he had been studying, Kerry had learned two, Heavy Armor and Taunt. It was not the glorious path to a quick promotion he had imagined. At this rate, when he did join the Guard, instead of being well ahead of others his age, he would be lagging way behind.
Most of Kerry’s problems could be solved with money. Copper would get him into the local Dungeon to search for treasure and to level up. Silver would buy Skills and pay for extra lessons. Gold would cover the cost of his rash decisions, though that was a dream and one he tried not to think about often.
It was the pursuit of coin that had taken him beyond the town’s walls today. He woke up early to beat the rush of Academy students to the Guild’s Questing Pillar. He was the first to arrive and had his pick of all the Quests available to Wood Ranked Adventurers. He should have slept in. The Quest he ended up choosing would have been there regardless of what time he arrived.
