“I don’t doubt that for a moment.” Leshel focused a piercing stare on her. “You’re actually the main reason for my hesitation.”
“Not all half Nér-vrogan are outcasts.” I wasn’t sure how Leshel had managed to identify her, but his scowl made it quite obvious that he had. “Some willingly serve their Lords and Ladies, helping to undermine and even kill any who oppose them. Concealing your past from me when you sought entry here is a mistake others have also made, always to their misfortune.”
There was a very clear threat embedded in Leshel’s words, and this time, at least I was sympathetic to his plight. Able to pass easily for a member of their mortal parent’s race, allowing a half Nér-vrogan traitor into his camp would be like setting a fox loose in your henhouse.
“How did you know?” I stalled, shifting uneasily in my chair as I prepared to defend withholding the information from him.
“How could I not?” Leshel smiled, revealing a pair of elongated canines.
While I was still stunned, Kyrah was clearly relieved by the sight of his fangs. “I’ve never met another like me before. Is that what I felt?”
“Yes,” Leshel seemed to need no clarification about what she’d meant. “We can sense each other when we’re close enough.”
I could see how that might be very useful; for either side, unfortunately.
“So, what happens now?” Agna broke in while Kyrah and Leshel continued to stare at each other.
“Tell me how you came to be here,” Leshel’s gaze pivoted towards the orc when he replied. “All of it.”
Yeah, that’s not quite going to happen…
I felt no need to reveal my origins to him, so I began my story with how I’d met Kyrah and spared her from Vistaal. Although I held back a great deal, I did tell Leshel enough of the truth to hopefully convince him that our offer of help was genuine. Once I’d finished, Kyrah jumped in right away, obviously eager to share her history with him. I’d heard her tale before, and even though she also chose to keep a few of her secrets, I was surprised at how forthcoming she was.
With both our stories told, I pivoted towards Agna as she reluctantly added a few bits about herself and how she’d come to join us, thankfully leaving out the small matter of the ancient orc prophecy she’d revealed to me. Derrik followed after, holding back nothing at all when he repeated his entire tale for Leshel.
“I’ve learned a great deal about reading people over the years,” the Commander’s brow arched as he looked me in the eye. “While I’m certain what you’ve told me is the truth, it’s also quite apparent that you’ve left out a great deal as well.”
“Don’t worry, I understand,” he continued, waving me off before I could respond. “You’re entitled to keep a few secrets. But there is one thing you’ve left out that’s actually important.”
“How?” Leshel’s tone conveyed both his curiosity and the fact that answering this question was not optional. “No one has slain a Nér-vrogan for at least a thousand years; if even that. Yet you’ve already killed two of them, and without much trouble, it seems.”
There were so many possible answers to that question. My weapons alone provided me with the means to defeat a Nér-vrogan, but I’d been wondering if there was even more to it than just that. Not only was I the daughter of a Goddess, but through her, I’d also been granted access to many other powers as well. The titles on my sheet named me as both Sintári and Unbound in addition to Demi-Goddess, and I’d discovered that I also possessed at least some of the abilities of the Deathless. I wondered if any of those would also make the Nér-vrogan vulnerable to me as well—I just had no way of knowing for sure. Yet I wasn’t willing to disclose any of that to Leshel, but with him waiting for my answer, I offered the only one I was truly certain of.
“This.” I reached over my shoulder and drew one of my blades before laying the sword across his desk.
“Are you able to tell what it is?” I asked as he appraised the weapon.
“It’s definitely very well-made,” he shook his head slightly from side to side, obviously reluctant to admit his failure. “Beyond that, I see nothing special about it.”
Leshel reached out for a closer examination but was unable to grasp its hilt. His fingers stopped mid-air, held at bay by the sword’s power. As soul bound items, the Daughter’s Blades wouldn’t permit anyone but me to take hold of them, and Leshel’s jaw dropped open when he finally realized what it was that lay before him.
“Magic?” He asked, despite clearly knowing that was the case.
I nodded as I reclaimed my blade.
“She can cast spells too!” Kyrah seemed quite happy to divulge that as well.
“I can see why you might not have wanted me to know that,” Leshel responded as Kyrah withered under my glare. “And I promise to keep it between us; but tell me, how is it that you’ve acquired all these things that have been lost to the rest of us for so long?”
My stare was enough to persuade Kyrah to keep her mouth shut for a moment, allowing me the opportunity to answer instead. Although I’d kept a lot from him, I realized that I probably had to trust Leshel at least a little bit more than I’d first intended. He was the Commander of this garrison, after all, and if I wanted to really strike a blow against the Nér-vrogan, I’d need to earn not only Leshel’s confidence but his respect as well.
“I came here from Arrika,” Leshel jolted backwards in surprise when I laid that one on him. “Before you ask, no one else is coming to back me up; I’m all alone.”
‘Not quite alone,’ Scar pointed out.
Thanks for the reminder, I felt the smile pulling at my lips as my hand settled on his shoulder.
Of course, that began a whole new round of questions, ones I respectfully declined to answer for the most part. Remarkably, Leshel didn’t feel the need to press too hard for any additional information—with all we’d told him, it was probably more than enough already. I was also pretty sure that he was counting on us to disclose even more as he gained our trust, a display of faith that went a long way towards improving my opinion of him.
Once our discussion came to an end, Leshel escorted us outside and showed us to the quarters we’d been assigned. Along the way, we crossed the broad courtyard at the center of the fortress, and I caught sight of the first dwarves I’d seen since my arrival in Runía.
The echoes of ringing metal drew my attention as several dwarven blacksmiths busily hammered at glowing hunks of steel within a large forge building. With no walls and only the roof over their heads, it was easy for me to observe them as they toiled away. Veering apart from Leshel, he was forced to follow us for a change when my companions all joined my little diversion.
News of what had happened outside the Garrison’s gate must have spread fast; once the first of the blacksmiths noticed our approach, they each put aside their work to look us over. While I found forging somewhat interesting, my purpose in visiting the smiths hadn’t been to simply watch them work; I’d hoped to discover the answer to a question that had been bothering me for some time.
“Have you anything made of Dwarven Steel or Khelduin?” I asked the closest of them once we’d drawn close enough to speak.
The very nature of those metals imparted a slight enchantment to both of them, so it puzzled me why everyone seemed to believe they had no weapons to use against the Nér-vrogan. I could only surmise that our enemy had deceived everyone, making them believe they were invulnerable to them as well. It wouldn’t be cheap or easy to arm everyone with such precious gear, but with the relatively few number of Nér-vrogan aligned against us, it shouldn’t take too many to make a tremendous difference.
“Are ye daft, girl?”
Okay, maybe not…
“The art of makin’ the old steel was lost when the damn Nér-vrogan slaughtered all the Master Smiths and destroyed the great forges,” the dwarf spat on the ground at his feet in disgust. “As for the Strong Silver, that’s only a legend; some fool’s notion to give us hope. Might
as well believe the Gods themselves will come back and rescue us.”
That was disappointing, to say the least. Yet, at the same time, the Nér-vrogan’s apparent need to rid the world of the knowledge of crafting Dwarven Steel offered a ray of hope as well. They certainly wouldn’t have gone through all that trouble if the metal posed no real threat to them, so I felt confident that my hypothesis held at least some merit. Not that it did me any good.
“Legends aren’t always false, Master Dwarf,” I looked him in the eye as I slid my blade free from its sheath and placed it across the anvil that lay between us, repeating the same demonstration of proof that I’d offered Leshel.
He stared at the sword for a long while as the rest of the smiths drew closer, each of them taking in the weapon for themselves. Unlike Leshel, none of them dared to touch it, only gazing in silent awe; captivated by the bright glow of the Khelduin itself. Their eyes tracked the blade when I picked it up again, and the dwarves let out a collective sigh of disappointment as the sword vanished into its sheath.
“Hope is more than just a fool’s notion.” With the blade no longer visible, their attention was focused solely on me. “We may not have Khelduin to mine, but your ancestors taught themselves how to create Dwarven Steel from raw iron. It’s time you equaled their measure.”
That was a rather large gauntlet to throw down, but I gave them no opportunity to reject the challenge I’d set for them, quickly turning on my heel as I strode away. I had no idea where I was going, however. Fortunately, Leshel took up the lead once more, guiding us towards our quarters.
“Let me guess,” I sighed when a pair of halflings crossing our path prompted my question to Leshel. “The Nér-vrogan hunted down the spell-casters and burned all the libraries too?”
With their unique affinity for the mystical arts, the halfling people were master Evokers and powerful Curates; or at least they had been in Arrika. I’d been hoping that the only reason I’d not heard mention of them was that Three Kingdoms had been holding their power in reserve, but with the revelations at the forge, I feared there was an entirely different reason for their absence.
“Yes.” I felt my spirits begin to falter as he confirmed my worst suspicions, “By the time our ancestors made it to these lands, the Nér-vrogan had killed nearly everyone who posed any threat to them. All that remained were a handful of apprentices, and most of them lacked the necessary skill to pass on what little they’d learned.”
That was just… Great.
While I could certainly count on some help fighting the Sentinels, it was essentially me against every single Nér-vrogan that was out there. Although we’d discussed The Thirteen and the fact that there were ‘lesser’ Nér-vrogan who served under them, I had no idea what sort of odds were stacked up against me.
“We estimate their count at no more than a thousand in all of Runía,” Leshel responded to my inquiry, pausing for only a second before adding. “Give or take.”
I guess it could have been worse; I just wasn’t sure how.
A platoon of halfling casters might have made all the difference, but my talent with magic wasn’t quite up to the level that would permit me to instruct them. That might change sometime in the future, but until then, it seemed that I was the only person on the entire continent that offered any real threat to the Nér-vrogan. Should they learn of my existence, I had no doubt they’d spare no effort hunting me down; not even the Free Lands would be able to protect me against their wrath.
Thinking about the dubious prospects of my future also led me to another conclusion. Without anyone else to learn from, my only access to new Spells would be through the leveling-up process. If I lived long enough to be able to pass on my skills, the decision about what Spells to choose on those rare occasions wouldn’t truly be my own. I’d have to also factor in what might benefit any potential students of mine, likely narrowing down my choices significantly.
“Why don’t you rest for the night,” Leshel read my mood perfectly, rousing me from my dour thoughts as he opened the door and ushered us inside the building that was apparently our new home. “For now, allow yourself to relax; we can discuss the future tomorrow.”
It seemed as if Leshel had decided to put us up in some sort of VIP residence. We had our choice of suites, each with a small sitting area and its own private bath. As he prepared to return to his duties, Leshel offered one final accommodation.
“If you’ll follow me, I can see that your… worg is put up in one of our kennels,” Leshel’s look of disgust made it clear that he fully expected me to jump at the opportunity. “You’ll likely have to see to his care yourself, of course, but I imagine that’s preferable to having him sleep in the same room with you.”
“Actually, it’s not.” Scar nearly equaled my height as he sat beside me on his hindquarters, and I leaned my body against him. “He goes wherever I go.”
“I shall remember that,” there was an unexpected note of respect in Leshel’s voice as he shut the door behind himself.
The moment the door closed, Agna and Derrik rushed to claim the two downstairs chambers, leaving Kyrah and me with the upstairs suites. The stairs weren’t much of a bother, so I shrugged as we each retired to our separate spaces. Although I cared for each of my companions dearly—even Derrik, despite his newness to me—after weeks of traveling in the wilderness together, we all craved the comfort of a little privacy.
Despite the early hour, as Scar laid down at the foot of the room’s simple bed, my thoughts were focused on wrapping myself up in its thick blankets. While I began pulling off my armor, the sight of a large soaking tub in the adjacent washroom caught my eye, and an entirely different experience beckoned.
Since discovering that I was at least partially one of the Deathless, I hadn’t needed to shower or bathe to feel clean. Yet the thought of soaking my body in hot water was still appealing for so many other reasons; memories of my lakeside retreat and the peace I’d so often found there was only one of them. The tepid liquid filling the vessel was a profound disappointment, however, until I thought of a way to address that horrible condition.
Submerging my arm in the lukewarm water, I cast Blaze, igniting a ball of fire in my hand. The sphere’s power was quickly absorbed, raising the temperature noticeably. After repeating the gesture only a few more times, I had a nearly scalding-hot bath waiting for me. The heat of it began to loosen the tension in my muscles the instant I immersed myself, and I savored its luxurious warmth until the sun fell low in the sky. Reluctantly exiting the tub, I dried off before sitting down in front of the room’s large mirror to brush the tangles out of my hair. It had been weeks since I’d last seen myself, and my fingers brushed against the cool surface of the glass when I reached out towards my reflection.
For the first time in years, I wasn’t thoroughly disgusted by the sight of my own image looking back at me. Rather than a mere collection of parts drawn from both Insleí and Dreya, it was only me that I saw—a unique individual with abilities and accomplishments that were all her own. While I still bore a striking resemblance to both my parents, what I saw was more a blending of their aspects rather than just some hodgepodge of mismatched features.
With my fingertips still pressed against the glass, I began to smile as I traced the outline of my face, stopping abruptly when I finally noticed my eyes. Although flecked with hints of green, they’d always been predominantly bright blue, thundering into stormy gray whenever my mood turned foul. Yet as I peered into the glass, I saw far more green staring back at me than had ever been there before—still somewhat scattered about, but nearly a full third was tinted in a verdant hue.
I knew that unleashing my abilities had only made me even more like Dreya. Truthfully, I’d been drifting in her direction for many years; I’d just been far too stubborn to admit or even recognize that fact. Yet to see the evidence of that shift so blatantly displayed gave me a moment’s pause. While I no longer hated or even resented the Goddess, I didn’t want to completely lo
se my connection with Insleí either. But I realized that no matter how my outward appearance might be altered, that would never happen. Insleí’s place was in my heart, not my eyes; nothing could ever change that.
As I ran the comb through my hair, I couldn’t help but smile back at my reflection from time to time. My self-awareness may have been a little late in coming, but after years of turmoil, I’d finally found a sense of peace. I’d never appreciated just how difficult I’d been making things for myself; the calmness that came along with that acceptance was striking—mostly for the stark contrast it provided.
Finally rising from my chair, I squeezed past Scar’s sleeping form and slid beneath the thick layer of blankets. After resting on the ground for weeks, lying on the soft bed felt like nestling into a warm cloud. The only thing I missed was not having Scar next to me, but there wasn’t enough room for him on the tiny mattress. Once I’d gotten settled, there was only one final task left before I’d allow myself to truly enjoy the comforts of the bed.
While we’d been speaking with Leshel in his office, the icon’s flashing light had begun blinking in the corner of my eye. It had mercifully ceased its blaring a long while ago, but I called up the notification, already fairly certain of what it was.
Quest Competed – Exterminator. Having more than fulfilled the terms of your bargain, Leshel has granted you access to his Fortress. While the limits of his appreciation are yet to be known, this is a true measure of the trust you have earned.
Well, that was kinda disappointing…
I wasn’t really familiar with how these Quests worked but had hoped for at least some sort of XP reward. I knew that my strength would grow with every level I gained, and with the conflict against the Nér-vrogan looming large in front of me, I needed every ounce of power I could get. The warm blankets beckoned to me more strongly than the small matter of the Quest’s lack of rewards, however, and I let out a contented sigh as the rhythm of Scar’s steady breathing helped me forget my troubles for a time.
Second Skin: Wayward: A litRPG Adventure (Second Skin Book 7) Page 21
