028 – Discipline

***

Zambulon did not receive a promotion. On the contrary, our superiors found our hi-jinks quite irritating. First, we did not aid the others in forcing the trolls to retreat. Then, Zambulon sliced up eight of the enemy and dumped their corpses into the central chamber, giving the trapped trolls fresh meat to feed on. And finally, we lured a gigantic eye-titan back to our own troops, necessitating a fierce response from Gritha to prevent a rout.

Oddly, what annoyed the three witches the most was that we spooked the eye-titan. It slinked out of the tunnels and flew off into the night. Had the witches known the monster nested in the old greenhouse, they would have prepared a surprise attack to kill it and butcher it for its valuable parts. But our accidental intrusion into the thing’s lair preemptively spoiled their hunt.

Securing the troll’s area at the base of the citadel left many upper levels to be explored. The very summit, of course, belonged to the devil-birds. The mana well drew all types of monsters here to mate, lay eggs, and raise young. It was a universal breeding ground. The excess of mana nurtured the young and ensured they grew to extreme sizes. The eye-titan would not be the only weird beast prowling around.

After our accident, the witches decided to explore the rest of the structure themselves, leaving the minions and disciples behind to ready the citadel for the arrival of the rest of the cultists. Zambulon and I were charged with preparing the disciples new training hall.

“This is humiliating. This task should be assigned to the youngest novices, not disciples.” He pointed his scrub brush at me accusingly. “It’s your fault we’re in this mess!”

“I accept my share of the blame.”

I shrugged. Scrubbing a floor didn’t strike me as an overly harsh punishment. I had feared much worse. All the crude furnishings from Browsk’s former abode went out in the promenade. We filled up a barrel with rainwater and added lye powder. Then, with the place empty, we went about scrubbing away all the ash and grime.

“If you don’t like cleaning, stop making messes,” Fightmaster Putrizio said.

Putrizio had claimed the chief’s suite as his own. One of the benefits of being one of the first officers to arrive was that he got his pick of the available sub-buildings. No one was around to stop him. The place had a large, open space for training and several smaller chambers adjoining it. Workmen would fix the place up eventually, but until then, his misbehaving pupils could prepare by scouring off the layers of trollish residue.

The minions returned to the base camp to rest after their frantic battle with the trolls. The few who had missed the fighting now kept guard at the doors to the silo, and a pair with crossbows circled the walkway to watch over the captured monsters from above.

Yurk and Hwilla returned from the battle.

“So this is going to be our new schoolhouse?” Hwilla said.

“It doesn’t look like much now,” said Putrizio “but once we move in all our equipment it will feel more like home. And after it’s a bit cleaner.” He pointed at us.

“So there are the two malingerers. You boys missed the big fight.”

“We didn’t miss it. We were on this level cutting off the troll’s escape route. Didn’t you see me fighting up on the catwalk?” Zambulon asked her.

“No. I missed that part. My team worked to barricade all the doors,” Hwilla said. “But I heard an eye-titan chased you into Gritha’s team, and that she had to unleash her salamander to drive it off.”

“Ugh. Why do people gossip about other people’s failures but never their successes? I saved the day and no one talks about that part.”

Zambulon sulked as we cleaned out the new training hall. We pushed the dirty water out to the balcony and let it run down the side of the building. The rain would wash it away in time. We ripped out the window grills and curtains so that the mountain winds aired out the place.

Fightmaster Putrizio taught the disciples personally. But he oversaw the training of the sparks from afar, reviewing their progress from time to time, while eight instructors worked under him to administer the daily drills and matches. Putrizio also claimed sub-buildings to house these novices, a barracks for men and another for women, and a large training hall for them to practice in. These were all former troll sites that would need a thorough cleansing.

I wasn’t sure of the total number of novices, but to produce even four disciples, it must have been in the hundreds. Before the move, the Void Phantoms undertook something like the child harvest. Scouts would abduct or recruit young sparks and transport them to headquarters. (The cult also recruited swordsmen who had already enkindled their fires, so most officers here had not trained as part of the Faceless.) After a novice’s spark faded at adulthood, they often went undercover as normal people, waiting to be called on when needed. Some wormed their way into important positions to act as spies or assassins. So, not every Faceless minion lived at the main headquarters. Others took off their masks and accepted other jobs in the cult, such as monster trainers.

The long migration to Sandgrave disrupted the Void Phantom’s operations. None of the Faceless worked undercover in the cities and towns here. Because they were foreigners to this colony, they could not blend in easily with the natives—their accents gave them away.

Warring with the Paladins in the far north had weakened the Void Phantom’s power. The battle left the dark lord injured, cost the lives of several of his top officers, and killed off many of his minions. It would take a serious recruitment drive to build up their numbers again. Luniquial the Spymaster had his work cut out for him back in Dovestone.

“We’ll have a week or more before the next group comes up the river,” Putrizio said. “Half of the cult's hired workmen will stay back to fix up the settlement on the coast, so those at the citadel will be in high demand. Those damned witches will probably have them constructing fancy boudoirs instead of doing important tasks. I’ll have to grease some palms to get anything done.

“To help us out, I want you Faceless to get as much grunt work out of the way as possible. That way the builders can get right to the skilled tasks. The novices are doing it too in the other barracks. The more you help out, the faster you can sleep in real beds instead of hammocks."

I raised my hand, “Fightmaster? What is greasing a palm?”

“A bribe. Money surreptitiously paid for illicit favors.”

“And how greasy would these palms need to be?”

“A skilled workman gets a standard fee of one silver shekel a day. The cult supplies all food, shelter, clothing, and tools to our people, so it’s a bit less than that and paid quarterly. I’d have to pay off the workmen a few silver shekels and the foremen a few more to put our work orders at the top of the list.”

“I see. Thank you, fightmaster.”

Corruption was baked into our dysfunctional organization. I hesitate to even call the cult an ‘organization’ as that was a misleading term.

“Now that our two errant disciples have nicely scrubbed the place, it’s ready for work. You can all help by hauling construction supplies from the troll’s warehouses to the construction site. We want to move quickly before the witches get back and figure out what I’m up to.”

Our punishment wasn’t over yet. Putrizio had hard labor to last us for days.

***

The other disciples and I set up our rooms in the new Hall of Discipline. At the moment, we only had hammocks brought with us from the Obelisk and a few personal effects. With no doors installed yet, we resorted to hanging up curtains. The three men crowded into one room and Hwilla had a room to herself at the far end of the suite.

It had been a long day of work. I removed my mask and wiped the sweat off my face.

“Strythe, what are you doing?” Zambulon asked in shock.

“I’m resting.”

“Why are you taking off your mask?”

“Because it’s filthy. What? Do you people never take your masks off?”

Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

“Of course we do. In private. But not in front of others. That’s part of being Faceless. It’s so we can blend in to society without being able to identify each other.”

“So you’ve never seen each others faces?”

“I mean, sometimes it happens. In the bathhouse for example. But we don’t go around trying to spy on other people’s… private features.”

Zambulon sounded appalled. Years of wearing a skull mask had affected his sense of decency. Exposing one’s face as a minion was as shameful as prancing around in the nude.

“Well, it’s too late for me. I’ve been out in the public for weeks, with my cheeks exposed, my nose in the wind, my chin on display for all to see. It’s been incredibly liberating. There’s no going back after experiencing such freedom.”

Zambulon tossed a spare mask at me and said, “Please cover yourself, junior disciple. It’s embarrassing.”

“What do you think about this, Yurk?”

“Either way,” he said. As always, Yurk was a man of few words and moderate opinions.

“What are you going to do, Zambulon, when you become an officer? You’ll have to show your face then.”

“I’ll learn to adjust.”

“What are you boys doing in here?” Hwilla called out. I hastened to tie on my mask before she caught me so scandalously exposed.

“Nothing. Resting after a day of being worked like dogs,” Zambulon said. He resented doing anything below his station. “What did you want?”

“I’ve come to get Strythe. The fightmaster wants to see him.”

“What have you done this time, Strythe?”

“I’ve forgotten. But I suppose I’ll find out,” I groaned.

Hwilla guided me out of the new schoolhouse. Whatever Putrizio wanted of me, it couldn’t be good. Probably more punishments for running off during our trek up the river. He would be as tough an instructor as Malisent was.

At the trolls’ warehouses, Hwilla took a side tunnel. We walked away from the stairs to the newly designated training halls.

“We’re going in the wrong direction, senior disciple.”

“I know.” Hwilla grabbed my hand. “And please don’t call me by a title when it’s just the two of us, Strythe. It’s too formal.”

I tried to shake off her hand, but she gripped it tighter. We were in a dimly lit corner of the citadel all by ourselves.

“Ha ha. What um… What is this?”

“I’ve missed you, Strythe. I thought you’d die on your mission. The witches are notorious for losing their minions. But then you came back alive. I was so relieved.” She leaned forward and placed her head on my chest.

“Oh… Oh no…”

“I thought we wouldn’t see each other again after I became a disciple. Our ranks were too different. But then you enkindled your fire too. It’s all worked out perfectly.”

“Oh. I am so sorry.”

I grabbed her by the shoulders and pushed her back a step. Hwilla and Strythe had been intimate partners. That was bad. Strythe had effectively died. There was no way for me to break the sad news to Hwilla in my current situation. I certainly couldn’t tell her that I was actually an Ancient ghost wearing his body like a meat suit.

“Listen, Hwilla. My amnesia has totally blotted out my memories. Including you. Including us. It’s erased whatever relationship we might have had from my mind.”

“That’s fine. I’ll remember for both of us.” Hwilla took off her mask. She had pale skin and rosy cheeks flush with excitement. Her large eyes gave her a sort of lemur-like appearance. For some reason, seeing her naked face made me feel embarrassment tinged with guilt.

“Generally both parties have to be on board for something like this.”

“It’s fate for us to be together.”

“Fate? What’s that?”

“Destiny!”

“Sorry.”

“Our love is predetermined.”

“Oh. I get it. I’m afraid to tell you that we live in a probabilistic universe. With such opposing worldviews, you and I have a non-zero but very low chance of finding romantic satisfaction together.”

“Kiss me!”

She lunged forward. With my improved reflexes, I intercepted her lips with the palm of my hand, then pried her away. She tried to pull the strings at the back of my skull mask, and I struggled to keep her away.

“Hwilla. This may seem like a happy reunion for you. But for me, this is our first encounter. You’re moving way too fast. I need time to adjust.”

“You were never shy before,” she pouted.

“It’s amazing what a little brain damage can do to a person.”

Strythe had no close friends at the cult. Everyone thought he was a dunce. So my replacing him seemed achievable. But I couldn’t fool someone who knew him intimately. Hwilla was sure to figure out that I was a completely different person posing as her former lover.

“Then we’ll just have to rekindle our love,” she said.

Hwilla hugged me.

“Wow. You’re a lot stronger than you look.” I tried in vain to wriggle free. “We can speak of this later. Fightmaster Putrizio wants me, and I’d better not keep him waiting.”

“The fightmaster didn’t call for you. I made that up to get you away from the others, so we could be alone. I’m the one who’s been waiting, Strythe…”

She wasn’t waiting any longer. This situation was awkward and potentially dangerous. Not to mention that misleading someone while possessing a loved one’s body had to count as some sort of sex crime. Continuing Strythe’s relationship with this girl was unthinkable.

“Hwilla. Stop. This is not going to work out.”

As I grabbed by the wrists and wrestled her hands away from me, a loud voice echoed through the corridors.

“Strythe!”

“It’s Zambulon!” Hwilla squeaked. She hastily put her mask back on.

“Hide here. I’ll talk to him.”

It would be impossible for me to hide from Zambulon, or any other swordsman. He’d easily sense the heat from my inner fire, which I had not yet learned to control or keep cool. I rushed out and intercept him before he caught Hwilla and I in the middle of– well, whatever you’d call what we were doing.

“Senior disciple! There you are. I’ve been looking for you.”

“Why have you been looking for me in these dark corridors? I’m the one who’s been looking for you. Why aren’t you reporting to Putrizio?”

“It turns out that there was a mix up. The fightmaster did not want to see me after all.”

“And where is Hwilla?”

“She’s run off somewhere! On her own! Perhaps she went to the barracks for the female novices to speak with some of her friends.” I hoped she would hear me and take the hint.

“And why are you skulking through the halls in the dark?”

“That’s exactly why I wanted to find you, senior disciple. Would you care to skulk with me while I present my idea?”

“Not another idea. One more of those will get me strapped to a whipping post.”

“This one is different than the previous two. It requires secrecy. No one will punish us for failure, because no one will find out.”

“That sounds even worse than before. What is it?”

“Please follow me.”

I lit up my lumestone and walked back toward the cloth storeroom. Everything inside had burned when the fire came up the elevator shaft. Now thick ashes and soot covered the floor.

“What is this place?”

“This is where the leader of the trolls met his end.” I crouched down and held out the lumestone to light up the open shaft. “He was climbing up the ladder here when we dropped a heavy chest on his head. He fell down to the bottom.”

“How far down does it go?”

“All the way. For comparison, it would be further than the height of the citadel.”

“A very deep pit. So what’s your idea?”

“Let me see if… Ah. Here’s one.” I picked up a gold coin and rubbed off the soot.

“A gold shekel!”

“The chest we dropped on him was filled with them. The pit is very deep, but it does have a bottom. The dead troll is buried there along with his treasure.”

“And your idea is to collect the treasure?”

“The fightmaster said bribes would persuade the workmen to do our renovations first. A few of these coins should do the job. The rest would go into the Hall of Discipline’s new ‘Student Improvement Fund.’ ”

“That sounds suspiciously like theft.”

“Putrizio said his being the first to arrive gave him the right to claim the best rooms and resources. I assume those resources also includes shiny scrap metal. And we aren’t technically keeping the money for ourselves; it is going to help the cult.”

Zambulon contemplated the gold coin in his hand. My suggestion to split up to find the goblin village had gotten him in trouble. My plan to invade through the chief’s abode had gone poorly. Now I planned something even more risky. But the reward was much more tangible this time: cold, hard metal. Gold coins didn’t rely on the approval of his superiors. Money was money.

“We’re going to need a lot of rope,” he said.