It was a beautiful morning, on the very edge of spring.
Even in a city as big as Crownsguard, the air seemed to be full of life and warmth. While he wouldn’t have described the air as completely comfortable, it was already sunny enough to start melting the snow from the roofs of the buildings. The earliest birds were already returning; he could have sworn that he had seen a redjay sitting in a tree, chirping away for all it was worth.
All in all, it was a wonderful beginning to a season full of life, and one that Clay would have enjoyed spending outside, to better get a feel for the coming season. It was a habit that Sam Evergreen had always followed, and Clay had always trusted his father’s instincts. The [Farmer] had always mourned the fools who would spend the bright days indoors, wasting opportunities to really enjoy life. Clay himself had never wanted to join the number of those who would be so blind.
Alas.
“The Council of the Crownsguard Charter of the Adventurer’s Guild will now come to order.” Sir Evan looked around at the other members of the Council. His eyes met Clay’s, and they shared a brief moment of mutual fatigue. Evan’s lips twitched, as if the Guildmaster had been forced to suppress a smile. “Sir Clay, will you please step forward?”
Clay did so. The eyes of the various Councilors were fixed on him. The attention of the Ruffians were locked onto him as well; he half suspected that they were staring at him so that they wouldn’t have to stare at the Council. None of them had been in quite enough trouble to get dragged into the Council room before. Luckily, he’d fixed that.
“Sir Clay, roughly fourteen weeks ago, you left with a team of adventurers to cull the Lair at Rodcliff. Your mission was expected to last six to eight weeks. After that amount of time, a messenger was dispatched to summon you back to Crownsguard. You… declined the request of this Council, and stayed an additional three weeks. You also redirected the Council’s messenger in order to tell us that the resident [Noble] was absent, that there were two Lairs instead of one, and that more information would be given when you returned.”
Sir Evan’s voice had grown firmer with each sentence until it seemed like he was pronouncing judgement on them already. The Guildmaster let the final words ring in the air for another moment. Then he leaned back and folded his arms on the desk in front of him. The silence lasted for another few moments, as Clay continued to wait.
Then Sir Evan gestured with one hand. “Now you have returned. Please report on the results of your mission.”
Clay drew in a breath. Then he began.
“First, Sir Evan, allow me to apologize for the additional delay in our return. The Captain of the [Guards] in Rodcliff requested for us to stay for some additional time, at least until we could be completely sure that there were no monsters near the town. With Baron Rodcliff dead and his replacement still en route, we agreed. Bad weather caught us on the roads too, so it was rough work getting here. I think we lost another week with the snow and mud.”
The Guildmaster shrugged. “Such delays are understandable. All the same, you might not have suffered them if you had come to us when you were… requested to do so.”
Clay nodded. “That is true, Sir, but if we had come, then Rodcliff would likely have been destroyed. Between the death of their [Noble] and attacks from two separate Lairs—”
Sir Bartholomew broke in at this point, his eyebrows arched. “You continue to maintain that there were two Lairs, then? Not just one?”
He blinked. “Yes, Sir. There were two separate Lairs, likely created by the actions of a Rogue.”
The statement brought a brief silence to the room as Clay waited for a response. Sir Richard was the next to speak, his voice typically unruffled. “A Rogue would have to be involved, for two separate Lairs to be formed so close together. Was that the reason you suspected it?”
“At first, Sir Richard.” Clay shook his head, his jaw clenching as he remembered Baron Rodcliff and the miner, both staring at the writing on the wall. “I confirmed it when we destroyed the Lairs. Whoever the Rogue was, they wrote the Poisoned Wish on the walls of two of the mines, then left them for others to read.”
The members of the Council suddenly grew pale, and he could understand why. Sir Mark was the first to respond. “And we have no idea where the Rogue went?”
“We don’t, Sir. The writing had been on the walls for some time, and the survivors in Rodcliff were unable to tell us about any strangers.” Clay looked from Sir Mark to the Guildmaster. “During the week when we stayed in Rodcliff, we searched the remaining mines. There was at least one more place where the [Chant] was written. I erased all three.”
The Guildmaster inclined his head. “Well done, Sir Clay. Well done indeed.”
Syr Marissa spoke up next, her voice cold. “You said you could find no sign of the Rogue?”
“No, Syr. Whoever they were, they did not stick around. Either they heard we were coming, or decided to leave after the first Lair was created.” Clay saw her frown and sighed. “I wish we could have caught them, but the world isn’t perfect, Syr.”
“I suppose not.” Syr Alia leaned forward, her eyes intent. “You said that both Lairs were suppressed?”
“Destroyed, Syr Alia.” Clay gestured back to the others. “My team and I killed both Guardians and banished their Curses. Unless something else changes, Rodcliff should now be safe.”
Sir Mark snorted. “I don’t suppose there were any other witnesses to both of these Lairs? Just to make sure your account is not doubted.”
Before Clay could respond, Jack stepped forward. “We were all present at each Lair, Sir Mark. We would be more than happy to testify about their destruction.”
Syr Marissa coughed into her hand. “You brought a team of level one adventurers with you to fight a Lair? A… bold choice, Sir Clay.”
“We weren’t level one by the time we tried it, Syr Marissa.” Xavien’s calm voice provoked a raised eyebrow from the Councilor, but he continued in an even tone. “Sir Clay was careful to train us well for the task. By the time we hit the Lairs, we were ready.”
Anne snorted. “As ready as any of us could ever be, honestly. Those Guardian things were terrifying. I was just happy we only had to deal with the horrors and giant ironslimes, honestly.”
The Guildmaster gave the cadets a stern look. “You are certain you wish to stand with this man? His reluctance to return when the Council called was not… considered wise.”
Natalie was the one who answered. “He made the right choice, Guildmaster. What else could we have done, just left the town to the lizards and the slimes?”
Lawrence spoke up before the Council could respond to the question. “He’s right about the writing, by the way. I saw it. Someone put it on the wall, long before any of us got there.” He shivered and looked pale. “I gained three points of [Will] just by fighting the thing when it tried to take control, and I still wouldn’t want to see it ever again. Especially after what it did to Baron Rodcliff and that poor miner.”
Sir Bartholomew rapped softly on his desk. “It occurs to me that we are discussing matters that are highly sensitive in front of cadets. Might we ask them to leave?”
“It’d be pretty hard to conceal anything from them now, Master Archivist. They were there in the Lairs. If they saw the writing, they can figure out what it means.” Syr Marissa hadn’t always been the best friend to him, but Clay had to agree with her. Just in case they hadn’t put it together, though, he’d carefully explained it to them that first night after the second Lair. When they searched the rest of the mines, he didn’t want anyone else almost ending up like the baron had.
“I agree, Syr Marissa. Besides, if we ask for witnesses, we should not complain when they speak up.” Sir Richard’s voice carried a hint of rebuke, and Sir Bartholomew went a bit red and sat back with a huff. The dark-eyed man turned back to Clay. “So. Both Lairs are destroyed. I imagine that you have gained some measure of strength, have you not?”
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Clay nodded. “I am now at level twelve, Sir Richard. My cadets were able to reach level eight as well.”
Sir Mark jerked in surprise. “Wait. They are all at level eight?”
“Yes Sir.” He winced slightly. “Though they may have [Experiences] that are not normal for Academy students, they were more than capable of helping me to finish the mission. We just required enough time to make sure that the town was purged completely.”
Syr Marissa looked stunned. “But, they left at level one. Level one.” She looked at the others for support.
Clay frowned. “Well, yes. They gained plenty of Soul by fighting the monsters outside the Lairs and pushing them back. It may have taken a bit more time initially, but they still profited from gaining [Lizardbane] and [Slimebane] before we made our assaults. Otherwise, I would have needed to go in alone.”
The Guildmaster cleared his throat. “It is considered fairly normal for high leveled adventurers to go in by themselves, Sir Clay. Especially when escorting lower level cadets.”
He frowned in response. “That would have been especially risky, even if there had only been one Lair. If the Guardian had managed to kill me, what would the rest of the team have done?”
The Councilors glanced at each other; Clay thought he heard Sir Mark mutter an oath under his breath. When Sir Richard answered, his voice was dry enough to make Clay wince. “The situation you describe is not uncommon, Sir Clay, especially when the situation is unexpectedly dangerous. Your style of leadership is somewhat less frequent among journeymen below level thirteen.”
Clay opened his mouth to respond and then paused. Below level thirteen, no adventurer would have a chance of destroying a Lair. The best they could hope for would be to kill the Guardians and force the Curse to hibernate for a while. Put that way, a direct assault might make quite a bit of sense. Force the Lair to go dormant, and then trust the local [Noble] to keep things under control.
A part of him recognized the logic, but the rest of him rejected it. Better to have done with the whole thing than to draw it out. Besides, how were the new cadets supposed to level up without anyone guiding them through the process? If he had come back with five level four cadets, how ready would they be for their next mission?
Before he could voice his opinion, however, Syr Alia spoke up next. “It seems you have done an excellent job training them, Sir Clay. Have they grown into their new levels yet?”
Clay winced. “They have not reached the limits of their [Stats], but they have already…”
“Then I am sure they can be helped to do so. There will probably be many here at the Academy who will be… excited to be reacquainted with them.”
Her cool voice might have made the others wince at one point, but this time, they simply met her gaze and nodded. Natalie grinned widely. “We’ll be sure to learn what we can from them, Syr Alia. After all, Sir Clay has taught us just about everything he knows.”
The Guildmaster raised an eyebrow, and Clay felt a sudden stab of panic. “Not everything, Guildmaster. Obviously, they aren’t ready for certain… [Chants]…”
He trailed off as he realized that he might have said a bit too much. Syr Marissa gave him a stern look. “Certain [Chants], Sir Clay? Am I to understand that you have been teaching them other [Chants] that you deemed appropriate?”
Clay braced himself and tried not to picture an enraged Syr Katherine descending on him later. “Yes, Syr Marissa, that is correct.”
Bartholomew frowned. “[Chants], due to their nature, are dangerous to learn. It has been the position of the Academy to restrict such knowledge to those of journeyman rank and higher.”
Xavien was the one who answered. “At some times, the gods send those who need to overturn the established way of doing things. Especially the Trickster.”
Most of the Council seemed to roll their eyes at the statement. Syr Alia, however, gave the [Oracle] a sharp look. “You aren’t suggesting that the Trickster has taken a direct interest in us, are you, Sir Xavien?”
Clay glared at the man, but he simply shrugged. “I can only point to the result. Those [Chants] helped us become better adventurers, and the one of us that encountered a dangerous [Chant] was able to resist it instead of dying the way Baron Rodcliff did. I cannot imagine the Trickster would be less than pleased with the result.”
Syr Alia settled back into her seat, seemingly a little more uncertain than she had been. Sir Bartholomew grimaced. “Nevertheless, it has been the wisdom of the Council that has guided the Guild in this matter. Are we to allow an acting journeyman to change things on a whim? Such decisions must be taken carefully, or they might bring disaster.”
Lawrence broke in before anyone else could respond. His voice held little of the dispassionate reason that Xavien seemed to rely on. “I know what I faced in that Lair, Sir Bartholomew, and I know what prepared me to survive it. It was not your wisdom that saved me.”
The Master Archivist flushed again, this time in anger. Sir Mark, however, broke out laughing. “Well! And once this one was as meek as a mouse!” He laughed again and slapped the table in front of him. “If nothing else, Sir Clay, you’ve given us a group of warriors full of fire.”
Natalie grinned. “Fuller than you know, Sir Mark. Give us another chance to prove ourselves, and we will not disappoint you.”
Sir Richard met her eyes and nodded. “You may be given the chance, Cadet. Once you have been adequately prepared, of course.”
The response seemed to sober the [Alchemist] a little, and the Guildmaster cleared his throat again. “Regardless of the criticism we may have of Sir Clay’s techniques, I believe we can all agree that his overall decisions in this matter were acceptable. Are there any dissenters?”
Syr Alia appeared about to raise her hand, but she glanced at Xavien and fell silent with a troubled look. Sir Mark shrugged elaborately, while Sir Richard remained quiet and inscrutable. The Master Archivist looked ready to bite through wood, but he settled for scowling a hole through his desk. Syr Marissa rolled her eyes and sighed.
“Then I believe we can set aside any motions of censure, particularly considering their victories.” Sir Evan raised an eyebrow at Clay as he continued. “That said, Sir Clay, in the future, I hope you will consider requests from the Guild with a bit more urgency. After all, there might be missions that require your attention that you may not know about.”
Clay, not trusting himself to answer out loud, merely inclined his head. A hint of amusement flashed through Evan’s eyes—as if the Guildmaster recognized his intransigence, whether or not Clay had said it out loud—but the older adventurer did not say anything about it.
“In any case, I think we can commend Sir Clay and his cadets for their performance in the field.” He looked down at the desk, and smiled. “In fact, I believe we can consider your promotion to a journeyman of the Guild an official one. Congratulations, Sir Clay.”
Clay nodded, though he felt a little unhappy at only reaching journeyman. He’d killed three Lairs at this point. What would he need to do to reach peer and finally gain some measure of independence?
“In that case, I believe we can be finished here.” Sir Evan looked around with a weary expression. “Sir Clay, you and your warriors are dismissed. You will have a handful of weeks to rest and be evaluated. Those who wish to advance in rank may take the necessary tests to do so. You are also to complete a training course to bring your [Stats] to an acceptable level. After that, we may have a new mission for you.”
Clay bowed, as did the others. They filed out of the Council room, and into the rest of the building. He hung back from the others, thinking over his options.
Whatever the next mission was, it probably involved Pellsglade somehow. Given what Master Taylor had mentioned to him, the Council had some plans for him, probably involving Olivia. The only option he had was to figure out a way to get out from under them before they had him locked into their own ideas. The easiest idea would be to reach peer rank within the Guild, but how was he going to manage that without going out on another mission in the field?
Someone coughed lightly behind him, and Clay nearly jumped out of his skin. He turned and found Sir Richard standing behind him, an amused expression on his face. The Councilor nodded easily to him. “Sir Clay.”
“Sir Richard.” Clay couldn’t help narrowing his eyes. The Councilor had clearly followed him out, but why? “Is there something I can do to help you?”
“Perhaps?” The Councilor gave him a slight smile. “You mentioned that you had reached level twelve. Have you received the reinforcement for [Paragon]?”
Clay blinked. “No. I… didn’t realize that was a possibility, yet.”
Sir Richard’s smile grew slightly. “I thought not.” He walked past Clay and gestured for him to follow him. “You are aware that most adventurers aren’t able to have that [Achievement] until level thirteen, and even then, it is considered something only the most dedicated aspire to.”
“So I’ve been told, Sir Richard.” Uncertain where the man was headed with the information, Clay trailed along at his side. A glance backwards told him that none of the other Councilors were following.
“In fact, [Paragon] is something of a symbol of status for the Guild. An adventurer is only capable of reinforcing it at level twenty-eight, of course, so it is considered an even higher mark of rank.” Richard glanced at him, a quick shift of his eyes. “In fact, it is one of the qualifications to join the Council. Even those who aren’t members of the Council are automatically considered peers within the Guild itself, regardless of the Council’s choices.”
Clay stared at the man, to the point that he actually missed a step and stumbled. When he recovered, his mouth felt a little dry. “And how does it get reinforced?”
“All of your [Stats] must be at least twenty-five.” Richard didn’t even look at him. “A difficult task for most, of course, but those with the right motivation…”
The Councilor trailed off, and Clay caught the edge of a grin. He fought to keep a similar smile from his own face. Every [Stat] but [Memory] was already there. Which meant the only thing between him and becoming a peer of the Guild was a few days of hard studying… “Thank you, Councilor.”
“Syr Katherine trusts you, Sir Clay. So do Armsman Orn and Master Taylor, and you’ve won the confidence of the people you led into danger.” Sir Richard eyed him for a moment. “For now, I consider that a vote in your favor. Make sure I do not regret this decision.”
Clay bowed. “Yes, Sir.”
He waited until the Councilor had turned a corner and vanished. Then he jumped as high as he could in the air and pumped his fist. Clay tried to ignore the fact that he’d almost smashed into the ceiling and focused on the rising exhilaration in his chest.
Whatever the Council might have been planning, he’d be ready for it—and when he returned to Pellsglade, he’d be able to keep his promises after all. After that… well, hopefully, the rest of the Guild could just keep up with him.
Still smiling, Clay walked out into the warm spring day, with a bright future ahead of him.