The festival continued fairly late into the evening. By the time the villagers began to break up and head back to their homes, the sun was already beginning to lower towards the horizon. His family had said their farewells, each of them giving him a hug before heading back home on the cart. Dasher was once again defying his own name by moving at a slow walk, but the mule still pulled the cart loaded with his entire family easily enough, and Clay waved until they were out of sight.
Syr Katherine had given him an evaluating look. “You’re sure you will not join us at the manor, Sir Clay?”
Clay shrugged. It wasn’t exactly a problem for him to spend the night on the floor of the Baron’s home, but he wanted a bed, and he did want to see the farm. It had been the place where he’d started his first campaign against the monsters of the world; there was something poetic about visiting again before he fought the creatures in Sarlsboro. “I’ll see you in the morning, Syr Katherine.”
She studied him for a moment longer before she nodded in response. He could almost hear her making plans to hunt him down if he didn’t show up at the manor on time. “I will see you then, Sir Clay.”
As she rejoined the others that were headed to the Baron’s home, Clay turned and found another familiar face waiting for him, wearing a longsuffering expression. “Did you draw the short end of the stick this time, Herb?”
The [Guard] grinned at him, his unhappy expression falling away easily. “I guess so, Sir Clay.”
Clay wagged a finger at him. “Don’t you start. We’ve known each other too long for that.”
Herbert’s grin grew as he gestured for Clay to follow him. “Good. To be honest, I was probably going to slip up, anyway.” They started walking together along the road north, headed back along a too-familiar path. “From the sounds of it, they’ve been keeping you busy out there.”
Clay thought over the frantic past few months. “They definitely have. It’s good to be home.” He stretched. “Things are still all right here?”
“Oh, as good as they can be.” Herb made a face. “There’s far too many newcomers, from what I’ve been seeing. Too many people coming here for the chance to look through the Tanglewood. We’ve had to drive off at least one group who wanted to start up a bandit camp. Luckily, the Baron caught wind of that and put a stop to it easily enough.”
Incredulous, Clay turned to look at him. The entire time he’d lived in Pellsglade, there had never been that kind of trouble before. He started to like the disorganized tents even less. “You’re serious? Why would they do that?”
Herb’s expression grew a little grim. “A lot of the people who are coming here are looking for safe harbor. Some of them lived near dangerous Lairs, or were on the border with enemy soldiers staring at them. They heard that this place is safe, that it’s protected, and they want to have some of that.”
Clay nodded. His family had told him as much in their letters, after all.
“Unfortunately, some people apparently see those crowds of people coming here, and figure that they are easy pickings for thieves and worse. Either that, or they think a place that’s safe from monsters might also be safe from lawkeepers. There’s even a few that came here thinking to be the next ‘Commoner Hero’, as if they’d ever get lucky enough to pull off what you did on their own.”
The comment nearly brought Clay up short. For some reason, he hadn’t expected any other [Commoners] to try to do what he’d done. If they did… “Have any of them gotten themselves killed?”
Herb shook his head. “Not yet.” He glanced behind them. “Charles and the rest cleared out the Tanglewood extremely well. I doubt any of the spiders managed to get away, so the fools can’t go hunting for them there. Any that head in the direction of Sarlsboro quickly think the better of it. Most people are sane enough not to want to face the Undead alone.”
Clay gave him a brief grin. “I wasn’t exactly alone doing that, either.”
“Oh, don’t I know it.” Herb shook his head. “Of course, we’ve tried not to let them figure that out. The last thing that Novice needs is for a bunch of would-be heroes harassing her for help.”
That image made Clay grimace. “Good point.” He fell silent for a few moments, walking along the road. “You don’t think that they’ll try to follow us to Sarlsboro, do you?”
“With official adventurers here? No, I don’t think so.” Herb grinned. “You might not have noticed, but there were a few of them that tried to get close to you already. That woman with the sword? She just gave them a look each time. Sent them on their way, just that easily.”
Apparently Syr Katherine had already been a big help, but Clay couldn’t help but feel like that wasn’t the answer he needed. “Have any of them been bothering my family? They didn’t mention it, but—”
Herb shook his head a second time. “A few of them might have been thinking about it, but then we heard about that mess you made out of the criminals in Crownsguard. What did they call themselves, the Skull and Bones Gang?” He grinned at Clay. “Apparently, they thought twice about messing with your loved ones after that. The Baron has us swing by every so often, just to make sure.”
Clay let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “All right. Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it.” Herb grinned and gave him a little nudge. “And try not to be gone for so long, all right? Life was just a little too boring without you spicing things up.”
They reached the old farmhouse a short while later.
When Clay had left it, the place had still been a half-wrecked shack, barely able to keep any water out and surrounded by recently cleared fields. He’d just been putting up the fence when the Guild had summoned him to Crownsguard, and he’d half expected the weeds to have reclaimed at least part of it.
He should have known better. It was immediately clear that Sam Evergreen had spent some time on the place. The roof that had given him so much trouble had been completely replaced, along with the door and most of the stones of the well. Instead of weeds and half-grown trees, he saw a neatly cared for plot of beets and other small crops. His father had often followed that practice when planting a new field, saying he liked to find out what kind of crops would grow the best in the fresh soil.
Clay stood for a moment, smiling at the care and attention that had been poured into the place. Then he said goodnight to Herb, who ambled off back towards Pellsglade. Alone for the first time in a long while, Clay went up to his own front door and opened it.
The rickety furniture that he’d been using was mostly gone. Instead of a bedroll, someone had put in a small bed with a feather mattress that looked incredibly enticing. His old, worn table was still there, but someone had done a few repairs to it and placed some new stools beneath it for visitors. Many of the floorboards had been replaced as well, and part of the rafters had been covered with wooden planks to form a loft. Fresh wood was laid next to the fireplace, and the entire place had been swept just as clean as his parents’ house had been when he arrived.
He spent a moment shaking his head over the love and effort that cleanliness represented, and then he closed the door and locked it. The journey had been long, and he wasn’t about to waste his chance to sleep in a fresh bed with no adventurers watching his every move.
After all, he had plenty of work ahead of him in the coming days, and he suspected it would be his last restful night for a very long time.
“I STILL DON’T KNOW WHY WE ARE MEETING LIKE THIS. YOU WANTED HIM TO BE A COMMONER. HE IS ONE!”
The voice jolted through Clay’s soul in a way that was at once friendly and aggravating at the same time. When Clay opened his eyes, he found himself suspended in the featureless, light-filled void that had become increasingly, almost depressingly, familiar.
He sighed. So much for a restful night’s sleep.
Then he looked around, expecting to see yet another sign of the Trickster’s presence. It wouldn’t be the first time he had been pulled into a vision like this one, and he didn’t have much hope that it would be the last. Clay still wasn’t entirely sure whether it was a dream or something more. All he knew was that it usually left him with more questions than answers.
When he found her, it didn’t seem like this time would be the exception. The Trickster once again looked like she had been molded from golden metal, a statue of a woman wearing crude furs and covered in rough scars. Her presence was overwhelming, to say the least, but it wasn’t her that froze Clay in sudden alarm.
It was the other six who stood with her.
He’d seen them all during his Choosing, but he hadn’t really recognized them. They certainly hadn’t spoken to him; only the Trickster had addressed him directly. She had pulled him into a meeting with another of the gods, the one known as the Sage, and hearing a second goddess’ voice had nearly driven him to collapse. What would happen with all seven?
Clay didn’t have much time to worry about it, however. Even as he started to try to retreat, a bold-looking man with a broadsword strapped to his back stepped forward. He glowed with an emerald light and moved with a sober confidence that spoke of a seasoned warrior.
“Thou Knowest The Reason For This Meeting, Trickster. Thy Meddling Hast Interfered With The World In Ways Unacceptable.”
The Honored’s voice crashed into Clay with a physical impact. It was not as blunt as the Trickster’s, but it still made Clay’s vision double for a moment. He shook his head, trying to clear it, but before he could, he saw a woman with a strange crossbow step forward. Her figure glowed with red light, reflecting in the spectacles she wore. Clay had just enough time to identify her as the Sage before she spoke in a voice that echoed and whispered through his mind.
“Your words are not unjustified, Honored, but these paths are not unknown to us. They were taken before. Why should they not be tried again?”
Glowing eyes wide, the Honored turned to face her. “Thou’rt Taking Her Part, Sage? We Had All Agreed To This Course.”
The Sage shook her head. “Minds can be changed. The results of her experiment have been… persuasive.”
Another of them stepped forward, a massive person swathed in armor that completely hid them from view. Their eyes glowed with orange light, as if they were banked forgefires. Clay was still blinking away his confusion when the being that could only be the Maker spoke. “I would hear your reasoning, Sage. As you said, we have tried this course before. It ended in disaster.”
The Trickster folded her arms and glared. “WHAT? DO I NOT GET TO DEFEND MY OWN DECISIONS? I’M THE ONE WHO STARTED IT AFTER ALL.”
With a tilt of the head, the Maker turned to face her. Somehow, even without a facial expression, they seemed amused. “It is hard to forget this, Trickster. Yet you have a habit of gambling recklessly where caution would be better. Was this a strategy, or were you simply bored?”
“CAN’T IT BE BOTH?” The other gods’ stances seemed to shift in a way that suggested impatience, and the Trickster spread her arms wide in clear exasperation. “FINE. I SAW AN OPPORTUNITY. I TOOK IT. IT’S WORKING. YOU’RE WELCOME.”
The Maker tilted his head in the other direction. “A few small successes do not prove the overall pattern.”
“But they do suggest a trend that can be explored. As she said, an opportunity that can be used to our advantage.” The Sage shrugged. “I will not say that I have approved of all her actions, but so far, we have little to complain about.”
“Her Plan Hath Set In Motion Conditions That Could Turn To War!” Anger and frustration laced through the Honored’s words, clear even with the pounding pressure that filled them. “Further, It Began With A Deception!”
The Trickster rolled her eyes, and the Honored continued. “When Thou Stolest Him From The River Of Souls, Thy Claim Was To Give Him A Second Chance At Happiness, But Now We See Thou Hast Planned Another Scheme Entirely! Thou’rt Using Him As A Sacrificial Pawn For Thy Amusement.”
The Trickster shrugged. “HE HASN’T COMPLAINED SO FAR.” Then she smiled. “OF COURSE, YOU COULD ALWAYS JUST ASK HIM.”
For a moment, the assembled deities froze in place. Then, as one, they turned to stare at Clay.
He stared back at them, waiting for the chance to recover. Then, once his vision was restored and he could breathe again, he shrugged. “Well. Nice to meet you all again.”
There was silence in response. Then the Maker spoke up again. “He should not be here. It is a breach of protocol.”
The Trickster grinned. “SOUNDS PERFECT TO ME.”
“What Hast Thou Done?” The Honored sounded more resigned now than angry. He shook his head. “Worry Not, Clay. I Shall Return Thee To Thy Rest.”
Clay blinked. A part of him wanted to take the option and return to something approaching a normal night’s rest. Instead, however, he folded his arms. “Hold on. You were talking about me, weren’t you?”
The gods looked at one another. It was the Maker who answered. “You are correct.”
“Then I would like to stay.” Clay didn’t quite glare at the God of Duty and Craftsmanship, but he did give the Maker a firm look. “After all, this affects me, right? Why shouldn’t I get to hear it?”
There was another silence between the gods, and then the Sage spoke. “It was felt that allowing people to remember us directly would lead to more divergence in terms of their choices. Our presence could negatively affect your ability to choose your own paths, as well as provoking resentment.”
Clay looked at her. “Is that why you all turned away from me during my Choosing? So I could make my own path?”
“Yes.” The Maker looked at the Trickster. “Yet one of us has breached our protocols and influenced your choices. It must be determined what should be done to correct the situation.”
He felt a tremor of nervousness run through him, but it was quickly swallowed by anger. “And how are you going to correct it?”
The Sage’s voice was almost gentle now. “You weren’t meant to have a life of danger and pain, Clay. When we permitted the Trickster to… recover you, we believed she meant to give you another chance at a peaceful life. One unburdened by the weight of the world.”
With a grunt of agreement, the Honored nodded. “Thy Path Was To Be One Of Peace. We Secured Her Agreement That Thou Wouldst Be Made A Commoner And Kept Safe By Good Friends.”
Clay looked back at the Trickster, who shrugged. He snorted. “You tricked them, didn’t you? You knew I was going to try to fight monsters anyway, especially if my friends were adventurers. And you let me remember the Choosing just to make sure.”
Her smile glittered like a drawn blade. “I KNEW WHO I STOLE FROM THE STREAM OF SOULS. YOU WERE EVERYTHING WE NEEDED. ALL I HAD TO DO WAS PUT YOU IN THE RIGHT PLACE, AND YOU’D DO THE REST ON YOUR OWN.”
“Still, why not just tell me outright if you knew I would do it?” Clay shook his head. “Why make it a game?”
The Trickster laughed. “BECAUSE I’M THE TRICKSTER! BESIDES, I’VE FOUND SPITE TO BE A MUCH BETTER MOTIVATOR FOR MOST.” She looked at him again, and her expression grew more serious. “IF I HAD TOLD YOU DIRECTLY, YOU WOULD HAVE BEEN CONFIDENT. THIS WAY, YOU KNEW YOU FOUGHT YOUR DESTINY, AND THAT MADE YOU CAUTIOUS WHERE BOLDNESS WOULD HAVE KILLED YOU. I COULD NOT RISK MY CHANCE.”
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He stared at her, thinking back to those early days in the Tanglewood. Grudgingly, he nodded. “Thank you, then. I hope I haven’t disappointed.”
She smirked. “YOU STILL HAVE A WAYS TO GO… BUT YOU BEGIN WELL.”
The Honored spoke up again. “Thou Shouldst Not Have Begun At All! This Course Was Not The One Determined For Thee.”
Clay turned back to face the god. “It doesn’t matter what you think I should be doing. I’m doing this now, and unless you try to stop me, I’m going to keep doing it. Who are you to make this decision for me, anyway?”
One of the figures from the circle disappeared. Just as quickly, they reappeared in front of him, close enough that Clay took a step back.
The man wore a golden crown, and he had eyes that glowed with crackling blue energy. There was a sword at his side, but it seemed almost like a side thought compared to the strength in his frame. He looked down at Clay with a solemn expression.
Then his hands moved, forming a series of shapes. Clay frowned, and opened his mouth, but another voice spoke before he could.
“He Says That You Do Not Know The Sacrifices That Will Be Required Of You. That You Should Have Been Given A Chance To Rest In Your Eternal Journey, Not To Be Forced Into A Fight For Your Existence. He Says That You Have Been Robbed Of Your True Destiny, And That It Cannot Continue.”
Clay blinked at the voice, feeling it weave and twist through him like a summer breeze. He turned and saw one of the others walking towards him, her eyes glowing white and dressed in a robe of shimmering azure. Her smile seemed to brighten the void, and his heart hurt to see it.
“I Am The Companion, And I Share With You The Words Of The Giver. We Would Not Punish You, Clay, Only Return You To Your Chosen Path.”
The Giver. Supposedly the god that had spoken the world into being, and the highest of the seven here. Clay looked back at him, seeing determination and weariness on that shining face. What kind of dream was this? Had his experiences simply driven him insane?
Then he shook his head. “No. I won’t go back on what I’ve done. You can pretend to choose a path for me, but this is the one I will walk. With or without your help.”
For what seemed like an eternity, the Giver stared down at him, still studying him for any sign of weakness. Then his hands moved again, and the Companion spoke.
“So Be It. We Shall Decide What We Shall Do. It Will Be A Vote. Who Stands In Support Of The Trickster’s Plan?”
The goddess herself snorted—a curiously powerful sound—and raised her hand. “I DO. OBVIOUSLY.”
If he wasn’t mistaken, the Companion rolled her eyes. “And Who Stands Against It?”
The Honored raised his hand. “I Mean Thee No Insult, Clay Evergreen, But This Course Is Not Thy Path.”
Clay grunted, but the Companion didn’t seem to notice. “Sage? What Is Your Choice?”
The Sage looked from Clay to the Companion. Then she nodded and adjusted her spectacles. “Her plan may be ill-started, but it has given one of my own a chance to recover themselves. Further, it represents our greatest chance of success. Without it…” She shook her head. “Our chances grow smaller by the day. I support her.”
With another nod, the Companion turned to the Maker. “And You?”
The Maker bowed their head for a long moment. Then they spoke. “The war the Honored spoke of is a risk we cannot afford. The last time we tried this course, it nearly ended everything. Better we continue to buy time, and find a better way forward. I stand opposed.”
Two against two. Not the most promising result so far. Clay looked back at the Giver, who was still staring down at him. The god paused for a long while. Then his hands moved.
“The Giver Says He Would Not Have Given In To The Trickster Had He Known Her Intent. The Responsibility To Solve The Problem Lies With Us, Not With You. He Bids You Take Your Rest. The Giver Stands Opposed.”
Clay grimaced. He looked down at his feet, wondering exactly how they planned to stop him. Legends said that the [Gift] itself came from the gods. Could they simply reach out and take its power from him? Would they make him forget his plans and bend him to their will? Or would he simply never wake?
Before he could find out, however, the Companion spoke again. “For Myself, I Find No Fault In What The Young Hero Has Done. I Know, As We All Once Did, That Occasionally One Must Challenge The State Of The World To Save It. I Stand With The Trickster.”
The gods paused. Then the Honored groaned and put a hand to his head, while the Trickster laughed, a sound that beat at Clay’s soul. For his part, the Giver stared at the Companion. His hands flashed through more of his curious gestures.
She seemed unmoved at whatever he had said, however; if anything, she gave him a stern look. “I Have Not Twisted Your Words, Husband, And I Retain My Own. I Have Always Had An Understanding With The Trickster—And I See Potential Here Yet.”
For a moment, the gods and goddesses stared at one another, as if they would resolve the situation by simple force of will. Then, a new voice whispered across the void, making Clay’s eyes go wide. It sounded as if every nightmare he’d ever suffered through had been melted down and distilled into each sibilant word, and it took everything in him not to cringe back from it.
“I stand with her as well.”
The gods turned to face the last of them, the one who had remained quiet during the discussion. He was cloaked in grey mist, and a scythe was resting across one shoulder. His eyes glowed purple, and he returned the stares of his equals with no sign of intimidation. Clay felt his breath catch in his throat as he recognized which god had stood for him.
The Grim. The Ending. The Master of Night.
When the Giver’s hands moved, the Grim turned to look at him with undiminished haughtiness. “Why? You dare ask why?”
The Grim stalked forward, the light of the void glimmering on his scythe. “I stand for her because our children were not meant to hide from the dark. They were meant to conquer it. To hunt those creatures that would dare invade our world, and drive them out. And they. Are. Losing.”
He stepped back from the Giver, and swept his gaze across all of them, defiant and enraged. “I will not suffer their slow defeat. It is unacceptable. I forbid it. They will triumph, or they will spit their hatred in the faces of their foes with their last breath. This I swear.”
Then he turned and looked straight at Clay with an expression that would have shaken a Guardian. “And I will send you my chosen to aid you. Go, and do. Not. Fail.”
Clay snapped awake. The echoes of the Grim’s words were still roiling through his soul as he lay on his bed, staring up at the ceiling.
The darkness in his home was just barely lessened by the light filtering through his closed windows. He’d long ago extinguished the fire in the fireplace; he’d used the [Chant] of Vanishing Embers, so there hadn’t been any remnant of the flames left behind. Heart’s Light had given him enough light to reach the bed, and then he’d gone straight to sleep.
He let his breathing steady, wondering what he’d just seen. His protests to Xavien sounded even more foolish now; the [Oracle] had been convinced they weren’t just dreams, and Clay was starting to feel like he was being forced to accept the truth. Yet if they were actual visions, what was he supposed to do with them? It wasn’t like they were giving him any more information than he already had, and they happened so infrequently…
His thoughts trailed off as something moved in the shadows of his home. It looked human-shaped, but not every monster was a spider. Clay went still, trying to pick out the details as it came closer. He’d left the spear by the door, but he had his knife next to him. If it reached for him, he could have the heavy blade against its neck in a single sharp movement. The fight would be over before it knew what was happening.
Clay wrapped his fingers around the hilt of the knife and waited. The figure reached out to him, and he prepared to strike.
“Cl-”
He grabbed the thing’s wrist and drew his knife in the same motion. Clay had already started to bring the blade flashing down when a hint of moonlight swept across the figure’s face. His own frantic reaction just barely brought the knife to a halt as he recognized who he had grabbed.
“Olivia?”
Clay recited the [Chant] for the Refrain, and a heartbeat later, Heart’s Light lit the room.
Olivia was there, looking at him with wide eyes. She was dressed in her travel robes, and her hair had been drawn back into a ponytail. Her green eyes had gone wide, staring down at him, and they flicked to the side to look at the knife he held in his other hand.
Then she looked back at him and smiled. “Welcome home, Clay.”
“I have to say, it’s not the worst welcome I’ve been given.” Olivia was still smiling at him, though she hid it behind a cup of water that she drank. “Still, I thought you would have been a bit happier to see me.”
Clay grimaced. He turned from where he was poking another log into the fireplace and pulled out his chair to sit on. “I already said I was sorry, didn’t I? Besides, what were you thinking, waking me up in the middle of the night?”
Olivia quirked an eyebrow at him. “I wasn’t expecting you to be so jumpy, honestly. Isn’t a fine hero like yourself supposed to be full of [Valor] and courage?”
“Courage doesn’t help if a big lizard tries to set you on fire. Better to have quick reflexes and good aim.” Clay shook his head and then paused. “Wait. I almost stabbed you. Who gave you a worse welcome than that?”
She smiled at him, looking around at his home instead of answering his question. “So, how do you like what we’ve done with the farm? We finally got the roof fixed, at the very least.”
Part of him wanted to insist on pressing her for an answer, but it seemed like she didn’t want to tell him yet anyway. Besides, he had more pressing questions he’d need to ask first. “It looks really nice. You helped my family with it?”
“When I could.” Olivia frowned a little, looking at the flames as they crackled in the fireplace. “The Rector did not like me coming here, though I managed to talk him into it eventually. It helped that your mother asked for my help.”
“She did?” Clay frowned. Amelia hadn’t mentioned that fact in her letters. “I’m glad you got what you needed.”
Olivia nodded. “So far, at least.” She glanced at him and then looked back at the fire. Her cheeks grew a little red. “I heard you were back, but the Rector…”
Clay grimaced. “I’m sure he’s just worried about you.”
“He’s been so infuriating! Like he can keep me from leaving just by locking me away in the shrine until I am grey-haired and wobbling when I walk.” She shook her head. “I had to sneak my way past him tonight, or else he would have kept me inside until long after you left.”
He winced. “To be fair, I did almost get you killed.”
Olivia glowered at the fire, her face tight with frustration. “You didn’t though. That was the adventurers. You were the one who saved me.”
Clay looked away; he felt a little heat on his cheeks. “I was just doing what needed to be done.”
“As you should be.” She sighed. “If only all adventurers shared your view of things.”
He grunted in agreement, and they settled into a comfortable silence, watching the fire burn. As he looked into the flames, Clay thought over his time at the Academy, and the conflicts he’d had with the Council. “You’re right. I just don’t understand what they’re doing. It seems like they could be doing so much more.”
Olivia nodded slowly. “They could, but they won’t.” He looked at her, and she returned his gaze with a small, bitter smile. “I know that better than anyone.”
Another silence fell, and Clay remembered the most important question he had for her. It was the one that Taylor had brought up back in her office all that time ago. He mentally braced himself and spoke. “Olivia, why do you want magic so badly? You don’t seem like you want to be an adventurer, or even that you like them all that much. So why do you care so much about the tools they use?”
Her eyes widened slightly. Then she looked away, her lips twisting slightly in mimicry of a smile. “You don’t think I want to be a hero as much as you do, Clay?”
“I don’t know. I never asked.” She looked back at him with an incredulous expression, and Clay laughed, spreading his arms wide. “Look, I know that sometimes I can get a bit obsessed about things. Being a hero is the one thing I’ve always wanted to be. I want to make the world safer for everyone, and to keep the monsters from ever threatening Pellsglade ever again.”
Then he paused. “But it seems like I never got around to asking what you wanted. I’m sorry about that, but I’m asking now.”
She stared at him for a long moment. Then she turned away, looking at the fire. It took her a while to speak again; Clay just waited and watched.
When she spoke, her voice was cold, almost detached. “Have you ever heard of a place called Zelton?”
Clay frowned. “No. At least, not until now.”
“There’s no reason you should have. It wasn’t a very important place.” Olivia picked at the table between them, scratching at the worn wood with a fingernail. “It was a quiet place, kind of like here. A few farms, lots of hunting, a handful of craftsmen. Even a Shrine, one even smaller than this one.”
She fell silent for another moment. “It was on the border between King John’s lands and the ones that belong to the Kingdom of Merarbor. You’ve heard of them, I’m sure.”
Clay nodded slowly. Merarbor wasn’t exactly on friendly terms with Crownsguard; there had been plenty of rumors about skirmishes on the border, and some had been predicting a bigger fight at any moment. The Honored’s worries about war whispered through his mind, and before he could dismiss them, she continued.
“There was one other thing that set Zelton apart, too. Years ago, there had been a Lair that had been suppressed by the Guild. It had gone dormant, and even though the people in the village knew about it and avoided the forest where it was, the monsters didn’t return. Not for a long time.”
She drew her legs up onto her chair and wrapped her arms around them, still staring at the fire. “Most people were more worried about the border with Merarbor, and the fighting against Terrasfen. The Lair was such a small thing, like a child’s tale. The adventurers had been able to stop it before; why worry about it now?”
Olivia shook her head. “Then, one day, the Lair came back, and so did the monsters. The baron and baroness were able to keep them contained in the forest; they were both fairly good at fighting them, though they weren’t Guild-trained. As the Lair grew in strength, they sent word to Crownsguard, calling for aid. Then we waited.”
Clay blinked, noting the change in pronouns. She glanced at him and then went back to staring into the fire. It was a few more moments before she spoke again. “We waited, as the monsters grew stronger. There was news about border conflicts with Merarbor at the same time, and the response was just to hold steady. The adventurers would come when they could, and the Lair would be defeated again.”
Olivia shook her head, and her fists clenched in her robes. “They never came. I remember how the hope faded from our eyes as the weeks went on. The [Nobles] fought as hard as they could, but eventually…”
She paused for a long moment and then sighed. “One night they just didn’t come back. The following day, the people started to pack up to leave, but it was too late. The monsters were there, and Zelton burned.”
When she looked at Clay this time, her green eyes might as well have been made from chipped emeralds. “At the time, the Rectors told me I was fortunate to escape. Even though I was the last one left from Zelton, I should be grateful that the monsters hadn’t gotten me. It was a sign of favor to have survived such a tragedy.”
“It wasn’t until later that I overheard someone talking about it. They said it was fortunate that the adventurers hadn’t come. With the King fighting in the north, his border with Merarbor had been undefended. Without the new Lair, he might have needed to spare soldiers to guard Zelton. Now? The monsters protected the place, and he could focus elsewhere.”
Clay’s eyes widened as a grim realization tore through him. “You’re saying—”
Olivia looked at him, and he broke off. Her eyes burned with anger and long-stale pain. “I’m saying the games some adventurers play aren’t always to our benefit. I can’t say it was the actual reason. Perhaps the Guild was willing, but the King forbade them. The Guild could have run short of adventurers or faced unexpected casualties elsewhere. It could even have been the baroness’ fault; they could have ordered her to empty the village, and she refused. It doesn’t matter.”
She looked away again. “All I know is that my home burned because they weren’t there. Those monsters have been in my dreams every day since then. And now?”
Olivia smiled. “Now I know I can do it. No matter what the gods decide, I can still go back to that place and kill the things that destroyed my home, and erase the Curse that spawned them. After that, every time it is too ‘inconvenient’ for the Guild to step in, I will be there to show them how it should be done.”
Clay sat back in his seat, studying her. There wasn’t any sign of deception in her posture. He didn’t know if she could fake that kind of pain, but it felt real—and besides, she had entrusted him with a lot. Hadn’t she earned some trust in return?
He nodded and looked away. “I’m sorry. I had to know.”
Olivia shifted in the corner of his eye. “You had to make sure I wasn’t some crazy Rogue in the making, right?”
There was a moment of hesitation. Then he sighed. “Yeah.” When he looked back at her, she was staring at him again. Her expression didn’t have any accusation or hurt. She was just watching him. “I didn’t think you would be, but I had to be sure. I couldn’t tell you in the letters, but…”
“The two Lairs in Rodcliff. Somebody put them there, didn’t they?” Olivia waited until he nodded, and then she sighed. “I understand. Those adventurers with you, they aren’t just here for you, are they?”
“No.” Clay shook his head. “The fact that you know about [Chants] means that they are almost as worried about you as they are about me. I’m pretty sure they are planning on dragging you back to Crownsguard as soon as they can after the Choosing.”
Olivia snorted. She looked back at the fire and smiled. “Well, I already have a plan in place for that, so don’t worry.” He shifted in his seat, and she looked at him. “You are planning on helping me, aren’t you?”
He nodded. “Yeah, I am.” Then he met her eyes. “That doesn’t mean they are wrong, though. [Chants] can be dangerous. You’re going to have to be as careful as I am with them, or you’ll make something worse than Zelton happen.”
Her expression grew serious. “I know.” Then she rolled her eyes, a strange motion for her. “Though I will point out that I’m not the one who keeps losing their notes. You’re on what, your fourth set by now?”
Clay blinked. He grinned. “Oh, come on, I still have the third set. It’s not my fault so many people are so excited about using the things.”
“Well, at least you’ve kept ahold of them then.” She smiled back at him as well. “I actually did make another set for you, just in case. In fact…”
Olivia pushed her chair back and stood up on it, reaching for the boards of the loft. She fumbled around up there for a moment, and then came back down with a sheaf of parchment in her hands. “I figured out that at least some of the versions I gave you weren’t correct. These should have some corrections.”
Clay felt his eyebrows shoot up. “Really? How many of them?”
She paused for a moment. “I’d say at least eight or so. You’ll have to take a look and see.”
He reached over to his own set of notes and pulled them out. “I took notes on what some of the ones I figured out did, plus a few that I learned from Syr Katherine—she’s the adventurer in charge of the [Chants] at the Academy—so you can copy those over while I go over the new ones. The biggest one I figured out was…”
It was at least an hour later when Olivia left, carrying some bits of parchment away with new notes scrawled on them. Rather than leaving by the door, however, she asked Clay to boost her to the loft, so that she could use a small door built into the back side of the house. When he raised his eyebrows, she had turned bright red and admitted that she’d been using the top part of his house to hide things from the Rector.
Clay had lifted her up—a much easier task than he’d expected—and then poked his head up over the edge to see what was up there. He saw a batch of parchment, a bundle of clothes and other traveling necessities… and one last object, propped up next to the small square door.
Olivia paused beside the door, placing a finger on it. “It took a lot of convincing to get David to make this for me. Even then, I had to buy it from Adam. The Rector… wouldn’t have approved.”
“I imagine not.” It was a weapon, that much was instantly clear. There was a short pole, not quite as long as the one for the haft of his spear. On the end, instead of the flared spearpoint of his boar spear, there was a long, curved blade that tapered to a point. The angle of it made him doubt it would ever really be used for a thrust or a stab. Instead, it looked like someone would have to use it mostly to chop at a foe, almost like…
Like using a scythe. Clay blinked. “What is it?”
Olivia shrugged. “Adam called it a war scythe. I guess it kind of looks like a regular scythe if you tilted the blade vertically, right?” She smiled at the weapon with fondness. “I’ve tried practicing with it on the weeds around here. Probably not the same as Academy training, but still…”
She shook her head and looked back at him. “Be sure to be ready to leave once the Choosing is over. Those adventurers aren’t going to want me to put my skills to use, so we’ll have to move quickly.”
Clay nodded and watched as she slipped through the door and vanished into the night. He turned back to the war scythe, examining its vicious-looking blade for a moment longer.
Then he stepped back down off the stool and tried to get back to sleep. No matter how strange the night had been, there was work to be done the following morning—and the last thing he wanted was to spend the rest of his precious time thinking over his dreams and how they could relate to the woman he’d promised to help.