A couple months had passed since the old man's peptalk. During which a great deal of change occurred. For starters, I’d finally overcome the silent period of my still young life. Despite the impromptu cure for that supposed silencing blight, I still needed to start from scratch. Regarding the physical aspects of speech, anyway. The fact that I’d learned the language through means of listening alone, as well as reading later was nothing short of a miracle. I was quite impressed by my rapid improvement in terms of speechcraft. Of course, I didn’t want to stroke my own ego too much. Nothing good ever came from that. But man was it freeing. At long last, I was able to hold a decent conversation! The possibilities of what to talk about were endless. Especially with gramps. That old fart was like a walking encyclopedia. Right beside the ones he had in his basement. He did often have his moments though, like when you’d ask him a question and he’d give you long-winded speeches about this and that, often prompting him to digress. Or when he’d zone out completely for minutes at times, which often made me put his state of mind into question. Also, he was a terrible listener. Alas, I’d somehow managed to form a bond with the old man. Despite my young age, he respected me, and in turn I respected him. And that happened rather rarely with people like him.
Sometimes I wondered if he knew something was up with me. He must have. From his perspective my level of maturity should’ve seemed at least somewhat weird, right? Or maybe it didn’t. Maybe he didn’t care at all. That was more of the impression that I’d usually get.
Rheka continued her arcane training sessions from that point forward, improving considerably as time went on. My role in which was to serve as her endless supply of energy. A walking bag of mana so to speak. But I didn’t just bide my time and spectate – no, I took the opportunity to expand my pool of knowledge. The history and geography of the world I now lived in especially piqued my interest. I was, after all, a bit of a history buff. Well, as far as military history goes anyway.
At the time I was deeply invested in a certain book I’d borrowed from the old man’s library – the Chronika Solida. I had Rheka carry that thing around with her at all times. It was my holy bible. According to Vrintas it was merely a crude copy of the renowned original, but to me it was a downright fascinating piece of literature.
Who would've thought I'd ever say something like that?
It held a detailed record of major events which had taken place over the last 2000 years or so on the very continent I’d found myself on. Although most of it was described in an around the perspective of the so-called Solidan Empire. A no-longer existent country, which had seemingly derived its name from the continent it was situated on. Or maybe the reverse was the case, I wasn't sure. Regardless, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of familiarity when it came to reading about this world’s past. Some things just added up. It was hard to explain, but I figured that maybe humans just had certain tendencies in their nature, even throughout different worlds.
But enough of that. My main concern was still the arcane. If I couldn’t help with magic, I had to make myself useful somehow else. So, I sought to know all that there was to know. Which, truth be told, was a fair amount. I frequently browsed through the few, and with that I mean very few books Vrintas had on the arcane. There was like two in total. And they were both written in the most abhorrent manner. The old man had left out a bunch of information when he initially introduced us to the world of magic.
Like the Conversion Theory for example.
"To receive a drain, you must first offer the grain, water from wells, rivers, and rain, though never from your own cup or another’s jug."
Yeah. That's the way all of this bloody crap is written in. This crap was more complex than I’d first thought, often leaving me baffled and frustrated, even though my studies were limited purely to the theoretical.
Rheka, however, didn’t share my passion for theory. She was eager when it came to learning new spells and did so at an impressive pace. However, when it came to someone explaining to her why things worked the way they did, she’d quickly lose interest and zone out. Like someone with the utmost severe case of ADHD. On top of that she often overestimated her limits, pushing herself to the brink of exhaustion on a daily basis. Neither Vrintas nor I managed to help her with either of those problems. That’s how we ended up spending most of our days together, studying hard.
Until one day, about a week before we were supposed to leave for a trip with the old man, Urs, Rheka’s often absentee father, returned home once again. Unlike usual though, that time the door was spared. It stayed perfectly intact as he entered, not by himself but accompanied by two armored soldiers who despite being half his size had no problem carrying that giant of a man as they stepped into the house. They wore a full set of silver plate armor, covered by a cloak as white as snow, the sheen of which was more than annoying to the eyes. All that on top of Urs’ sheer force of bodyweight, yet they didn’t even break a sweat. Weirdly enough, their swords were covered in gold at hilt, grip and their sheath, which stood in stark contrast to the rest of their look. Odd. Silver and gold really don’t mix all that well.
Before I could say anything, Visla entered the room.
“What's with all the noi-... huh?!" Immediately she rushed to Urs’ side, covering her hands in blood as she touched him all over. "What happened? What is this?!”
Shock was plastered on her face clear as the day's sun.
“I’m good, Vis. I’m good.” Urs said, grinning, as the soldiers placed him on a chair nearby, exiting the house right after.
He was, in fact, not good. At least not from my point of view. His body was covered in bruises and cuts all over with his clothes torn in most places. It looked as though someone had used a whole hospital’s worth of bandages to cover a large gaping wound on the lefthand side of his torso. A wound that was clearly still bleeding as he spoke.
“I'll allow myself in then.” A calm, yet firm voice could be heard as another man cloaked in white stepped or rather crouched through the doorway. Urs had always been the tallest person I’d ever seen before, but this fellow beat him to the punch with ease. He was slim, but stood at an impressive height, probably about two meters from what I estimated. The silver armor he sported beneath his cloak was spotless and shiny. So shiny in fact your eyes began to hurt if you looked at it for too long. His white hat had its brim turned up on three sides with a mix of sizeable silver and golden feathers on top, which just made him seem even taller. Unlike his getup the rest of his appearance looked contrarily generic. His hair was a modest shade of brown, and his face was plain and forgettable, sporting no distinctive features. Showoff. I thought. Through and through.
Vis greeted him at the door.
“Hern? I didn’t expect you here out of all people.” She hesitated. “Welcome, I guess.”
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
“The pleasure’s all mine.” Hern responded, removing his hat and bowing deeply, before he took hold of and gently kissed Vis’ hand.
“Oh, cut it out Hern. There’s no need for all of this anymore, you know that.” Vis said as she pulled her hand away.
“Not in my eyes. Your blood is, nevertheless, still noble.”
"If you say so."
Vis turned towards her husband, clearly annoyed.
“We ran into the enemy by accident. Much earlier... than expected. It’s fine, Vis. I’ll recover.” Urs replied in a calm manner, unbothered by his wife’s distress.
“What enemy? Enk's hells, the realm isn't at war! What's going on?!”
“Doesn’t matter now. Please, listen to me. Listen carefully Vis!” He said as he pulled her face in close. Urs’ smiled, yet his eyes began to tear up.
“They... got Yovk. They got him! The bastards got the better of him! And I couldn’t do a damn thing.” The look on his face was devastating. He tried hard to not let his emotions overcome him, keeping up his usual smile and holding back his grief and anger.
“But- Wha- How-”
Visla stuttered. I could tell she was overwhelmed with the situation.
“I wouldn’t call it an accident.” Hern interjected, before pulling out something I recognized immediately. Is that a bloody cigar? I thought we were in medieval times!
He raised his hand, prompting an armored soldier to appear from outside. The soldier looked around, for some reason tense and on edge, before he hurried to light the cigar with the tip of his finger. The flame’s shape was akin to the ones you’d often see on a gas stove.
“Hey! You can’t smoke that in here, you're going to stink up the whole place!” Vis interjected.
Hern drew on his crude resemblance of a cigar, exhaling sharply after and as he did, the smell of roasted bacon filled my nostrils.
“That whole thing was planned.”
“What... do you mean?” Urs responded as he lifted himself up slightly.
“Think for once, you brute.” Hern tapped the side of his head with a finger. “They were waiting for us. With those petty traps of theirs and that positioning. Crafty rats that they are.”
“No.” he continued. “Quite some preparation must have gone into all of it. Also - why was the brunt of their attack focused on the center of our formation? Which just happened to be where we were. As soon as they’d knocked Yovkers and you out, they booted it.”
“They didn’t... knock me out.” Urs snarled.
“You were like a wild beast! Raging through the enemy without any concern of your surroundings. And Yovkers covered your rear, the oaf. Otherwise you’d be the one going to the capital on a medical cart right now.”
“You...!" Urs groaned, before going on a coughing fit.
“No. This was simply an attempt on our lives.” Hern went on as he turned around, gazing through the room.
Visla stood up. “Alright. I’ve had it. I’m sending Erd a letter. Right now.”
“That’s not going to achieve anything, hun. You know I-” Urs rose from his seat briefly, before falling back into it right after.
“Hun this, hun that! I don’t care!” Visla paused. “I don’t care if he’s your friend, your king or your god. You do not owe him your life.”
I heard a defeated Urs sigh loudly.
“While I do agree on that, there is really no need. The King has already been informed.” Hern turned to Urs. “In fact, he’ll most likely call you to the capital very soon, to ensure your safety now that the uprising is dealt with. Which would... probably be for your best, all things considered.”
“What good’s that going to do?” Urs chuckled. “Even in this shape I'm more use leading troops than rotting away in the capital."
Hern shrugged. “Orders are orders. Obey the King! And so on and so forth.”
“It’s always King this, King that – can't you two just call Erd by his damn name? He’s your friend!” Visla poked at Hern’s chest.
“He is my king as much as he is yours. I didn’t choose him, nor did I fight for him, yet I vividly recall that you two did.” Hern drew from his cigar, then let out a sharp exhale. “And now we're here!”
Visla crossed her arms and didn’t respond.
And then Hern’s eyes met with mine. I was startled for a moment, yet he showed no reaction at all. He just stared at me.
What are you looking at, weirdo?
“Is your old man home, Urs?”
“How would I know? We got here at the same time, didn’t we?”
“Right.” Hern paused. “I’ll leave some of my men here for protection. As soon as the King sends his word, they will rejoin my ranks and head for the capital. And I’m hoping you’ll follow along with them, Urs. Anything else?”
No response.
“Well then. Good talk." And with that Hern turned around and exited the house, tossing the remains of his cigar. I heard a short but loud metallic shuffle as he passed through the doorway.
The hell?
I slithered towards the window to get a better look and what I saw was, well, jaw dropping. In our front yard stood a massive column of soldiers, dressed in silver and white, blinding anyone who’d look at them. Eight men wide and who-knows how many men deep, the column extended to a length way out of my field of vision, probably all the way to that skyscraper and beyond. As Hern got up on his horse, commands were called out in the distance prompting the entire column to turn around in an instant, resulting in another metallic shuffle bellowing through the air. Ah. So that’s what it was. Of course!
And then Rheka and the old man emerged from the basement. I couldn’t hear what Rheka shouted when she ran over to her father, clutching to his leg. Urs reached out to give her a pat on the head, but it didn’t put an end to her tears. Vrintas approached us with a curious look on his face, while the sound of soldiers marching outside stopped everyone from starting up the conversation again. After a few minutes the metallic noise began to fade.
“I hear we had company.” Vrintas said, finally breaking the silence.
“Just an old... friend.” Urs replied, seemingly avoiding his father's eyes.
Vrintas approached him in a slow manner. “You look terrible.”
“How long has it been?" Urs coughed. “Five years? Six? And that’s the first thing that comes to mind?”
“I come to ask for a favor, son.”
“Don’t. Call me that.” The words Fuck you were plastered all over his face. “No, I say. Forget it.”
Damn, that’s harsh. What was going on here? I figured their relationship to each other might’ve been cold, judging by the fact that I’d never seen them talk to each other in the past, but this? These guys were in a cold war! I wanted to interject and help, maybe try and figure out what was going on, but it didn’t feel right. It wasn’t my place to take part in their conversation. And honestly, Urs’ tone of voice was enough to send shivers down my spine. This - this was something else.
“Rheka will accompany me on my next day out. I think it beneficial for her upbringing.”
“Her upbringing.” Urs’ scoffed. “How considerate of you.”
Urs laid back into his seat. His eyes were fixated on the ceiling, twitching, yet he still had that signature grin on his face.
“Is that what you want, Rheka? Do you want to go with him?”
“Mmmh.” Rheka replied, nodding.
Urs let out a heavy sigh in response. “Well. Not like I could stop the two of you if it came down to it anyway. Not even Enkefalos himself could. No one can.” He chuckled.
Vrintas didn't reply, simply walking off again.
And that... settled it? As heavy as that conversation felt, it ended on a somewhat positive note. From the looks of it Urs would be staying at home for the time being, so it was probably good that we’d be out of the house for a while. At least until the guy had properly settled in again.
Although one thing began to bug me and would continue to do so throughout the time leading up to our departure.
What exactly happened between those two?