Chapter 29

Mark and Tony had all of their horses saddled for them early in the morning. The faithful stableboys had awoken before dawn and had yet to break their fast, but were both looking forward to the fine breakfast that the cook had promised them the night before if they completed their morning tasks extra early. Neither boy had been to the capital, despite being born a days ride away, and were a little disappointed to learn that they weren’t required for this particular trip.

The rest of the party, having also awoken early, but having taken the time to eat breakfast and dress properly for the road, thanked the stableboys and set out just an hour after dawn. They were on a tight schedule to reach the palace before they were scheduled for their official audience.

Before they left, Tom closed off the monster wing, but not before turning his minotaurs and Korgoath loose inside of it. With a grudging agreement to hunt in parallel, the two elite groups of monsters were both determined to get stronger in the absence of their master.

Lo, for his part, was increasingly irked by the progress that his master was making without putting forth any effort. Brutus, however, sought strength for strength’s sake. They both grudgingly staked out different parts of the labyrinth Tom set up for them and competed with each other to kill the monsters that spawned.

The newly Spawned monsters of the dungeon didn’t stand a chance.

Not against the pack of seven Korgoath, lead by their Alpha, nor against any of the Minotaurs.

Satisfied that both his monsters and Alpha Core would keep each other occupied while he was gone, Tom left, taking only the surviving Command Core from the batch that Fenard had given him previously. It was the first time he had left Alpha Core behind for any significant amount of time since he had Claimed the Core, but he felt confident that there would be no dungeon outbreak while he was gone.

Not with Lo and Brutus on the job.

The road to Profons was short, taking most of the morning and a modest part of the afternoon. They were met on the road by men at arms wearing the king’s livery, their escort into and through the city.

Profons was, like many of the southern Welsian cities, built on a river, specifically the Surae. The river flowed through the city in a southeasterly direction. On the north bank, the walled district, the oldest part of the city, came right up to the banks of the river. South of the walled district was the Crafting Quarter, which spanned both sides of the river.

Like many larger cities, Profons had more than one Core Stone. Arguably, there had once been only one, with nearby villages growing together as the small capital became a metropolis.

The palace, and Tom’s destination, was built directly north of Northstone. West of the river, and in the residential district, was Westone and Other Westone. Southstone was on the south side of the city, of course, inside the crafting quarter. The fifth core stone was, perhaps ironically, south of Southstone. It was the heart of a suburb called Fisher’s Haven which was in the process of being absorbed by the city itself.

Close to two hundred thousand people called Profons home; it was the largest city in Welsius.

The crowd made way quickly for the riders escorted by the kingsmen. Not knights; the knights were busy elsewhere. These were mostly Commoners with the Guard subclass. If they had a true combat class, they would be on the road to the border.

At the gates of the walled district, the party split. Grant, Rowena, and Tom continued to the palace with their escort, while Ubo, Vella, Jessica and Emil headed off to the Urban estate.

At the palace, Rowena separated from Tom and Grant, who were shown to a guestroom where they refreshed themselves, cleaning the dust of the road off their skin and changing into the dress clothes that they had brought for court.

The servants who helped them dress were just as thorough in making certain that the two men were presentable for court as Nigel normally was for Tom’s daily routine. He was still getting used to formal dress. When he was a Child in Tilluth Village, he mostly got by with a tunic and leggings. Now that he was … he wasn’t actually certain what his social status was, now that he thought of it.

He was supposed to have joined the Royal Knighthood. When he’d left his home, he’d thought that he didn’t have a choice in the matter, but when he balked at the ‘honor’ King Fenard had relented. It left him in a strange position, socially.

He wasn’t a commoner. His class was, in fact, ultra-rare. He was the only known living Controller.

The issue was that, for all that they were extremely important to the functioning of society, information about Controllers had been suppressed for the last few centuries. Only the social elites, high placed government officials, and certain members of the military knew the full importance of his class. It put him in the strange position of being an elite, without anyone actually understanding why except for other elites.

That had been the purpose behind giving him a knighthood, he knew. If he were a knight with some rare class, nobody would have any questions about his authority. He was commonborn with parents who possessed trade classes, so there was no hereditary explanation for his position.

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The issue was that everyone was simply so used to Cores that nobody thought of how they came to be in the center of every village, town and city. Half the population didn’t even realize that Core Stones were Dungeon Cores.

And none of them realized that so many of their Core Stones were sick. Tom suspected that unless he did something, Welsius and perhaps all of the nations on Reus would turn into blighted wastelands.

The servants showed Tom and Grant into a waiting room, where they were served a platter with tea and biscuits. They each partook while they awaited their presentation to the king.

“I’m a little nervous,” Tom admitted to Grant.

“That’s completely understandable.” Grant assured him. “I’m not certain how many people will be present, but it’s likely to be a decent amount. Perhaps it would help if you pretended that you were merely here to support me as I suggested something to the village council of your hometown? I am the one who will be doing most of the speaking after all.”

“Yeah, that won’t really help with the exposed feeling I get from being without Alpha Core, though,” Tom explained. “It feels like I’m walking around without pants. I mean, not literally. I’ve gotten so used to being inside the territory of a Core that I control that being inside of the territory of one that I don’t is like that.”

“I see,” Grant said. “Well, I’m not certain that I can relate in that case. Will you be alright in front of a bunch of strangers, or do we need to alter our plans?”

“I’ll manage,” Tom said. “I mean, I am wearing pants. That’s just an analogy of what it feels like. I don’t think that however many people in the room will affect how I feel; I feel the same even when I’m alone.”

“If you’re certain,” Grant said.

In a short while, a servant came to show them into the throne room. Perhaps a hundred people were in the audience when they were announced.

“Coming before the crown for a petition is Grant Peterson, of Earth, and Tom Weaver, of Weaver Estate,” the herald announced. There were some shocked noises and whispered conversation among the audience as Tom and Grant moved to stand before the throne and bow, but that cut out quickly when King Fenard promptly instructed them to rise.

“Welcome to my court, Grant. Tom. It is good to see you again, even in these trying times,” the king said. “Tell me about your petition.”

Grant took the lead. “Your majesty, as there is no question that I am from Earth, I believe it should be understood that I have a unique view on your society as an outsider. I believe that this perspective is extremely valuable, and while I have no intention of upsetting any morals or traditions of importance, I have noticed a certain area in which I believe the administration of your nation could be improved.

“Specifically, I believe that your adventurers, whom you rely on to risk their lives delving dungeons to keep the lands free of monsters, lack leadership and cohesion. I am before you to seek a charter for an organization which would fill the gap. I envision the creation of a guild for adventurers.

“The services we would offer our members are wide and varied, depending upon their needs. We would help them with outfitting themselves. We would assist in finding parties. We would provide training and guidance. We would assist them in selecting which dungeons to explore, and allow a place for commoners to issue quests to solve any problems with dungeon breakouts or troublesome dungeons.

“There are so many niches that an organization like this could fill that it would take up far too much of your precious time to list them all. In conclusion, I wholly believe that the foundation of an Adventurers’ Guild is in the best interest of Welsius, Your Majesty.”

Grant finished his speech, and for a moment the room was silent.

“And who is going to pay for it?” A voice from the audience demanded.

“Ah, well, that would be me,” Tom said.

“And who are you? I’ve never heard of the Weaver Estate before. Do you make cloth?”

“My father does,” Tom said. “I make money. A lot of it. I’m prepared to invest eight tenths of my income into the Adventurers’ Guild, your majesty.”

The audience burst into laughter.

Tom’s face turned crimson.

King Fenard allowed the laughter to continue for a moment, then silenced it with a wave of his hand. “Very well. In that case, I hereby give Tom Weaver, the Welsian Controller, a royal charter to found the Adventurer’s guild.”

Tom looked up in surprise. “Me? Your Majesty, this is Grant’s idea.”

“And you can appoint him to run it, if that’s your desire,” King Fenard said, “but as you’ll be the one funding it financially, the charter will be in your name. This is my decree. I’ll have the papers drawn up immediately.”

Tom was left floundering as the court erupted not into laughter, but into whispers.

“I believe that is the last matter on the agenda,” King Fenard announced. “Grant Peterson, Tom Weaver, I invite you to dine with me tonight so that we may formally discuss this matter further, in private.”

The court went silent.

“We accept, of course, Your Majesty,” Grant said. He nudged Tom.

“Right, of course we accept, Your Majesty,” Tom agreed.

The master of ceremonies stepped forward to escort them away from the throne, and they retreated to the waiting room from which they had come.

“Dinner will be served in two hours. His Majesty will be occupied for the first hour and a half of that, after which he will join you. How do you wish to spend the interim time?” the master of ceremonies inquired.

“I don’t suppose you have a ping-pong table, do you?” Grant inquired.

“Ping … pong?” the master of ceremonies was perplexed.

“Never mind. How does his majesty typically entertain his guests while they’re waiting for him to finish his official duties?” Grant asked.

“However they wish to be entertained. We have a large library, and the majority of the common board, card, and dice games. Seeing as you’re from Earth, perhaps you would like to see our bowling alley?”

“You have bowling?” Grant asked, sounding very surprised.

“Several of your predecessors from Earth introduced the sport,” the master of ceremonies explained. “It’s quite popular among the nobility.”

“Tom? Do you know how to bowl?” Grant inquired.

“I don’t think so,” Tom said. “Is it fun?”

“I used to take my grandchildren bowling once or twice a month,” Grant reminisced. “Yes, let’s do that. Don’t worry, Tom, the rules are simple and you’ll pick them up quickly.”