Darius Chapter 29

‘{Es-shen}’

Darius couldn’t believe his luck. To think that his grandpa had located this book just days after he left Karringlock was absurd. It was a shame he’d died only weeks after – probably not enough time to absorb all the content and secrets within. He read through the ‘Es-shen’ summary.

‘The Detonation Spell’: Materials imbued with this magic will react explosively upon high-speed contact with another surface.

Lifespan: One to Two Years

Take care not to store imbued materials in close proximity to each other, or in a place where they will be jolted.

History: As the first of The Great Spells, Rath favored Es-shen heavily in his creation of weapons to face the underkind. Its destructive power is unrivaled by any singular spell, but is highly volatile.

Due to its volatility, Rath only issued weapons imbued with Es-shen to his most capable captains and lieutenants, as a sign of his trust in their skills and temperament.

It was a shame he hadn’t read the warning earlier. Perhaps then the two soldiers carrying the boxes of arrowheads wouldn’t have been eviscerated.

But then Silfor would've got a hold of them.

Darius found a chair to sit in and flipped through the rest of the book. It was mostly historical events and ramblings that were attributed to Rath and his closest confidants, but it was hard to believe some of the reports. Mentions of the underkind were thrown in like salt in a stew, but even within the pages of the same book, the supposed color, size and ferocity of the demonic beasts varied significantly. At the start of the book, a woman by the name of ‘Vexor’ claimed that her grandfather fought in Rath’s battle against ‘demons of unrivalled caliber, spouting green flame from two-foot horns set above each eye.’ Later in the book a source claimed that the underkind were more of a flood of ‘three-foot tall gremlins moving with lightning-fast speed and near-instant reaction times.’

It was fun for a piece of fiction, but difficult to believe, even when it was inserted next to the magical claims that Darius knew to be true.

What really caught his attention was the sporadically placed pages with the same title format and information as the ‘Es-shen’ page. Throughout the book, there were three others just like it.

The first was ‘Al-kani’, the Inferno Spell.

The second was ‘Et-mino’, the Strike Spell.

The third was right at the back of the book. The page had been partially torn out, and large ink blots covered the pronunciation of the spell and the other information. He could read what its name was, and not much else.

The Necromancy Spell.

It sounded eerie. Necromancy wasn’t something he wanted to mess around with, even if he had the power to do so. He put the book on its own on the other side of the room and returned to go through the piles. Falsith helped, separating the diamonds from the rough. He unfolded a tightly packed piece of parchment, revealing a widespread family tree with musings and diagrams from Krevalitz’s long life. It looked like the work spanned across decades, with some sections written in a cracked, faded ink, and others vibrant and fresh. He showed it to Darius.

“Oh wow, that’s...extensive. Where would he even have gotten that information? There’re details back more than a hundred years over here.”

Darius pointed to a branch of the tree that stretched from the top of the page to almost two-thirds of the way down.

“Look at the notes here, this bloke right at the top is where my family must’ve begun. Aldritch Kersana.”

“Your last name is Kersana?”

“Aye, is that strange?”

“No, no. I just didn’t know. I assumed it would be like, Darius Blacksmith or something.”

“I think all the time in the sun might’ve fried your brain.”

Darius traced the branch down with his finger, following each successive member.

“They all look a bit drab, don’t they? Must just be blacksmiths.”

Falsith didn’t reply. He had left to get more stew.

Darius filtered through the remainder of Krevalitz’s belongings until sun-down, when he realized how dark the room had become. He considered lighting a candle but opted to go out and see Rolloc and Marila, who had only seen their son for an hour in the last two and a half months. They were sitting with Falsith, marveling at his voracious appetite. He was onto his fourth bowl of stew.

They had a simple home, with not much room for vanity, at least before Darius’s room was vacated and Grandpa Krevalitz had died. The rooms had dark brown spruce walls, complemented by copper colored clay brick wherever required, like behind the cooktop and around the fireplace. As the home of three blacksmiths, the entryway had a tinge of soot to it, before the boots were kicked off and the hands and faces were wiped, leaving the rest of the home spotless. It was sparsely decorated, with Marila being the only member of the household with any affinity or inclination to put up vases with flowers, seasonal decorations, or ‘just-for-show' items. Blacksmiths were mostly practical. Rolloc was one of the few exceptions who had a taste for the finer artistry work like engravings, miniature metalwork and art. It was part of the reason why Darius had mostly learnt under his grandfather. He just liked weapons more.

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The other reason was that Rolloc tended to be more of a ‘do-er’ and less of a teacher. He had the curse of knowledge which resulted in very tense lessons where Rolloc would get frustrated, and Darius would be stressed. As Darius improved and even surpassed Rolloc in certain areas, they got well past that point, but the custom remained. Darius thought for a moment about what he would do when he had a child. Subject him to Rolloc’s interesting teaching methods? Or teach them himself? There was bound to be a lot of time between then and now.

“So, what’s been going on in Karringlock?”

His mother piped up first, letting him in on the town gossip.

“Oh, well, you’ll never guess it. Ranbar cheated on Temeera with Paratil and they shut down the shop for days before one of those silly lot...”

Asking Marila for the town gossip was like throwing a pound of beef at a vulture. She would go until there was nothing left. When she eventually took a breath, Rolloc interrupted.

“Now Darius, did you happen to bring any of these magic weapons you’ve been telling us about? I’d be curious to see one – perhaps I could recreate it?”

“Ah, yes! Let me go grab it.”

He went outside to get it and gave his horse a scratch on the ear while he was out there. He had become rather fond of her over their short time together. He wondered if Marila had any apples at the house. Dislodging the axe from its hooks and buckles was a fiddly task, but before long he was back at the table, showing off his creation. Rolloc held out his arms, hoping to get a closer look. Darius handed it to him.

“Okay, be verrry careful with it. No test swings or you’ll be sleeping with the horses tonight, there’ll be no house left.”

“That powerful, huh? And how’d you create it?”

Darius explained his short history with the Temple of Darius, the axe, and his magical smithing powers. He left out the part about the arrow-bomb and the crater he’d left in the Royal District. Some near-death experiences were best left forgotten.

“This Marth fellow sounds nice, is he a friend of yours?”

“Yes, Dad. But he’s Tarth Ranvost’s son – not exactly someone you’d expect to come round for tea if that’s what you’re thinking. He’s bound to be very busy once he gets back to Barringvale.”

“If he gets back.” Falsith interjected. Darius whacked him for the unsavory comment. Rolloc looked like he wanted more information, and Falsith relented.

“My captain was called back to Erinstone and Marth Ranvost took over command of my squad. Layla Avongold arranged for us to be attacked by bandits and he got caught up in it. He’s on the run now too with the remnants of his army.”

Rolloc was baffled by the modern world.

“The remnants? What does that mean?”

Darius wasn’t in the mood to recite or relive the last two months of his life, so he steered the conversation away.

“Alright, alright, too much. The long and the short is that Falsith and I are headed to Barringvale to help the war effort. We think Lady Silfor is planning an attack, and I want to do my part to protect Barringvale.”

“But you haven’t even been there before! Why won’t you stay here, where it’s safe?”

Marila couldn’t contain her concern. She’d been worried enough by Darius’s journey to Erinstone – sending him off into a near-guarantee of danger was even more frightening. Falsith answered on Darius’s behalf.

“If Erinstone takes over Barringvale, you won’t be safe here in Karringlock. You’re lucky that we’re a good day’s hike off the Great Road, otherwise they might be stopping through here to loot. Gotta feed an army somehow.”

Rolloc tossed the axe up and down in his hands. It was a sobering thought. Karringlock was closer to Barringvale than it was Erinstone, and whilst not under any particular jurisdiction other than its own, there was an unspoken agreement that it would side with Barringvale in a conflict, purely for geographical reasons. The guards and walls around the small village were mostly for show rather than a serious source of defense – half a platoon could effectively break in and lay waste without breaking a sweat. He began to think he should be going himself.

“So you’ll go tomorrow? Are you sure you can’t wait? The market is tomorrow, and you know your mother will be making up an apple crumble.”

Falsith looked to Darius as though he could easily be convinced, but Darius held strong.

“Unfortunately, yes. I’ll take those books to Barringvale and see if they’ll let me use their iron to try out a couple things. With any luck, we’ll meet Marth there and we’ll get rooms in the castle.”

The rest of the evening passed quickly. They had a simple dinner of bread and olives, and Darius slept in the tiny bed that had been too short for him since he’d turned fourteen. It was the best night’s sleep he’d had since he left. Falsith took the horses across the street to a stable-for-rent and brought their gear into Krevalitz’s old room where he slept on a disheveled blue mat. The room had the smell of dust, and every few hours he awoke to the sound of a guard climbing a lookout tower outside and switching with his tired counterpart. It sounded like a Trenk scurrying along the roof.

Darius and Falsith awoke early as was customary during their travels. The cooler hours of the morning were beneficial for their horses, and it was also the time when the rabbits were the dopiest, after a long night of evading predators. Marila and Rolloc were up not much later – the old blacksmith had a strict routine that he’d imprinted onto Darius in his younger years.

Falsith and Darius were out at the stables when Marila came out.

“Darius? Can you come here for a moment?”

Darius gave his saddlebag straps a tug and trundled over to Marila. He was confused by the forlorn look on her face.

“I didn’t want to tell you last night, but your father is struggling at the smithy. We aren’t getting the same number of merchants coming through Karringlock anymore – we could really do with you coming back soon and helping. So stay safe, alright? Don’t go selling your services for free in Barringvale – if you can make weapons valuable enough that Lady Silfor wanted to lock you up, you must be damn good.”

Darius smiled at her and gave her a hug.

“Don’t worry Ma, I’ll have a courier bring you a sack of gold coins the moment I get going at Barringvale. Money troubles wouldn’t be an issue ever again. Love you, Ma.”

He went back to his horse and jumped up. They clopped out onto the street, and he waved at Rolloc as he came out of the house. It was better to get going early, otherwise they’d end up chatting for hours.

They left through the front and only gate, back on their quest for Barringvale.