Toren Daen

Finding a fast route back to Aensgar was far less trouble than I expected. Mawar, Sevren, and I walked on foot for a short time until we found a secluded village along the banks of the Redwater. After flashing a sizable pouch of coins and the Denoir insignia, one of the men had been more than happy to sell us three of his leashed reptilian mana beasts.

It was only my superb balance honed over the months of training that kept me from falling off as the reptilian creatures darted along the road in a twining, back-and-forth way that was not good for the stomach. I had a feeling that we’d overpaid the man in that village for his animals.

The events at Mardeth’s base loomed over everyone present, though all for different reasons. Mawar had taken to wearing a hood to cover her face from any travelers, and Sevren had done the same. As the other two began trying to keep their identities more secret, so did I.

After several days of travel, Aensgar finally loomed in our sight. The towering keeps and massive fortifications blocked out the rising sun, our mounts hissing in annoyance as they were forced into the shade.

Before we reached the gates, Mawar turned to Sevren and me nervously. She opened her mouth, clearly wanting to say something. The powerful retainer was nowhere to be seen: only someone who had just lost the penultimate fight of their life.

“Our lips are sealed about what happened in that cavern,” I said quietly, suspecting what she was about to ask. I chanced a glance at the solemn Denoir heir next to me.

She nodded stiltedly. Truthfully, there wasn’t much she could do to protest. I’d grown even more powerful since our last duel, and I suspected she knew it. Her own strength was insufficient to force my silence. “If you want any sort of payment for doing so…” she started. “Materials? Training? Money?”

I blinked in confusion as Aurora sighed sadly. She thinks you mean to blackmail her, the phoenix conveyed over our bond. So she is offering hush money to motivate you.

I sighed, again cursing this political system. “If you hadn’t rushed in to hold off Mardeth for a while, I wouldn’t have been able to save Sevren from the vicar,” I said honestly, waving my hand dismissively. “Call it even, yeah?”

Mawar looked at me uncertainly, before dismounting her lizard beast. She handed me the reigns, gave me one last look, and turned to go.

“Mawar,” I said, interrupting her as she took a step. She paused, turning to look at me with uncertain scarlet eyes. “You decide your own worth,” I said, hoping she would one day believe my words. “Not those around you.”

The retainer nodded stiffly. I knew she didn’t believe me, at least not in the depths of her soul. But as the young Vritra-blooded mage covered herself in darkness and bounded up Aensgar’s tall walls, I hoped one day she would see the truth. I didn’t know how this would play out in the future, but I hoped things could improve for the woman. We weren’t friends; not exactly. But we weren’t enemies either.

Sevren and I sold our mounts outside the city, and from the cash we made back, I knew for sure that the Denoir heir had far overpaid for them. We stealthily maneuvered our way through the city, carefully making our way to the Aensgar Ascender’s Association. Once we were inside and nearing the Ascension Portals, our swift walk slowed.

Sevren turned to me as we reached the massive portals. “If you want to prove to my family that I sent you, then you’re going to need this,” he said, handing me a deep gold medallion inscribed with the Denoir insignia. “And this,” he added, giving me a piece of paper he’d torn from his notebook.

I read over the note. It was an abbreviated description of where I needed to go through the estate to reach his room, and where exactly in his room he left his… I squinted, looking at the words.

I looked up at Sevren, raising a skeptical brow. “A mana-tuned fluid resonance dissector toolkit?” I asked sarcastically. “That might be the most pretentious name for something I’ve ever seen.”

“I don’t make the names,” he said with a huff, turning tiredly toward the purple pane. “I’m going to change my base of operations to that Town Zone you always manage to pop into. Meet me there when you’re done.” I could just barely feel the mana react as he used the spellform on his chest to alter the portal’s destination. I covertly glanced around, but nobody seemed to be focusing on the two of us for too long. Even though there was no visual representation of Sevren changing the destination, one couldn’t be sure. He glanced back at me as his heartfire fluctuated under the strain. He hesitated long and hard with his next words. “If my family refuses to help you further, tell them to remember Abigale,” he finished with a bitter tinge.

I winced at his words as he finally stepped through the portal. I had the feeling that a reminder of the Denoir’s old tutor would be like a slap in the face to any questions they might have.

Are you ready for this, Toren? Aurora asked.

Ready as I’ll ever be, I thought with a sigh, before stepping through the portal.

—

I’d made a distinct effort to touch up my appearance before approaching the Denoir Relictombs estate. I wore my nice maroon vest that prominently displayed the reforged sigil of Blood Daen on the breast and back. The symbol of a dagger through a flaming heart was accentuated by orange filigree running along the trim. The feathered brooch-shaped djinn relic was pinned on the opposite side, adding a splash of bronze.

I wore dark, breathable slacks and a lighter dress shirt that was rimmed with orange lining. My strawberry-blonde hair was tied back into a short tail that barely reached my collar.

Oath was sheathed at my side, but it was more for formality than anything else.

I stared up at the tall metal gate that barred my path. A solid stone wall wrapped the entirety of the estate, blocking me from peering inward. And from the wards I could feel, they also dampened any attempted mana sense within. I palmed the golden insignia Sevren had handed me, then stepped forward and raised my hand to press a button that presumably acted as a sort of doorbell.

And so I was startled when a voice came from the side of a mana-powered artifact, emanating out evenly. “Toren of Named Blood Daen,” a stoic male voice said. “State your business with Highblood Denoir.”

I blinked, focusing on the artifact that had emitted the noise. Beside it, I saw a glassy surface that reminded me of a security camera. Could it be?

I held up Sevren’s insignia to the glassy panel. “I’ve come on behalf of my friend, Sevren Denoir,” I said evenly. “He needs me to retrieve a toolkit of his.”

The speaker was silent for a second. “Please wait for a moment, Lord Daen,” that same voice said again, though far more respectful this time. “We shall send someone to fetch you.”

I crossed my arms, waiting for a minute. Before long, a pair of mages left the estate, walking in steady strides towards the gate. I turned my head toward the door as I sensed two exceptionally powerful thrumming heartfires meandering their way toward the walls.

I looked at the metal barring my path, hearing the thump-thump-thump of lifeforce beyond. The doors opened wide, revealing two mages waiting for me.

A brute of a man stood head and shoulders taller than his companion. He had crimson hair cut choppily, and his face seemed perpetually set in a scowl. His sculpted shoulders looked like they took personal offense at the existence of doorways as a concept. A large mace was strapped to his side.

The other man immediately seemed more welcoming than the mace-wielder. His brown hair was combed neatly back, and a thin sword rested leisurely at his waist.

“Hello,” the brown-haired swordsman said. “My name is Arian, and this lug of a mage is Taegan. We’re going to be escorting you inside, Lord Daen.”

The two mages who guarded Caera on her ascents through the Relictombs, I thought as my lips evened out. I stepped forward. “Is it standard procedure to send the strongest mages you have to escort someone to pick up a…” I fished in my pocket, for the paper Sevren had given me. Taegan visibly narrowed his eyes in suspicion, while the only reaction from Arian was for him to gently brush the pommel of his sword. When I retrieved the paper, Arian relaxed. “A mana-tuned fluid resonance dissector toolkit?” I read aloud.

I proffered the paper out to Arian, hoping he’d see it as a sign of goodwill. For some reason, they seemed skeptical of me from the get-go.

I’ve been running around with their heir for months, I thought, And now I finally show up unannounced bearing his insignia. They might think I stole it from him.

Arian took the paper with a nonchalant air, then skimmed over it, his eyebrows rising with every word. He looked back at me when he was done. “Well, I can certainly say our friend Sevren Denoir wrote this,” he said with a hint of amusement, though he did not return the paper. “Come on.”

“Could I have that back?” I asked firmly. It was my only insurance that proved Sevren had sent me to do this.

Arian shrugged, then handed the paper back. “We’re going to need to see your weapon, though,” he said, his eyes darting to Oath at my side.

I felt an instant flash of hesitation. Was I being corralled into some sort of hostage scenario?

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It is merely for appearance’s sake, Aurora assured me. You could have a wealth of weapons stashed in your dimension ring, yet they do not ask to search that.

Always politics, I thought, unlatching my saber from my belt. I tossed it to Taegan, whose only facial expression seemed to be that of a man with a brick rammed up his behind. The striker caught it deftly, and his expression flickered with surprise as he felt the weight. He unsheathed it carefully, inspecting the pristine red edge: all except for that one, singular chip.

“You must take better care of your weapon, Broken Blade,” Taegan said gruffly, sheathing the sword. “Basilisk blood alloys are rare.”

“Trust me,” I said, thinking of the massive leviathan in the undead zone, “No matter how well I maintained my weapon, it was going to come away with damage after what I put it through.”

Taegan looked at me speculatively but didn’t inquire further. He turned on his heel and began marching toward the estate, which I could now fully see with the gates opened. Arian followed after with me in tow.

“So, will one of you grab the…” I tested the words on my tongue, “fluid dissector toolkit?”

“No,” the brutish Taegan said. “We will take you to the antechamber, and you will be made to wait for a long time.”

I closed my eyes, exhaling my irritation. I knew it wouldn’t be that simple, but it was nice to have confirmation anyway. “You are a brutally honest person, aren’t you?” I said sardonically.

“There is no such thing as brutal honesty,” Taegan retorted, not turning around. “Only the truth.”

“I think that’s a very reductive way to look at the truth,” I said, only half paying attention to the conversation. The courtyard around me was dotted with fountains, blossoming plants, and more.

“Taegan here has a bad habit of using his words like a sledgehammer when a chisel would be more effective,” Arian said diplomatically. Taegan glared daggers at his companion, but the swordsman seemed unphased. “Though what he said was true. Those who come to meet Highblood Denoir are always made to wait.”

“I didn’t come to meet with Highblood Denoir,” I countered. “Just to pick something up for a friend.”

“So you claim,” Arian said sympathetically. “But on matters of the heir, it's always forwarded to the top.”

Fetch quests could never be simple, could they?

—

The antechamber was even more lavish than the courtyard outside. Paintings rimmed with gold and precious metals I couldn’t identify lined the walls, and portraits of severe, olive-haired men and women watched my seat imperiously. Every single eye of the past Denoirs seemed to calculate my movements, holding them in internal balance.

I turned a page in my book, Of Mana and Minds: An Argument For Consciousness and the Individual. I scribbled down a footnote at the bottom as I read over another paragraph. I was almost through with this book, and I’d have to get another soon.

I found myself increasingly disgruntled by the ideas put forward in this text. At heart, I was a staunch individualist, and that was what the author, Professor Acraten, claimed to champion as well.

Yet his arguments for mana marking someone as what my layman’s eyes viewed as an equivalent to Nietzsche’s overman fell short when one took into account what could be done without mana.

The Empire State Building dwarfed any structure built in Alacrya I’d yet seen. People on Earth, without mana, had managed to become interconnected and thrive far beyond the mages of this world, even with their artifacts and godly abilities. It was clear that mana was not the end-all be-all of success and power for society.

But how do I prove that to someone without using my otherworld knowledge as a crutch? I asked myself, tapping my pen against my chin.

“You are aware that you are being watched?” my bond said from my side, her phantom form looking over my shoulder at my writing.

I know, I thought back. I could feel the eyes on me from several locations, but I suspected it was from remote viewing artifacts considering I couldn’t sense any heartfire. Why do you think they’re watching me so attentively?

“We both know you are an anomaly, Contractor,” my bond said with a demure smile. “But as far as these highbloods are likely aware, you burned your ancient enemies to the ground, went on an ascent with their heir, then proceeded to make a deal with one of the strongest business conglomerates on the continent. And for the past few months, the Artificer has done nothing but stand by your side.” She paused. “And they may know of your victory over the Retainer Mawar, though I find that prospect doubtful.”

A man dressed in servant’s finery opened the door at the end of the antechamber. “Lenora Denoir will meet you now,” the man said with a curt bow.

I snapped my book closed, withdrawing it into my dimension ring. I stood up, covertly working out the stiffness in my back. I’d waited for twenty minutes before Lenora Denoir presumably realized this tactic wouldn’t work on me. I’d happily scribble in my book for another two hours.

I followed after the servant through the doors. A simple meeting room spread before me. It was far less opulent than the antechamber outside.

Lenora Denoir immediately drew the eye. Her brilliant hair–the exact same shade as her son’s–stood out like the only spot of white on a painted canvas. She had a practiced smile on her face as I stepped inside, and I recognized quickly that despite her supposed age, she held a casual beauty that I had no doubt she was aware of. She was dressed in a deep olive dress that had a conservative air about it.

“Lord Daen,” she said, nodding her head in respect. “I’ve heard a great deal about you.”

In that instant, I remembered the teachings of Arlan, the aged Daen steward. Lenora Denoir was of a higher station than me: I should bow nearly at the waist.

But then I thought of the book I’d just finished annotating, where I’d provided as many reasons as I could to substantiate the fact that all people were equal, regardless of their station.

And the last time I’d been forced to bow had been under the weight of Mardeth’s killing intent.

You are heir to the Will of the Asclepius, Aurora’s voice feathered across my ears, the Unseen World no longer visible. You do not bow to these petty lords.

I clasped my hands behind my back, settling for a respectful dip of my torso instead of a subservient prostration. Lenora’s pristine white brow raised with an emotion I couldn’t decipher. Was that disgust? Interest? Or amusement? Her face was a better mask than my own.

“I’m flattered that the matron of Highblood Denoir has heard of me,” I said diplomatically. “But I’m afraid the reason I came here was not to take valuable time out of your day,” I tried. “I was asked by a friend to retrieve some tools he needs from this estate.”

“Oh?” the Denoir matron said curiously, “I’d like to hear the story of how you became friends with Sevren,” she said with a knowing smile. “Would you indulge a mother with stories of her wayward son?”

Lenora strode toward a highbacked chair. Her eyes subtly compelled me to do the same to an opposing seat. While I walked toward the chair, I did not sit down. Lenora’s eyes darkened imperceptibly as I refused to comply, leaving us both standing by our respective seats.

My hands, which were clasped together behind my back, tightened slightly. “Your son and I have been ascending partners for the past few months through the Relictombs. As time has gone on, I’ve learned to trust my back to him. He’s saved my life more than a few times, and I’ve pulled him out of many dangerous situations as well.”

Lenora nodded slowly, seeming to take it all in. As she did so, I considered what I knew of this woman from The Beginning After the End. The two perspectives I’d been supplied had been from Arthur and Caera respectively. She portrayed herself as a brilliant political mind, working in a flowing tandem with her husband, Corbett. They worked as a mutual push and pull for the benefit of Highblood Denoir as a whole.

So where is Corbett? I wondered absently. It was implied these two worked best as a team. Hammer and anvil.

“I have no doubt that the trials of the Relictombs forge the strongest of bonds between mages,” Lenora said sympathetically. “In fact, that is how we hire our guards. You met Taegan and Arian, I’m sure?”

I nodded, thinking of Taegan calling me Broken Blade. That was better than being called Tiny Sword or Effeminate One, at least. “I did make their acquaintance.”

“They were ascending partners long before they came under our wing, though the Relictombs are exceedingly dangerous. How is Sevren doing, anyway? Is he well? He doesn’t speak to us much, you see.”

I clenched my teeth. That might be because you offered up his tutor to the High Sovereign without a beat of hesitation, I thought, feeling sympathetic anger for my friend.

But then I thought about Lenora’s question. Is he well?

I swallowed, my muscles tightening as I thought of the results of our infiltration of Mardeth’s base. He was a machine, uncaring of what broke in the pursuit of his goals. His possessions, his arm, hell, even his own lifespan were merely another bit of fuel that could be thrown into the fire. And in retrospect, that had gotten even worse as I achieved more progression in my aetheric abilities.

“He’s doing well,” I lied. “He’s been working on a personal project for a while that he is making real progress on. It’s taken most of his time.”

Lenora’s eyes flashed as she caught my hesitation, yet she outwardly displayed no changes in expression. I found myself comparing her to Renea Shorn. While the owner of Bloodstone Elixirs never cared to hide her predatory nature, I felt as though Lenora layered her intentions underneath covers of sympathy and understanding.

“The agents of Highblood Denoir are always keeping track of our heir,” she started. “It’s protocol, you understand. He’s been bouncing around the continent even more, lately. Specifically, Fiachra in Sehz-Clar, and a trip to Aensgar in Vechor. But we’ve had some trouble keeping tabs on him since a little over a week ago.” The Denoir matron looked at me with a tilted head, her eyes projecting a picture of innocence that I immediately knew was false. “And now you appear here, claiming to operate on his behalf. I believe you, of course, it's just that my son has always come here himself. Do you know if anything’s changed?”

I felt my blood turn to ice in my veins. Why do I always fall into traps with powerful women? I internally lamented, trying to think of a good response. First Aurora. Then Renea Shorn. And now Lenora Denoir.

I remembered the reason why Sevren didn’t want to show his face here. If he appeared while missing an arm, Highblood Denoir would be able to wrench his ascender’s badge away from him. He’d be condemned to their plots once and for all, just as he’d begun to achieve his goals.

I took a deep breath, preparing to reply, when the door behind me swung open. Lenora’s eyes widened in true surprise as she stared at someone behind me. I turned, feeling confused. I hadn’t sensed any heartfire approaching.

A woman stood in the doorway, standing in a stance that looked like she was ready to delve right into a fight. Her attire was nothing like the Denoir matron across from me. Instead of a dress, she wore formfitting pants and clothes that seemed streamlined for combat. Long navy hair stretched to the midpoint of her back. Her face was flushed from exercise.

“Mother,” Caera Denoir said, her breath slightly uneven, “I heard we have news from my brother.”