CHAPTER 9 - Lyrhaven - Part 2

Clark settled into his chair, his large hands dwarfing the cup of herbal tea that Sarah had prepared. "I must apologize for Klon's behavior," he began, savoring a sip of the tea. "Drawing weapons within the guild is a serious violation. Rest assured, he will face the appropriate disciplinary actions."

Cedric locked eyes with Clark and nodded. "Your understanding is appreciated," he acknowledged. "I admit, my own reaction may have been a bit overzealous." Desmond offered a subtle nod, as if to dissipate any lingering tension.

"However," Clark leaned in, his eyes narrowing just a bit, "I can't help but echo Klon's question. What drives a young noble like you to brave the treacherous, unforgiving terrain of the Ice Crest?" His curiosity was genuine.

"Our motives are confidential, in strict compliance with Lord Stallard's explicit instructions for this expedition," Cedric replied, his tone tinged with formality.

Clark exhaled deeply, his eyes narrowing further. "While Lord Stallard's generous offer has certainly caught my attention, convincing my team is another matter. You'll need to provide more compelling reasons for them to risk their lives." He leaned back, his expression expectant.

Before Cedric could respond, Desmond interjected, "My father believes something of great importance awaits me there—something that could alter the fate of our family."

Cedric's expression tightened. "Young Master, disclosing such sensitive information is unnecessary. Given the substantial reward your father has offered, we could easily find another group willing to undertake this mission."

"It's alright, Cedric. They're putting their lives on the line for this quest; they have a right to know the stakes," Desmond reassured him.

"Excuse me, Young Master, please continue," Cedric conceded, his eyes reflecting a hint of concern.

Desmond looked at Clark, "As I was saying, my father believes I'll find something there. But it's not just anywhere on the Ice Crest; I need to reach its summit."

Clark raised an eyebrow, skepticism clouding his face. "A treasure hunt, perhaps? What manner of treasure could possibly compel the renowned Lord Stallard to dispatch his eldest son on what might amount to a suicidal mission?"

Desmond paused, choosing his words carefully. "I am not sure of its nature, but it holds enough significance for my father to take such a calculated risk.” He took a deep breath before adding, "It's connected to the... Magi."

The atmosphere in the room thickened at the mention of the Magi. The air seemed to grow heavy, as if charged with the weight of unvoiced questions.

Clark's eyes widened slightly, and his posture stiffened. "The Magi, you say?” He pondered, "I've heard stories of Magi inhabiting the 'Five Peaks' during ancient times, though they're most often dismissed as folklore."

Desmond met Clark's gaze. "Whether myth or reality, my father believes that reaching the summit before summer's end will yield something related to the Magi—something that could change our destiny."

Cedric interjected, urgency coloring his voice. "Young Master, I believe you've disclosed more than enough. We should exercise caution in what we reveal."

Clark's brow furrowed. "Lord Stallard's willingness to undertake such a risk speaks volumes; he's renowned for his prudence," he mused, pausing for a moment before continuing. "Fifty percent. If we unearth anything of value, my team should share in the spoils as well, on top of the reward."

Before Cedric could object, Desmond extended his hand. "Deal."

Clark's face broke into a broad grin. "You're remarkably wise for your age, Young Master. I must admit, I didn't expect such a swift and decisive agreement." He said, shaking Desmond's hand.

They carefully went over the details of the expedition, acknowledging that they might need to adjust their plans because of the Ice Crest's unpredictable conditions. "Let's meet at the city's northern gates at dawn," Clark said, getting up from his chair.

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Cedric and Desmond nodded in agreement and exited the room. As they left the Adventurer's Guild, the door closed with a resounding thud behind them.

Cedric's words came swiftly, his expression slightly tense, "Young Master, was it wise to agree to such terms?"

"Trust me. What my father seeks in the Ice Crest isn't material wealth." Desmond responded, his voice carrying a tone of finality.

"Of course, Young Master," Cedric replied.

Meeting Lucian's gaze, Cedric announced, "I'll go stock up on food and supplies for our return to Stallard Manor." He paused briefly before continuing, "Please accompany the Young Master to get some well-deserved rest. There's a suitable tavern near the city gates."

At the mention of the Stallard estate, Desmond's eyes narrowed, his gaze becoming distant, "Do you think everyone's alright back at home?" he asked Cedric, a note of concern evident in his voice.

Cedric locked eyes with Desmond. The stern lines of his face briefly softened, “Worried about the Haliron Kingdom’s attack, are you? It's heartening to finally see you acting your age. But rest easy, young master. Your father, Lord Stallard, could easily fend off a small army single-handedly,” he said, his laughter tinged with an unspoken gravity.

Despite Cedric's assurances, Desmond felt an unsettling sense of worry. The fact that the Halirian soldiers had managed to infiltrate the estate unnoticed suggested an internal betrayal—a thought that gnawed at him in a way he hadn't felt in years.

Desmond halted internally, 'Hold on.' Why was he suddenly worried about the safety of Bale's family? His usual detachment seemed to have vanished, replaced by an unfamiliar sense of urgency.

'ORION,' he initiated internally, 'Something's amiss here.'

ORION responded after a brief delay, <>

“Young Master, shall we?" Lucian’s voice interrupted his mental conversation.

"Yes, sorry, I was distracted, let’s go.” Desmond replied, a sense of unease creeping in.

Navigating the labyrinthine streets of the city, Desmond, Lucian, and Cedric finally arrived at their lodging for the night: "The Gilded Griffin." As they entered, the warm glow of chandeliers and the inviting aroma of spiced meat filled the air.

Lucian took the lead in negotiating with the innkeeper, a stout man with a bushy beard and twinkling eyes.

After a spirited back-and-forth that seemed slightly excessive in Desmond's estimation, an agreement was finally reached. The innkeeper's expression shifted from intensity to satisfaction, a twinkle of triumph in his eyes.

"Ah, you drive a hard bargain, but I respect that!" the innkeeper exclaimed, clapping his hands together in a hearty applause. "Three rooms for the distinguished guests, each room fit for royalty, I assure you!"

The innkeeper extended the keys towards Desmond with a flourish. "Enjoy your stay, good sirs!" the innkeeper proclaimed with a sweeping bow. "Rest well and bask in the luxury of The Gilded Griffin!"

Ignoring the innkeeper's theatrics, they walked towards their rooms, "Let's take this opportunity to rest for a while and gather our energies. We can reconvene for lunch." Lucian suggested.

Unlocking the door to his room, Desmond stepped inside and exhaled deeply. The room was a sanctuary, furnished with plush bedding and intricate tapestries. It even boasted a rudimentary but functional bathing area and a chamber pot—a luxury after the long carriage ride.

Eager for some relief, Desmond made a beeline for the chamber pot. His enthusiasm waned when he discovered it was devoid of toilet paper. "Savages," he muttered, shaking his head with a wry smile.

After washing away the day's grime and tension, Desmond donned a plush robe and reclined on the bed. His thoughts began to wander, sifting through the whirlwind of events that had engulfed him since his arrival in this realm. From the unsettling experience at the Stallard Manor to the exhausting carriage journey, he felt like a leaf caught in a storm, propelled by John Stallard's plans for Bale.

He glanced at the ring on his index finger, lost in contemplation of the possibilities it presented. With the wealth stored in its subspace, he could easily forsake his perilous quest for a life of comfort and study. 'So why am I so compelled to climb the Ice Crest? Could this urge be yet another echo of Bale's memories?' he wondered, as he absentmindedly twirled the ring.

His gaze then gravitated to the crimson tattoo on the back of his hand. It seemed to pulse with a subtle, almost sentient energy. As if it held secrets that were tantalizingly out of reach. He touched it, lost in thought, allowing himself a moment to consider its mysteries.

The mysterious pattern promised something more, a gateway to untold truths that beckoned him. Questions began bubbling up from the depths of his curiosity, reshaping his perspective and consuming any lingering conerns.

His intellectual thirst now unquenchable, the prospect of meeting the Magi—legendary figures said to control the secrets of the Essence—became irresistibly compelling. He clenched his fists, feeling a surge of excitement.

With a mere thought, he willed his sword into existence. Its intricate glyphs, a reflection of the tattoo's design, shimmered in the room's dim light. Grasping the hilt, he felt a wave of clarity wash over him. "This isn't Bale's influence. This is my personal odyssey, my choice, my own quest for knowledge," he affirmed, taking a deep breath to let the realization sink in.

With newfound determination, he dismissed the sword, watching as it dissolved back into the tattoo. Sitting upright, he felt invigorated. "ORION, pull up the information we have on Clark," he commanded, his voice tinged with anticipation.

As he waited for ORION's response, he leaned back, allowing himself a brief moment of stillness. His mind was already racing ahead to the challenges that lay before him, but for now, he savored the thrill of the unknown.