“You want to join the Brightsouls?” Valanor asked with obvious surprise. He, Ethan and Savilar were sitting around a table in the Hunter’s Guild, sharing afternoon drinks now that the two Dusk ranked warriors had recovered.
“It makes sense, doesn’t it?” Ethan replied. “We’ve been talking about what my plan will be after…what I’ve already agreed to, and this fits perfectly.”
“Perfectly,” Valanor repeated in disbelief. Savilar was giving him a doubting expression as well as he sipped his drink, a surprisingly fruity blue mixture the man seemed to enjoy.
“We both know that ‘proving my worth’ is going to be an ongoing battle,” Ethan said, and Valanor couldn’t argue. “Once I get through this, I’ll just be another loose end with potential value. That was bad before…everything. Now? With so many powerful people wanting me dead, how much of a headache do you think the king is willing to endure?”
Valanor clearly wanted to object, but ultimately he was a reasonable man–if a stubborn one. Savilar spoke instead. “He has a point. I’m not saying I’m convinced, but if he’s trying to stay on the Church’s good side, this is an excellent way to do it. We can even spin it as an intentional act of contrition.”
“You sound convinced,” Valanor remarked.
Savilar sighed and took another sip of his drink. “I was already prepared for how difficult it would be to get you without him coming along. He’s specialised and newer at this than I’d like, but with us there, and time to train, I think we can get him ready for the Bleed.”
Ethan could tell this was a moment to let the two older men talk, and sat back to listen. Valanor looked unhappy, but that didn’t always mean much. “We’d be a poor mix. There was a reason we wanted a utility specialist for the drakes. And the Forgotten City’s traps would mean we’d face at least a few Dusk rank demons–we can’t just rely on our rank to carry us through.”
Savilar looked chagrined. “I was actually thinking of taking the Runemistress…”
“What?” Ethan said in surprise. “You’re not sure about me, but you were already okay with taking an Unbound?”
“Can you disable rune traps?” the Rift Hunter replied. “The city is built into rune patterns, can you discern them and guide us to the center? The demons in there have strong elemental affinities, and some are incorporeal, can you enact the rituals to let our weapons touch them?”
Valanor smirked at the rebuke. “It’ll be dangerous for her, and we’d need to take special precautions. But Sav is right. You’re becoming damn good at Hunting monsters, Ethan, but Selina would arguably be more valuable in there even if we had to smuggle her inside a backpack.”
“We?” Savilar repeated, looking victorious.
“The boy is right: it makes sense. But I won’t take either of them in there without proper training. We have a few months, if we can get them to a point where it isn’t a death sentence, then we’ll do it. But I make the call, Sav. I know how important this is to the Church, but I won’t get them killed for that.”
Savilar raised his hands in surrender. “No argument from me. It’s more important that the Brightsouls can keep Hunting, and stay on the leaderboard. If we’re in the top three but the kids aren’t ready, then I’ll go in alone if I have to.”
Valanor clearly didn’t like that idea either, but knew better than to doubt Sav’s conviction. It had only been a couple of days earlier that the man had rushed headlong toward a Dusk rank rift after all.
“Then it’s settled!” the Rift Hunter said with a smile, then pulled two badges from his inventory and slid them across the table. “Welcome to the Brightsouls, gentlemen.”
Ethan inspected the badge, feeling a bit disgusted to be representing the Church, regardless that this was exactly what he’d wanted. “So where do we stand?” he asked, looking up at the board over the bar.
“The Firehearts are right where they should be,” Savilar said. “The prince will be expected to win, and with 6340 points, that’s nearly a guarantee. The Firstbloods and Pursuers are the real competition, currently in second and third place in the mid five thousands.”
“You–we–are in eleventh,” Valanor said. The Brightsouls had 4265 points, and didn’t have much of a lead over several other teams behind them.
“It’s always been difficult to keep up while still closing rifts,” Savilar said bitterly. “We get points, of course, but they’re far too low for the work and the risk.”
“Why’s that?” Ethan asked curiously.
“Because only Rift Hunters are allowed to close them under normal circumstances. It wouldn’t be ‘fair’ to the other teams if we received large sums of points for an activity in which they can’t participate,” he explained.
“Well then,” Ethan said, standing up. “I suppose we need some hunts then to start padding out the numbers.” The two men stood up with him, and they went to the Notice board.
“We should still be preparing you for your duty,” Valanor said.
“We’ll get back into our training routine tomorrow, but if we genuinely want Selina to come with us she needs a lot more than one battle under her belt.” Neither man argued that point, and they let Ethan choose a number of low level Notices. He smiled when he picked up the final one, seeing who was already on the Hunt.
“Make sure you use your Brightsouls Badge when you copy those,” Savilar warned. “Otherwise the points will just go to your individual contribution.”
“Doesn’t that get rolled up to the team?” Ethan asked.
“No, otherwise we could just recruit a dozen individuals and be at the top.”
“Right, makes sense,” Ethan said. “Okay, these should be good for a few Hunting lessons.”
“It’s a bit late in the day, isn’t it?” Valanor asked.
If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
“Truthfully I’d prefer another day to recover,” Savilar added. “That bloody poison was insidious.”
“That’s alright,” Ethan said. “We can begin tomorrow–if Selina is on board. There’s something else I need to take care of today anyway.”
***
Ethan was let into the palace without much fuss, though a knight stayed with him as an escort. He expected to be guided to the princess’ study, but was taken in the opposite direction, to a wing he’d never entered before. The halls were decorated with paintings of great warriors, and trophies of monster kills were everywhere.
At last he was led into a large, open training room. A high domed ceiling was above him, with numerous windows letting in bright sunlight, and giving a spectacular view of the valley the city endlessly patrolled. Ethan walked past tables covered in weapons and armor, and stopped at the edge of the sandy pit dominating the room, giving the impression of a tiny arena.
Prince Calevaro was there, flying between targeting dummies with both swords constantly moving. He finished his routine with his trademark lightning strike, then turned toward Ethan and the knight. “Leave us, please,” he commanded the escort, who hastily left, shutting the large doors behind him.
The prince dismissed not only his weapons, but completely swapped his armor in a flash of light. He was now wearing a formal black robe, with highlights or red and gold, and it flowed out behind him as he walked to a table of refreshments. “Would you like a drink?” he asked.
“I’d love one,” Ethan replied, already a little off guard by how this meeting was going. He’d barely even heard the prince speak, let alone spent time alone with the man. In many ways he’d been the focus of Ethan’s life for almost half a year, but he remained a mystery. It actually made Ethan fairly nervous about the final part of his plan to avoid the duel–he’d be lying if he claimed to truly understand the man.
“You may speak freely here,” Calevaro said in his quiet, steady voice. He turned, walking over to hand Ethan a pink drink that smelled of lemons. Even having spent more time around the royal family, Ethan couldn’t see much resemblance with the large, dark haired king.
Cal’s hair was short and spikey, the same shade of silver as his sister’s. His eyes were green, and he had sharp features, clearly inherited from the same elven blood that gave him his ears. When he stepped back, it was clear that he was inspecting Ethan just as closely.
“In all this, you and I have never spoken,” he said.
“Your sister seemed to be the one who does most of the talking,” Ethan responded, trying to keep the distaste from his voice.
“Do not judge her too harshly,” he said. “She protects this kingdom in her own way, and she’s saved more lives than she’s spent.” He sighed slightly, sipping his drink. “I might wish that there were less morbid ways of measuring her accomplishments, but the death of our brother affected her profoundly.”
Ethan had no interest in forgiving or empathizing with the manipulative woman, but he found could respect Calevaro’s desire to. Complex familial relationships were a big part of who Ethan was, after all. The prince turned back to him.
“I had meant to come see you, long before this,” he said.
“It would be wise for us to coordinate if we’re going to pull this charade off,” Ethan agreed. “I suppose, I also owe you an apology. I won’t pretend I’m particularly enthused about everything that’s happened since I arrived here–or the role that I need to play–but I do recognize that I took away your chance to bond with Re–Flagras.”
Prince Calevaro seemed surprised by the remark, and went to stand by one of the tall windows. After a moment, Ethan went to join him, but let the man collect his thoughts. When he spoke, it was barely above a whisper.
“My brother was the Chosen. He dedicated his entire life to that path, no matter how ill it may have fit him. He forced himself to fit the role as much as he could, but ultimately lost his life for it.” Ethan waited, unsure of where the man was going with this.
“I don’t know what you’ve been told about the princes of Viridus, but we’re all raised to be warriors. Trained from youth in combat, duty, and honor. While few of us will ever even get the chance to become Chosen, all of us are raised for the possibility.”
He turned to look at Ethan. “May I see him?”
Strangely the request felt oddly intimate, but really Ethan couldn’t see any harm. With a silent call, Revan was there. He looked around curiously before his gaze fell on the prince. Calevaro went to one knee, looking the Familiar in the eyes, as Revan stared back.
A low, rumbling growl came from the great cat’s chest, but the prince remained perfectly still, as if inviting judgment. Finally Revan quieted, and Calevaro spoke. “I don’t know if you’d have welcomed me, as you did Ethan Bishop, and I regret that I will never know.”
He seemed like he was about to stand again when he turned back. “Thank you for taking care of Kent. I’m sorry for the pain I caused you.” Revan tilted his head slightly, then moved forward to sniff the prince warily. At last he let out a sad, keening sound before pushing up against Calevaro, who smiled slightly as he placed one hand delicately on the Guardian Beast.
Ethan continued to stay quiet, seeing this whole exchange as a rare window into the man the prince was. Finally the man stood back up, seeming more at ease somehow. He went back to speaking as if he’d never paused.
“I was raised as any other prince was, despite my older brother being Chosen already. I never expected a chance at that legendary Bond. Even should the worst happen, normally it would be many decades before it would be available again. The honor would have gone to some future brother, or perhaps my own son.”
Calevaro looked at Ethan once again. “My brother managed to sever his own Bond. That is an act of extraordinary will that few will ever understand. It effectively requires carving off a piece of your own soul. Kentevaro did that for our kingdom. He did that for me.”
Ethan felt the weight of those words hit him. Imagining the final moments of a brother you’d lost was something he was painfully familiar with. He didn’t know how to respond, words and apologies seeming woefully insufficient. Thankfully the prince saved him, turning back to the training area, and striding away.
“You didn’t come here for this,” he declared. “Do you have something to show me?”
Ethan nodded, dismissing Revan as he channeled Mystic. “I do,” he replied, coming to stand a few paces away. “I have what I need to make the deception work,” he said, before calling on a Ghost Among the Reeds.
An exact duplicate of Prince Calevaro appeared, mirroring the man’s relaxed, but ready posture. The prince tilted his head curiously, then made a slow circuit around the duplicate, who appeared to watch him warily. Finally Calevaro reached out to touch the illusion, his hand going right through it.
“This presents some challenges,” he said.
Ethan nodded. “It can duplicate your abilities–visually at least. If it stays at range it can also appear to be injured, and react to attacks, but melee attacks will be a concern. Do we know how Thavin fights?”
“Polearm,” the prince replied, and Ethan frowned. “The battlefield is a dense jungle, which favors our tactics, but I am not convinced this will work.” He looked at Ethan with a neutral expression. “Thavin need only call out that we are cheating to win the match, he more than anyone must be utterly convinced of its authenticity.”
Ethan scratched the stubble at his chin in thought. “I can continue to search for abilities. And there’s the more pedestrian approach of just wearing your armor. The plan’s not perfect, but I’m really there fighting with my own abilities, and I just use the copies to mimic your abilities, I think I can pull it off.”
Prince Calevaro’s eye twitched slightly at ‘not perfect’, and he too appeared lost in thought for a time. He moved to examine the illusion once again, then surprised Ethan when he spoke. “Leave this with me. Only me. This is not the type of problem you want my sister to solve.”
“Okay,” Ethan said hesitantly.
Calevaro nodded, then spoke with finality. “Now that I understand what you’re capable of, I need time to consider the best way forward. Go about your business, continue to grow your power, I will contact you soon.”
In a flash his armor was back, and he spoke to Ethan from behind a closed visor. “Prince Thavin will die in that arena, but not easily. Don’t underestimate him.”