Chapter Ten: Mercies Price
“Boy you are better at bargaining than I gave ya credit for!” The old man declared laughing as he hefted up the bag of coins.
“Did you really manage this?” Lillan questioned more than sceptical “You only sold half the merchandise, and I know how low your charisma is.” she glared at him.
“I was trying to tell you, I got robbed.” Sol declared.
“And they paid you for it?” Telmin questioned with a sarcastic grin plastered to his face. Sol loaded up the tarp and polls of the stall and what merchandise he couldn’t sell. They’d only been in the city for half a day but if they stayed longer they wouldn’t get home before morning. They had originally planned to stay the night, but losing roughly three quarters of the merchandise either through theft or selling was a victory, and there was little point in staying.
“No, I ended up meeting a rich woman, I think she was some kind of noble she didn’t show her face. Anyway I sold her my notebook for thirty silvers.” Sol shrugged the old man giving a low whistle.
“Good trade.” He nodded grinning. “Whose crest was it?” he questioned.
“I don’t know, it had a golden dragon on it though.” They both stared at him dumbfounded.
“She was royalty.” The old man chuckled placing a hand against his forehead to steady himself. “Boy you astound me sometimes, your sheer stupidity amazes me… she could afford way more than that, why didn’t you push it!”
“I didn’t get a chance, she left right after putting down the money.” Sol replied with a sigh hopping aboard the cart.
“You idiot!” Lillan yelled “That book of yours was worth at least two gold coins, if you sold it to mons or the seekers they’d pay five easy!” She grabbed him by the collar nearly lifting him off the ground.
“What! Boy you were sitting on a fortune, what the hell have you been studying?” Telmin cried. The argument lasted for quite a while as they packed up and began to leave the city from the southern gate
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“Did you hear about that guy using the strange power in the tournament?” Lillan questioned. Telmin nodded, he’d heard a thing or two about it,
“I heard he was from Mons, all of those guys are weird, but people were saying their leader has the body of a monster, and uses their Mahus as his own.” The old man shook his head at such nonsense.
“Well what Sol was researching, can give humans the ability to create their own Mahus and use it. Mons head isn’t nearly as powerful as a monster, but someone who mastered that book, could become even stronger than a monster of the same level!” Lillan called.
“What the hell, boy do you remember your notes we could make a fortune sell it to every kingdom and all guild between!” Telmin laughed liked a mad man grabbing Sol’s shirt, shaking him back and forth. Sol was starting to feel sick from the repeated treatment
“I have a second copy.” Sol replied sighing and leaning backwards.
Of course his research wasn’t complete though, but it seemed he’d found the final peace of the puzzle. Mahus, the Human body cannot utilise Mahus but it seems that one can utilise Mahus in the bodies of others specifically monsters. Sol had already confirmed the existence of Mahus beyond his body, ambient in the air. If he manipulated his own Mahus and linked it to the Mahus beyond his body then maybe he’d be able to use magic. Though first he’d need to recover his mahus, either by drawing in natural mana from the air or raising his wisdom. He grinned as ideas formed in his mind, a swirling mosaic of possibilities, tantalising him.
Before he could dive further into his thought, the tranquillity of the afternoon, and near empty streets was broken: broken by a scream.
Sol reached out of reflex grabbing a sword, its handle sticking out of one of the crates.
“I’m going to check it out, you go on ahead, I’ll walk home, should be there by nightfall!” He declared leaping from the side of the cart and rushing towards the source of the scream.
He wasn’t sure why he was running, but he allowed his instincts to guide him into the alleyways and down towards the source of the desperate plea. It was strange now that he was in a combat situation, his mind felt different, sharp enough to slice the air like his blood burned hotter and he was capable of using his super heightened intelligence to the limit, it had been similar in the fight with the hobgoblins but very, very different. He Broke out into an alleyway and turned to face a thin but tall man standing in the alleyway, a cloaked girl held in his arms, behind him were gathered a pair of monsters.
“Kill him.” The man ordered grinning, his teeth those of a beast, long and pointed with glistening fangs his eyes alight with murky brown fire. Sol looked down at his blade. He’d picked a scimitar, it was guard-less and a tad too long, it would have been better if he took an estoc or something similar, but there were worse weapons to fight with in a situation like this.
The wolf was the first to attack. Its black fur alight in the sun, faint flecks of red revealed as its blood shot eyes drove it on revealing madness within. Sol felt the world around him fluctuate for a moment, as his heightened intelligence seemed to warp the world about him. Time slowed to a crawl, and not just his foe but also his own body. His mind was moving faster than he could move. It was a rare phenomenon on earth, and only happened under extreme stress and could rarely be used to any particular advantage, of course this was a game, and he a gamer. And a gamer always knew when to take the advantage. He moved with what must have appeared an expert grace guiding his blade along the beast’s body as he stepped forward. He aimed for the point where the ribs connected to the vertebrae. Having spent enough time studying monsters to know their anatomy he also knew how to dismantle them. As for flame hounds their joints were their weak spots, far to exposed in their thin frame hidden only by their fur. Of course a blow through the eye, or the throat would be just as effective, or any attack that incapacitated an organ would be fatal. The blade shredded the creature and time returned too normal as the beast slumped down dead behind him, his blade having cut through many of the organs. Well the monstrosity was still alive but the blood loss and trauma would kill it soon, hopefully.
Sol looked sadly at the creature. It was a shame, a shame it had such a callous master.
“You must be a skilled swordsman. My name is Voldore,” the man in front of Sol declared.
“Nope don’t even have a sword skill, first time using one would you believe.” Sol riposted, with a flippant wave of his blade sending blood to scatter on the man’s previously immaculate robe.
Despite his outwards appearance Sol was terrified, the adrenaline coursing through his veins encouraging him to act while reason dictated him to flee, his previous instincts were gone as rational fear took hold. He could feel his stomach coiling beneath him, and he began to wonder if he’d revive after he died. He wasn’t one of the inhabitants of the game, but in equal measure he wasn’t a player. He was frightened of what death would bring. His grip tightened.
“I’m not sure if you’re brave or foolish, but after that display don’t think I’ll just let my guard down because you act like a fool.” Voldore spat glaring at him. “But it’s a shame you’re already dead.” a bolt of flame flew towards sol. He raised his sword to defend, the flames blossomed on contact with the still, but the fire was strange almost liquid as it clung to blade, heating the steel up at a phenomenal rate causing sol to drop the scorching metal with a hiss. Then it was on him, something hit him from above blocking out the light. He fell back blinded and pushed whatever was fighting him away to little avail.
“See this is what happens to Heroes in this game.” Voldore declared with glee “They get their faces ripped off, this isn’t some fantasy world you dumb arse, you can’t be the hero who saves the princess.”
“So if you apologise by licking the blood from my robe maybe I’ll let you live and leave you with all your gear, and if you try to skip out on me by using that cheap, escape button, so that the wusses who can’t stand pain don’t get traumatised, I’ll hunt you down and kill you, over and over.”
“I’m not one of you!” Sol declared trying to force whatever lay atop him away, barely able to catch glimpses of light from beyond the raking claws and howling cries of the beast above him.
“Then you’ll just die like a good little NPC,” Voldore declared un-amused.
“I’m not an NPC, I’m just a person. I’m no hero.” He called out in his bitter fight “I’m just a person who wants to live, live in a world full of wonder!” He yelled clenching his fist, and all of a sudden he felt something inside him brake. He felt his desperation to live once more, just like it had been that day, the frantic desire not to give up, dieing some meaningless death without having accomplished a single thing in his life, forgotten by the world. He would not stand for such a fate. He raised to his knees, steeped in blood his face stinging, a pain that no player should have felt engulfing his body. “This world is too realistic to be called a game.” He choked, looking towards the man. Voldore was staring at him wide eyes full of hate.
“Bastard I’ll kill you!” Voldore screamed pulling an axe from his belt, raising it in his left arm the blade catching fire as he mumbled a couple of words.
Sol coughed more blood dripping down on him. Looking up he saw the struggling form of his attacker, some form of miniature wyvern with plain white scales, its jaw clenched in what appeared to be a transparent hand, three times the size of his own ending in vicious barbed claws, it surrounded Sol’s own arm revealed only by the refraction of light through its surface. The beast was alive but crippled, jaws broken and bent. Sol tossed it aside rising to face his opponent.
“I’ll give you one chance to leave.” Sol declared glaring at the man.
Voldore snorted before lashing out swinging his axe at Sol’s throat. Sol blocked his ethereal arms able to take the attack from the blade. He pulled back, his limbs ridiculously heavy from the weight of the false hands superimposed atop them. Voldore roared in anger a series of wild slashes began to force sol back. The man was drawing closer and closer his movements feral. Finally Voldore reached into Sol’s guard, steeping past him and striking a blow to his stomach. Sol keeled over falling to one knee, his left arm reaching for his waist to feel the wound. It was just a light flesh wound as if he’d merely drawn a knife over it; it still bled, bled badly, but nowhere near as deep as it should have been. Voldore raised his axe, the flames extinguished, to kill him, to strike him dead in a single blow. Sol reached out, throwing out his arm, grasping Voldore; constricting his chest with the oversized set of claws jutting from his right hand. He held the man at arms length. Voldore threw his axe towards Sol’s head the mans eyes lit with a mad fire. Trying to dodge Sol received a glancing blow to the skull, the blade itself barely punctured the skin but it was enough to confuse and disorientate him. But his still kept his grip firm.
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“Demon!” Voldore yelled.
“I think that title belongs to you.” Sol replied glaring at the man in hatred. For a moment he considered letting him go, or conversely crushing him, but he didn’t want to be a murderer, then again the man was a ‘blessed one’ so was it really murder. He smirked at the term and its irony, he felt the weight of another life linked to his own, and wondered whether he’d do it, he’d kill the man just like that. He looked back towards the girl Voldore had attacked. She was kneeling on the ground in shock, face hidden but her mouth wide open in horror, horror and him. His decision was made; he didn’t want to be seen as a monster.
“If I ever see you again, you’ll suffer a fate worse than death.” Sol warned. Tossing the man to the end of the ally, like a rag-doll he flew, lacerations appearing across his body left by Sols ‘claws mainly focused around the right arm. He was lucky he was left-handed.
He turned round to face the girl, wondering what a sorry sight he might have seemed, covered in blood and scratches, though it appeared the massive claws attached to his hands were fading.
“It’s you she whispered.” It was then Sol noticed the insignia of the golden dragon on her cloak.
“Hey…” He spoke with a weak smile “You owe me four gold and seventy silvers.”
She looked at him confused.
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“So that’s why you’re still following me?” Sol questioned the woman, Zenna as she walked besides him.
“No, I’m not sure why I’m following you, I guess you could call it gut instinct.” She laughed slightly though she seemed nervous, understandable considering what she’d just witnessed. “So how did you beat Voldore?” She questioned clearly interested in the abilities he’d shown
In truth Sol had no idea how he’d beaten Voldore, perhaps it was just a fluke though now he could feel his power again pulsing and flowing within him leaking from his centre. “That so, the book you bought from me explains how I did it, or at least the methods I used to reach my conclusion.” Sol deflected the question for the time being. The woman widened her eyes, pulling the tome from within her robe.
“Then it is worth at least, five hundred gold, not just five!” she cried. “I had thought you were some kind of demonic mystic when I saw you fight, but now you seem more like a blessed one!” she proclaimed staring at the book.
“I’m not one of them.” Sol declared stiffening, he might consider himself a player but he was not arrogant or conceited enough to call himself ‘blessed’. “Honestly I shouldn’t even exist in this world, it’s just a mistake. I’m not even sure if I’d revive after I die, I’m probably more like you than them.” Zenna looked at him curiously; he was a strange man, one not used or suited to combat, at least not against humans, his eyes were too kind.
They were walking on a road leading from Sangeil to Lanmere. The green hills were already starting to turn gold and the sun was setting in the horizon, painting the world about them in crimson hues. They were roughly half an hour from their destination. As for Zenna’s situation it seemed that she was some kind of princess, or half princess, or adopted princess, or something along those lines. It was the clichéd story of the king forcing his daughter to marry a stranger and her running away. However in this version the princess was discriminated against for whatever reason. And the only pretext under which the king called her ‘his daughter’ was so it didn’t seem strange he kept her as a precaution and make an enemy of the church, or temple or whatever it was called on Olympus.
“Why did you save me?” Zenna questioned looking at him with a mix of suspicion and confusion. Sol’s mind reeled at the question and began thinking up diversions so he could think of something better than ‘I felt like it’.
“You ever heard of the saying quid pro quo. Means something for something. I’ll tell you why but first you have to tell me why you’re so discriminated against.”
“Then you go first.” She declared with a small grin.
“Ah, but you were presumptuous enough to question my motives, is it not fair that you take the lead.” he cut her off at the pass
“Fare enough.” She sighed with a faint smile fully aware of the game they were playing; having grown accustomed to political intrigue in the courts.
“Don’t try to play off someone with fifty-eight intelligence.” He laughed hands on his hips staring ahead like a madman.
“What!” She shouted looking to him wide eyed, appraising the boy in a new light.
“I’m level eighteen and almost all of my stat points are in intelligence.” Sol explained with a shrug.
“No fair, I’m only level three.” Zenna mumbled, looking down.
“Well you’re a princess you don’t have time to gain experience right. Well whatever I’d like to hear about why you’re discriminated against.” Sol returned them back to the topic at hand.
She looked at him hesitantly “I’m a mystic.”
“And that is?” Sol questioned slightly irritated at the half answer he’d received.
“Of course you don’t know, you may have a high intelligence but you’re still an idiot it seems.” chuckled disparaging him.
“Of course, I have a high intelligence not wisdom.” he huffed.
“Wisdom?”
“I’ll explain after.”
“Well anyway, mystics are those who have a heightened affinity for one element or another. Or who are contaminated by a monsters blood, blessing, or other such mark. They are despised because they posses unique power similar to your ‘magic’ though it’s probably at a one hundredth of the scale. I’m a healer which is why the king kept me around.”
“You should be glad, healing is a great gift. Better than that to cause wounds eh.” Sol pointed out.
“So why the hood?”
“Quid pro Quo.” She responded waving her finger at him. He laughed at how quick she caught on.
“Fine; wisdom is a unique stat needed for my type of magic.” he gestured back to her.
“Because mystics are always deformed.” She sighed.
“I want to see,” he declared leaning towards her. She stepped back and they stopped in their stroll.
“What?” She questioned slightly offended by the request
“I won’t say anything rude, and I won’t treat you differently I promise. After all look at me, I’m covered in blood my hands are burnt and I’m carrying a sword. Do I have the right to criticise another on their appearance.”
“You’re also not wearing a shirt.” She muttered removing her hood.
Sol stood their looking at her open mouthed. She felt uncomfortable at his shock; it looked like his words were false after all. She stood slightly taller than Sol; especially if you counted the pair of antlers growing from her head temples and stretching backwards like a circlet. They were ivory white and covered in black lines that twisted across them and the left side of her face, twisting like growing ivy. Her eyes were filled with a bright green light fresh like spring grass and her hair was as white as snow flecked with small black strikes.
“You look adorable.” He declared still staring.
She wondered if he was being serious. Going by his personality she doubted he could be serious even if we wanted to. Though she guessed he meant it, he was just that kind of idiot. She pulled back her hood to cover the antlers though now she left her face clear.
“So why did you save me.” She questioned looking to him again.
“Well let’s see… To be honest I can’t think of a valid reason, I just thought it was the right thing to do, so I did it. I didn’t really think before hand.” he shrugged.
“You don’t seem like the kind who would.” She laughed mocking him.
“Hey, that’s cruel!” He cried turning away from her. She laughed, and soon her joined her merriment.
“Seems like we’re almost there… Oh God.” Sol began to speak, his stomach dropping as they crested the last hill before the town. Lanmere was on fire.
Sol burst into a sprint running through the town passing men and women who travelled back and forth from the town’s fountain to the buildings hurling water onto the flames staunching the spread of fires. At the edges of the town the damage was minimal. Even midway it was all superficial, a coat of paint would solve it easily. But at the centre of the town everything was burning the store at its epicentre already ash and rubble surrounded by men, in black cloaks: Mons.
Voldore was there he stood right arm hanging limp and immobile at his side the disfigured wyvern on his shoulder. He was laughing, laughing as the flames burnt. Sol stood there silent until Voldore noticed him.
“Ha, you shouldn’t have let me live. My little darling here told me where you were heading and we cut you off. Oh so sad, all your little friends are dead you freak!” He continued to laugh, cold laughter that echoed about the town. Sol didn’t reply walking towards the raging fire. He could see something jutting out from amidst the rubble lapped in red light. Scorched black by the flames. An arm reaching out as if hoping for salvation, for help.
Something inside of Sol snapped then.
“You did this?” He questioned. Staring into the flames, his eyes turned from a placid grey into a stormy sky raging and howling, ready to bring wroth.
“Sure did you bastard!” Voldore laughed stepping towards him axe resting on his shoulder. “Now I know what to expect I wont loose to a freak like… Ah, ah, ah!” Sol didn’t wait to hear the rest. The flames had conjugated about his body and at his behest swallowed Voldore whole. In the blink of an eye, jaws formed from raging flames devouring him. About Sol, limbs of fire began to rise claws and spines the body of a great beast, a monster taking form amidst the wreckage. A dragon of sorts, lacking wings, back legs and even a neck, its maw like a burning abyss, its eyes filled with empty hate. It roared and in an instant all the forces of Mons burned to a crisp amid the hell fire he had summoned. Sol did not turn his gaze, eyes focused upon the corpse as with a wave of his hands the rubble shifted. Telmin was barely recognisable, a blackened ruined corpse. Sol collapsed to his knees in silence.
Then from the chaos and the darkened sky rain broke, and Sol wept, his voice howling and wailing, with all the sorrow and the tears he had kept bottled up for so long. As the heavens cried with him and the flames began to fade.
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“Those bastard I’ll make them pay!” Lillan swore. She sat atop the rubble clenching and unclenching her fists dressed only in a robe, the one the blessed ones were given when they were reborn, she had died in the assault. Sol did not reply and only continued to dig a grave with Zenna’s help while a few metres away Jill grieved over the body. “You going to help me?” She turned to Sol expecting, eyes full of fathomless hate.
“No.” He responded, his body felt weary, and his mind broken, he didn’t feel like vengeance.
“What?” She questioned turning her endless hatred on him “how can you just stand there like this, those bastards deserve to pay for what they did, they see this as just a game. I’ll show them true pain for what they’ve done.” Lillan marched backwards and forwards her eyes red, as she tried to stave of tears.
“Revenge is pointless.” Sol sighed moving more of the dirt throwing it from the grave. Lillan looked at him.
“Coward!” She yelled “You’re a damn coward Sol. Don’t let this slide, you knew him longer than me, did he mean that little to you?”
“No.” Sol responded coldly climbing from the grave before helping Zenna up out of the hole. “I just don’t want to ruin his memory like that.” Sol replied looking over at the charred remains. “It wouldn’t be right.”
“And it’s right to let them go unpunished.” She roared her tirade
“They have been punished, I killed them all.” Sol returned.
“You’re a coward, you have this power but you refuse to use it, you have always refused to use it haven’t you. What shall his grave read I wonder; Friend, Husband, betrayed by cowards perhaps!” She was being hysterical, her insults were losing their edge. Sol grasped her shoulders.
“Better that than, Murderer, If you do this in his name, how many will be swept into your revenge before the blood you’ve spilt is enough to satisfy you, enough to fill that grave perhaps? And what about the friends and family of those you kill, what will happen when they seek revenge on you, The cycle won’t end if you won’t stop it.” He spoke calmly though his words were heated a cold anger filling grey eyes. Lillan stepped back and began to run, not letting him see her face, as she broke, and tears poured forth.
“You’re a coward Sol, a coward!” She screamed voice wracked with sorrow, rushing into the night.
Looking over his shoulder, Sol could see people gathering for the funeral. It seemed Telmin was the only one to die in the fire. Sol walked over to the corpse kneeling besides Jill.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, “If I were here sooner then… I could have stopped it.” He looked to her, her face burnt in the flames, from her temple to her cheekbone and covering the eye on the left side of her face, now staring out of a milky white. Sol wept in silent bereavement.
“Sol.” She whispered reaching out and holding him to her, she wracked her chest with sobs, crying out. “You wonderful, wonderful child. Don’t be sorry, you did all you could. You were like a son to us, to me, to Telmin, you were our son!” She paused short on breath coughing, leaving Sol to turn his gaze up at a cloudy night sky still full of smoke, “The Son we never had. You are Sol Vanda you hear me. Don’t loose yourself, don’t give in to hatred. Be good Sol, be a Hero, for the both of us.” She wept. Grasping him in her arms.
“I will. I’ll make this a better world.” He promised holding onto her and bowing his head.
“Be good my Sol.” She whispered holding onto him.
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The procession moved slowly laying the old mans body into the grave. Each man, woman and child saying his or her goodbyes and passing on a shovel full of soil.
“Sorry old man… I think I need to leave this place. I doubt I’m welcome any more. I’ll come back some time though. Yeah I’ll come back soon.” He smiled weakly patting down the grave. Jill came up behind him eyes sad, and puffed up full and red
“You’ll always have a home here I’ll make sure of it. My husband always wanted to give this to his son. Carry the Vanda name with pride.” She spoke handing him a necklace, a spiral with a small white crystal set at the centre. “And remember, Vanda… Vanda means gentle.” he nodded in silence rising to his feet.
“You’ll always have a home here son.” She promised patting his back. “You always have a home.”