Fight the wielder, not the weapon.
- The Living Sword by Fen Vaigorus circa 520 AC.
The next few days were spent in a predictable, yet not overly-taxing pattern. During the day, I stayed in our wagon, trying to glean some scraps of knowledge from the ragged remains of the book I had gotten from Elwin. I also decided to take the time to half-heartedly write a journal, using Amon’s writing kit. However, the quill and small ink pot took a little getting used to, and were no match for the modern conveniences I had grown accustomed to, not to mention the difficulty of writing in a moving vehicle. Still, on paper and in my native language, my thoughts were at least private.
In the evenings I was given riding lessons for a turn-and-a-half of a sand clock, an hour or two by my estimation, by a member of the caravan guard. My instructor was a gruff man, just at the stage where rash youth was finally beginning to be tempered by wisdom. He was black-bearded, of average build and height, and he introduced himself simply as Alik. As was my habit, I cast an Identify to confirm the truth of his words.
Alik Al’Kabar - Soldier [Human lvl. 11]
Health 115/118
Stamina 21/28
Mana 8/8
Alik was the same level as me, but I surely dwarfed him in terms of raw attributes. It was a shame that my Identify did not show his exact attributes or any of his skills. His class or ‘calling’ was of passing interest, as it displayed only ‘soldier.’ I had expected it to be ‘guard,’ or some such.
He was a good teacher, though a little curt at times. Arik had the voice of one used to barking orders, grating like a drill sergeant. After the second day under his instruction, I could at least mount my bored and borrowed steed unassisted. I was even rewarded with a new skill for my efforts, plus ten points of experience.
You have learned Riding (lvl.1)
Every day, after the evening meal, and sometimes feeling a little saddle sore, it would be my turn to join the rotation of guards who patrolled the outskirts of our camp.
My time among my fellow guards allowed me to converse a little with them. They were from all over the place, the names myriad and exotic. One of their number was a lad from a place memorably labeled Dullstown, far to the West. Dullstown’s only claim to fame was that, in its long history, not a single person from its population had ever been able to harness magic through the gift of Mana.
They spoke to me a bit of their lives, their meager existences up until now, and it was of little note. All except for Alik, my instructor, who joined us one evening on a passing whim. His was a far more interesting story. A fellow guard, Raza, a young slip of a man with a mop of curly brown hair and seastone gray eyes, was able to badger him into telling us a story of his past.
A surly Alik told the abbreviated tale of his not-so-distant youth. A few years he spent in the Adventurer’s Guild, and he spoke of some of his early exploits. These were moderately interesting tales of slain monsters and unearthed treasures. But what piqued everyone’s interest was that a certain event caused him to quit adventuring. No amount of pestering by Raza or the other guards could convince him to explain further, and an air of mystery surrounded the end of his tale. He simply stated that he learned something in an infamous place known as the ‘Iron Quarter’ that had put him off from adventuring. From his limited and brief description, I ascertained that it was probably the game world's version of a 'dungeon.'
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Something in its dark and dangerous depths had made the gruff Alik quit his chosen path and instead join the rival Mercenaries Guild. Another few years and a few failed campaigns later, sick of the bloody business of war, but unable to put up his sword, he took up employment as a small-time thug in a local gang in a small town. What money he had left at the end of the day, he spent on cheap drink and loose women. He was eventually recruited into the Ravens by Khalam, the caravan’s Guard Master, who dragged him out of a dirty drinking den.
Kidu, too, would join us on occasion when he finished his duties, and his bulky armored form would cast large shadows in the firelight. Larynda would also enter our little circle, if she was not overly exhausted from her training and study. Somehow, the child was able to earn praise and the odd smile from even the most world-weary and surly of the guards.
A harsh liqueur called arag, which was made from fermented mare’s milk, was passed around liberally on such occasions. One sniff told me it was not for me. I only pretended to drink it, the liquid just barely touching my lips when it was my turn to take a pull. The Hunter refused altogether, saying that the burning water of Kazass, the wildman’s term for alcohol, did not suit him. The other guards did not press him, nor did they mock him for it. This I found mildly amusing, for just the other day they had relentlessly ribbed Raza for his poor constitution against the strong drink. Larynda wrinkled her nose at the stuff and refused to partake - not that I would have allowed her to drink alcohol at her young age, anyway.
I was even invited to join in on one of their card games by Likam, an old gray-bearded guard. Knock-kneed and flat-footed, his old armor fit his ungainly frame poorly, and he walked with a slight limp from a previous injury. According to the old hand, his limp had been caused by a supposedly powerful foe that had knocked him off his saddle. The others disputed his claim, saying that he just suffered a bad fall trying to break in a new colt while drunk, much to his consternation. I was given to agree with them. When we talked about the losses in our lives, we were always only beaten by the strongest of foes, or were the victims of the direst of circumstances.
The game I was invited to was called, simply, ‘Blessings.’ The aim of the game was to complete ever increasingly-complicated sets, or Blessings, as the game termed it, by picking up cards from the general pile and discarding unwanted cards from your own hand. The player who was able to complete a set was able to ‘cash in,’ by collecting an agreed amount of money from the other players. Alternatively, he could choose to continue - in an attempt to collect another set, or expand upon his own.
Each of the sets came from a ‘suit’ representing one of the Divines - the gods or goddesses of this world. These were, according to the sets, starting from the most valuable: the Sun, the Vagrant, the Twin Swords, the Withered Tree, the Matriarch, the River, the Behemoth and, lastly, the Hunger. The Hunger was mostly worthless unless it was paired with the “Herald” card from one of the other sets, a combination that was almost impossible to achieve.
It was a simple game, once I had memorized the sets. I counted myself fortunate, as my fellow guards were patient in their instruction. Beginner’s luck was on my side for a few rounds, which allowed me to even claw back a few coppers.
Even though we had just started a new hand, Likam had already partially completed a set of the Vagrant Sun. It was a set symbolising the transience of youth.
"Wish I could be young again. Things were easier back then, even pissing," Likam grumbled as he stood up and noisily broke wind. "Got a feeling I’ll be going to Her glory soon."
"With a stench like that, old man, you've got a few decades left in you," one of the younger guards quipped.
"What would you do if you had your youth back, or could stay young forever?" I asked, trying to ignore the foul smell wafting in my direction.
Likam looked wistful. "Young again? I'd say yes to that. But forever, well, that’s a mighty long word. I lost my youth waiting. Hours spent on the smallest things, thinking I had all the time in the world. But those hours turned into days, then months, then years. Probably spend less time reading, did my eyes in that did."
"You’d know," another guard teased, "you take forever just doing your business." Likam paid him no mind and continued, drawing another card.
"It’s not about how long you have," he mused, "but what you do with it. Still, there’s never enough time. Old age snuck up on me like a thief, before I even noticed."
It was a typical answer, and I felt foolish for expecting anything different or remotely useful. The wisdom of elders was overrated.
Halfway through the hand, a sudden flash of inspiration struck me. Just as I had used Identify before, to help with my wager back in Ansan, could I not also use its magic here?