Shadow Fist was having a bad day. Tristan made sure of it. The guard the next morning was bribed to ignore the blatant kidnapping. It was his lucky day as all Tristan could bribe him with was one of Shadow Fist’s mythical beast daggers. He had no idea of their true value, but the wince that his father gave was a sign of the downward slope his day would travel down.
From the gate, it was a short trip to the house Harp and Helen were renting while they took care of all the miners' children. A young teen girl opened the door and refused to let Tristan inside until Harp arrived. For her part, Harp only sighed and shook her head.
“Let me clear out the bedroom,” She rubbed her forehead, “This is going to get loud.”
Get loud it did. Helen and Shadow Fist were given some alone time in that room. Mostly it consisted of accusations and yelling and it seemed to cycle through topics. Tristan had never heard a married couple fight, Conni and Grace were the only married people where he was familiar with both people. It was more vicious than he had imagined.
Harp sighed again, “Why did you bring him here?”
Tristan had intended to make him face what he had done, but he had also thought that it would simply be Helen slapping him and then stomping out and maybe little Tris calling him a bully. Instead, Tris was sitting in a corner crying, while one of the older kids tried to comfort her and everyone was on edge while the adults yelled.
“I thought it would be the best move,” Tristan said, “I didn’t think it would go like this.”
Harp narrowed her eyes, “He is a violent criminal who is not above using children, why would you bring him to a house full of children?”
Tristan could tell in hindsight that this was a bad idea. He also could not tell Harp that he no longer considered his father dangerous, because while he was not a credible threat to Tristan, that did not make him safe for children.
“What else was I supposed to do with him?” Tristan asked.
“Take him to jail! Helen could have visited him there.” Harp answered.
“He’s tier four, what kind of prison would be able to hold him?” Tristan asked. He knew that no one in the River Caldera could hold him. The Lake Caldera could, but Blacklake and his people would torture him.
Informing Harp of Shadow Fist’s true tier was not a good idea.
“Are you crazy!” She hissed, “You brought an enemy civil protector here?”
Tristan would have said something back, but Tris pulled on Harp’s skirt, “Why are you fighting?”
Harp had a conflicted expression, but she told the truth, “I am worried.”
“Why?” The question all adults fear from children.
“Your, dad is very angry, we need to be careful,” Harp said.
The short silence after that statement highlighted the lack of yelling. Tristan and Harp exchanged looks. If Shadow Fist decided to run, the wall would not stop him, though the sprained ankle would slow him down. He may not know what to do with his father, but escaping was not part of his plan.
He barged into the room and was greeted with an odd sight. Helen was sitting in Shadow Fist’s lap, having shimmied between his arms and the block of steel restraining them. She had been crying into his shoulder, judging by the wet batch on his tunic. And the reason they weren’t yelling, well they were using their mouths for other things.
Both stopped kissing and looked at Tristan a little breathlessly, he had no idea how to react, “Uh, just checking. Don’t escape.”
Then he quickly closed the door. Harp saw Tristan’s bewildered expression. She raised an eyebrow, asking what was happening. Tristan had no explanation, they had been angry at each other and now they were making out.
“What’s wrong?” Little Tris asked, picking up on the odd atmosphere.
“Oh, nothing, you just won’t be able to see dad for another thirty minutes or so.” Harp said, “How about we go outside and play.”
Most of the children were more than happy to go and play in the front yard. Harp had procured a ball and was letting them kick it around. True to Harp's predictions, thirty minutes later, both Helen and Shadow Fist stepped outside.
Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.
Tristan glared at his father, “Really? You couldn’t have warned me?”
Shadow Fist grinned and shrugged, “I’ve always taken every opportunity presented. It’s called ambition.”
Tristan considered coating Shadow Fist from the neck down in metal and leaving him here. He would make a great lawn ornament. Tristan mused over what to do next, he had to confine Shadow Fist in some way or have someone do it for him. The man was not trustworthy in the slightest and could convince himself that any action was the correct one, given enough time.
“What should I do with you?” Tristan finally asked.
Shadow Fist shrugged again, “I don’t know, you have already made a decision I wouldn’t have. I would have gone straight to Siren and let him handle the issue.”
“Siren would have killed you,” Tristan sighed, “He might still do it.” However, the statement did give Tristan an idea. He summoned Vulcan and used some of the metal essence to make a metal frame chair, “Please sit.”
Shadow Fist sat, though he did not look happy about it. Another set of constructs locked his upper arms and shins to the chair. The whole contraption probably weighed two or three hundred pounds. Still, the sea of polluted metal essence Vulcan contained was barely changed.
“I will be back,” Tristan said.
Helen gave him a disapproving look, but there was little she do about it. Tristan didn’t care either, he also knew who to talk to. He jogged towards the center of the city. The River Caldera was almost a ghost town, children showed up here and there, and some women took care of them. From its appearance nearly seventy percent of the people were missing.
The road to the Elder’s home only had a token guard force. Each one had at least one artifact, but Tristan could tell from how they moved that none were above tier one. Well armed civilians. Tristan was not sneaky, but the gaps between patrols were large enough for him to sprint through. His sprinting speed neared ninety miles per hour, so maybe it was too much to ask them to be prepared for it.
He crossed the garden and walked inside. Taking a deep breath, he relaxed his shoulders and strode confidently in. The Forrest Caldera had taught him posture was half of any good disguise. He was not in particularly clean clothes, but the adamant armor had kept most of the soot from staining his white acolyte’s robes.
Once inside, Tristan realized he had no idea where he was going. All the Elders had big homes. This one was middling, Forrest had the smallest, while Elder Plains had the most extravagant. It was still morning, though twilight had replaced nighttime due to the light from the east. It was something that was starting to concern Tristan. In the deep winter, nights should drop well below freezing, but now it was not uncommon to have lows in the mid-sixties.
After a minute or two of pondering, Tristan followed the sound of cooking. If he could not find the Elder, he would just ask a servant who knew where he was. The kitchen was easy to find, though it was emptier than he expected. An overweight woman and a preteen girl were making food in it. Mostly vegetables and some kind of fish.
“Good morning,” Tristan said to get their attention.
The woman yelped before spinning and pointing a bottle filled with vegetable oil at him, “Ah, oh, good morning acolyte. How can I help you.”
“I needed to see the Elder, though I hadn’t realized this building was quite so large,” Tristan gave his best smile, “Could you point me in his direction?”
The cook flipped some of the cooking fish on the hot stove, before focusing on Tristan again, “He should be hosting two guests in the reception hall, Elder Plain and Guider Mathis, I believe.”
“Where is that?” Tristan asked. He was sure an entire hall would be difficult to miss, but he would still like to ask.
“Go straight from the front door and make a left when the hallway tees, and go straight. It will be the only door with guards,” The cook waved him off. She looked overworked, which shouldn’t come as a surprise. Not only was she tier zero, she was most likely doing the work of two or three people.
“Thanks,” Tristan nodded to the two cooks, then jogged back the way he had come.
It only took a few minutes to find the front doors. They had to be on an exterior wall after all. From there it was easy to follow the cook’s instructions. He found a door with two over armed guards. They each had at least five artifacts on them, the axes were the only obvious weapons, but all the artifacts could likely be used in a fight.
More importantly, Tristan recognized them, “Frosty, Dirty, how are you doing?”
They glanced at each other uncomfortably, “What do you want?”
“I caught a high value enemy, and need a place to store him,” Tristan replied honestly.
The two of them had been around the Elder enough to recognize when someone was a threat. It meant they were not keen on allowing him entry, but also did not like their chances if things got violent. Dirty nodded to Frosty.
“I’ll go talk to the Elder, please wait,” Dirty stepped inside.
“Go on,” Tristan said, “Though, just know I can see through the door using my metal sense.”
Not exactly true. He could focus on just that room and track everyone inside via the iron in their blood though. He wanted cooperation to be the method by which the two warriors kept their charge safe, not a secret extraction. Dirty showed no sign of being surprised, simply ignoring Tristan to step inside.
Frosty let the blade of his axe touch the floor, spreading a thin coating of ice between them. It wouldn’t help, though against someone not in possession of a tier fifteen flame artifact it may have worked. Tristan made no aggressive moves, simply focusing on his metal sense. To avoid the headache, he pulsed some healing alloy just before he focused.
He could see the metal inside the room, though the gaps between were indistinct. His essence sense was more like smell than vision, though it still had some visual traits. He could tell what an object was made of, roughly how far away it was, its shape, and how much was there. It struggled to give him any information on their relative positions, except the relative distance from him.
All this was to say, he felt five people in the room. He knew of Dirty, Elder River, and his two guests, but who was the last one? It did not take long for one of the people to exit.
Dirty stepped out, and nodded, “The Elder will see you.”