Weeks passed by in the blink of an eye. The first was full of acquisition. He bought materials and conducted inventory. It would be weeks before he left Yoreme, but Kosta was eager to ensure that he possessed everything he’d need to make the journey to Notelos.
The world was growing wilder by the day thanks to the war and the loss of Headsman Linus. There was no one to keep the monsters in order. More and more seemed to come from the west, probably driven out by the Hesperians to occupy the Dipoli’s resources.
While Kosta spent a great deal of time carving—he learned to create anchor points for his own attempts at Polemus’ craft, though they were crude and lacking—and honing his skills, he also trained constantly with Pavlos to improve his skills. When they weren’t hunting, anyways. New monsters came frequently, but they were a deadly pair. A Pavlos who needn’t worry about his own defense was a terrifying opponent.
But soon the contracts dried up. Headsman Phillip seemed flummoxed at the speed with which they cleared the monsters. It was a fair reaction, honestly. Kosta suspected that Yoreme had struggled with the encroaching forces of the wild for as long as it had existed.
His power came easier and grew greater now. Kosta could Manifest spectral grey weapons with ease now, though the more intricate workings came undone after a few strikes. The townsfolk grew to know him well as he sold them sculptures, talismans, and other empowered artifacts as a measure of safety.
They all knew the storm was coming.
Kosta only pushed himself harder as a result. He could sustain a little stone soldier’s movement for a few seconds now, even if they invariably crumbled beneath the strain. It was frustrating, but the more lessons he took with Polemus the more connections he could draw between the painter’s art and his own. Kosta had even managed to create a very rough mimicry of a two-dimensional construct that Polemus had thrown up as a hasty example.
It wasn’t pretty, but he’d managed to use specially prepared cubes of marble as his own anchor points. They conducted his magic well enough, but the process was far more labor and time-intensive than Polemus’ own spells.
Kosta grew more and more envious of his teacher’s empowered brush. Polemus was a genius, but there was no denying the influence of his brush on his craft. He had the greatest skills and the greatest tools. All that he lacked was the material to realize his talent.
And now Kosta listened for the war drums in the distance each day. Exhausted Hesperian runners swept through Yoreme every few days. They were wary, but greeted Headsman Phillip nonetheless and offered sealed scrolls and tablets to the village leader. He never spoke of their contents, but could often be seen burning them to a crisp afterwards. The Hesperians only stopped briefly before they continued on to Notelos.
Bastards! Kosta’s blood boiled at the sight of the white griffin insignia upon their breast. If only he could level his staff at them and fill it with his fury! He could imagine nothing more cathartic than watching the Hesperians burn to ashes.
It was no less than they deserved.
Only his respect for Headsman Phillip and desire to spare Yoreme the trouble stilled his hand. They’d see war soon enough. He wouldn’t bring it to them sooner.
Kosta and Polemus met for the occasional lesson, although the painter’s steep prices ensured they came few and far between. His learning truly descended into crisis as a lack of available bounties crippled his wallet—while Kosta still managed to earn plenty of coin through odd jobs and his crafts, he couldn’t devote those tokens to his education.
Most was reserved for when he left for Notelos. Who knew what sort of absurd prices he would find in a great city? Refugees fleeing east would only make the crisis worse.
But he couldn’t stop the surge of excitement that filled him. The day was coming soon, he suspected. Yoreme wouldn’t be a safe haven for long. Bands of hawk-eyed mercenaries wielding strange weaponry and cruel magic trickled into Yoreme by the day. Vultures always knew where to find their next meal.
The villagers were wary, but Antigonus was happy enough. Their new arrivals were loud and rambunctious, often drawing customers into brawls or tests of courage, but they drank freely and ate more than Kosta could imagine. Every mercenary band knew that war was coming. It wouldn’t be long before their wallets were bulging with tokens.
Antigonus had to crack a few skulls every now and then, but he always had a smile on his face. Kosta suspected he’d be forced out of the inn in a moment as soon as the innkeeper needed a free room. The moneygrubbing man infinitely preferred a bunch of drunkards to a quiet sculptor.
Pavlos had offered Kosta his floor, but he didn’t want to intrude on the red hunter’s hospitality. It didn’t help that Pavlos’ shack was filled with half a dozen animated pelts that yowled, snarled, and made all manner of distracting noises. Only the kynokephalon pelt was fond of Kosta, strange as that was. The rest seemed liable to come to life and kill him in his sleep.
But that was a problem for future Kosta. For now…
“My point,” Pavlos cheered as one of his animated arrows came sweeping around a tree trunk and came to a stop just before it would have slipped into Kosta’s eye. It quivered with bloodlust, demonstrating one of the qualities imbued into it by Pavlos, but was firmly leashed.
Kosta’s heart pounded as death stared him in the face.
Pavlos whistled and the bone-tipped arrow lunged forth one last time in a desperate effort to bury itself in its prey. It resisted its master’s call for just a moment before it was swept away by a rush of wind.
Kosta stared at his wooden xiphos blade in disgust. He’d spent hours carving it from sturdy oak, but it might as well have been a twig for all it did him. Pavlos was too fast. Too strong. Too much. It was like facing Clymere with twice as much ferocity…although it was nice to not worry about being burned.
He tossed the practice sword away. The heavy grey blade Overlaid upon it faded into dust, then vanished entirely. It was a decent tool and channeled his magic far better than the half-ruined Hesperian blade did, but what was the point when he lacked the strength and skill to match a greater opponent?
“Those arrows of yours just aren’t fair.”
“Neither is stopping a spear thrust by thinking about it,” Pavlos replied. He lazily jabbed his bone-tipped spear at Kosta to prove his point. The blow was easily absorbed by a slate grey barrier. Kosta had no doubt that Pavlos possessed the strength to pierce it if he truly desired. “We all wield our own unique gifts. It just so happens that mine are better for killing. Thank the heavens for that, eh?”
Kosta rolled his eyes. Violence still held little appeal for him, but the promises he had made to himself rang in his ears. One day he would have the power to shape a world in his hand. When that was the case, he’d never have to lower himself to destruction again.
But he wasn’t there yet.
“I wouldn’t mind a bit more talent on that front,” Kosta said as the Leukopyr’s wizened features filled his mind. His fists clenched.
“Creation’s quite the gift,” Pavlos rested upon his spear, leonine eyes already scanning around for something to hunt or fight. Idle conversation never held his interest for long. “Quite a few would kill for it. Some have.”
Kosta snorted. “It’s the greatest gift. No offense,” he added, although Pavlos was too busy picking his too-sharp teeth with a splinter of bone to pay much attention. “Perhaps I just have to leverage it in the right way. Why kill monsters myself when I could make a construct to do it for me?”
He remembered Headsman Linus’ legions of illusory soldiers. It had served him well until the giant had encountered the Mantis. Kosta would have to be even stronger.
“Then do it.”
“I can’t just—” Kosta cut himself off as he thought back to Polemus’ words from their first session together. They drifted through conversations like a ship through the waves in those first few days. While much had been useless or above Kosta’s level, Polemus had managed to make an impact that first day.
Why should he define his gift by its limits? It was a product of the divine. Animation may elude him for now, but there was no reason to hold off entirely. He could experiment. He could prepare. He could create.
That was his purpose in this world. And the next.
“I can just do that,” Kosta said with a massive smile. “Perhaps Polemus has been holding out on me. I’ll have to bug him about it later.”
You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.
“I wouldn’t say no to a stone warrior on our side,” Pavlos said. His sharp gaze grew dreamy. “The kind of prey we could hunt…”
Wyrms. Spirits of flame and venom. Andrachnes. Marauders. All would be far easier with a creature of living stone to soak up their deadly attacks. There was some quarry that even Pavlov didn’t dare chase. He was a fine warrior, but he was only mortal.
“But enough of that!” Pavlos declared. He leveled his wicked spear at Kosta. The red lion roared its challenge from around Pavlos’ shoulders. “It’s too early in the day to rest. Prepare yourself!”
Kosta sighed and snatched his wooden xiphos from the ground. He flexed his magic to Overlay a spectral grey spear over the blade’s frame. It was awkward and clunky to adjust the shape like that, but it would hold.
For now.
And with that, they clashed.
----------------------------------------
“You’re out of coin.”
“Yes.”
“So why are you darkening my doorstep?” Polemus’s brush stroked against a canvas woven of white magic. Gleaming gold drenched the painting, solidifying above the faint impression of a glorious golden city. The painter looked longingly at it. “Do you think I tolerate you for the pleasure of your company? You aren’t that charming.”
Kosta paid no heed to his customary barbs. He was lost in Polemus’ new work. It didn’t take a genius to recognize what the painter had tried to capture.
Khrusopolis.
“You’ve taught me so much, but it’s not enough! I need to know more” Kosta said in an attempt to butter Polemus up, though he also did his best to keep the urgency he felt from bleeding into his words. ‘Never let them know how badly you need their product’ Mama whispered in his ear. “I don’t have the tokens to pay you now. I can’t deny that. But I’m a dedicated student. This is my path, and I hope to learn at your feet for a long time. Perhaps we could negotiate—”
Polemus kept painting, but a flare of power froze Kosta in his tracks. It wasn’t harsh, but it stilled his tongue. The painted black cat poked its head out from behind a shrub and shrieked at Kosta, though a dark look from Polemus sent the construct scurrying away.
The screaming cat was one of Polemus’ least favorite creations. If it weren’t so canny (and Polemus not so lazy) then it would have been dismantled long ago.
“Quit wagging that merchant’s tongue of yours,” Polemus said evenly. “Are you an artist or a peddler?”
“Artist,” Kosta said tightly, then thought back to his hunts, his fights, and his trades. He turned Polemus’ words from their first lesson against him. “But I’m many things in truth. My art is but one facet of a many-faced gem. It’s the vastest facet, but there is more to me than that. ”
“How lovely. Unfortunately for you, I don’t care about the rest. Go be a well-rounded individual elsewhere. You came to me for my talents. If you want to learn to bleed a customer dry, go to old Antigonus on your knees. He’d get a kick out of it.”
Kosta’s face twisted. He truly hated Polemus’ phrasing sometimes. “I’d really rather not.”
“Sometimes you have to make sacrifices for your passion,” Polemus said sagely. “Putting up with self-obsessed jackasses is one of those. Trust me, that won’t be changing in your life anytime soon. Our world tends to attract some spectacularly snobbish individuals, not that you’d have the worldly experience for that. How many people lived in Dytifrourá again?”
Kosta’s face twisted into a sneer. “More than in Yoreme.”
Polemus waved his words away. “As if that’s an accomplishment. My servants numbered more than Yoreme!” He scoffed, though his brushes grew increasingly aggressive as the City of Gold grew into sharper relief. Kosta didn’t miss the tiny detail of a man in gilded armor being battered by fruit flung at him by a horde of well-dressed nobles. “So you have no tokens. What else can you offer?”
That rankled Kosta. He did have enough tokens to purchase Polemus’ services, just not enough to spare. But Polemus was right; Kosta had nothing material to offer. Not unless he wanted to offer up his staff on a silver platter.
Would Polemus even accept it? The painter seemed to recognize the indomitable link between Kosta and the instrument. He might laugh at the offer.
“I have no money to offer you. I have no skills that you need. All I have is my magic and time. I offer you my service,” Kosta said. He clamped down on his emotions to keep his tone nice and even. “That is all I can give you.”
Polemus’s eyes crinkled as he smiled. Kosta suspected he’d been waiting for this offer. “That’s what I thought. And you’re right, of course. My constructs are helpful, but they’re also about as smart as a squirrel. You’re in luck, sculptor. There is one job you can do for me. If you pull it off, I’ll give you two lessons free of charge. I’ll teach you anything that you desire.”
Kosta’s mind boggled at the possibilities. On its own, two sessions wasn’t that much. It would save him a great sum, but he could always earn more money. But their sessions had been quite straightforward so far. Very illuminating, but also entirely controlled by Polemus.
To learn anything he desired…
“What is it?” Kosta pressed. For such a prize it could only be difficult, humiliating, or both. Polemus was fair, but he wasn’t one to offer charity. “I’ll do anything!”
“Don’t go throwing that sort of offer out!” Polemus snapped. “I know plenty amongst the great who would hold you to that, stupid boy. Luckily for you, I’m not one of them. See this?” He brandished his brush towards Kosta. It was still drenched in golden paint that seeped like ichor. Kosta’s eyes ached to look directly upon it. “This beauty isn’t free. It demands sacrifice. I can either take from myself—and believe me, it’s not a pleasant experience—or I can find an alternate source.”
Kosta felt dread bubble up in his gut. “How do I feed it?”
“What—no!” Polemus exclaimed. He jabbed Kosta in the forehead with the brush, leaving a streak of golden paint across his skin. The gold seared like fire for a moment, then cooled to a gentle tingle as the power exhausted itself. “You think I want your soul infesting my brush? Not in a thousand lifetimes! A few hours of your company is enough for me, thank you.”
Kosta didn’t relish the thought of leaving a piece of himself in the brush either. “Then what? It’s yours if it’s within my power.”
“An Oroneiric Opal,” Polemus said easily. “Take it or leave it.”
“And what the hell is that?” Kosta asked. It sounded...well, to be honest it sounded like it should be the subject of some grand quest, not something that should be assigned to a journeyman. The name struck him after a moment. He looked to Oroneiros as it towered over them all, dwarfing Yoreme and the forests around it in a spectral shadow. “You can’t mean—”
“Oh, I do. I need a piece of the mountain. That’ll keep my beauty sated for a year, maybe more.” Polemus patted his brush fondly, as one would a favored dog. It trembled at his touch. “And save me a mountain of headaches in the meantime.”
Kosta scowled. “Do I look like an Aretan to you?”
“We can discuss your failings later,” Polemus dismissed his concerns. “Lucky for you, this should be well within your capabilities. Little pieces of Oroneiros slip through the Dream into the mundane on occasion. They decay rapidly—or get eaten by some stupid monster having the best day of its life—but if you can snag one they’re a powerful resource.”
It didn’t quite match up to Kosta’s own imaginings about Oroneiros, but he put his questions aside for now. “And you just so happen to know where I can find one.” Kosta waved his hand out towards the forest. “Will I just trip over a priceless treasure if I go looking?”
“Priceless! Oh, the Opals are far from priceless. You should see the wonders we have in Khrusopolis,” Polemus said as he stared deeply into the golden city on his canvas. “A Merakian wouldn’t turn their nose up at an Opal, but a Kleosian could shit one right out if you asked nicely. They aren’t that special. Unless you’ve lived on the edge of the civilized world your whole life.”
Kosta grit his teeth. “Do you want me to find this thing for you or not?” A thought struck him. “And why shouldn’t I just take it to the market and sell it to the highest bidder?”
Polemus laughed at him. “Go ahead! Who will buy it in Yoreme? You’ll be lucky to get a sack of grain and a firstborn child for it. Notelos’ elites would offer you a fine price, but you don’t have a hope of keeping it stable on such a long journey. The stone would suck you dry. I’m afraid you only have one option.”
The painter was many things, but he wasn’t a liar. Kosta suspected that Polemus was telling the truth. He’d still have to measure the situation once he tracked down the treasure. If it was half as valuable as Polemus claimed then perhaps Kosta would be able to leverage it into far more than a few lessons.
The Oroneiric Opal might secure his future…if he could sniff out the right buyer.
Kosta immediately thought of the Dipoli’s forces. They were due to arrive any day now with Eliora the Unbroken at the army’s head. She was a well-known Merakian. Perhaps Eliora or one of her lieutenants would be interested in such a treasure before they embarked upon their campaign against the Hesperians.
But would they deal with him honorably? Kosta was leery of negotiating with such mighty heroes. The Merakian Tobias had swept Dytifrourá off the face of the earth. It was difficult to imagine a Merakian or her attendants negotiating in good faith when it would be so much easier to simply appropriate the Opal.
He’d honed himself since he’d come to Yoreme, but he was no legendary warrior. Kosta couldn’t fight them. Pavlos would be up for a good scrap, but Kostsa would never ask that of him. Pavlos was a hunter, not a soldier.
Kosta was abuzz with thoughts, but all could be determined once he had the Opal in his grasp. He dipped his head to Polemus. “Very well. Where can I find it?”
Polemus beamed at him. It was a disturbingly radiant expression given how laidback he normally was. “Delightful!” He quickly flicked out a rainbow of paint to shape a rough approximation of Yoreme and the surrounding landscape for miles upon miles. “Now, if you look here…”
He gave Kosta a copy of the map, a sketch of what the treasure looked like, and even a few scraps of dried meat and vegetables as provisions. Kosta appreciated it, although he still set course for the inn. There was supplies he needed stored there.
It took only minutes to grab his cloak and other necessities. The day was still young and Kosta found himself eager to travel north to seek out the Opal. Perhaps this was the beginning of something wonderful.
Yet there was one last stop Kosta needed to make before he could leave. He’d come to know the lands surrounding Yoreme quite well these past few weeks, but there was only one man who had truly mastered them. It would be foolhardy not to seek his advice.
If Kosta was lucky then he’d be able to convince Pavlos to come along. It wasn’t a hunt, but perhaps Pavlos was stir crazy enough to just want a breath of fresh air.
And if not, perhaps Pavlos would be interested in earning a few extra tokens...