1

Caldwell awoke at first light, cold and sweating. Reluctantly, he unfurled himself from his relatively peaceful sleeping position and rubbed the sleep from his eyes.

“Breakfast?” Gosfrid asked, holding out his knife, atop which sat a piece of freshly cooked meat. The smell of it was tantalizing; he had not had fresh meat for days.

“Thank you,” he muttered, plucking the piece of meat from Gosfrid’s knife and ripping off a piece. It was still hot, enough to burn his fingers and tongue both, but as the taste and the warmth spread over his mouth he found he did not care.

When he had finished he followed up the meat with a piece of stale bread and hard cheese, both of them flavorless or near enough to leave his tongue longing for the meat he had so ferociously consumed. He should have saved it for last.

Fully awake, Caldwell looked about their camp and counted heads, as was his pastime nowadays, and came up one short. Two, he supposed, since Dame Amice had rejoined them and he did not see her, though he had taken to skipping her count. She was often with the three Vigilants, who he found to be particularly frightful to look upon even at the best of times.

“Where is Sir Alden?” he asked.

Gosfrid looked at him, chewed his food, and swallowed. Then he shrugged as a reply.

“Helpful,” Caldwell muttered as he stood. “Germund! You with me today?”

Germund, a stocky man who was all muscle beneath his tunic, lifted his ax onto his shoulder. “Chores again?”

“Aye. Need wood and water.”

“Suppose I can help,” Germund said.

Together they went to the nearby river, next to which was a conveniently placed fallen tree that they had taken to chopping into firewood. As Germund began hacking away at it, as was his duty these past few days, Caldwell approached the river’s edge. Plunging a hand into the frighteningly cold, Caldwell dug at the rocks that sat just beneath the surface, upturning them one by one in search of crawfish or similar creatures until the cold began to numb the tips of his fingers.

“No luck today,” he told Germund.

The stocky man grumbled between ax strikes. “Them’s good eatin’s you know,” he said.

“I know,” Caldwell replied, though it wasn’t all that true. Crawfish had never been a favorite of his, but Germund seemed to love anything that came out of the water, so he’d look for them whenever he got the chance.

Plain meat had always been his preferred, especially that of beef or, in the rare times when it was available, goat. He would settle for deer or pheasant or bear or whatever creature could be found in the woods, of course; any meat was better than no meat.

Filling two buckets with the ice cold water, Caldwell carried them to Germund and stopped. The stocky man swung the ax with a sort of brutal grace; with each swing he would lift it up high, then put in the barest force behind while gravity did the rest.

“Were you a logger?” Caldwell asked.

Germund paused long enough to wipe nonexistent sweat from his brow. He eyed Caldwell suspiciously. Caldwell understood why well enough. Recognition for good work usually resulted in more of said work. But Germund must have decided Caldwell would keep it secret. “Aye,” he said, “since I was a lad. It’s what my father did.”

“That’s usually how it goes, innit? Following in the footsteps of one’s pa?”

Germund nodded. “Tis how it is. Unless you’re fool enough to become a soldier.” He flashed a smile, tightened his grip on his ax, and continued to hack away.

When he was finished he gathered the blocks of wood, tied them together with a strand of twine, lifted a bundle in each hand, and followed Caldwell back to camp.

The path, if it could be called that, was easy going even with both hands filled, and Caldwell found himself relaxing his mind as they pushed through the undergrowth. In a different woods he could have seen himself growing comfortable. Could see himself living amongst the wilderness in a home he’d fashion for himself from the surrounding trees, hunting for his own food day after day, and living alone peacefully, detached from the worries of war and city life. Others had done it, he knew, and he could see himself becoming one of their number.

It wasn’t really him that came to mind, however. Instead he saw a man, tough and grizzled and at one with nature. The man bore the name Caldwell, same as himself, but looked nothing at all like himself and had nothing of what made him himself. Caldwell could have beaten the grizzled loner he saw in his mind in a fight, for one. Maybe not now, but in a few months time, if he applied himself. And there was something else missing from the man, something in his eyes, in the way he carried himself, as if he wasn’t living for a purpose but instead just living to live. People did that all the time, he knew, and Caldwell couldn’t rightly say he had anything in particular to live for. Still, he could not see that man as himself.

“Where d’ya think Sir Alden and Dame Amice have gotten to?” Germund asked in a moment of silence.

“I don’t know,” he said.

“Scouting, maybe,” Germund offered, sounding as if even he didn’t believe it. Where, in this case, meant a very specific thing, and that thing was what. The thought had crossed his mind more than he was willing to admit, made worse by the numerous rumors some of the men began telling, back before Coalben. The rumors had died down since then, mostly because there were fewer men to tell them and even fewer to care, but still they persisted.

“Healing, I’d imagine,” Caldwell said, at least somewhat believing his own words. He could not recall a more terrible sight in his life than what they’d witnessed upon Alden’s return, save perhaps the corpse of his mother. That, at least, had seemed a natural thing. Death was part of life.

But a writhing mass of bleeding flesh with three heads, of which one belonged to their leader, had put a fear in him that could barely be recognized. More frightening still had been watching the flesh fall away from his form. What was he, truly? A question that graced Caldwell tens of times a week at least, often more. Part of him guessed that he’d never know for certain.

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

And when they arrived at camp the other parts of him came to agree.

Lively, the camp felt almost crowded as they gathered around Alden and Amice. A change had occurred over the night, something subtle, difficult to place. It was not his looks, which had returned almost completely to what they had been before the siege, but something in the way he carried himself and in the way he saw the world.

Certainty.

“The Hilvans are gone, far as we could see,” Gosfrid said to Alden.

“And to the west?”

“An army moving east.”

“Commander Dhatri’s?”

“Would’ve been my guess, but it’s bigger. ‘Bout twice as big, maybe more. Hard to say.”

“Good chance he’s not in charge, then.” Alden paused, looked to the city. “Everyone, gather up! We’ll make our way to the city within the hour. As far as I’m concerned the city is ours.”

“What if there’s resistance?” Uhtric asked.

“If the Hilvans are gone then so is the only person who could threaten me. I’ll head in alone and mop up whatever’s left. The rest of you will set up outside and wait until you see the incoming army’s flag. If it’s friendly, raise a flag of our own. If it isn’t, run and hide.”

The men dispersed and Caldwell set the buckets of water over the fire as Germund fed wood into it.

“Look,” Germund whispered, motioning toward Alden. Caldwell turned just enough to see.

From the corner of his eye he saw the three Vigilants approach Alden and Amice, and he shivered. He would never get used to their presence.

“Spare a moment?” their leader, Ormar, asked.

“Of course,” Alden said.

They turned and left, leaving the men to their preparations.

“What’s that about?” Germund asked.

But as Caldwell was about to answer he felt the heavy clasp of Gosfrid’s hand on his shoulder. He turned to see the archer smiling bitterly at them. “More work, less gossip, eh?”

“Can’t tell me you ain’t interested,” Germund replied.

“Oh, I’m interested. But I know better than to be spreading gossip within ear shot of that lot.”

“Ear shot?” Germund protested. “How the fuck are they in ear shot? Can’t hear a fuckin’ word their saying.”

“Aye, we can’t hear them. But they can hear us.”

“How d’you know?”

“I just know. Intuition. Besides, why chance it? You’ve seen what Sir Alden can do. And then there’s the Vigilants…” he trailed off, but the point was made, and Germund was pale as snow.

2

They entered a clearing a good distance from camp, far enough that their conversation would not be heard. Should not, at least, but Alden could hear the camp as clear as day, from soft footsteps atop the decaying leaves to the quiet murmurs of his men as they whispered rumors amongst themselves.

Gosfrid, at least, seemed to have caught on, and for that Alden was both glad and disappointed. The man was loyal, according to the System, but curiosity regarding the man’s true feelings gnawed at him.

A good companion, a voice said inside his head, not his own. The sister’s, he thought, though it was hard to tell, and growing harder.

Tired, the other voice said, not for the first time. The Oracle’s fusion with him had diminished them somehow, as if their sense of self had become muddled and difficult to manifest. Less than a day had passed, and yet already they had twice entered some sort of hibernation wherein they could not answer him.

That made the current situation all the more difficult.

“That was quite the show yesterday,” Ormar said. “A very unique use of magic, I must say. Very interesting. I would ask how you came about this magic, but there is a more pressing matter, and so I must ask. Have you learned what we requested you to learn?”

The desire to run crept up. It wasn’t an option, of course. Ormar was the faster of the two.

“Not yet,” he replied. He expected anger, perhaps disappointment, but instead Ormar smiled, and Alden became even more worried.

“Do you have any inclination as to when?”

When, he thought, directing the question to the Oracle.

Now, the sister said.

Ask us anything, the brother said.

Where is the Maker’s Mark?

There was silence in his head, and he feared they had gone into hibernation once more. But, beneath the recesses of his mind, he felt them stir in the sea of his consciousness.

Here.

You.

You are the Maker’s Mark.

“I am the Maker’s Mark.”

Ormar smiled and his hand twitched. Specks of white light floated over Alden, rising to the sky above.

“A little magic to confirm,” Aelfred said. “Nothing to worry about.”

“And confirm it does,” Ormar said. “I’d thought as much, to tell you the truth, but I’d thought I’d test you a little.”

“And I passed?”

“You did, with flying colors. As reward, seeing that Grensfield and its barony are absent a ruler, and by the power invested in me by the Emperor, I hereby grant you the title of baron. Congratulations.”

Quest Complete: The Maker’s Mark

Rewards

+100,000xp.

The Relations statistic has been created.

+1000 Relation with Drygallis Empire.

+2000 Relation with Drygallis Empire Vigilants.

Rank has increased by 1 stage!

Major Relations

Drygallis Empire: 1,000/10,000

Kingdom of Hilva: 350/10,000

Minor Relations

Drygallis Empire Vigilants: 2,000/5,000

Rank Up

You have obtained the rank of Baron.

Charisma has been increased by 50 points.

Wisdom has been increased by 20 points.

Stat points on level up have increased by 5.

Additional Stat points for previous levels have been granted.

+45 Stat points.