They made camp as the sun began to set on a tall hill that gave them an overlooking view of the countryside for a mile around. Lucas felt exposed. He’d gotten used to sheltering in little nooks and crannies, hiding away from the things lurking out there in the night. A view of his surroundings meant his surroundings had a view of him.
“Better to see them coming, if they’re going to come, and hold the high ground while we’re at it,” Wick said, noticing Lucas’ distress and somehow divining its cause. “Nothing worse than beasts throwing themselves at you from above, believe me.”
“I’d rather not have them throw themselves at me from anywhere, Ser Wick,” Lucas said, cringing a little as he tested out the title. Back home ‘Ser’ held connotations of something noble and knightly, but these people had used it for him and he found it hard to imagine they’d mistaken him for a knight, given his threadbare, self-made clothing. He wanted to figure out what they meant by it, and hoped Wick would correct him if it was inappropriate.
Wick showed no unusual reaction though, so perhaps it was just a generic title like Mister or Miss. Or maybe it was just a quirk of whatever translation magic was in play here.
Either way, Wick replied amiably enough, “Few men wish to face down beasts, Ser Rian. But it’s a danger one must always be prepared for in these trying times. It’s best to give oneself the greatest advantage if engaging the enemy is unavoidable.”
“I’d argue it’s avoidable,” Lucas muttered.
“Don’t mistake your luck for skill,” Rena said distractedly, most of her attention on inspecting an arrow with a white shaft and obsidian head.
The group had settled down in a square on the hilltop, with their packs stacked in the space between them. Jyn had summoned bedrolls for himself and two of his comrades from a black circle that opened in the air after a wave of his black wand and a complex burst of vitality. The wizard had been apologetic that they only had three beds, but Wick was happy to give up his and sit cross-legged on the grass, ignoring Lucas’ protests. Everyone was close together, their bedrolls nearly touching at the corners, Rena on Lucas’ left, Jyn on his right, with Wick directly across from him in open space. Only the Skycloak stood apart at the edge of the hill’s slope, watching the sun set. Apparently she was content to sleep wrapped in her cloak.
They’d refused a fire, claiming any light in the night would attract beasts like moths and the moon was typically bright enough to provide light besides. A bit embarrassing for Lucas, who’d had one crackling away every night prior. Maybe they were right about his luck. In his defence, he hadn’t known monsters were a possibility until a few days ago. Probably should have guessed, given magic and everything. Live and learn.
Wick nodded. He crossed his arms across his massive chest, still clad in his armour. “These lands are dangerous. There’s a reason civilisation has fled so far south. I intend no offence, Ser Rian, when I say that you do not strike me as a man who has cut a swathe of destruction through the demon horde to arrive here. You don’t have an, ah, martial bearing.”
“Maybe I have hidden depths,” Lucas said.
Wick grinned, eyebrows rising in challenge.
“I can defend myself, at least. I got along okay before meeting you lot.”
“Lucky,” Rena said again, sing-song.
Lucas held his hands up. “Fine, fine. Honestly, I’m much happier with the company anyway, beasts or not. I was beginning to wonder if there was anyone else alive in the whole world, for a while.”
There was a moment of silence. Jyn was the one to break it. “Your feeling is understandable, Ser Rian. Not even mentioning the Blighted Lands, there are places in Mornlunn where you would probably find yourself the only human in a hundred miles, if you were to go there alone. In those circumstances, one might as well be the last man alive. It’s a harrowing thought.”
Lucas saw an opportunity both to steer away from the heavy subject and gain some information, and seized on it. “Where would you say the nearest settlement is from where we are now?”
Jyn paused to think on it, his blue lips moving without sound, his head tilted back slightly. “As aforementioned, Dawnguard is the closest destination with a guarantee of safety I know of, far to the South-West. Harwyck is closer, to the South-East, but as I already revealed: its protection isn’t so certain. The same could be true for Southwold, Greenford, and Mirton. It’s hard to say, but in terms of pure distance, I’d probably give it to Mirton. All are weeks away regardless. Moons, even.”
“I see,” Lucas said. Not as helpful as he’d hoped, but he supposed learning some town names wasn’t nothing. He was reluctant to push it, wary of revealing his ignorance. “You four came from Dawnguard?”
“We did indeed,” Wick said. “Our Skycloak is right from the Moontower itself, even.”
“Hard to believe such a vaunted acolyte as her deigned to come down from on high. I didn’t think the Skycloaks took interest in the affairs of us mere mortals until they had no choice,” Rena murmured, eyeing the Skycloak’s back.
“Now now,” Wick said, frowning at her.
Lucas shifted, leaning forward. More than the others, he was wondering why Rena was a part of this quest in the first place, with her blatant disdain for the Skycloak’s goal. “Is she someone important in the Order?” he whispered.
“No,” the Skycloak replied, making him jump and turn to her. She was still gazing out into the distance—in the direction of the Lost City, Lucas realised. “Quite the opposite. As our Bowmaiden has noted, my faith is somewhat of a rarity these days.”
“Faith in what?” Lucas asked, dreading the answer.
“Lucas Brown, of course,” Rena said with an impressively disdainful roll of her eyes.
“Our saviour,” the Skycloak said. Her blue cloak fluttered in the wind, outlined by a rosy red from the setting sun. She turned her head slightly, regarding him out of the corner of one eye. “After a hundred years of waiting, many have their doubts. I understand that. But Lady Claire taught that patience is a virtue, and I’m certain those who’ve kept faith will prove justified.”
Lucas tried not to show any reaction under the Skycloak’s scrutiny. He didn’t know if he succeeded; her stoic mien gave nothing away.
“Does Lady Claire herself even believe nowadays?” Rena asked, deceptively mild.
“She hasn’t been seen in quite some time,” Jyn said. “Last I heard she was leading an excursion into the Blighted Lands. A Dread General was mentioned.”
“If anything had happened to her, word would have travelled far and wide,” Wick said, eyes darting between his comrades before settling on Rena with an air of long-suffering.
Rena rolled her eyes. “I’m sure word would arrive eventually, yeah.” She sneered. “But far too late, as with all things the Order does and advocates for.”
The Skycloak once again ignored Rena’s brazen provocation, and conversation lapsed after that. Lucas desperately wanted to seek more answers, but he didn’t know what to say, what questions would sound natural, how to act so he didn’t reveal himself ignorant of things that even some random guy would be expected to know in this place.
If nothing else, he’d at least confirmed to his satisfaction that this wasn’t Earth. Blighted Lands? A bunch of places he’d never heard of? It screamed ‘other world’ to him. That was something, he guessed.
“So you reckon beasts are more common around here?” Lucas asked no one in particular after a few awkward moments had passed, figuring that was safe enough.
Wick huffed a laugh. “We barely go a day without spying some nearby. We avoid them as much as we can, since our task isn’t to cull their numbers. Vile creatures.”
“I’ve only seen one in my travels,” Lucas said with a frown. He described the monster he’d slain as best he could, leaving out most of the context of how he encountered it. Dredging up the memory of that twisted thing turned his stomach. “Do you know what species of beast that was?”
“There are no species among the beasts, lad,” Wick said. “Common misconception.”
“Beasts are creatures born from demonic chaos warping the world,” Jyn said, blue lips pulled down in a grimace. “Though any two may look similar and there are some common themes among them, they aren’t animals.”
“Some say they once were,” Rena said. She’d moved on to another arrow now, holding its yellow fletching close to her face for inspection.
Jyn sighed. “You will occasionally see traits derived from living beings in beasts, yes. Animals, plants, and the like. Chaos draws on mana, and mana is life.”
“A friend of mine swore he once saw a beast with a human head in place of a foot, and it screamed every time the monster took a step,” Wick said gravely, eyes distant. “Man took a lot less quests after that. Shame. He was a skilled Bowmaster.”
“It sounds plausible,” Jyn said. “Though I’ll emphasise that it wouldn’t have been an actual person, just random happenstance caused by chaos.”
Wick hummed, sceptical. “Regardless, the beast you encountered sounds like a mild one as these things go, Ser Rian. Perhaps a D-rank,” he said. He gave Lucas a steady look. “Did you slay it?”
Lucas nodded slowly. “Bashed it to death with a stick I strengthened with my magic.”
All three before him look pleased at that.
“Good for you,” Jyn said. “Unorthodox for a Wandmaster—not a method I would’ve chosen—but what works, works.”
“We’ll put in a word with the Wardens for you,” Rena said, pointing at him with an arrow that trailed mist with every movement.
Wick nodded and slapped one gauntleted hand on his armoured thigh, creating a sound like a hammer striking an anvil. “Any man who rids the world of one more beast, no matter how minor, deserves a reward.”
“Floramancy doesn’t have a lot of easy combat applications, sadly,” Lucas said to Jyn, hoping the wizard would drop him a tip or two.
Jyn just shrugged. “I’ll have to take your word for it, Ser Rian, as I’ve never met a floramancer in all my years. Superstition and prejudice have rendered your art a rare one. I’d be interested in what you have to say about it, if you’re willing.” He leaned back, folding his arms within his capacious sleeves. “I major in pyromancy, myself. With minors in brontomancy and ferramancy. Little crossover between our disciplines, I’m afraid, but I’m sure we can work out an equitable exchange as fellow Wandmasters.”
Lucas tried not to break his own neck with the force of his nod, but it was a close thing. “I’d like that,” he understated. He turned to Wick, lest he get carried away and play his hand. “How about you, Ser Wick?”
Wick blinked. “Only magic to my name is my soulshield, lad. Hardly anything I can exchange there.”
Rena spoke, anticipating he’d turn to her next. “You’re not having any of my arrows even if I was interested in any magic you can summon, even if it’d vex the Skycloak. They’d be wasted on you. No offence.”
Lucas leaned back and held his hands up. “Peace, guys. Just wanted to know what you can do.”
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
They were looking at him oddly now, and Lucas’ stomach flipped.
“I’m a Shieldmaster. I wield a soulshield and armour to protect the less hardy from danger, as outlined in the Doctrine of Five,” Wick said slowly, as if just figuring out Lucas might be a little slow, which was probably better than realising he was named Lucas Brown and had only been in this world for a month.
“And I’m a Bowmaiden,” Rena said, wiggling an arrow that was faintly glowing neon yellow. “If you need any explanation for that, you really are damnably lucky to be alive out here.”
“Yes, yes,” Lucas said, thinking quickly, eyes darting between them. “I was just curious as to the specifics. Not all Bowmaidens or Shieldmasters are alike. I didn’t mean to be rude.”
“I’m a good shot and light on my feet. A Bowmaiden’s quiver is a private thing,” Rena said, but there was a teasing gleam in her eyes. She chuckled to herself, the sound a soothing chime. “I’m not going to sit here and list out my arrows to you, Ser Rian. Feel free to look and make guesses, but don’t touch.”
“There’s not much to tell about my skill set,” Wick said. “My soulshield has held true until now, my mana is suited to defence, and my armour is of good craftsmanship. We haven’t worked together long, but our group is a strong one.”
“Though not perfectly rounded,” Jyn said. He nodded towards the Skycloak. “I’m sure you’ve noticed we’re a party of four; we have no Star to speak of. I’ll give you no gold coin for guessing whom our Swordmaiden wishes to see fill that slot.”
Rena snorted. “Maybe you can be our Star, Ser Rian. I’d love to see a Skycloak work under a floramancer.”
Lucas just smiled awkwardly. The talk in their little camp shifted from there, turning to beasts they’d encountered so far. Having faced tentacled monstrosities and unknowable horrors and eldritch fiends, their adventure sounded quite the horrible one, though they spoke of it with jolly spirits. Eventually, their talk turned back to the supposedly weak beast Lucas had encountered, and, strangely, the mood briefly darkened.
“A beast weak enough to be slain by an amateur floramancer making it out of the Blighted Lands by itself,” Rena began, eyes thoughtful. She glanced at the Skycloak’s back. “If there’s one thing I’ll credit the Order with, it’s keeping the border protected well. A demon horde punching through the front lines and bringing beasts with them is one thing. A weakling like Ser Rian described on its own…”
“Troubling,” Jyn agreed.
“Is there a gap in the lines?” Wick wondered, grim.
“I’ll send word to the vanguard as soon as I get a chance,” the Skycloak said without turning.
Rena nodded.
“It could have been part of a pack and got separated somehow?” Lucas suggested. “The, uh, front lines can’t be completely watertight, right?”
“Doesn’t match behaviour we’ve observed from them,” Jyn said.
“They’re beings of chaos,” Wick said. “The whole problem is they’re unpredictable.”
“You’re not wrong,” Jyn conceded. He waved a hand, his baggy sleeve flapping around. “But this isn’t my area of study. I’ll report it to the College when we return, and they can figure out what to make of it.”
“You’ll actually deign to show your face to those, ah, what did you call them? Old fogeys?” Wick said with a teasing lilt. “You must be more worried than you let on.”
One corner of Jyn’s lips twitched. “Bah, the place isn’t so bad if I just hold my nose. Then I’ll just have to see the old masters. Which is bad enough in itself, come to think of it. Maybe I’ll just send a letter.”
“It’s the ugliest building in Dawnguard by far,” Rena said, lowering an arrow with a head that seemed to be made of some kind of ruby gemstone. “What kind of wizards build something out of slate grey stone right next to the Moontower and Aarya’s keep? In the same city as the Mornhold? I almost died of disappointment when I saw it with my own eyes.”
“Lady Claire called it brutalism,” Jyn said.
“I’m told Lady Claire never had much appreciation for architecture,” Wick said.
Rena spat to the side. “One can see that plainly. Name an ugly grey lump in the city and it was probably commissioned by the Grand Wandmaiden. Eugh.”
“Not all of them are hers, surely,” Wick said with a shrug. “When you’re as long-lived as her, you end up influencing a lot of people. No doubt there are those who appreciate that style.”
“Tasteless bores. Where I’m from, the most important part of a building is its beauty,” Rena said with a haughty sniff. Then a sigh seemed to deflate her, and her eyes turned wistful and distant as she rotated an acid-green arrow in her fingers. “Now Duskpoole, there was a real city. Every building was a work of art.”
There was a moment of silence, then Wick placed a hand on Rena’s shoulder and squeezed. “May the Demon Lord choke on his own cock.”
Rena laughed, but it was hollow, false. “May he be buggered to death by a lichdragon, and the soul of every lost Northman be there to see it.”
Conversation lapsed once more after that, and Lucas decided not to pick it back up again.
As night fell and the stars came out, the group settled down to sleep. The Skycloak took first watch by unspoken agreement, and Lucas found himself tossing and turning out on the borrowed bedroll. It was lumpy and a little rough, but it was so comfortable in comparison to his recent sleeping arrangements as to be paradoxically uncomfortable. Even a packed moss mattress had been a luxury recently; many nights he just slept on the hard ground, relying on his vitality to ward off any nasties in the night that might infect him.
The others drifted off quickly in comparison, and soon enough Lucas was sure only he and the Skycloak were awake. Clouds crawled overhead, and sleep wouldn’t come. He didn’t mind much, to be honest, happy to slip into his vitality system and rummage around with his sub-channels instead. It was slow, careful work, almost meditative, and usually saw him slipping off to dreamland eventually.
Taking his vitality—or, he supposed, mana, as his new companions had called it—in metaphorical hand, he started guiding it towards a new sub-channel with keen anticipation. The familiar ache throbbed in his soul as he aimed a trickle of energy into the next sub-channel in the sequence, slowly forcing it open micrometre by micrometre.
“What are you doing?” a soft voice cut through his concentration, startling him. Lucas let out a yelp, his concentration slipping away. His vitality was instantly forced out of the sub-channel, leaving behind a deep soreness he hadn’t felt before, and he winced. He’d never aborted opening a sub-channel like that. Hopefully it didn’t cause any damage.
Lucas looked up to the source of the voice and found the Skycloak staring back at him. In the pale moonlight, he could see she had one platinum eyebrow raised the barest fraction—that was probably akin to a normal person gawking at him in sheer bewilderment. He hadn’t known her long, but this was the first time he’d seen any kind of emotion on her face. She was a sensor, Lucas recalled.
“You, um, felt that?” Lucas asked, keeping his voice low, reluctant to disturb the others.
She nodded once. Her blue eyes were studying him like he was a fascinating specimen. “Why were you moving mana in your arm?”
“Just… trying to expand my capacity,” Lucas said.
“Your capacity,” she repeated. Her eyebrow rose another millimetre. “I did notice your system is underdeveloped for your apparent age, considering you’re a mage. You’re in your early twenties, yes?”
“Twenty on the dot.”
“Curious. Your mana system is more akin to a child who’s just awakened their soul.”
Lucas held back a grimace. That sounded about right. “It’s a problem I’ve been dealing with,” he said, gesturing at his arm. He looked around, checking on the others. They all seemed to still be fast asleep. “But I admit I’m kind of flailing around blindly. If you have any suggestions…”
Surely a sensor would be able to help?
The Skycloak stared at him for a long moment, her eyes searching, before she raised a hand and beckoned him closer. Lucas tried not to be too eager as he hopped to his feet and scurried over to her, but judging by the increasing height of her raised eyebrow, he’d failed. He grinned sheepishly. “I really appreciate any advice you can give, uh, Miss Skycloak?”
“You can call me Swordmaiden, if you wish to address me directly,” she said.
Lucas was burning to know why she wouldn’t just give her name, but worried it was some kind of cultural custom everyone from this world would be expected to know, so he didn’t ask. “Okay. Thank you, Swordmaiden.”
The Skycloak’s eyebrow returned to its neutral position. “Circulate your mana as you were.”
Always willing to play with his vita—mana, Lucas delved back into his system and probed at the sub-channel he’d unwillingly abandoned. It was tender as a bruise, and feeding mana into it was thrice as painful as it usually was, earning a wince from him, but he persevered. It went slower than it had the last few times, but still faster than his first sub-channel opening. Time slipped away. He lost himself in the process, revelling in the warm ache of mana permeating another small section of his body. When it was done, he let out a breath of euphoric relief.
Opening his eyes, he found the Skycloak kneeling by his side, watching him with her head tilted, her hands resting in her lap. The night was a little brighter, the moon unobstructed by clouds. Her hair shone silver, and her armour gleamed. “Interesting,” she said. “It’s like you’re manually stimulating your system to expand just as an adolescent’s system would naturally as they grew up. Why are you targeting such a small area?”
Lucas smiled ruefully. “That’s all I can do, to be honest. Have to do one sub-channel at a time.”
She tilted her head further. With the moonlight shining on her hair, it made her look like an owl. “Sub-channels, you say? Why do you call them that?”
“Because… they’re smaller than the main channels?”
“They are?”
Her question had that teacher rhetoric vibe where Lucas got the impression she knew the answer, but wanted him to come to the conclusion for himself. Lucas thought about it for a moment as he assessed his channels again. “It definitely feels like it. They’re not?”
“The pathways that carry mana through our souls are uniform in size and capacity. They grow with us as we age, expanding steadily over time as greater volumes of mana pass through them.”
“So…” Lucas trailed off, zoning in on his sub-channels. Or… maybe sub-channels was the wrong word for them—quite apart from the fact that the Skycloak had just called them pathways, which was probably the correct term for them, they supposedly weren’t meant to be any different in size from the rest of his system, if he was understanding her implication. “They’re definitely smaller right now,” he murmured, and then he took control of his mana around the first pathway he’d manually opened, increasing the flow into the opening.
When the ache of a new pathway faded away, he’d assumed that meant it was complete, no further action needed. He’d been leaving the flow at the level that caused no further discomfort once the pathway was open and settled, instead turning his attention to the next pathway.
Now, he understood his mistake. It hadn’t stopped hurting because it was complete, it had stopped hurting because it had gotten used to the volume of mana flowing through it. All thirty pathways he’d opened still had room to grow.
The familiar ache burned inside the first pathway he’d opened, and Lucas cursed himself for his foolishness. In his rush, he’d missed something crucial. How long would it have taken him to notice this on his own? Would he ever have?
“You’re right,” he said, immediately flushing at how euphoric his voice sounded; it had practically come out as a moan. He cleared his throat. “The pathways I’ve opened aren’t smaller at all. Well, they are. But only because I’ve left them that way, like an idiot. Thank you for your help. I might never have noticed.”
“No thanks needed, Ser Rian,” the Skycloak said mildly. “It’s my task and duty as an acolyte of the Order of Five to provide knowledge of how our world works.”
Silence lapsed as Lucas set to his pathways. Another thing the Skycloak had said was weighing on his mind: why was he only doing one at a time? It required concentration and intent, yes, but he was getting faster at it with every try. If he could improve his efficiency, why couldn’t he improve his multitasking?
The answer was, of course, difficulty. He sat there for who knows how long trying to push mana into two pathways at once before he got it working. In the end, he didn’t really improve his multitasking at all, improvising a solution that worked around the problem instead: his usual method for expanding new pathways was to push a steady flow of mana into it, relying on precision to keep the flow going in the small space. With already-opened pathways, precision wasn’t so important. He just needed more mana in the area to flow naturally into the pathways and steadily expand them. To do that, he slowed his mana down in the area as he already knew how to do.
With that revelation came the extremely odd sensation of an upper arm that simultaneously ached like he’d somehow lifted weights in a way that targeted only his bicep and felt like it was hardening to stone. The slowed mana meant more and more built up in the area, and it needed somewhere to go. Most of it flowed on through the path of least resistance, returning to its regular flow rate in the larger system.
Some of it, though, flowed into the pathways he’d previously been thinking of as sub-channels.
Expanding so many at once was more than a bit uncomfortable. Lucas let out a groan which he hoped the Skycloak wouldn’t misinterpret as a dozen pathways started straining. He was going to have to get used to this feeling, he imagined.
Despite the pain, triumph gripped him, and he found himself grinning. Opening new pathways would be just as slow, but he could improve on that just as he had been. Once they were open, though, precision would no longer be needed. He just had to expand the area that had been slowed to include the new pathway. This was huge.
“I have to thank you again,” Lucas said, opening his eyes and turning to the Skycloak. “You’ve done so much for me in so little time, I can hardly believe it.”
She was looking up at the moon placidly, her half-lidded eyes reflecting its pale light. “I must reiterate that no thanks are needed, Ser Rian. It is merely my role.”
Lucas found himself curious, and his successes buoyed his courage. “Is that what the Order’s all about? Teaching people?”
“In modern times, perhaps,” she said softly. “As we have access to such vast amounts of knowledge, sharing it with those who seek it out is only the right thing to do. But ultimately, we learn all we can so we can be of assistance to our saviour upon his arrival.”
“Lucas Brown,” Lucas Brown said, frowning, a pit opening up in his gut.
“The hero prophesied to save us all,” the Skycloak agreed, eyes sliding to him while her head stayed pointed at the moon. “Are you a believer, Ser Rian?”
Lucas didn’t reply.