The veteran adventurers from the New Alliance chuckled.
“Form your own alliance!”
The male speaker stood still, observing Fran with his steely gaze. Everyone stepped forward to take a closer look at the ungrateful arriviste. A man with the deepest, blackest eyes that Fran had ever seen made his way defiantly through the tightening crowd. He sized up Fran and his thick licks twisted in disdain.
“Your own alliance. Great. You'll bury each other's coffins?”
“I'm going to leave and I'm going to start a new group. Mutual help and finding what's going on will be our objectives. And if any of you are too scared to join me now, know that I'll spend my next Friday night traveling to the Dragon City outside Kliogos, in the borderlands of the Empire. Join me.”
A second adventurer intervened.
“Listen, bro. There's a reason we're the only group of Terran adventurers in Mela. Didn't you hear that poor woman? Look at her tears. That's what Mela is like for isolated humans. We're adventure magnets. And adventure doesn't always translate riches and glory, it means danger and risk. But The New Alliance will step to her rescue. Nobody else could.” He slowed his voice. “Join the best or die like the rest.”
Fran shook his head.
“Fuck you and your two-bit slogan. Used car salesman tactics straight out of a bad movie. You should be ashamed. Tell me,” Fran said. “How did these mysterious founders of yours meet? How did your New Alliance get started?”
The man on the podium clenched his fists. “Get the fuck out of here immediately,” he said.
He did, trying to fight his fear and the cowardly voice in his mind telling him he was making the worst mistake of his life. He was shrinking his life from six or seven dozen years to just days. A solo adventurer on Mela, without money, skills or friends.
Except perhaps not without friends. Fran heard steps behind him as he walked out. A door opened in front of him, and it started to close behind his back. Suddenly, the woman's voice rang in anger.
“Don't you fucking dare, you miserly pussbag scoundrel! Turn back, turn back, turn back!”
Fran turned his head in shock. Why did they want him this badly? There must be something special to being the last dreamer. But his hopes vanished, replaced by surprise when he realized that behind the old man in the green vest and four more newbies, he was now facing Bertrán the giant.
The male speaker rushed to meet the giant. He grabbed his arm and addressed him in an even, reasonable voice.
“I don't know what you think you're doing, but this is not okay. Give it five minutes and let's talk you and me. After the meeting.”
“We’ve spoken so many times, my friend. And the conversation always ends the same way.”
“Let's chat later. You know I can bring your concerns to the Ring.”
The giant smiled with fatigue in his eyes.
“You already have, haven't you?”
The man didn't respond. Everyone remained silent. Only the morning chirping of birds outside the palace broke the silence.
“My concerns have made their way to the Inner Ring, probably many times now. And the only answer you ever received was an appeal to unquestioning loyalty. Am I wrong? I know this because you cannot hide from me. My concerns have been yours too since before we exchanged names under the domed temples of Suptra. It’s a feeling of unease you can't shake out. Suspicions become mistrust no matter how much you resist it. It's no way to live, you know it as well as I do. But look at this little guy.”
A long index finger pointed at Fran. He felt like that man could grab his head with his hand if he wanted to.
“Hundreds of sleepless nights condensed into a diamond-hard question by a last-day newbie. How did your New Alliance get started? The Inner Ring won't tell us. And my suspicions weigh too heavy on my mind. I hadn't even considered I could just drop the burden of loyalty.”
If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.
“You can't tell them a word about our secrets,” the dark-eyed man said.
“I never kept mine. I just gave it all to the org. Can you say the same?”
The man looked down.
Ignoring the man's guilty silence, Bertrán walked up to Fran and asked “Aren't we leaving?”
Fran turned and left the room. A shrill voice screamed at him and the others for so long that he thought it must be echoing in his head.
----------------------------------------
They abandoned the palace in silence. They crossed the park's labyrinth rose garden, then turned down towards the park’s exit near the Cuesta de Moyano, a sloped street lined up with dozens of used book stalls. You could find anything there, things you never thought had been published, usually at a ridiculous price.
No one had said a word.
Fran collected himself and surveyed the group. There was Bertrán, of course. Then there was Sancho in the green vest and grey trousers. He had the air of a man unwilling to hear a word of retort from the people he berated.
Next to him walked a girl. Her steps were short, her look absent and her hands played with each other in a vain effort to release tension. She looked like she wondered whether hers would be the first coffin the new group would bury. Well, best to start with the lightest one.
A woman in an emerald summer scarf came next. She wore a white cotton shirt, a blue skirt and burgundy buckle boots. The lively movement of her reddish mane gave off high energy vibes. She met Fran's eye and nodded confidently, like she was ready to go into battle against the New Alliance, an orc horde and everyone else in Mela.
The next woman seems confused by everyone's inaction. She impatiently waited for the start of a conversation about what to do next, but she wouldn’t start the conversation herself. Perhaps not to impose herself on the others or maybe because she was used to following other people's lead.
A man on the edge of 30 completed the group. His glasses, short hair and mama’s boy white shirt and black trousers outfit couldn't hide his sculpted chest. His sunken cheeks hinted at the very low body fat found in Spartan race athletes and calisthenics obsessives. His relaxed shoulders completed his appearance of effortless readiness.
And then there was him. 1.79 with unfashionable shoulder-length hair and a thin body that had never seen the inside of a gym. Most wouldn't guess he studied computer programming, but nobody had been surprised that he did. Too geeky for normies and too normie for geeks. Sociable enough to get a girlfriend yet too awkward and uninteresting to keep her. But not a coward, never one. And Mela might be deadly for the reckless, but cowards die a thousand deaths.
Bertrán suggested getting some fried calamari bocadillos but he was the only hungry one in the group. “Don't even think of getting me into a restaurant,” he said. “I always need two main courses and leave hungry anyway. Okay, I have an idea.”
They moved to the Botanic Garden. It was just blocks away, and the entrance price kept it significantly less crowded than El Retiro. After much walking among trees from all over the world, Bertrán pointed at an open area with benches and instructed them to sit down. “People think closed spaces are best. Well, they're not. You need an area that lets you see people approaching. And always talk in a quiet voice. We Spaniards are terrible at that.”
“What else should we know?” asked the older man.
“That this week will be hard for you. The desire to share everything you know about Mela will haunt you. It's natural. But it's also natural to resist it. Self-control makes us human, after all. When the urge takes over, go to the gym and lift more than you ever thought possible. Play three hours of tennis. Run a half-marathon. Wear yourselves out! Mind and body are one. Look at me, I was never a weakling, but after a month whacking chaos elves in Mela, I started waking up just bigger. The coaches at my gym became more than a little suspicious, you know what I mean. Mela comes back with you. That's the main reason I believe Mela is the most effective training school in the universe. They're turning people from all over the planet into super-soldiers. Sooner than later, we'll be defending Earth from aliens. It's going to be the biggest fucking movie ever.”
“I hate secrets,” said the other man, touching his glasses. “I keep a lot at my job, and I don't need more.”
“What do you do?” Fran asked.
“I work in an import-export office.”
“Well, that sounds boring!” said Bertrán. “I’m afraid that Mela won't make your weekdays more interesting. They'll become unbearable unless you learn to distract your mind. I didn't,” he added. “My mind picked up little tidbits of information here and there. Day in, day out. Why does the New Alliance do this? Why did they order me to do that? First came the simple missions. Then, joining a group of adventurers to write a secret list ranking them by loyalty to the NA. I hated that, but the missions continued nevertheless. Spread this rumor in this kingdom and ignore that it could incite a revolt. Get the King of Nlud to support the elves. Oh, yes. The elves and their calm, methodical genocide. That's when I first requested a meeting with leadership. They dislike the word leadership because we're an alliance of equals, but the term Inner Ring is fine, for some reason.”
“They rejected the audience, right? Time after time.”
“Sure. And they brought me back to cookie-cutter missions, which pissed me off instead of calming me, then to basic do as you like adventures. I'd made tons of friends by then and did some good in that world, don't misunderstand me. You're witnessing the only human on speaking terms with the Sapphire Tritons. Don't ask me how I pulled that one. I'm still trying to figure it out myself.”
“Tritons sounds cool. What will happen if I try to speak to them?” asked the redhead.
“They'll sink your boat, then toy with you as you drown in panic. And then they’ll eat you. I never said they were good people, right, but they're definitely good friends to have if you travel through the Southeastern sea. Anyway, what's the plan, buddy? Oh, sorry!” Bertrán had slapped Fran's back, making him struggle to recover his balance in half a second to avoid crashing into the hard, stone pavement.