The barrels toppled away, revealing a spear.
There was no hiding what it was; it had a long shaft wrapped in red leather, and a head made of glistening, sharp amber. The leather was stained and worn, and through the cracks, Vayra could make out the material of the haft—amber as well.
She moved closer, then tapped her fingernail on the spearhead. It felt like aged sap, but when she flicked it, it let off a burst of sparks, just like her starsteel bracers would.
‘That’s…Moulded Arcara,’ said Phasoné.
Vayra inclined her head. “Like our scythe?” It too was ‘moulded’ from Arcara, though it didn’t last as long, nor was it anywhere near as firm as this weapon.
‘Moulding like this would have taken a skilled Arcane smith. Maybe one of the children of Tessen, God of the Forge.’
“It doesn’t look like Arcara,” Vayra said. The Arcara she knew was a glowing white energy inside her body, or a starlight-soaked substance that temporarily burst out of her hand, ready-made into a scythe.
‘It appears to have been Moulded in tandem with another substance. Amber from an Eres Tree, perhaps.’
“How can you tell?”
‘My spiritual senses were developed long ago. I can see the residual mana with them.’
“How do I get senses like that?”
‘It was…one of the early, low stages,’ Phasoné said. ‘I can’t recall which one it was anymore.’
Vayra nodded, then focussed again on the spear. Was it Nathariel’s? One of his disciples? Or was it just a treasure he’d found in the Night Vale Chambers? She wrapped her hand around the haft, expecting to feel something—maybe a clue—but there was nothing. She tried lifting it, but with one hand, she could only pull it an inch or two off the floor. It was heavy.
As soon as she put it back down, she heard footsteps behind her. Immediately, her heart began to race, and she spun around.
“By all means, keep looking,” Nathariel said, walking up the path towards the shed. “I have nothing to hide.”
Still, she felt a little…dirty. Like she’d been snooping some place she shouldn’t have been. “I’m sorry, sir, I—”
“Couldn’t find the hammocks?”
“I got distracted.”
“I can see that clear as day.” He stopped outside the shed and beckoned her forward with a flick of his hand. He wasn’t wearing a full robe anymore; instead, a sash of fabric ran across his chest, tucked into his pants. His bare chest was covered in scars and burn marks, and she even noticed a patch of skin that had been replaced with fabric and a net of starsteel wires.
She cleared her throat, then asked, “What was that spear?”
“The spear? An old trinket I’ve used from time to time.” He turned away and began to walk back towards the pasture. “I found the spearhead in the Chambers. An old experiment of the Dragon Gods. They probably tried enchanting it, but I couldn’t do much with it.”
“Did you Mould it into a full spear?”
“No.” He kept walking down the path until he reached the pasture, then pushed open a gate. “I brought it to someone else who could. And they made it into a weapon for me. It’s sharp, and it is a good vessel for funnelling my power. But there is nothing special about it.”
Vayra walked up to the pasture’s fence and leaned on it. “Nothing?”
“Nothing,” he said. He reached up and grabbed one of the horse’s bridles. It was a spotted stallion, with defined muscles and well-groomed fur. “There is very little that is special about me.”
“But…you’re an Admiral! You made it this far.”
“And look what I have to show for it.” He released the horse’s bridle and motioned to himself. He tapped the fabric-starsteel patch above his liver, then traced a line of scarred flesh away from it with his finger. “This is the cost of five hundred years pursuing power. It is not pretty; at a certain stage, your body stops being remade. It is not glorious. It is a mad scramble.” He paused, then raised a hand to his eye. He tapped his left eye, and it set off a burst of sparks, just like the spearhead did. “Not real, either.”
“But—”
“Don’t get me wrong.” Nathariel turned back to the horse. He walked back to its saddle and tightened the straps. “I would do this again and again, because it is the right thing to do. Without power, I cannot protect the helpless; I cannot destroy the God-heirs who threaten the peace. My regrets amount to not doing enough while I could.”
Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.
Vayra ran her hand along the pasture fence, feeling the rough bark. It felt rougher today, but that was probably because her remade body still had smooth skin and no calluses. “Where are you going, then?”
“I’m going to collect your companion,” he said. “The Order Disciple.”
“You need a horse? I thought you could travel faster.”
“I can travel very, very fast for short distances,” he said. “But eventually, my Bracing techniques will destroy my body.” Then, he laughed under his breath, and added, “And I couldn’t bring your friend back to us without first turning his body to a crisp.”
“Right.”
“While I’m gone, I have training for you,” he said, climbing into the saddle of the horse. “The Master’s Mate stage is an intermediate stage. You will need to strengthen your core before developing your magic any further.”
“H—how?”
“I didn’t teach you the Burnished Flame Loop for laughs.”
“For…mana purification? To purify vast amounts of it in a short period of time?”
Nathariel put his hands on his hips and sighed. “Well, yes, but aside from that. It will strengthen your core. I will return in a few weeks—I expect you to have advanced to Master by then.”
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A crunch of gravel awoke Glade. He leapt to his feet, holding his sword at his side. In the distance, along the path, a pair of travellers climbed up towards the entrance of the Chambers. They both wore light, loose coats, and shawls emblazoned with the colours of the Kudmen Chambers Company—white, yellow, red, and blue, in that order.
Either they were here to raid the Chambers, or they were testing a new company disciple. But no matter which, they would interrupt Vayra’s progress. Perhaps they would find her.
Glade wasn’t delusional; he had heard enough about Chambers to know what awaited someone inside them.
Vayra wouldn’t die—he was certain of that—but he couldn’t bear to imagine how battered and tired she was. If someone else found her, they might take their chance to snuff her out. The Chambers Company was a branch of Elderworld commerce.
Glade ducked behind a rock to keep himself out of sight. The way one of the companymen carried himself, he had to be a God-heir.
The good news was that Glade had very little magical talent himself. They wouldn’t sense him until it was too late.
When they reached the ledge, Glade pounced. He aimed for the weaker of the two, a human who walked with normal caution up a steep slope.
Glade drove his sword through the human companyman’s neck before he could cry out. As the man’s body collapsed, Glade pulled a flintlock pistol from the man’s cumberbund. It was loaded and cocked.
Glade pointed it at the other companyman and fired it. The second man stomped his foot down, and a blocky shaft of stone rose out of the ledge to meet the shot. The God-heir, with command over stone.
Casting the pistol aside, Glade raised his sword. The comapanyman punched off a shard of stone from the top of his block, sending it flying towards Glade. Glade swatted it out of the air, then dove towards the entrance to the Chambers. It wasn’t open, but he wanted to be as far from the ledge’s edge as he could be.
The companyman sent another two stone shards flying towards Glade’s head, and Glade dropped to the ground. The shards shattered harmlessly against the bricks behind him. The God-heir companyman had run out of stone to punch easily. Glade, lunged, stabbing with his sword.
The companyman summoned a glove of brown gravel to his hand. He caught and blocked the sword.
Glade shut his eyes. He didn’t know how strong this God-heir was, nor did he want to find out. He needed to end the fight quickly. He inhaled, trying to feel a thin stream of Arcara flowing through his body. It was desperate, but it might give him the edge he needed. But that would mean he needed a technique…
He inhaled, letting the adrenaline of the battle fuel his lungs, then exhaled and pushed. For the first time in his life, the thin stream of soft, white Arcara pulsed out to his arms.
The companyman burst into flames.
From the inside out, his body lit up with orange light. He screamed, clawing at his skin, until the fire burned to the outside and silenced him. In a blink, all that remained was ash.
Glade’s eyes widened. “I…did not—”
“No, you didn’t do that.”
A man rounded the corner, ascending the path the same as the companymen had. He was riding atop a horse, and he wore a white sash and baggy white pants. A small fire burned in the palm of his hand. Atop his head, he wore a tattered tricorn hat. Glade swallowed, then pushed himself away from the wall. He flourished his sword. A fire-wielding God-heir? There was really only one person who this could be.
“I’m not here to kill you, boy,” said Nathariel. “Though I don’t suppose the Order’s opinions on me have changed much in the past few decades.”
“You would be correct,” Glade replied. He kept his sword raised. There was no way he could fight Nathariel, but he looked around for a place to run—in case talking went poorly. “We came to—”
“I know exactly why you’re here. The Mediator, especially.”
“Then…”
“Put the sword down,” Nathariel snapped. “I found her. She is safe, and you will be pleased to know that she has advanced.” He dismounted from his horse. “I’m here to bring you to her. If you are willing.”
“I…” Glade contemplated the situation in his mind for a little while. It was possible that Nathariel was trying to trap him, but…truly, if the God-heir had wanted him dead, he’d have been a pile of ash a few weeks ago. “I will come. But…I do not know the way through the Chambers, and I am not equipped.”
“You didn’t suppose that a God-heir like me would be willing to bring you through, did you? We’re going over the top. A direct, fast route.”
“But the volcanoes—”
“You don’t suppose that I’ve gotten skilled at dodging eruptions, after living here for centuries? Or that I couldn’t hold their power at bay long enough to pass?”
“Well…I—”
“Just hop on the horse, boy.”