> The policy failures of the expansionist and reclaimist factions in the 2nd Century After Fall meant a resurgent doctrine of isolationism that holds sway to this day. The dramatic shift in political will towards anything but the most cursory exploitation of the wilds led to a sudden decrease in the demand for martially viable cards.
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> The tensions that arose from those early troubled days—when soldiers found themselves not just purposeless, but unwanted—eventually led to the creation of the Censure. The Censure was no exception to the general rule of major policies producing unintended side-effects, in this case the precipitous drop in martial capacity in the baseline population.
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> It quickly became clear that the nobility alone were insufficient to provide for the necessary protective demands of the day. Bandits, dangerous encroachments from the wilds, and public unrest all became commonplace. But, even with this unmet need, widespread allowance of martial cards remained unpopular.
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> It was in this context that the traditions that produce the men and women whom make up the closest retainers of the nobility appeared...
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> ----------------------------------------
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> ...Bondsmen and bondswomen are raised from birth to their purpose and introduced to their charges at a young age, ideally at a time when close attachment occurs. They will be lifelong companions, sometimes advisors, and always protectors. They eschew family to ensure their loyalties are strictly limited to their masters.
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> They are the sole caste permitted martially potent cards outside of the nobility and as such hold unparalleled trust. It is no surprise that over time many of their roles have expanded beyond simple bodyguard duties into other arenas, oftentimes acting in the stead of nobles whenever they are called upon. Their duties take many forms; serving as enforcers of justice, culling dangers that approach civilization, and even taking on administrative duties.
>
> Excerpt. History of the Bonded.
“Obviously, the boy is lying,” Vasala interjected. “Twice his cards manage to overcome foes of such strength? I think not.”
She glanced quickly at Calre, hoping to see some acknowledgement of her perceptive incredulity, but to her dismay his expression remained impassive.
‘Of course he won’t be impressed by just that, you’re being a stupid child. I need to reach further than the obvious.’
“He has the cards he described, undoubtedly ready to display at our convenience and allay suspicion. But mark me, there’s more he failed to disclose. By the time we return to Calamut, he’ll have fled to avoid a truth-seeker. If anything, this deception just shows how dangerous he really is,” said Vasala.
A part of her felt a twinge at the perhaps excessive framing she was developing for the boy but that concern came second to the much more honed attention she set on Calre’s face.
They had spent a fortnight at least on this outing together and, while Calre had been unfailingly charming, there were times when she couldn’t avoid feeling the ghost of condescension from him. Her place by his side was not confirmed and she felt it likely he wouldn’t pursue a true courtship unless he could see her as an equal.
“What do you think, Grant? Is he a liar and a danger?” Calre asked, and Vasala stamped down on the flinch she felt at his partial dismissal of her.
“I agree it is possible... but with the utmost respect to the Lady Vasala,” Grant nodded at her with perfect manners, “I think he was truthful. When I came upon him... I saw signs of the tremble, signs difficult to counterfeit. If he was as hardened as the lady thinks, this I would not expect.”
Vasala could feel herself growing flush.
‘Damn you bondsman, know your place! It’s only a boy. One who’s already lied once!’ she thought, but kept her tongue in check and rallied a counterargument.
“All that proves is that he is freshly come to his cards, not that they lack danger! He took part in the lie, all of them did, for the slaying of the Blackthrive! Why the deception if there was not more to hide?”
“Perhaps for fear of nobles dispensing justice without discernment,” Calre dryly replied.
“That’s not wha-” Vasala cut herself off. She was right! But he wouldn’t listen to her impassioned words, she’d learned that lesson already. Besides, she wasn’t barbaric, she wasn’t advocating for summary execution, just justice.
“But you have reminded me, I am still obligated for that same slaying, Jam never came to collect.”
“You’re going to reward him?! He’ll simply go without any intervention?” Vasala could not suppress her aghast tone.
“I have a duty, Vas.”
“And so do I! He will return to Calamut, my city. There is more than just your obligation.”
She realized that had gone too far, and looked away to await his reprimand. But when it didn’t come, she glanced up to see a thoughtful look on his face instead.
“You have a reasonable claim there Vas; it was unfair of me to not consider your perspective and obligations to your city.”
Vasala confined her thrill down to a demure smile.
“Well, I’m sure we can determine some kind of compromise...”
‘Yes yes yes! Let’s see Myala or Quilala do that! This is why he chose me! Because I can stand with him, not just be some simpering bitch!’
Calre was taking on that distant look he carried when he drew on his cards, the one that always preceded some brilliant argument or bizarrely obscure piece of knowledge. She had never once managed to induce him to do so, until now.
“I believe I have a solution that will satisfy both of our duties,” Calre suddenly spoke, “Consider thus: the Hiver settlement must be destroyed, and promptly. The three of us will venture in with the boy to pursue this end. If he does possess any cards of martial capacity, they will undoubtedly be expressed out of necessity. We will get an honest answer from him and deliver a modest rebuke for the deception. Are there any objections?”
Vasala froze, that wasn’t a solution she anticipated, and it seemed like a terrible idea. But she couldn’t see any immediate arguments against it that didn’t contradict herself. When Grant spoke she felt a surge of relief.
“Cal, I think the experience might be a bit much for the boy.”
“Nonsense! He’ll be perfectly safe between the three of us. It will only give the impression of danger, no significant risk at all.”
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They would be leaving shortly to seek out the Hive and destroy its queen.
The few minutes he'd had with Jam were enough to recount Stroph and Issaiah's whereabouts, an explanation that received a sigh of relief and a rueful head shake with some muttering about a "wily old fox", but any further conversation had been interrupted when Grant, looking grave, informed them of the noble's plans for Jack.
The time he had remaining was a scramble of preparation. He changed out of the near ruined clothes he’d been wearing and cleaned himself as well as he could with a damp rag.
The methodical act of cleansing himself helped settle his mind. He’d dived a little too deep into his lie, drawing on the memories of the group the umbrar had slaughtered.
‘Mother always told Syra to find the truths in her own life that helped her identify with a role, and draw them out... But this may take too much from me.’
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
Sensing Jack’s disquiet, Jam did his best to reassure him.
“It’s a trial of danger. Get through it without your martial cards and you’re as good as cleared. Only draw on them if you need to save yourself.”
“But I don’t have any martial cards, the umbrar was mostly luck.”
“You don’t?” Jam seemed surprised, “...Well, not using them will be easy then. Stay close to the bondsman, he seemed dissatisfied with this course and will have the strongest deck for the protection of others.”
Then it was time. The nobles were already mounted, awaiting only Jack’s arrival.
From looking at them he wouldn’t know they had engaged in hard fighting less than an hour ago. Calre maintained his distant look, glancing at Jack’s approach with not even a flicker of acknowledgement. Vasala imitated her beau, with a good deal less proficiency—spoiled by her less than surreptitious glances at Calre.
But before Jack met them a pair of voices interrupted his approach.
“Wait! Wait!”
The hunter-twins—Rudy and Judy—were running up, awkwardly competing with each other to be the first to present a spear to Jack—waylaid by their mutual unwillingness to release their respective grips.
“Now we know we said-,” Rudy started.
“-daggers, but we had the thought-,” Judy interrupted.
“-‘now Jack’s had a bit more success with a’-oof” Rudy’s attempt to reclaim the thread of discourse was stymied by a sisterly elbow to the gut.
“It’s rude to interrupt Rude-y,” Judy rebuked, “now where was I? Oh yes. You had some great success with a spear, and you’re so weedy being as far away from the thing you want dead is rather essential, but we couldn’t talk about it with you because we were all pretending you hadn’t killed the umbrar-,” she paused to take a breath.
“-and besides, who needs two daggers anyway?” Rudy seized his chance, “so we made you a spear and one dagger instead.”
Knowing not to push his luck, Rudy finished his turn quickly and jerked the spear out of Judy’s grip to present it to Jack, along with a sheathed dagger he materialized from his person.
Jack accepted the weapons gratefully, glancing at the nobles for any objections but none were raised.
‘Doesn’t exactly fit my ‘lucky novice’ narrative, but I’ll take what protection I can get.’
Jack thanked the twins, who already seemed at the precipice of a renewed squabble, and continued onward to Grant.
“Know how to use that thing?” Grant asked as he pulled Jack up alongside him.
Jack shook his head, “Anything you can teach me?”
Grant didn’t respond, if anything he stiffened at the question.
“S-sorry, I shouldn’t have asked,” Jack said into the silence.
‘You’re grieving a lost friend, and afraid for your future, not looking for combat tips! Keep character!’
The nobles set out in their nimbles soon after that, with Jack and Grant following.
After his overstep Jack committed to remaining quiet and avoiding any more offences.
They had been riding for several minutes when Grant broke the tension.
“I’ll teach you the spear.”
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A couple of hours after they set out Grant called a halt. He dismounted smoothly and crouched low to examine the ground.
“The Hivers regrouped here,” Grant shifted grasses and peered at the earth following no logic Jack could follow, “there’s old marks and new ones. They coalesce when they need to coordinate. This is where they would have grouped before their assault, and then where they retreated to in disarray.”
Grant stood and surveyed the landscape around them with care, deliberately turning his whole body slowly to encompass the entire horizon before them.
“And then they scattered. There’s a dozen trails leading out and in. Only one of them will lead us true.”
Grant stood and went to his saddlebags with purpose, pulling out a camp shovel after a moment.
“Why do Hivers bury their waste? No library Cal, work it out,” Grant called over his shoulder before beginning to dig small holes haphazardly around the site.
Calre look of general boredom shifted to one of mild curiosity at Grant’s prompting.
“I don’t need to check,” Calre replied, “It’s well known that their feces is a rich fertilizer. They were engineered to create settlements ready for human habitation. That includes land clearing and field preparation, in which they bury their waste for obvious reasons. What’s more interesting is the mechanism by which they produce the fertilizing elements, and their symbiotic interaction with detrivores, which I can see squirming from here, but I doubt anyone here cares to learn the wonders of Hiver digestion and metabolism.”
“A scholarly answer,” Grant responded with a grunt, “Correct technically. But lacking insight. Why would they bother to bury here, far from any prepared field?”
“Instinctual behaviour isn’t so picky, but you’re hinting at something else aren’t you?” Calre paused to consider the question, but it wasn’t more than a moment later that he chimed up, “They’re avoiding trackers, is that what you’re implying?”
“Correct. But disqualified for referencing the library,” Grant said pointedly.
Calre, to Jack’s surprise, pouted playfully with his reply. “I was so quick, I thought you wouldn’t notice.”
Grant merely smirked before continuing.
“And now my final question. Why am I digging?”
“Coprophagic impulse,” an instant reply from Calre.
“Wrong. Deeply wrong. Let’s open the question up then, as Lord Calre has clearly given up.”
Vasala had been watching their antics with polite amusement but shook her head when Grant turned his attention to her.
“The lady abstains. Fair enough. I shall explai-”
“You forgot someone,” Calre interrupted, “perhaps our guest would like to offer an answer?”
Grant paused in his digging to look to Jack, who’d sat silently atop the nimble and watched the exchange without expression.
“Not so fair to put him on the spot when this is the first of my ranging lessons he’s encountered. You, however, have no such excuse.”
But Jack had been watching Grant’s digging closely, and listening to the hints he’d been dropping in his lecture.
“You’re determining how far the Hive site is from here," Jack answered without a second thought.
Silence reigned.
Too late Jack realized his mistake. The exhaustion of the day had caught up with him, and self-control had slipped from his grip.
Grant was the one to finally speak, stopping that moment from cruelly dragging on.
“And how... is my digging determining that distance?”
Jack’s mind raced, pretending at a lucky guess now would only look evasive. Best to downplay the reasoning, the simpler it seems the better.
“W-well, you said the Hivers met here. But they took different paths to get here, that makes sense—otherwise there would be an easy route to follow back to their hive. So they all arrived at different times, coming from all different directions, is that right? It seemed like that was what you were saying.”
Grant nodded and gestured for him to continue.
Jack swallowed nervously, glancing at the silent nobles before continuing.
“You’re checking the age of the different waste holes... The oldest waste came from the first arrivals, the ones that came directly from the Hive...” Jack paused.
‘This next leap they wouldn’t expect me to see. Can I admit it? No. This is where I bail.’
“...I don’t know. I spoke before I thought it through. That just tells you how long ago they got here, not when they started travelling,” Jack finished lamely, feigning contrition and embarrassment.
Vasala snorted rudely, already losing interest in him. Calre, similarly, returned his attention to Grant after offering a wan smile.
Just as Jack had hoped.
What he’d held back was a deduction based on the nature of Hivers that he was beginning to understand. Grant had told him how simple the creatures were when alone. They seemed crude enough that Jack doubted they could be expected to lay false trails, let alone to navigate the wilderness competently; and yet they all managed to meet at the same location.
Jack could picture it readily, a spray of trajectories extending from a central node and then converging on a distant point. Some moved directly to their destination, arriving promptly; others took a long, curving path, shifting minutely but consistently in a smooth arc.
If one knew the pattern of those arcs, the difference in time it took for the earliest and latest arrivals would tell you how long they had travelled. The greater the difference, the longer both their journeys would have been.
Grant confirmed it for him, with a kind and patient tone that reminded Jack most of his best tutors.
“That’s very close. You knew my purpose, even guessed at something like the mechanism. The trick you couldn’t know is in this,” Grant pulled out a small notebook and presented it to his audience, “tables in here tell me how to compare the oldest and freshest waste, and in doing so, tell me the distance from the Hive they originated from. From the samples I’ve seen, our Hive is an eight hour ride from here. Based on the arc we have to search, that’s two days hard riding at most. We’ll camp here and then continue tomorrow.”