Tossing the flask aside, I grabbed the end of the ratty strip of cloth wound around my weapon and stripped it off, letting it slide to the ground. A plain hardened leather scabbard greeted me, but my eyes immediately found the crest engraved on the plain pommel. I glared at the crest, hesitated, then drew the sword revealing blue tinted steel, broken promises, and painful memories. Still, the thing was nothing if not practical.
Rhythmic pounding jarred me out of my daze and I looked up to see the Brute sprinting across the remaining distance to the caravan, dragging a sword that may as well have been a steel slab. With no time for fancy tricks with runes, I leapt out to meet it.
The Brute had already swung its slab in a viscous overhead strike, intending to flatten me even before I landed. I reached out to the Flow with intent and willpower and nudged the current to the side. As the weapon tore past me, whipping up my hair and clothes in a whirlwind, I invested power into my fist and drove it into the Brute’s chitinous torso.
It stumbled back a few steps from the impact, its sword digging a furrow in the dirt as it dragged along, and I followed with a precise slice at its exposed leg. The Brute’s chitin split in a long, clean line, and dark ichor seeped out of the wound.
I pushed my advantage, stepping further into the Ilfid’s wounded side, but the Brute ignored the wound and wrenching its sword out of the ground at my head in a grotesque display of raw power. I tried to nudge it further up with the Flow but met resistance, so I honed my willpower to a razor edge and sliced through it like a tailor’s shears through linen. The steel slab flew over my head by a hair’s breadth, probably taking hair with it as it passed. I jumped away to give myself some breathing room.
Two close calls in the span of a few seconds, that’s why Brutes were interesting. They might be the dumbest caste of Ilfid, but they had incredible willpower, almost strong enough to overcome my influence in the Flow if I let my concentrations slip.
We circled each other for a few breaths and then I feinted, waiting for the massive Ilfid to shift its weight, then I rushed in and viciously chopped again at the injured leg, taking another chunk of chitin plate and widening the gash.
Too late I realized that I’d been drawn in myself as the Brute brought its slab of a sword up in an underhand swipe. I tried to deflect it with the Flow, but the Brute had hardened its resolve and it brushed my sloppy attempt aside like a hovering housefly. Somehow managing to wrench my body away, I still spun around as the Brute’s weapon winged me and knocked me away. I stumbled, pain blossoming in my shoulder as my arm went limp. The Ilfid followed me, not willing to give up its advantage as it brought around another air splitting strike.
I poured almost all my remaining power into my numb arm, focusing on my hand. Hardening my willpower into an impenetrable wall, I shaped the power with my intent, flattened my hand, and forcefully slapped away the Brute’s incoming sword.
Crunching noises reverberated through my arm, bones shifting around from the aftershocks of the impact. I clenched my teeth, holding in a scream. A careless mistake. Time to rely on my own currents instead.
I reached for the Flow once again, but instead of reaching for others, I reached for my own, investing what little power I had left into myself and my sword. Carrying my limp arm like so much baggage, I rushed in, allowing the currents to carry me. I danced through multiple attacks, my empowered sword applying its own tax as new, deeper injuries split the Brute’s amor.
The Brute finally lost patience and swung its sword in frantic, unaimed sweeps and I took the opportunity to focus the week leg, finally chopping through the chitin enough that the leg collapse under its own weight
The Brute screeched as it tumbled to the ground, rattling my brain. I stumbled but regained my balance and backed away as the Ilfid thrashed, effectively immobilized.
I took a second to catch my breath. Brutes really were the most interesting of the Ilfid. Their single-minded purpose granted them incredible willpower, often making run-of-the mill magic ineffective against them. However, once they were downed, they weren’t much of a threat as long as you weren’t too close.
I cradled my shattered arm, taking deep breaths. I tossed my sword in the dirt near the scabbard then reached out into the air and drew an intricate rune, taking great care to fill in the details, unlike my normal slapdash tricks.
Popular belief would tell you that properly shaped and completed runes were the most important thing in magic, but that only told part of the story. Willpower and intent were far more important and could produce magic without runes at all, with sufficient investment of power and focus. But for someone who had just wrung themselves dry, drawing a perfect rune meant needing minimum power investment.
After triple checking my work, I bent down to pick up a small stone from the ground and backed away to give myself more room. I gauged the angle and distance, then chucked the rock through the rune at the Brute. The rock sailed through the air and bounced harmlessly off the thick chitin plates of the Ilfid, but before it could hit the ground a great whomp sounded out. Where the stone had struck, the thick armor imploded, driving the Ilfid’s entire torso into the ground like it had been struck by a enormous spear.
Despite the horrific wound, the creature continued to struggle, but settled as the rest of its body lost function. I briefly pitied the creature, but then remembered how they treated humans. Or each other for that matter. Ilfid weren’t evil, but they weren’t good either.
I spit off to the side and turned to survey the line of wagons, looking for any other interesting happenings. I flinched as I tried to lift my disabled arm, the pain more apparent now that I didn’t have anything else to focus on.
Surveying the caravan further up the road, it looked like another Brute had emerged from the forest. Judging by the gaggle of guards surrounding it and how many of those were downed, they had themselves a tough time of it. Some of the guards closest to me stood still, staring at the dead Brute a few spans away from me, and then at me with wide eyes. Well, that meant nothing but trouble for me.
Damn Kan’on, and damn me too. I shouldn’t have let his antics get me riled up. Looking down the caravan, the trail of dismembered Ilfid worker bodies led my gaze to the handsome pain in my ass walking sedately toward me, uninjured and as pretty as if he had artfully fallen out of bed. I almost scooped up some dirt to throw at him but managed to restrain myself. Barely.
“You’ve let yourself be injured,” Kan’on said as he approached. “Careless. What am I meant to learn from you? Your tricks, as you call them? I can’t help but wonder if it’s worth my time to stay here.”
I clenched my teeth, ready to let lay into him, but just let out of puff of air instead.
“Well, whatever. It’s not like it was my idea for you to chase me down and tell me you’re my new student. I think I have an idea what that old man wants from me anyway. There is at least one thing I can teach you.”
Kan’on didn’t respond, just gave me a skeptical look before turning to survey the defeated Brute.
“I’m surprised that a Brute emerged from the Labyrinth. Something must have happened to make them desperate. There are plenty of things down there for them to fight, why come now?” Kan’on asked.
Before I could reply familiar clomping echoed down the road through the wagons as a horse trotted up with Clyde perched in the saddle, sword unused, armor unblemished and as blinding as ever. He stopped a fair distance away, surveying the aftermath of my fight with the Ilfid’s warrior caste. His face paled at the sight of Brute’s injuries, but when his gaze settled on my sword in the dirt he blanched and looked at me with a complex expression.
Damn.
“Jigs up. There goes my easy ride.”
“Ardashir the Cursed,” Clyde muttered, then blanched again at his own words.
“It’s Dash these days, and if we’re using made-up titles, why not Dash the Dashing? Or maybe Dash the Handsome Wanderer?”
Clyde gave an abbreviated bow, looking uncertain whether he should or not. Eyes wide with a hint of fear, he kicked his horse into a gallop and took off toward the front of the caravan.
“Shit,” I said eloquently. Turning to Kan’on I said, “Can you get that sword for me? Yes, the cloth too. I need to sit and recover for a minute.”
As Kan’on rolled his eyes and bent to pick up my belongings out of the dust, I gingerly made my way back to our wagon where I found Jass, lounging in the driver’s seat, spear propped up on his shoulder, sipping from one of my flasks. I heaved myself into the seat next to him, jolting my arm and shoulder in the process. I let things settled down as I took a few deep breaths.
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Jass took another sip before offering the flask to me. He looked calm, no tension in his eyes or body. I couldn’t tell if it was the alcohol or not, but either way it struck me as odd. Most people would be a little jumpy if a Brute had charged their wagon.
The booze burned its way down my throat, and I slumped back in the uncomfortable seat, content to just exist for a few minutes because the deep ones knew that things were going to get awkward soon.
“You should get that looked at,” Jass said, eyeballing my mangled arm.
“I’ll be fine, just need a bit to get some energy back.”
Jass shrugged and snagged the flask out of my hand before taking another sip. A clattering in the wagon bed drew my attention and I turned to see that Kan’on had thrown my sword, scabbard, and binding into the bed in a pile. I scowled but realized it didn’t matter, I hated the damned thing anyway. Kan’on hopped in and settled down next to a strapped down pile of bundled up goods.
“You want me to heal that for you?” Kan’on asked.
My knee-jerk response was denial. I didn’t normally trust anybody to do any healing on me except for me but knowing Kan’on’s pedigree softened my stance. I stole back my flask from Jass before climbing into the back, easing myself into place across from Kan’on.
“Let’s get it over with, then.” I took a long pull. Even the best healing experience could be rocky.
As long as nothing was missing, like bones, flesh, or body parts, healing wasn’t a big deal. Most people who could use magic could heal minor wounds, and even major injuries. What set people apart was how they went about it. If you wanted to split a log, you could do it in one shot with an axe to get it over with, or if you were particularly masochistic, you could do it with a saw.
Kan’on was a saw. I could tell by the rune he’d half-finished drawing in the air next to me. As he worked on it, the details made it clear that this wasn’t going to be a quick process and the part that was supposed to numb the injury looked like it had been tacked on as an afterthought.
Before I could edge away and do it myself, Kan’on clapped me on the good shoulder which nudge my injured one into the hovering rune. The pain instantly faded away, but I could still feel all the broken bits and pieces slowly grinding their way back into place.
I leaned back, teeth on edge as the sensations of meat and bones shifting around spread through my whole arm. Despite the lazy numbing component, it was probably better this way. Energy for healing had to come from somewhere, and after the fight my reserves felt like a bone dry, cracked desert. The slow way allowed my body to catch up instead of juicing me like a piece of fruit. The meaty sensations faded into the background as I focused on letting the process do its thing.
After a time, I looked up to the front of the wagon and said,“Jass. We’re about to get a visit from the caravan master and his sparkling flunky. Might want to make yourself scarce if you want to avoid getting dragged into what will no doubt be a troublesome conversation.”
“Oh look, it appears that the horses are in need of inspection. And it looks like Bert is having trouble with his cargo.” He set his spear aside, jumped down, and set off for his ‘inspection.’
“I like him,” Kan’on said with a rare smile, “Let’s steal him when we leave the caravan.”
“We can’t go stealing people, then we’d be just as bad as the bugs.”
Kan’on rolled his eyes and settled back down into his original position, leaning against the wagon’s rail with his sword propped up against his chest. I settled in too, taking the occasion swig from my flask to offset the ongoing healing.
A team of caravan guards with a healer came by checking for injured, but upon quick inspection didn’t interfere with Kan’on’s efforts. The sounds of repairs, cargo reshuffling, and animals filled the air, lulling me into a state of calm acceptance, if not relaxation.
Not long after, hooves clattering down the road roused me from my reverie. From the sound of it, multiple horses. I sighed and moved to sit next to Kan’on as the horses approached the wagon.
The man out front, who I recognized as the caravan master I’d only seen at a distance since I’d signed on, was clothed head to foot in an understated, yet expensive outfit, with elaborate brigandine armor and a brocade overcoat to round it out. The man in question slowed his horse and approached cautiously, leaving all but Clyde and an unknown man in dark, almost black, brigandine armor, head and face hidden behind a scarf and hood.
I immediately named this one Mr. Black, though based on his height and build it might be Ms. Black. Ms. Black made a fair effort to contain her presence, but her willpower was shaky at best. Not a bodyguard then, maybe something more sinister?
“Count Orleander. What a pleasure to see you on this fine sunny day,” I said, not bothering to move an inch or offer a bow.
“I was surprised to be informed that someone resembling a certain missing Duke managed to get himself hired into my guard corps, masquerading as a drunken layabout, Your Grace.” He paused, examining my injuries, and Kan’on next to me. “I would have offered you more pleasant accommodations if you had made yourself known to me,” he said with a stiff and oh-so-proper bow.
Interesting. My status and its cause were well known stories, yet he didn’t immediately toss me out of his service, however temporary a guard contract was. He was either unconcerned with the stories surrounding my fall, or he wanted something. Maybe both.
“None of that ‘Your Grace’ business, it’s just Dash these days, and the manner in which you find me is my preferred state.”
Orleander pursed his lips in distaste. His eyes flickered between me and Kan’on, a hint of confusion in his eyes. He then briefly focused his attention on the sword laying in a heap on the wagon bed and nodded to himself, as if in confirmation.
“You have been absent from your seat as Duke for nearly 20 years, but you are still a Duke, nonetheless. It would be remiss of me to ignore the proper forms. However, I will settle for simply calling you by your given name, Ardashir, if you would allow it. Dash is...” He didn’t finish his sentence but couldn’t help but wave his hand a little as if shooing away something distasteful buzzing around him.
Sighing, I nodded. As frustrating as it could be to deal with the pointless formality, there was no point in antagonizing the man, especially since he didn’t appear to want to get rid of me. Yet.
“I recognize your companion’s manner of dress and sword. I believe you are from one of the sects, am I correct?” he asked Kan’on.
“I am Kan’on of the Thousand Isles, Successor to Skyreach Pinnacle, and lately student of Ardashir Altandran. It is a pleasure to meet you Count Orleander.”
Clyde’s eyes went as round as full moons, while Orleander only showed his surprise for an instant before he masked his feelings behind a stoic expression. Ms. Black showed no reaction at all, body still and face hidden, but a wave in the Flow betrayed her reaction.
I gave Kan’on a quirked side eye. The bastard knew how to pluck the right strings with the nobles. His exotic origins would have already made him the focus of attention, the Thousand Isles was a mysterious place on the edge of the world that kept to themselves, but being the successor to a major cultivation sect put his status above that of a Count. At least on paper. I smirked at the resulting awkward silence and put the flask to my lips for a quick pull.
Clyde’s outraged eyes flew to the flask in my hand, then to my eyes watching him. He quickly averted his gaze, letting the contraband alcohol go unremarked. I grinned, rubbing it in. If I had to endure all the nonsense that came with exposing myself, then I would drink to my heart’s content.
“Clyde tells me that you defeated an Ilfid Brute. The presence of one of that caste is concerning, to say the least. I can’t remember the last time I’ve even seen a report of a sighting, let alone seen one. You seem to live up to your reputation though. A reward is in order, obviously, for preventing even more loss than we have already, both in goods and life.”
“There’s no need for a reward Orleander. We are, after all, under your employment. We did our duty. Isn’t that right Kan’on?”
“That is correct. It would be greedy of us to accept a reward in exchange for the lives of our fellows.”
Count Orleander’s pained expression brought waves of joy to my heart. No way was I going to be put in a position to owe the man anything. To a man like him, it didn’t matter that we killed the Brute to earn it, he would only see it as a way to buy a favor that he would hold over us forever.
“As you say. However, I cannot have two such as you under my employ as guards, so consider yourselves relieved of duty.” A note of sarcasm crept into his voice. “Since you won’t accept a reward, you will be paying passengers from here on. Consider the death of the Brute as covering the cost of passage. I will arrange to have your pay brought to you. Is there no way I can convince you to accept an invitation to… better accommodations?”
“As I said, this is my preferred state. I’ll be most happy down here in the dirt and dust with the rest of the riff raff.”
“So be it. If you have need, you know where I can be found. Also, I would speak with you about a matter, once we reach our destination.” Without waiting for a response, he wheeled his horse around and kicked it into a canter. Clyde immediately followed, still avoiding looking in my direction.
Ms. Black hung back, staring. I could see a few attempts to probe us emerge into the flow, but even without interfering, they weren’t strong enough to tell her anything useful that she didn’t already know. I just returned her look with a mild look of my own, unimpressed. Next to me, Kan’on let out a soft snort. Finally, Ms. Black guided her horse away, unhurried. Aside from her attempts at masking herself, I felt a sense of familiarity about her, but I couldn’t place it. She probably served me in some capacity at some point, and if I took her heated stare at face value that would make sense.
“The wagons are actually quite clean, all things considered,” Kan’on said.
I couldn’t help but laugh and said, “Not to a man like him. He wouldn’t be caught dead without his little luxuries, even in a caravan.” I took another swig from the flask and squirreled it away in my cubby. “That went much better than expected. I thought this would fall out of control and turn into a big thing. Make no mistake though, he wants something. Very few people are willing to be friendly with me without ulterior motives, especially a noble.”
Standing up proved more difficult than I expected. While the healing rune Kan’on casted had mostly shuffled things back into place, the booze had caught up to me a little. I shuffled around, placing my pack and extra clothes as a pillow, then laid down.
“What are we doing now? While playing guard was entertaining for a while, I’m still not sure what we’re doing here,” Kan’on said.
“I’m traveling to Dormar chasing a rumor. There is something there that might help me.”
“Your curse. So, it’s true then, you really are under a curse?”
“You think I would be travelling for twenty years of my own volition?
“How does it work then? I’ve seen no evidence of any curse since I’ve found you.”
“Can’t stop for long. Time varies. Sometimes a few hours, sometimes a few weeks, but I’m always forced to move on. I don’t know why. Now shut up and let me rest my eyes for a bit. We’ll be sitting here stopped until the caravan fixes itself up and I want to take full advantage.”
“This rumor you’re chasing is something that would lift it?”
I didn’t answer and shut my eyes, trying to block out the noise of the recovering caravan and Kan’on’s disgruntled mumbling.