The armor rubbed me in places I’d long forgotten existed. I jumped up and down and swung my body in odd ways, but the armor didn’t produce a single squeak or clang, the old inscribed glyphs doing their job. Glyphs were a handy thing, if expensive both to use and to buy. They required a constant drain on my power to keep them active.

Before my great mistake, when I still had a family and land to manage, I had been weak. My capacity for power had been middle of the road and given how rich I was, glyphs had been the logical gap closer. Not that a Duke had a need to be a great warrior, but I led soldiers into battle, so I had at least needed to be capable, if not great. Of course, that had all changed when a Deep God had taken my soul and wrung it out like a scummy dish cloth, giving me the sight of the Flow that allowed me to become something more… and something less.

All that to say that Ms. Black wasn’t the only one running around using glyphs. They wouldn’t be useful to me in a battle anymore, but for sneaking around in perfect silence while wearing a full set of deepsteel plate armor, they sure did the trick.

Count Orleander and Clyde bustled about outside, shouting orders at an unruly mob of caravan drivers and guards, trying to get everything turned around and ready to head back into Dellun Hollow. I walked out of the pavilion carrying my now-unwrapped sword at my side and fully armored in deepsteel, the deep blue burnished surface a testament to its quality and expense. It was a monument to my own former excess wealth, as a Duke, a relic that represented everything I’d come to hate. At least it served a purpose.

Kan’on stood alone off to the side of the pavilion, staring at nothing, apparently focusing his attention inward. I could feel the results of applying my lessons in the currents connecting him to the world.

“I see that you’re still practicing. I can feel it too.”

Kan’on took his time pulling his attention back from wherever it had been. “At first, you told me that I had weak will, but I don’t think that’s true. It’s not that I had weak will, it’s that I didn’t know that there could be something like a concrete manifestation of will, at least not in the way I’ve started to see.”

“Willpower is everything,” I said. “And not in a metaphorical way. Each conscious decision needs to be an exercise of control through willpower, whether it has to do with magic or not. Only when they are one and the same will this be reflected in the Flow as an extension of your mind.”

“Is that why you have me break my fingers?”

“Exactly. It requires both a conscious decision and an act of great willpower at the same time. And it’s easy to fix, of course.”

“I see. Only when decision and will are the same…” Kan’on drifted away back to his thoughts, like a small boat on still lake.

I let him be. For someone like him, too much explanation just hurt in the long run. He needed to figure out the rest himself until he hit another roadblock, then it would be back to broken fingers.

The noise of the caravan tore my attention away from thoughts of teaching monsters to be more monstrous. The tents came down surprisingly fast, the camp loaded up and the animals hitched. Fast and efficient, if chaotic. Orleander did know how to run a camp.

As the caravan finalized its preparations, I arranged for a couple of horses for me and Kan’on. Trudging around in this armor would be a pain in the ass but would be worth it when fighting off waves of Carvers. The Inculids had me worried though. How did one fight mind controllers?

###

We approached Baron Palambre’s manor trampling mud everywhere we went. It covered every conceivable surface and almost made me regret allowing Kan’on to convince me to stay. The horses especially took issue, flinging the sticky muck in all directions.

The manor, if it could claim that title at all, was anything but luxurious. Had I been my previous self, it would have bordered on unacceptable. Describing the sprawling wooden construction as rustic would be an understatement, but just the sight of it brought to mind cozy fur rugs in front of crackling fires. I would probably classify it as a step up from the austere stone construction that the nobility of the central kingdom liked to use.

We’d left the caravan in the center of town to re-settle itself, pulling the wagons around in a classic defensive circle in the central promenade. Jass had elected to stay and help out despite my repeated invitations.

“I’ll be here, practicing. Let me know if you need anything, or if we’re fighting, otherwise, leave me alone.” Kan’on walked off to the other side of the courtyard and sat in a shaded area. He closed his eyes and went dead to the world.

That was the problem with being raised in a world-renowned martial arts school isolated in the mountains from the rest of the civilization, you lost sight of what it meant to be a part of the world. On the other hand, he was a genius of singular focus who would one day be a terrifying monster. I let him be.

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Orleander and Ms. Black dismounted next to me, while Clyde remained mounted. He would see to the disposition of the Counts guard force before joining us.

The Baron emerged to greet us, giving me a deep bow in the process. I rolled my eyes, it appeared someone already told him who I was. Well, from his perspective he did his duty, observing the forms, even if to a discount Duke like me. I gave a short bow in return. If I was going to demand the authority of a Duke, I could at least do the bare minimum to play the part.

“Let’s not continue with the bowing and such. I don’t have the patience to deal with it and all the ‘Your Grace’ nonsense after all this time. Just call me Dash, and let’s get to work.”

The Baron rose from his bow, looking a little perturbed, but covering for it smoothly by sweeping his arm toward the entrance to the manor. The undercurrent of uncertainty I sensed from the man told me that he had already made the connection to the rumors and tragedy connected to me. That would be something to talk about later.

“I have prepared a room so that we may have a space to make plans.”

“Have you sent out scouts and recalled all of your men at arms?” I asked, following him through the timber hallways of his home. The place really did have a warm feel to it. I could get used to the country lord lifestyle.

“Yes, the scouts are out searching in the direction the man you sent indicated might be the location of the Labyrinth entrance. It will take a while for my men to gather from the surroundings, but they will be here soon.”

We arrived at a large room with maps laid out on the large table surrounded by leather upholstered chairs. Lamps lit the space with a warm glow and the smell of their oily fuel mixed with that of lumber to produce a surprisingly welcome ambiance.

“I’ll need you to gather volunteers from the townsfolk, and perhaps the men at arms, to build some defenses. Building any kind of wall or palisade is a good for the long term but Carvers will just run right over it. So, I’m thinking we construct an encirclement of spikes, like giant wood caltrops along the edge of the town facing north, then as much as the rest of the town as we can manage. The point is to slow them down enough for our fighters to have an advantage.”

We made plans for how to disposition the men. I didn’t have a lot to work with, this sleepy little town didn’t have a standing army, it wasn’t needed. There were enough fighting men to maintain order and control the surrounding territory, and that’s it. It would have to be enough, somehow.

“The Carvers are one thing. They are a known quantity. It’s the Inculids I’m worried about. I don’t know what to expect, but according to the stories I know about them, they’ll have dragged more than Carvers along their path to the surface.”

“I’ve not heard of these creatures, what are they capable of?” Palambre asked.

“It’s only a guess that it’s the Inculids, I don’t know for sure. They’re bad news though. True Deep Ones. The stories often call them The Collectors because they collect other creatures as slaves. One thing for sure is that they are capable of mind control, and the stories say that even their normal soldiers are extremely dangerous, physically. The stories say that when they move within the Labyrinth, they displace everything in their path, or force it into servitude.”

I reached for my cubby to fish out a flask. I took a small sip, replaced the cap, and tucked it away. Without the incessant pain in the back of my mind, I found myself reluctant to partake deeply. Besides, I needed to keep a clear head, at least while making life or death plans.

“Displace everything in their path. Like Ilfid, for instance?” Count Orleander said.

Confused, I raised an eyebrow at the Count, waiting for clarification.

“The Ilfid attack on the way here. They are not known for being so overtly hostile, isn’t that correct? They also appeared to be quite desperate, in my opinion.”

“Shit.” It made sense. Ilfid Brutes were vanishingly rare on the surface under normal circumstances. The timing was too perfect for it to be a coincidence. “I guess we should expect Ilfid to be thrown at us, and maybe even Brutes, depths forbid. If Brutes show up, I’ll have to take the field, probably Kan’on and Ms. Black too.”

We continued to discuss the possibilities, but it mostly amounted to speculation. We were working with a limited information puzzle and at some point, a decision needed to be made and followed through.

Reports from the scouts trickled in, confirming the location of the entrance to be near the origin of the landslide that took out the road. Along with the location, they reported a ton of evidence of Carvers, but hadn’t spotted any. It made sense, Carvers were known to prefer the night and twilight hours.

I adjourned the meeting. We could only speculate so much before talking ourselves in circles. Taking a walk around the estate ground, I spotted Kan’on sitting in almost the exact same position I left him in on the far side of the courtyard. He emitted a sharp intent into the Flow.

The intent was there, but it was almost undirected, lacking the will that would drive it through the Flow. Still, it was a good sign because it meant that the Flow reacted to him directly, and not as a reaction to the normal rune structures that most magicians relied on, a degree of separation that someone at the pinnacle of power couldn’t afford.

I grunted in frustration. The man was a genius, no argument from me, and it frustrated me to see him accomplish something so quickly that took me many years of direct access to the Flow to achieve, but I felt a touch of pride for him anyway.

I spent the rest of the afternoon pacing around the estate, waiting for the other shoe to drop, agonizing over my newfound freedom from the curse and when that would be taken away from me.

They, whoever ‘they’ were, liked to say that ‘no news is good news’, but I disagreed. No news meant someone somewhere had more time to plot, and with no new information coming from the scouts, it meant that all I could do was sit and wait unless I wanted to risk Orleander and the Baron’s men in an attack on the entrance. Through a natural choke point into an unknown number and type of enemy. No thanks.

Eventually, I settled down in the manor, isolated in a room given to me by the Baron. They all had their orders for now, nothing short of a sighting of enemy movement or an actual attack would change anything. It was a waiting game, waiting to see if they left us alone long enough to build out our defenses or if it was going to be a pitched battle.

I pulled out a flask from my cubby, but didn’t drink, just set it on the table in front of me and stared at it. Idle hands were dangerous, especially so for me. I got up and paced, then eventually found a room with a cozy fireplace and settled down to wait out the night.