Time again passed with a strange cadence thanks to Rieren’s continued use of the Essence-dried Leaves. At least it was pulling a great deal of Essence. She might actually be able to get through the first stage of the Exalted realm before a year passed. After all, with all her recent endeavours, her fame was certainly spreading out and growing.
Rieren wasn’t sure how much time had passed in total had passed when she finally paused for a good while. To be fair, the only reason she had stopped was because the interruption couldn’t be shrugged off.
Oromin had arrived to inform her that they had found a lead to a Banishedborn’s location.
Rieren almost forgot all about her cultivation. She had risen to her feet with a rush at hearing Oromin’s news, some of the acupuncture needles pulling themselves free with a sting. “How in the world did you manage that?”
“It has been over a month since their appearance, Rieren,” he said with a raised eyebrow. “Have you such little faith in the investigators the Clanmistress set upon their trail?”
Rieren had been thrown into the Abyss in the middle of her battle against the Banishedborn. It was a little generous to call it a battle when Essastior would have overpowered her without the presence of Elder Olg, who’d taken on the power of the Dreadflood itself. And even then, they’d barely been able to handle one Banishedborn’s strength. Two was pushing it.
When she had returned to the Mortal Realm, she had learned that both Banishedborn had disappeared after the battle. No one had been sure where he had disappeared to during the middle of the chaotic fight.
All they knew was that at one point, the Dreadflood was no longer fighting. Only leaving the Shatterlands for good.
The second Banishedborn had turned out to be the owner of the Salted Seal tavern of all things. He had kept his presence hidden all this while much like the Avatar who had tried to kill Rieren after the Arisen battle had done.
Afterwards, all trace of the Banishedborn had disappeared from Falstrom.
It had left the entire region on high alert, though. The Clanmistress had immediately ordered a specific group to find out everything they could about the situation. This included figuring out how the Banishedborn had come to be in the Shatterlands, how they insinuated themselves to the point where they were part of the fabric of society without raising any suspicions whatsoever.
And now, they had apparently found their first lead.
“Where are they, then?” Rieren asked.
Oromin made a calming gesture with his hands. “Nothing so exciting, I assure you. We investigated the tavern itself. Specifically, its title, ownership, and so on. Tracing it back, we discovered the previous tavern owner sold it to someone else—presumably this Banishedborn—before retiring to the countryside. We have now discovered his location.”
“It took this long to find one old former tavern owner? Though, I suppose the Banishedborn would have required him to hide himself away. Where is he?”
“To the northeast. I am surprised that he is still within the Shatterlands, to be honest, and that he is even alive. It might have been more prudent to end his life altogether.”
Rieren shook her head. She recalled well how Essastior had gotten along with Batcat. In another world, in a different time, he might have been a friend instead of an enemy. “The Banishedborn are powerful, but not necessarily cruel. It is one of their strengths actually. They are intelligent enough to find other solutions besides crude violence.”
“This sounds more like sentimentality.”
“Or a trap.”
Oromin’s face turned hooded at the possibility. “You wish to accompany, I take it? Despite your… inclination to cultivate as much as you can?”
Rieren nodded. “When do we leave?”
“Immediately, unless you have tremendously pressing business.”
Rieren looked around. She would miss cultivating but then, it didn’t feel like she had been doing it for a month. Her elixir field hadn’t grown much and she was certainly no closer to a breakthrough to the Mid-Exalted realm.
But if it had been about a month since she had begun, then a diversion for a day or two wouldn’t matter. She would be back soon enough.
“Let us go,” Rieren said.
Batcat let loose a happy meow and leaped to its customary spot atop of her head. Without preamble, they left to find a Banishedborn.
----------------------------------------
Oromin had been right. The location they had tracked down the former tavern owner to was quite remote. Rieren wasn’t even sure they were still in the Shatterlands.
They had taken El again. The large Spirit Beast had flown faster than Rieren had ever seen it go. So far, they’d only had to travel short to moderate distances, so El might have been holding itself back. Now, it let loose, zipping through the skies at a pace that required Rieren to hunker down upon its back and lower her profile so she wasn’t blown off.
“We’ve arrived,” Oromin said over the rushing wind.
Rieren barely heard him. She certainly hadn’t been able to make out what exactly he had said, but the fact they were slowing down and descending made it clear what he had meant.
One of the investigators assigned by Avathene greeted them when they landed. He was a swarthy fellow. He reminded Rieren of the pickpockets who had never let her join them back in Lionshard village when she’d been little. Silly memories. They belonged to a life that was barely her own.
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“Greetings, Lord and Lady.” He gave a short, sketchy bow. “The target isn’t far from here, just over the rise in the hovel at the edge of the field.”
“You have not been spotted?” Rieren asked.
“I do not believe so.”
“Good,” Oromin said. “We’ll take it from here. Good work, Ved.”
“Will I leave for Falstrom?”
“Not yet, but eventually, yes. I believe the Clanmistress has another assignment.”
“As ever,” he muttered. “Shall I accompany you for now, then?”
“No, we just need you to keep an eye out. Watch our backs, but from a distance.”
He bowed again, even shorter than before. “I will do so, Lord Oromin. May fortune favour your steps.”
Once he was gone, Oromin led the way in the direction the former tavern owner awaited them. They had landed far enough away that even if their target had been keeping a watch, all he would have seen was a mere speck. Though, that did mean there was a bit of walk before they reached their destination.
“Why do you not cultivate, Lord Oromin?” Rieren asked.
He laughed softly. “Please dispense with the lords. Though, if you wish, I will call you lady.”
“No need. I was only unsure of the formality.”
He looked back at her with an amicable smile. “I see you as a friend, Rieren.” He got a considering look for a moment. “Maybe not a friend I would take to a tavern, but at least, in the sense that I can trust your intentions. That counts for something, I think.”
“It does. It also changes the subject from my query.”
Oromin laughed this time. “Fair enough. I am actually well through the Exalted realm. Much of the month you spent cultivating had me busy with much the same.”
Rierne should have figured that was true. “Forgive my prying, but are you in the Late-Exalted realm, then? Close to breaking through Peak-Exalted?”
“Actually, I am nearly through Peak-Exalted. Perhaps a month or two more, and then I will await a tribulation to take my first step as an Ascendant.”
Rieren stopped for a moment in surprise, before resuming to catch up to Oromin. He hadn’t paused walking even after noticing Rieren’s shock.
“I had thought you were powerful,” she said. “But I did not think nearing Ascendant realms of power. With the former Clanmasters dead, that would make you the most powerful cultivator in the entire Shatterlands, would it not?”
He nodded. “I feel the burden growing every day…”
Rieren had no doubt about that. One of the reasons behind the growth of her own fame was the company she kept. There was the future Empress of course, as well as Clanmistress Avathene. But then there was Oromin as well. He was well-known throughout the Shatterlands as one of the most accomplished cultivators the region had ever produced.
She just hadn’t properly considered that he could become as powerful as a potential Clanmaster. As one of the Masked Avatars, in fact.
They walked past the rise the investigator had indicated and indeed found a hovel awaiting them at the edge of a barren field. It looked lonely out here. Desolate. The closer Rieren walked over to the hut, the more she was concerned about the circumstances.
How had the inhabitants survived this long with no sight of civilization anywhere nearby? This region was sparsely populated to begin with. While monstrous activity had been minimal, the sole village that had been somewhat close had been abandoned as soon as the apocalypse had started.
“The farther we go,” Rieren said.
“The more this looks like a trap?” Oromin suggested.
Rieren nodded, if a bit reluctantly. “It is a good thing you asked the investigator to keep an eye out.”
“I will hope we don’t need his assistance, however.”
As did Rieren. There was no telling, though. The hovel was as unassuming and unadorned as they had seen from a distance. Just a hut with a thatched roof, boarded up windows, and a door that could be blown down by breathing on it a little hard.
Oromin was kind enough to knock. “Please open up. We are investigators from Falstrom and we have some important questions we need to ask.”
He was channeling his Essence already, the faintest shimmer of silvery mist cloaking his form. Rieren gripped her sword tightly. Her muscles were tense to act at a moment’s notice, her every sense on high alert, including her electroreception. Nothing untoward could be sensed, however.
An old woman eventually opened up the door with a creak. “Who are you lot, bothering this crone’s rest?”
She was short and hunched over a cane, her hands covered with age spots. Patchy grey hair curtained a wrinkled face that frowned at them. Her clothes weren’t shabby, however. Even the cane was elegant. Not something one would see on any random peasant.
“Good day, lady,” Oromin said. He bowed a little, showing deference to their host’s advanced age. “Is your… husband at home?”
“He’s been dead for three years now. What do you lot want with his corpse?”
“Uh, well, do you have anyone else living here with you?”
“Nay. It’s just me and my books and this robe I’m knitting. What’s it to you?”
Oromin glanced at Rieren. She wasn’t sure what to make of this either. Was someone here lying to them, either this old woman or the investigator keeping watch from farther away?
“We need to talk about something important,” Oromin said. “May we come inside? I don’t wish to keep you standing any longer than necessary.”
The crone harrumphed and then allowed them entry. She took her seat on a creaky chair, motioning at them to go on. Oromin told her enough of the story so they could ask the real question—where was the real tavern owner?
“It’s as I said, isn’t it?” The old woman had picked up her knitting again. “He’s been dead these past three years. We were paid off handsomely, by the odd fella with the long hair. Thought we’d retire away from all the hubbub. So here I am. Nothing wrong with that, is there?”
As Oromin continued the interrogation, Rieren had to look around. It seemed odd. There was no sensation of anything strange here, not on a spiritual level. A quick little channeling confirmed the Essence was normal. Nothing untoward about it. But still…
The house itself was so bare. She couldn’t see any sign of food, apart from some rotten fruits in a basket on a little table. The old woman’s bed didn’t look like it had been slept in ages, and this feeble crone didn’t give the sense that she made her bed every morning. Dust and cobwebs clung to all corners.
This little home hadn’t been lived in for ages.
“…the deed?” Oromin was asking when Rieren paid attention again.
“Don’t have it with me,” the crone said. “I think I might’ve buried it with the old man, but I mightn’t have too, who knows. Memory’s not what it used to be, see?”
Rieren cut through the question because her hackles were rising. “How long have you lived here, old one?”
“Why, didn’t I say three years ago? You heard me, didn’t you?”
“Who gets you your food?”
The crone looked up from her needles with rheumy eyes. “What’s that matter to you?”
“There is no outhouse. No chamber pot. Where do you relieve yourself?”
“What kind of gods-awful question is that? Don’t they teach you youth any manners anymore? Good riddance for leaving that Abyss of a city.”
Rieren’s hand strayed to her Receptor sword at her waist. “When was the last time you breathed?”
The crone froze. “Breathed?”
Oromin had gone tense as well. Silvery mist was sparkling in a thicker robe-like fashion around him. “Thank you for all that you’ve told us. We have one last query, however. Do you recall where exactly you met this long-haired man who purchased the tavern from you all those years ago?”
“We…” The old woman frowned heavily, losing her chain of thought. Her words suddenly turned a lot more lucid. Rieren hadn’t even realized that they were listening to someone not fully conscious so far. “We were going to meet at this crossroads, about three leagues from—”
Before she could finish, the strange old woman burst apart in a thunderous explosion of blood.