“We need to set a date for the coronation, Prince,” the elderly advisor insisted of the young man, “it’ll have been a full year in less than three months, and it will take at least a month to arrange the event.”
“The two eastern Counts are still insisting I’m not the true heir,” the Prince insisted, “announcing a coronation will only force their hand, it could lead to civil war!”
“And not bonding to the key stone will be worse. With the other heir out of their reach, chances are the counts will come around if you are coronated.”
“Or it could lead to war!” the Prince repeated, “the eastern Counties have most of our population, we’ll be outnumbered.”
“If we’re fast enough you’ll be able to banish their lands before their army mobilizes, if it comes to that,” the advisor said in a tired voice that had repeated this very argument many times before.
“I… I need time to think about this,” the Prince stuttered before finishing off his glass of wine and fleeing the room, leaving the handful of counsilors watching the door he left through with a mix of shock, pity and disappointment.
“Honestly,” the Castellen remarked as after a moment of silence, “it’ll be amazing if we could organize a coronation in under two months, getting a Bishop of Rulers by itself is no easy task.”
“What’s amazing is that a boy that meek is the son of Robert,” the treasurer snorted, “are we certain they’re related?”
“If only that damned girl hadn’t slipped through our grasp,” the kingdom’s Seneshal growled, “has anyone seen Rahkam? I don’t think he’s come to the castle since his men failed to grab her.”
“You don’t think he’s considering joining the rebels, do you?” the old advisor asked.
“No,” the Seneshal shook his head, “there’s no love lost between him and the Count Rivers, not since Rahkam’s daughter was injured by one of River’s men.”
“Right, in that war between a couple Barons in the south east, what were their names?” the Castellen asked.
“I can’t remember, and it’s not important,” the Seneshal waved the comment off, minor conflicts between Baronal lands were common enough, so long as both sides followed the rules laid down by the Tempest King it rarely amounted to more than a dozen or so dead and a single small village changing who they pay taxes to, “the point is Rahkam would never side with Rivers, and considering how loyal Rahkam was to Robert, Rivers wouldn’t trust him if he tried.”
“So, as with every one of these meetings, we’re back to just waiting?”
“Nothing we’ve done has convinced either the Prince or the Champion to move,” the Treasurer sighed, “either one could end this stalemate.”
“There’ve been dozens of things that could have ended it,” the Castellen sighed, “Rahkam capturing the bastard girl, the Champion putting his foot down, the Prince bonding to the stone immediately after his father died instead of waiting for the funeral… none have happened. Seems the gods don’t want this to be easy for us.”
“So what do we do?”
“I’m going to start what planning for the coronation I can, with or without the Prince’s approval,” the Seneshal sighed, “I’ll try to keep it quiet, but one way or another we have to coronate someone before the year is up.”
“Not the worst idea,” the Castellan admitted, “the Prince won’t like it though.”
\\
“Was that even a monster?” Nathen asked as he wiped blood and fur off his blade, “or just a regular bear?”
“I don’t think a Polar Bear would attack us out of nowhere like that,” Reiner commented, poking at the unmoving body.
“You sure it’s a Polar Bear?” Masood asked, “it’s fur seems too… grey and brown to be one.”
“Maybe it’s fur changes color with the terrain?”
“In any case, let’s get moving, I want to sleep in the fort tonight,” Albert interrupted, and everyone nodded in agreement. They’d had to deal with multiple monster attacks after leaving the cavern behind. The other’s said this was worse than normal, but not exceptionally so, guessing that the swarm of feral Kobolds headed south had displaced them. Even without that monster attacks were apparently pretty constant outside of the kingdoms, presumably because of the lack of people going around killing them. Combined with how the mountains moved around it made any large scale settlement of the region impossible.
Which is why Nathen was confused as they crested a ridge to find a worn down castle seemingly built into the side of a steep mountain slope.
“Ah, home,” Masood sighed in relief, every night they spent away increased the chances the mountains would move and they’d be unable to find their way back. The only reason they’d taken the risk in the first place was because, if they didn’t the monster root would keep birthing more and more moles and they’d risk being overrun. That being said, a couple nights out wasn’t a massive risk, apparently, only around four or five days did things get dangerous. A week out and the fort would simply assume they were all either lost or dead.
“You guys built a castle out here?” Nathen asked in disbelief.
“No,” Masood shook his head with a grin, “apparently the boss found it out here and, over time, others joined him.”
Nathen only nodded as they made their way down from the ridge towards the fort. Despite appearing rundown there was clear activity, a couple men with bows stood on the walls by the gate while a dozen or so moving figures could be seen within the walls. As they got closer Nathen could clearly make out dense gardens covering every bit of open ground between the walls and the main hall of the fort. But something was wrong, some feeling at the back of his mind seemed on edge. It wasn’t coming from the spirit of the sword he carried either, this was more subtle.
He struggled to figure out the reason for his unease as Masood waved to the men on the wall, following the group through the gate. A small party was emerging from the main hall to greet them but most of the people seemed to be working the small fields and gardens somehow crammed within the walls. The approaching group was perhaps the most interesting, being led by a veritable mountain of a man in rough leathers and a short but bushy beard on his heavy set face. The others with him were wearing bits of armor and armed in various ways, but for some reason Nathen’s eyes were drawn to the people working the fields.
At first they seemed normal enough, rough spun clothing covered in dirt. But, almost against his will, Nathen’s eyes were drawn to their necks and wrists. All of them, man or woman, wore a metal collar around their necks. Many of them also had bruises or scars on their wrists, as if they’d been shackled. More than their appearance was how they acted, rather than looking up to see what was going on they studiously kept their heads and eyes down, as if afraid to be seen not working.
Slaves.
The realization slammed into him, his hands curling into fists and his heart beginning to race. He turned his glare to where Masood and the large man were talking and joking, the former turning to wave Nathen over only to pause at his expression.
-----
The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
YOUR PATRON HAS OFFERED A TASK:
-defeat the slavers
-free the slaves
ACCEPTING THE TASK WILL GRANT:
-Temporary Divine buff
ACCOMPLISHING THE TASK WILL REWARD:
-Unique ability
-----
While he read the popup, the world around him seemed to grow darker, the wind picking up. All conversation had stopped in the courtyard turned farm and everyone, slaves included, had turned to look at him. Nathen shifted his gaze to the nearest of the slaves, his glare softening slightly as he did so.
“Do you want to be free?” he asked gently, though his voice seemed to boom across the courtyard regardless.
“Don’t answer that!” the large man shouted, seeming to be the first to catch on to what was happening.
“I can not help you if you don’t want help,” Nathen continued, his eyes drifting between the various people working in the fields, “if you want it I shall see you free.”
The large man shouted some more but his voice seemed distant and muffled. Despite this the workers seemed conflicted, looking between Nathen and the large man, unsure what to do. One of them, a young woman, was the one to nod. It was so small of a movement that if Nathen hadn’t been paying close attention he would have missed it, she might not have even been aware she’d done so, but it was enough for Nathen and he accepted the task.
Immediately a series of stars burst into existence behind him in the same pattern on the medallion beneath his shirt. More, dimmer stars appeared at a rapid pace until the form of a lotus could be clearly seen, like an image drawn with starlight.
“You fools brought a Herald of Freedom here?” the large man shouted, taking a few steps back, “hold him off!”
The others all looked between the large man and Nathen, seeming confused and surprised more than anything.
“Nathen?” Masood asked in a cautious voice, “what’s going on?”
“You never told me you owned slaves,” Nathen replied instead of answering, a hand going to his sword and pulling it from his sheath with a hiss, “I can’t allow that. I’m going to free them and lead them back to the kingdoms.”
“You- what-,” Masood stammered, stumbling back as Nathen approached them, “look, I know it’s not ideal but…”
Several of the others in the group began to draw their weapons, Reiner was the first to step forward but, oddly, he hadn’t drawn his sword or shield. Instead he held up his hands as if to show he wasn’t a threat.
“Do you really have a way back to the kingdoms?” Reiner asked, meeting Nathen’s gaze evenly, “if you do I’ll stand aside.”
“Reiner?” Masood said in shock, several others stepping forward to join him.
“I never liked how we did things here,” Reiner explained, eyes still locked with Nathen, “but without a way back I never did anything.”
“I have a way back,” Nathen said. Reiner gazed into his eyes for a long moment, as if looking for any hint of deception, before nodding as stepping to the side and leaning against the wall.
“I won’t fight against my friends, but neither will I stop you then,” the armored man said, several others moving to join him. But still half the ascenders stood by Masood, all of whom now had their weapons drawn. For a long second they simply stared at Nathen, before a man with a bow drew and fired at the Herald of Freedom, bluish light gathering along the arrow. But even an arrow empowered with an ability, fired at short range, wasn’t enough it seemed. Nathen turning his body to avoid the attack, one leg sliding back as he entered his second, mobile form. A man with a club that Nathen didn’t recognize let out a shout, charging forward with the iron banded club gripped in both hands. The overly telegraphed attack was easily dodged, the flat of Nathen’s blade lashing out to smack into the side of the man’s head.
As the club wielder staggered away another arrow shot from the archer, lacking the blue glow of an ability but still just as fast. Nonetheless, Nathen slipped under the projectile as he spun past the staggered club user. The flat of his blade struck the fighter’s knee with a sickening crack, the man crying out in pain before collapsing to the ground. Another man, this one with a spear stabbed out at Nathen, trying to keep him back while the archer behind him drew another arrow.
To Nathen he seemed to be moving almost in slow motion though, the battle hadn’t been going on for long so he could only attribute it to the divine buff. It could have also been that the people here were used to fighting monsters, not people. Monsters were straight forward, even the more intelligent or agile ones didn’t fight like a man. The spear wielder struggled to pull his weapon back as Nathen batted it aside with his sword, closing the distance in a couple lightning fast steps. The man grunting in pain as the flat of Nathen’s blade crashed into his gut, momentarily lifting him from the ground with the force of the blow. Before the man could even fall back to the ground Nathen had stepped past him, spun his blade around and brought the flat down on the back of his neck, ensuring the man was unconscious before he landed.
The archer, now unprotected got a single attack out before joining the others on the ground. Nathen turned to the last fighter, just in time for a wooden card struck his chest and stuck in a flash of blue light. His body froze up as he began to turn to face Masood.
“Okay,” Masood said slowly, approaching Nathen, “I’m not sure what’s gotten into you, but I’m going to take your sword away. Then we can talk like adults.”
“Stay away,” Nathen grunted out through his frozen mouth. As soon as his body froze he felt even more power surge through his muscles while a cold anger at being controlled layered atop his existing wrath.
“That card will last at least thirty seconds,” Masood replied, “there’s no way you could break out-.”
As he spoke he’d gotten within reach of Nathen’s sword, faster than he could react the blade flashed through the air. The movement was only barely under Nathen’s control, just managing to turn the sword to the side so the flat of the blade slammed into Masood’s shoulder. The man crashed into the ground from the impact, throwing up a cloud of dust around them. Nathen was afraid for a moment that he’d killed Masood despite hitting him with the flat, but as the dust cleared he saw that, aside from a dislocated shoulder, he was still intact.
“That’s all they could manage?” a deep voice asked, originating from the direction of the castle’s main hall. Looking up Nathen saw the large man emerging, this time in full chainmail armor with a pair of heavy gauntlets on.
“I’m surprised the card did anything to a Herald of Freedom,” the man continued, slamming his gauntlets together in a loud clash, “so, son, now that you’ve dealt with the chaff, time to fight me.”
There was something different about this man, Nathen noticed immediately. Unlike the others he was grinning as he charged, muscles rippling under the chain and leather armor. Not bothering to reply Nathen dashed forward, still in his second form. Despite his power boost, however, this fight wasn’t to be so easy. The man’s fists came fast and heavy, it was clear he had more experience fighting other people in addition to more powerful facets or abilities. Still, Nathen didn’t despair, playing for time while keeping the man engaged. This would be a good time to test out his new Focused Momentum ability. The effect was more subtle, either because he already had a sizeable buff from his god, or because the ability was also affecting his durability in addition to his speed and strength.
By now the workers had fled to the walls by where Reiner and the others stood, joining the Ascenders in watching the fight. Nathen was careful to lead the fight away from the unconscious ascenders he’d fought previously, not wanting them to get caught in the crossfire. Thankfully, once there was enough distance, Reiner and a couple others ran out to retrieve them. Nathen was having a hard time focusing, however. His Focused Momentum was rapidly stacking up, yet this man was keeping pace. The clash of metal on metal only grew more and more furious as they fought.
There was one thing going in Nathen’s favor though, and that was his rapid learning. His sword stance ability combined with advice from the spirit of his sword allowed him to devour the other man’s fighting style. Despite being evenly matched in strength and speed, Nathen slowly gained the upper hand, and his sword slipped through the other man’s guard. The flat slammed into his chest with enough force to throw him back a dozen feet, barely managing to remain upright. He looked down at his chest for a moment before laughing.
“All that power, that strength and skill, and you’re still so weak,” he laughed even as Nathen prepared for another clash, “you’re going to lose this battle you want to know why?”
Nathen didn’t reply, instead charging forward and lashing out with his sword once more. To his surprise the man didn’t bother dodging or blocking, allowing the flat of Nathen’s sword to strike his shoulder with a grunt. In the next instant his fist slammed into Nathen’s face, sending the Ascender flying across the courtyard, tearing a line through a portion of the garden before hitting the wall of the castle.
Blood dripped from his face, his jaw hurt like hell and he was dizzy from the strike, but Nathen managed to stand once more. He reached up and gently felt his jaw, nothing felt broken and, to his surprise, there were no missing teeth. The bonus durability was no joke, he thought, taking his sword in both hands once more.
“You’re going to lose because you don’t have the heart to kill,” the man explained, rotating the shoulder Nathen had struck theatrically, “I can see it in your eyes, you aren’t a killer. So take my advice, leave now.”
“If I leave, I’m taking everyone who wants to come with me,” Nathen replied, despite how much it hurt to move his jaw.
“Those cowards who refused to fight can go, but the locals are staying here,” the man said simply. For a moment Nathen considered a temporary retreat, get stronger and return later. But he immediately dismissed the idea, even without the suffering the slaves would go through waiting for him, there was no guarantee he could find his way back. His holy symbol would show him north, but it wouldn’t let him find a specific location, especially not one that constantly moved around through whatever oddities were present in this world.
“No,” he growled by way of response, lifting his sword and fixing his gaze upon the large man once more.
“Then you’ll die,” the man replied with a shrug.