From my perspective the single Norvosian word for ‘rejuvenation’ had both positive and negative connotations. As I translated it, the word was definitely more positive. I knew from my studies that it was not often used, with other similar words taking precedent. We had not stayed on the topic for long at the time, which I had then dismissed as pressing on to make our way through the lessons.

Now definitely seemed like the right time to explore this idea a bit further.

“Rejuvenation?” I asked, looking to them each for an answer. “I need answers.”

“It is the process used both to replenish us,” Morslon said, gesturing between himself and Dorstark, “and to lengthen lifespans.”

“That still does not tell me much, will anyone give me a thorough explanation?”

Nespolan sat up in her seat, straightening her uniform. “We consider it to be one of our country’s more closely guarded secrets, Sully. Those who know, grow up knowing or learn it during their time studying with the Resolute. Forgive our individual reluctance to discuss it in detail.”

“Rejuvenation is, essentially, magical transference of essence from one living being to another. Casters use it to wash away their accumulated scars and others use it to return them to a more youthful state,” Dorstark finally explained.

I repeated his words in my head a couple times to consume the concepts. From the sounds of it, this transference was permanent and possibly lethal. For all my faults, I am not an idiot.

“I have more questions,” I said, looking directly at my mentor. “If answers are the heralds of knowledge, I need you to begin providing me with them without all this added nonsense. Now and forever.”

He bowed, deeply. “As you command Lord Sully. I have sworn my life to you and beg your forgiveness for my failure to do so.”

“This rejuvenation… Is it lethal?”

“It can be, but need not always kill the source.”

“Mages and accumulated scars?”

“That is a bit of a larger question, my lord. All magic has a price. Many cantrips and simple spells may be paid for and recovered easily enough. More complex magics, and nearly all methods of healing, require… more.”

“More? What is the price?”

“One’s life essence, my lord.”

“Blood? It does not sound like you are talking about blood…”

“No, my lord. It is more of an intangible thing, usually. Without it we slowly wither and die, not unlike aging. However, physical damage may also bleed us of this essence - similar to blood in that way.”

I took deep breaths between statements, forcing myself not to have a panic attack or freak out. “Magic uses one’s life essence and that must be recharged, correct?”

“Price and cost may be poor ways to illustrate it, for which I apologize. They will suffice for now. And essence is replenished, not recharged.”

Price and cost… Replenished, not recharged… Semantics. I thought back to what else I had been told first.

“You mentioned healing and complex magics separately. Why?”

“The toll for complex magic is always higher. Sometimes it may be carried by an individual. Others, the burden must be borne by multiple. Healing always taxes both the recipient and the source, or the caster may bear both sets of scars.”

I looked at Morslon’s bruised eye, realizing now why all minor wounds were not healed constantly. Then, with a bit of dread, I thought about the times I had been healed…

“This essence may be transferred between people and is used to make people young again too?” He nodded, so I continued. “Who?”

Dorstark took in a long, deep breath and slowly exhaled. Before answering he looked to Nespolan, then shrugged. “The fortunate, my lord. The high born of Norvos and those of rank in various societies.”

“Like the Resolute?...”

He slowly nodded. “Correct, my lord. Ranking members of the military also benefit from rejuvenations,” he finished, gesturing toward Lieutenant Volk.

“What of the commoners?” I asked, knowing that I already had the answers to this. “Are they healed or rejuvenated?”

My exceptional mentor, High Magister Dorstark, a noble and ranking member of the Resolute… who had been argenti to one of the most powerful individuals in all Norvos… fell to his knees and wept into his hands.

All propriety vanished from the truly great man in that moment. My heart shattered. Morslon and Volk quietly excused themselves from the command tent, likely wishing they had not remained for my battery of questions on this barbaric and delicate topic.

I sat across from Nespolan, watching Dorstark for minutes until he began to settle down. Every fiber of my being wanted to stop pressing the issue, putting it off for another day. That would not help anyone though.

“Nespolan… Commoners do not receive the same treatment as the highborn, do they?” It was an easy enough answer to guess, but I needed to know.

“No,” she said softly, still not peeling her sight from Dorstark.

“I need to know these things,” I began, “and apologize for any breach in etiquette. How old are you, High Commander Nespolan?”

“I have been restored but once, not including my countless healings.”

My own healing returned to the front of my mind. “The bill for my first healing here… How was that settled?”

“A minister willingly offered themselves along with five skane to restore you that day. You were closer to death than perhaps any other I have seen, which has been far too many to remember.”

Five skane and a minister had been sacrificed to save me. I looked at Dorstark, beginning to understand what he was really feeling right now… perhaps. Or, perhaps I knew nothing of his immense sorrow.

“How many times have you restored Nespolan?”

Her gaze became unfocused as she stared at the ceiling, “I wish I could tell you Sully, I do. However, I lost count some time ago and found it easier not to consider the consequences. I trained and fought to keep myself from being injured as best I could instead.”

“So you are what? An ancient person or something?”

“No, I am not ancient.” Anger flashed on her face, then lessened rapidly. “If you are asking how many times I have been renewed, that is significantly less. My actual age is less than one hundred years by a bit.”

“Renewing and restoring are not the same thing, though both are part of rejuvenating,” Dorstark said as he took a seat at the table. “Before you ask, I have renewed four times in my life, Sully… Placing me over two hundred years old, I think. I would have to sit and figure it out if you wanted something more exact.”

I opened my mouth to speak before a single gesture from him stopped me.

“Like Nespolan, I ceased tracking my restorations long ago. Though I do not count them, I do keep track in a journal. Unlike Nespolan however, I have been restored both for healing and to replenish my well of essence.”

It dawned on me just then. “That is why you rarely cast magic,” I declared, rather than asking him.

“It is. Well, that and my chosen expertise is rather destructive. When I began down this path I had been young, foolish, and brash.”

Nespolan poured us each a goblet of dark, bitter booze. It was strong and burned like hot coals going down, reminding me that I was alive. Not just alive, but well. I couldn’t work through the emotions of knowing others sacrificed themselves for me right now. What I did do was decide that the price they paid would not be in vain. I will not squander my life.

“All of this is somehow kept a secret within Norvos? I thought magic exists outside our kingdom too?”

They both nodded, but Nespolan spoke. “It does. Ours is a unique method of sharing the costs. Most others tap into their essence only moderately by comparison, individually wearing the scars until they succumb to them. Some sacrifice hundreds of animals. Others only accept magics granted by the gods, who somehow pay the toll.”

“The greatest detractor of our chosen ways is the ever increasing toll,” Dorstark said.

“What do you mean?”

“Each time a person is the recipient of a rejuvenation, it requires more.”

“After two hundred years…” I trailed off as he nodded numbly.

Two hundred years and countless rejuvenations. If a single healing required six lives for me, how many had given theirs for Dorstark? Or Nespolan? Who then was the oldest person in Norvos? How many lives have been sacrificed to them?

My head spun in the whirlpool of questions I couldn’t currently give voice to. For now, we sat and drank together.

If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

An hour or so passed by as we finished the bottle in the company of friends. Morslon returned with food, which the group of us ate in silence as well.

I wanted to lose myself in a much longer walk around the camps. A good book would be a more exquisite escape for me. Neither would get me over this mountain that loomed before me.

One thing pushed me forward, away from escapism and indecision - I could not squander my life. I would not. Even now, sitting here, I felt as if I were betraying the unnamed souls given up to save me.

Aside from the abundance of information I had been presented with, one question still remained.

“What should we do with the captives?”

Nespolan was the first to reply. “They are yours to do with as you wish, Sully.”

We couldn’t go in more circles. Ugh… “What are my options?”

“You could execute them. Wait until they are needed for rejuvenations. Imprison them for however long you desire. Free them. Your decision.”

“I could free them?” That idea had somehow escaped me in the cyclone of emotions earlier.

“Of course, though I would suggest against it for obvious reasons.”

“If it is my decision, I will go speak with them.”

Without saying anything further I stood and walked out, ordering one of my waiting guards to lead me to the captives. “My prisoners,” I thought with terrible bewilderment.

They had been bound to a long hitching post in an open area beyond the edge of my camp. Their hands were tied above a long log, too high for them to sit or squat. The ten people hung awkwardly from the horizontal pole.

To a person they looked worn and ragged after a single day of this treatment. It struck a chord in the core of my being to see anyone treated this way. Knowing they were not innocent helped shove down that raw emotion. They could not see me as weak, regardless of what I decided.

“Fetch them water,” I commanded, to no one in particular.

One of the guards who watched over the prisoners left and returned with a bucket and ten cups. In their current position they would not be able to drink anything though, hands tied above their heads.

I filled a cup and approached the first person, turning to my guards and gesturing them all to assist me. “Here, drink up.” It reached his lips and I tilted slowly, trying not to overwhelm him. He drank breathlessly until I pulled the half empty draught away. It didn’t take long for us to give each of them their first drink since capturing them in their camp.

“Can you all speak Norvosian?” I asked, locking eyes with each of them in turn.

All but two of them nodded or rasped an affirmation.

“Those two,” I said, pointing at the two who had not responded. Their eyes all widened, fear plainly stretched across each face. “Do they speak Taernish?”

A lone woman nodded this time.

Turning to my guards again, “Can anyone here speak Taernish?”

“No, Lord Commander,” each replied.

“Bring Dorstark,” I ordered. “And bread.”

The same guard left who had fetched the water. Either he was the low man on the totem pole, or he was eager to please. Minutes later the two men approached holding a loaf of bread.

“Can you speak Taernish?” I asked Dorstark in a barely audible tone.

“Yes, multiple dialects.”

“Good, you will translate for me. You five,” I said, gesturing toward some soldiers, ”will feed each of them.”

I waited until they started putting bite sized pieces of bread into the mouths of the captives before speaking again.

“I am Lord Sully. You are my captives.”

Dorstark translated my statement, I think. It sounded as if he included his long-winded version of announcing me, as he had in the tavern. Oh well, it would work.

“Are you from Taern?” I asked

Four nodded while chewing and six shook their heads. So far, so good.

“Do you have a family?”

They all wavered a bit before responding. Only a few had families; one in Taern and two in Norvos. Whether or not any of this was true, I wouldn’t know most likely.

Our question and answer session yielded little in the way of actionable intel. Some knew of the plots and admitted it while others didn’t. None offered further information about the summoning or their first target, though a couple tried to say that they knew nothing about it.

Periodically one or more of them would plead for their lives. Tears were shed. I was begged and bargained with. Finally, one of them demanded that I release him or end his life on the spot. He expressed that he just wanted it to be over with.

“If you cooperate, your situation will improve. Make their jobs easy,” I said, gesturing toward the guards, “and you will receive better food, for example. For now, you live and will be accompanying us when we leave Korolm.”

My orders to the soldiers were to keep them alive, first and foremost. They were to be fed and provided water, by hand, until I ordered their bonds to be loosened. I was to be present for both meals as well, for now.

Individually they would be allowed to relieve themselves with no fewer than three guards escorting them. If we encountered inclement weather, the captives would be sheltered and watched by an increased presence. Lastly my orders were to be conveyed to Lieutenant Volk to ensure they were carried out properly.

Perhaps it was all a bit much. Who knows? I felt better about the situation for now, despite having not made a decision. Why doom people to be sacrificed today when I can put it off until tomorrow, right?

“I need to see these letters Dorstark.”

“In the command tent, my lord.”

“Thank you for your help translating back there,” I said as we walked away from the prisoners.

“Of course, it is my duty… which I endeavor to never falter in again.”

“There is nothing to be ashamed of. That conversation had to happen at some point. Now it has, and it is behind us.”

“Your humility honors me, my lord.”

I stopped and looked at him. Really looked at him. “Enough of that, please. Yes, I am your lord and you pledged yourself to me. We both understand that. What I need is your counsel, not passive appeasement. You are, without a doubt, more experienced and wiser than I am. Your honesty and loyalty are what I will demand of you.” We began to walk again. “Respect I will earn.”

He appeared deep in thought until we entered the tent and sat at the table. Other conversations would need to happen, but my point was made and I believe he agreed with me.

“Is there something you are looking for in the letters?”

“Not sure. Could you read them to me?”

Dorstark laid them out and read them each in turn. The summoning was to be performed by an unnamed accomplice that they were to meet in Orya, providing that person payment and instructions. Unfortunately, it did not include the methods used or target.

A few letters were responses to updates before finally ordering the group to follow and steal from me at their earliest opportunity. Aside the items mentioned, the group would be allowed to keep anything else they took.

Being one side of the conversations we could only venture guesses as to what the others had been. In total there were twenty letters though, which did tell me something.

“Both the sender and recipients had been in Orya throughout all of this Unless there are methods of communicating at great distances I do not know of.” Which, to be fair, included a great many things I’m sure.

“None that I know of, my lord. Your conjecture is presumably correct.”

Something so trivial that I had taken for granted, being able to talk to someone else no matter where we were. There had to be a way of doing it here. Even if it required magic, at the cost of lives, I am certain someone with no morals would use it.

If there wasn’t, I would find or create one. I made a mental note to add that to my quest list.

“The symbols on these pages. It seems familiar, but I do not recognize them.”

Dorstark pulled back his sleeve to reveal his brand again. They were similar, but distinctly different.

“They are not the same at all,” I said, looking back and forth between them. When I held the page next to his arm, it occurred to me. “They may be derived from the same origins?”

“Possible. We can research this as well when we reach Videm and you are admitted access to the resources of the Resolute.”

“I am not signing myself away to them,” I said, yet again. “No offense.”

“None taken, my lord. If you intend to have access to the arcane manuscripts however, you must first apply and then receive the brand.”

The joys of bureaucracy. I will cross that bridge when we come to it.

Both symbols were carefully copied to my journal and everything was photographed, of course. The other two groups travelling through the woods may have nothing to do with any of this. Or they could have answers.

My plate was filling up with things well beyond my control. That feeling sucked. Too many unknowns and things to wait for.

What I could do now was prepare for when we left Korolm tomorrow morning and work on something. Anything. Probably the digital scriptorium project. When that was finished I would be able to more readily access all that information.

I sent Dorstark with a hundred gold to my new quartermaster. With his oversight I was certain there would not be a copper missing, and it would be good to supply and empower that individual to handle our needs.

The only request I made for now was a pair of carts along with some chains and shackles that we could use for my guests. Thinking of them as involuntary guests helped fool myself quite a bit. I expected someone could rig up the carts to secure them as we traveled.

We managed to get quite a bit done between the three of us, really settling into the rhythm and using the time we had wisely. Dorstark was nearly up to speed with Morslon in terms of using my mystical alien technology. He used the tablet, Morslon had the laptop, and I was stuck working on my phone.

It wasn’t the best situation I could have hoped for, but in all reality… especially this reality, it was incredible. Morslon received a ‘promotion’ in our production line; moving up from creating and filling folders, to copying the raw folders and cropping the individual images. Dorstark happily handled the mundane tasks left to him.

Their gleeful diligence was infectious. I started viewing it closer to their perspective - painting this particular fence was a privilege, not a burden. Motivational posters will be added to my list of things to make.

The whole project would take longer than initially taking the pictures. Rewardingly, one by one, the books were being converted into single documents. One day, months or years from now perhaps, I wanted to start interlinking all the documents and maps.

Years from now? I hadn’t really put much thought into that particular concept, focusing instead on the here and now. What were my long-term goals in my new world?

We took a break to eat so I could hand feed my guests. Then I stopped to sleep well after sundown. My dreams were haunted, as they were every night. They were disturbing as ever and now included scores of soldiers dancing together in unison. The captives all hung by their arms from their log, lifeless.

Awake before sunrise, I had my involuntary guests unbound and tended to. Still guarded, each was allowed to bathe and put new clothes on from the supplies I kept from their camp. Fed and watered, they were loaded into the newly acquired covered wagons rigged to secure them for the trip.

I had one last task before leaving the town. Lieutenant Volk selected five of our soldiers who were tasked with delivering a package to Morstaal. A copy of the letters from the Eternals was sent with a letter explaining all we knew about that problem and requesting that they investigate it in Orya. Nespolan sent his own letter as well, though I doubted the Mors would need to be coaxed into action.

Some sketches and instructions were included for minor changes to my ship. Despite being posed as suggestions, I had no doubts that most of them would be included. Future ships may also benefit from the upgrades as well, which was part of the point once I made up my mind about it.

There were a number of other things I could have gifted to Morstaal before we left too, I just couldn’t decide on anything. Really, I didn’t want to give up things I could not replace. I settled on a length of fishing line, a couple lures, and the compass from my old world. It was utilitarian in design rather than being ornate, but did have some bonus features - including some inscriptions I made since we left.

My next letter was more personal, directly thanking him for all his assistance. I also explained the presents and ship stuff. The soldiers were each geared up with ample supplies, were issued a horse, and given a gold coin. More than enough for any expenses they would have. They should have little trouble making it back to Orya and catching up with us before we reached Videm.

The caravan began to uncoil from around Korolm and stretch onto the road like a giant snake waking from its slumber. Somewhere in the middle of it I sat in a carriage with my argenti, with my own small army surrounding us.