Pillars of the Kingdom

Chapter Sixteen

The creature closed in from what seemed to be all sides at once. He lay on his back, staring at his friends as they faced the darkness down: Branden was on his knees, Serge struggling to stand, and forget about Alan - The man would be lucky to survive. Clarice stood, looking cautiously as Jacin rose to his feet.

The blood flowed from three open wounds, and he cursed as his spear barely supported his weight. He nearly stumbled forward, but managed to find his footing and take a defensive position. Charles was engaging the bastard at the moment, though each slash of his sword missed widely out of the rage he suffered.

The dark chamber was huge, though its wealth was piled along its walls. He only had time to notice this because of a whisper in the back of his mind, and inclination to approach something not too far away. Damn him, he turned to run towards the whispering voice, away from the devil his comrade faced. He appeared as a coward yet was no longer afraid - He would save his friends soon enough. This voice wasn’t going to lie to him.
*****
“Jeez, that’s close man. Real close, but nothing serious. He’ll recover soon enough, his body has to catch up to the Arcane and whatnot. He’s asleep, but that’s good in this case,” Fiono said softly, looking from the sleeping Jacin to Serge. He studied the Hora as he pressed the gauze to Serge’s forehead again. Jacin’s wounds had been quite severe and he’d lost a lot of blood, but the magic pumping though his system quickly patched him up. On one hand he was quite stable and in no remote danger of dying, but on the other he would be asleep like a dead man for a good amount of time.

“Why don’t you just slap a spell on the old man’s head?” Charles asked, leaning against the nearby wall. Patience never had been his strong suit.

“Easy; because I don’t feel like it,” Fiono responded, grinning at the elderly knight. Serge didn’t make any sort of audible response, so none of the group knew his feelings about it.

“That’s nice of you to say,” Clarice spoke up from her nearby cot, not quite understanding and drawing a rather radical conclusion as to what Fiono was intending. It was innocent really, to speak up in Serge’s defense.

“No, it’s very nice of him to say,” Serge stated, then looked up at Clarice. “Using Magic is like swinging a sword - it takes energy. If he spends power healing me, less of it goes to Jacin and yourself. I don’t need magical healing to fix a small cut on my forehead - Jacin needs it to patch together a grievous chest wound. You tell me who he should heal.” Serge sounded downright amused.

Clarice seemed to think this over for just a moment, more out of guilt than revelation, and she finally nodded in the direction of the Arcane Blacksmith. “Yeah, you’re right. I’m sorry, Fiono, I shouldn’t have jumped to that conclusion.”

“Apology accepted, beautiful one.” He said with a grin and a wink, choosing not to look over toward Kathy and her scowling face. He wasn’t the only one who felt Clarice was pretty, and he was definitely not the first. He dipped a rag in water and went back to work on Serge’s forehead.

Alan entered the hovel and looked around for a moment, then his eyes went toward the floor. He didn’t look all too happy to have to face his comrades for some reason, but with a shrug he leaned back against a wall and observed.

“Man,” Charles stated, giving him a glance as he stepped over to the Coaslundian, “How much did you get? That Titan’s crystal alone must have been worth a bundle.”Alan shook his head as a response, just raising his empty hands skyward. Charles blinked his eyes disbelievingly - Nobody could possibly that...Stupid. “Come on man, you have to be kidding!” Oh yes, he seemed quite agitated, and he frowned quite overtly at the deal gone apparently wrong. “What’d they give you, 2,000?”

Alan then looked up and smiled just a little, failing to hide his amusement. “Branden and I still haven’t figured out how to carry it all!”

Charles’ frown was turned upside-down instantly, and he snickered to himself. “Alright! No more worries about cash for me! Now that’s what I’m talking about!!”

“Bullshit, I get part of it too!” Alan responded almost joyously. Charles draped an arm around the other’s shoulder and nodded repeatedly, trailing a finger over his chest almost as a lover might do. It was the devil’s own grin on his lips.

“Oh yes, you get some too, don’t worry,” Charles stated, holding the man close as he grinned widely. His control and humanity snapped after a remarkable thirty seconds of self-restraint. “We’re fucking rich!!!”

Serge just chuckled and looked up at Fiono. “I wonder if they realize that most of the money is Branden’s and mine?” The blacksmith just laughed in response.

*****
“Well, you seemed quite happy to be inside,” the black-armored one said to Alan as he stepped out as alone as he entered. She’d been leaning against the wall as well and, seeing Alan looking actually happy, her beautiful face was lit with a smile. “The money’s made you that happy, has it?”

Alan considered for a moment, then his face fell. The woman’s followed suit and he shook his head in her direction. “No, the money hasn’t made me very happy, I guess,” he pontificated, pondering his emotions and how they clashed in his chest to produce an ache which had never died. “It won’t get me Clarice, maybe nothing will.” Despair and desire were intertwined in every word.

He started to walk away but she would not let such a mark go free; she followed suit, trying almost to cheer him up. “Well, Alan, I for one don’t see why you need the woman,” she began. It was about as far as she got.

“To hell with that!” He countered, rolling his sleeves down instead of up as most people do when raising their voices and hands. “I need her because I fucking love her, woman, and your strange little ways don’t do a damn thing to help. In fact, I don’t even have a damn clue why you and Branden showed up!”

Alan’s venting was met with a chill that rivaled Branden’s power, and she gave a long sigh. “If I’ve said it once I’ve said it before, Branden and I simply realized we had the same goals and, with a small stop, we realized we could put this threat to the kingdom down. I’m easily Hora class and you know it, and while I might be frigid I intend to make sure my comrades are in the best shape they can be in. Otherwise you might as well stay the hell behind,” she added at the last minute, emotion just barely licking at the venom of her voice.

Alan froze for just a moment as a pink flush entered his cheeks. A woman like this taking interest in him? No, he thought, its just business and I know it. She’d never like me and I know damn well why, and he knew where that train of thought led. He held his tongue, walking along for a moment before he glanced toward her. “I can handle myself in a fight just fine, and assuming we don’t have to fight we’ll be even more fine than ever.”

“That’s fine,” the woman responded after a pause to consider his words, “But what will you do if, as you believe to be the case, Clarice remains with the other woman? You cannot sit and wait forever,” She stated softly. She took a step toward him as his mind shouted at him, then canted her head just a slight bit. “I would think you could find someone else, or at least something else to occupy yourself.”

“I...” He didn’t know what to say, words totally escaped him. He was torn - Part of him wanted to melt into this appealing woman and part of him wanted to cut her heart out and bathe in her blood. She rose some sort of primal instinct in him, one he had only felt through his attraction to Clarice, but it was different somehow. No, he had to resist her...If he could.

“Don’t speak, Alan, just listen...” She whispered, moving in to his ear and delivering a gentle kiss with a smattering of her tongue upon his lobe. He instantly became tense and she spoke. “Who needs Clarice? So she doesn’t love you? I can love you far more than she ever can, if you’re willing to trust me a little...”

Not a single thought rushed through his head that was anything new - He still wanted her and he still wanted to kill her, and at the moment he could do nothing but nod his head. He decided he’d try to play the middle. “I...” He began with hesitation, “I don’t know if I can do that yet.”

“Shhh...” She responded, a hand moving to his hip and gently caressing it. “I understand,” she said. Something in her voice made him believe her. Perhaps it was simply that the phrase she uttered was so uniquely human that she couldn’t be the pillar of ice she appeared to be. “If you need time, take it; but don’t keep me waiting.” With an affectionate squeeze to his waist, she took a step back and bowed ever so slightly, then walked away leaving him holding the emotional tab.
*****
“So, we’re ready to go, then?” A week later, Jacin was fully recovered and had suffered through two days of training and rehabilitation to prove it. He’d improved even more since the battle had begun, and he was now quite ready to return to the road. Furthermore, the majority of the crew wore nice new suits of armor; the blacksmith had spend the entire week doing more than just healing Jacin, forging and enchanting new armor and weaponry for the motley crew.

Jacin’s was the same black, with the Gataminian Wolf on it, as was Charles’ - But their ranks were not inscribed. “When they get back,” Fiono had said with a grin to his old friend, “they’ll probably all need to be promoted anyway, so why rank them now?” Serge had agreed despite any protests Jacin had thrown toward them.

Serge wore a new silver-and-black colored suit, one with the lion’s share of Fiono’s enchantments and a familiar red streak over the left arm. He’d given each piece of Scarred Peace’s new plate mail resistance to every element, as well as a huge amount of fortification against damage and - perhaps most importantly - a very weak, experimental enchantment which would cause the armor to heal both its wearer and itself.

Clarice’s swords had been badly damaged and Fiono replaced them with new blades in the same style as her old ones - And he’d enchanted one with flame, the other with ice. It was a decent balance, really, as she had the ability to turn the enchantments “off” if it suited her. Clarice didn’t sport new armor at her own request, but her swords were enough to get her giddy and to make her volatile.

Fiono had thought about what to give Kathy, but in the end gave her nothing more then a dagger with the same fortifications that Serge’s armor sported. “At least,” he’d said, “It will never break.” She bowed in response, an unspoken agreement between Arcanic and scientist which defied conventional thought.

He had taken one good look at the black knight accompanying Branden and, after her refusal to state her name, shrugged his shoulders and said, “Well, there’s not much I can do for you anyway,” leaving a mountain of impact in his voice and moving along.

He’d looked Branden’s sword over, studied it carefully, and after five minutes handed it back to him. “I’ll fix a few mystical gaps, but its more enchanted than I know what to do with.” Branden’s armor had receive a similar dose of refinement, along with a strong fortification spell, but he couldn’t do much more with it unless he planned to try to unravel a number of older enchantments in the steel.

Alan’s gear remained the same, but was enchanted with layers of defensive energies. His spear-shield was given a new blade, a four-faceted top which looked almost like a gigantic + and could easily cut through most materials. It’s very tip was hollow and filled with one of five crystal bits that Fiono made for him from some of the Raptor crystal. “Magic may dispel one, so you have five. I also included a little surprise in it, but that’s for you to find out. You’re a Fecha, study the mystical power in it yourself.” Unsatisfied with that statement as Alan was, especially the minute misjudgement of his rank, he shrugged and went about doing the legwork to find the weapon’s trick.

The guardsmen and peasants alike cheered the departing party. Confetti was thrown from windows and to the people of Errick’s Point it felt these adventurers had just saved the world. In a sense they had - Not a single civilian or soldier had died in this attack, thanks to the amazing skill they had fought with. Fiono walked with them, getting his own respect for simply helping heal the wounded heroes.

After saying their goodbyes at the city’s gates, Fiono bowed his head and let them depart. He’d given them directions the best he knew - Head west and slightly north, and Shamensen would be just on the left. Couldn’t miss it. It was between a tree and a stone in the middle of a hilly forest!

Chapter Seventeen

“Okay,” He heard the young man’s words again and winced inwardly, having had just about enough of this. Riding atop Coldflame was a fun enough experience, and the rest of the crew had horses of their own so they had a fast pace and none of the discomforts of walking, yet somehow this trip had gotten to be quite a long experience. Then again, the reason for this change had a name.

“Where the fuck are we?” Charles finished. The mixed reactions were rather interesting to watch, in Branden’s point of view. His traveling companion, unofficially now known as “Nameless,” didn’t seem to feel impacted by the mantra of boredom spoken by the young lieutenant. Kathy rolled her eyes, and Clarice simply giggled at the foolery. Jacin seemed not to notice, while Serge shook his head and looked to the floor. Alan looked at him Branden, and both men shrugged their shoulders.

He had to admit a certain empathy for Charles’ position - Though he didn’t when Charles first began to complain a week ago. They planned to be on the road for about eleven days, and while the road itself had vanished after only two they seemed to be heading in the right direction - At least their compass said so - the entire time.

Of course, having made two complete circles around a two-farthing long space didn’t help. Nor did the fact that their horses had a difficult time with the dense forest, and had to take it slowly in order to maintain their footing. Branden’s nerves were reaching their breaking point as well, though Charles’ might well be said to have snapped a long time ago.

The nights were warm, thankfully, and they tended to find clearings about a day’s trip from each place - Showing signs that the journey was regularly undertaken enough that underbrush never sprang up to crowd the campsites yet rarely enough that healthy trees were available for a wood fire in the winter.

On the twelfth night of their journey Alan sat alone outside of his tent. There was no need for a fire at this hour, meals having long been eaten, but he was serving as a guard and was wearing his armor to prove it. He enjoyed watching a campfire, and had made a small one for himself to look at. The shadows, he felt, danced in such a beautiful way that it would comfort him. He flipped a coin through the air and shrugged his shoulders, catching it and running fingertips over his bumpy wrist. He’d adopted the habit of speaking to himself as he was quite bored - And he wanted to hear a friendly voice.

He was surprised, though, to hear two sets of footsteps - He could tell as they sometimes fell at the exact same time - approaching the camp. He gathered his spear-shield from its resting place nearby and took a slow, deep breath as he mentally prepared himself for the worst.

The voices were soft but familiar, and he quickly relaxed, setting his weapon down. Branden and his female companion were returning from the nearby woods. Why? Well, who’d know - But he was content: They weren’t under attack.

“So, still won’t give me your name, eh?” Branden queried in a suave voice while behind a tent. Alan could hardly make the words out, but he knew Branden was making a move. He closed his eyes in thought, trying to learn from what he heard.

“No, I have taken an oath that my name remain secret,” She answered, perhaps giving the most insight to her persona yet. Her tone of voice was that constantly flat, almost inhuman melody which was simultaneously beautiful and not. There was a question on Alan’s mind, one he had faith that Frost would ask. It turned out he was right.

“Oh? An oath to who?” Branden said teasingly; a tone of voice Alan had heard used to seduce women, one he often could picture the fast fighter using when he wasn’t wielding a sword.

She laughed softly - yet another rarity - and Alan could hear her response’s tone had shifted to one of interest. “Nobody you’d recognize, Lord Frost.”

“Well I have to admit, I’m not acquainted with many religious fanatics,” he replied in a humored voice. “I tend to imagine them all as Presian priests; spouting nonsense. You seem on the whole normal, so why the sudden intrusion into faith?”

There was a silence, and he could presume they were either whispering or giggling to one another. Alan blushed slightly, fighting back the immense anger at Branden interfering in something that looked even slightly like it might be his, and he stared down into the flame. He heard a flap open, assuming the duo went to bed.

He sighed softly to himself, tapping a foot gently upon the floor once. Oh, it wasn’t loud enough to wake someone, yet suddenly he felt a hand touch his shoulder. He didn’t shriek, but he did gasp loudly and reach for his spear. Whoever had just intruded in his privacy and his warmth had just crossed him for the last time.

“Hey, hey, relax!” Branden whispered, avoiding the temptation to cover the young man’s mouth so that the possibility of a scream waking his comrades up was negated. Thankfully, Alan did not scream and instead relaxed his spear-hand.

“What the heck?” Alan whispered back, taking a slow breath to calm himself as he set that weapon back down.

“Just wanted to chat; I’m not tired, the no-name bitch is,” Branden said with a smile, moving next to Alan so that his facial features were lit by the flame.

“No name bitch, huh?” Alan asked, glancing over toward his ally with a perturbed look in his eyes. He didn’t quite know what to make of the relief he felt that Branden was not sleeping with her when combined with anger that he’d insult her.

“Something up with that?” Branden asked, looking with blue eyes into Alan’s. He gave a boyish grin. “She is, after all, a bitch,” he added.

“Vaguely.” The lancer responded, looking back to the flame as he rolled his eyes.

“Look,” Branden started sounding very, very mature all of a sudden, “Something’s up with you, kid. Its got to do with Kathy and Clarice, I’m sure.” Blue eyes drifted down to the unguarded wrists of Alan’s and caught the soft rolls of flesh in the firelight. The bumps, long lines along his flesh, were plainly unnatural.

Alan pushed himself away from Branden a little, looking up at him with nothing less than annoyance. “How the hell do you know what I’m feeling?” He asked angrily, clenching his fists as he rolled his sleeves back down.

Branden canted his head, wondering why he was so defensive; as if that made him doubt his position. “Well, it takes one glance at how Kathy looks at you. It’s not anger so much as jealousy, as if...”

He never finished that particular sentence, because Alan was standing up. “I am not dealing with you, with this, or anything else. Go to bed.” His voice simply implied aggravation - and sadness.

Branden also stood up, taking a long, slow breath to demonstrate his calm. He looked over at Alan and shook his head. “Look buddy, I’m gonna guess that you like Clarice. A lot; and that she likes you too, which is why Kathy is being so damn ornery. No, hear me out,” Branden said as Alan moved to speak, the cold one raising his hand to stop him, “because this is important. You have to tell her or she’ll never know. Even if she knows, she’ll never act. Kathy is a very hard person to beat out, I can guess, but I know you can do it if you really try. Whatever the hell your problem is, Alan, you can’t hide it behind those slashes on your wrist.”

Alan was silent, staring into the warmth with his eyes closed tightly. He heard soft footsteps toward the tents, heard a flap open and close, and all he saw were the flames. His fingertips danced again over the self-inflicted scars and he smiled to himself. No, he’d been right, but Branden...Did have a point, no matter how Alan wanted to deny it.

*****
In the morning their discussion the previous night had been forgotten; so ignored that it may as well have never occurred. Branden knew this was not the case, as one look at Alan was returned with a furious glare, but at least Frost couldn’t make out any new scars on the man’s flesh. He sighed, continuing on the journey without helping to resolve the situation the poor man faced.

By the fourteenth day they were frustrated out of their wits. Though Branden, Clarice, Kathy and Serge remained patient, even Jacin had started to bend to the annoyance of the journey and become something of a Maxtonite when it came to complaints.

“I really don’t get it,” Serge stated for a moment, canting his head to the side as he looked over his shoulder at Clarice and Kathy, who rode next to one another.

“What do you mean?” Clarice responded, her eyes sparkling in the sunlight as she looked left and right, hearing nothing other then the horses hooves - As always. She’d heard a ferret once, a few field mice, a couple of deer, and even a snake - but nothing worth her attention in terms of a threat.

“Well, think about it strategically for a minute. Every day’s ride there’s a small clearing, enough for a group roughly our size.”

Kathy looked toward the Hora and nodded once, glancing over toward her lover. “Yes, it is very strange. Clarice, can you hear anything? Anyone watching us?”

The predictable question was answered in the negative by a shaking of the head. Clarice closed her eyes and listened again, just to verify, but she opened them quickly. “Aside from a rabbit, not much.”

“Just how do you know it’s a rabbit?” Branden asked coyly, deciding to have a little fun while he still could. Part of him nagged that Charles would say something like this, but Charles and Jacin were currently engaged in a bitching-contest..

“Easy; the way it hops, the way it sounds when it lands, all that. Once you know how a rabbit sounds, or a snake, its easy to tell what it is,” she answered in a scholastic sort of way which validated what she said as the truth. Branden thought about it and could indeed imagine how it would work if he had hearing like a wolf’s.

“Wow. Interesting,” The fast warrior responded, looking back to the road ahead and managing to steer Coldflame away from the log the stallion was about to step over - Even though he knew his horse could handle it without breaking an ankle.

“Well,” Kathy stated with a pause immediately afterwards, “I suppose someone could reach their aura out and sense anyway? Its just too coincidental for my tastes.”

Serge sighed softly and nodded his head once. He leaped from his horse and placed his palm on the ground, closing his eyes. Outward, and he felt the plants; trees. Old, strong, powerful. Powerful? Not like this... He heard a sudden drawing of a sword and moved for his. Unfortuantely he was just an inch too slow.

“Don’t fucking think about it.” Heavily accented Emorian was flung at them, not too unlike the arrows aimed toward the crew.

Not one, not two, but at least thirty bowmen had almost instantly materialized out of the woods. Some archers had one, but most had two or even three arrows nocked at the same time - a difficult feat, but one which made for a much more deadly showdown.

“Shit?” Charles asked almost in a questioning voice, having the foresight not to reach for his blade and to look at Jacin and, with a grudging glare, end their “debate.”

“Now...” Serge quickly became the leader of the group - That was his designation, after all. “What are you aiming all this firepower at us for?”

One of the archers chuckled, and the rest seemed only to grin at the statement. “What are your people today doing raiding ancient ritual sites in that...Presia New...Of yours?” Apparently the exact wording of countries didn’t come out well in that variance of Emorian tongue, but the idea got across plainly enough.

“So why don’t we just let you fire those arrows and see where this ends up?” Alan asked in an aggressive tone. Due to the nature of his weapon, he usually was carrying it and he had it at the ready.

Jacin looked quickly over toward the near-fecha with a scowl. “Are you nuts?!” Alan just looked...Angry, ready to pounce on the nearest living thing.

“Well...” Spoke a new voice, a female, who stepped out of the woods in about as calm a gait as can be imagined. She wore black robes with a number of intricate green designs, yet as it was warm out they were light and even cut in an exposing way. Ventilation? Well, call it what you will; her pale flesh was visible around her hips, shoulders, and legs. She walked in sandals and wore her leaf-green hair in a bun, tendrils of it pouring over her face. “I can tell you exactly how this fight would go, young wanderer with pain masked by anger.”

If Alan had been mad before, he was furious now, glaring at her with hate in his eyes. “You barbaric little--” Yet another sentence Alan never finished.

“That ice-elemental would fling a barrier of ice up. I would tear it down. The black-armored woman would nullify a few arrows in the sky, but she doesn’t know where most of them are going and thus would be struck. You, the angry spearman, would hide behind your shield as you do behind your rage. The elderly man who I believe I have heard of would defend the defenseless-looking girl, hiding behind a shield as well as the other swordsman who would likely cover himself and the calm young spear-user he was just arguing with. He would go down quickly, and as for the woman with two swords; you’re virtually defenseless. I believe that covers everyone and leaves us horses to boot.”

Alan was seething, Charles looked rather annoyed while Jacin seemed a mixture of nervous and equally angry as Charles. None of them liked being hostages at arrow-point. Serge spoke up before anyone else’s emotions betrayed their faces.

“I’m not here to start trouble, M’Lady. I am, as you said you might have heard, Serge Lenkmen. I come with royal authority to offer concessions in exchange for your assistance with a magical threat we are facing.” This was news to the rest of the crew - They had no idea that Serge was authorized to make treaties, or that they were there to negate anything so specific that a treaty could even be authorized. Even the black-haired woman was surprised; a first, perhaps.

The Shamaness should have looked surprised. She merely looked amused, though a hint of respect touched her eyes with the mention of Serge’s name. “And what magical threat, Sir Lenkmen, is that?” At least, with such a relatively relaxed tone, she didn’t appear as eager to transform the party into pincushions.

“I’m sure you would know; monsters suddenly joining forces with other monsters to create a situation of true danger. Alliances between flame and ice elemental, rather than them slaying one another for us. Innocent people are getting killed...” Serge seemed poised to say more, but decided against it. Perhaps there was nothing more to say.

The mysterious woman of the woods seemed to consider this for a moment, shrugging her shoulders. “As you might have figured out, we’ve been following you for a while. These woods here are part Shamansen, the clearings we provided were watched just as well. Its actually somewhat amusing...” She said with a slight cant of her head and a glance toward Jacin and Charles. “But I understand your situation and I agree. Come to my place and we shall discuss.”

As the bows were lowered, Charles looked over his shoulder to Serge. The old man nodded his concern. “We need to speak to the leader of your people. Its what we call diplomacy,” Charles said without much concern. “I grant you’re beautiful and smart and all, but...”

The slight accent of the woman’s voice was filled with a tone fitting a woman entertained. “I am the leader,” she declared as she glanced toward the younger knight.

Everyone was surprised, yet Alan nearly fell off of his horse. “You?! I don’t believe it. You’re too young!” Alan’s surprised voice very nearly finished the job of dismounting him.

She looked at the upstart for a moment, then strode over to him. Some of the archers raised their bows again, yet the calm of the other (those who remained calm, waited for orders, and had more arrows on each bowstring and thus higher ranked) bowmen led to them lowering their arms once again. She stepped right up to him and whispered softly in his ear.

“I’m seventy three years old. I’m like your Arcanic, Shade; young through magic.”

“Sh...Shade?” Alan whispered questioningly.

“Yes, Shade,” Calmly fired back.

“Shit,” Alan responded, left without any argument to the mere mention of one name.

“Indeed,” She replied, stepping away from him and turning her back to the group. “Follow me!” she exclaimed, leading the group deeper into the sea of trees.