Lux Aeterna
by
Steven Mayo
Book I ~ The Meager
Chapter 5 ~ Random Encounters
Dr. Darrin Sylum was as chipper as he'd ever been. He'd decked on his finest non-dress attire, a bright red cloak and skillfully crafted leather armor that he'd picked up early that morning at the fair. It was way too expensive, but that's hardly a concern for a light warrior. He had a shoe and hat cobbler put refurbishing touches on his tri-quarter steepled hat, and even found a white feather off the ground to put in the band. All his traveling equipment was fresh as well, a water-resistant nylon bedroll, a spacious backpack he'd filled with his books and potions and extra glasses, a non-stick cooking skillet (another of the fair's big attractions), and even a miniature coffee maker. All very expensive, all not a concern. But his finest possession, and that which he was most proud of, was his new short sword, finished by elvish artisans from Elfhein itself. It glowed an absorbent blue even in the morning's light, and the scabbard was so well crafted of druid's wood that it too could serve as a weapon and withstand many blades' strikes. This had broken the rest of his bank, and he was sure that his light warrior status had granted him a discount, but what did it matter? He was meant to have it, as a light warrior. Did you hear that? Light warrior. Boy that sounds good!
He hadn't been able to sleep that night from all the excitement. It almost made him dizzy-headed. Finally forfeiting the chance, Sylum had gotten up and entered the beautiful dawn and walked down to the fair grounds to find his provisions. To him everything suddenly looked brighter, every piece of the world suddenly filled with enormous purpose. They had greeted him pleasantly along the tents and booths, a confident smile on their faces. It had taken time to settle in the lesser mind of the average Cornerian, but now that it had sunk in, they realized they were saved. The light warriors had come and soon all their problems would wash away like a morning's tide. King Eliv had really delivered; the first night of the centennial had been quite the event.
Having stocked his equipment and readied it for journey, Sylum removed his new short sword and performed katas he had learned out of a manual. The steps were mainly wrong, but the Cornerians didn't know that, and Sylum sure looked good doing them, that brilliant sword sparkling back the pink and turquoise hues of dawn's horizon, sending crisp images of color into the eyes of the salesmen and early bird shoppers. A night of missed sleep would not depress the energy in him; he flushed with it, seeping with charisma. The day had come for Darrin Sylum.
There was a fountain in the center of town, built upon a natural hill, and this was the decided meeting place of the four. Sylum was the first to arrive, which was as he wanted it. The statue in center of the fountain was of King Ranier, husband to Queen Tchai and founder of the centennial celebration. An actual crown, built just for this occasion had been fashioned for the statue and Sylum spent his down time admiring the golden sparkles set against the distant horizon, the rubies and sapphires seeming to glow. It was a magnificent work, a staple piece for any artisan to admire, and something too good for the old statue to wear. Sylum noticed the statue's shoddy refinements, the folds along the skin weak, the nose small and downcast. This king had no backbone. Sylum mused over how his new sword looked better than the king's.
The second to arrive, much to the doctor's surprise, was Edrick Valance, equipped with minimal packing and still wearing his uniform of white robes lined at the cuffs with red stitches. He had not tended to his hair, which was mashed into spiraled clumps along one side but still smoothly bowl-like on the other. Edrick yawned as he approached the fountain, his eyes efficiently scanning the surroundings, searching for the others, a going away party, the minister, anything. Just scanning. Just in case.
"Happy to see you come!" chimed Sylum, his voice almost bouncing.
"Well I'm required to be a man of my word," Edrick responded dully, still a tad sour perhaps.
"Ah, but you never actually gave us your word."
"Are you suggesting I…"
"I'm suggesting that you've already gone beyond my expectations, and I look forward to being further impressed in the future." Sylum smiled, a scholarly sense of acceptance, but Edrick didn't seem to care.
"Right…" he said, and then he lay down his pack are started twisting around awaiting the coming of the others. He wanted to see them coming, and already, in just these very few moments, a short apprehension had developed in him. Would the others not come? Had they abandoned him already? Worse, had they left him with … him?! Sylum was apparently dancing, jumping briskly from side to side and making not-so-graceful sweeps with his sword.
Edrick had also not slept. His night had been occupied by three mutually pointless endeavors: pacing, mumbling, and packing the wrong equipment. More than once he had stopped himself with a slap, tore away from a trance, and then studied the contents of his feverishly stuffed pack, only to sulk angrily and turn it up over, spilling the contents to the floor. Skittling across the stonework would be empty vials, stacks of holy symbols, a handful of signet rings, about ten drinking cups, several decks of cards, and so on and so on. What kind of stuff is that to be packing? Under his breath his mumbles were frantic, and yet repetitive, the same half-brained ideas trampled over again and again. They were excuses mainly, something to tell the minister, but also snuck in there were attempts to build himself up. Light warrior, huh? Stupid, but maybe.
Even then, next to the ivory fountain, orange in the early sun, Edrick rolled speech softly passed his lips, his glance affixed on a wandering nothing, and yet, so certain was this fixation that Edrick did not hear the metallic jangle of the coming man. Indeed, not until the tall giant of armor came upon him and slapped him on the back saying, "Wake up, Bucko!" did Edrick realize that the knight had arrived.
Herrik Gipson, though you wouldn't know it under any other circumstance, was quite possibly the most beautiful man on the planet. It was his custom to lead off each adventure in full battle dress, finished by his complete arsenal. His silver full plate shone an astonishing mixture of amber and gules, glossy like his hair. Each of his weapons was fitted into scabbards of the same make and tinting, poetic symbols etched down their lengths. His pack was swiftly thrown to the side, a pitiful detractor from the splendor of world famous Gipson. Across his equipment belt his potions had been restocked and then doubled in number, but still the single book hung from its chain. Logically enough, he'd left the helmet off so that his vibrant hair could jut off into its fancy spikes. Looking like this, his secret wrinkles had departed, and his face appeared smooth and young. Were the sun to his back, with his chest lifted so high and readied, he very well might have eclipsed the continent. And over his eyes were dark-set spectacles; sunglasses, he called them.
"But one of us to go, Gents," said Gipson with a flashy bow. Immediately Sylum and he connected on an unspoken level. Excitement; it virtually percolated between them.
"Yes," said doctor Sylum, "I worry that he will be a late show."
"He was to have words with someone about this, correct?" asked Gipson, conversationally.
"Yes. His godfather, Mr. Dunnings who runs the tavern, you met him. He will not be keen on this, but he will accept it." Sylum put some strength into that, feeling determined, but then he said, "Seville did not show at the quad last night where we were to meet, but I was not too surprised. He will come; I'm not worried about that."
"Then I will not be worried. Since you are our … unspoken leader I'll say, I will trust your decisions."
Sylum stood on his tip-toes briefly and beamed out a smile so pleasant that even Gipson was impressed. He couldn't deny that he liked this knight, and he found it no wonder that his popularity was so renowned.
"And what about you, Edrick?" asked Sylum, "Are you worried?"
"Huh? What?" Edrick had drifted away again, but Sylum only chuckled.
"Of course you are!" he said, and to this the large knight laughed heartily.
Gipson had slept deeply and calmly the entire night through. The next day was an excitement for him but one he would contain for the sake of well-being. He knew that the others would be bothered, whether eager or not, and that they would miss out on the much needed rest. Surely this was not the best adventuring group he could accompany, but the quick-starting camaraderie left him warm inside. It felt right with this group of four, from the headstrong doctor to the quivering priest. And when he awoke that very morning and sucked in those first few breaths of crisp morning's air, a strength surged through him like electricity. The air was different on the mornings of adventure, especially the first day. It was sharp and precise and aware and somehow fuller than ever, drenching him with life in every breath. He'd been looking forward to another eight days of acting, book signings and sales pitches, but now, oh, an adventure had called to him, something so sparse in the realm of celebrity that he'd forgotten the stalwart power of its voice. And he heeded it gratefully, a kind of Gipson worship.
"A remarkable day for such a thing," said Sylum, eager to bask in Gipson's heraldic glow. Sylum knew that he was silently criticized by many people throughout the Cornerian township, new ideas were never on anybody's favorites list, but now he had so much more before him. And most of it all was celebrity, an undeniable importance to those around him, and his mouth salivated for it. His admiration of Gipson grew with every second he spent realizing that this knight before him was a master of celebrity, so attuned to its graces and yet not a sham, the battle with the dragon had been proof enough of that. Sylum could learn from him, and would.
"Quite beautiful indeed, Mr. Sylum. I don't know about lore as you do, but I'm certain that heaven's canvas shining down on an adventurer like that cannot be a bad thing." An affirmative glance crossed between Sylum and Gipson, proud and intact.
"Seville's here."
Edrick's voice startled them so suddenly that it almost shot away their vibe, but they regained it and turned around to see Seville coming slowly up the brick path, his shoulders low and discontent. Still, he was dressed for adventuring, his studded leather armor fastened around simple clothing, his daggers sheathed and readied, and his pack filled heavily with equipment. From a quick glance at that distance he was skeletal. His pale white skin did not seem to reflect the gentle sunlight, and his eyes seemed sunken in, leaving sullen dark patches like nothing more than a skull. As he approached the dark pockets of shadow beneath his eyes became more apparent, and his brown irises were a closer hue to black. His dangly hair had been handled briefly, but now resembled bars around his head as if it were stuck in a cage. He did not offer a smile, and that depressed the chattiness of Sylum and Gipson.
"It did not go well?" asked Sylum, almost fatherly in tone, and Seville shook his head back, like a disciplined dog.
"No."
"What did he say?"
"Ya know, I don't really wanna talk about it, okay?" And with that he stopped approaching and gave a stand-offish stare, deep into the others.
"Of course, Seville. The time will come." Sylum said and let it drop as easily as that. Gipson offered an upswing of his eyebrows but could think of nothing else and Edrick did nothing specific at all.
For that moment they stood, admiring the growing realization that the ultimate choice had finally come. All talk before had been for show, all deliberations merely something to pass the time. The real moment was now, and it seemed to set on them an unbearable weight. Only Gipson had felt this before, and he recognized it in the others with a longing remembrance. Ah, to be so young. So then he put on one of his smiles and got them started, turning northwards to the path out of town.
"Well, there it is, Gents. Just waiting for us to take it by the horns." And the others filed next to him in a line, sharing his resplendent gaze to the distance, "It's probably a long road, shoot, I hope it is, but we've got something between us that I've never felt before in all my long years of doing this. We've got the real thing. For all the experienced soldiers and mages and priests I've pleasured myself in aiding, only now do I feel the power of the real deal. Dr. Sylum, I don't know what to think about this theory of yours, but I know that I want this either way. How else can I put it? I feel good!"
"And I, too!" added Sylum, trying to roll it along to Seville or Edrick but to no avail.
They let it rest in them a moment more, the absolute release of all bounds and the escape into a world of wonder. The point of no return was consecutively so terrible and so great, a push and pull of all things. And standing there, shoulder to shoulder, they impressed their visages upon the earth, each different and defined. Gipson smiled at the feelings of mixed comfort and mystery, a sudden adventure of overwhelming importance. Sylum smiled also, but at thoughts of the prize, at thoughts of simply being a light warrior. The eagerness thrilled him, and he felt like he should be hopping. Seville burned his eyes against the long path but felt the welcome melting away of so many things. His lips were turned down and hardened, his arms set firmly by his sides. There were so many things he had to find out about himself and finally the chance was before him. Behind his stony gaze were all emotions in the vast spectrum, from excitement to fear. And Edrick, poor Edrick, was gently shaking his head from left to right, his boyish cheeks brought up high, a subtle whimper in his throat. How did things go so wrong?
To everyone's surprise, Seville took the first step, and a journey began.
********************
"Okay, how about a commemoration toast to our first day?" asked Sylum, boasting a cheerful smile to the others and digging down into his pack
Seville, sitting to Sylum's right, protecting that side of the fire, said, "You can't drink a toast with water, Professor." Seville had livened up already, the three hours walk before camping for lunch having done him some good.
"Not a problem, my dear boy! I've got something better, picked it up at the festival this morning." And Sylum finally had grasp of what he was seeking, and just before pulling it forth he glanced at the others. Seville was eager and dressed himself with a much needed smile. Gipson, sitting across the low fire, also smiled, still euphorically enjoying the bright sunny air and moderate exercise. Even Edrick had come around a little, comfortable in the assurance given by the fact that they were not already dead, nor had they even been attacked. He looked on, allowing a faint intrigue, as Sylum nodded and pulled out four small glass bottles, painted red with white stripes traversing from top to bottom in sinusoidal curves. Sylum started handing them around energetically.
"I don't think alcohol is such a good idea, Professor," said Edrick, holding the frail bottle away from him as if it was diseased. "What if we were to come across a band of monsters, or…"
"Oh, come on, Edrick, a little taste never hurt anybody," responded Sylum playfully before he started laughing at Edrick's stammering, insulted body language. The priest slapped the bottle down into the dirt, the brown particles shooting up and sticking to the condensation, and then he huffed and looked back to the fire. Sylum saw that Gipson and Seville both were careening towards bursting laughter, and so he broke it away.
"I'm messing with you, Edrick. You're going to have to relax if you want this adventure to be of much use to anyone. It doesn't have any alcohol in it. In fact, that's kind of the point."
"What do you mean?" asked Seville, swirling the dark brown liquid in the bottle but still not removing the cap.
"Well, as the salesman put it, 'If you don't like your kids gettin' worked up on hard drinks but don't have time to go to the well, then, just give'em one of our soft drinks. Not a drop of alcohol but just as sweet, you'd think it was candy.' They had a big assortment, so I got a few, seemed like a good thing at the time."
Seville squinted in at white writing along the grasp of the bottle, sounding out the syllables, "Co --- ca ---- cola?"
"Yeah, that's how he said it. Said it was their most popular flavor. Lots of weird names like that, though, we'll try a few more later. While supplies last as it were."
As Sylum spoke, Herrik Gipson snapped open the top of his bottle with a powerful shake of his palm and held it high, a single ray of sun bounding off the curved neck, a downed half of it in one gulp. He followed this with a dramatic sigh, brushing the chilled air of the drink over his tongue, and then he brightened.
"Wow!" he said, "That's good!" And the others immediately went to work on their cokes as well. Sitting there, listening to the crackle of a daytime fire, watching the smoke lift in small puffs, and absorbing themselves with wilderness to each direction, they felt whole and unabashed. It was pleasant.
The trek so far had been uneventful, their process swift but not burdensome. On the contrary, it felt like the soles of their shoes were cushioned but millimeters above the earth, clean and buoyant air left between, and that they really floated onwards, their packs light and comfy. Seville most of all had felt the release of burden, as if his troubles were attached to Corneria by an unbreakable chain, and in leaving the town he also left them. Along the wide expanses of plain and forest he was confused and excited by the wonderful mixture he received of freedom and containment. He had escaped, but escaped with those he admired. It was suddenly so easy to not be a shepherd of gloom.
After making what Gipson considered a good distance, they settled in to lunch, frying up what little meat they could bring without spoilage in Sylum's nifty pan. It was light, but Gipson commented on this as well, saying that an adventurer must consume little, just in case a battle should come. Loving the vibe, no one spoke concern of moving onward after lunch. They silently agreed to enjoy the moment for what it was, each of them uncertain of what was to come.
"What's that book you carry, Master Gipson?" asked Edrick, maybe as a penance for being duped by Sylum, and at the question Gipson chuckled with pleasure.
"Monsters Manual Abridged, travel size. The first draft even, only one of its kind, but probably not for too long. The Knights plan to sell them, but we're still going through some format changes. No room for the pictures you see." Gipson lifted it and spread, revealing endless, dense text. "I like to keep it on hand just in case."
"Hey man," chimed in Seville, sipping his drink slowly, "Read us something. Ya know, something exotic!"
"Well, I suppose if we've got the time I could…" And then Gipson spun his head quickly, darting a furtive glance into the far brush lying at the foot of the forest. The other three froze at his brisk action and sudden silence; they could just slowly crane their necks to follow Gipson's stare. The party sat in an open field a little over a hundred yards from the forest. The noises emerging were common and ordinary, birds and the scratching of branches against one another. But Gipson's ears seemed almost to stretch, as if to increase their horn and capture a distant rustling unheard by all others. All sounds around them seemed to magnify, as if each of them now had an unknown importance, but when Seville finally asked, "You hear somethin'?", Gipson only returned a confused nod followed by:
"I thought so, but whatever it is it stopped."
It was unsettling to say the least, and the feeling pervaded even when they returned to idle speech, Gipson detailing adventures where his keen hearing had played quite a part. According to him, he could hear a blade being unsheathed a mile away. But it suddenly felt like a mask, especially to Sylum who was surprised to find that sometime during the silent moment his hand had gripped his short sword and prepared to use it. Without thought it had happened. Sylum noted with a chill that doubtless a battle was coming one day. One day, he was going to have to fight.
Gipson had not been talking for much longer, Seville and Edrick leaning in with fascinated stares, when he shot around hard again, pressing his gaze even deeper into the brush. At once his eyes connected with a movement unseen by the others, a pattern of motion within the leaves just beyond the range of the wind. He followed it across and back, until the others had almost decided to call it quits on account of their knight going mad, but just then a creature emerged from the bushes and vaulted towards them, moving slowly on its little legs.
"Is that…"
"…a…"
"…Forest Imp?" finished Edrick for the others. Gipson's eyes, equally keen, squinted and then widened back.
"It would appear so."
The singular forest imp was beating its legs hard, swinging its two tiny arms on each side in quick jerky motions. Outstretched in its right hand, distinguished by a pale glimmer, was a dagger. It wore tattered green clothing, stripped around its body like long threads over a pincushion. Its skin was pale and rotten, with a spiked nose and miniscule eyes all black and sharp. But they couldn't tell all this yet. At this pacing and at this distance, it would take the imp over a minute to be upon them.
"Is he, uh, attacking us?" asked Sylum, a giggle just under his breath, and it was the same for Gipson.
"It would appear so." By now they could hear the frantic panting of the little imp, high and squeaky, fast-paced in short gasps. Still a ways to go, the imp maintained its charge and wildly swinging limbs.
"Uh … alone?" asked Sylum, still confused, still amused. Gipson finally broke his gaze and looked over to the doctor.
"It would certainly appear so."
"But I thought they didn't attack by themselves," said Edrick, far too concerned for the likes of a single imp.
"Well, it looks like this one's going to, Edrick," said Gipson, admiring the steadfast approach of the creature. By now they could hear the growls under its voice, like those from a tiny dog. Another thirty seconds maybe if it didn't desist. Somehow the party was at a lack of physical response. They sat and watched it come, a communal face of bewilderment thrown out around them.
"Okay, if this is to be our first encounter," started Seville, "Then I propose we leave it to our dear white mage, Eddie Valance!"
"What?" screamed the priest, backing a few steps defensively.
"Oh, come on, Edrick, it's just a forest imp. Here, I brought something just for you." Sylum said before digging into his pack and quickly removing a slick metal canister, cylindrical with a wedged top sporting a small hole on one side and a button on the apex. "Catch!"
As usual the priest dropped it but he clawed it up quickly, "What is it?" he said.
"It's a mace," responded Sylum, eager as with all his festival finds. The imp held his charge; they could here the soft wheezing of the creature hacking for breath. Perhaps this imp had asthma.
"This is no mace!"
"Of course it is! Just aim it when the time comes, try not to hit yourself. One shot in the face should do the trick."
"And with that we better make room, Gents," said Gipson before standing, stretching quickly, and then walking around behind Edrick, clearly in the mood for this sport. Seville and Sylum followed, and before the three stood Edrick, shaking and holding a thick canister pathetically in his hands. Shaking, and all over a stupid forest imp.
The imp was finally upon them and, politely, it briskly hurtled around all of their materials and ran hard at Edrick. It growled quick, choppy goblinoid speech, and the spit flung freely from his maw as it did it. With a two-legged pounce it dove at Edrick who, summoning power he didn't know he had, quickly sidestepped and the imp fell into the dirt. Frenzied, it jumped to its feet and rounded towards Edrick, ready for another strike. After gaining some speed it performed a similar lunge that Edrick equally dodged, once again dirtying the face of the imp.
"Use the mace, Eddie!" cried out Seville, though it was good fun watching the priest do something right for a change. Edrick nodded and aimed the canister, assuring that the hole was faced out. His index finger rubbed the button until it was warmed with sweat while the imp prepared once more. Another lunge, another dodge.
"Now, Edrick!" commanded Gipson like a wise master, and the priest ran in to the creature and depressed the button. From the hole jetted a thick mist of sparkling droplets that blew into the imp's face. The imp immediately dropped his dagger and started crying out in terrible wails. It scuttled its bony hands over its face and bit up and down frantically. Edrick jolted back and watched the pathetic little goblin stumble stupidly as it gnashed it its own face. Its beady eyes scanned the party for a few moments and then the imp turned and ran back towards the forest, crying the entire way. Seville in those few moments realized that no more awful and sad noise could be known than that of an imp crying. Part of it broke his heart.
There was nothing to say. Nothing! They stood momentarily, absorbing the weirdness. Edrick especially was at a loss, the canister still jittering in his hands. Seville thought at first that Edrick might find some release in battle, but no, it wasn't to be. Edrick returned to his quiet and nervous self. Perhaps it was just the way it went down, thought Seville to himself, always wanting the best for Edrick. I wouldn't want to fight one imp either!
But eventually the milling ceased and they returned to their positions around the fire, a secret message interlocking between them, telling them it was time to go. The silence of packing was depressing for Seville. He'd been so content with the way it was going; he couldn't let that slip away.
"Well, I guess that explains what you were hearing in the forest," he said distantly with a weak grin on his face.
"No, it doesn't." responded Gipson, "I know what an imp sounds like, this was something else."
The motion of the crew halted once again.
"Then what…"
"Human," said Gipson darkly. "We're being followed. Nothing to do but wait'em out. Keep packing, it's time to go."
They couldn't speak for awhile after this. Glances were passed around, confused and worried, but nothing substantial. Once all were packed, Gipson pressed out the fire and they started marching again; the day was still young.
********************
"Okay, so what do we know?" asked Seville, bringing a head to currently dawdling conversation.
"About what?" Sylum returned. They'd been on the road for another few hours, the afternoon sun now hanging heavy in the air and making them sweat. They'd drawn in closer to the trees where they could procure some shade, but by Gipson's suggestion they never traveled within the forests themselves, as most monsters made their homes there.
"About her. About anything that'll help us find the princess, destiny or no. I love ya, Professor, but I'd feel better if I knew where we were going."
"I'll have to agree with the rogue on that one there," said Gipson, who'd developed a habit of scanning the brush at regular intervals. Edrick however was still distant and had spent most of the trip picking oblong rocks up from the dirt and chucking them out into the grass fields, seeing if they'd skip. It works better over water, but it doesn't really matter in the face of endless walking. Edrick's face had reddened a good bit over the day; his pale skin wasn't used to such sun. He went on chucking his rocks.
"Well, we know she was kidnapped, because the kidnapper left a note. No name, obviously, and no apparent motive. In the two weeks since the abduction nothing new has come up, no ransom demands or anything like that. Nobody in the king's court has made leave lately, so it doesn't seem to be an inside job."
"What we know, professor, not what we don't know."
"Okay, we know that as the princess she's the most beautiful maiden in the land, so it's possible she was just abducted by a creep. We know that her and her father had a lot of political differences, which could have a part to play in his less than stellar attempts at rescuing her. And, assuming that she's still on the continent, there are only so many places she could be. If it'll make you all feel better we'll stop at the next town and ask some questions, perhaps our reputation might have already preceded us."
"Perhaps the note was forged and she's just run away," added Seville with a smirk.
"…Perhaps. But if the king got that impression I imagine he'd react differently. If we're right, and I think we are, he's always seen this whole ordeal as a publicity stunt, but if the princess is unrecoverable, then the publicity will be bad publicity, and that's not what King Eliv wants. No, somehow he is sure that the note is genuine, so we'll have to go off that."
Seville and Gipson crowed around doctor Sylum as he spoke authoritatively. Edrick stayed to himself and his rock skipping game. Sylum continued:
"My conjecture is that some as yet unknown party is trying to put political pressure on the king. But it's too early to come out with anything solid. Eliv is slow and deliberative, so this third party will wait as long as it takes until the king loses his cool. Already Eliv has become increasingly rash, but the third party wants more, wants a potential collapse no doubt."
"So who's the third party?" asked Gipson, taking Seville's place as the rogue went over to slap Edrick on the head and then dodge the retaliatory strike.
"Well, if we're lucky, the third party is somebody from Corneria, a farmer or miner who's fallen on bad times and feels like lashing out. At least there we can establish a motive. But what is more likely, I'm afraid, is that it's no one. Just some guy who's decided to do something crazy and seek political gain while he's at it. Corneria could be on its way to great change, good or bad."
"Unless of course we stop it," affirmed Gipson.
"Which we will," said Sylum with an appreciative glance.
The brief moment of play had come and gone, and Edrick returned to skimming the rocks into the high grass. They already developed a habit of spacing their dialogue, not wanting to use it all up so soon, so they were quiet for now, most of them thinking about the dull burn on the soles of their feet, Gipson thinking about the brush at the rim of the forest. The rhythmic sounds of Edrick's stones thumping in the distance became a comfortable binder. There was no need to speak as long as something was happening. Still, it was quite welcome when a rogue stone lanced into the high grass and sent back a loud metallic thud.
Before the others had even interpreted the noise Gipson had pulled one of his long swords and dashed at the grass, impressively swift under such heavy capacity. With a lunge he entered the green stalks and disappeared behind their curtain, and then all the others could hear was his movement, armor jangling, the displacement of vegetation. Next came two violent swoops of his sword sending feathery blades of grass up into the air. And then finally shouting, indistinct and angry. When Gipson emerged he was holding a man firmly from the collar of his shirt, and when he was open enough, Gipson released the man with a shove to the ground.
"Why do you trail us?" Gipson shouted, towering over the man who pressed himself in random directions upon his forearms. Even without Gipson to compare with, this man on the ground would be small, his features thin and untrained.
"Now hold on a minute! Hold on a minute!" said the man as he tried to stand, but Gipson returned him to the floor with a shove of his boot.
"Answer first!" yelled Gipson, making sure the man could see the tip of his sword in his limited vision.
The man pressed himself back a little, trying to increase the gap, "Come on, now, I mean you no harm!" His voice was more deep than his frame suggested, punctuated with expressive sincerity.
"Then why do you trail us?" asked Gipson once more, circling around and giving a nod to the rest party that things were under control. "Speak and I'll let you be."
"Because it's my job!" said the man before thrusting a defiant look into Gipson's solid face, and then he pushed himself up and brushed off his clothes. He wore a light blue t-shirt and black slacks that held a little too low on his ankles. To his belt were attached a few wooden dowels and what appeared to be graphite pencils. When standing he was not so short as he looked on the ground, his hair peppery though his face his young. He had a snooty upturned nose and his cheeks appeared to blush out wider than the rest of his head, they were rosy pink. In fact, all put together he was quite odd looking.
"What job is that?" interrogated Gipson with controlled tempo, "Assassin?"
"Do I look like an assassin?" asked the man smartly, and as if going completely about his business, he reached into his pocket and removed a crumpled up loose-wicker hat that, with some fluffing, stood like a single tall steeple over his head. The brim was wide and put a shadow on his face. Gipson seemed to take this as a personal insult.
"You look enough like one to me!" and Gipson moved closer with his sword, raising it to threaten.
"Hold on a minute!" the man cried. Gipson ever approaching, the man jumped back with a single hop and made of precise motion with his arms, which instantly flung from them a small orb of fire that shot into the ground with a pop and sent dust clouds into the air. Gipson stopped moving.
"… Black mage," the knight said, indicating the direction towards his partners with a quick glance. He still held his sword readied, but was now more cautious. If there's one thing a monster hunter hates to deal with, it's a black mage.
"Now just hold on a minute! I'm not here to kill anybody!" said the man, his two hands raised forward in a warding formation. Standing off to the side, a spectator to the showdown, what Seville was noticing was how this man had a particularly short way of connecting his words, like an auctioneer's voice.
"Then for what?" demanded Gipson, taking a few strong steps forward, to which the man turned to the others.
"Whoa, now! Are you all gonna pull this barbarian off me or what?"
"Master Gipson, give him a moment," said Sylum, establishing his duty. The doctor came forward slightly as Gipson desisted. "Now, what job is it you speak of? And what's your name?"
The man pointed at the large knight as he made a little distance and hugged the perimeter, "That's abominable behavior for a light warrior!"
"Well, it seems you know who we are," continued Sylum coolly, "Who are you? Answer or I'll let Master Gipson have his way."
"Comminations from the diplomat as well! What an atrabilious fate I portend for the world!" The man started pacing uncomfortably, but Gipson kept a stern presence. "Yeah, two steps back, guy!"
"Atrabilious?" offered Seville, fumbling over the word.
"Look it up, kid. I've more onerous obligations than playing dictionary for…" But he was cut short by Sylum who pulled his sword strategically and held it just at the man's chest.
"Answer my questions. Now!"
The man ran his eyes from top to bottom of Sylum's body and then back to top, sizing him up. His misshapen faced showed a haughty sense of unconcern.
"Fine. The name's Chuck, Chuck Domino." Seville wanted to laugh. "And I'm no assassin. I'm a journalist, a columnist like the curmudgeon over there," said the man, pointing to Gipson who reared his head angrily. "I work the Corneria Chronicle out of Jrist, statistics show that at least one of you should have heard of me."
"Journalist?" Gipson had become extraordinarily defensive, "What is it you want with us?"
"Don't be so obtuse! The scoop! I was working festival detail down in Corneria when you guys showed up and did your little frippery. Boss thought it'd be good stuff, so he moved some new guys to my beat and sent me after you. A bit of prodigality on his part, I'll admit, but job's a job."
It made them uneasy, fearful. This little weasel of a man following them secretly and documenting everything. Sylum had heard of Chuck Domino before, and like most successful people in his field, he had a knack for skewed points of view and slander. The second they made a mistake it would be published and faith in them would drop. Sylum cringed at such thoughts, already knowing full well that his 'Zen adventuring' would not be a popular idea to the public. Why had he not expected this? It seemed so clear it would happen and preventive measures should have been taken. And yet, what if they didn't make any mistakes? What if all went gloriously well and journalistic documentation sang their praises through the lands? Think of the name it would give him. Sylum the great! But that was later, and this was now, and the others were not keen on it, you could tell from the scrunched anger in their eyes, the horrid gaze from trembling Edrick, or the downcast smirk of Seville. But why did Gipson, a master of such things, so fear another journalist? Sylum didn't have time to put it all through his mind.
"So you like words, huh?" asked Sylum, rhetorically. "How about this one? Reprobate."
"I've done nothing wrong! If you'll remember it was ogre-boy over there that assaulted me!"
"Unscrupulous!"
"When and how, friend? I'm just doing a job same as you."
"How about, avarice!"
"Just so you know I don't get paid very much, a pittance compared to my meritorious distinction within my vocation."
"Paparazzi!"
"Come on, now, that's a little asinine, don't ya think?"
"Hey, I've got one!" interrupted Seville, a bright smile curling onto his face. "Asshole!"
Chuck responded as foolhardy as ever, "Oh, now that's just not nice," and then he threw a palm forward, aiming at Gipson, and shot a fireball into the knight, who went soaring back and landed with a grinding crunch. With amazing speed the man flicked his wrist by his belt and drew one of the wooded dowels and aimed again at Gipson. There was a brilliant flash and within the wand came a foreign buzzing sound and he slotted it just as quickly back on his belt. Seville had already torn free his daggers and was vaulting at the infuriating man, but Chuck simply shook his head with a rancorous grin, snapped his fingers, and was gone from sight.
********************
A Cornerian dusk starts slow in the western sky with subtle rims of purple that curve indistinctly. The shifting hues are gradual, so gradual in fact that a watching eye might not notice them. The change would only register after a passage of time and rebooting of the brain. Once the wavy purple fades the entire sky is lit by orange, followed by smaller patches of pink and red that hug towards the horizon, a gentle but deep blue filling in around it until taking it over. And then the sky is calm, the turbulence passed. And such was the sky as the light warriors decided the day had been long enough and made camp a very short distance from the forest line, as per Gipson's instructions.
"It'll give us a place to hang the food, and the walk for firewood will be much shorter. Yes, yes, I know monsters are more plentiful here, don't worry about it. Gents, this is what I do," the knight had said to assure the others facing their first night in the wilderness. From a weasely journalist to the most oddly behaved imp in all Corneria, it had been a weird day to start an adventure with. But the group vibe had been strengthening as the time passed. Their speech came naturally, without the slightest burden, and they shared laughs, even with Edrick. They decided to watch out for Chuck Domino wherever he may be, but also accepted that there was little they could do about him. He would be back, no doubt about that. The nervous white mage, with great effort, healed Gipson of his burns, to which the knight gave Edrick a hardy slap on the back and a "Thanks, Bucko!" Sylum then tried to present a case that Domino might not have been wholly bad, that a little publicity could be a good thing, but the others, and Gipson seemed to be speaking from experience, agreed that it was not. "Let's do this one first," offered Seville, "Then we'll get some publicity."
That comment had stifled conversation a slight while as it sunk in to each of them how long a task they had before them. Not just saving a princess, though they had hardly looked beyond that point, but saving a world. None of them had fully accepted that this was no one-night stand. Light warriors are light warriors for life, and it could take that to do the job. The Lux Aeterna could not be treated as a triviality. In truth, it still hadn't sunk, not as they sat around a fire and talked of the day's events with a sense of humor. What a day, what a day!
It was not completely nighttime yet, but the sun was below the horizon, and their skin reflected the powdery blue of shadows wherever it was not orange with flame. Prickles of stars had formed along the eastern ridge, the peak of twilight. Sylum decided another toast was in order and brought forth another of the soft drinks, this one called Mountain Dew. They generally liked it, but Edrick would not have a second sip so Seville finished his for him.
"And so what do your instincts tell you, Master Gipson, about the first day that is?" asked doctor Sylum. He'd removed his hat and cloak and lunged lazily on one of the logs they'd moved over, the flicker of fire dancing on the lenses of his glasses. "I figure you should be our chief adventure correspondent."
"A good day, doctor. A very good day, I think. Of course, only our mage has seen any action, but if the road continues working as it always has in my long years, we can expect plenty of trial in the near future." Gipson shrugged his voice a little, showing an age that he often hid, but the others didn't seem to notice.
"Long years, sir? Why, I wouldn't place you ten over my own," responded Sylum. Darrin Sylum was thirty-five years old, not the least ready to give in to bad backs and ulcers. The way he pressed his thin brown hair down in a mesh gave both the impression of care and absent-mindedness. It was short and seemed to jut into thatch patterns halfway down his forehead, like he had tried to do something with it and failed miserably. If you liked glasses he wasn't too shabby to look at either, confined in the scholarly sense of naivety; so strong at some things and so weak at others. Perhaps it was just the young company he kept, students like Seville, but he wasn't one to act his age. He was fairly new to Corneria, and his workshops on political liberalism and ethics had almost made him feared. The old men called him a "hot shot", but in the worst way possible.
"Wouldn't you now?" answered back Gipson vaguely. Ten years, Gipson thought to himself, that would put him at forty something. Ha!
"I would, I would. In fact, it is odd to me that the light warriors should span such an age difference. Then again, legends, they always make things more romantic than they should."
"What's that, Dr. Sylum?" asked Edrick Valance, rubbing his eyes tiredly and realizing that Seville was doing the same.
"Oh, well, the legend states that four warriors will come bearing the orbs of light, each to one elemental force of nature. That's such a simplistic way of saying it when you think about it. By meaning, we didn't really come in riding white horses and bearing magical orbs. We stumbled into everything at the last minute, not even twenty-four hours ago yet. It felt like a big coincidence to me."
"You're saying…" continued Edrick.
"Nothing really, just thoughts. Tired thoughts."
"I know what you mean," added Seville, stretching his arms up above his head and yawning, "I think it's been long enough for me. I didn't have a very good night last night in the first place." Seville stood up and this time stretched his legs. He unclasped his vest and set it to the side and was just kicking out his bedroll when the quiet serenity of the four was startled by a resounding snap. Next came the crisp shhhink of Gipson's sword pulling from its sheath, and the knight turned briskly and raced his eyes along the nearest brush. His eyes pointed so quickly to different things it seemed almost to be connecting dots, and then Gipson turned to the other four.
"Ambush!" he said, and the creatures came barreling out of the woods.
Before Seville could distinguish the images he tucked his head back as an arrow grazed by and thudded into the dirt behind, sticking up like a spike.
"Down!" yelled Gipson and he pushed the rogue and priest over with his palms. Soaring arrows collided with the soft dirt all around, most of them snapping on impact and fumbling into slivery piles. Seville could hear the pouncing of swift feet on the ground, rapidly growing near. Dodging the high-pitched streams of another barrage, Seville scurried backwards on hands and knees, saw that Gipson was charging off, and stood to do the same. An arrow just then pierced into the fire and shot up a spit of ash of sparks, but Seville brushed this away from his eyes and found his daggers. When he saw the creatures he almost choked, overcome with astonishment and shock.
Over a score of forest imps, armed with daggers and short bows, had charged into the field, but not alone. The first of them had saddled large wolves and were galloping them skillfully, vicious gleams in their beady eyes. The wolf-riders had already circled a containment perimeter and the foot soldiers were rushing in just behind. Standing back were the archers, but they were not as skilled. Seville twisted the handles of his blades in his hands, a brief moment of confused repose, and then he began running towards the line, where Gipson was already slashing at the tiny creatures.
Sylum had taken longer to react but had finally found his short sword and was dancing from side to side, swinging the sword at what was usually nothing and taking over- exaggerated lengths to dodge the flailing arrows. Edrick pushed the firewood stack out of the way, as the rogue arrow had sent the fire scuttling along the path in a trickle, and then he found his mace and reared it around him, hoping the riders and footman would forget he was there. The rushing noises of feet and blades punched at him on all sides, and he spun until he was dizzy from it.
Then came two strong whaps, like a thick whip going off, and they all turned to find the noise. Even Gipson did not respond fast enough as the weighted net struck his chest and wrapped in around him. Sylum also was not prepared and was gunned down by the thick fiber net fitted on all sides with heavy grapes like a bolo. The spacing of the holes was wide and as the two captured men struggled they found themselves only further entwined. Sylum called:
"Quick, Seville, the netting!" but Seville was busy strafing from the rusty daggers of four imps. Actually Gipson had already sent several of the goblins sailing through the air, sometimes in half-parts, and had broken the archer line, but the monsters were tenacious, snarling their gruff language in spurts. Over the grumbles of the imps and growls of the circling wolves, Seville could hear the struggle of the two captured men and Edrick shouting something frantically and depressing the nozzle of his mace. One of the imps thrust forward, the curved front of his dagger pressed out, and Seville barely sided the beast and made a flick of his wrist and the imp fell to the ground and did not get up.
"Seville!" Sylum called again as two of the wolf-riders rode into him and the wolves were snapping their fierce jaws at the tendons in his ankles. He kicked at them like a dying man on his last fight, but they seemed unaffected. Seville had turned to respond to Sylum, but the imps took the opportunity and circled around to flank. They assaulted together and Seville again lucked out with a quick side jump and then a roll back around the fire. The rogue charged the two wolf-riders working over the doctor, punctuating it with a bestial cry. He pounced one of them with a fury and sent the rider smacking into the grass. When Seville pulled his hand close he could feel the warm blood of the wolf saturating it down to the wrist. The downed rider stood with an angry limp and hobbled forward with his dagger while the other wolf-rider rounded and snapped. Seville aimed one dagger at each of them, jousting them forward and back repetitively to keep the enemies at bay. The wolf readied on its haunches, and the standing imp shouted goblinoid obscenities at Seville, but they came out as squeaky titters. A sudden loud whap from behind caused Seville foolishly to turn, and he saw Edrick downed by a heavy net just before the wolf jumped and raked at his back.
A well-placed elbow pressed the wolf off and he expertly lifted a dagger from the dirt and brought it around with a wide slice. As he met the one-eighty mark the knife tore into the wolf's muzzle and it hopped backwards with a pained whimper, unseating the angry rider. The wolf turned and darted to the trees, and Seville managed to find his feet and survey the field. Gipson had finally reached one of his knives and was scraping at the rope, but the progress was infinitesimal. Sylum was doing his best to unlatch the odd twists and turns of the weights behind his back but could hardly reach them, and Edrick was content just to keep the single imp bothering him at bay with his mace. Ten imps remained, all brandishing daggers and standing on the ground. Each of the wolf-riders had either dismounted or been fought off.
"Come and get some!" yelled Seville and they turned to focus on him, closing forward in a menacing semi-circle. They spoke to each other in that horrid goblin language, plotting and preparing. The imps fanned out and tried to complete the circle, but Seville dashed to one side and took two preemptive stabs at the closest imp, who ducked and scuttled away, but at least the circle was not complete. It was a standstill, ten imps facing the single Seville, though he was twice their height. They closed in, maintaining this time their line, and Seville reciprocally backed away, holding the two daggers like traffic wands. Then suddenly an object came under his foot and he lifted before he crushed it. Looking down he saw one of the short bows, conveniently discarded along with a stocked quiver. He scooped both the bow and an arrow up precisely, aimed, and fired.
The imps screamed out in violent chatters when they turned inwards and saw one of the center imps, arrow sticking a foot out of his forehead fall back with a thump. As they wasted disorient time Seville pulled up another arrow, aimed, and fired. A swoop of wind and then it struck an imp in the chest and it went pelting back. Now the imps unified their anger and charged after Seville, who accidentally dropped the bow and then pulled out his daggers once more.
They were upon him, like an army of children that would hack at his shins, but he disengaged that imagery from his mind quickly and he deftly parried two jabs and sent those two imps back with bloody gashes along their chests. The imps moved swiftly and flanked on all sides then, six of them remaining, and they swung their daggers bravely at the man, but Seville felt the adrenaline him take him away from it, and place him in a zone where all was perfection. Operating differently against each monster he blocked strike after strike and kicked his way through the group, freeing his sides. Then Seville advanced and slashed one of the imps down, shielding his eyes from the blood spurt. The others stepped back as it happened and darted their small eyes fearfully. They tried to respond with their daggers but Seville had taken over, and he hopped over the blades smashed into two of them which flew back and when standing again ran off to the trees.
And then three remained, the distance between them and Seville no more than six feet, but the imps did not approach. They shared concerned glances between themselves, and Seville kept his daggers moving through the air in figure-eight swashes so as to keep them on edge. After the brief uncomfortable interlude, the three imps raised their daggers, dropped them, ran into the forest, and the battle was done.
Still surging with heat, Seville went to each of his partners with a sprint and cut them free of the nets. All around were the bodies of imps, so many in so short a time. Though quite dark now, the satin stains of blood on the ground shone menacingly in the frail light of the fire. Seville himself had a pain in his back, probably light bleeding, but since he couldn't be cured it wouldn't do to explain. There was a quick pulse of anger in him, bitterness that he had not been more careful in such a fragile condition, but it passed with a heartbeat. What time was this to get down on himself?
"Don't worry about it, you say?" scoffed Edrick to Gipson, exasperated. It was the first time he had raised his voice to anyone, but Gipson did not take it seriously.
"Oh, come on, there's no time for that now. The battle is ours, or more, his! Seville!"
"Yes?" responded Seville, still sick with adrenaline and feeling antsy, as if he should be doing something.
"Well, that was incredible. Why didn't you tell me you had such skill with the dagger? This is the kind of thing a warrior likes to know."
"You never asked, big guy!" Seville answered with a laugh and an appreciative smile.
"I commend you as well, Seville." Dr. Sylum added. "After a performance like that, one can hardly doubt the light warrior in you. Really, marvelous. Wonderful! Now, Edrick, a little help."
Edrick reluctantly went to the professor and healed the wounds on his ankle. That's two for the day, Seville thought, not bad at all, Eddie.
"Wait now, before it's all good job and good night, what exactly happened to imps being the most pathetic creatures in the forest? Seemed pretty resourceful to me!" said Edrick, belatedly continuing his rant.
"They were a clever bunch, I'll give it to'em. We should probably move the camp a little father from the tree line so we don't get sniped in the night. Obviously we'll have to have watches now. I'll go first, followed by Dr. Sylum, and then you, Edrick. We'll let Seville rest. His last night was bad, no reason to continue the trend."
Seville nodded happily at this but he knew that it was false. Gipson wanted Seville to sleep because of the ghost rot. Sylum had provided a perfectly mild solution of morphine to fight the pain without dementia, but he really knew nothing else. The rot would cause so many problems in the future, but he managed to press this out of his mind as well.
They shuttled the camp farther out into the field, cleaned down their equipment, and settled in to rest. Seville went to his bed first, having planned for that before the battle and especially now he felt sluggish, the adrenaline in him thinning and leaving him to feel as if he was floating. The thick gropes of fatigue overcame his strongly, and he collapsed into his bedroll and seemed to sink forever into the ground. The other three had decided to stay up and talk by the fire a moment longer, and because of this Seville fought sleep as long he could. After they thought he had gone, the three talked highly of Seville, his industriousness in battle and overall value to the team. It had only been a day but they seemed to feel that they were centering around him. Something about Seville made all this more important.
Seville's heart swelled so fully that it almost hurt, and for the first time in a very long time, he fell asleep happy.