Chapter 5: First Impressions II

"Looks clear," his Ghost remarked.

The Warlock continued to watch the dirt road through the lens of the Zen Meteor's scope. His position, up on a boulder at the forest's edge, was well hidden and granted a surprisingly wide vantage point. Had it been on Earth a Fallen crew or Warlord would have set up in area and dug in; it was uphill from the road with low visibility, great cover and enough occasional traffic to warrant staying... but no one in the region, or perhaps even the continent, had a rifle of any sort. Aside from him.

It was a startling realization for him.

Ikharos chose not to return to Doramb, after having ensured it would survive. In the grand scheme of things it was unimportant. He chose to take a southward road directed towards the nearby town of Narda, judging by the map Alosk had provided him. There was precious little an out-of-the-way village would provide in terms of information. He opted to relocate to a larger population centre.

Movement caught his eye, coming from his left. There was a small group of riders surrounding a cart pulled by oxen, all travelling southwestwards. They had donned basic armour of boiled leather and chainmail, over which they wore red tunics bearing a symbol of a twisted flame outlined with gold thread. Soldiers. The local king's, perhaps?

"I bet they're carrying valuables in that cart."

"Not that it concerns us." Ikharos waited until they passed, then slung the sniper rifle over his shoulder and picked his way down the hill. "No matter what, stay out of sight."

"Yeah, I know."

When they reached the road, the Warlock gave the Ghost an expectant glance. "Sparrow?"

She huffed. "Yeah, yeah. Here you... go?"

Nothing happened. No Sparrow manifested before them.

"What's wrong?"

"My transmat systems are being jammed. I can barely get anything through."

"There must be a communications hub. Where is it?"

"Looking... Huh."

"Close?"

"Nope. Up."

"Ah." Ikharos sighed. "The Warsats."

"They're locked around the planet for a reason. Nothing gets in or out on their watch."

"Psekisk," he snarled in near perfect Eliksni. "This is becoming irritating."

The Warlock walked the entire three days it took to reach Narda without pause. He set a breakneck pace, fatal for a Ghostless human, and traveled an incredible distance within that timeframe. He was hardly even out of breath when he arrived.

Narda was compact for a settlment, huddled against the calm glittering sea and with the foothills of the Spine right behind it. A duo of soldiers, much like the riders from earlier, guarded the way in with halberds in hand. They watched the Warlock approach with hard eyes.

"Where'd you be from?" One asked suspiciously.

Ikharos shrugged. "Doramb."

"You don't look like a piss-poor farmer."

"That's because I'm not."

"Then what are you?"

"A soldier." The armour should have been telling enough.

"What brings a soldier here?"

"Wanderlust."

"Hah, wanderlust. Looking for employment?" The guards exchanged uncertain, resigned looks. "Fine, you can enter, but don't cause any trouble. We'll be keeping our eyes on you."

"I'm sure you will." The Guardian slipped past them and into the town.

It was midday and the markets were busy with the wealthy farmers come to sell the last of their winter crop. There was another band of traders and travelers to boot, judging from the looks of them, come from far south to buy and sell whatever would make them a tidy profit. Ikharos easily stood out amongst the merchants and shoppers, what with him wearing his Braytech armour, but though he drew eyes no one called him out. Maybe it was social thing. Still, they kept their distance. It suited him just fine; he had his own goal here. He needed money.

The jewelers were his first destination. There was a big man with a maul tied to his belt stood at the corner of the target stall, watching Ikharos while the owner entertained a richly dressed young adult. They noticed his arrival, of course, yet carried on with their bartering. The Warlock didn't mind. He could wait, even if the hired guard was giving him a dark look.

"-and thank you, sir. I hope your wife appreciates the gift." The merchant said jovially. The previous customer walked off, a bag of silver lighter and with a ornate bracelet in hand. The jeweler turned to Ikharos. His shrewd gaze narrowed with suspicion. "And... how can I help you, sir?"

"I'm looking to sell."

"Oh? And what do you offer?"

Ikharos wordlessly held out a piece of royal amethyst. The jeweler's eyes bulged.

"Is, uh... is that what you mean to part with?"

"It is."

"I can... I can offer five hundred crowns."

Ikharos paused. He had little idea how much value the currency carried, and though this wasn't only crystal he had, he didn't want to waste it. His Ghost had the best business sense of either of them, so he trusted her judgement on this.

"Haggle," she whispered into his mind. "Up the price."

"Seven hundred."

"There you go."

"Six hundred," the merchant countered. His eyes still greedily followed the crystal.

"Six hundred and fifty."

"Those terms are acceptable." The man procured a clinking bag and counted out the money. Once it was all there - and made sure to check it was all there - Ikharus handed over the amethyst. He didn't know if he came out a richer man, but he was at least satisfied that he had procured a new potential resource to lean on.

The inn was near as busy as the market by evening. Fortunately Ikharos managed to grab a seat through all the chaos. Some time passed before a server found him.

"How can I help you, sir?" The barmaid asked.

Ikharos planted five of the 'crowns' on the table before him. "Some food and wine, if you would. And do tell me: which route to Teirm would be quickest?"

"That'd be by the sea, sir, but you'd have to book passage upon one of them ships."

The Warlock hummed. "That sounds ideal. Thank you."

"I'll bring your meal shortly, sir. Would you be needing a room?"

"I don't think so. There will be few clouds tonight. I think I might watch the stars."

The girl frowned but left all the same, taking the coins and disappearing back into the bustle of the tavern. True to her word, she returned with a plate of roast beef, carrots and parsnip, as well as a dusty bottle of old wine. Ikharos set in. It was a quiet affair, being in the tavern's far corner, but the atmosphere and background noise was pleasant. Relaxing. When he finished, the Guardian dropped another pair of crowns on the table and left.

"Are you headed to Teirm?" The Warlock asked. The sailor nodded hesitantly. "Where is the captain?"

The man pointed to another down the pier, talking with a local official. Ikharos went to investigate.

"...needs to be done! My business is in danger!" The captain complained. He was a heavyset man and his clothes were moderately well kept, but his boots were stained ragged with sea salt.

"There is little we can do!" The official replied hotly. "Good day!"

The second man stormed off, passing the Guardian without even looking at him.

The captain sighed heavily, dropping his face into his hands. "What will I do..."

"Excuse me. You are the owner of that ship?" Ikharos gestured to the boat he had just left.

"Hey!" The captain jumped, swiveled around, and sent him a searching look. "... That I am. Captain Evrulf. Can I help you?"

"I would like to procure passage to Teirm." The Warlock offered near fifty crowns. The captain's breath stalled for a moment.

"Er, uh, yes, of course. We are... uh, we are to set off on the morrow."

"Very good." Ikharos paused. "If I may be so bold, what is it that threatens your livelihood?"

Evrulf scowled. "There's been talk of pirates. Sailing's hard enough; this is a hassle we could do without."

"Ah. My sympathies." Ikharos dipped his head. "In any case, I will meet you here tomorrow."

The ship was a smallish cog with nearly a dozen crew and a couple of other passengers. The true focus of the journey was obviously to ferry cargo. Funnily enough, those soldiers Ikharos had sighted on the road to Narda were on board - as well as the crates they had been guarding.

Ikharos handed the captain the payment and relocated a quiet spot on the ship to meditate. He had been correct the previous day, when speaking with the barmaid, as the sky had been perfectly clear of obstructions. The stars were remarkable, and the Warlock had spent quite some time watching the unfamiliar constellations sprawl across the sky.

In all honesty, he was excited for Teirm. Human cities, aside from the Last City or the habitats of the Reef, were often full of the dead and in various states of disrepair. A healthy and living settlement would have been a welcome change. Not only that, but there was bound to be something to enlighten him. He had been on Kepler-186f for days on end, and yet with every answer he received he had another two questions to follow up with.

Their journey began without a hitch. The tides and winds seemed to favour them that day, for they had completely left the town behind within a tidy hour. As the ship sailed out into the open ocean Ikharos was struck with the desire to join the other passengers in watching the land shrink away from them. The distant peaks of the Spine still loomed high above, despite their distance from the coast. It was an incredible thing to behold.

"The sea is a harsh mistress, but a beautiful one," Evrulf said, appearing at Ikharos's side. "Even now, after twenty years of sailing, I haven't grown sick of her."

The Warlock could almost relate. Space was similar - always so mysterious, so unpredictable, and he loved it dearly. Still, though, it was an endlessly dangerous place, totally designed to kill whatever life was so bold as to enter its grasping expanses. It was not something he had ever been truly comfortable with.

For nearly a week they sailed peacefully. Ikharos contemplated the puzzles he faced and made some progress with an assortment of differing theories. On the odd occasion he even made small talk with crew and fellow passengers. The soldiers were easily the most unfriendly of them all, and they marked him out as foreign since the beginning, so he avoided them as best he could.

Then, just as he began to settle down for the seventh night, trouble brewed.

"Sails!" Someone, a crewmember yelled. A flurry of activity came after it. With a pang of annoyance, Ikharus got to his feet again and looked over to where the sailors pointed. Another ship - a larger galley bearing a golden sail - trailed behind them a few miles out. "Captain!"

"Aye, I see it!" Evrulf snapped. "Look at them... Mangy scavengers!"

Ah. Pirates. The Warlock mustered his grip upon the Void. He wondered if he would have to exercise it.

"Full sail!" The captain ordered. "We'll outrun those dogs yet!"

The crew sprung into action. Ikharos made his way to the back of the cog and watched their pursuers gain on them. He hoped they could be reasoned with. It would be unfortunate if they made themselves a nuisance. He pulled his rifle over his shoulder and set the stock against his shoulder, keeping his stance wide and moving his torso to account for the swell and drop of the sea beneath. The other ship were indeed chasing, it seemed. Their crew were watching the cog closely while they mobilized for a fight.

Ikharos adjusted his aim. Interesting. It appeared he wouldn't need to draw on his power at all. He watched for a few minutes more, allowing the pirates to close the distance by half, then timed his strike. He needed to do it just right, to anticipate how both ships would move with the wind and waves, and then...

Bang!

The galley's mast erupted near the base with a burst of flame and many splinters of wood. The Warlock couldn't hear it, but he could certainly see the chaos he had sown. The upper mast collapsed sideways and fell hallway into the water, completely halting the pirates' efforts.

"What in the world was that?" Evrulf cried out, staring at the rifle. "That roar!"

"The pirates will trouble us no further," Ikharos told him, his voice soft. He slung the rifle back over his shoulder, held tightly to his back by use of a magnetic lock within his armour. "Shall we resume our course?"

The captain opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, his face pale with fear. A minute passed, then he ordered his crew in a wavering voice to return to their posts. Ikharos turned back to the disaster that was now the galley. The pirates would survive, but the means by which they preyed on others had been severely crippled. He didn't anticipate they would resume preying on others anytime soon.

The crew feared him. He supposed it was his own fault. Isolation was an old friend, but he did not dread it. Ikharos had always been accustomed with being an introvert. His quiet nature was one borne of years of weathering warfare and strife. True, hardy companions capable of keeping up with him were rare. He missed what few friends he'd left behind in Sol.

This sailing trip was more hazardous than he had originally anticipated. Even without the pirates, the ship nearly faced complete and utter destruction from sudden storms twice. It took a lot of Arc Light to divert the worst of the gales from the fragile wooden cog. The crew never even realized how close they had come to being smashed against the sea floor. They did make good time, however. It was quicker than walking and he had saved lives. He didn't regret the choice he'd made. As long as everything ended well and people were alive, he was satisfied.

Within another two weeks they had finally closed in on the city of Teirm.

Even at Teirm, so many miles farther south, the Spine towered above everything. The slopes fell and gave way for a vast grassland of rolling hills and sparse forest, but they were there - a constant reminder of how truly monumental nature's influence on the world around them was.

Teirm sprawled out over the marshy fields, but there was a solid wall around the bulk of it, leaving the outer farms and estates to fend for themselves. The walled city stood at the centre of a large bay. A lighthouse and fortress rose above every other building. Other ships, many far larger than the cog, docked by the port. There was much shouting as the his ship reached a pier, especially between the sailors and the dockworkers waiting for them on land. Ropes were inevitably tossed, and the ship was soon secured. A gangplank was thrown down. Ikharos was the first to disembark, if only because everyone else gave him a wide berth. The soldiers, even those at the port, watched him with keen interest.

It was morning when they had arrived, and the Warlock found it easy to flow into the bustling crowds of the city. There were a few signs, but nothing gave him what he desired, so he grasped a nearby urchin who had been about to rob an unaware merchant and held up a crown. "Tell me where the library is, and this will be yours."

"Down that aways, sir," the youth pointed to a path branching off the main road.

"Show me."

The boy ran ahead, slowing down at every turn for the strolling Warlock, right up until they stopped before a grand old building. Ikharos noted how the houses gradually became shorter the further they walked from the centre of the city, and asked the boy.

"To helps in case of an attack, sir," the lad told him, rocking to and fro on his heels.

"Ah. Smart." He tossed the urchin the gold coin. "Spend it wisely."

"Thank you, sir!" The youth sprinted away, hollering for his friends. The Warlock smiled. Even as far as another star system some things just never changed. He entered the beautifully built wooden building, oddly devoid of life, and found himself face-to-face with a perplexed old man wearing brown robes.

"Excuse me," the elder began, his eyes sharply roving over the Guardian's armour, "but what business have you here?"

"Sorry, I was under the impression this was a library?" Ikharos frowned. Waste of a coin. I should have known better.

"It is."

"Oh, good."

"What is your business here?"

"I was hoping to do some research. There are a number of topics I would like to educate myself on."

"Who are you?"

"Ikharos. I'm a Warlock."

"A magician?!" The old man stood up straight. "Ah, you work for the king! My apologies!"

"I don't..." Ikharos began, but a presence within pulsed rapidly. "I mean, it's alright. No harm done."

"You are welcome to study our books and scrolls" The old man winced. "All I ask is that you do not damage them. My order has spent a century gathering, copying and protecting them. They are everything to me."

"Of course."

"Thank you, sir. Please, follow me."

The old man led him down a hallway, past rooms were other monks studiously copied texts onto fresh paper and vellum with quills dipped in ink, and led him to a large room where a number of bookshelves had been arrayed in neat rows. Each shelf was chock full of volumes and records.

"Incredible," the Warlock grinned.

"I concur. We are at your service, sir. If there is anything else you need please tell us."

"Thank you very much."

If humanity hadn't been engaged in dreadful war for it's very survival, Ikharos imagined he would have fully devoted himself to creating a library. Or a bookstore. He adored books. The tomes of Teirm's library were no different. He did have a mission, though, so he focused on where it all began. The colonists and their Exodus Prime.

The library held nothing on the matter.

Records of local history was suspiciously absent or so obviously altered that it was near useless. It was sorely disappointing. Ikharos swallowed his disgust and pored over other, separate subjects that he hoped would assist him in deciphering the grand puzzle of Kepler. Geography was one such topic, and as opposed to what had been revealed to him in Doramb the library had a much more detailed map. His Ghost scanned it for further use. Then came literature, which was a pleasurable break from the stabs of irritation he had felt over the past few hours, and he basked in the sweet fantasies of poetry.

And finally, there was one book that managed to catch him by surprise. It was biology - though rudimentary in its learnings - and focused solely on the wildlife of Alagaësia. Ikharos had wanted to catch a whiff of the origins of the Urgals, at least, but his attention was soon pilfered by one page in particular.

Dragons.

Never had one word, even as beautifully scrawled as that one, had the capacity to stall all his thought processes and give rise a whirlwind of pure emotion. Regret... Uncertainty... Sorrow... Rage.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me."

Sudden noise alerted him to people coming down the hallway, fast. The slow gait of the old monk clashed with the hard clacks of metal boots on the floor. Soldiers.

"...said he was a servant of the king, but if I had ever known what he truly was, I would have sent him away on the spot!" The group entered the library. His suspicions were confirmed. Five soldiers, the leader of which he remembered from the ship. The old man shook with fury and raisde one waggling finger towards Ikharos. "There he is!"

Ikharos sighed and sat up. "What seems to be the issue? I must warn you, now is not a good time. I am in a precarious mood."

The lead soldier drew his sword. "Yer to surrender yer weapon and come wiv us."

The Warlock closed the book and watched in detached interest as his Ghost transmatted it away. "No. I don't think I will."

Even before the soldiers took their first step, he had Blinked outside the building. He could hear their startled shouts through the wooden walls. He left them to it; he needed to leave the city, and quick. At least his efforts had resulted in learning something.

It wasn't long after that the soldiers raised the hue and cry. Mere minutes, in fact He was genuinely impressed, but that didn't help him any shape or form. Guards all around started closing off streets with weapons in hand, which was problematic given how the city was structured. They didn't need to know who they were looking for once they caught sight of him - his armour was enough to separate him from the masses.

"Dammit," Ikharos hissed under his breath. There were guards at every street, no way past them without starting a fight - and there were too many civilians about to even consider that. He didn't want to risk anyone getting caughtin the crossfire. "What now?"

"The houses are low. You can glide your way across."

"That's far from covert. I won't be able to do that and cloak at the same time. Any alternatives?"

"Unless you think casualties are acceptable, then not really."

"Dammit," he repeated. He stood still, stared at the house before him, and gathered the Void. Then he jumped.

Someone screamed. Shouts echoed from below, but he was already on the move, flying from building to building without pause. Leaping over the city walls was easily managed. Once his feet touched the ground, Ikharos started running, his Light-infused muscles moving faster than any mortal could. He tore reality asunder to mask his presence from every living creature around, masking him from the human senses.

"Dragons," he said at last, leaning against a tree. His Ghost provided the only light around, scarcely enough to make out the words on the page. "Sweet Traveler above... they have Ahamkara here."

"Had, more like. Look, just under. Supposedly extinct."

"Impossible. We had trouble winning the Great Hunt; these people wouldn't have stood a chance. And even if they had, even if they'd managed it... what about the bones? Those monsters would have turned this land... wrong."

"It fits the bill, though. Temporal anomaly. Hostile Warmind. All the equipment they came with gone."

"It's a clue, but not an answer. What happened?"