Chương 12: -12- The Journey

Calder—Rime Rest township Calder had two quick tasks on his mind as he took in the morning air. One was, of course, grabbing a loaner weapon from Bromwick on the way out of town. He didn't want to go into the damned dungeon with two broken swords and a can-do attitude. The other… He sighed deeply as he walked through the crisp morning breeze, golden rays of light shining through the clouds above, casting the graveyard in a mosaic of golden light.

And ahead he could see the maiden's spirit waving at him with a slight smile on her lips that quickly turned to a concerned frown as she spied Dectus in Calder's shadow and the grim look on Calder's face. He couldn't help it; he was happy that he could help her, but in many ways the few ghosts here were just as real friends as the ones he had made in town. He would do it, but he would be sad to see her go. It was time to set the maiden free. And use that to top off his grasp of the beyond a little more.

[Grasp of the beyond: 36/100] [Gaze of the Beyond 14/100] Unfortunately, it seemed that the attention he called to himself from the eldritch terrors wasn't fading quickly. He could see that rapidly becoming an existentially threatening issue if he didn't figure it out. But for now Calder added it to the pile of questions he had for the Church of the Void after he got his armor sorted. The maiden fluttered through the air, meeting Calder on the edge of the cliff near a commoner's grave.

She waved, and in response, he slowly reached out his hand. She quizzically looked at it in amusement before humoring him by daintily placing her fingertips on his outstretched palm. Tranquility flickered from him as Make Material danced into her hand, and she gasped audibly, lightly landing on the snowy ground.

"How? What?" She said in a light voice tinged with almost overwhelming emotion. Calder was certain if she could have, she would have wept at the sudden physical contact; her grip tightened desperately on Calder's hand like it was the only thing holding her up.

"Ehh, finally got a class that lets me do more than just set books out for you." He sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck.

"I don't really have a grasp on my powers yet, but... I'm damn near certain I can send you to your afterlife, the one you deserve, not this…endless pacing you have been enduring my whole life." She gripped his hand even tighter somehow.

"Let me introduce myself, Alura of the Fein Wind. Wizard by trade, adventurer by choice, and buried in a minor mausoleum on the edge of the sea for love…" She let out a sad smile.

"Might I have your name?"

"Calder Loamish, tomb keeper and I suppose now Remnant Knight, although I don't ahh know fully what that encompasses yet." He had imagined what she was over the years; a wizard and adventurer weren't even on the list. Slowly she let go of his hand, relaxing once she realized her material nature didn't immediately fade.

"Your offer touches my heart, and some day I may accept it, but the bond that kept me here isn't broken yet. By my own will. This may be presumptuous, but... while I can still speak to the living... Find my son… He was taken years ago in the attack that cost me and my husband our lives." Calder froze; he was hoping to free her, not add another task to his increasingly complicated life.

"She mistook his reaction. I can offer lessons in exchange to help you with your powers… please think it over. If you accept, know that an image of my son lies in the brooch upon my grave, and he was taken in the port of Darmooth." Dectus was looking between them, trying to figure out what the hell was happening. Calder gave a not entirely selfless answer; if she really could help him with his shaping, he couldn't pass it up.

There was utterly no way he would find a wizard or mage to teach him in town or even nearby without attracting attention.

"Alura, I will help if I can. But… for now I must go. I can only use this power for a short time." [Grasp of the Beyond 30/100] [Gaze of the beyond 14/100] Calder begrudgingly let her fade back into immateriality, feeling shamed at her obvious sorrow. But he couldn't afford to keep using the grasp right now; he was expecting to leave nearly topped up. As it was he was leaving with a new task, a possible teacher, and fewer resources than when he woke up.

He was getting a bit better at using the grasp more efficiently with Make Material, but only barely; it was a solid work in progress. He would probably be upgrading that skill first. Seeing as he still hadn't even had the opportunity to use Shepard of Souls. The maiden followed them all the way down to the edge of the cemetery, obviously overcome with the sudden interaction. Calder couldn't blame her in the slightest and only wished he could justify making it a longer conversation.

He felt like he gave her a glimmer of hope only to immediately leave because that's exactly what he was doing. Calder waved a friendly goodbye and hurried down the hill towards the blacksmiths; he didn't have time to dally if he wanted to make it to the closest dungeon entrance without being caught out at night. The first safe campsite in the two day trek was almost exactly a day on foot. He went straight into Bromwick's smithy, slipping slightly on the sheet of ice outside his doorway.

He was just firing the forges up for the day, so he hadn't melted the patch around his shop yet. Bromwick looked up from where he was fiddling with some knobs on the side of his forge and just flicked a thumb towards a nearby table.

"Those are loaners; you're welcome. I figured the moment your big ass waddled out with a still broken sword, ye would come back." He let out a guffaw and then frowned, quickly adjusting a dial as his forge sputtered. Calder walked to the stout wooden table set against the wall; it only had two objects on it. The first was a truly massive greatsword. It was a crude thing nearly as thick as his finger with a blade as wide as his palm.

It had a rough, unadorned grip made from some light wood long enough to provide colossal leverage and a disappointingly dull-looking point on the tip of the blade. Damn, that thing is ugly. Sure as hell looks like it would get the job done, though. Calder grunted slightly in surprise as he picked the blade up with one hand; it was abysmally heavy. Browmick didn't even look over as he explained the sword, "One of the 'I can prove myself' blades from the wee wannabe blacksmiths.

That one is truly an abomination to both the forgefather and anyone with an ounce o grace. But I have to break it back down to get the metal back anyway, and I figured it'll meet ye needs for a whack or two before ye break it.

"Calder nodded thankfully and looked quizzically towards the second item on the table. It was a thick, curved vambrace with a pair of simple mana stones set into the metal. He hefted it curiously, turning it to inspect the strange armored glass circle on the top. His eyes went wide as he realized what it was.

"Browmwick, this is a..." The author's content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

"Yea, yea, calm yeaself. It's old and barely works. I cannot let ye wander off in good conscience without at least some way to tell da foe's levels. Consider it a loaner until ye purify the metal." He turned to face Calder.

"Unless ye big arse has an identifying talent hidin under dem brows?" Calder quickly placed the vambrace onto his wrist; it hummed lightly before falling silent again.

"I thought not," Bromwick said with smug amusement and waved Calder out of his shop as he finally got his forge to fire up. Calder nearly slipped on ice on his way out of the shop; he was so enamored with the Spotter on his wrist. They were reasonably common with the war going on for so long, but they weren't cheap, even older battered pieces like this. It would let even the simplest ground pounder point at an enemy and get a small glimpse at an enemy's level and ability.

Best of all, it ran off a pair of tiny mana stones; it didn't use the wielder's mana. Of course one like this wouldn't do a damn thing versus a truly high-level opponent or anyone with items or talents designed to obfuscate a status, but it was invaluable to someone like Calder. He didn't even know if he would ever be able to craft an identification talent without mana.

Calder hefted his sword over his shoulder in the brutish scabbard it had come with and let it hang off his right shoulder while his travel pack was strung across his left. It was slightly awkward, but he was far too excited as he walked down the road to notice it too much. Calder was on alert as he took long steps across the lightly snow-dusted road. He might not be the most approachable target for brigands, but a lone traveler was never safe these days.

Between the increasing scouting and skirmishing of Kalderan forces. Or the roving bands of deserters from the war, the countryside was a treacherous place. That was all separate from the very real and present threat of monsters between the cities. The crown drafting most young fighting men had the unintended knock on effect of depriving the adventuring guild of new members.

After nearly twenty years of that most adventurer halls in the nation had quest boards overflowing with jobs and not enough able bodied men to take them. So most every monster culling job that went up was simply looked over for easier or more lucrative work. Only those who truly craved power through levels would willingly choose to fight some of the horrors hiding among the forests over escorting a merchant cart and growing fat on their delicacies and ale rations. Luckily the early morning journey was painless.

The road swept back and forth into the distance, loosely following the coastline. On Calder's right the ocean cast a harsh glare only broken by the occasional winter wave crashing against the bluff hard enough to interrupt the light. Seagulls circled curiously, wondering if he might drop a scrap or two. On the ocean itself only a smattering of vessels were visible this far out from a port; none of them were the smaller two- or three-man fishing vessels that dominated Rime Rest's meager fishing fleets.

Instead, they were vast vessels housing tens or even hundreds of men. Only two cruised across the horizon within sight. One was a wide, thick-masted vessel trawling a net that spanned hundreds of strides behind itself. In a barley visible smear of blue and grey clothes, fishermen clambered across it, pulling on large cranks and aligning ropes to pull a net in and collect the catch before casting it out again. The other vessel was a sleek, majestic credit to the Navy.

Druid-crafted wood was interwoven impeccably into a single seamless hull that sat low to the water. Every inch of its top surface was stained with a dark blue dye, making it incredibly difficult to pick out at a distance, and it practically skimmed across the water propelled by a mix of oarwork and magecraft. Even at this vast distance Calder could make out the slight protrusions of enchanted ballista. Each would be manned by skilled, experienced mariners who drilled daily in its use.

And somewhere on the ship would be a high first-tier or early second-tier water mage lurking like a secret weapon. The Kalderans had Calder's people outclassed on nearly every front, but the ocean was still solidly in the grasp of the people of Frostveild. Calder slowed his walk slightly to look at the snowy pines to his left. A single pure white stag stood in a clearing Its towering crystalline antlers casting rainbows across the glade. It stared at Calder, a challenge in its eyes, each breath clouding the air.

Calder smiled and made sure to walk quickly past the idyllic sight; the forest stretched on for leagues here, and seeing a creature as majestic as that was considered a good omen. The sound of a cart rattling up the dirt road behind him pulled him from his aimless watch. He had been practicing his shaping the whole walk, bringing the power to the tips of his fingers and pulling it back into himself.

The sudden distraction caused his concentration to lapse and a small burst of darkness scattered across the road, freezing a stride of the melting snow into a perfect glasslike circle of ice. Calder stomped across it, trying to break it into a bit more natural-looking slush as the cart approached. He hoped he just looked like a cold traveler stamping their feet to try and get the blood flowing again instead of a mad giant stomping the street into ruin.

Great job on the subtle Calder; you made it three hours from town before you just froze the fucking road. The cart slowed warily at a distance, an older gentleman standing up from where he was driving to peer over his horse at the lone armed man in the road. Calder waved, "Hail! Don't mind me just walking from Rime Rest! I stopped to see who was coming up on me because well..." Calder let the rest stay unsaid. The older man grumbled an affirmation and let his horse trot forward again.

"Enough said, lad. It's smart for any of us to keep our eyes peeled in these times." The cart slowed next to Calder, and he saw an open back with a tarp covering half the top. A couple of passengers sat on a small bench wedged next to a small pile of grain sacks, probably from the mill. A wrinkled face peered over the edge at him; beady eyes and a nearly bald dotting of hair caught Calder's attention. He recognized Hellen at the same time she recognized him. She was a truly aged crone of a woman.

She was also Rime Rests best baker, and a bit of a busy body. Oh god, it's Hellen.

"Oh Calder!" She crooned, "Why are you walking, deary? Come have a seat!" The cart master sighed, already having obviously dealt with enough of Hellen in the last few hours of travel.

"Ma'am, the cart is for paying customers." He said curtly, then turned to Calder, "No offense, lad."

"None taken," Calder replied, and he meant it; it was only fair that people paid a fare if they wanted a ride. Hellen disagreed.

"Oh, pish posh! He's a town guard! We don't have a guard with us. Look at him; he's a simple lad, but the gods made up for it by well…" She gestured up and down Calder's imposing frame. Calder and the cart master sighed at almost the same time. But the driver didn't dismiss her comment immediately; he eyed the sword Calder was carrying that was nearly as tall as the cartmaster himself was. He raised a brow.

"My name's Edmund. Are you really a guard back in town?"

"Guard in training, but yes, I do shifts with Phil sometimes."

"Ehh, honestly, the wonderful Helen there is right; we don't have a guard. No one would sign on for the pittance I could offer. If ye want a ride, it wouldn't be no bother and would make me feel a bit better." Calder wanted to decline, but honestly that would be awfully suspicious; no one in these parts turned down the option to ride with a group unless they were doing something unseemly. So instead he embraced it.

"Ahh, sure, I'd be happy to spare my feet; I can sit in the back and look scary." Edmund guffawed good-naturedly as Calder pulled himself up into the back and sat as far away from Helen as he could manage without falling off the bench. The cart rattled into a start again. Calder was awkwardly holding his sword and bag in his lap. Helen looked supremely pleased with herself.

"Hmph, I said I could get us a guard!" She said to a rather generic-looking man in dark robes who was doing his best to stare a hole into the floorboards. He grunted a noncommittal response. They continued on in silence for a while, Edmund, Calder, Helen, and two other passengers. One was just a portly man who was notably well dressed and had some bolts of cloth stowed under his seat. Probably a tailor. Calder glanced at the cloaked figure; something about him was off.

He was looking everywhere in the cart but at Calder in a way that set his teeth on edge. Calder ignored it for another few leagues until Edmund mumbled back towards Calder.

"Probably nothing, but there is a small group of folks beside the road up ahead." Calder would have agreed it was probably nothing nefarious if not for the cloaked man smoothly palming a dagger in preparation while still trying to keep it hidden from the fellow passengers. Calder looked at Dectus with wide eyes. Dectus nodded, sword at the ready; he had seen it too. It looked like Helen might well have had the right idea getting a guard for the cart.