Chương 48

You cannot expect kindness on the road. The light of a new day found them back on the road. The merchants had been terrified of staying in the caverns, and Adhira and Harker were keen on moving forward. The rankings hounded them both. Hours later, they rattled along the mountain trail, sat atop one of two wagons that had been hitched together in order to be hauled by the large bullhound. Her name was Penelope and she was a big fan of ear scritches, or so Adhira found out in the earliest parts of their ride.

Harker and Adhira sat on the second wagon's bench, eyes turned to the slow waking of the world. The trees swayed in the constant wind. Weeds rustled from between bare stretches of stone alongside the mountain path. A hawk cried in the distance. All the while, blue shadows fled at sharp angles from the bright butter light. Harker leaned forward, trying to find relief. He was exhausted but his body hurt too much to sleep.

The erosion from the Sea had done its damage, and his hips ached fiercely from sitting all night. Even his knees felt stiff, and when he moved them, he felt a gritty grind in the joint. Impurities were building up in him. How long would it be before he couldn't walk at all? Harker ran his eyes over the caravan. Lydia was still recovering up ahead, resting in the back amid their goods. Denar was driving the hound, of course, leading the way back up the mountain.

Adhira was to the right, her hip less than two feet from his own, and her axe planted firmly between them. She too was scanning the horizon for threats. It was a fruitless task. In the eight hours since they'd left the cave and valley behind, they hadn't spotted another living soul. Very few creatures either. Some might have found the silence unnerving, but Harker was simply grateful. Though he hadn't been able to sleep, he had been able to rest. A liquid mumble gurgled through Harker's awareness.

Stillwater was in the back of his wagon. Originally, the Gilken had investigated every crate, chest, and barrel he could get his grubby little claws on, but eventually he'd grown bored. Now he sprawled underneath several bolts of cloth, his belly rising and falling with soft snores. A tree branch jerked. Harker had an arrow nocked in seconds, his fingers resting on the sinew as he tracked the movement.

Ahead, a child-sized rodent lifted its blunt head, sniffing the air—then it was gone, snatched up in a flash as a hawk twice its size snatched it into the air. Tracking it for several moments longer, Harker lowered his bow. The bird was no threat. He held up the arrow, inspecting the head. The tip was a standard broadhead, meant for hunting normal game, attached to a thin shaft and mottled fletching.

Unlike the copper tips he'd seen used often in Vale, these were made of iron and had all the hallmarks of being hand forged instead of cast. They were well made, if a touch rushed—the polar opposite of the Aberrant tips. Harker pulled one free, comparing the two. The Aberrant tips were made from an ossified reservoir, packed with Water, and carved into a brutal spiral. The technique was miles beyond the low efforts of whoever forged the broadheads, but Aberrant tips were far more brittle, as he'd found out.

Harker had only been able to recover a total of eight arrows from the mercenaries, and Denar had kindly filled out his quiver with the broadheads. Harker wasn't sure what the merchant had originally transported, but now his two wagons were stocked full of everything the bandit's had stolen. Most of it was dry goods—food and the like—things easily traded with the villages and towns up north. More than a little of it, however, were specialty goods. Ingots of iron, steel, copper, and tin.

Kegs of an ochre powder that Denar informed him was used in the forging process somehow. As were the small barrels of quenching oil and racks of iron tools, though the glassware and tubing was too strange and delicate to belong to a smith. It was clear that the bandits had accosted more than a few tradesmen across the past few months. Their guards too, as a great deal of armor and weaponry filled the caravan. The horn bow and arrows had all come from that cache.

Harker would have taken more, but the quiver at his hip could only hold so much, and there came a point when even his pack was too full. That hurts to admit. Adhira had taken none of it, of course. She had her axe, and her armor, even damaged at the hip, was far better than anything the bandits had stockpiled. Harker did try out a chainmail hauberk, but it was entirely too heavy and very loud whenever he moved.

The protection it offered was nothing when compared to the strength of even a Surface Talent's refined muscles. If the chain had been infused in some way, of course, that would be a different story—but nothing in the stock was so fine. Instead, Harker settled on several sets of clothing secured from Denar's own stock. Gone were the torn sweater and ripped trousers, replaced by thick canvas slacks and a black workman's frock coat that buttoned up to the neck and trailed down just above his knees.

It was delightfully warm in the chill wind, and the seams were generous, allowing a great deal of movement no matter how he bent. Harker had also acquired several new basic tunics and trousers, which were all carefully stowed away. If he were to be diving headfirst into more fights, having a few spares on hand would be essential. Lowering his bow, Harker glanced at Adhira, but the girl was too busy staring the other direction, her finger playing over the edge of her axe. She had been quiet most of the night.

The mercenary missive had gone about as well as Harker's had expected. She wasn't angry at him, though that was hard to reconcile with the fury that seemed to crawl off her skin in waves. There's nothing either of us can do about it now. He only hoped her general disposition won out in the end—the last thing he was looking for was a fight with her. She'll have to sort out her feelings herself. Instead, Harker checked his progress bars for the third time in as many hours. Ordeals In Progress…

The Ordeal Of Maelstrom's Passage - The Trial Of Power - 10% > 11% The Ordeal Of Blackwake's Descent - The Trial Of Truth - 0% The Ordeal Of Breaking Reef - The Trial Of Change - 10% > 19% The Ordeal Of Tidal Climb - The Trial Of Resilience - 15% > 25% The Ordeal of Deep Lantern - The Trial Of Harmony - 2% > 5% The Ordeal of Drowning Sky - The Trial Of Vigilance - 10% > 20% The Ordeal of Mist and Foam - The Trial Of Stillness - 16% > 25% The Ordeal of Siren's Undertow - The Trial Of Judgment - 5% > 30% The Ordeal of Abyssal Plunge - The Trial Of Ambition - 8% > 32% There had been huge growth for almost every Ordeal, save for Maelstrom's Passage, Blackwake's Descent, and Deep Lantern.

Power, Truth, and Harmony. Harker chewed at his lip, thinking through the events of the night. Power grew by a single percent, and Harmony grew by three, which isn't nothing, but clearly it wasn't the focus of my challenge. If Power is all about how much the Sea I can mobilize, then that makes sense. Harmony is about working together, and I did the latter fight entirely alone. Behind him, Stillwater snorted in his sleep as if in protest. Clearly the Chartermark doesn't count the Eidhrin as an aid.

Harker toyed with a knife in his fingers. Can it even see him? No one else could, despite his loud voice and monstrous appearance. Harker had little reason to believe the Chartermark was any different. I'm not sure why Harmony or Power increased, even slightly. I must be missing something there. Truth was a concern. It still sat at 0% despite his growth in every other area.

Harker had already determined it wasn't an Ordeal focused on personal truth-telling, otherwise his lack of lying should have sent the percentage bar to 100% long ago. So then is it about being truthful to others? Harker glanced at Adhira. The woman was scanning the mountain like she wanted to bite it in half. That's not happening. He'd figure it out eventually. The others, however, had grown fantastically. Change, Resilience, Vigilance, Stillness, Judgment, and Ambition.

He'd proven himself worthy of all of them with a single encounter. Two encounters, he reminded himself. Harker hadn't checked his progress after the fight against the bandits and their caged Aberrants. The bandits had been a challenge of their own, but he'd done far less by himself. That's probably where my improvement with Harmony came from. A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation. Overall, however, his gains were good.

Harker would consider them exceptional, if only he had a baseline to judge them on. He sorely wished that he could ask Adhira what was normal for this stage of their journey, but there was no way she would know. Even with the head start offered by her Hollow Hold, she didn't have access to the progress bars. If Harker's assumption was correct, no one did. Still, it didn't hurt trying.

"This is boring," Harker said, making a show of stretching his arms with a groan.

"I'm likely to fall asleep soon." Adhira grunted.

"Comfort has always been boring."

"I suppose. Can't say I've had enough comfort to really tell."

"Coddling chafes, Harker. You can drown in well-stuffed cushions as much as any tidepool." He considered Adhira. Her eyes were hooded—she hadn't slept much either—but her jaw was clenched. A small muscle flexed up to her temple as she continued to scan the trail.

"I don't suppose this counts as challenging ourselves, does it?" A wry snort escaped her.

"No, it doesn't, though I think you've faced your fair share of challenges for the day."

"Enough to make it into the rankings?" She frowned.

"I'm unsure. It's a relative list, unfortunately. Everyone is attempting to lift their rank at the same time, and we can only check at the Charterstones."

"Uncertainty fuels competition," Harker mused.

"The Academy really has this honed to an art form."

"More right than you know. The Nine Spires choose their Aspirants with exceeding care. Not everyone is able to fight back the hordes of Aberrants across the isles."

"You studied the Spires in the Hollow Hold, right?"

"I did. It was the secondary focus of my education, right behind leveraging my Talents."

"What can you tell me about the Ordeals? How do they work?"

"They are…" Adhira bit her lip, but her clenched jaw softened as she looked upward.

"Those that survive are sworn to secrecy. They cannot give full details on what happens in the Travelspires, only the barest of hints. What I do know is that we will be subjected to the Crucible."

"The Crucible? That.. Doesn't sound comfortable." A smile flickered across her face.

"It's an artifact from before the Academy's founding, made by an unknown thaumist Ages ago. Few know how it works, only that I can temporarily alter the physical composition of an area. Create walls, floors, hazards, all in an instant." Harker couldn't imagine such a thing. Or how useful it would be on a battlefield.

"I assume this artifact is quite large." Adhira nodded.

"So I've been told. At least several stories high. It's stored at the base of the Nine Spires itself, though some manner of thaumistry lets it affect the Travelspires."

"But the Travelspires move vast distances from the Academy itself. How—?"

"If I knew, Harker, I'd tell you." He had a thousand questions about such an artifact, but contained himself. There would be time to explore that subject in the future, once he'd started attending the Spires.

"So how does this Crucible come into play?"

"We're subjected to a scenario that somehow relates to each Ordeal. The Crucible inflicts changes upon us and the Travelspire itself and we… we must endure." Harker raised an eyebrow.

"Ominous."

"That's putting it lightly. People die in the Ordeals, Harker." Of course they do. Adhira drummed her fingers on the wagon bench.

"It's not entirely dire. While most are required to take all nine within the Travelspire, scratch that. While most are required to take all nine Ordeals within the Travelspire, others only take a few."

"That doesn't seem fair. Why?"

"Again, no one knows for certain. The most popular guess is that some Aspirants are simply…better." Harker snorted. Her smile flitted back, lingering longer this time.

"I agree. But it doesn't hurt to try and rank as high as you can. You never know." Yet he did know. Harker turned over the new details, his mind connecting bits of disparate information together with tight sutures. Your Ordeal begins now. Magister Sivak had admitted it at the end of his visit. The tests were ongoing. If Harker managed to push his Ordeals to 100% before arriving at the Travelspire, would he be entirely exempt from this mini Crucible?

"If you do well in an Ordeal, what then?"

"Then you gain favor with the Tribunal. They, along with the attending magister…" Adhira clenched her jaw again.

"... will determine your placement in the Nine Spires once all Ordeals are complete."

"Placement?" Adhira groaned.

"Are all commoners ignorant of these things? What do they teach you in school?"

"Placement," Harker repeated far more sharply. Adhira's groan turned into an impatient wave of her hand.

"Don't get testy. The Tribunal determines which of the Nine Spires you would descend. If you're attending as a full Talent, that's the Spires of Leviathan, Maelstrom, and Riptide." Even Harker had heard those names. They were the Spires that took in Aspirants and spat out heroes.

"What of the others? There are nine, aren't there?"

"There was. But most Talented aren't interested in them." He leveled his gaze at her.

"Humor me."

"Very well. Let's see. We covered the Talent Spires. Then what's left are the Tool and Tome Spires. Adepts and scholars, if you will." Adhira cleared her throat, and the cadence of her voice changed, as if she were reciting something from memory.

"If you are intent on studying alchemy, there is the Spire of Brine. If smithing is your goal, there is the Spire of Iron. The last is far more prestigious and even harder to gain access to: the Spire of Tidelight, with a focus on infusions."

"Leviathan and the others, do they not study any of the crafts?"

"Not usually. Sometimes the Talent focused Spires will dabble in those other disciplines, but the amount of time it takes to really hone our might to its fullest capacity leaves little time for fiddling with potions or weaponry, no matter how fine." She gestured idly to her own axe.

"The Spires have their own dedicated crafters, a support system designed to help the Aspirants when they're in the field, both during and after coursework ends." Harker pondered that. He'd hoped to learn more on alchemy or even infusions potentially.

"And the last set of Spires? You called them the Tome?"

"Yes, they are the scholars dedicated to research. The Spire of Deepwatch is all about gathering intelligence, specifically on Aberrants. Truly anything that might crawl out of the Sea are of interest to them. It's they that help determine where new horizon breaks might occur, as well as organizing the Aspirants for deployment."

"What of the other two?"

"Those are no longer standing. They burned down almost two decades ago."

"The Nine Spires is poorly named then." Adhira chuckled.

"Be sure to tell the magister's that, first thing. They'll love it." The wagon slowed. Ahead, Denar hauled back on the reins and Penelope huffed indignantly. There was a fork in the road.

"This is our path," the old man said, getting down from his wagon with a groan. Harker and Adhira did likewise, carefully clambering over the hitch connecting the two wagons. The old man gestured to the right where the path extended onward to the west, descending at a slight angle as it curved around a cliff.

"That there will lead us down to the Sunken City at the root of the mountain. It's a shame to head back when we only left four days ago, but we've got quite the haul this time. It'll take us some days to reach the gates, but an hour or two down that path and we'll see the patrols. No bandits or Aberrants can harm us there." He paused, rubbing at his splinted arm.

"You're both welcome to come with us."

"We are bound for different fates, Master Denar." Adhira clapped the man on his shoulder.

"I hope you and your wife have a safe journey and many prosperous returns on your bountiful new inventory." From the wagon, Lydia laughed and clambered forward.

"Now that's a mighty good blessing!"

"Oh, Lydia, please be careful!"

"I'm not frail yet!" The once injured lady climbed up onto the wagon seat and leaned down. She was spry and looked in far better condition then her splinted husband.

"I must say I am powerfully thankful to you. And you too, Miss Adhira. You fought off those monsters and the bandits that were trying to cage my Denar. You both saved my life. For that, I can never repay you. But please, I insist, you take something." Get gestured frantically to her husband. Denar sighed.

"Currently, all of my coin is tied up in this stock. Seeing as you don't have or want a wagon, you can't carry bolts of cloth or spices—" Harker held up a hand.

"What sort of spices?" Adhira rolled her eyes.

"Oh, uh, I'll lead you through them in a moment." Denar reached into his jacket.

"More importantly, I wanted to give you this." Denar held out a familiar vial. It was resealed and mostly full.

"The remains of Last Grace." Harker blinked.

"Are you sure? This is worth—""Nothing, compared to the life of my Lydia."

"It's worth a lot!" his wife called from the wagon.

"Enough to buy a whole fleet of wagons." Denar smirked.

"Yet we can't sell it. No Talented is gonna buy a panacea without its original seal." He closed Harker's fingers around the vial.

"You can at least make use of it, son, even if you aren't at Second Depth. I can only hope it'll do you a good turn along your dangerous path." Harker swallowed, cradling the precious elixir in his palm. He inclined his head.

"Thank you, Denar. It is…" He didn't have the right words for such a gift.

"Thank you." The old merchant just smiled and patted him gently on the shoulder.

"As for Miss Adhira…I know you don't want anything to do with the bandits' weapons or the rest of our stock, but I couldn't let you leave empty handed." He reached beneath the wagon seat and pulled two heavy stones free. Each one was the size of his fist and hadn't been cut or polished in the slightest. It had rough translucent facets, riddled with veins of bright colors and flecks of impurities.

"These are the best of the Talent gems I have to offer. They're undifferentiated, usable for anything. They've got some impurities, but possess a clarity fine enough to sell for a great deal of coin. Or if you find hands you trust, you can use it to craft your own equipment with a potent reservoir." Adhira held up her hand as if to push the offering away.

"This is too great a gift—""Oh, pish!" Lydia said, talking over her.

"Don't insult us, Miss Adhira. This is what we can offer, and like my Denar said, it's doesn't have a shine on what you've already saved. So you take it, and be grateful."

"I—of course, ma'am." Adhira bowed deeply and with reverent hands, took one of the Talent gems. Harker took the other, his mouth all but watering as he held it close, staring at the cloudy facets. Ideas percolated within him like a burbling stream. He didn't know enough about smithing or infusions, but every good artifact had a Talent gem at its heart. With some effort, he tore his gaze away and cleared his throat.

"Now. About those spices?"