Chương 85: Arc 2 - Chapter 27

Fritz woke from nightmares, a knot sitting heavy in his stomach and his muscles aching. A feeling of unease rippled down his back and he sat up quickly and searched the campsite for dangers. He saw nothing, yet his paranoia grew.

"What's wrong?" asked Rosie, who was still on watch.

"I don't know," Fritz replied, then remembering that she also had Awareness he asked, "Do you feel something, like a small dread? Like you're a mouse scurrying around a kitchen, wary of the cat you know prowls there?"

"What? No," Rosie said.

"Nightmare?"

"Maybe," Fritz admitted, as it wasn't uncommon for him to wake with his heart pounding in terror, having just relived one terrible moment or another from his past. The unease faded as he gathered his wits and reasserted control on his emotions. Though the fear still sat there, prickling his back and neck. He shook off the phantom feelings and stood, he wouldn't be getting any sleep in his agitated state.

"Rosie, I'll take over the watch. Get some rest, you worked hard today," he ordered gently. She smiled at him gratefully, and with drooping eyes made her way to her bedroll and lay down. Asleep within moments, and snoring within minutes. She must have been tired, as they all were from the gruelling pace he had set for the day's training. Though he had called it a day it was hard to tell what with there never being a sunrise. Just the ever-present glow of starlight.

Fritz was glad they'd taken some time to train here, this Floor was just what they needed to practise their Powers. The cold breeze would flow over them as they exerted themselves, letting them push harder than they could have on a hotter Floor. And while the cold would eventually seep into their muscles and cause them to shiver the oasis's waters were surprisingly warm. Soaking in the gentle pool after a set of sprints or spars proved a fantastic relief.

It was also safe, or as safe as a Spire gets, as the monstrous crabs were simple to spot and never moved in swarms too large for them to handle. They were easy to hunt and even easier to eat afterwards, a fine reward for their efforts. Fritz noticed the others in the crew bulking up and filling out, save Lauren as she ate well enough on the outside and seemingly hadn't put many points into Strength. Though the conditions and food were good that didn't stop the complaints.

He didn't enjoy the training any more than they did, but he thought it necessary for a smooth Climb and reiterated the fact as many times as he could get away with without being repetitive. The only two who seemed to enjoy the delay were Bert and Rosie. The student of the pair shrieked in happiness when she had eventually learned The Arte Pugilist after landing a particularly brutal uppercut.

It had nearly knocked Bert off his feet but instead of falling he grinned, spat a mouthful of blood and brought her to the ground with a sweeping kick. She had screeched in glee the whole way down and barely took a scratch from her fall. Proud as any prince he had held out a hand and hefted her up as she took it.

"Now onto the hard stuff," He had declared, his grin shattering hers. Rosie wasn't the only one to make progress though. The rest of the group's teamwork had grown substantially. They were far less likely to get in each other's ways for one, and their shared pains had brought them together, closer than ever. Much of the suspicion and doubt being wrung out of them like slime out of a skulg. Or maybe that was just wishful thinking.

After some hours of safety and silence, Fritz restlessly decided to walk to the other side of the oasis and practice his swordsmanship. He had felt it was lacking these past two days of fighting. Something was missing from his style and he thought about what was bothering him so much. Was it his free hand that he sometimes filled with his bone dagger or left empty when he wanted to push or pull on enemies to unbalance them?

He knew not, though he did wish that he had a sword Technique, something George was also hoping to find, always moaning, as he was, about how lucky Bert was to find a style that suited him so well. Fritz had to agree there too. Lucky bastard. Though that wasn't to say 'The Observations' had been useless. In fact, he had looked at the Technique's description again and had found it had been providing a minor increase to his Awareness's ability to find weaknesses and discern secrets or ambushes.

Something he hadn't noticed this whole time, but had likely been benefiting from without conscious thought. As he practised with his sword the uneasiness grew again, but he waved it off as paranoia. Thinking about 'The Observations' tended to do that, he missed the small book, or maybe he missed the woman who held it now. He wondered if she was alright. Quicksilver slashed and cut the air as Fritz fought an imaginary duellist.

It took the form of his father, even if this fading facsimile was lacklustre, he still felt his Memory helped him glean a thing or two from his recollections of their 'sparring'. If it could be called that. He was still horribly outmatched even by the shadow of a recollection of the man. No steel could touch his father, he moved minutely yet perfectly, and his blade was always in the right place to riposte and score a deadly blow.

It had always been strange, the way he'd find himself pushing forward only to run into the blunted tip of the man's sword. It was as if there were no way to dodge or even divert the blade, it was unavoidable, an inevitability written in steel. Frustrated, Fritz stopped those imaginary bouts quickly, realising it wasn't helping refine his swordsmanship or lifting his mood. Instead, he went through the forms and strikes.

Over and over, trying to discover, to capture, a sliver of that deadly precision shown to him so long ago. Fritz thrust Quicksilver with intense focus, attempting, failing, to find the feeling he had when he had slain the Hound. There was a moment of truth there, when he had pierced its heart. A truth he carried with him in more ways than one. From the moonsilver of its bones that made his hilt to the Aberrant Seed that had held its Power still in the safe. He frowned. Didn't he take it out of the safe?

Did he ever put it back like he had meant to? He pushed the distracting thoughts away and focused on the point of his blade. There was something there that danced on the edge of his comprehension. Try as he might, he couldn't figure out what was wrong with his strikes. His jabs and thrusts just didn't have that same quality as his father's, and his footwork felt clumsy, borderline bumbling, in comparison. With a sigh, he stopped his pointless practice. Only to find Lauren sitting on a log watching him.

She was mere yards away and he was surprised he hadn't seen or felt her presence. He must have been too focused on his failures with Quicksilver to notice her. He could sense her now, though, like warm embers floating on the breeze. Rapidly he searched for threats, feeling guilty that he had accidentally forgotten to watch for foes. There was nothing amiss and he sighed in relief, then met Lauren's appraising gaze. She motioned for him to come closer and speak to her. He obliged.

"You're quite good, is that a Technique?" She asked.

"No. Or maybe it is, though I haven't grasped it," Fritz said.

"You don't know? Who taught you?" She asked.

"My father, long ago," Fritz admitted, not finding it to be a secret worth keeping. A little trust here on the fourth Floor couldn't hurt, he reassured himself.

"Ah," she said.

"Well, you know you can layer the foundations of a Technique or a Trait before someone receives their Sanctum. Maybe that's what he was doing."

"Perhaps. In fact, it's likely," Fritz said thoughtfully, thinking on all the little games that he and his father had once played. Ones that felt suspiciously like training. Ones like hide-and-seek and I-spy were innocuous, common even, but the count-the-doors or memory games felt very much like a nudge towards a certain Trait he now possessed. Suddenly he wondered how much of his former childhood had been soaked in hidden Sense refining practices.

While he thought, Lauren coughed politely, bringing his attention back to her pretty, anxious face.

"He was a Guide," Fritz eventually said, and predicting the question that was still being prepared on her slightly raw lips he softly added.

"He disappeared."

"Oh," Lauren said. Then after a pause continued, "I lost my father too. Not in a spire though, on the seas." Fritz nodded in commiseration.

"The others say you're a thief," she stated, moving from one painful topic to another. This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

"It's not all I am. But yes," Fritz allowed with a strained smile.

"Though you're obviously highborn," she pressed.

"Obviously?"

"Your cadence, the way you hold yourself," she observed. Fritz smiled bitterly.

"I find it hard to hide, or rather, I don't want to hide it any longer," he said.

"Why hide it at all?"

"Because I have all of the airs and none to be heir to," Fritz said.

"What?"

"Never mind. Have you pried enough to be satisfied?" He rebuked. Lauren blushed and a small sheen of shame began to radiate from her.

"Sorry," she said quickly.

"It's fine. Though if you want to make it up to me, keep my past and my... quirks as secret as you can," Fritz said.

"I can do that," she agreed with a nod.

"Promise me you won't tell anyone on the outside," he demanded softly, staring into her eyes.

"I... promise," she stated.

"Good," Fritz said with a quick smile.

"We should wake the rest, then we can search for more treasure. I know there's some out there I feel it in my bones." He stood and Lauren joined him in rousing the team from their slumber. While the sleeping rose and breakfast began, Fritz strode hastily, but not hurriedly, to his pack then dug around within it. At the bottom his hand seized on the lumpy, lined surface of the Aberrant Seed. He felt a flash of annoyance at his mistake but pushed it away.

It wasn't like it was some great crime that he had brought it along, but he was still frustrated at his own thoughtlessness and fickle attentions. He tucked it away into a pouch on his belt, wanting it close to hand rather than buried in his spare underclothes. With that small distraction addressed, he sat around and took a steaming skewer of crab when it was ready, enjoying it far more than how the monster had been prepared before. He thanked the Gods that Cal had a decent knowledge of how to cook.

Rosie hadn't been wrong on that fact at least, like she was on most others. It was a simple change, to spear the meat with sticks and sear it over the open flames, but it made all the difference in texture, giving the crab a delightful crunch that was sorely lacking from the sticky stew. They ate with some small talk, mostly about their aches and pains, groaning when Fritz informed them of his plan for the day: another trek to find treasure and after that more training.

"I swear, It's like you don't want to be rich at all," Fritz huffed haughtily.

"You peasants should know your place. Really, you should be doing all the hard work while I laze around. I mean while I provide direction and order."

"Direction I'll give you, but order? Really?" Bert scoffed.

"I misspoke. I give orders," Fritz said.

"Like hurry up and finish eating! We have treasure to seek!" They mumbled their assents and soon they were ready to move out onto the dunes within minutes. Fritz led them what he had dubbed as 'north', as they had tried the 'east' yesterday. There were two groups of crabs but they were easily dispatched. Their group had gotten even better at fighting this particular foe and the small group tactics Fritz had taught them had taken root.

Hit and run, luring foes into disadvantageous positions and whittling them down was becoming ingrained in their battle style, though none of the team accidentally learned The Observations, even Rosie who was actually trying for it. The clashes with the crabs were simple, almost rote by the last group. And though that eased Fritz's nerves, still, the uneasiness that had plagued him since he had woken was steadily growing.

He searched the horizon as they found their way to this newest oasis, and saw nothing but sand and stones. Fritz rolled his shoulders and turned away, bending his Awareness on the grass, trees and waters in front of him. In his gut, he knew that they were in the right place, that there was something secret, maybe buried or perhaps hidden within the lush vegetation.

The team spread out all performing their own investigations, tapping on sandstone, wading through grass or in Rosie's case plunging their head below the surface of the oasis. Fritz scanned the area for anything interesting just as Rosie's face surfaced and she gasped then choked as she attempted to yell. Fritz was beside her on the small shore within moments, a smile on his face as he waited for the scaled woman to clear her throat.

"I saw something," she croaked out.

"Good!" Fritz said slapping her on the back, then shaking off the dull ache that hitting her hard scales had inflicted.

"Lantern!" Cal walked towards them with the requested iron lantern and handed it off to Fritz who, without delay, stuck it and his head into the water. The beam of light split the gloom, illuminating a wooden chest with glinting bands of silver. It sat there, half buried in pristine silt at the bottom of the oasis, right in the centre and serenely glittering. Fritz quickly surfaced and grinned.

"What did you see?" Cal asked as Rosie, who had also been looking below the waters, rose with a splash.

"A chest," Fritz announced to the team, who were making their way to the source of the commotion.

"A silver chest."

"Really!?" Rosie blurted.

"I could only see something shiny."

"Yes. Shimmering purely, bright as the moon. Sunken treasures, in my arms soon," Fritz espoused.

"Bert my rope, I'll need you all to pull me up once I give the signal."

"What's the signal?" Rosie asked.

"Three tugs," Bert and Fritz said together. The rope was tied around his waist, he took a deep breath and he dived into the warm water. His bones ensured that he sank like a stone and kicked up a cloud of the white silt as he struck the bottom. He strode through the murk and pulled on the chest. It was stuck fast but with a bit of jiggling and jolting, he freed the treasure and scooped it into his arms. His lungs were starting to strain, but it was nothing compared to his other misadventures underwater.

He tugged on the rope three times. With a sudden force, that pushed the last of the air out of his lungs, he was lifted up and away. Back to the surface. After some splashing and some sharp gasps, not all of which came from Fritz, he surfaced. Grinning around at the staring team, he caught his breath and held out the chest. He displayed it in all its gleaming glory and Rosie spoke up.

"Does this count as me or Fritz finding it?"

"You, of course," Fritz said, stepping out of the oasis to lay the chest on the ground. Before he was able to set the silver banded box down his dull unease soared into a sharp fear. He pulled the precious chest close and stared around frantically.

"Don't be greedy," Rosie whined. Fritz didn't reply, focusing instead on the lurking threat.

"What's wrong?" Bert asked, noting his serious mood.

"We're under attack," Fritz intoned, not knowing why but knowing it was true. A soft whistling from the sky had Fritz staring upwards, he frowned and squinted, seeing only the winking of stars. An arrowhead and a shaft of wood passed right through his leather armoured leg and stuck in the ground behind him. Then the pain hit him, real pain, not before-image or premonition but a red-hot agony. Fritz fell to a knee and dropped the chest.

"Run!" He screamed over the yells and clattering of weapons being readied.

"Cal, get the chest," Bert ordered, taking over command as Fritz struggled to stand with the one, almost two, inch hole drilled through his thigh.

"Get out of here! Back to the Stairway! Into the Well room!" Fritz shouted at the startled faces. To their credit it only took them a moment to comply, rushing away, following the track they had left behind in the sand.

"Can you walk?" Bert asked seriously.

"No, carry me," Fritz decided, instantly discarding his pride for pragmatism. Another whistling and Cal screamed in the distance, an arrow passing through his arm and shattering on the chest that fell from his hands. He reached out a hand and the wood and silver of the chest warped, then were sucked away, disappearing as if dragged down into a whirlpool. Cal staggered, vomited, then fell bonelessly to the sand. Rosie pulled him up, she was strong enough to move him, but it was slow and clumsy going.

She didn't wail this time, she set her teary features resolutely and dragged her brother onward, towards their camp and the Stairway. Lagging at the back no longer, George thudded over to her. He pried Cal from her grip and hauled the man onto his shoulders with a grunt of effort. She nodded gratefully and they ran together. From ahead, Lauren turned and looked back with worry, unsure of what to do.

And it seemed to have saved her life, as another bolt from the sky passed straight through where her chest was going to be if she had continued running. She stared at the green fletched arrow stuck halfway in the ground, horror filling her eyes and face. Then she hid, ducking behind George as he pressed forward, his feet pounding the sands as he picked up speed and broke into a sprint.

Fritz cursed as the whistling sounded again and Bert was struck, the arrow plunged into his shoulder but didn't pass all the way through. He grunted and gritted his teeth, ignoring the shaft and pulling Fritz to his feet and throwing him over his other, uninjured shoulder.

"What in the Abyss is going on," Bert growled as he began to follow the fleeing team.

"It's him," Fritz hissed as he tried to keep his head straight and eyes searching for their assailant.

"Who?"

"The bloody raider," Fritz said.

"The one you talked to."

"Oh," Bert said.

"Whoops."

"Duck!" Fritz cried out as he activated his ring, the barrier pushing him off his friend's shoulder as it enveloped him. Bert went into a dive as Fritz slipped from his grip and tumbled to the sand, causing them to both be propelled forward, rolling. The incoming arrow pierced right through the near-invisible barrier, but its aim was off and the bolt missed by an inch, cutting through his armoured forearm and leaving a slowly dripping line of red.

With the ring's protection dispersed, Bert was able to haul Fritz up again and keep sprinting. As he was jostled, Fritz finally spotted their attackers. Gleaming specks in the distance, illuminated by this Floor's strange glow. Three figures, one with the bow and two following. The person with the bow had stopped loosing arrows and was now bounding towards Fritz like a playful dog as the other two ran behind. Another hound. An ill omen.

And just as bad, the hole in his leg had gone numb and his thigh cramped painfully. Poison. He could nearly feel it, he could feel it, spreading from his wounds as his muscles began trembling. Though as the venom seeped into the muscle it burned and it froze. He could tell the dread substance was being boiled away when it came too close to the moonsilver lining his skeleton. It felt like there was a cold furnace deep within his bones that scorched rot, seared decay and incinerated corruption.

Purifying his flesh and blood for the mere price of pain. Fritz paid willingly with a grimacing grin plastered to his face as he struggled to keep his eyes on their pursuers. The figure holding the bow, Vaa'gur, he was certain, was gaining but his followers flagged and were left behind. The man was fast, moving over the dune at a pace Fritz couldn't believe, each of his graceful strides eating the distance between them like a ravenous beast.

Still, it was unlikely they'd be caught, the raider was at least a hundred yards away, maybe more and Bert was sprinting to their camp that was only some minutes away. The man was gaining, and Fritz could now see his bearded face and cold black eyes. The predatory grin he was wearing changed to a furrowed brow of fury as they showed no signs of slowing. Seemingly the vicious bastard had expected whatever venom he had coated his arrows in to cripple their flight and thwart their escape. He was wrong.

Fritz and Bet reached the camp, just as Lauren was gathering the last of their packs and bags and striding to the Stairway. They quickly joined her, breathing hard and sweating in the chill air.

"Everyone through?" Bert asked.

"Yes, is Fritz alive?" She asked worriedly.

"I'm fine," Fritz called from his undignified position on Bert's shoulder.

"Get me to the Well and I'll be much better though."

"Right. Of course," Lauren replied, handing their traveller's packs to Bert. He took them and they fled, finding the Stairway and running up its scaly stone brick steps to find themselves in the Well room. When they reached the landing and found their team huddled around a sick and shivering Cal, Rosie burst out, "What was that!?"

"We're being hunted," Fritz replied as Bert set him down.

"Why?!" Rosie asked.

"Who?!" Lauren demanded.

"How?" George wondered.

"Unfortunately, it's a short story."