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Arcanist - Chapter 40
🕑 Added 2025-03-15 09:11:29 +0000 UTCAnother early chapter...
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It was a bumpy ride down the sloping path, the outside a bleak picture of dark colors that shaded the promises of the land. Naked trees through all of it, stabbed at the earth at intervals, their roots gnarled round the thick mud, poking out like traps set out by nature to catch the unfortunate.
Inside the carriage, however, it was a show of sparkling lights. Fitted to each corner of the compartment, wide enough for an eight-man company to fit in, were jewels sprinkling soft golden light down the seats. While appropriate for even a royal parade, it was instead being used by men clad in plated armors.
Such indulgence and extravagance, and yet Valens had to admit it was better than breathing in the rotten stench of that cave. He lounged merrily with one hand stretched over the backseats, Celme and Marcus by his side, the edges of his lips curled in a beaming smile even as Mas fellow tried to glare him down to death.
“Relax, will you, Sacred Brother? This carriage has the comfort of a palace, but you’re ruining the mood,” Valens teased the man, which earned him a different look from Garran, with the captain keeping silent in his usual moderation. “Though if you wish, I can do a check on your facial muscles. You might have a few of them pulling at your visage to give you that look.”
“Heretic,” Mas spat, right hand moving over to the sword resting by the door. “Your tongue can’t save you from—“
The captain didn’t even have to say anything to silence the man, as a simple look did the job. Valens presumed the hierarchy of their order could be tighter than it appeared, but the difference of their respectable strengths could be a reason as well. He couldn’t see either man’s levels, but he didn’t need to, as everything was clear over the Resonance.
It’s like the difference between a lion and a slightly overfed cat. Oh, and a wild fox in the mix that’s our indifferent friend.
The muscle intensity alone reflected their stature, with the captain carrying layer upon layer of burning strength under his rather simple, a touch chiseled form. He easily weighed over three times what Valens was worth, and it was a marvel how the carriage kept its balance with men of his stature pulling it down.
Those are strong horses, and this is some quality wood.
Valens nodded, and felt a touch around his arm when he was about to continue with his questions. Celme scrunched her nose at him, displeased by the casual way Valens handled this uncomfortable situation. She and Marcus resembled a pair of street urchins shoved into a royal ball, eyes squinted at the golden light shimmering too bright from the jewels, overwhelmed by the air of strength radiating from the sacred warriors.
But Valens had his fair share of royal company back in the Empire, perhaps more than he would’ve liked. However they feared the Magi and their disturbing potential, the heavy weights of the aristocracy, and the industry often bribed their way inside the Institute to have their children trained at the craft. Master Eldras often likened this to an ‘infiltrate and take control’ kind of approach, though this scarcely worked in the way they’d hoped.
Most of the people who Valens considered as friends were from such families, and not one of them would prefer the riches of the material world to the endless pit of fascination that was the arcane. Charmed and spellbound by the profession, smitten with the craft to the point on no return.
But an occasional whiff from opulence is still much appreciated.
“You are a strange man,” Garran said, helm placed between his feet, long, dark hair spilling freely down the pauldrons of his golden plates. He had a pair of hawkish eyes, a nose that was perhaps a little too small, and a clean, distinct chin that gave him a sharp edge.
“I’ve told you he’s a heretic—“
“I’m not talking about that you dimwit,” Garran rolled his eyes at him. Mas nearly fumed out of his nostrils and made for his sword, halting gingerly when the captain fixed him with a glance. “He was elbow-deep in that man’s guts. Carved him open like a cake, pulled his innards out and stitched them like he was tying a noose for a hanging. I’ve never seen a Healer do that sort of thing.”
“And you’re saying it’s not dark magic?” Mas scowled at Valens. “This bastard soiled those innocent men. Tore their skin open. That’s a grave sin—“
“In my defense,” Valens pulled up a hand. “The man had been already carved open. On top of that, he was being consumed by rotten worms and would have died a terrible death if I hadn’t interfered. And I didn’t tie his guts up, I stitched the holes and fixed his lungs. There’s a difference.”
Mas jabbed a thick finger at him. “Hear! He admits to having sinned! Captain, I’d say we burn him with the Wailborn. See if he’s any shadows in him.”
“We are not burning a Healer just because he works in unusual ways.” The captain pinched the bridge of his nose. “They have Healers plenty in Caligi, and I’ve heard it’s been working well for them.”
“Those fools do anything to piss off the Gods! We’re calling the Sacred Father’s wrath upon us by bringing this man to the capital. Bishop Cornelius—“
“Shadows take you,” Garran muttered under his breath. “You can’t hang everyone who doesn’t fit in your piss-poor view of the world. There’d be no trade in Belgrave if we did that.”
“The Bishop will decide,” the captain said, eyeing Valens. “If he’s anything to do with that traitor, then the Bishop would personally see to it that he’s hanged, and hanged for good by the crowds. If not, we’ll let him walk off. There are no laws against the good-natured special classes. You’ve seen how he fixed dozens of men in such a short time. That’s a gift I can appreciate.”
“The Church won’t,” Mas said through clenched teeth. “Special class or not, there’s no place in Melton for Healers.”
Valens listened to their conversation in silence, trying to form an understanding of their ways. Most details passed over his head, but there was one thing that kept coming up. The traitor who seemed like the bane of this kingdom. A thorn stabbed hard into their heart, and once removed, left behind a gaping hole.
“You’re talking about Baht,” he said. It seemed as good a time as any to learn more of it. “I’ve heard some things about him, but never met the guy.”
“Don’t speak his name,” Mas’ eyes bulged. “You know damn well who he is. Shadow’s piece.”
“I don’t,” Valens said, ignoring Celme’s sharp poke at his side. All eyes turned at him, doubtful. “I’m not even sure I know what he did to earn this sort of treatment from you.”
“He tried to uproot the Divine Churches,” Garran said from the side, giving him a complicated look. “All three of them. Rallied thousands to his cause, and people flocked to the tails of his robe like pups too eager for their father’s attention. Some say with a wave of his hand he could bless hundreds of men.”
“Bless?”
“Heal anything that’s wrong with them. Cuts. Sicknesses. Curses. Everything that you can think of. The man was like a God—“
“You keep that mouth shut!” Mas roared.
“Easy,” the captain scowled at him. “It’s merely a myth. Nobody knows the details. It’s been a hundred years already.”
“Whatever,” Garran shrugged. “It was because of him Melton fears the Healers.”
“That’s… interesting,” Valens said, slightly taken aback. “But utterly foolish, I might add. I can’t see the reason there.”
Garran leaned forward, chest-plate rattling, reached for his sword and clasped it tight in his hand. He nicked a deep cut across his cheek with the tip of it, blood spilling down in a stream while the other men kept their silence.
“Killing’s easy,” he said, looking at the bloody tip of the sword. He made for a swing at the air, at an invisible foe quick as a ghost. “A cut through the neck, then you’re gone. Ain’t a pretty business, I tell you that, and not some heroic triumph to earn you respect of the masses either.” He fished for something from a bag by the side, pulled out a cloth and pressed it upon the wound, smiling through the effort of it. “But there’s something different about a man who can promise real relief to the people in need, and we have more wounded than you can count in Melton.”
“A revolutionary,” Valens said, voice heavy. “That’s why you’re using the Priests, then? To make sure the people know who they should be grateful for, eh? A devious plot. Comes handy as well when you don’t have other Healers meddling with the effort.”
“Enough,” the captain said with a deep frown. His eyes strayed toward the windows as if scared someone would hear a word of the conversation, then back at the compartment with a snap. “Been a long day. We’ve got a lot to do tomorrow. Get a rest. All of you.”
“You just have to ask them, don’t you?” Celme whispered when a silence settled over the carriage. She stole a glance from the warriors, then leaned closer. “These are not simple men, Valens. You’re playing with fire.”
“I certainly am not,” Valens whispered to make sure the templars couldn't hear them. “It’s merely an attempt to grasp the nature of what I’m confronted with. If you’d tell me all of it, I wouldn’t have to rely on some sacred warriors for every piece that I’m missing in this puzzle. And yet, you’ve been awfully quiet since we’re out of the cave.”
“I…” Celme swallowed. “I have my reasons.”
“Well, they are not helping.” Valens stared her down. “As much as I want to keep this farce, I also need to learn more. You’re free to believe otherwise, but I’m not here to play any games.”
“Why are you here, then?”
“I’m in a search.”
“What for?” Celme’s face creased into a scowl. “Knowledge? Information?”
“Knowledge for itself alone?” Valens shook his head. “There’s only one worthy goal for a man who’s out for a search. The truth. Everything else, from your twisted way of treating people to these bigoted warriors and their religion here is insignificant. Life and death. Nothing matters in the face of it, but these things might be woven into a shroud used to hide the crux of it to mere sight. So I have to learn all of it and can’t let anyone get in my way.”
“You…” Celme said, eyes narrowed. “Who are you? What were you doing in that Rift?”
“That’s not relevant anymore,” Valens said. “What is important is the path ahead.” He then crossed his arms and leaned back in the seat, closing his eyes for the night’s sleep.
……..
I always envisioned the first Dungeon-Arc as a transition from Valens's inner conflict about Warmagic into his true search in this world, to give him the means with which he can achieve that purpose. This will have him face shadows, dive deep into magic and its intricacies, and a new society that works in different ways.
Thanks for reading on, everyone! Your support means a lot to me!
Comments
Denizcan Uçuran T4icho
Although super hearing isn’t a thing here, I can add a line that makes it clear that templars couldn’t hear their conversation. Thanks!
Caleb Reusser
That conversation at the end doesn't make sense. They are still in the carriage. Why are they speaking so openly about things they aren't supposed to share with the church? They are dealing with high level people here and they think they can't hear a whisper in a quite carriage.
EsZeus
Nice
