Asheron's Fall: The Power of Ten, Book Six

“Sit.”

The three Royal Guards had paused when they saw him in the drinking area of the tavern, then made to turn around and go elsewhere. The indifferent order made them pause, and then remember that he was still the Warden of the Royal Scouts, and did indeed have rank on them.

“Is that an order, sir?” the tallest of the trio said stiffly, trying not to look at the Claymore shrunk down to a dagger’s size as it lay on the table.

“Are ye goin’ t’ be such a priggish twat with a bramble up their arse fer me t’ make it one?” the Mick replied genially.

The three men looked at one another, remembered what kind of man the Mick was, and decided that gaffing him probably wasn’t a good idea.

They drew up their chairs, and the Mick waved for drinks for all of them. He stayed silent as they did the same, glum and grim, waiting until their mugs arrived before saying anything. “Thinking of mustering out are ye, so quick?” he asked them easily.

They glanced at one another again, guilt in their gazes. “Have you been spying on us, Lord Mick?” the bearded one grunted in challenge.

“Nah. Didn’t need to. Saw the looks in yer eyes when the Light didn’t confirm ye. That feeling o’ being small, o’ not belonging, o’ not being good enough… it’s been leaking out of yer eyes since ye failed.

“O’ course, that’s just idiocy talking there. If that had been the Fountain o’ the Lost Law, ye’d have been perfectly fine, ye know?” His dark eyes met all of theirs without any fear. “And I’d be in the same spot ye are now, the outsider kept out an’ not getting the fun, shiny goodies.

“O’ course, yer ignoring the goddamn fact that ye’re all Royal Guards in fine an’ good standing, the confidants an’ arms o’ the King of Freehold, an’ that hasn’t changed a damn bit. If’n ye don’t ken it right, if ye choose to be a Knight o’ the Lost Light, ye ain’t going t’ be following just Borelean anymore. Ye’ll be following Her Highness the Hag.”

Complex emotions rippled across the faces of the two Aluvians and one Gharu’n. The latter took a long draw of his wine and finally asked, “Lord Mick, why did we not qualify?” he asked hollowly. “None of us are lacking in skill and devotion to a cause!…”

The Mick cut him off with an upraised finger. “Aye, an’ so ye qualify t’ be Royal Guards. Do I qualify t’ be a Royal Guard?”

All three of them blinked at him. “Well, you’re the Lord Warden of the Scouts…” the tallest one began hesitantly.

“A title invented on the spur o’ the moment, an’ ye know it. Me question stands. Do I qualify t’ be a Royal Guard?”

The three men frowned, thinking that over. “Uh, no, Lord Mick,” the bearded one admitted. “You’re just too… rebellious and undisciplined for the life of a Royal Guard. And, and your loyalty to the King is sometimes a bit suspect…”

A finger pointed right at him. “My King, Hell or high waters, aye?” the Mick asked quietly.

All three of them nodded without hesitation.

“The Lost Light doesn’t want men who’d follow a king regardless if he were good or bad, noble or cruel. He’s yer king, an’ ye’ll follow him to the grave, o’ that I have no doubt. I can call him a King, an’ a worthy fellow to sit on that throne an’ wear that crown, but I’ve no reverence fer his position or authority. I’ve only respect for the good an’ noble man he’s proven t’ be.

“That be part of the difference. The other be that I won’t be doing anything that strikes against me conscience… an’ ye three would do the job without hesitation if the king were to order it.”

All three of them stirred uneasily at the words, and then paused as breakfast plates were put before them. They dug in hungrily, and quietly, under the disconcertingly dark eyes that seemed to know too much.

“Had the Magos take a look at ye, see why the Lost Light didna take ye.” All three men paused to look at him stiffly. “Oh, don’t look like that. It’s how she sees the world, Colors o’ Auras an’ everything. It’s like asking her t’ describe a paintin’ or something. It’s just that she’s really good at reading them paintings.

“Then I talked with some o’ the other Guards, an’ that filled in a few other things.”

None of the three men looked particularly happy at that. “And what did you find out?” the tall one ground out.

“Well, ye’re a huge racist against the Hea, and even some of the Aun, Sergeant Nedson,” the Mick said, his voice completely neutral at the fact. “Even after what happened to the tribes here in the east, yer hate hasn’t dimmed in the least.

“Not being able to let that hate go is the biggest thing that kept the Light from ye. See, the Light doesn’t see us as Isparian, tumerok, lugian, or anything else. It just sees us as souls. And ye’ve got a wicked cut o’ Red in your Aura as regards the tumeroks in general and the Hea in particular. Don’t,” he interrupted the rebuttal, “defend yer beliefs t’ me. I gots me own baggage an’ black stuff on me soul. If I ever find out who an’ what triggered the Fall and killed me lady, I will move Heaven an’ Earth t’ get t’ them, an’ they’ll have long-earned all that I do to ‘im,” he whispered in a voice so razor-sharp all three men dropped their eyes. His hand stroked Bunita’s hilt, and a gentle Orange and Rainbow spiral coiled delicately up from it as he did so. “But I let the utter hate o’ everything go a long time ago.

“Oh, I killed me tons o’ the Hea an’ undead an’ Gotrok and others in the years since, an’ satisfied I was t’ do so, but I don’t hate them an’ dream o’ standing over the last of them on the island an’ screamin’ to the Heavens that me vengeance be complete on those what had nothing t’ do with the deeds that spawned me hate.”

The sergeant flushed and could say nothing to that.

“As fer ye, Sergeant Dumser, it’s a bit odder. It’s the fact ye’re a devoted follower an’ order-taker, nigh perfect, t’ be fair about it.” He offered a wry two-figured salute. “All yer life, ye’ve been told what to do an’ what ta think, an’ ye’ve gone an’ done it, an’ done it well an’ splendidly. All o’ your comrades call ye probably the finest soldier they know of… but the Lost Light be not looking for soldiers. It be looking for heroes an’ champions t’ stand an’ shine, not those damn good at carrying out orders.

“Ye’d’ve made a crappy Knight, having to make all those noble decisions an’ the like for yerself, instead of being told what’s right. The Light let ye down easy.”

The bearded Aluvian looked like he wanted to say something about the back-handed compliments, but elected to remain silent.

The Mick turned his eye to the long-faced Gharu’n with his proudly hooked nose, who met his gaze cautiously. “And what secrets did you deduce of me, Lord Mick?” the man asked with some false confidence.

“I didnae recognize ye at first. Ye shaved the beard and yer hair, but ye were in the Blood with me, all them years ago, Sergeant Abdul… bint Huaml. Ye might have given up on Nuhmudira, as I did, but ye’ve held hard to the beliefs o’ the faction, t’ the point where it still be the prime force o’ belief in yer life. The beliefs o’ the Blood were shite meant t’ appeal t’ bastards like me who thought they knew what were best for the world an’ weren’t willin’ t’ do what were right an’ good fer folks, only follow orders blind-like an’ trust their superiors. Ye’ve just got a better superior now, belikes.

“Ye earned the King’s trust, as did I, an’ ye earned a spot in the Royal Guards, something I couldnae do. But the Light is nae the King, an’ the beliefs o’ the Blood are not what it measures ye by.”

The Mick pushed himself back from the table slowly. “Ye’ll let the King down if ye let something as minor as this drive ye from his service. He don’t need crazy knights an’ heroic champions doing everything under him, he needs soldiers, too.

“Now, the Warlord Kristie is goin’ to be training up the new Knights an’ lookin’ for more. There’s still shite that’s gotta get done that good hard men can do… and if ye’re not dumb, ye’ll set t’ work on those. Fer instance, the farming o’ the Prismatic Fields needs guards with each and every run up there, an’ can earn ye the Prismatic Stones, which be the fastest way t’ get Armor Cleaving back on a Weapon.” He had their sudden interest. “Dust off yer Elemental an’ olthoi killing credits, an’ ye can be sent up with the next run. Fair enough?”

“Yes, sir!” they managed with something approaching enthusiasm, knowing how hotly contested the spots for those runs were… and the line of demand for the Prismatic Stones was incredibly long, including basically every soul willing to fight.

“Good lads.” The Mick slapped the tall Aluvian on the shoulder as he stepped past, and left the three to confer among themselves as he strode off.

They were the best overall of the Blues in Borelean’s service, but the Light still hadn’t wanted anyone who wasn’t White, Yellow, or Orange. Princess Kristie Rantha was sympathetic to their plight of coming up short, but she’d wanted to see if the Light would take Blues.

Obviously that wasn’t going to happen.

But the island was a big place, and there were places for non-heroic types to do all sorts of stuff. You didn’t make armies out of heroes…

---------

In the Linvaks near the Tukal crater…

“Well, I’ll be damned. It didn’t fall down or collapse or anything. Must be a magical whatsit place,” the Mick murmured with me as we stared at the entry point to the Serac Vault.

Nobody had much visited the place even among the Gotrok, who abhorred the Geliddite undead who infested the place, and so none had checked up on the Vault to see if it still generated an Elemental Stone.

Like any other Dungeon, the former Portal entry point into the place had turned into an actual carved opening descending into the ice-capped mountain peak we had taken a long and roundabout path to get up to, given the winds hereabouts were strong and probably magically enhanced, so flying hadn’t really been in the cards.

The Roaches were with Warlord Kris’ bunch of Knights and Skeeters getting initial training for their Weapons, a rather harrowing combination of devoted Dungeon delving and wild landscape slaughter across the Dires in pursuit of specific skills against all forms of undead and shades. The Roaches had more teamwork experience and variety of options than most of the Knights, but they were less focused on melee combat, so they had a lot of work to do to get up to snuff in that area.

Kris didn’t mind working them hard to get them to that level, too.

Which left the Mick and I taking a detour he suggested this time, remembering something from his prior years that wasn’t that far away, and which needed to be checked on anyway.