Chapter 304: 300: And Just One More Thing...

The night passed like a fleeting shadow.

Everyone was relaxed, enjoying each other’s company as Theresa returned with two cups of wine in hand. Drestra seemed lost in thought for the rest of the night. Cedric and Isolde returned a little—well, actually, a lot later—with a couple of trays of meat and vegetable skewers to pass around. With his and the Sage’s conversation over, the tone of things lightened and Alex gave Isolde a slight nod, promising he’d thank his friend later for distracting Cedric. He definitely owed her one.

But, as with all celebrations, the wine eventually ran dry and Professor Juless ushered everyone off to bed like a farmer herding her cows home.

Sleep was brief and the next morning was tough.

As good as the wine had been the night before, was as evil as its aftereffects were the morning after.

The late night celebration after a long day had been fun, but did not make for a fun morning. A surprisingly refreshed Professor Jules had been understanding enough to put everyone on ‘light duties,’ which still felt like torture as most were trying to work with little sleep, and different degrees of residual wine in their systems.

Alex had to drag himself around the whole day.

‘ The faster I learn Rejuvenating Slumber, the better,’ he thought, his head feeling like his brain was plodding through mud as he patrolled—more like—stumbled around the outer perimeter of the encampment. ‘I need something…since some people are obviously cheating.’

Most of the group was stumbling around as exhausted as he was, but Grimloch and Theresa looked as refreshed as if they’d slept for a week. Back inside the camp’s walls, Cedric and Hart had shown an annoying over-abundance of energy. Professor Jules and some of the other alchemists had looked no worse for wear, even though they’d also had their fill of wine and very little sleep the night before.

Alex had squinted at Jules, suspecting alchemical help, but not being able to prove it. His alchemy professor had simply smiled at him with the most serene look he’d ever seen on anyone’s face—even on images of Uldar. And, all he could do was glare at her, which really wasn’t too satisfying, as a matter of fact, it just made his head hurt.

Meikara had finally used Cleanse Flesh on the team, wiping away most of the effects of their hangovers, but unfortunately, fatigue lingered like an unwelcome guest. As for her own friends who’d come pleading with the blood-mage for help. Alex watched as she’d gleefully extracted favours before providing them with anymagical help, all the while glorifying the virtues of a clean life, lots of sleep, and no toxic alcoholic drinks.

The evil grin on the small woman’s face would haunt his nightmares for a long time to come.

‘Cheating,’ Alex thought as they miserably trudged through the moors. ‘Life Enforcement, blood magic, alchemy and divine powers are cheating.’

His own blood magic, alchemy and divine powers didn’t count.

The day seemed to crawl by on a snail’s back, but finally, sundown came. There was no celebrating that night; folks almost elbowed each other out of the way in their rush to get to bed.

And that was a good thing, since they had to be up bright and early the next morning.

At the crack of dawn, everyone rose in preparation for an official ceremony. Today, the Heroes were to present the dungeon core remains to the Chancellor of the University of Generasi in a ceremonial ritual that marked the formal beginning of a relationship between Generasi, and the Heroes of Thameland.

Alex was looking forward to…not having any role in any of it whatsoever.

Today, all he had to do was stand back, relax, and watch the Heroes’ reaction to Baelin.

The three Heroes stood in a line, waiting for the Chancellor’s arrival. Across from them, the tent with the teleportation circle to Generasi rose; it glowed through the entrance. The Sage—her eyes fixed on the glow—had been curious about what teleportation would be like since she’d seen Professor Jules bring the wine barrels through. As she waited beside Cedric, a container of dungeon core remains held tightly in her hands while the Chosen bore the other, curiosity and a bit of envy was running through her as she imagined what it might be like to teleport somewhere.

Somewhere far away from monsters and duty.

Her attention shifted to the ring of wizards surrounding them: the entire expedition had come out to watch as the substance was officially presented to the head of the university before the three of them departed on horseback. Near the gates, the horses waited; groomed, fed, watered, and rested in preparation for the ride back to the ongoing battle against the Ravener.

Drestra had a touch of melancholy as she watched them patiently waiting: despite the battles in the dungeons, the entire trip had felt like a small vacation. Going back to the thick of things wasn’t exactly…something she was yearning for.

“I’m going to miss this place,” she said quietly.

“Yeah,” Hart said. “There’s all kinds of sights here. A real nice place too. Lots to see…lots to do.”

The Champion’s large eyes drifted to a certain redheaded wizard. Tyris Goldtooth watched him back from a crowd surrounding the centre of camp. A sort of…challenge seemed to pass between them, and Drestra would pay a lot of coin to not know anything about what that challenge might entail.

“Aye, ‘tis a good place,” Cedric said. “Good food, good people. Glad to have ‘em here.”

‘Wish they’d been here earlier,’ Drestra added mentally. ‘How quickly could we have obliterated the Ravener with a whole army of wizards fighting beside us? Look at how much knowledge, research, pow—”

The Sage froze.

Mana. Immense amounts of mana stung her senses.

Something had just entered the world inside the tent: a glimpse of a power that defied imagining.

And then it was gone.

“Holy Uldar,” Cedric swore. “Drestra, you feel that?”

“All the way in the roots of my back teeth,” the Sage said.

The Mark of the Sage had granted her an immense mana pool. But this? Whatever this was, dwarfed her magic by an order of magnitude. Maybe more. It was like something had reached from on high and tweaked a spell of earth-shattering power.

“Who…what?” she murmured.

“What’re you two talking about?” Hart whispered.

Before she could answer, a horned figure emerged from the tent.

Chancellor Baelin had arrived.

“Huh,” Hart murmured. “Sure as hell thought he’d be smaller.”

Flanked by Watchers of Roal—who Drestra was sure he didn’t need, not with that kind of mana—the Chancellor strode toward the Heroes, his hands clasped behind his back.

Bronze beard clasps clinked as they blew in the wind. He looked like someone had dressed a barbarian in a robe, then called him a wizard.

“Greetings, young Heroes, it is truly a pleasure to meet you,” he said, his goat-like eyes twinkling. “I am Chancellor Baelin. Forgive the delay just now, I was just refreshing the teleportation circle.”

‘That’s what that mana was?’ Drestra thought.

“And you must be the Chosen, Cedric of Clan Duncan, which would make you the Champion, Hart Redfletcher and you the Sage, Drestra of Crymlyn Swamp,” Baelin nodded to each of them. “I trust my colleagues have not treated you too poorly?”

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“No, s’been a fine time, ‘cept for our regular monster fightin,’ but yer people even made that better.”

Baelin chuckled. “I am glad we were of service.” There was an ironic tone in his voice.

“So ‘tis a fine thing ta be meetin’ ya as well, Chancellor,”' Cedric said. “We’ve a donation for the wizards of Generasi. A partin’ gift, as it were.”

He and Drestra offered the dungeon core remains to the ancient wizard.

“And what a kind donation this is, and it isn’t even my birthday,” Chancellor Baelin said with amusement. “You are all aware that you are entitled to a share of the spoils for your aid in the destruction of the dungeon cores, are you absolutely certain that you still wish to forgo all claims to them?”

“Aye, trust me, there’s plenty more where that came from and we’ll soon have more ov’ ‘em no doubt. S’not like we don’t spend most of our time bashin’ dungeon cores to dust.” Cedric laughed. “We’re happy to leave it all in your capable hands,”

“Ah, to think some say that the young have lost all semblance of manners,” Baelin said. “I can see that your kingdom is also in…capable hands.” His eyes drifted to the glowing Heroes’ Marks on Cedric, Drestra and Hart. “And you have been such…fine tools for those hands to wield.”

His gaze paused on Drestra’s Mark, rising to meet the Sage’s reptilian eyes. Baelin’s lips curved up slightly.

A shudder went through her.

His goat-like eyes seemed to burrow through her, seeing past flesh and into what lay inside. Even Aenflynn—for all his ancient wisdom and power—didn’t have a gaze so piercing.

“My,” the chancellor said. “What wondrous eyes. How…nostalgic.”

“Pardon?” the Sage asked, looking puzzled.

“Oh nothing, forgive the prattling, idle thoughts of an old man,” he smiled. “It is just that I’ve met…a few who bore eyes such as yours in my time. When you live long enough, you see many things. One young woman was even a student of mine, a very, long time ago. Please forgive my presumptions, but you very much remind me of her.”

His eyes twinkled like a grandfather sharing a secret with a beloved grandchild. “In all sorts of ways.”

Drestra’s heart felt like it had stopped.

He knew.

Somehow, he knew.

Her eyes, her veil, her voice…most dismissed them as nothing more than curious features. Some thought they were the characteristics of someone with both nonhuman and human blood. Others thought they were an accident of wizardry. Others had asked if all the Witches of Crymlyn swamp had eyes and veils like she did.

Most simply didn’t voice their questions, even if their stares were obvious.

But this Baelin knew what they truly meant. She was sure of it. Her nerves frayed; that was one secret she wasn’t prepared to have come to light.

“We should have a chat, you and I,” Baelin said. “At length. I am sure your experiences with the power of the Sage is most fascinating. I extend that invitation to all three of you, really.”

To her relief, his eyes finally moved away from her.

“I would be vastly curious about your experiences with your Marks of Uldar. They are true wonders, and I’d be intrigued to learn how they’ve aided in your quest and…augmented your abilities.”

“Surprised you’d care about me,” Hart said. “I’ve got no magic.”

“Oho, but I beg to differ,” the ancient wizard said. “A Proper Wizard ignores no sources of power, whether they come from mana, muscle, skill or intellect. And from the stories your king has told of your martial deeds, I’d reckon that to most mortals, your skill and physical abilities would be akin to high sorcery.”

Hart shrugged. “I try.”

“I am sure you do. But, here I am prattling on again. My point is, you are more than welcome to stop by our little encampment any time you wish,” Baelin said. “After all, we are kin in a sense: wedded together by blood spilled in battle, a united purpose, and a will of iron. In short, the next time you are passing near Greymoor, do visit. You will be welcome here, whether it be to exchange knowledge, rest yourselves or seek resources. Together, we will usher in an age of cooperation, understanding…and profit.” He looked at the three Heroes, his eyes briefly resting on each of them. “I know you have many miles of travel ahead, so I shan’t detain you any longer. In closing, I wish you a safe journey, my young friends.”

Drestra’s eyes flicked to Alex Roth as their horses were brought to them. The young Thameish man who she’d—a little embarrassingly—opened up to a couple of nights ago, smiled at her. Shortly after the ceremony was done, he and his teammates were to leave for Generasi through the teleportation circle that Baelin had just come through.

She found herself a little jealous: they’d be on their way back to magic and wonder, while she’d be on her way back to more fighting. There were going to be some hard decisions ahead: they’d asked Aenflynn for more time to consider his offer: another couple of moons to wrestle with their decision.

…and his price had risen each time they’d delayed.

Meanwhile, the four of them were no closer to reaching a decision, or even a compromise. If they decided to do what the Fae lord wanted—they’d have to speak to the king, which would cause the debate to start all over again.

The Sage fought the urge to grind her teeth; the last time she’d done that she’d punctured her tongue. As much as she’d unburdened herself—possibly spilling national secrets in the process—she’d come no closer to finding a solution to their dilemma. It was troubling.

And how were they supposed to defeat the Ravener for all time if they couldn’t even agree on how to resolve this one thing?

Cedric hadn’t budged, neither had Merzhin, while Hart—

“Oh hey,” the Champion said, interrupting her thoughts much to her annoyance. “Bloody hells, I almost forgot. You mentioned exchanging knowledge and you folks seem to know a lot of stuff.”

Baelin looked on curiously as Hart dug into his pack.

Drestra jumped a little. She realised what the mercenary was about to show the ancient wizard; with all that had happened in the past few days, she’d actually forgotten.

“We found this symbol the other day,” the Champion pulled out a piece of parchment with an emblem drawn on it. “It came from these foreign raiders we tracked to a campsite near the ocean.” He shook his head. “They were doing some pretty nasty stuff down there. You ever seen anything like this before?”

Baelin chuckled. “I am afraid even I am not aware of every symbol petty pirate bands, bandit clans and…”

His words trailed off.

His eyes focused on the symbol on the piece of parchment.

“Oh…oh dear. Leopold, you filthy wretch, still striking out even in death.”

Murmuring went through the gathered wizards.

“What is it?” Hart asked.

Baelin sighed. “It seems…you have a cult problem. And quite possibly, a demon problem as well.”

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