Chapter 20: 2.1 – Secrets of Wyndham Wood

Robin took a deep breath of the forest air. It was heavy with the scent of loam and decomposing leaves. The sun was warm on his face where it occasionally pierced the canopy, but there was a hint of chill in the air. If this was home, he’d say they were somewhere between the middle to the tail end of spring.

It had definitely been early autumn when he enacted his ritual at home. Another hint that we’re not in Kansas anymore, Toto! Not that he’d ever been to Africa to miss the rains down there. He began to hum quietly to himself.

Ora-Jean was leading them through the wood. After coming out halfway up a mountain, they’d spotted the Keep in the distance across a small valley full of trees. They were making their way toward it, as there was apparently no other way for the Sisters Sharp to get back to their home base and report.

No one had said anything about what would happen with Robin. The thought gnawed at him a bit, but he wasn’t yet prepared to ask that question and get an answer he might not like. A spike of unease went through him. He shivered and looked at the woods around them.

Nothing. Just trees. A big rock. Small animal and underbrush.

‘…as I understand it, the differences are often largely cultural.’ Fiamah was in lecture mode again.

Robin had managed to steer the conversation to classes—or professions—as they existed in this world. It sounded like the system (if indeed there was a universal system everyone could access) was not a highly structured one. Classes—professions—were a matter of choice and training, not a strict system of benefits-per-level. Though it sounded like training in certain professions might unlock some special or exclusive spells or abilities. Abilities—peculiarities—could be chosen pretty much a la carte. There was nothing stopping someone who trained as a knight from picking up the odd fireball spell or a small facility to channel divine energies, if she could meet the requirements to learn it.

That squared pretty well with his experience with raising his stats so far. He hadn’t encountered any limitations on the skills he could learn or increase. Oh, they might be there, hidden, but Robin suspected that if there were limitations, he’d have smacked face-first into them already.

‘Right,’ Grathilde added. ‘My school of aeromancy is unstructured, but I’ve met a Sorceress of the Stone Winds School, up in the Hanging Peaks, and every single one of them uses the same suite of spells and abilities. It’s just the way they’re trained.’

Grathilde was a part of the Azure Winds School. Robin had also managed to learn that Fiamah was a Scholar-Cleric of the Church of Seven Stars. It sounded like a cross between a specialist research group at a university and an ongoing interfaith conference. Seven different deities were worshipped by the church and its members, and it even seemed like they were from differing pantheons? Robin had a long way to go before his theological knowledge of this world was up to standard.

It was also a bit hard to follow the discussion. Robin kept getting distracted by his surroundings. The trees were massive and old. Small animals darted through the underbrush, unexpected sounds that pricked him with small spikes of adrenaline. The forest was breathtakingly beautiful, with crepuscular rays of light falling through the leaves in curtains of gold.

‘What did you say your country was called again?’ Fiamah looked to Robin.

‘Prydain,’ he answered. It was one name, at least. Never mind it hadn’t been the default in several hundred years. Albion, Britain, it was all pretty much the same, wasn’t it? ‘It’s an island nation. Well, two big islands, five or so actual nations that more-or-less agree to be under the over-rule of the most powerful monarch.’

‘I’ve not heard of it.’ Fiamah frowned. ‘You must be very far from home indeed.’

‘I can’t even imagine,’ Robin agreed. ‘I mean, have you seen any islands that look like this?’

He used [Visual Phantasm] to create a small outline map of the British Isles beside them as they walked. He deliberately smudged the edges a bit in his mind. He still didn’t feel entirely safe telling them he thought he was from another world entirely.

‘Maybe you’re from another world entirely,’ Grathilde said, squinting at the image.

‘Is that something that happens here?’ Robin asked. ‘It’s not something I’d heard of happening where I come from. Well, there are always stories, but no documented cases. That I know of.’ He was babbling, a bit, dancing on the edge of nerves.

Another spike of unease flickered through him. Nerves. It was just nerves. He was in a strange wood in a strange world surrounded by strange women.

Robin let the illusion flicker out as they walked past. The movement limitation on the spell was frustrating. Hopefully, higher versions would be free of that particular annoyance.

‘It happens. More frequently than one would think,’ Fiamah answered before Grathilde had the chance. ‘There are many recorded instances, and often such strangers bring alien knowledge or magics with them. Not all of them work. Some might be merely unstable or deluded. But some do.’

‘There are ships that travel the aether seas between worlds,’ Lantha added. ‘The Morimbelena trade with my father’s tree sometimes. If the ships can make the passage I don’t see why magic itself might not provide a bridge.’

Magic spaceships. That is what Robin was hearing right now. Magic. Space. Ships. There was apparently even more to this world than he had expected. Did that have something to do with his interface?

‘So they’re not all immediately captured and torn apart by mad mages seeking to learn the secrets of their blood?’ The question was flippant, but it hid a very real worry Robin had.

‘Not all,’ Fiamah said, far too slowly for Robin’s liking.

‘You hear stories,’ Grathilde added. ‘But they’re probably just stories. Usually. Sometimes.’

‘How very reassuring.’Robin said, not at all reassured.

The group passed a large white boulder. Ora-Jean paused, then led them off to the right. There was no path here, not even a game trail. They just had to tramp through the woods and hope for the best. At least the insect life was minimal so far, and the biggest threat had been getting whapped in the face with a springy branch.

‘I suppose it makes sense,’ Robin said cautiously. ‘After all, I’ve not heard of, where did you say you were from? Noviel?’

‘That’s where our guild headquarters is,’ Lantha said.

It was and was not an answer. Robin wasn’t the only one playing some cards close to the vest. He prodded just a bit more. Any information would be helpful.

‘Right. Noviel. City-State? Capital? Country in its own right?’

‘Noviel is the leading city-state in the Amadanian Confederacy,’ Fiamah went into lecture mode. ‘It’s located to the North. We’re currently in an area most refer to as the “Borderlands” as it’s been claimed by different powers so many times over the year that none have a proper claim—’

You are reading story Trickster’s Song [A LitRPG Portal Fantasy] at novel35.com

‘Plus there’s only one real pass through the mountains between the three countries whose edges meet around here,’ Grathilde added, ‘and the Keep we saw occupies the whole bloody plateau. Plugs it like a cork in an ale-barrel.’

‘Which means we’re—well, we’re in the Borderlands, but—which country are we closest to here?’ Robin flicked his fingers, and a rough line map appeared. In the centre was the keep, and three ranges of mountains all lead away from the central plateau. To the North, he placed the word ‘Noviel’.

‘Ora-Jean,’ Grathilde called out, ‘which way is South?’

The halfling growled out something and pointed.

‘We’re probably closest to the Marcher Lordships,’ Grathilde said.

Robin reconjured his illusory map with the new information.

‘So what does that make this area?’ He pointed to the blank space roughly southwest of the keep.

‘The Most High and Worshipful Gilded Conglomerate,’ Grathilde said.

‘I’m sorry, the whatnow?’

‘About a century ago the Republic that occupied those lands was overthrown—’ Fiamah began.

‘Bought out. They prefer the term bought out,’ Grathilde offered, entirely unhelpfully.

‘—by a group of merchant houses,’ Fiamah continued, ignoring the short sorceress. ‘A few families own everything, and gold rules rather than elected officials or hereditary nobility.’

‘Got it.’ Robin blinked.

‘Most people just call it Glomland,’ Grathilde said.

‘They do not!’ Fiamah gave her the side-eye.

‘He didn’t know that,’ Grathilde protested.

‘And which country has the best record of treating people well, the longest history of fostering knowledge, and the highest chance of me finding out more about what happened to me and how I can get home?’

Not that he was sure he really wanted to go home. He flexed his fingers through a pass of [Lesser Phantasm] and filled the air around him with the scent of baking bread. There were advantages to be had in staying here, after all.

‘If you’ve the gold, Glomland,’ Grathilde said.

‘Don’t listen to her!’ Fiamah looked scandalised. ‘The University in Noviel—’

‘She’s biased,’ Grathilde talked over the cleric.

‘I would also say your best chance would be Noviel, of these three choices,’ Lantha added. ‘But I am also biased.’

‘Same!’ Ora-Jean called back over her shoulder.

Of those three choices? That implied there were more than three. Robin really needed a map or an atlas or a direct download of geographical knowledge to his brain.

Robin paused hopefully, but no new proficiencies unlocked at his wish. Ah well. It was probably already covered by some combination of Learning, Natural Wisdom, and/or Arcane Lore.

He settled instead for committing the rough map to memory as best he could. The last thing he wanted was to end up lost in the wilderness with no idea which direction to head.

At least his new acquisition would help with that, should the unthinkable happen. Robin pulled up his interface to look at the description again.

---