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The silence stretched for long moments after Beldere’s revelation. There were some incredulous murmurs in the background but nothing distinct until the old man, face an inscrutable mask, finally asked. “Any other questions?”
Catwright the younger couldn’t imagine what his father must be thinking. After finally arriving home after two years on campaign, he gets his head bashed in by his son and then finds out a few hours later that his son is basically his father. Cat almost giggled like a little boy at the thought. He was in a good mood suddenly. With the revelation that the Everborn had a personal interest in him, and then receiving a soul-bound artifact enchanted with dimensional magic with a thousand gold pieces in it, his day had become much better. The letter and the gift were possibly more of a treat than watching his father collapse in the dirt this morning.
“There is something I have always wondered about,” Cat had a genuine smile on his face, which most in the mess hall had never seen. “Why did you have to continue the name of Catwright? Where did that come from, and how did it stick for three generations?” There was unrestrained laughter echoing through the chamber now. Even Beldere looked like his last sip of water almost came back out of his nose. Cat was grinning as well, but the truth was, he had always hated the name, and wondered if his descendants had been fixers of carts who lack a proper alphabetic education.
His father grimaced. “It was your mother’s idea. When she brought you here you were about six months old and she had already named you. You can ask her. You’ll find her, or rather she’ll find you, if only to tell you what an idiot you are for leaving the protection of the grove.”
Cat was more than a little surprised the colonel answered the question, though it was not really an answer, only raised more questions And the rebuke at the end was so typically his father that Cat had to stifle a laugh. He knew that his grandfather had been an orphan who had embraced military service before he even came of age, but no one seemed to know much more. His mother would. The thought of his mother made him chuckle. Yes, he would find her, and he would have lots of questions. He reached down casually and touched his pack and kit sitting on the floor behind him, and they disappeared into his brooch. He enjoyed the startled gasps.
“You might want to be a little more careful with that particular secret.” The colonel looked thoughtful.
“Why?” Cat challenged, “It can’t be stolen; it’s soulbound.”
“Of course it can!” The old man looked genuinely surprised and disappointed. “They can just kill you and break the binding.”
It was Cat’s turn to be surprised and a little embarrassed, but his snark had not been stifled quite yet. “I will endeavor to prevent the loss then. I would not want to shame our family with a premature death and loss of a valuable artifact.”
His father just rolled his eyes and stood up. “Eat up boy, I assume you’ll want to put some miles on the road before dark. I’ll make sure the facet is ready to depart within the hour.”
It took Cat less than an hour to eat and walk to the west gate. There had been several interruptions and distractions by well-wishers or those who were just plain curious. He received their words with more tact and civility that he could usually muster because of his lingering good mood. He couldn’t remember the last time a simmering anger had not been lurking in the corner of his mind. His step was lighter for more than one reason. He was also physically unburdened thanks to his new amulet. It was strange to have this kind of freedom. He could call anything from his storage space directly to his hand; he didn’t even have to wear a sword belt. It felt unfair in a way, like he had found a way to cheat so many minor hardships with a single acquisition. It had briefly crossed his mind that this might make him weaker, somehow dependent on indestructible, weightless storage. The smile on his face revealed the truth though. It was worth the negligible cost to his pride for such a tremendous gain any way he looked at it.
Beldere and the soldiers were already assembled at the gate. He knew all of the old warriors of course. Crusty old Sergeant Lovine was at the head of a full facet of three swifts. The swifts were veterans as well, each with 2 heavy infantry, a mage, a dedicated healer, and a senior softie. He knew these softies had all cross trained as well; each one could perform as a sapper, an archer and a scout. The grizzled Corporal Remel, who went by the nickname ‘Spikey’, was also a druid. The squat broad man had an oversized crossbow strapped to his back, a thick grey and black beard with penetrating green eyes. “There’s the boy! If we’re goin to get planted, it might as well be while fighting them lizards!”
Cat knew the man had a grudge against the Ssythe, but didn’t know the details. He thought druids were like Beldere, supposedly peaceful and would preach against harming other sentient beings. Spikey was a soldier, though, so he apparently didn’t ascribe to all the non-violent tenants of the priesthood. “I’m not planning on starting any fights, Spikey.”
“Sure you’re not.” The softie shook his head doubtfully and probably had a knowing smile under his ridiculous beard. “It’s nice to get out of garrison duty just the same.”
Only Beldere and the Sergeant had a horse, but Cat was still surprised by the escort. Most full cluster units did not have more than one or two fully complemented facets because mages and healers were relatively scarce. Most facets would have an extra infantry or bowman to replace a missing mage, and the healer would be a regular soldier with slightly more knowledge as a field medic. Knowing the skills of these men, Cat reckoned he had one of the most effective facets in all of Sapphire company. The mages were actual magi, with access to multiple veils, and the healers were specialists who could truly save lives. This was an escort that most royal houses would envy, and it was all for him. Were they ordered to do this? Did they really think this was a suicide mission?
The mercenaries arrived a few minutes later, each on their own personal steed. There were six of them, all travelling to Osenvale. Garreth rode an enormous warboar, its shoulder as tall as Cat’s head. They were apparently common in the Weltstone area, where the locals were constantly fending off hunters who braved the icy mountains for the valuable tusks. Olivia Peln and her brother Jarod, mages specializing in aquavae and frigorum, the veils of water and cold, both rode giant black foxes called Shinnocmyr. Some people confused them with dire foxes, but these were more intelligent and magical. Cat was wary of them, because he had very little understanding of their capabilities. He knew they were dangerous, but had never fought them because they had no interest in being ‘stabbed for play’ as Olivia had translated. The rest — Gemma, Markus and Denton — all rode horses. Only Gemma’s was memorable because it was a silver-haired Felton mare. Mercenaries earned a lot more coin than regular soldiers and they tended to splurge on the exotic. One might think the soldiers were envious, but they would point out that most mercenaries don’t last a decade, and a large number don’t survive the first year.
Risk and reward. Not for the first time Cat considered if he would enjoy the mercenary life. There were always adventures and excitement awaiting talented warriors for hire. Monsters, forces of nature, and creatures from beyond the veils appeared suddenly, and soldiers weren’t always around or equipped to deal with them. There were a lot of grey areas, however. Mercenaries could be hired to fill out armies on whichever side had the most gold. Any lord or merchant with enough coin could purchase their service to stomp out their competition. Cat wouldn’t feel right marching up to someone’s home and killing guards who were just doing their job. Such things did not occur often in Mecre, but there were plenty of nearby realms that were constantly at war with somebody. In these places, people with power and wealth made the rules. It was in those places that mercenaries earned their fame and fortune. It seemed that the best course, if he were to pursue such a career, would be to acquire his own mercenary company, so that he could decide where they went and who they worked for.
Before the group departed the colonel strode up with a group of officers. The soldiers came to an approximation of casual attention, respecting the unexpected appearance of their seniors, but veteran enough not to be intimidated or overly formal. Yet, it seemed the old man planned for some ceremony. The officers behind him came to stiff attention. Two flag bearers appeared with the Mecran flag and the Ironwatch flag and stood in back of the formation with standards held high. The colonel unfurled a scroll and held in front of himself, reading in a confident and projecting voice:
“All within hearing and sight, behold and bear witness! I, Catwright Isubane the second, do bring to your attention a matter of familial concern. My son, Catwright Isubane the third, from this day forth is no longer a boy to be sheltered, but a man ready to forge his own path. Therefore, by the power vested in me by the King of Mecre, and as a Colonel in the Mecran Army, Commander of Ironwatch garrison and Lord of Ironwatch Grove, I hereby declare Catwright Isubane the third emancipated from my direct authority and guardianship. He is now free to pursue his own destiny, seek his fortune, and make his mark upon the world. Let it not be said that he leaves without my blessing. He carries with him my love, my pride and the pride of those who have instructed him all these long years. May he always remember the honor and values of our house, those of the lands of Mecre, as they and he are watched over by our Grand Gardener, the Watcher in the Wood, Neador lord of the Elderwoods.” His father rolled up the scroll with the practiced ease of an administrator and handed it off to an officer.
“Catwright Isubane the third,” Catwright the second shouted. “Step forward!” Cat was entranced with the show and almost missed his cue; however, he had seen such rituals performed enough times to know his part. He stepped forward and knelt before his father.
“I bestow upon you the freedom of a man. May you wield it wisely and with courage. Go forth and make your own name, but know that you will always have a place within this keep and within my heart.” The old soldier held out a gold signet ring. Cat sometimes forgot that they were technically nobility, as decreed by King Mecre on the day his grandfather had died. The titles and lands were deferred, however, until his father resigned his commission. It was likely a large part of the reason his father kept going. It was hard enough being a Colonel; who would want to be a Baron? “Rise, Catwright, not as my son, but as your own man.” Cat stood and accepted the ring, a plain gold band with an oval bezel. His initials were engraved in reverse with three ‘I’s” underneath indicating the ‘third’ portion of his name. He didn’t know what to say. All this affection, emancipation, a ring made just for him. Cat bit his lip. He would not cry!
“Th..Thank you.” he managed.
A few more words were exchanged and there was some cheering and another round of well wishes. Cat’s mind was in a fog, he barely remembered anything after storing the signet ring and shaking his father’s hand. The old man had escaped with his entourage at some point and the flustered young man couldn’t wait to do the same.
Eventually, they made it through the gate and set a quick pace out of Ironwood village. The weather was crisp and dry, and they continued to make good time through the wide elderwood forest roads. The horses kept a steady trot while the soldiers and Catwright jogged alongside. He thought about offering to store the soldiers’ packs, but he felt like it might be insulting and they seemed to keep up well enough. Most of them had been doing this type of thing since before he was born after all.
The transition to the younger forest was not subtle. The road became a steep and more narrow descent that wound into switchbacks, and the ground vegetation abruptly thickened while relatively smaller and more varied trees grew closer together. As they curved around a particularly scenic outcropping, the deciduous greenery stretching for leagues in every direction, an explosion of birds startled the late afternoon peace. The entire party stopped and stared as thousands of small song birds, and hundreds of larger carrion eaters rose in a wide arc to the west and circled for a full minute with their flocks crossing through one another. The dark cloud of shrieks and screams sullied the sky until suddenly it stopped as the birds scattered in every direction.
“That didn’t seem natural.” a soldier remarked dryly.
“It wasn’t.” Spikey said, shaking his grizzled head.
The old soldier-druid wheezed slightly. “They’re common spies for shamans, druids, priests, and magi. Easy to control and hard to disable. I sensed at least a dozen lookers before I snuffed ‘em.”
“You broke a dozen links from thousands of feet away? That’s impressive.” Denton Blackfoot said, his fine chiseled features disturbed. “I didn’t notice the weaves on the birds or your casting.”
“Aye, Thera don’t like folks dominating her critters, and druids don’t need to part the veils to borrow her power. Besides I only stopped the weaker ones, there are plenty of casters out there who could weave a binding I can’t see.”
“I didn’t see any of them,” Beldere sounded confused.
Spikey looked at the young priest with some sympathy. “That’s why they waited outside the grove, boy; knew you’d be weaker away from the Watcher’s guardians.”
Cat recognized the look Beldere got when he looked inward. The young man had rarely in his life been outside of a grove, and Cat wondered just how weak his leash had become. Too late to run away now, I’m already free. Yet it was good to know the acolyte might not be as omniscient as he seemed back in Ironwatch.
They travelled for another hour and camped in the partial shelter of an old fortification, a small and crumbling ruin from a long forgotten war. Cat set up his tent outside the walls, not entirely comfortable in the somewhat dark and dank surroundings. While others went about making a fire and cooking food, he spared lightly with the soldiers and mercenaries. Someone remarked that he didn’t need to train so relentlessly anymore, and Cat simply shrugged. It was all he really knew. The session was a game of simple first-touch wins; no one wanted to get hurt too badly, not knowing the extent of Beldere’s limited powers. There were healers among the soldiers, but they were magi with access to animyra and other eldritch veils. None of them were priests as far as he knew. Cat doubted they could heal anything like Beldere, even in his weakened state.
The first round was played one-on-one with just swordplay. It was an advantage for him and he did not disappoint, tagging each in just a few seconds after Sergeant Lovine, the judge, saying ‘go’. The next round, he let them prepare with spells and use any tricks; like non-lethal items they had available. The game became much more even. The veterans and mercenaries were giving as good as they got. Denton tagged him two out of three times with his magically enhanced speed and reflexes. Additionally, the enchantment he put on his sword helped him block and attack with unerring precision.
On the third try, Spikey pulled out the stops and caused mist to shroud the training area. Cat didn’t mind that; he had experience fighting blind. He was taken to the ground in an instant, however, with a magic rope and then rapidly immobilized with growing vines. He felt the sword at his throat less than thirty seconds into the match. Cat had enhancements cast upon him by Beldere after that, partially to test the limits of the priest’s abilities and partially to up the challenge. He let everyone cast team spells on each other to see how their stacked abilities stood up against the stunted spells and lesser aura of Neador’s faithful servant. The magic was definitely in the favor of his opponents, but many of them were not used to moving faster or having a homing weapon. It was stifling to work against Beldere’s divine aura, but most of them had experience with the weakness and slowness it conferred. Cat was confounded by the combination of speed and Corporal Banid’s light whip enchantment on the blades of experienced warriors. The blades bent in impossible directions with the seeking spells attached, and the arc of the swings left ribbons of light in the air that still burned when touched. It was almost like turning normal swords into Elydrean mana blades.
As meal time approached, Cat’s rations were forgotten. The mercenaries had magical storage items and were happy to share. The smell of auroch steaks and fresh bread made his mouth water. Markus, the designated cook for the evening, had also prepared a spiced vegetable stir-fry, many of the ingredients for which Spikey and Beldere were able to grow fresh on the spot. The Pelns set out a large blanket and two great silver plates three feet in diameter. At first, Cat thought they were some kind of handleless shields until they placed great slabs of lightly warmed meat, the size of a man’s chest, upon them. The great magic foxes took to the feast with obvious delight.
After the evening meal, second and third swift divided up the watch duties, while first swift, having the night off, brought out a heavy metal flask and began passing it around. Swift leader Medane offered the flask to Catwright with a smile. “Drink up son; you might as well start the celebration now.”
Cat took the flask with some reservations; he had never been allowed alcohol within the garrison. For one, it was scarce, and two, his father had forbidden it, saying it could undermine his development. Cat took a swig, and it took considerable willpower not to spew it back up again. His whole mouth burned, then his nose stung, and his eyes started tearing up; it reminded him of the noxious magical clouds they used during gaseous warfare training. “You need to swallow it, Cat!” Gemma chortled from the other side of the fire. Swallowing caused the burn to continue all the way down his throat, but when it hit his stomach, warmth spread through him. Now he understood the quick sips and the grimace on the soldiers’ faces. He passed on the flask, noting with little surprise that Beldere declined. It was perhaps the most unpleasant drink he had ever tried, but he took another each time the flask came around, interested to see how the tinctures he had taken over the years would affect his tolerance compared to the others. Everyone in this group likely had at least some physical tempering, but his father had spent thousands of gold on Cat’s development, something most soldiers could not afford.
“This particular batch of Ironwatch whiskey has been enchanted with spirit mana by a master brewer,” Medane said casually, causing some of the mercenaries to look up sharply with concern. The old soldiers chuckled at the looks. “It won’t harm you none,” he waved his hand in a vague gesture. “It enhances the more enjoyable effects, like honesty and uh, relaxation, while reducing the less pleasant effects on the morrow.” Cat shrugged and took another sip; he felt his face start to heat up pleasantly. He was definitely relaxing. Muscles he hadn’t known were tight, were releasing their tension. The firelight, the friendly atmosphere, and the warm sensation in his face all seemed to lull him somehow.
“Why is it so hard to manifest mana while fighting?” Cat did not usually like addressing a group of people, but he felt more comfortable in this setting for some reason. His gaze fell on Denton as the most likely to have an answer.
“You’re looking at me, but you are one of the most gifted mana manipulators I’ve ever seen at your age.” Denton smiled wistfully, his dark eyes turned downward, almost sadly.
“Wh…what?” Cat responded, surprised.
“You naturally use lithos in your stance, which is why you’re nearly impossible to knock over. You are constantly switching among the other elements which makes you inhumanly fast and unpredictable. You even manifest animyra to see all around you and heal faster.”
“I don’t control that; it just happens.”
“Yet it is a manifestation of your will upon the veils and the elemental mana around you.”
“What about a physical manifestation like casting a spell?”
“Casting is a whole separate study, but you know that. What I do is mostly casting before a fight to prepare. I can manifest lithos and aether while fighting for strength and speed because I have cast the spells so many times; opening the veils is second nature. Like you, I don’t really need to think about it.”
Cat was still frustrated; he was at a loss to explain what he needed to know. The fog that clouded his mind was not helping. “When you speed up during a fight,” He paused to focus. “You know what is happening, you can feel the veil opening and control it.”
“Well, yes.”
“I don’t feel it happening; I don’t control the veils.”
“You do not have specialized training in that area, but you should still feel the veil opening inside you” The spellsword made a motion like opening tent flaps.
“I feel the world slow down around me when I speed up, and I gain a sort of surety at a certain point, a feeling for what’s coming next. The lithos make me feel rooted to the ground and it seems like I’ve always been able to do that, even when I was really little.” He remembered a nursemaid trying to pick him up when he was about four. He had wanted to play with some small military figurines he had discovered and resisted her. When she couldn’t lift him, she cried for help, not understanding what was happening.
Denton nodded “The precognition is rare, but not unheard of in seasoned warriors. You may be pulling mana from the environment around you; it’s inefficient, but it makes sense since you don’t have a lot of formal mage training, and it explains why you don’t feel the veils.”
“You just keep practicing and focusing on improving, and eventually, the veils will help you out.” Corporal Banid jumped in, scratching his scraggly beard after a sip from the canteen. “It’s easier if you work on one thing until you get what you want. If you’re too ambitious though, it can take years.”
“Manifestation is associated with familiarity,” A cold breeze touched the fire as Olivia twirled her fingers in front of her. Cat could see frost on her fingertips, though she did not seem to be uncomfortable. Her dark eyes became lighter with a slight glow, and her short, cropped blonde hair started lifting upward. “The body does not naturally accept a veil opening within it, but with practice, you create channels, much like blood vessels, and manipulating the weaves becomes easier. Your body becomes closer to the veils. They open more easily and stay open longer, and the power can be addicting.” By the time she finished speaking several soldiers were pulling their cloaks tighter about them and hunching down for warmth. Cat smiled in appreciation, few people could merge beautiful and creepy like Olivia Peln.
“Manifesting is simply using the power of a veil without the need of words, gestures, runes, or a catalyst to prop it open.” Jarod put it.
“What about a focus?” Asked Somera, a stocky woman of middle years who served as first swift’s healer.
Jarod seemed surprised by the question and looked around at Olivia and Denton’s smiling faces as if in fear of being tricked. “Ah, the education of a soldier is much more practical than theoretical I suppose. He nodded respectfully to the older woman, his pale, sharp features embarrassed. “The focus in common manifested spellcraft is you, or more specifically your soul.”
Somera was unperturbed. “So why do I need to use a wand or a staff to cast?” Her thick brows furrowed.
“That is a complex question.” Jarod sat back and stared for a moment at his black serpent-leather boots, likely more expensive than everything the soldier carried. There was a class difference here, not just in wealth, but in education as well. “Not everyone has the same gift with the veils. Some will never access a veil without some expensive assistance. Some just need a little extra help, he gestured to her polished oak staff. And still others just seem to have mana leaking from their pores.” He nodded pointedly at Catwright, and Cat was starting to understand his advantage. “The wooden foci you use are specifically potent for access to Salatosum, the veil of life. A spellsword, he gestured at Denton, might use steel to help access Bellicorum, the realm of conflict. The soul, however, is a conduit for all the known veils, and many we do not understand. Learning what it would take to unlock your potential would take too long to justify for Mecre’s standard two years of service. I studied and practiced for over a year before I could reliably cast my first spell.”
More questions and answers flowed around the fire, the soldiers more bold, and the mercenaries open with what they knew. Cat’s mind drifted off with the possibilities of higher training for career soldiers, or having an army of well-equipped and well-educated warriors.
His dreams were strange and vivid that night. Something stalked him through a dark forest. He was not afraid but for some reason he could not be bothered to turn around and confront whatever it was. He was a passenger in another body; the instinct to run or fight was high, but however he tried, he could not act upon it. He awoke to a camp already in motion. Soldiers were emerging from the ruins, some of them already packed and ready to march. They ate a quick breakfast from the leftovers of the night before and made an early start upon the road.
By early afternoon, they were among the farms which heralded the outskirts of Breckan’s Hold when Cat spotted an armored warrior on a giant black Mecran Destrier galloping towards them. The knight carried a long shaft of wood tipped with steel casually across his shoulder. Cat grinned and glanced at the scowling priest. “Bel, I think I’m going to need a lance.”
The Upgrade Blog 