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Commerce Emperor Chapter 29: Enter the Druid
🕑 Added 2023-10-24 07:32:08 +0000 UTCPrevious Chapter
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The midday sun rose on the Lake of Greed.
The place was breathtakingly beautiful in spite of its dreadful name. The lake nested among a patchwork of rolling hills and sunlit fields, its blue-green waters fed by the Volgova River. The warm wind blew across its surface, raising wispy clouds of mist and steam. I noticed an eagle swooping down to catch a fish in its talons and a flock of swans gliding along the water’s surface in the shadow of ancient oak trees.
I’d heard tales that the Lake of Greed glimmered like gold in the summer. Unfortunately, the morning gray mist made its waters look more like cold steel to me. The great, half-sunken abbey standing in the lake’s midst seemed to blink in and out of sight as the fog swirled around it. Its stony fortifications arose from the waters like the fins of a great beast rising from the depths, and the few boats gliding through its cracks were quickly swallowed by the mist.
“Why do they call it the Lake of Greed?” Marika asked as she touched the waters with her hand. “I don’t feel any cupidity in the air.”
“It’s where the first generation of Heroes defeated and entombed the Devil of Greed, or so the history books say,” I replied. Since the first part was untrue, I wondered if I could trust the rest of these accounts. “That's holy water you’re washing your hands in.”
“I hope the Goddess will forgive me.” Marika took a deep breath. “It’s the first time I’ve visited a true Sanctuary.”
I couldn’t agree more. The air was purer here than at the top of the tallest mountains, the deep silence soothing rather than oppressive. The lush grass and flowers flourishing along the bank filled my nostrils with a sweet summer smell. This place revitalized me. I felt fresh after an hours-long grueling march. No monsters disturbed the area either. No dragon nor dreadwolf had dared to make the lake their den in centuries.
Blights formed when human suffering and sins coalesced in great enough quantities to warp the land’s essence. However, the process applied to all emotions. When happiness, faith, and good deeds compounded in one place, sometimes they blessed the area with eternal bliss.
Whether the lake became this way because our predecessors struck down the Devil of Greed or after centuries of pilgrimages coalesced it into sacred grounds, its power was real now. When the Purple Plague struck Archfrost, thousands traveled to its sunken abbey for treatment. The sacred waters could not save everyone; but they helped cure many. The local priests still treated many patients to this day, offering free treatment to the sick and the lepers of the world.
These waters could have saved Mom. Saved Dad. Sorrow swelled in my heart when I looked at my reflection on the lake’s surface. I knew it was all wishful thinking. We didn’t know Mom had caught the Purple Plague until we’d reached the Riverland Federation, by which it was already too late to turn back. And even if we had, crossing a hundred leagues in a wartorn, pestilence-infested country would have been a feat worthy of a Heroes’ ballad.
At least they helped save someone’s parents.
It's a pity we can’t stay here for long. I glanced at the rest of our group. Our horses drank along the bank under our guards’ watch, while the cook stirred oats and quail in a kettle. Soraseo vigilantly observed our surroundings from atop a mount, her hand squarely resting on her sword’s hilt. The royal banner floated in the wind at our camp’s center. We still have many leagues ahead of us.
Roland lent us fifty soldiers for the embassy mission. A handful of lordlings, nobles, and officials also traveled with us. Their names would add weight to our procession and attest to the future king’s goodwill, or so I hoped.
At least I had managed to secure an audience with Walbourg’s leadership in their border-fortress of Riverstone. It involved securing safe passage for the reinforcements they sent to the now-besieged Regent through various messages, which caused quite a stir among Roland’s entourage. Many of its warhawks argued that we should have ambushed Walbourg’s troops as a preemptive strike to retake the region by force. I was starting to understand Roland’s issue. Many of his lords simply did not believe in a peaceful resolution.
It was our job to prove them wrong.
“Local folk believe that if you throw goods into the waters, the Devil of Greed will never return them,” I told Marika. “If you want to get rid of something, now is the time.”
“I wish I could throw my husband into this lake,” Marika said with a dark look. She grabbed a waterskin off her belt and started filling it up. “But I doubt even the Devil of Greed would take him.”
“You can’t know until you’ve tried.” My attempt at lightening the mood fell flat. Marika stared at the lake’s waters without answering me. “Beni is safe in Snowdrift. You don’t need to worry about him.”
Her smile had a sad edge to it. “You’re sweet, Robin, but you’re wrong. Beni won’t be safe so long as Will remains afoot.”
Unfortunately, she was probably right. I knew very well why Marika insisted on joining me on this diplomatic mission. Her husband’s golems killed the Druid near Walbourg, so their creator likely hid in the region. Will Costa had cheated on her, threw them into financial turmoil, traumatized his son after nearly murdering him, and then cast his lot in with demons.
I didn’t blame Marika for wanting to become a widow.
“I don’t want to fear for my son, Robin,” Marika said after filling her waterskin. “I don’t want Beni to live his life looking over his shoulder, wondering whether his father will crawl out of the shadows with a demonic sword and murder on his mind. I don’t want people to associate my family with soul-slaving golems, Blights, and cursed weapons.”
“They won’t,” I replied, trying to cheer her up. “People will remember him as your son, not his. Beni will grow sick of kids telling him his mother conquered the sky.”
This time my joke drew a chuckle out of her. “I still can’t believe you used the airship for a date.” Marika looked at me with a frown. “Still no word from Eris?”
I shook my head. Our naughty nun hadn’t been seen since she teleported out to check on the new Druid. I admit her absence worried me quite a bit, and not only because I had many questions to ask her. If something happened to her…
I drew the Devil Coin from my purse. The cursed gold glittered in the sunlight. Perhaps I should throw it in the lake and let the sacred waters wash it away. Would it even work? Eris told me we could only destroy the coins once we gathered them all, but I’d never actually tried another method. I simply assumed that she was telling me the truth.
Had that been a mistake?
I shouldn’t think like this. If you don’t give trust a chance now and then, you can never make true friends. Still, it didn’t hurt to verify. Thankfully, I have a curse expert on hand.
“What do you think of this coin, Marika?” I asked my friend after lending it to her. “Any idea how it works?”
“Shouldn’t you know better? You’re the Merchant here.” Marika raised the Devil Coin to the sun and studied its shine. “I took a look at Fenrivos’ coin, but now I’m sure of it. The Devil Coins are gilded.”
“Are you telling me the Devil of Greed uses counterfeit currency?” The irony of the situation amused me. “I am shocked, I tell you.”
“Don’t be. This coin is worth more than its weight in solid gold.” Marika’s brows furrowed in contemplation. “It’s made of soulforged adamantine.”
I chuckled. “Nice one, Marika. I rubbed off too much on you.”
“I’m not joking, Robin.”
I waited for the punchline, and then realized that yes, she was entirely serious. Most would have kept laughing at Marika anyway, but I trusted her with my life.
I bought enough blacksmith skills to fully grasp the weight of her statement. A coin of soulforged adamantine would cost more than a kingdom’s treasury. Raw adamantine was already the rarest, most expensive ore in the world, even ahead of the purest runestones. Only master smiths had the skills required to work it, and its soulforged alloy required even more steps to forge.
“I take back what I said, the Devil of Greed isn’t cheap at all.” I stared at the coin in disbelief. “How did she forge these? If I remember correctly, you can only create soulforged adamantine alloy in a place of great power infused with the Artifacts’ magic.”
“Or the Goddess’. Most soulforged adamantine goes all the way back to the Age of Wonders, when she still walked the earth. It must have been easier to produce back then.” Marika returned the coin to me. “Belgoroth’s sword was made of the same indestructible substance as well.”
“Indestructible?” I raised an eyebrow. “There’s no such thing as the impossible.”
“If the Abbey or previous Heroes could destroy these coins, they would have,” Marika replied. “You can rework soulforged adamantine by filling gaps with normal adamantine ore, but the alloy itself is invulnerable. You could throw that coin into a volcano and watch the mountain spit it out.”
"Even your power can't affect it?" I asked. "Colmar?"
"As far as I know, soulforged adamantine is divinely immutable. " Marika shrugged. "If any Hero's power could destroy these coins, one of our predecessors would have done so."
“You’re the expert here, so I’ll take your word for it.” I squinted at the coin. I couldn’t stand its ghoulish, mocking grin. “Still…”
“I know that face.” Marika smiled. “You have an idea in mind, Robin?”
“More like a theory.” I put the Devil Coin back in my purse. “Don’t you find it strange that the two Demon Ancestors we’ve faced so far both rely on soulforged adamantine trinkets to enforce their will? The Devil of Greed needs her coins to form demonic contracts, and Belgoroth requires his sword to break out of his prison according to Florence. It could be nothing, but I find it odd it happened twice.”
Marika’s jaw clenched. “When Will and I… when we tried to work on Belgoroth’s sword…” She gulped, her cheeks growing paler. “It was like someone had folded a hundred Blights into a needle. The blade held so much hate and fury, I can’t even put it into words…”
“Don’t force yourself if you don’t want to remember.” That was clearly a painful memory and I would loathe to reopen old wounds.
“It’s… it’s fine. I’m over it.” It sounded like a lie, but I knew Marika was strong enough to make it true one day. “When I worked to reforge it, I had… a vision.”
My heartbeat stopped. “Of Belgoroth?”
“I saw him killing… his lover, I think? And burning a city…” Marika shook her head as if trying to expel that bad memory from her thoughts. “So much anger…”
“Don’t force yourself,” I comforted her. Her words awakened dark memories of my own. “I saw a memory of the Devil of Greed when I tried to seal a soul in a coin, and she was just as awful.”
Marika’s head snapped in my direction. “You did what?”
“Not for myself,” I quickly explained. “For science.”
“I should have known.” Marika squinted at me suspiciously. “Did it… did it work?”
“No, thankfully.” She continued to give me a strange look, much to my amusement. “I’m not going to try and buy your soul, Marika. You’re my friend.”
“That’s not really reassuring.” Marika hesitated a moment before clumsily changing the subject. “It is strange that we could both get a glimpse of a Demon Ancestor’s memories.”
“Especially since we used different methods,” I said with a short nod. “Unlike Belgoroth’s sword, the coin I used was unrelated to the Devil of Greed.”
“Eris said Belgoroth had become linked to the concept of wrath itself,” Marika pointed out. “If that’s true for all Demon Ancestors, then maybe we connect with them whenever we tap into raw essence related to their sins.”
“Could be.” I wasn’t certain we could fully believe Eris’s words anymore, but they fell in line with our own observations so far. “Sinful essence, soulforged adamantine items, the Demon Ancestors’ immortality… I’m sure they all tie into each other somehow.”
“Me too.” Marika glanced at my purse. “Let’s study your coin further on our way south. You’ve been lagging behind in your witchcrafting lessons, so it’ll be an opportunity to catch up.”
I grinned mischievously. “You are way too harsh a teacher, mistress Marika.”
Marika lightly punched me in the shoulder. “Smartass.”
Afterward, we ended up having cooked quail and a bowl of oats for a meal; a plate which surprised Soraseo quite a bit. She tasted her porridge with the grace and restraint of a gourmet discovering a new flavor.
“Is it your first time eating quail?” Marika asked Soraseo.
“We hunt quail in my homeland, but ours has brown feathers.” Soraseo paused for a moment, as if afraid to offend us with her next words. “We do not have oats.”
“Good for you,” I quipped. “Your people were spared a terrible fate.”
“I am liking the food of Archfrost, but it could use more spice,” Soraseo confessed. “Like ginger.”
I would add ginger to my food too if I could, but it costs a fortune and the recent embargo on Seukaian goods only caused prices to soar. At this rate, it would become cheaper to buy eastern spices at their source.
“I should visit the Shinkoku sometimes,” I mused out loud. The Fire Islands remained at the top of my list of places to visit once I’d completed my work in Archfrost, but a good merchant traveled to wherever opportunity knocked.
“It is my intention to return after I have visited the Deadgate.” Soraseo’s expression became almost wistful, although her eyes remained distant. “You could come with me, Robin. You too, Marika.”
“Why not?” Marika replied warmly. She came to Snowdrift for work, so she wasn’t all that tied to Archfrost as a country. “It’ll depend on Beni however. I don’t mind traveling, but my son is liking Snowdrift so far. I don’t want to uproot him again.”
“Beni already spends more time on ships than at school,” I replied. “We’ll just have to bring Tehri with us and he’ll bolt out of Snowdrift in no time.”
“Probably,” Marika said with a chuckle. “I would feel better with the likes of you looking after him, Soraseo.”
“I will protect your son,” Soraseo said with confidence. “You are strong Marika, but if you are having a problem with demons, I will grab the victory.”
I smiled a little. She used these exact words when she decided to join us on the diplomatic mission. Since the Knots would no doubt try to prevent peace between Archfrost and its rebellious province, it made sense for a combat-oriented Hero to escort us. Besides, having one of the Knight’s Vassal Classes with us would counterbalance the fact the other worked for Walbourg in people’s eyes.
Meanwhile, Cortaner decided to stay with Roland. It would be for the better. Our beloved Knight didn’t need a bodyguard; he needed a conscience who could keep on the straight-and-narrow path. Cortaner would not relent in this particular duty.
I admit it was nice to travel with Marika and Soraseo again. It felt like only yesterday since we climbed onto that Riverland Federation ferry together on our way to Archfrost. So much has happened since.
After the meal we continued to travel south. Since our group traveled exclusively on horseback, we should reach the Walbourg border in slightly less than a week’s time if we kept a steady pace. Once we did that, we would make a stop at the city of Frostwood, which served as the last buffer between Archfrost and its rebellious province.
Our journey mostly happened without any noteworthy incident: days of horse riding followed by nights of witchcrafting or swordsmanship practice. However, I noticed the landscape around us slowly changed over time. The land grew more fertile, its black soil enriched by slow-moving rivers and warm sunlight. Every ten leagues raised the temperature by a degree, or at least it felt that way to me. Fields of corn, wheat, and barley stretched as far as the eye could see while wild raspberries had taken over old unused roads. We stayed clear of many towns and holdfasts so as not to slow down.
“It’s livelier down here,” Marika noted.
“Archfrost’s south was always richer and more populated than the north,” I explained to her. “Less militarized too, at least before Walbourg revolted.”
Whereas Archfrost’s harsh northern climate reduced its agricultural productivity, its southern territories’ gentle warmth turned them into the country’s breadbasket. Its hills produced marble, copper, and other precious raw materials. Proximity with Erebia and the Arcadian Freeholds also led to the growth of lucrative foreign trade.
However, most of the kingdom’s tariffs served to fill the army’s coffers and secure the land’s northern border against beastmen invasions. The Walbourg rebellion originally started with a dispute over the burden of taxation before degenerating into a civil war after the Duke’s murder.
I would have to solve these issues if I were to negotiate peace with the kingdom’s wayward province.
Moreover, worrying signs of another problem arose over time: the remains of half-eaten goats left by the wayside near shattered wagons; traces of dried blood near the remains of abandoned campfires; a piece of a claw as long as my forearm stuck in a clawed tree.
Monsters lurked nearby.
“Dreadwolf,” one of our scouts said upon identifying the claw. “I suggest we fortify our camp at night, Lord Robin.”
“Good call,” I replied. Most monsters would stay wary of a group as large as ours… but not a Dreadwolf. Those beasts were larger than elephants, savagely cunning, incredibly vicious, and blessed with the uncanny ability to turn invisible in the dark. The creatures even attacked entire villages when hungry enough.
“I thought Dreadwolves stuck to dense forests,” Marika said, slightly worried. “What is one doing near the road?”
“Because it is easy hunting,” Soraseo observed wisely. “No one protects the road.”
I nodded in agreement. “We should have encountered outriders or patrols by now, but with the plague and civil war, most soldiers are either up north or protecting the southern border. And as they say… nature abhors a vacuum.”
It saddened me to see my homeland like this. Monsters preying on roads were the telltale sign of a failed state. If the kingdom couldn’t protect its peasants, then they would wonder why they should pay taxes or take the law into their own hands. That kind of situation always led to societal breakdown over time.
We needed peace and fast.
We were half a day away from Frostwood when I finally managed to infuse my rapier with wind essence. It required a handful of wind-infused runestones Marika acquired, and a few costly failures, but I eventually managed to transfer their power to my steel under her guidance. I waved my sword on horseback, its blade whistling as it cut through the air. The wind blowing through the nearby trees didn’t sound half as good.
“Congratulations,” Marika complimented me. “We might make a witchcrafter out of you yet.”
“Isn’t it strange?” I wondered. “I thought you needed a Second Awakening to manipulate air essence?”
“You need a Second Awakening to extract elemental essence in its raw, natural form,” Marika explained. “Try to take essence from the air if you don’t believe me.”
When she dared me so politely, how could I refuse her? I raised my hand and let the summer wind blow through my fingers. I attempted to weave the breeze like threads and quickly failed. I struggled to perceive the essence at all.
My magical sight sharpened with my witchcrafter training. I could detect the flow of essence from physical objects easily, or the parasitic remains of negative emotions latching onto objects where they didn’t belong. I could touch the former, and the latter was so out of place I could easily identify it.
But how could one seize air in the palm of their hands? Its essence was all around me and yet completely invisible; like a background noise I had lived all my life with before realizing it existed separately from my subjective reality.
“See what I mean?” Marika waved her hand at the oaks along our path. “Your eyes can see the trees, but they don’t realize something stands in between them. A wall of gas that you can push and blow and inhale, but never grasp.”
“I see what you mean.” I grabbed the exhausted remains of a wind runestone I used to power my rapier. In that case, I simply had to grasp the essence captured within the piece of rock and push it into my blade. “Once it is stored in a runestone, it is simply a matter of directing its flow in one direction or another.”
“Exactly. Since essence naturally tries to latch onto solid matter, elemental essence behaves like any other once extracted and refined. The hard part is to seal energy into a solid form in the first place.”
“That’s why I would need to align my witchcrafting with the Windsword to manipulate air essence?” I asked, now extremely curious. I realized I’d barely scratched the surface of the witchcrafting arts. “Because it will let me tell air essence apart from that of solid matter?”
“Pretty much,” Marika confirmed. “Each Artifact is tied to an energy source. The Firewand fuels the sun and flames; the Earthcoin moves the land beneath our feet and creates quakes; the Windsword generates lightning and air currents; and the Seacup controls the tides. Once you align with one of them, you can extract essence related to that energy, either to manipulate it in its rawest form or to store it in runestones for future use.”
“It would be nice to create elemental runestones,” I said. Not to mention immensely profitable. “Have you tried to undergo a Second Awakening yourself?”
“You need expensive elixirs and training for that. I never found the time or money.” Marika shrugged. “If I were to undergo the rite, I guess I would align with the Firewand. It makes the most sense for a smith, don’t you think?”
“Innovation comes from strange and unexplored places,” I countered. “If you align with the Windsword, you could start creating wind-swords yourself.”
“I would rather create airships,” Marika replied with a shrug. “They haven’t killed anyone yet.”
Yet being the keyword in this case. I sheathed my rapier when our group abruptly stopped. I looked at our vanguard. Soraseo rode at our column’s head, her mailed hand raised, her head turning towards the sprawling, dense woods along the road.
“What’s happening?” Marika asked.
“The trees are watching us,” Soraseo replied.
My hand tightened on my rapier’s hilt. Our guards prepared to draw their own swords too, with everyone expecting an ambush. I could only think of a few foes brave enough to attempt such folly in broad daylight.
“Soldiers?” I asked, my eyes narrowed in alarm. “Demons?”
“No, Robin.” Soraseo stared at the forest. “The trees are watching us. They have been for hours.”
I wondered what she meant when I heard a noise coming from the woods. A group of five outriders soon emerged from the forest, led by a bespectacled man in boiled leather armor. Most of them wielded bows, crossbows, and the occasional spears. Their equipment belonged to forest guards rather than knights or bandits.
“Welcome, Heroes,” the leader politely introduced himself. “I am Thorn from the Fronan Printing Press. Mr. Fronan warned us of your arrival.”
“Fronan?” My disbelief swiftly turned to excitement when I recognized the name. “Marwen Fronan?”
“Wait, isn’t that the inventor of the printing press?” Marika asked, her eyes alight with shared enthusiasm. “Isn’t he in the Arcadian Freeholds?”
“His company bought patches of forests in Archfrost a few years ago,” I remembered, my heartbeat hastening. I actually considered approaching them on behalf of the Frostfox Company in the near future. “Of course it would be near Frostwood.”
“The printing press?” Soraseo asked, slightly confused by the term. “He presses… letters?”
“He does far more than that,” I said with a childish grin. “His company pioneered the mass production of books and invented the first newspapers. They made knowledge cheap.”
I considered Marwen Fronan a first-class entrepreneur; the kind whose inventions and work changed the world for the better. The man probably did more to spread ideas and literacy than any other mortal alive.
And I might have the opportunity to meet him in the flesh!
“Is he here?” I asked Mr. Thorn with all the professional composure I could muster.
“He is,” Mr. Thorn confirmed. I couldn’t believe my luck. “We operate a lumberyard an hour’s walk away. Mr. Fronan would like to meet you there, if it pleases you.”
It took all my willpower not to answer positively on the spot. We were on a time-sensitive diplomatic mission after all. My homeland’s future took priority over a childish dream of mine.
However, I had another reason to meet with this man. A potentially world-changing one.
I exchanged a look with my fellow Heroes. Soraseo held my gaze the longest. “Do you have the same thought as I, Robin?”
“Yes, I do,” I replied. The Druid was supposedly killed in this area. If the trees were watching us and Fronan learned of our presence, this could only mean one thing. I turned to face Thorn. “Lead the way.”
“It would be my honor.” Mr. Thorn waved his hand at us and invited us to follow his group into the forest.
We heard the lumberyard long before we saw it. The rhythmic noise of collapsing trees and chisels cutting through wood slowly reverberated among the whistling leaves, alongside the clatter of tools and the moans of donkeys. Thick plumes of white smoke arose above the canopy of oaks and pines. A few minutes later, we reached thick fences and sharpened spikes unmolested.
Snowdrift had few lumber yards in its vicinity, but none as big as the one ahead of us. The camp rivaled a beehive in organization and activity. Massive log piles arranged by age, type, and quality littered the camp’s ground, with the sturdy pines and oaks stripped of their bark by a small army of hardened sawyers. Grizzled lumberjacks in wool coats and leather jerkins sharpened their axes on planks and beams that would support future buildings. Small forges burned adjacent to a set of carpenter workshops, their goods gathered on sturdy carts and boats parked along a small river. The very air carried the smell of sawdust.
A single anomaly stood out from this organized chaos. A crippled giant of steel sat in the middle of the camp, its broken knees impaled by twin yews. Vines and ivy infested every inch of its thick steel armor, restraining it better than ropes. Roots crawled out of its shattered helmet in a shape that reminded me of a hangman’s noose.
Marika paled at the sight of the wrecked machine and immediately rushed to its side. She had recognized her husband’s work.
“Thank the Goddess.” Marika sighed in relief after checking the golem. “It’s been exorcized.”
“What is a golem doing here?” I immediately asked Mr. Thorn after climbing down from my horse.
“That thing attacked our camp a moon ago,” the man replied with a sorrowful look. “Stefan took it out. Cost him his life too, sadly.”
It didn’t take me long to guess that he was referring to the former Druid. So this was where he perished.
Marwen Fronan arrived to greet us a few minutes later. I had no issues identifying him since he stood out from the gathered lumberjacks. The man looked rather fit for someone in his mid-sixties, with his chiseled beard cut short and his well-groomed gray hair tied into a ponytail. His deep blue eyes shone with uncanny intelligence behind a silver monocle. His elegant velvet doublet, satin gloves, wool pants, and leather shoes reminded me of the Riverland Federation robber barons I’d grown accustomed to in Ermeline. Yet I sensed none of their greed coming from that man, which didn’t surprise me. Marwen Fronan enjoyed a good reputation as a fair-minded visionary.
It was an honor to meet such a famed inventor and entrepreneur in the flesh. Moreover, he immediately felt familiar, the way all Heroes did.
“Greetings,” Mr. Fronan greeted us with a flowery Arcadian accent. He smiled warmly at our group, raised up his pants’ right seam and unveiled his leg. A silver mark representing a tree glittered on his wrinkled skin, right next to the old Erebian numeral for two. “I believe this is how we Heroes introduce ourselves?”
“A picture says a thousand words,” I replied after showing him my own mark. Soraseo and Marika quickly imitated me. “You’re the new Druid.”
“In the flesh,” Mr. Fronan confirmed after covering his mark. “For about half a month now.”
“The inventor of the printing press is the Druid.” I struggled not to laugh at the irony. “That’s rich.”
“No one was more surprised than I, I can assure you.” Mr. Fronan scowled at the golem. “That abomination killed the better man.”
Marika’s expression darkened. “What happened?”
“My predecessor was this camp’s woodsmaster, Stefan. A brave lad and a first-class worker.” Mr. Fronan let out a heavy sigh. “He was investigating a case of missing refugees and ran afoul with that machine’s creator.”
“Refugees?” I asked while Marika paled like a corpse.
“With the civil war and the plague, many refugees transit through Frostwood on their way to Erebia or the Arcadian Freeholds,” Mr. Fronan explained with a grim frown. “Criminals use these woods to lure poor fools with promises of secret passages or safe journeys, only to rob them blind or worse.”
Marika glanced at the golem with a horrified look. I myself trembled with anger. Witchcrafters required many souls to infuse a golem with life after all.
The lives that animated the machines among the Regent’s army had to come from somewhere.
“We can discuss this around a cup of tea.” Mr. Fronan quickly shook my hand with a firm grip. “As you’ve already guessed, I’m Marwen Fronan, founder of the Fronan Printing Press. You must be Lord Robin, I assume? Mrs. Belarra spoke well of you.”
“You’ve met Eris?” My heart skipped a beat. “Is she here?”
“She left weeks ago,” Marwen replied, much to my disappointment. “She must be in Walbourg by now.”
There were many reasons why Eris might travel to a rebel province, and none of them were good. “Why is that?”
“Haven’t you heard?” Marwen cleared his throat. “There are rumors saying that the duchy’s Reformists invited the new Priest to visit them. I assume Lady Alexios fears a schism in the Arcane Abbey and sent Mrs. Belarra to handle the situation.”
I heard the words, rehearsed them in my head, and then let out a sigh.
I could already tell that this diplomatic mission would prove exhausting.
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A/N: I admit it was a bit difficult to get back inside Robin's head after the last two bleak interludes... and refreshing too. We're back to lighter stuff XD
Comments
Void Herald
Basically Sanctuaries and Blights are the same thing (a place which is suffused with emotional essences), it's just that humans classify them differently because one has positive effects on humans and not the other ;) so a Grief-laced area would be called a Blight because it would certainly have effects like pushing people inside to despair, while a place suffused with positive emotions like the wonders of discovery would be called a Sanctuary.
Void Herald
You will :)
George R
Really excited to see the Druid powers! I am curious about sanctuaries and blights is the variants for neutral emotions or concepts. Like for example grief, curiosity, surprise, fear but like healthy fear? Or ones for concepts like strength, will, mystery or the elements? Sorry for long response
mhaj58
Nice chapter I hope to hear about the Druid mark powers in the next chapter.
