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Caladin’s Climb—Part 21
🕑 Added 2022-08-11 05:09:23 +0000 UTCThis story was brought to you by the Tuan'diath Ushwin, who enjoyed Caladin's Climb so much he demanded more. I'm considering this the back half of the previous chapter despite the break.
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“Caladin? Cally, wake up!” someone said. It was a voice Caladin recognized. A female voice. He opened his eyes. Miss Miller was smiling down at him. She looked the same as ever, with her freckled face and short blonde hair. “Oh, thank goodness,” she said, voice wavering with emotion.
“Miss… Miller?” Caladin was too shocked to say anything else. He had seen her get cut down by the soldiers that attacked the camp. He sat up, seeing as he did he was in an unfamiliar bed in an unfamiliar room. “I thought you were dead,” Caladin said.
“I could say the same about you, Cally,” Miss Miller replied.
“How did you survive? I saw a soldier cut you across the back!”
Miss Miller frowned. “He did. And I almost died, but after the battle, one of the eldrin wizards used magic to heal me. They said I was lucky. If I hadn’t been unconscious, I would have got hit by some big spell that killed a lot of the others.”
Caladin grimaced. He knew exactly what spell had “killed a lot of the others”. His spell. His suicide spell. It didn’t seem like Miss Miller knew he was responsible, so he didn’t admit to it. He didn’t think he could take her looking at him with such disappointment. “I’m… glad you survived,” Caladin said. “What about the others?”
Miss Miller frowned again. “Thirteen of us died. Twelve now, I suppose. We counted you among the dead.” The blonde-haired old woman leaned down and wrapped Caladin in an awkward hug. He didn’t care. It was just so nice to see anyone from his family again. “I’m so glad to see you’re all right!” Miss Miller said.
While they held each other for several seconds, Caladin’s mind returned to the eight skeletons he’d seen buried under their old campsite. If they’d made graves for eight bodies, and counted him and Lenny among the dead, that still left three unaccounted for.
No. Not three. At thinking back to that slaughter, Caladin remembered watching Glen run for cover before a loud whump of magic turned him into a shower of gore. They wouldn’t have been able to find enough of him to bury. That left two. Caladin released Miss Miller from his embrace. Her eyes were misty when she pulled away. She sat down in a padded chair by his bedside. “What happened after I left?” Caladin asked her. “How did you get here? Where even is here?” Looking around the room, Caladin found it was small but cozy. Not much else was in it but a bed, two chairs, and a shelf brimming with hand-knit apparel of the kind Miss Miller used to make for everyone back at camp. On the other chair in the room, sitting in the corner near the door, was a neatly folded stack of the clothes Caladin had been wearing when he left Brorn-Mart. Atop that pile, to his complete shock, was Belorian’s Crown.
An artifact as powerful as that crown didn’t seem like the kind of thing a ruthless warlord king would give back to Caladin if he had him at his mercy. Sure, it might turn the wearer into a depraved killer willing to drink eldrin blood, but it was still a weapon. Most kings didn’t just give up potentially paradigm-shifting weapons away when they were at war.
“I guess I prob’ly had a similar experience to you,” Miss Miller said. “I woke up in bed. The king sent healers to save everyone they could. Patched me right up. Don’t even have a scar.”
“What about your daughter? Did she make it out?” The last time Caladin had seen her, Miss Miller had been knitting baby booties for her little girl.
The older woman broke out into a smile, her concern for Caladin smothered by happier memories. “Oh, little Maddie is fine! She’s walkin’ now, ya’ know? Janet just laid her down for a nap. She can be a handful, but King Haedril dotes on her.”
Caladin blinked. “Did I hear that right? Did you say… King Haedril dotes on baby Maddie?”
“Oh, yes!” Miss Miller’s eyes sparkled with pride. “He comes by to check on us all the time. Maddie demanded that he carry her. Just walked right up to ‘im and said ‘Up!’ We were so scared he’d take offense, but he just picked ‘er up. He sees her every time he visits, now. Even let ‘er hold his crown once.”
“I’m… having a hard time connecting the man you’re describing to the one I tried to…” Caladin thought about what he was going to say, then amended his statement. “To the man I thought he was,” he finished instead.
“He’s a great king,” Miss Miller insisted. “He takes care of us. Gave us a bunch of land. Just gave it to us. He said it was an apology for what happened.”
Caladin tensed up. “Land doesn’t make up for people,” he said. “People can’t be replaced.”
“I know,” Miss Miller agreed with a sigh. “But it’s a start. He also let us attend the hanging.”
“Hanging?”
Miss Miller nodded. “Hung the bastard what ordered us dead. Said that wasn’t how he wanted things done in his kingdom. Had to make an example. Called ‘im one o’ the ‘old guard’ from his brother’s time.”
Everything Miss Miller was saying lined up with what Caladin remembered the king saying. He had claimed he’d never ordered the attack and regretted it. But then… he was an eldrin. Caladin needed to be sure that Miss Miller’s mind hadn’t been tampered with. He needed to see with his own eyes this place where the survivors from his family camp were supposedly living. Caladin leaned out from the bed and grabbed the pile of clean clothes. He checked the pockets and found that all his scrolls were still there. Hopefully, nobody had figured out his secret trick for performing magic. Carrying around a lot of scrolls wasn’t necessarily proof of anything. And anyway, with the lunamancy he’d thrown around, there would be no doubt he was capable of great feats of magic, regardless of any scrolls he kept in his pockets. For now, he touched his finger to one of the blank pieces of paper and inscribed a spell that could detect any use of cerebromancy magic on a person. He targeted Miss Miller. If there was even the faintest glimmer of cerebromancy on her mind, his spell would highlight it with a halo of pink light. The spell released with a flash. It revealed no such enchantments.
“What was that little flash of light?” Miss Miller asked.
“Magic,” Caladin said. “I just wanted to make sure your memories were your own.” There were other ways to make people say what you wanted; Caladin knew. Miss Miller had a family. She would certainly be willing to say anything to keep them safe if she were threatened. Yet… she seemed so calm. Sad, but genuine.
“Were they?” Miss Miller asked. “My memories?”
“As far as I can tell,” Caladin said. He had to admit to being slightly suspicious. Her story was almost too perfect. The evil king had done everything right: he greatly regretted his involvement, gave the victims a safe place to live, and had personal relationships with Caladin’s family? It was so perfect Caladin started to suspect he might be in some kind of mental trap. The last thing he remembered was lying in a pool of bloody vomit in front of the eldrin king. The man was a king. Certainly he had at least one good cerebromancer under his employ who could take advantage of such a situation.
This was something Caladin had read about. There were a number of ways to tell if you were trapped inside your own mind by a cerebromancer. The best method was to test the physical limitations of your body. Caladin held his breath.
Miss Miller furrowed her brow slightly but didn’t comment on his behavior. “Uh, well, if you’re all caught up, they told me I could show you around the village. That’s what we’re calling it. The village. We’re in the castle right now. This is one of King Haedril’s guest rooms. The village is right outside the gates. Caladin nodded but didn’t say anything. He was still holding his breath. If he was in his mind, it would be impossible to actually suffocate. His chest started to burn. He kept holding. “So is that a yes?” Miss Miller asked. His lungs started to instinctively spasm. He had to fight to keep them shut. Miss Miller started to ask him something, but he couldn’t hear her over the rushing sound of blood in his ears. His nose felt like it was on fire. Finally, his vision began narrowing to a pinprick.
Caladin released his breath and took a big gulp of air. So. Not in a mental construct.
“Cally? What’s wrong?” Miss Miller asked.
“It’s a—I’m—I’m fine,” he panted. “I need to. Talk to the king before we see this village.” He had a lot of questions. The fact that Miss Miller was here to talk to him when he woke up stunk of some kind of manipulation. He didn’t like that. “You can wait outside while I change,” he told Miss Miller. “I’ll be sure to thank the king for returning my clothes to me.”
Before stepping outside, Miss Miller leaned in and whispered into Caladin’s ear. “Is it true?” she asked. “Are you a powerful archmage?” Caladin nodded. Miss Miller smiled her wide smile. “Good,” she said. “Maybe we won’t need the king to protect us anymore. He’s nice, but sometimes it feels like we’re his pets. Like he’s just keeping us around to feel better about what happened.”
That was interesting. The situation wasn’t entirely perfect. The king had flaws too. Caladin dismissed Miss Miller and changed back into his clothes. It didn’t escape his notice that the clothes he was changing out of—though merely bed clothes—were of the finest quality silks money could buy. He knew because they were the same quality Brorn liked to keep in his wardrobe. Once he was back in his comfortable linen robes, Caladin did an inventory of his possessions. His mana-storing belt had been returned, and as far as he could tell, all of his scrolls were still where he left them in the secret inside pockets of his coat. It would be impossible to actually confirm that, of course, as he kept more on his person than even he could remember. Before leaving the room, Caladin inscribed a quick spell to protect against mental magic. When he opened the door, he found a pair of armored guards stationed on either side of it. Miss Miller stood off to the side. She gave him a little wave. “Are you supposed to keep me in here?” Caladin asked the guards. “That’s cute. Take me to your king. I want to talk to him.”
“What’s cute?” the guard on the left asked.
“That you think there’s even a chance you’re going to stop me from walking out of this room.”
“We are not here to do that,” the guard replied. “We are here to protect and serve you, sir.”
“I don’t need protection,” Caladin insisted.
“You did when you were sleeping, sir,” the guard replied. Caladin didn’t have a response ready for that. It was true he would have benefited from protection while unconscious.
“I’ll tell Philip yer up and wanna see him,” the second guard volunteered. He nodded once to his partner, then took off at a jog down the stone hallway. Caladin noticed that neither of the men actually had weapons.
“How long was I out?” Caladin asked the man that remained.
“About twenty hours, sir,” he said.
Caladin let out an annoyed sigh. Brorn was going to be pissed. He would just have to come up with a likely excuse and hope to the gods he hadn’t noticed the fake crown on his belt in the meantime. He wasn’t actually sure that he was free to leave, but he also didn’t much care if he had permission. Maintaining his cover with Brorn was too important to risk. He could always check out the so-called “village” after he checked back in with Brorn. “Change of plans,” Caladin said. “I can talk to your king later. I need to get back home as soon as possible. You say you’re here to serve me? Then take me to the teleportation circle.”
The eldrin man nodded. “As you say, sir. Right this way.” The man walked in the same direction his fellow had run off to.
“You can find me later,” Miss Miller said. She nodded after the guard. “Take care of your business. We’ll be here when you have time.”
“Send the others my love,” Caladin told her, and he hurried after the guard.
After a few turns through a maze of hallways, Caladin and his escort arrived in the throne room he remembered from before. There was still a Caladin-shaped hole in the gate at the end of the hall. The king, Philipus Haedril, was standing next to the throne, talking to the guard that had run ahead.
“Oh, there he is now,” Philipus said. He waved Caladin down. He was smiling.
Caladin ignored him and kept walking.
“Wait, where are you going?” Philipus called after him.
“I have somewhere I need to be,” Caladin said. “I slept too long.”
“I hope you aren’t going to see that master of yours,” Philipus said.
“What do you know of my master?” Caladin asked.
“Necro-King Brorn?” King Philipus asked. “A dangerous man. Before yesterday I would have said he’s probably the most dangerous independent wizard in the world. Now? I’m not so sure.”
“Then you’ll understand why I need to go and why keeping me here would be dangerous,” Caladin said.
“Oh, I’m not keeping you here,” King Philipus said. “That would be impossible. I would be a fool to even try. But if you want to go, I feel I should warn you. We received a message by sending stone from Necro-King Brorn while you were sleeping.”
“You did? What did he say?” Caladin asked. He wasn’t sure how Brorn could have possibly known where he was when he didn’t even know himself.
“It wasn’t a personal message,” King Philipus said. “Just a general alert. He sent it out over the entire global network of sending stones. An extremely impressive feat of magic. That much power should have killed him. I have no idea how he did it.”
“What did the message say?” Caladin asked.
“It was very short. Very direct.” The king tapped his chin. “Let me see if I can get the words exactly… ‘I know you can hear this, apprentice. Nobody steals from Necro-King Brorn and gets away with it. When I find you, I will not even allow you the luxury of death.’”
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