Cronica Acadia Page 12

  Master Tolliver came out, cracked open one of the legs, and smelled it. “Still fresh!” said he as he pulled out his purse.

  They helped him carry the legs into the inn’s cellar, and never again did Nerdraaage order the roast beast.

  They said good-bye to Angus, who promised them that a marvelous welcome was awaiting them at Hammersmith, Bran Keep, or wherever Clan Stonefist could be found, and he boasted that Clan Stonefist could be found at the three corners of the world.

  XXV

  Things progressed uneventfully over the next few weeks. Doppelganger’s training was winding down, and Alfred was not as draconian as he had been in the beginning. He had even taken on two brothers from a local farm who wanted to be warriors. He had promised their father that he would keep the best one of the two and the other would be returned in time for the harvest. After all, the Alliance needed food as well as warriors.

  Alfred even entrusted Doppelganger to handle rudimentary elements of the boys’ training. Doppelganger liked them both and was glad he didn’t have to send one back to the farm. They both idolized Doppelganger, which annoyed Alfred. He was nowhere near the warrior that Alfred was, but he figured, as did Alfred, that they were impressed because he was so tall.

  Dangalf’s training was also nearing an end, but not before one more significant blunder. He absent-mindedly spoke aloud a spell as he waved his wand and cast Weyd in a giant block of ice. Wendell jumped on the top of the block and cried at his master.

  Dangalf went to the block and rapped on the top with his knuckles. It was a nice solid block. Weyd would have been impressed if he were not inside it.

  Frozen inside the block, Weyd still managed to roll his eyes at Dangalf who held up his index finger, which he hoped meant “just a minute” here as it did in his old universe. He closed his eyes and entered his virtual library, where he hurriedly thumbed through his copy of Elemental Elements: Fire and Ice for the counterspell.

  He opened his eyes and looked to Wendell—he wasn’t sure why—and the cat seemed to be looking at Dangalf as if to say, “What an idiot!” And the clever cat jumped off just before the ice cracked as Weyd freed himself.

  XXVI

  Doppelganger was sparring with both farm boys at once as Alfred approached with a small wagon. “You hymens go practice your parry,” screamed Alfred at the farm boys. “Orcbait, come over here.” Doppelganger had come far in his training. He had been promoted from hymen to orcbait. “Set down your shield and sword.” Alfred went to the back of his wagon as Doppelganger unequipped himself. “You fight well enough with shield. You could be the best guard in all of Hempshire.” Doppelganger understood the insult, and it burned in him. “But dragoons don’t carry shields. They carry this.” Alfred tossed him a massive battleaxe. It was so heavy that Doppelganger took a step back when he caught it. Doppelganger had been weight training with anvils to the point where ordinary things no longer seemed to have a weight. But this was no ordinary thing. It was a two-handed weapon. He would not, could not, sport a shield when he wielded this monster.

  “All right, orcbait,” ordered Alfred. “Have at me!”

  Doppelganger roared and brought the mighty axe down on Alfred’s ceremonial shield. It made a horrible metal on metal sound as it skittered violently against it before being deflected off.

  “Now let’s try that again,” said Alfred. “And this time, don’t hold back.”

  Again Doppelganger swung the massive axe onto the shield. It screeched again but Alfred moved brilliantly around Doppelganger, who seemed off balance. The sparring continued, and Alfred gave Doppelganger a wicked blow to the gut with a mace when Doppelganger was exposed either because he held the axe for too long over his head or he left it lowered too long after a strike.

  “Overhead is your most powerful strike, but it is also the one that leaves you most vulnerable! Save it for the finishing blow!” The violent sparring and lecturing continued. “Without a shield, your weapon provides your defense! A sweeping strike keeps your enemies at bay and can strike multiple targets!”

  Doppelganger noticed that the two farm boys had stopped their own practice to watch him spar. Alfred must have noticed his inattention because he smashed Doppelganger in the face with the mace. It was a brutal blow, the hardest Alfred had ever hit him. He had hit Doppelganger a lot, but it had always been on an armored part of his body or a fleshy area that would not break. Warm blood ran down his face and onto the ground.

  But Doppelganger was not worried about his injury. He was not embarrassed by his inattention. He was not nauseated by the sight and smell of his own blood or the sound it made as it slopped onto the ground. No, Doppelganger was not any of those things. He was only angry. And suddenly Doppelganger changed.

  His skin flushed red. Thick veins appeared all over his body dark in color as they now carried superoxygenated blood as well as biles yellow and black. The martial humors fed the warrior’s strength, anger, and recklessness respectively and flowed to his heart and lungs and brain. Only the most essential and primitive thoughts were now being processed by that brain. His muscles and bones took on increased size and strength, and his britches strained at the seam. The leather straps of his armor creaked in protest against his engorging physique. His cheeks and brow pressed forward, a bony shield around his eyes. Doppelganger was no longer capable of pain or fear or fatigue. He felt only rage. Alfred might as well have been an orc rapemonger at that moment. He could not have wanted to kill him more. And with one massive blow, he brought the axe down through Alfred’s heavy metal shield and everything unfortunate enough to be behind that shield.

  Unconsciously he unleashed a battle shout that blended seamlessly into the unworldly scream of the axe cutting through the shield. Metal sparks illuminated the scene, and the farm boys did not recognize Doppelganger’s face. It was so contorted as to be unrecognizable by even his next of kin. Doppelganger drove down with his axe until it buried in the ground.

  Alfred had sidestepped the destruction and now shook the remnant of his shield from his arm as he backed up from Doppelganger. Doppelganger pulled his axe from the ground and pursued Alfred, still intending to kill him. He swung the massive axe in a large arc where Alfred was standing, but Alfred was no longer there when the axe arrived. He stepped aside with only inches between his face and Doppelganger’s axe. Doppelganger’s exaggerated swing exposed his back to Alfred, and Alfred stepped into it, put his arms around Doppelganger’s head and neck, and put him to sleep.

  Doppelganger regained consciousness to the sound of one of the farm boys asking if he was dead. He blinked his eyes open in answer. The farm boys watched him nervously. “Each class has a foundation skill that makes it special,” said Alfred. “For the warrior, it is the bloodwarp. More than a rage, it is a change in the very structure of your body and brain. Your size and strength, your skill, and your weapons mean nothing without it. It is what will allow you to fight when others are cold and scared and fatigued. When your bones are broken and your dearest friends have fallen, when you face an overwhelming enemy, the bloodwarp is what will allow you to triumph when others flee. Or perish.”

  Doppelganger did not speak. He felt strange. Almost unclean. He had been taken by pure murderous rage that would have spared no one in his path. He did not think often of the old world. What was the point? But he did in this moment think back to the game that they used to play. Cronica, he recalled. He remembered the bloodwarp he would call upon in the game to give his avatar superpowers. Back then all he had to do was push a key on a keyboard.

  The two farm boys looked at each other and turned around. They walked away without saying a word. Alfred saw them too and knew that they would not return. He did not regret seeing them leave. Better they find out early that they were not meant to be warriors. Hempshire had enough guards.

  Doppelganger stood uneasily. He picked up Alfred’s shattered shield, but “sorry” was an inadequate response. He had sundered an artifact, a shield presented to Alfred by the Su
preme Allied Commander. “It can be repaired,” said Alfred. “So can your nose.” And then he stepped to Doppelganger and popped his broken nose back into position.

  Alfred went back to his wagon and lit a red candle. He scribbled on a hemp scroll and then dripped candle wax on it. He embossed the wet wax with his seal. “Your bloodwarp came late in training,” he continued. “But it did come, and so you are promoted. You are no longer a guard. Your new rank is mercenary. You will be paid for each day of service to the Alliance and for each enemy kill. And you must do so in prescribed numbers before you are able to train for the next level.”

  Doppelganger understood his charge. Enemy kill did not refer to wolves or spiders. It meant sapiens. Orcs, goblins, and trolls. He had wondered if he could kill a sapien, but the bloodwarp had answered that unequivocally.

  Alfred finished the parchment and held it across his chest. “This is your commission. I will notify Bartleby of your promotion, but you would be advised to keep the sages informed of your progress so your commission can be recreated if lost.” Doppelganger took ten crown from his purse and handed it to Alfred, who in exchange handed him his commission. “Mercenary is a low rank, but you must conduct yourself honorably nonetheless. You are now a sponsored member of the Red School, Doppelganger.” It was the first time Alfred had used his name. “I am your sponsor, and I expect that you will not disappoint me.” Alfred turned back to his wagon and made some notes. “Do you still want to be a dragoon?”

  “Yes, sire.” Doppelganger smiled.

  “A dragon is not faithful like a gryphon. He will eat his own master if given half a chance.”

  XXVII

  Dangalf stood nervously before Weyd, who was going down a scroll as if it were a checklist, which it was. “And there is only one last thing,” said Weyd, looking at Dangalf.

  Dangalf held out the palm of his hand, and they both looked at it expectantly. Dangalf cupped his hand and concentrated. A bead of sweat ran down his face. It all came down to this.

  Suddenly a spark lit in his hand and turned into a small ball of flame. He had conjured fire, flame created without tinder or wand, the foundation skill of the mage class. He smiled in relief and passed the small ball playfully between his two hands before handing it off to Weyd. He had actually been conjuring fire consistently for several days, but still it was necessary to do it now under examination.

  Weyd looked at the small flame before blowing it out and checking the item on his checklist. Weyd prepared for Dangalf a certificate similar to Doppelganger’s. However, instead of mercenary he had been appointed to the rank of conjurer, and his commission was sealed with white wax.

  Dangalf could not have been more thrilled (or relieved after learning earlier in the day that Doppelganger had been promoted), yet it was bittersweet saying good-bye to the old man. “You have learned all that you can,” said Weyd. “You must go forth and put your knowledge to practical use. You must also learn to connect to parts of your mind that are so far unknown to you. For there is much more to learn when you have the capacity to learn it.”

  “Well,” said Dangalf, stumbling. “It’s been nice studying with you. I just want to say, you know, thanks for everything. I think I learned a lot. Sorry again for freezing you in that block of ice.”

  “I said we would not discuss that further.”

  “Right. Sorry. Do you think I could return to you when I need further training?”

  “There are many gifted magical trainers in this land.”

  “I know, but I like you.”

  Weyd seemed touched by Dangalf’s friendship. “I will train you further if that is your wish. I hope you are successful in your pursuit of the arcane and the abstruse.”

  “Thanks again,” said Dangalf, and he turned to leave.

  “Meow!” cried Wendell.

  “Well good-bye to you too, Wendell,” said Dangalf playfully. He tried to pet him, but the cat dodged his hand and tapped his paw quickly on the table. Strange, he thought, and then he remembered. He reached into his pocket and retrieved ten crown, which he set before the cat. Wendell played with the coins almost as if he was counting them.

  XXVIII

  That night the four celebrated at the Silent Woman with expensive food and drink. Congratulations were given by Nerdraaage and Ashlyn and exchanged between Doppelganger and Dangalf for their promotion and inductions, albeit sponsored inductions, into the Red and White Schools respectively. It represented not only a substantial inroad to the bonding step of the Triangle of Achievement but also provided a clear path to the next level: Recognition.

  After the formality of the congratulations, Doppelganger was mocked for his broken nose and Dangalf for being a “conjurer.” “Pull a rabbit out of your hat,” demanded Nerdraaage.

  “No hat,” apologized Dangalf.

  And the drinking began in earnest.

  Nerdraaage had picked up yet another expensive habit from Angus, who had given him his own pipe when they departed. Already red faced from drink, he lit up and passed the town’s celebrated leaf product to Dangalf. Dangalf inhaled deeply and smiled with satisfaction. He had never had smoke like that in his lungs before. He passed the pipe to Doppelganger, who refused it. The mellowing effects of the smoke were poison to a warrior. Unlike drink, smoke could retard the bloodwarp.

  “Come on, pussy,” challenged Nerdraaage.

  “Do you know what they call a warrior who smokes?” asked Doppelganger.

  “What?”

  “A guard.”

  Ashlyn took the pipe. She was especially attractive tonight as for the first time she wore a diaphanous garment crafted by Mistress Tolliver and made from the spider silk given to her by Angus. Ashlyn smoked deeply but gracefully.

  “Elves don’t smoke,” said Nerdraaage.

  “You don’t tell me how to be an elf and I won’t tell you how to be a dwarf,” she exhaled.

  Nerdraaage was very excited that tomorrow they would depart for Hammersmith, the dwarven town where he would begin his own training. He bragged ceaselessly about the superiority of Hammersmith over Hempshire: the quality of food and drink, the friendliness of the people…

  Dangalf gently reminded him that he was not born a dwarf and all that he knew of Hammersmith was from a computer game and a few conversations with Angus. “And we have an Odeon!” said Nerdraaage. “You two have been training. You don’t know how boring this place has been for us. But you’ll get to go to the Odeon!”

  “A whole town filled with dwarves,” she said. “Just shoot me now.”

  “The Odeon at Hammersmith is one of the great landmarks of Acadia,” continued Nerdraaage.

  “Yes,” answered Dangalf. “And so is the Great Library at Hempshire.”

  “Hempshire has a library?” asked Nerdraaage.

  Dangalf recited from the Cronica Acadia as he was wont to do: “After the great darkness had lifted, it was determined by Acadian governors that each town begin the construction of a landmark that would make each town special and desirable and help to alleviate overcrowding at the capital cities. So as to expedite the return of persons to their respective towns, it was ordered that each improvement be advertised as being a landmark no matter how modest or unfortunate it be. The Hot Springs of Bad Manor are so hot as to boil the skin from an elephant. The Port at Mount Albin features a handsome and sturdy dock but is unfortunately situated in a landlocked mountain town,” and, finished reciting, he said, “I would add to that list the Great Library at Hempshire.”

  “So,” said Nerdraaage. “It doesn’t say anything about the Odeon at Hammersmith.”

  XXIX

  They awoke early the next day and ordered hearty breakfasts. The others dug in, but Ashlyn dawdled over her boiled vegetables. “I order raw vegetables, and she always peels and boils them. ‘Vegetables are dirty,’ she says.”

  “Plenty of dirt outside if you’re still hungry,” said Nerdraaage between bites.

  Doppelganger and Dangalf laughed. When Nerdraaage saw he h
ad made his friends laugh, he laughed the loudest. Ashlyn smiled in bemusement, but she wouldn’t give Nerdraaage the satisfaction of laughing.

  Despite the boiling of the vegetables, Ashlyn had a tearful farewell with Mistress Tolliver, who called her “my sweet elf” and loaded her down with so much food, wine, and clothing that Dangalf and Nerdraaage had to share the load. (They were careful not to let Nerdraaage carry the extra wine.) And for the omnivores, a dozen nomble pies. Om nom nom.

  Nerdraaage bid farewell to his bosses at the smithy and the stables. The stables master promised Nerdraaage that whenever he got tired of adventuring, he would always have a job “shoveling shite.” Nerdraaage didn’t know what to say.

  Dangalf returned all of Weyd’s books, even regrettably some he was unable to capture for his mental library. Dangalf bid final farewell to Weyd. He also said good-bye to Wendell, who seemed disinterested.

  Against Nerdraaage’s wishes, Doppelganger got a shave. Then he went on a shopping spree for the first time since arriving. He bought himself a plain but solid battleaxe and sharpening stone from the smithy. From the tanner he bought an axe scabbard and good boots for the long journey ahead. He visited the fletcher for a bow and arrows. (And then he went back to the tanner for a quiver.) Finally he visited the armorsmith and sprang for some mail shirt and leggings—the first two modest pieces of armor in what he hoped would someday be a full suit of plate armor.

  Doppelganger debated saying farewell to Alfred. He didn’t expect a tearful farewell with him, but he didn’t want the little warrior to mock him either for being a “sentimental lass.” He walked to the training field, where Alfred was heaping abuse on a new recruit. Alfred saw his approach and turned to face Doppelganger with a look that seemed to say, Are you still here? Doppelganger stopped, still about twenty yards away, and raised his hand in salute. Alfred returned the gesture, and Doppelganger turned back to the front gate. That went better than he expected.