Chương 39

With their combined energy, Kirk and Michaels brought back eight Conduits from the brink of death. Yet as Kirk looked up from the hacked flesh of the woman whimpering on the palette to twenty more critical Conduits, his heart sank. And a hundred wounded huddling in line, many unable to walk, wrapped in bandages, waiting for their turn. He raised his head further and saw other groups of Conduits, whispering excitedly about what they could earn in the Rift, walking right past the healing area without a glance.

The few embers of frustration that had been lit, seeing the bedraggled state of Michaels, produced several vicious tongues of flame. Everyone drifted in their own bubble, ignoring the state of the world around them. The sky observed from above, cruel and implacable. Kirk sagged as he carried his Larian Saber back to his tent. He had grown stronger. He could make a difference. But the amount of difference he could make was the reach of a Tier I Conduit. Nothing more.

That helplessness awakened a grim resolve in his chest. His energy reserves were kaput. He wanted nothing more than a bath. But he forced himself to stand outside of his tent with his Larian Saber raised and hold. His arms began to tremble, but he kept the weapon aloft. He stared at the blade, flashing his teeth. Eventually, his strength gave out and he had to drop the weapon. He heaved out a massive sigh, vaguely disappointed, as a voice spoke.

"Kirk Albion, you are very much not what I expected." He pivoted, still panting. Muytta Larian, who had explained the rules of her Clan's weapons, stood arms akimbo down the tent path. She chuckled and walked closer.

"How have you been?" Kirk opened his mouth to answer, but then hesitated. He thought about the question. He wiped the sweat from his brow.

"Just realizing I have a long way to go before I can save everyone myself." Muytta squinted at Kirk, checking for subterfuge. When she found none, she threw back her head and released a loud laugh.

"It's easy, right? To believe that becoming a Conduit will give you the power that you've always wanted. But the more power you hold, the more you believe you need."

"Are you back in the Peakhold for me?" Kirk said when she walked up.

"Well, not for you." She gestured to the weapon.

"May I?"

"Sure," Kirk shrugged. With her eyes closed, Muytta leaned forward and pressed her forehead against the blade. She drew the pointer finger of her right hand down the length of the dense metal. She gave a quiet snort and leaned back.

"Thank you for indulging me. Rather than official business of the Larian Clan, this was more to satisfy my own curiosity. To see what the blade would feel, being by your side. Pride? Disdain? Considering your comments, perhaps some sort of sense of purpose?" Kirk looked at the woman.

"What did it feel?"

"Your Saber pities you, Kirk." Muytta Larian said.

"Perhaps it is the stench of sweat and blood on you. Perhaps it's the bags under your eyes, or the way your Archetypes ravenously consume ambient energy. Yet perhaps that, too, misses the point. Do you hold a secret, Kirk, one that dooms you?" Kirk blinked.

"Also, the Larian weaponry don't have typical senses. Our founder theorized that our sacred method touched a higher realm. She believed well-shaped could read the flow of fate-- that is how they so often found themselves in the hands of those who needed them, at times of great upheaval." Muytta leaned back. Because the nearest torch was behind her, her face was entirely in shadow.

"How heavy is the burden of your fate, Kirk?" Kirk considered.

"It's about me-sized, I think." Again, Muytta snorted. A playful grin split her face.

"I suppose that's all we can hope for, isn't it? Now, I hear Peakhold has been hopping with activity; even Eaglehold, the Duke's seat, has heard of it. Now, how about a bargain? I shall pay for as much food as you can eat, if you tell me about it." The two shook hands. Kirk's eyes flashed; after the day he had, he wished to test his stomach's physical limits. Again, that night, he fell asleep immediately. And directly into a dream. Kirk stood opposite a mirror in a dark room.

But it was a warping mirror; the body facing him was taller, more muscular, crueler. That figure smirked.

"You are nothing more than a spare. And that's all you will ever be. You are weak." Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site. Maybe now, Kirk said, or tried to say. The surrounding dream trembled. The other Kirk's sneer deepened and his features changed. He wasn't a reflection, but an older brother. Kirk pried his lips apart. He could almost feel the threads snapping as he spoke.

"Maybe I'm weak now. But I won't be always." The dream popped. Groaning, Kirk sat up. He drank a full waterskin before smacking his thankfully unsewn lips. His hips were stiff as he scooted out of the bed and got dressed. Dawn had just broken, but the air was cool. A breeze rustled the surrounding tents. Kirk meandered toward the merchant quarter. He had intended to follow the acute Bestial Senses I to a tasty breakfast, but he paused at the edge of the merchant quarter.

His gaze swiveled to a woman crouching in front of Tafaro Wheelde's shop. Sensing Kirk's gaze, the woman looked around. She blinked several times.

"Young Master Albion. I didn't realize you were the type for morning strolls." She straightened, leaving a bouquet of flowers on the little porch. Kirk couldn't help but clear his throat.

"Did you know- He-""Left? Of course." Sandra Wheelde said. As she spoke, tears formed and dripped from the corners of her eyes. Streams of raw sorrow running down her cheeks, Sandra tried to smile.

"He gave me the date of the departure. Begged me to come see him off. And I didn't." She pivoted back and looked at the closed door of the shack.

"I had hoped he would still be here, a day later. Because he couldn't bear to leave without seeing me. He endured it, clearly. But I-" Sandra leaned forward, releasing a soft sob. Kirk shifted from one foot to the other. If you knew when he was leaving, why didn't you go then? But Kirk couldn't exactly judge. Instead, he said.

"It was a good thing you did, a few days ago. Helping those Tier 0s." For a moment, Sandra remained silent. When she finally opened her mouth, her first words croaked out of her throat.

"Fat lot of good it did. They didn't leave. The Bronze Dragon Troop has an alibi, but that young man turned up with his legs broken, refusing to speak of it. They still haven't found the girl."

"What?" Kirk's eyes widened.

"Some things are easier alone," Sandra whispered. When she walked away, Kirk didn't stop her. His heart ached as he looked at her slouched shoulders. Sandra Wheedle's fate, the one she had chosen, was her sized as well. But he could see her buckling as she tried to walk it.

Administrator Ranya stood at the window, looking out at her demesne. She saw the market, busy even at this late hour. She saw the nervous guards, who now took shifts hauling wounded across the ridge. She saw the intermittent flashes from the Rift, as more and more chased after the chance at wealth. She saw the long line of injured, crippling Peakhold's single healer. Honestly, Administrator Ranya wasn't sure how the man hadn't yet vanished in the night. But his endurance wouldn't last, not for another month.

Until the avalanche of wounded obliterated all of her plans. She reached and squeezed the medallion around her neck. Its cold edges dug into her palm, at least grounding her in the moment. Ranya spun around and surveyed the three other individuals in the room.

"Any ideas?" Maylor Balkan simply folded his arms across his chest. At Tier IV, no matter how pure the catalytics, the man had been influenced by his Archetype: First, he was a shadow. Loyal, but ultimately supporting. Next to Maylor, Seth Rechves, captain of the guards, rubbed his chin.

"Perhaps a few mercenary Troops could be hired? It would maintain morale." The Administrator narrowed her eyes.

"Considering the timeframe and the fact we'd likely be asking them to also keep the peace, the prices they would demand will be prohibitive."

"Likely necessary," Seth said. Ranya bit her lip. She didn't like it, but Seth's most defining trait was pragmatism. Yet she hesitated. Fifteen years of machinations had led to this moment. She was on the eve of enacting her revenge. Technically, she could afford the mercenaries. But could she then take her planned next step?

If it wasn't for that Outer Maester changing the budget, we might be able to squeak by- and the Duke wants to send a representative to inspect before they will consider revisiting that decision. Before Ranya could shape her response, the final individual spoke up.

"We are looking at this as a threat. Why not use it as an opportunity?" Laila Driftwood sat in the corner of the room, her legs folded underneath her on the chair. Aside from Maylor himself, Laila was the most powerful Conduit Ranya had at her side; a silver armband glittered on her bicep.

"A single wrong step and we will be crushed," Seth frowned.

"No matter what, we need a plan," Ranya said. She looked at the other woman.

"What did you have in mind?"

"A bidding war between the four families." Maylor straightened and Laila gave him an apologetic glance.

"Or other interested parties, it doesn't matter. After all, we can strike quickly and make a spark: Kirkland Albion is here."

"You would sell the treasure to an Albion?" Seth hissed. Ranya's mind worked through the possibilities.

"Will they be tempted by a Silver Tier Treasure? Plus, Kirkland- that kid-""Who knows. But he's here; it won't take long to ask." Laila shrugged.

"Hasn't he seemed to involve himself in everything around Peakhold, recently?" Seth just puckered his lips.

"What if a larger plot is afoot? Perhaps the Albions incited the Rift Wave. If we question him, hubris and youth will reveal flaws that we can exploit." Ranya considered. She looked at Maylor.

"Would you be willing? To offer a hand to the Albion Family?"

"So long as the family head does not personally arrive in Peakhold…" A deep antagonism twisted Maylor's features, pulling his lips back to show slightly yellowed teeth.

"The plan is workable."