Chương 34: 33. Dreaming of the Dark

Tavian dreamed. He walked down a dank passage. Wet stones, placed too close together, pressed around him. His light flickered, unable to keep the darkness at bay. Things moved in the shadows, just out of sight. They were watching him. Laughing at him. His throat ached. He still gripped the strange scroll in his hand, trembling as he thought of what he'd done. His sword hung at his hip, in the scabbard. He didn't want to touch it. He glanced down at the sword, and recognized it: Cormath's.

Tavian jolted awake when Calli jabbed the miasmic condenser into his side. She'd been working all night on the condenser, then testing it on him. He'd fallen asleep in the coresmith workshop, waiting while she worked. Light now streamed in through the windows. Her eyes were red, and dark circles suggested that she hadn't slept all night.

"Did you rest well?" she asked him.

"I managed to get it working again, hang on." His flesh burned as miasma was drained from his wound. The spread of miasma in his body had been greatly reduced; the treatments were working. Tavian looked at the dismantled spell modules on the workbench regretfully. Calli had stripped them. He groaned as he checked the system interface. His core essence had ticked up slightly since he last checked, thanks to Vanal's work. ⬣ Kingdom Status ⬣ Core Essence Tiles Claimed Influence 368 326 1.

1 He'd expected Anarvia to be more aggressive in trying to whittle down Tavian's territory, but the man didn't seem to be even trying. It made Tavian nervous; Anarvia hadn't even resumed trying his surround. If he'd gotten hold of the miasmic infuser, he could be preparing an army that would ignore Tavian's Influence.

"Get some rest, Calli," he said. The black miasmic taint on his skin was now greatly reduced, though a large part of his side was still consumed. Each time that Calli applied her treatment, the cut opened up and bled a little bit more.

"I need to keep refining this," Calli said.

"It's not going as fast as it was before, and I'm worried about burning it out again if I use it too much."

"Test it on the other injured men for now," Tavian said.

"I have other things to deal with today."

"Promise me you'll come back before it gets that bad again," Calli said.

"I will." He stood up, and was suddenly standing in a long, dark corridor. He held a guttering torch in his hand. A foul odor filled his nostrils. The hair on the back of his neck stood up, and he peered over his shoulder into the darkness. Tavian blinked, and the vision faded.

"What's wrong?" Calli asked him.

"Nothing," he said, shaking his head to clear the strangeness.

"I'm fine." He left the dagger behind in the workshop. The voice had stopped speaking to him since he'd let it go, but had some other connection been forged? He needed to go find Cormath. He didn't know how to… other than asking the voice that spoke to him when he touched the dagger. Tavian wasn't ready to do that yet. Something was bothering him. He'd been through too much in the last few days, and he couldn't sort through everything cluttering his head.

The fortress felt so much bigger, now that they'd claimed the whole thing and weren't confined to the courtyard. Tavian walked the grounds, aimlessly. If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it. He ran into Erond, atop his makeshift palanquin, dolling out orders. When Erond saw him, he ordered his seat set down and dismissed his servants.

"Tavian," Erond said, beckoning him over.

"You're looking lost, son. Where are you going?"

"I don't know," Tavian said.

"I'm trying to figure out how to help Cormath."

"I've seen the vacant look in men's eyes before," Erond said.

"I think you know what you must do, but don't want to do it."

"It's the dagger, Erond," Tavian said.

"It spoke to me. Told me that it could lead me to Cormath."

"But?"

"But I don't want to touch the thing again! I know better than to trust an ethereal voice from a miasmic dagger!" Erond leaned back in his chair, stroking his beard.

"I see," he said. Then, "Have you considered that he might be dead?"

"He's not dead," Tavian said.

"I know that he's still down there."

"Then trust yourself," Erond said.

"Rely on your own connection to the man." Tavian sat in silence for a long moment after Erond was carried away, considering what his uncle had said. There was one thing that still connected him to Cormath. Tavian had not been back to his room since Ilara had tried to kill him. His body ached from more than just his wounds, and he wished that he'd slept somewhere more comfortable last night. He didn't want to go back to his room. But he did want to reclaim his sword.

It had been a gift, given to him by his sword master. By Cormath. Tavian's strength had largely returned to him, perhaps aided by the extra constitution from his [Ruler III] class. The stiffness of the night wore off, and he walked confidently, his ankle no longer aching. Only the throbbing in his side remained. As he walked, Tavian saw his people going about their business. Erond had organized men to sweep the palace, and they had captured many Anarvians in various places.

Other pockets of loyal servants had been rescued. The tower was starting to overflow with prisoners. The larders were running low again. There was always something to worry about.

"Tavian?" Lea said, appearing beside him.

"Thank Ishtoran! How are you feeling? Never mind, you look better. You should stay away from those miasmic blades. They're interfering with my ability to communicate with you."

"I know," Tavian said.

"But I needed it. It was numbing the pain in my side," he said.

"Calli's helping me with that now. What is the deal with those daggers, anyway?"

"You're familiar with other system artifacts?"

"Yeah, you mean like thousand league boots?"

"That's right. They're enchanted to lend special powers to the bearer. The daggers are the same, they simply use miasma instead of one of the six Essences."

"Then anyone can use their traits and abilities?"

"They're different," Lea said.

"Traits work for anyone, no matter what. But abilities require you to have the right affinity. The daggers are miasmic, so you need to have an affinity for miasma. I assume that the injection of death Essence in your side counts." Tavian subconsciously rubbed his wound. If the miasma was drained from his side, would he lose the ability to hear the voice through the dagger? If it could tell him where Cormath was, he didn't want to lose that connection.

"What's the update on the core?"

"Well, the miasmic turbulence is draining away some of your core essence," she said.

"But Vanal has been outpacing that by sifting things from the newly claimed palace. You're maintaining an influence level slightly above one. The good news is that Anarvia hasn't attempted to claim any tiles in your fortress."

"That's actually worrying," Tavian said.

"That's the expected move. If he's not making it, it means that I don't know what's going on in his head." Tavian took a roundabout path to his chambers. He knew he was avoiding it. He was letting himself be distracted. That's how he found himself atop the wall, looking out toward the Temple of Ishoran. It seemed to still be holding out. Soldiers—likely ghouls, given the way they tried avoiding direct sunlight—moved around outside of it. They were moving with coordination, like someone was giving them orders.

But who? Tavian cursed Braun. His fool of a brother had gotten himself pinned down in a difficult to defend Temple, now. What good did he think he was doing for House Tiren if he just died alongside them? Tavian reached his quarters, and found the door still locked. Sometime in the chaos of the coup, he'd lost his key. A master servant was summoned, who retrieved the spare and let Tavian into his room. The antechamber was still a mess of blood and spilled wine.

Despite seeing her still alive, Tavian had half expected to find Ilara's body lying there. But she was gone, a trail of gore leading through the open door into his bed chamber. Tavian followed it, walking carefully on the stained wood. A cool breeze swirled in the room, a few dead leaves rattling in the corner. A window had been smashed. The droplets of blood made a clear trail to the broken pane of glass. Tavian cursed.

The window was a silly luxury, something that made the keep more vulnerable to attack from without. And escape from within, apparently. Ilara had seemed convinced that she was going to die from the poison. How had she survived? Was it just good acting? He couldn't use this room any longer. It was too… wrong now. He'd send Vanal to sift everything here. He turned to the corner where he'd leaned his sword and belt. The sword was gone.

He recalled that night, of removing the belt, leaning the scabbard there against the wall. He'd left it right there. Tavian ran his fingers across the masonry. A partial, bloody handprint stained the wall there. So, she'd taken his sword. Like she'd taken everything else from him. Tavian exhaled through his nose. This hurt. It felt like a betrayal. Like when Ilara had tried to murder him. He crumpled to the ground and wept, like he hadn't been able to since his father had died.

There was nothing he could do for Cormath, not now.