Chapter 69 - Friends.
The low sun sank toward the very edge of the horizon and poured a thick honeyed light over the rooftops of Midar, while the streets beneath them had already gone into dusk.
Alvazar lay in a huge, well-kept enclosure that had been built generations ago and held everything a companion of the Lumière family could need. Despite his great size he could move freely through the whole of it and sharpen his claws on posts set up especially for him, and in one corner stood bowls of water and meat that the servants kept filled.
That evening, though, Alvazar had no appetite.
The door of the enclosure opened, and the beast raised his head at the sight of Gray coming in.
Gray walked over and laid his palm on the beast's muzzle.
"How are you doing, big guy?"
Alvazar gave a quiet but deep rumble and tilted his head a little, then rubbed against Gray's hand.
Gray smiled faintly, then looked the beast over and turned to the bowls full of food. When his eyes came back to Alvazar he set his palm on his forehead and began to stroke him.
"Looks like you're in a shitty mood."
Alvazar gave no reaction and only closed his eyes under the stroking.
"Yeah... me too," Gray added.
Gray took his hand off the beast's head and went into the separate room adjoining the enclosure, where Alvazar's gear was kept.
He came back to the beast with the parts that had broken under the blows Aren had dealt during the last session.
"These need fixing... feel like getting some air?" asked Gray, and Alvazar rose to his feet and shook himself out.
Dusk was already turning into night when Gray came down at the workshop astride Alvazar, jumped off and headed inside with the gear in his hands. Alvazar stayed outside and began washing his muzzle like a cat.
The workshop stood empty, lined along its walls with grindstones, workbenches, tools and materials.
He crossed to one of the benches, set the part down on it and then went over to the tool section, where he began looking each tool over.
So... where are the pliers... he thought.
"Gray? That you?" a voice came from the side, and he turned toward a beige-skinned man with white hair at the back and sides of his head, a bald patch on the crown and a thick, short white beard.
"Master Olim. Good evening," Gray greeted him.
Dressed in a black shirt and dark work trousers, the master was wiping his hands on a gray rag; his apron already hung over the back of one of the chairs.
"What are you doing here at this hour?" he asked.
"I want to repair the mounting from the side plate of Alvazar's gear... if you don't mind."
Olim did not speak at first and came over to the bench where the part lay, then set the rag aside.
"Took a proper beating, this one... Alvazar himself all right?" he asked.
"Yes, he's recovered already."
"...something tells me that if I ask you what happened, I won't get an answer," said Olim.
Gray said nothing, and Olim only sighed.
"What are you looking for?"
"Pliers."
"They're in the red box. Better take the ones with the red handles. They're easier."
Gray opened the box and found several pairs of pliers with yellow, turquoise and red handles.
He took the ones he needed, walked to the bench and stood beside Olim.
"I think you're clearly going to need a clamp here," said Olim with a smirk, and Gray turned away without a word and went to fetch one.
Once he was back he fixed the part in place, and Olim was still watching with that smirk.
"And the padding between the part and the vise, you decided to do without?" asked the master.
Gray raised his eyebrows in mild indignation and turned away again with a sigh, though Olim gave a small laugh, put a hand on his shoulder and walked past him.
"I'll fetch it."
As time went on Gray gradually took the mounting apart and examined the damaged geometry of every piece before he set to straightening and correcting them. Some of the parts he had to make anew out of suitable blanks from the workshop.
Seated with the file, Gray shaped the piece carefully and stayed calm and quiet over the work.
Olim sat on a chair the wrong way around with both arms laid over its back, and watched Gray.
"So much time has gone by since you were last here doing a craftsman's work," he said.
Gray kept quiet and went on working the part.
"...rough day?" asked Olim.
"...mm."
Olim sat like that for another minute, then got up, went into the other room and came back with two mugs, one of which he held out to Gray.
"I'm not going to," Gray answered.
"Take it, or I'll pour it over your head."
Gray stopped and looked at Olim, then took the mug.
Olim sat back down on the chair while Gray looked at the foaming liquid in his mug.
"What is this?"
"Beer. From the Trade League," Olim answered.
"What even is 'Beer'?"
"Just try it."
Gray looked from the master to the mug, took one swallow and screwed up his face at once, and a streak of foam stayed under his nose.
Olim laughed quietly and took a swallow of his own.
"This is awful..." said Gray.
"Only at the start. In time you'll come to love it."
"No chance, I'm not drinking anything like this again."
"As you say, but tonight you're obliged to finish this whole mug with me. Understood?"
Gray looked into the master's unblinking eyes, then took another swallow and screwed up his face again.
By the time both mugs stood empty Gray had finished the shaping and the fitting of the parts, and he set about the final assembly of the mounting.
When he was done Gray stood with his hands on his belt and looked at the fruit of his labor.
"You know, all this nostalgia has me missing the old days... back when you were still a little squirt, always running in here and doing what you loved," said Olim, who stood beside him and looked at the finished mounting.
"It was just very interesting to me."
"And is there much of a difference there?"
Gray stayed silent, took the mounting in his hand and began looking it over.
"Your father pointed that out himself... Once," Olim added suddenly.
Gray turned to him in surprise.
"What?... My father was here?..."
"Yes, and more than once. He would come for a couple of minutes and watch you quietly from the side, back when you were small."
"...but... why did I not know about it?... why did he never..."
"I asked myself that too. So I asked him straight."
"And what did he answer?"
Olim lowered his eyes, and a piece of the past came back to him.
Little Gray was working a part at the grindstone, covered all over in dust and inspecting his progress with the closest attention. The workshop was full of other workers, among whom Gray stood out plainly as the only child in a crowd of grown craftsmen.
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
At the far end of the workshop Varian stood by the entrance and watched what his son was doing, a warm smile on his face, while Olim waited beside him for an answer to his question.
"Look at him... Olim... what do you see?" said Varian.
Olim's eyes went to Gray's small back.
"A little squirt doing something he obviously enjoys very much," he answered.
"Exactly. There he is... sitting and doing what he loves... happy... without all this aristocracy, all the society functions and the talk of the great House of Lumière..."
Olim looked at Varian and found an honest fatherly happiness and love in his eyes.
"He is living right now in his own... small but quiet and peaceful world... without all the pressure that has surrounded our House these last generations. And so I do not want to intrude on that world," Varian added.
"I do not quite follow you, Varian. You are a father first. And that boy NEEDS his father. You think he would not be glad to have you praise him for this work?"
Varian's eyes lowered, and his smile slowly went out.
"I am an Archon, Olim. The one who was to become supreme Archon, and who was passed over for it in front of the whole nation. And now I spend my days restoring the republic under the new Archon of Light. The people... and the aristocrats above all will never stop discussing me. And the closer I stand to my son, the more he begins to feel the same thing."
"He is a Lumière too, Varian. He is your son... and whether you want it or not — he will have to feel it as well. That is the reality."
Varian did not answer, then turned and headed for the exit.
Gray froze at the master's account and kept his eyes straight on him, which left Olim at a loss for a moment.
"Gray?..."
Gray brought his eyes back to the part, examined it no further, went straight past the master, threw his jacket on and headed for the exit.
"Gray, if this is about your fa—" Olim began, though Gray had already opened the door onto the street and left four gold coins on the shelf beside it.
"I don't want to talk about it, master. Good night," he answered, and closed the door behind him.
Olim stood in the corridor with his shoulders down, then turned his head to the door that led into the workshop.
Gray flew through the night sky, seated on Alvazar as the beast beat his enormous feathered wings, and the lion's mane streamed in the wind, as did his master's white hair.
Once he had climbed above the clouds Gray lifted his head and looked at the stars through half-open eyes, which then slowly closed.
He felt the wind wrap around his skin. Fresh. Cool. Light. Clean.
All the noise in his head, all the talk and all the thoughts seemed to dissolve for that one beautiful moment, in which Gray felt himself completely free.
No problems. No cares. No worries.
Only him, Alvazar, and the calm night sky.
When he opened his eyes a little his head sank, and then his whole body bent forward, so that he buried his face in the mane and gripped it.
Alvazar turned his head slightly to the side and felt Gray's weight come down on him, while the young man's shoulders began to shake and his fists closed on the mane harder and harder.
The next morning Aren flew out to the training course with Artus and Olen. They jumped down from the fliers and made for the entrance as their lively discussion carried on.
"So look, I think we need to work on using the environment and the other competitors, so that Eveline can collect the crystals and get to the finish," said Olen.
"That's not so simple, especially in Eveline's case. That takes attentiveness and a huge amount of experience with reaction. And she's on a lightsurf," Artus said.
"And that's exactly why I think we should focus on it more. You know, give her advice and openings so she can use us against each other," Olen answered.
"And I think we should work on her skills in a duel. She'll definitely have to fight someone under the dome for the crystals. Speaking of which, Aren, I think it would help if you gave us a hand with that," said Artus.
"With combat training?" asked Aren.
"Yep. You're an excellent fighter. And you'll get some training in with us at the same time," Artus answered, and Olen gave him an anxious look.
"Hey! Artus!" said Olen, taking him by the shoulder and leading him aside.
"Are you serious? He took down a beast-god! We're nowhere near his level," he whispered.
"And that is exactly why it's a great opportunity. Only by training with those stronger than you — you get better," Artus answered, and Olen sighed.
"I... I wouldn't mind," said Aren behind them, and the two of them turned to him.
"Good. And I think it will be useful for Eveline," said Artus.
"Oh, here she comes," said Olen when Eveline flew up to them and jumped off her lightsurf with bread in her mouth and Rexy on her shoulder.
"Good morn— are you eating on the move?" asked Olen.
"Mm... mhmm... I ofen don hab time fo it," she answered without taking the piece out of her mouth.
Artus rubbed the back of his head and tried to work out what she was saying.
"Were you not taught not to talk with food in your mouth?" he asked.
Eveline bit off a piece of the bread and then took a wooden container out of her bag.
"There, stop grumbling. Better take this," she said, holding the container out to them.
Artus took it and looked it over, then opened it and found freshly baked sweets inside.
"What's in there?" asked Olen, leaning in over the container.
"I baked them for you this morning. I really wanted to thank you for deciding to help me with the training... and this was the best thing that came to mind," Eveline answered.
Olen's eyes lit up and he went straight in with his fingers, but Artus shut the lid at once and pinched his friend's finger.
"AAH DAMMIT!" Olen cried out and snatched the finger back, and Eveline covered her mouth with her hand in shock.
Artus stood there unmoved, then gave a slight bow.
"Thank you very much, Eveline. You shouldn't have, but we sincerely appreciate it," he said.
"HEY! DON'T YOU DARE TAKE IT ALL FOR YOURSELF!" Olen shouted in indignation as he held the base of his injured finger.
"Thank her first, and then I'll think about it," said Artus.
"I'LL SHOW YOU RIGHT NOW—"
The keeper of the training course woke from a short nap in his guard booth; beyond its window a group of people stood at the entrance, among them a black-haired young man and a girl trying to calm two cadets down.
The training began, and now Aren was no longer sitting off to the side as an observer but taking part himself in the laborious yet interesting and often very funny business of training Eveline.
They considered various options for maneuvers and tactics, and analyzed possible situations and methods of reacting to them.
After that they moved on to training no less serious and just as interesting, the duels. Artus and Olen set the example by sparring with each other, and then drilled combat separately with Eveline. In between, Aren stepped in as the opponent of one of the cadets and worked through combat with each of them.
He used no magic at all and relied on reaction and reflexes alone. Even then, and even with magic staves in hand, neither Artus nor Olen managed so much as to graze Aren. Every time, he found the moment to catch the cadet's wrist and disarm him.
Eveline watched all of it with enormous interest and noted down the important facts in a small diary of her own, while Rexy sat beside her and did not take his eyes off the sparring.
And still, that training was neither dull nor useless for Aren.
Artus and Olen opened up a direction Aren had never once considered. The cadets showed him the fundamentals and principles of grappling, where they finally managed to put Aren on the ground a couple of times and take him into a joint lock or a choke. He adapted quickly, though, and after a dozen or so rounds they could no longer beat him.
With Eveline he was noticeably gentler, even though Artus insisted there be no going easy on her.
Day after day they came back, trained, talked, joked, studied and learned from one another, while Deron and Uro also found the time to come and watch the training.
The studying did not let up either. After classes Aren and Eveline spent their time in the library over the encyclopedia of Helios, the records of the seekers and textbooks from the Trade League. Now and then Artus and Olen joined them, since their own interest in new knowledge kept growing, and that brought the four of them closer still.
In the mornings Artus and Olen were often at war, and Aren caught some of it too, because they were breaking him in to their order in the kitchen and throughout the Hall as well. They taught him simple cooking and showed him various foods, among which meat was entirely absent.
Eveline came over to their place, where they could set the subject of training aside for a time and simply talk over various stories from the past, and the ones that stayed with them most were from Artus and Olen's student days.
And in the morning they were on the training course again, ready to carry on.
So a month went by.
In that time the cadets managed to grow considerably closer to Aren and Eveline. They no longer felt the old barrier and understood one another far better, so that a small circle of their own had formed.
One evening Aren, Olen and Artus walked Eveline home and stopped in front of the entrance.
"Speaking of which, Artus, Olen, you two are not from here originally, are you?" asked Eveline.
"Nope. I'm from Anuxar," Olen answered.
"Anuxar... the city where they breed magical creatures..." said Aren thoughtfully.
"Yep. And Artus is from Heliopolis. The heart of the republic's mining industry. That's why he's such a bore," Olen added.
Artus raised an eyebrow without a word and looked at Olen, who turned away with a smirk.
"And don't you want to visit your families?" asked Aren.
"Personally — no. My parents are only glad to know I'm busy with something. And I don't have to sit through their lectures," Olen answered.
Artus stood with his eyes lowered, which the others noticed.
"Artus?" asked Eveline.
"Well... I was planning to visit my family, but right now I don't have the chance. You know why," he answered.
They all fell to thinking, though Olen was the first to break the silence.
"Hold on... Mortrana 8 is still in Heliopolis, isn't it?" asked Olen.
"Most likely yes. And why are you as—" Artus began, and froze at once, his eyes going wide as it dawned on him.
Olen gave no answer and only nodded with a smile.
"Mortrana 8? What are you two on about?" asked Eveline.
"You use a lightsurf and you don't know what Mortrana 8 is?" asked Olen in surprise.
"No... should I?"
"Well well... you read books and encyclopedias, and don't know where lightsurfs came from..."
"Olen! Stop winding me up and just answer!" said Eveline, starting to poke him in the side.
"All right, all right!... Lightsurfs were originally invented in Heliopolis, and they were meant for moving quickly inside the mines, since ordinary fliers, first of all, were not something everyone had, and second of all, they cannot fly in tunnels that narrow. Then the people of Heliopolis, the workers above all, decided to come up with their own form of entertainment, namely lightsurf racing. A group of enthusiasts got together and built a course with obstacles on it, and named it Mortrana 1. And after several changes, the latest version became Mortrana 8, which is meant for true masters and on top of that runs partly into the mines," Olen explained.
"And what's the difference from the course we're training on now?" asked Aren.
"The difference is that Mortrana is far harder, since it was built not for big fliers but for people handling lightsurfs. Maneuvering there is much harder and it needs an even sharper reaction, as well as the ability to move your body properly," Artus answered.
"Does that mean it will be much better for me?" asked Eveline.
"In theory... I think so. We have practiced enough on this course, and you have clearly got used to its structure by now. Practice on Mortrana will obviously do you good," said Artus.
"In that case, tomorrow we fly to Heliopolis!" said Olen, clapping Aren on the back.
Aren let out a small breath at the unexpected clap, and while the others carried on the discussion, their voices drifted gently into the background. He thought about another new city that lay ahead of him, and the corners of his mouth lifted a little at it.
Then, suddenly, a strange feeling washed over him for a single moment. His breathing broke, and gooseflesh ran across his skin.
What the... thought Aren, bending slightly.
In the middle of the lively talk and laughter, Eveline noticed Aren.
"Aren? Everything all right?"
He breathed out and felt the strange sensation leave of its own accord, then slowly straightened up.
"Y-yes... just my head... went a bit dizzy..."
The cadets exchanged glances and Olen stuck his nose in the air with a smirk.
"That'll be after sparring with me," he said.
"Sure. Of course," said Artus, and an argument started up between them again, which passed once more into the background for Aren, and Eveline stepped over to him.
"Are you sure you're all right? You've gone a bit pale," asked Eveline, putting a hand on his shoulder.
"Yes, everything really is fine. Maybe I'm just tired."
Eveline smiled warmly, then turned to the cadets.
"All right, boys, let's wrap it up. I'm going inside, and you two head back as well," she said.
The cadets began saying their goodbyes, and Aren looked off to the side, at Midar in the evening, with no understanding of what had just happened.
And at that very moment, in a lavish mansion, in her own room, Alpina lay under a blanket, soaked in sweat, curled up and tossing from her nightmares. She woke and wrenched herself off the bed, fell to the floor and seized her head as a sharp pain set a ringing in her ears.
She could barely draw a breath, and her head was ready to burst, until after several moments the pain let go.
Alpina could finally take a breath and gulped at the air where she lay on the floor wet with her own sweat. Her left arm lay in front of her, and something moved under her skin.
She cried out in horror and got up off the floor, and held the arm out as the something began spreading along it.
One of the maids, Eila, heard the crash and an echo of the cry, and hurried at once to the door of Alpina's room.
"Miss Blair?... Is everything all right?..." Eila asked after knocking.
No answer came.
She opened the door uneasily, and the room beyond it stood empty. Once she had walked inside she found the floor wet, and when she lowered her eyes she made out the marks left by a body.
And beside them another drop appeared. A drop that had landed from somewhere above.
Eila slowly raised her head toward the ceiling.
Alpina's parents and her younger brothers slept soundly in their chambers behind closed doors, and in one of the rooms of their mansion Eila barely managed a cry before her rasp was cut short.