Chapter 328: Assessing Each Other (Patreon)

Rioran was a spy.

Or at least, that was what he’d be sent to do.

He’d had the training—every layperson in the Uldar’s Vale did—but he never thought he’d be one of those chosen to leave the holiest of his god’s places and travel out into the world.

When the messenger had come down from the escarpment, entered the cheesemaker’s hut and pointed at him, he thought he’d died or must've been dreaming. But he was neither dead, nor dreaming: Uldar’s holiest order had called him and two others into holy, yet secret, service.

And he’d rather die than disappoint them.

Riding in the midst of the king’s representatives as they entered the Generasian’s encampment, he recalled lessons and training pressed into him from childhood in preparation for his holy duties. He’d learned the skills of spycraft and more. Not just simple writing, but mimicking the handwriting of others with the aim to deceive. Command and mastery of varied languages both spoken and written. The tools of the liar. The skills of the scout.

The agility to move quickly, inconspicuously, and unseen. The skills of the mind: logic, learning, education and adaptation. In many ways, he and the others in Uldar’s Vale were moulded on Uldar’s Fools: masters of many skills…but with a key difference.

They also learned the skills of death.

Rioran might not have been the best with a sword, but there were few who could perform the bloody work he could with a knife. Then there was the sap. The garotte. The crossbow.

All the tools needed to eliminate Uldar’s opponents as his ancestors did in times past, according to the secret texts. For one to move through the world as Uldar’s eyes, one had to be ready to strike down any who was an affront to the prophet-god’s sight.

For most of his twenty-seven years, Rioran thought he was ready for such work. But now?

Now he was not so sure.

Never had he seen so many wizards in one place.

There were mages in Uldar’s Vale, but they were few, and they rarely left the escarpment with the priests, and they never used magic lightly. Their task was to contemplate mysteries well beyond Rioran. But here, he was surrounded by magic.

From the briefing he’d received, the Generasian’s encampment had only stood in Greymoor for a few short months…yet, in that short time, these wizards had completed years’ of work in stonemasonry and construction.

Then there were the magical creatures.

Giant soldiers of stone defended the front gates and more stood within sight of them, guarding a mountain of building stones. Magical lights played over familiars following wizards around the camp and—

He drew in a quick breath.

A titanic tortoise loomed over the tents dotting the wizard camp, its shell towered like the peak of a fire-mountain. The spy’s jaw dropped: what sort of monsters did these wizards keep?

“Aye, I’d pick that jaw up if I were you, friend,” Cedric smiled, sliding off his horse with supernatural grace. “If you’re already shocked, you won’t get through the next few days. These wizards do all sorts o’ wondrous things. Lots to see here.”

Rioran bowed his head. “Yes, Holy Chosen, I am sure. Apologies.”

“No need to apologise, we get that reaction a lot,” said one of the wizards who were at the gates to greet them. A sizeable party of Generasians were assembled to greet the guests, see to their horses, and provide the travellers with beverages to welcome them after their long journey. Rioran had no sooner slid from his saddle, than a steaming cup of cider was offered, and his bags were being placed on glowing magic disks.

He took the drink gladly. The journey had been tough, cold and long, so a few swallows of the hot drink put some heat back into him.

“Thank you,” he said, touching his holy symbol. “May Uldar bless you and your good work.”

“Same to you, I guess,” said the wizard. “But as I was saying, there’s a lot to show you. Things go boom around here when we want them to, and folk tend to get amazed by that sort of thing.”

“Right,” Rioran said, slightly mirroring the wizard’s body language. “I guess I’ll continue to be amazed.”

The other representatives glanced at him. Those of Court Wizard Errol nodded in approval, while the representatives of the king looked on with empathy. They too looked like they’d been taken by surprise by so much magic.

But for a brief moment, two pairs of eyes looked on with annoyance. Long enough for most not to notice. But just long enough for him to.

The other two spies sent by Isaz—one older than Rioran by a decade and one younger by half as much—were giving him a message. The elder, Stanwic, casually flicked his fingers over the reins of his horse before he dismounted. What looked like a simple stretching of fingers, communicated words in secret:

“Keep calm. No attention to self.”

Annoyed, Rioran answered with subtle hand gestures:

“Would look stranger if didn’t react.”

Catherine—the youngest of the three spies added a warning:

“Sloppy. Excuses. Better if no attention on you.”

Rioran looked away, fighting the burn of irritation. Truthfully, he had let himself slip, but his words were true: it would look more natural showing amazement at sights of magic, than outright indifference. He wasn’t dead after all.

His cover as one of the king’s agents would be strengthened by having natural reactions.

Still, he didn’t want the foreigners getting satisfaction from seeing him—

“What in all hells?” Drestra’s crackling voice emerged from her veil.

There was a man approaching, a hulking bruiser whose hair fell long like a barbarian’s, and whose arms were the size of Rioran’s thighs. Above his head he…

…was that a bloody building stone?

The thing looked like it weighed a quarter ton!

Though the man’s face strained with effort as he approached the Heroes—he carried the stone with bare hands.

“Hey,” he strode up. “Welcome back…you guys have a good trip?”

“What in bloody hells have you got there?” Cedric scratched his red hair.

“It’s a rock,” the tall young man said. “A big rock. The foreman says the term is building stone…but uh…what’re building stones besides big rocks anyway?”

“But why are you carrying it?” Drestra asked.

That was what Rioran would also like to know.

“I was about to start training when you got here,” Alex said. “And…wait, I gotta put this down for a second.”

“Hey, toss it here!” Hart spread his hands like he was ready to catch a bag of flour.

The tall, broad-shouldered wizard took one look at the Champion and then up at the rock. “Yeeeeah can’t so much toss this…yet.”

‘Yet?’ Rioran thought. ‘What am I seeing here? This fellow looks nothing like the escarpment wizards.’

The wizards he was used to were skinny, older men and women with grey or white hair and arms closer to the size of broom handles. The spy watched in awe as the young man gently placed the building stone down to shake Cedric, Drestra, and Hart’s hands. Rioran took a few seconds to wonder if he wrestled bears in his spare time.

As he watched, something else about the young man caught his eye.

His body language was…poised. Smooth. Perfectly balanced… and alarming. Rioran had only seen trained warriors or acrobats move like that…

…or the trained layfolk from Uldar’s Vale.

Even curiouser, the smiling wizard’s body language changed slightly as he spoke to the Heroes, taking on some of their mannerisms.

‘That little snake…well, big snake,’ the spy thought. Subtly mirroring someone’s stance and mannerisms was a valuable trick he’d been taught in the Vale. It made a person open to you, and this fellow was using it to get on the Heroes' good side.

That wasn’t exactly uncommon: he’d noticed the same behaviour in many of the king and court wizard’s representatives. The difference here was that it seemed to be working much better. Uldar’s Chosen was speaking to him like they were old friends, only pausing to scan the camp like he was looking for something. Hart looked down at him and commented on how much his physique had changed since they’d last met: not as friendly as the Chosen, but still open and obviously happy to see him.

Even the subdued Drestra—who some of the king’s representatives called the ‘ice witch’—had opened up her body language, seemingly happy to chat with the broad shouldered wizard too.

‘Are these foreigners trying to impress our Heroes? Get them on their side?’ Rioran wondered. ‘But to what end? They already—’

He paused. The young man was looking at him. Directly at him.

Their eyes met.

Rioran felt a chill.

With one look, those green eyes had studied him, sweeping his body. Assessing.

And then, they were back on the Heroes like they’d never left them.

‘Too careless,’ the spy thought, turning away. ‘Much too careless.’

He kept his gaze moving, and his body language natural as their group was led further into the camp. It was too risky being so obvious, he could only chance a quick glance in the seconds it took the wizard to hoist the stone above his head again. There was a lot more to focus on than one wizard, and eventually, the visitors were separated into two groups.

The king’s and court wizard’s representatives would have a tour of the facility, while the Heroes—having been to the encampment before—were led to a campfire by the rock lifter.

The spy gave the young man some more thought, before turning his mind to his task. He’d been instructed to learn what he could about the encampment, not one strange wizard who was looking to ingratiate himself with Thameland’s Heroes.

He would focus, learn what these Generasians were up to, then report back to Izas.

And then, be ready for his next task.

###

Alex’s thoughts lingered on the sandy-haired stranger accompanying the king’s representatives. He’d mentally called Claygon to meet them a little ways from the gate, so he could give the golem the stone he was carrying and then collect a couple more.

He’d planned on carrying them himself—the effort would give him more training—but that plan went out the window with the arrival of the Heroes.

For multiple reasons.

Even while he was chatting with Cedric, his mind was on the stranger. There was something off about him.

His body language was…poised. Smooth. Perfectly balanced. The Watchers moved like that, the average person didn’t.

He was someone who knew how to handle himself.

And then there was the way he’d looked at Alex.

Searching.

Analysing.

Alex had the feeling there was more going on with him than he wanted known. Was he some undercover bodyguard? Some spy? He thought about how those plain clothes officers had followed him for weeks in plain sight.

Maybe…

But why was he here?

The expedition had been upfront with the king and the Heroes…but maybe the crown wanted its own confirmation that what the king was being told was true. Or maybe the man was someone from the church. Isolde’s words came back to him: the dance of manipulation, she’d called it. Maybe it was happening on a mass scale: maybe the king was allied with Generasi; but others at court didn’t believe the expedition was sharing all the information they were gathering. Maybe the church had sent him.

Alex could only speculate about why the man was there.

But he definitely needed watching, subtly.

“So…” Cedric asked, abruptly changing the direction of their conversation. “How’s Lady von Anmut?”

“Oh, she’s fine, I think she’s looking forward to seeing all of you,” Alex said skilfully.

“Oho? That’s a delight to hear, …is she single? Cedric asked, with all the subtlety of a boulder. “Be surprised if she was, though. What with her lookin’ like that an’ all.”

“Oh, she is,” Alex said. “She doesn’t have much time for dating.”

“Aye, busy with her studies, no doubt,” Cedric said. “Does she take time to relax? Have a drink or anythin’ like that?”

“Hah, no one can ever accuse you of dancing around a topic, Cedric! Next thing you know, you’ll be asking him about her taste in men?” Hart snickered.

“Oi!” Cedric glared at the larger man.

‘Well, her taste isn’t good if her last boyfriend’s any example,’ Alex thought. ‘Though it’s probably a hell of a lot better now. And you and Derek have nothi—”

His thoughts ground to halt as he remembered Isolde’s earlier nervousness.

Then he looked at Cedric’s red hair. Hair that was a similar colour to Derek’s.

A suspicion arose in Alex’s mind, but he filed it away for later.

If he was right, it would be hilarious, but he needed to pick the right time to strike.

“Hmmm,” Cedric looked up at the stones in Claygon’s arms. “You know…maybe I could use some exercise.”

“So soon after our journey, really?” Drestra’s voice crackled.

“Aye, it would help work out some kinks,” he cracked his neck and stretched his arms behind his back.

“Well, we could work out together,” Alex said. “There’s enough rocks for all of us.”