Eastward to Adenosse, that was the path of choice for Roland. There he could get a trip to Atheham and start a new life. The road stretched before him, winding its way through the countryside as he embarked on his journey. The mid-morning sun cast its radiant glow upon the landscape, illuminating the world and showing off all of its beauty.
Not that Roland could notice of course, he’d spent the entire night traveling. It struck him as odd that the sun still managed to rise after one of the worst nights of his life. He’d half expected the world to be cast in darkness after what he did to Lilac.
Once wet lips stuck together with stale saliva as Roland made his way down the road to Adenosse.
His chest felt heavy with constraint, ever squeezing him. Every breath felt labored as if his lungs themselves condemned him for his actions.
The only source of solace he felt was the sword at his side, the one once wielded by Lilac, its leather serving as the only anchor to prevent his descent into hell.
Birds sat atop the pine tree he walked under observing his journey, their chirps accusing him of his wrongdoings. With each birdsong containing subliminal songs of torment.
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The Harborview District flooded with ships, most of them appearing to be naval, flying flags with the Forterrian tri-keys. The smallest tinge of hope loosened the constraint at his chest. A naval officer stood with his arms folded guarding a ship as Roland approached him.
“Excuse me,” He asked.
“Hmm?”
“I’m seeking voyage to Atheham,”
The naval officer pointed to a merchant sloop, dawned with white sails and gilded railing. “You’d have better luck with them,” Roland nodded and made his way to the ship.
A small crew hustled to get their vessel in order, a burly man stood near the port side plank scratching at his bearded face. Some kind of scab sat around his mouth, visible through the man’s graying beard. Roland approached him with a polite wave.
“What do you need boy?” The man asked in some accent Roland couldn’t place.
“I’m looking to get to Atheham,”
“That’s where we’re headed,” The man said. “Seventy five clae for the trip,”
Roland nodded. “Alright,” he grabbed his sack and began counting.
“You’re kidding, a boy like you can afford that?” The burly man said.
Roland nodded. “Been saving up with my father in Welle.” He said, only a partial lie. All good lies have grains of truth in them, after all.
“Waddya do in Welle?”
“We’re the smiths there,” Roland said, slightly raising his nose with a tinge of pride to his words.
“Ah, you’re Reft’s son then?”
“You know him?”
“O’course, that man’s one of the best damn blacksmiths this side of the kingdom.”
Guilt cut at Roland’s gut. He hadn’t even said goodbye to his parents. He’d just killed Lilac and left, as if he had no attachment to them at all. To be away from his mothers lectures sounded amazing, but to be away from her constant caring, and love was daunting.
Being away from his father’s judgmental eye sounded fantastic, but being away from his advice and guidance made him feel helpless.
“Sure,” Roland said weakly as he counted out the clae and handed it to the man, who counted it out as well.
“All accounted for, boy, welcome aboard.”
Roland made his way onto the ship as the thought of joining the archies slowly became the only thing he could think about. He couldn’t stay in Welle anymore, someone would find out eventually. If he was ever going to come back, he’d need to be lauded as a hero, he’d have to make up for what he did by bringing good to the world.
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Shiqe’s wooden sword clashed onto the dummies that he’d attacked a thousand times. A singular slash downward, and then a jab. A pirouette and slash from a spin, then a backswing.
When training, you must fight as if your life depends on it, so that you may fight with ferocity no matter the situation, advice Milioe gave him, and advice he took to heart.
Each slash he brought down he could hear April’s shrill voice. You must fight as an actor acts. His sword came down in a fierce chop. The arena is no more than a stage. A backswing now, chopping upward. Have no mercy and give the audience the blood they’re due. He brought the sword upward and swiped with extreme force, decapitating the dummy.
“Good form, Shiqe,” April appeared behind him.
Shiqe grunted.
“I come bringing interesting news, it seems we will be traveling to Orlens later this month,”
Shiqe stopped and turned to April. Orlens. That city had a haunting effect for Shiqe even before his ghostly visitor, but now? It damn near terrified him. He hadn’t known if he should trust the man, or if he was being lured into some trap, but more than likely he was just some tiny pawn in the work of a much more intelligent person than himself.
“They’ve completed construction on the arena there, and you, my dear fighter, will be among the first gambit fighters. You’re truly going to be a part of history!”
Shiqe had been a part of enough history for his lifetime, especially in Orlens.
“After the end of this week I will arrange a trip there by ship,” April put his hands on his hips. “I’m excited for you, Shiqe, this will be a good venture!”
“We shouldn’t go,” Shiqe said, hesitating as he spoke. April furrowed his eyebrows, clearly taken aback by the sudden assertion. “Why not?” he asked, trying to sound reassuring.
“It will not end well,” Shiqe replied, his voice heavy with concern. The last thing he wanted to do was chance being at that so-called calamity, especially if his very presence was to bind him to a debt with a wizard.
“Why do you think that?” April countered, his tone becoming more forceful.
“The Essudari are on edge,” Shiqe explained, his grip tightening on his wooden sword. “They won’t take kindly to forcing Oueterrian customs on them.”
April scoffed, his expression skeptical. “We’re just there to fight, Shiqe,” he said, shaking his head. “Don’t worry about it.”
“But what if something goes wrong?” Shiqe persisted, his eyes pleading.
April chuckled. “Huh,” He shook his head. “Last I checked, boy, you were my fighter, I paid for you, and I provide for you.” April walked up to Shiqe and slapped him, having to go on his tiptoes to do it. The slap didn’t hurt, it was more of the implication that annoyed Shiqe. “We’re going to Orlens, and that’s the end of it,” He shook his head and walked out of the training grounds. “The gall,” he muttered to himself.
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The towers of Atheham loomed over the cliffside of the city as his ship sailed into the cove where the docks lay. The sun was blocked out by the overhanging cliffs the city’s palace rested on, making the docks chilly. It was the largest port he’d ever seen, hundreds of ships set sail in and out of the city, much like his own.
As Roland unloaded onto the dock, he felt a strange sense of shame being the only person not to be bringing luxurious goods for trade. He’d heard Atheham was a hub for mercantilism, and it seemed the rumors were true. He wasn’t even in the market and every inch of docks and land both seemed to be covered in someone trying to pedal something.
At no point in his life had Roland seen that many people in the same place, it made him uncomfortable. He’d been to Adenosse a few times, and there were quite a few people, but nothing like this. Atheham was filled with men of all shapes, sizes and colors.
Voices carried over the docks, some dark-skinned men speaking Sikandian, who unceremoniously were given a wide berth by the many pink men who passed by them. Some other fellows speaking Freshian disembarked from boats that looked like they belonged in tales of old with large oars and shields along the sides.
The dock met with a beach that joined with the cove on its southern side, and then ascended upward into the main city. The closer he came to the market, the more weighted his every movement felt. Too many people, far too many people.
“Reports from the eastern region convey escalating concern regarding a potential uprising as the lower classes of Orlesian society grow restless under Forterrian governance!” He rang his bell in an obnoxious show of noise. “King Wesley, in his royal decree, mandates the apprehension of any individuals who dare sympathize with their cause, stating treason in such a form will be punishable by the most severe ramifications of the law!” Most people walking past gave the man a wide berth, not so much as daring to hear talk of rebels in the capital city of all places.
Roland pursed his lips in frustration. It annoyed him how those foolish sentiments grow among the populace. The people in Orlens should be grateful for the splendor Oueterrians brought them. The thought of a divided Forterre just nagged at him, it only made sense to rule the island continent under one kingdom.
It was easy to tell where the harbor district ended and the market district began, because it infected nearly every other part of the city a person could see. Market stalls surrounded every building, and hundreds of people packed tight into the street, making it a slow and obnoxious task to even make it to his uncle’s, had he known where it was, of course.
A strange section of the market had hardly anyone walking around it. It seemed to be quite the important place. Some kind of large plaza, with two guards standing in front of it. He approached them, hoping to get directions.
“State your business.” The guard stood with his chest out, and a kettle helm clipped so tight onto his head it looked like it might suffocate him.
Roland took in a deep breath, “I’m looking for the gambit district,”
The guard pointed down a street towards the largest tower Atheham had, one that sat on its own away from the other three. “Over there, just follow the tower, you’ll find it,”
“Okay, thanks,” He said and slinked off back into the crowd.
The gambit district was wealthier than he imagined, for whatever reason he thought he’d see fighters training everywhere, blood in the streets and hard shaped men with harder scars, but instead he was met with a very ornate part of Atheham, filled with extravagant buildings all surrounding the gambit tower, and the arena that sat below it in the center of it all.
After some feverish searching, he was finally able to find his uncle’s estate, the Pertrir Estate. It had annoyingly been one of the first buildings he’d walked by, the estate was so large he hadn’t expected it to be anywhere near his family, and thus never even gave it a second glance.
He walked to the door. A large creation made out of oak, with two Sikandian lions as the figures atop the knockers. He grabbed it and pounded it on the door.
The scent of the city drifted to his nose in a gross mixture of piss and heat. He’d only been able to smell sweat and cologne before, with the streets so tightly packed. Thankfully the gambit district appeared to hardly have anyone trying to sell anything other than fighters, and that was done in the tower from what he understood.
The door opened to a young woman, probably a couple years older than Roland. She didn’t smile, nor react at all to his presence. “Hello, my name is Roland,” He said, “I’m here to see my uncle, April, is this the correct estate?”
She looked him up and down, pursed her lips and then nodded. “It is,”
“May I come in?” He asked.
“You may,”
The woman stepped aside and allowed Roland to enter the grand building. The foyer was the first thing he noticed, everything was made out of some kind of stone, resting upon the stone a fine, dark wood, giving the inside of the estate a rustic, but wealthy feeling.
In front of him was a wide staircase, with two passages flanking it. A bust of a woman sat at the base of the steps, whomever this woman was she had quite the long face, and a kind of longer nose, but the head was striking if nothing else.
Descending the staircase was a short man wearing extravagant robes that created a v shape down his chest, exposing black hairs. He approached Roland slowly, and with ease.
“Roland, my dear nephew! I haven’t seen you since your mother moved to Welle,”
“I don’t recall meeting you, truth be told,” Roland said.
“I imagine not, you were a baby last I saw you,” he pursed his lips in a slight smile, “Alas your mother never visits.”
“Ever since Cliff passed away she’s been reclusive,” Roland said.
“Ah, yes, Cliff, a sad story,” He shook his head. “I hope he rests in peace,”
“I suspect so,” Roland lied. Cliff was stabbed with a pitchfork by the very rebels he was a part of.
“I see you met Margueriette, she’s my servant, and anything you need at all she can provide for you!” April smelt strongly of tobacco. “Now, come, let me show you to your room,”
Roland followed April up the stairs and to the left down a wing of the estate. There were two doors on the left side of the hall and one door on the right, finally one at the end as well.
April pointed to the door towards the end, “That there’s the chamber room should you need to drain your pipe, and this here is your room!” He opened the first door on the left side of the hall.
The room had a pleasant smell to it, like some kind of flowers. The bed was covered in a polyester blanket that looked so soft Roland drooled at the thought of laying on it. A desk made of mahogany sat under a window that looked out with a view of the tower that was slightly obscured by a large tree. In the corner of the room sat an empty bookshelf, and next to it a mirror.
“If you need anything at all,” April started, “Margueriette will be here to help you,”
“Do you want me to pay rent?” Roland asked.
“Oh no, no! Just help her out on occasion and that’s enough for me, for such a hard working woman, she surely deserves no less.” He pivoted to go out of the room and stopped for a moment. “Oh, and I must implore you, don’t go into that room,” He pointed across the hallway. “Those sacred quarters belong to my champion, and the very last thing I need is distractions befalling him,”
“Sure,”
“Hope you get settled in, my dear lad,” April said as he slipped out of the room.
Roland placed his backpack onto the ground next to his bed, and sat down to catch his breath. He was closer than ever to taking the first steps into the man he wanted to be. A man who stood up against evil and kept his countrymen safe.
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Kip sat on the bench that rested just outside of the division’s headquarters. He had his hands interlocked behind his neck and a wicked grin across his round face. Roland walked to him and sat down. A calming aroma of freshly cut grass and blooming spring time flowers served to relax him slightly. Kip moved his hands to his lap and raised his eyebrows at the sight of his friend.
“You look like shit,” He said.
“Can’t sleep,” Roland said, he didn’t know how he looked, but judging by how heavy his eyelids were, it was a safe bet that it wasn’t particularly dashing.
“Any word on what happened with Lilac?” Roland asked
“Nothing, far as I can tell, haven’t heard anything, but I left at the same time you did. It’s hard to say.”
Kip smiled, exposing his missing tooth. “That they do not, why aren’t you sleeping?”
“April’s Sikandian, he wears chains when he’s not in the arena and I can hear him toss and turn all night,” Roland sighed. “For such a nice house it has thin walls,” He lied. He hadn’t slept much at all since he left Welle.
“Hmm,” Kip nodded. A beat. “You excited for your first day?” He asked. Birds chirped around the large trees that were deliberately arched around the pathways behind the bench.
“Nervous, if I’m honest,”
“Why?”
“I don’t really know, I think it's all my mother’s brainwashing getting to me,”
“Maybe, the way she talks I wouldn’t be surprised if she was Essudari,”
Roland shot Kip a glare, “Don’t say that,” he replied firmly. “She’s still my mother,”
“Aye, of course, don’t mean nothin’ by it,”
“You look pleased with yourself today,”
“I am,” Kip smiled, licking at the hole in his teeth.
“You gonna tell me why or just leave me in suspense?” Roland asked with a smile.
“Oh I gotta revel in it a little,” He smiled again.
“Oh,” Roland thought for a moment. “You got the promotion?” He smiled wide as well. “That’s fantastic!!”
“Kipper Stollam; lieutenant at arms!” He brushed his hands through the air, presenting imaginary letters. Kipper Stollam; accomplice to murder suited him better. “It has quite the nice ring to it, don’t you think?”
“It certainly suits you, before too long you’ll be his majesty’s first marshall.” Roland raised his lips.
“You wish you had friends that high up,” He chuckled. “I come from a decent family, but not that decent. I suspect I’ll never go beyond general, but,” He shrugged. “General ain’t half bad,”
Footsteps slapped behind the two, as a younger man ran up to them in a military uniform. “Lieutenant Stollam!” He said. “You’re needed in the barracks, Marshall Alison has been given orders regarding the uprising risks in-” The boy stopped talking and looked to Roland. “This a civilian sir?”
“Archie,”
“Ah,” He sighed a breath of relief. “The uprising risks in Orlens, there’s talk of gathering, and some sort of intel has come about.”
“Aye, son, thank you, I’ll be right there,” It seemed Kip didn’t realize he was talking to a man who was not much younger than him. Kip turned to Roland and planted his hand on his shoulder. “Duty calls,” He shook him a little. “Go knock ‘em dead,”
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For a reason left to the city planners of old, the Anti Arcanist’s headquarters sat in the scholar’s district. It was good, though, as there were nearly half the amount of people there than in the market.
Roland sat in a somewhat crowded room with other recruits, all of which had the same tense set to their shoulders as he did. He thought about the conversations he’d had with his mother about the division. How she’d said it corrupts every man who joins it.
He looked to the man to his left, he seemed a bit older, had a ponytail that made him look like an Essudari. Would he become as corrupted as his mother said? This man looked like he could hardly hurt a fly, let alone oppress people.
The room smelt stale, and a small murmur rang through it as the two dozen or so recruits talked among each other. The headquarters were made of stone in the shape of a great fortress, giving a strange edge to the far south end of the Scholar’s district, a district that seemed to primarily be for churches and the university.
The city may have been diverse, but this room was not, almost every man looked like Roland. Most of them fell between six feet tall and five eight, most of them had brown or black hair, all of them were pale, and most of them seemed proud. If you weren’t familiar with anyone in the room, you would have thought them all to be clones or some kind of strange messed up family.
Roland sat on a finely carved bench, one of the many that followed along the walls in the large room. In the center he saw a reception desk with a secretary hurriedly writing something on a piece of paper with his left hand and squeezing at his hair with the other.
A large door clanked open as a man walked out with a short buzz cut. His face was angular, and his glare icy as he scanned the room over the new recruits.
“Attention!” He called, and everyone in the room stopped and looked at him, if they weren’t already. “My name is Mikael, I am here to orient you into his majesty’s division. I stand today in place of August, our division head, as he has been dispatched to Maulet. His return should be swift, as for now, you will look to me as in charge.”
The man walked toward the reception desk, and grabbed a clipboard and pencil. He turned on his heel to the room and began calling out names.
“...Markus Reese.”
“Here,”
“Roland Samson?”
“Here,” Roland raised his hand. Mikael glanced at him, and then onto the next.
Inside of the headquarters was an even larger room that looked like it had at one time been a church with two long rows of pews and a lectern at the front. This was to be the room in which orientation began.
Mikael walked up to the lectern and cleared his throat. “We begin this orientation with the purpose of our division,” His snakelike eyes squinted across the room as he looked every man, including Roland at one point, in the eye. “We protect and serve the good citizens of Forterre, while our military fights on our king's behalf, we are the king's right hand.” He took a sip of water, and cleared his throat. “We fight against evil, as defined by the law, and enforce said law where necessary.”
Light shone in through one of the windows that if it had been a church would have been stained glass, but instead it was simply a slit in the wall. Dust particles floated through the air giving the room an even more stuffy feeling than the previous one.
“As Anti-Arcanists we protect the market, we protect Atheham, we protect the gambit, and all other institutions that make our culture so great. We are the main force that spreads the Oueterrian spirit, and as such all men and women in Forterre must abide by our practices. This means that your training, although short, will be rigorous. If you feel it is too much then inform your superior and you will be dismissed. Remember it is our duty to enforce the law with a strict hand.” He scanned the room again, looking for something, but it wasn’t very clear what. “You are all dismissed, training will begin as soon as dawn breaks the sky. Meet here tomorrow,”
Just like that, his orientation was done. Roland was on his way to becoming the enforcer of good, the enforcer for the king, and the enforcer, most of all, of the law.
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