“You might as well give up trying to convince me, Father. I’ve made up my mind.”

  Dean descended the stairs to find Ivan standing by the door, his hands at his sides. He looked like a man torn, and after their conversation, Dean could understand why. Ivan’s youngest daughter had gotten married at eighteen and moved to Bridgeport with her new husband not six months ago. At first, communications had been regular, with Ivan even going to visit her every once in a while for holidays. But ever since she’d become pregnant a year later, things had changed.

  Dean wasn’t one to get involved in family drama, but he’d seen the genuine concern on the Inkeeper's face. So he’d done what he’d promised to do. He’d heard the man out.

  “Sweetheart, I’m not asking you to change your mind,” said Ivan. There was pain in his voice as he watched his daughter walk between the counter and the small leather satchel she’d set on a nearby table. “I’m as concerned as you are, but now isn’t the time for a young girl to be traveling those roads alone. It’s dangerous.”

  Tasha snatched an apple and a wedge of cheese from the counter, wrapping them in cloth before stowing it in her satchel.

  “If you think it’s dangerous for me, then imagine how it is for Elise. If she really has gone missing than she’s alone, papa, without anyone there to help or guide her. You know how she gets she’s… she’s fragile.”

  “I know,” said Ivan, running a hand through his hair. “I know. But there are other parties that take care of this sort of thing. We’ll reach out to the Bridgeport watch again, ask Sergeant Frost to send a letter.”

  “And how long will that take?” Tasha rounded on him, her dark hair flying. “No, I’m sorry. I have waited as long as I can. My sister has gone missing and nobody will tell us anything. Not the watch and certainly not her husband. I’m tired of having no answers, aren’t you?”

  “Of course I am,” snapped Ivan, his temper flaring. “But if you think running off into danger by yourself is going to help her-“

  “And why aren’t you helping, huh! You’re her father. I’d have expected you to storm off sword in hand and demand answers from that bastard but you won’t so much as entertain the thought!”

  Ivan’s shoulders slumped.

  “It’s not that simple, Tasha.”

  Tasha laughed, and the sound was cold.

  “Maybe not for you. Don’t get me wrong, papa I understand. The things you did for us, the sacrifices you made. You don’t want to stir that life back up. But your hang-ups aren’t mine. I’m going to find out what happened to Elise whether you like it or not.”

  She snatched up her satchel throwing it over the shoulder of her travel coat as she turned for the door. Ivan’s hand landed on her shoulder and Tasha tensed. But the gesture was gentle as his whispered.

  “I understand. Just… wait a moment. Please.”

  Tasha stood there for a moment, as if undecided. Then slowly she turned towards him, eyes glistening with tears that didn’t fall.

  “I have to do this,” she said, her voice softer now. Ivan reached out rubbing a thumb across her cheek. “I know,” he said. “And I should go with you. But my place is here. People… people depend on me now. And with all that’s happened.” He shook his head.

  “I can only give you this.” He pulled something from his inventory, pressing it into her hand. It was a small knife sheathed in red leather, the hilt made of what appeared to be carved silver. Tasha took it, stunned as she examined the piece.

  “I can’t take this,” she said. “This is worth-“

  “More than most of the items in this inn?” Ivan laughed. “It doesn’t matter. That dagger served me well back in my glory days. Look,” he tapped the hilt, drawing her eyes. “There is a hidden trigger on the pummel just here. Feel for it, now pull it back.”

  Tasha’s brows drew together as she slid a finger along the inside of the hilt. Moments later, there was a soft click.

  “That means it’s armed,” said Ivan. “The catch releases poison along the tip of the blade. You don’t have to overpower someone to kill them. One cut from this, and they're as good as finished. But be careful, it can only be used once.”

  Ivan pressed the sheath into his daughter's hands, his lips trembling for a moment.

  “I want you to have it. Use it to defend yourself,” he said. “And remember what I taught you.”

  “Don’t hesitate,” Tasha whispered, her eyes fixed on the blade. Ivan nodded slowly, his throat bobbing.

  “And there’s one more thing. Dean has agreed to accompany you as far as Bridgeport. Now, he’s a busy man, so he’s asked you to leave right away, but-“

  Tasha turned, as if only realizing Dean was standing there.

  “He… did?” The news seemed to have temporarily disarmed her. For a moment, she simply stood in the center of the inn, staring. Then she closed the distance and threw her arms around his neck. Dean stood there awkwardly, his hand rising to pat her on the back.

  “Thank you,” said Tasha, stepping back and beaming up at him. “For being willing to accompany me. I may have talked big, but the truth is I’m scared shitless of what’s beyond these walls. Elise may have had a pension for travel, but for me… well…I always found the boundaries of the familiar more comforting.”

  She shook her head, hoisting her pack higher on her shoulder.

  “Are you sure about this?” asked Dean, glancing between Ivan and his daughter. “You’re father is right, things aren’t safe right now, especially for travelers on southern roads. I know you’re worried, but the risk your taking on isn’t something to balk at. You’d be better off staying here and waiting for news from Bridgeport.”

  Tasha studied him for a moment.

  “And would you?” she asked.

  “Would i…?”

  “If your sister had run off to marry some rich asshole that treated her less than she deserved, and if that same sister, the one girl who you could count on to write you letters every week no matter what was going on, suddenly stopped without explanation for months on end.. would you just sit around and wait?”

  “No,” said Dean honestly, meeting her gaze. Tasha smiled grimly.

  “Then we understand each other. Now, shall we?”

  Dean nodded, checking his equipped gear and inventory to be sure he had everything. They moved towards the door of the inn, but Ivan caught Dean’s shoulder.

  “A quick word?” asked the man, worry in his eyes. Tasha hesitated, but Dean waved a hand. “I’ll be right out,” he said. Tasha nodded and gave her father one last look before striding out the door into the sunlight beyond. Ivan waited until the door had shut behind her before he turned to Dean.

  “Thank you, for taking this job on Adventuerer. I know it’s far from glamorous, but I’m grateful nonetheless. She’s a good girl,” he said, his hand dropping to his side. “She means well, and she’s sharp, that one. But she can also be a bit… brash I suppose you could say.”

  Dean arched a brow, saying nothing. Ivan looked a bit sheepish.

  “Look, this whole business with her sister has been a lot for her. She and Elise were thick as thieves all their lives. So when Elise left a few years ago, I think it broke her heart. She never did like that boy and I think in part she blames him for her sisters departure.”

  “You think Elise stopped writing on purpose?”

  Ivan hesitated, rubbing a hand across his jaw.

  “I don’t know. I don’t want to think that’s the case, and I’ll admit it’s odd behavior. But right up until the letters had stopped coming, the two of them had been, well, fighting.”

  “Fighting? About what?”

  Ivan shrugged.

  “I’m not sure the details as I didn’t read her letters. But Tasha was unhappy with her sister about something. Though she’d never said why.”

  “And the letters stopped coming shortly after that,” Dean pieced together. Ivan rubbed at his eyes.

  “I don’t know what happened between them, but I do know neither of us have heard from her in months. Now, it could be a simple grudge or it could be more. But whatever it is, I’m at least glad my girl has you to look after her on the road.”

  The merc extended a hand and Dean shook it, smiling when he felt the rough calluses.

  “You still practice the sword,” he said approvingly.

  “Every other evening. Take care of her, Dean. I pray to the Gods, all of this is just some sort of misunderstanding.”

  ***

  Dean’s first indication that the weather had shifted was the lack of bird song. He glanced at the trees as the wind blew, stirring his hair. The wind itself was warmer than he would have expected at this time of year.

  Warm air must have blown in from the coast. A storm is coming.

  “Is something the matter?” It took Dean a moment to realize he’d stopped walking. Ahead of him on the dirt path, Tasha stood waiting.

  “The winds shifted,” said Dean. “Could mean a storm is coming in.”

  Tasha scanned the horizon and frowned.

  “A storm? It looks perfectly clear to me.”

  “It usually does. But the closer we get to the river and the coast itself, the faster squalls can roll in. It’s better to be safe than sorry.”

  Dean continued forward on the path, following the bend that wrapped around the trees. They had left behind the thickest part of the forest, and here, closer to the river, trees were more sparsely placed. The path itself was well-worn, but the amount of loose stones and debris along the way indicated they hadn’t been traveled regularly for months. Perhaps longer.

  “I’m sorry,” said Tasha unexpectedly. “For what you heard back there. My father means well, I know he does. It’s just,” she shook her head, gazing down at the dirt path between her leather shoes.

  “When it comes to Elise, I’m protective.”

  “There’s no need to apologize,” said Dean, passing her up on the inside of the trail.

  “I understand better than you think.”

  His cloak whipped in the breeze, and Dean closed his eyes, taking in the familiar scent of the forest hills around him. The Riverlands had always been his home. And though the war campaign had taken him many places in the Empire, he still found there was nothing quite as nostalgic to him as the South.

  “So, what led you to the life of an Adventuerer? I know it’s glamorous and all, but my father always said those who choose the badge have a death wish.”

  Dean snorted.

  “He’s not entirely wrong. It’s a risky business, sure. But it has its rewards. Especially for someone like me. I’m not exactly what one would consider… orthodox.”

  “Because you’re not nobility or the son of some high-ranking official?”

  “What gave it away?”

  Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

  Tasha raised a delicate brow, amusement glittering in her eyes.

  “Well, I’ve had the misfortune of meeting nobility before. You’re nothing like them, thank the Gods. You’re at least tolerable.”

  “You’re too kind.”

  Dean’s mana sense tingled, and he glanced to the side, tracking the movement of a mouse as it darted across the path in front of them. Tasha watched him, her eyes narrowing.

  “How do you do that?” she asked.

  “Do what?”

  “You always seem to notice things before I do. Is that some sort of power?”

  “Mana sense,” said Dean. “Every living being has an essence. It’s the ebb and flow of life itself, something that flows through every living being.”

  “And you can.. feel it? Essence, I mean.”

  “I can. I’ve always been able to for as long as I can remember. But it’s a skill that’s grown stronger since my ascension.”

  Tasha’s eyes widened at the mention of the word.

  “What was it like?” she asked. “To ascend? I mean, I know Adventuerer’s aren’t allowed to talk about it. But I just wondered… does it hurt?”

  “The first time?” Dean smiled, remembering his encounter with the Goddess. “Only a little. One’s awakening is often the easiest part of manifestation, though. It becomes more difficult as you go on and ascend to higher ranks. At least, that’s what they say.”

  “Have you ever met someone of a higher rank?” she asked, eyeing him.

  “Sure. My proctors were gold rank.”

  Tasha bit her lip in thought, lowering her voice as she glanced around.

  “Have you ever seen one of them up close? One of the Seven Saints, I mean.”

  Dean remained silent for several steps.

  “Only once,” he said, keeping his eyes on the road ahead of them. Tasha’s eyes widened, and she shook her head in wonder.

  “It must have been quite the sight. Some say they are as tall as giants, and as strong as the Gods themselves.. although that sounds a lot like blasphemy to me. What were they like?”

  Dean thought of the Rogue Saint. The man who, despite the odds and injury to himself, opposed the traitor to the bitter end.

  “I only met one real saint,” said Dean softly. He was brave and devoted to doing his duty no matter the cost. He was a good man.”

  “Was?”

  “He died in the line of duty,” said Dean, glancing at her.

  While he knew revealing too much was a risk, it wasn’t entirely unheard of for Saints to be killed by particularly powerful beasts or Dungeons that had experienced a dungeon break. While rare, those types of events were considered catastrophic, and only the most powerful Adventuerer’s were summoned to deal with them.

  “I’m sorry,” she mumbled as she skirted a fallen tree branch. “Both for the loss of your friend and that your forced to babysit me,” her smile was genuine if a bit sheepish. “My father was right about one thing – I do have a pension for rushing in. Especially when it concerns Elise.”

  “You two were close,” Dean observed, and Tasha laughed.

  “Close is perhaps an understatement. I was three when Elise was first born. From the very moment my father brought her home, I knew that she was going to be a pain in my arse. And that she was, for eighteen long years until that man came and took her away. She is the sweetest soul, you know. One of the kindest people I’ve ever met. My sister, my best friend,”

  She turned her face away, but not before he saw her scrub a tear impatiently from her cheek.

  “We had some moments, she and I. But no matter how irritated we were with each other, we would never simply cut each other off.”

  Dean wasn’t sure what to say, so he remained tactfully silent as they walked. Tasha lapsed into a silence of her own, and the only sounds for a good while were the thump of their boots in the dirt and the swaying of leaves.

  Gradually, the path began to slope upwards, and Tasha’s breath became more labored as they walked.

  “Are we nearly there?” she asked, wiping sweat from her brow. “It feels as though we’ve been walking for ages.”

  “More than halfway to the crossing,” said Dean, eyeing the tree line. “At least if the map you drew me is anything to go by. We should reach the town In an hour or two.”

  “What, that old masterpiece?” Tasha’s foot caught on a loose stone, and she stumbled. Dean caught her arm, and when he steadied her, she gave him a grateful look.

  “Why don’t we stop a while?” he said. “We can take a break and have a bite to eat. I need to fill my canteen anyway, and I saw a brook a few paces back.”

  Tasha looked relieved as she swung her pack from her shoulder and rested it on a nearby rock.

  “Alright, but don’t take too long. My father says that whenever I’m left alone for too long, I attract trouble.”

  Dean grinned.

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  The wind was starting to pick up again when he retraced his steps to the path bend. He had thought he’d heard the sound of a small brook somewhere nearby, but as he scanned the area, he saw no sign of it. Perhaps it had been further back?

  Dean made his way through the trees, careful to watch his footing on the hills. Loose rocks or stones beneath the leaves could be unstable, and all his essence abilities wouldn’t do him much good if he slipped and tumbled into a rocky gorge.

  Leaves crunched beneath his boots, reminding him that summer had now fully gone. Finally, the soft tinkle of water over stone alerted him to the presence of the stream he’d been looking for.

  “There we go,” he muttered, unhooking his canteen from his belt and dropping down to fill it. The water was cool and clear, and as far as he could see, there was no visible contamination upstream. He filled it to the brim, taking an experimental sip before helping himself to a few more swallows.

  He was in the midst of topping off his canteen again when a whiff of something strange drifted towards him. Dean froze, his head whipping in the direction of the smell. It was a faint but unpleasant odor and one that was strangely familiar to him.

  Corking his canteen, Dean rose to his feet. He spread his mana sense about him like a blanket, searching for anything unusual. But the only life he could feel was that of small birds and animals that had hunkered down for the oncoming storm.

  Strange, he thought as he turned slowly on the spot. Very strange.

  His gaze fell on a small outcropping of rock some thirty feet away. As he approached, he realized that the outcropping itself had been a part of a hillside. One that seemed to end in a sharp drop off. Dean approached the edge of the cliff with caution, his hand going to the hilt of his sword over his shoulder. At the same time, a breeze brushed over him, and that scent… that terrible scent grew stronger.

  Dean’s heart was hammering as he made it to the edge of the cliff and looked downward. At the bottom of the rocky gorge below lay a body. It was twisted at an odd angle, but Dean found himself breathing out a sigh of relief when he saw it wasn’t human.

  A deer, he noted, his hand slackening on the grip of his sword. It must have fallen.

  But there was something still off about the whole thing. The Dear’s eyes were open, still glassy, and it showed no signs of decomposition. The blood that had flowed over the stone beneath it was still wet. This death was fresh, likely no older than an hour. And yet that scent had been like… like day-old rot.

  Maybe the body itself wasn’t the source. Dean was trying to make up his mind on the best way to get to the bottom of the gorge and examine the deer’s carcass when a sound caught his attention. It was the sound of laughter. Of a man’s laughter. But there was no mirth in it.

  Dean’s mana sense flared in the distance, alerting him to the presence of others. Using his focus ability, he could feel the essence signature of Tasha, but she was no longer alone. Two others accompanied her, and their signatures were different. Stronger.

  Dean turned and sprinted through the trees, the deer corpse and the strange smell temporarily forgotten as he rushed back towards the path and the place he’d left his charge. As he neared, he slowed, lifting the hood of his cloak to activate its stealth feature. His senses told him that Tasha wasn’t in immediate danger. But there was a tension to the flow of her bodily essence.

  She was afraid, but of who he couldn’t yet be sure. He reached the bend in the path again and crouched, lowering himself as I moved forward. He could see Tasha now, her back to a tree and her hands fisted at her sides. Beside her were two mounted men, one of whom was wearing a long red and gold cloak with a crest Dean couldn’t quite place.

  They were armored, and Dean caught sight of at least two visible weapons, not including the spear that the man had clutched in his hand. Judging by the extravagant make of the weapon and the way he held it, Dean doubted the weapon belonged to him.

  The young man in the cloak had dismounted his horse and was standing over Tasha, one arm braced on the tree beside her.

  “I only asked you what your name was,” he drawled, crossing one boot over the other. “The least you could have done was show a little courtesy.”

  Tasha’s body language was tense. Her eyes kept darting from man to man, and Dean saw her hand slip beneath her traveling coat to grip the handle of the knife.

  “And I told you that I’m not required to speak to strangers. I don’t want to give you my name, and I don’t want anything else from you other than to be left alone.”

  The young man laughed, the sound echoing through the trees.

  “A young woman traveling alone on these roads? Come now, sweetheart, you can’t fool me. You wanted the attention. Tell me, did you know I’d be here?”

  “What are you… I don’t even know who you are!”

  “Are you sure?” The man’s tone was playful, but there was a dangerous note to it that Dean didn’t like. Tasha tried to push past him, but the man only forced her back, gripping her chin and jerking it up to meet his gaze.

  “You expect me to believe you don’t recognize me? Who put you up to this? One of my cousins.”

  “Let go of me.”

  Tasha grabbed at his arm, trying to push him away, but the cloaked man was entirely unmoved.

  He leaned forward, grabbing at a strand of her hair and rubbing it between his fingers.

  “You’re a pretty one, aren’t you?”

  “Young master,” said the still mounted man, his posture rigid. “We don’t have time for this. Leave the girl, and let us return to the city. Your father-“

  “Shut your mouth, man,” said the Young Master coldly. “You think I don’t know why you volunteered to come out with me? You’re my father’s lackey through and through, meant to keep tabs on me.”

  “He’s the master of the house,” said the bodyguard gruffly. “I follow his orders, as do all the men in his employ.”

  “Ever the loyal dog,” the young master turned his head, eyes narrowing at his guard. “But I have news for you. My father won’t be master of the house forever, and when he dies, who do you think will inherit his title and name? If you want to stay employed and keep your tongue, then you’ll learn to stay the hell out of what doesn’t concern you.”

  The bodyguard remained silent, and the young man turned back to Tasha, a smile spreading across his face.

  “Now,” he said. “I have half a mind to teach you some manners.”

  Dean stepped out from the trees, and Tasha’s eyes landed on him over her tormentor's shoulder. The young master froze, his head turning. Dean had already closed the distance, and when the man saw him standing only feet away, he jumped, nearly falling over.

  “What the bloody fuck,” he said, a hand flying subconsciously to a spear holster at his back. He seemed to realize it was empty a moment later and settled for a dark scowl.

  “Who the hell are you?” he asked, drawing himself up to his full height. He was trying to play off the fright Dean had just given him but he doubted anyone present was fooled.

  “Oh me?” Dean rolled his shoulders, stepping forward. “I’m just the girl’s protector. Someone her father hired to make sure she gets where she’s going safely. The real question is, who the fuck are you?”

  “Who am I?” the young man laughed incredulously. “I’m The Ballif’s son, you dolt. I’m also a bronze rank Adventuerer, so unless you want to end up-“

  “Liar.” Dean interrupted, his eyes glittering with amusement.

  “I… I beg your… what?” The young man’s face flushed a deep crimson and Dean smiled coldly.

  “I called you a liar. Your aura is nowhere near large enough for you to have ascended to bronze rank. Besides, most Bronze Rank Adventurers would have sensed my presence long before you did. You’re an Iron Ranker, and a shitty one at that.”

  The young Adventuerers face shifted, and Dean felt the pulse of the man’s aura as his eyes darkened.

  “This doesn’t concern you. Walk away. You said her father paid you? I’ll pay you double to be on your way and never trouble me again. But if you stay,” he stepped forward. “If you insist on causing trouble, my father will hear about it.”

  Dean matched his gait, drawing so close to the man that their chests almost touched. Dean was the shorter of the two, but his aura was unmistakably more powerful.

  “I don’t give a rats asshole who your father is,” he growled. “Or who you are for that matter. Back off of my charge or you can ride your fancy horse all the way back to your estate and explain why the mean man in the woods made you swallow your teeth.”

  A snort filled the air and the young master cast an angry glance at his bodyguard.

  “Think this is funny? Throw me my spear. If this kid wants a fight, he’ll bloody well get it.”

  “No he won’t,” sighed the guard in the saddle. He kept a firm grip on his master's spear, his reins held loosely in his gauntlet.

  “Listen young master, I may not be an Adventuerer, but it doesn’t take one of them to see this lad would wipe the floor with you. Now, I have no intention of telling your father about this whole debacle if you walk away. But given it’s my ass on the line once the punches start flying, I’m going to have to ask you to sit this one out.”

  “Coward.”

  The man grinned, his greying mustache quivering with barely contained laughter.

  “I prefer the term ‘wise’.”

  “You’re a bloody coward, is what you are.”

  The young master glanced between the two of them and for a long moment, Dean wondered if he’d be stupid enough to start a fight anyway. He’d never fought an Adventuerer and he knew the Guild’s could be strict about such things. But if a fight was what this arrogant brat wanted, then Dean was more than happy to oblige.

  “Fine,” said the man, stepping away and brushing out his cloak. “Have it your way then. But mark my words, you'd better steer clear of these roads in the future. If my patrol and I catch you around these parts again, it’ll be a different outcome.”

  He stuck his fancy boot in the stirrup, pulling himself up on his horse. The bodyguard passed him his spear, which he holstered at his side before turning his head and spitting at Dean’s feet. Then he spurred his mount’s side and cantered up the path. The bodyguard sat still in the saddle for a moment, a heavy sigh ripping from him.

  “I suppose I owe you thanks,” he says grudgingly. “If he’d have gotten his ass kicked I’d likely have ended up on the end of the whipping pole. My apologies, miss,” he nodded his head to her. Tasha looked away, and the man shrugged before taking up the reins and following his charge.

  Dean watched them ride out of sight before Tasha let out a breath.

  “What a prick,” she said, making a rude gesture at the back of the cloaked man.

  “Nobles usually are.”

  “Yeah, but you scared him, I think. What a coward.”

  She glanced over, her face thoughtful as she studied him.

  “Just how powerful are you?”

  Dean arched a brow.

  “I’m an Iron Ranker.”

  “Yes, but so was he. And yet your aura and your strength… they're in entirely different leagues.” She shook her head. “To be stronger than a noble is… well. I suppose I thought it was impossible.”

  “Strength isn’t dependent on one's lineage, at least not entirely. There are other factors that way into an Adventuerers personal power.”

  “But aren’t nobility descendants of the Gods?”

  “They claim to be?”

  Tasha’s eyes widened, and she tucked a stand of hair behind her ear.

  “You… don’t believe the families are divine?”

  “Do you?”

  Her throat bobbed, and she took a moment to consider it.

  “I don’t like the idea that men like him are descendants of the pantheon we know and worship. But at the same time I didn’t think… I mean. Regular people aren’t capable of the kind of things they can do. The sort of power they wield.”

  “Aren’t we?”

  Dean strode past her, and Tasha was forced to rush to keep up with him.

  “So you’re saying that you don’t think that the houses and the Divine family are actually divine?”

  Dean shrugged.

  “I believe they want us to think that.”

  “But that’s…”

  “Heresy? Blasphemy?” Dean’s lips twitched at the look of frustration on her face. “Look, all I’m saying is that if being the descendant of a divine being was the only criterion for being powerful, then some of the most famous Adventuerer’s in history wouldn’t exist. I mean, look at some of Wayland Cross's party. Many of them were self-made.”

  “Yeah, but only those of noble lines have ever ascended to being Saints.”

  Dean nodded darkly.

  “That much is true. But I’m not sure it proves anything.”

  At Tasha’s inquisitive look, he explained.

  “Becoming a Saint is a complicated process. Obviously, neither you nor I can be sure of the details, but as far as I know, it’s something you’re chosen to do.”

  “By the Divine family?”

  Dean shook his head.

  “By the system itself.”

  Tasha opened her mouth to say something, but just then something flashed across the sky. Dean glanced up towards the horizon, where dark thunderclouds were now forming. Tasha’s eyes widened as, moments later, the ground shook from the crash of thunder that followed.

  “Looks like you were right,” she said. “A storm’s coming. And by the looks of it, it’s going to be a bad one.”