Book 4 - Chapter 39

Brin’s rewards were among the smallest in the Lance. Everyone else gained at least two levels, and the last two holdouts had finally hit [Squire]. Rhun was a level 30 [Protecting Squire], Anwir was a level 25 [Squire of Arrows], Aeron was a level 20 [Squire], Brych was a [Watchful Squire] at level 26, Meredydd was a level 24 [Squire of Arms], Cowl was a level 20 [Squire of Burdens], while Govannon had become a regular [Squire], also at level 20.

Brin asked Cid for a rundown on the Class names, and the First was surprisingly insightful. He said, “We can go over the full Skill list later, but the main thing to remember is that if the modifier comes after the Class, then it’s weaker, and if it comes before, it’s stronger.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, Anwir is really only a [Squire] when it comes to arrows, while Rhun is a full [Squire] but better when it comes to protecting. Or a [Glass Invocationist] is an [Invocationist] who’s particularly good with devices made of glass. Did you not know this about your Class?”

“No. What? That can’t be right,” said Brin.

“It’s true,” said Cid.

“Then what about [Magus of the Southern Steppe]?” asked Brin.

“To name a completely random example?” asked Cid with a crooked eyebrow.

“Exactly.”

“Your adoptive mother’s previous Class meant that she was only considered a [Magus] because of her heroism at the Southern Steppe. Outside of there, she would’ve been considered an above-average [Mage],” said Cid.

“And the Southern Steppe…”

Cid shook his head. “The area northwest of Gynll? So named because it was once the southernmost region of Olland?”

“Right,” said Brin. “I knew that.”

Cid shook his head again and stepped away to supervise the men. Brin was glad that the conversation had stayed on safe ground. Eventually they needed to talk about how Cid knew that Brin was an [Illusionist]. He had to have figured it out, right? But that conversation could happen later. For now, he should do what Cid was doing and focus on the men.

After the small army of knights from the Broken Stone had passed the town, they’d let the villagers out of the public house, and everyone had gotten right to work repairing the torn down homes. The men hadn’t seemed put out at all when they’d been tasked with helping rebuild, even though it was commoner work. In fact, spirits were high. There was a camaraderie in the Lance now that couldn’t be faked, and for the first time, Brin was really starting to see this group as a real team.

The villagers had been desperate to show their worth to the knights after contributing nothing during the actual fighting, and Cid had quietly told the Lance to let them show off a little. The knights mostly carried stones to and fro, and they made a show of being impressed by the Common Classes’ ability to rebuild the town. Brin pitched in with his magic, replacing windows in the public house with actual glass.

Everyone was working except for Hedrek. Brin had noticed that an armguard had fallen off during the fighting, no doubt due to being fastened incorrectly. Brin had told Hedrek to go fix his armor and not return until everything was done correctly.

But things were different now. Before the battle, Brin had seen Hedrek as a liability, but now he saw Hedrek the way that Cid did, as an exemplary [Knight] who just had a few small foibles. He watched with his Invisible Eyes as Hedrek slinked away.

Surprisingly, Hedrek did exactly as Brin had told him. He found an area behind one of the last still-standing homes where no one could see him, and worked on the strap on his armguard. Brin could see the problem right away, it needed to wrap around behind or there’d be too much length and it wouldn’t tighten correctly. Hedrek worked on it for fifteen minutes, trying to figure it out and failing. Eventually, he tied it in an ugly knot that was definitely going to slip loose and then walked back to the Lance.

He let the men think that he was avoiding work because he was too important for commoner work, which immediately made Govannon drop what he was doing and announce that he was also too tired for this.

Brin went straight to Cid, copying Hedrek’s technique and seeking privacy behind a building.

“Hedrek is stupid,” said Brin.

Cid sighed. “Do we have to do this today of all days? We’ve been over this.”

“No, I mean that Hedrek is a dum-dum.”

“Brin, despite what you may think, Hedrek is–”

“You’re not listening! Arg!” Brin didn’t think that Hedrek was actually stupid, but he had some kind of learning disability. Dyslexia maybe? Could dyslexia look like this? Or something else? Sadly, he hadn’t really learned much on this topic in his old life so he couldn’t make a diagnosis, and in Bogworld you were either stupid or simple; there weren’t a lot of other words for it. “Let me try again. Hedrek speaks well, which is why I didn’t see it before. He’s actually pretty smart in a lot of ways, but he’s just not good at things. He’s not forgetting to tie his boots because he’s lazy or rebellious; he’s trying and failing.”

“What are you saying?” asked Cid.

“We just need to show him how to do things more than once. A lot more than once,” said Brin.

“Really? You think that will work?”

“I do.”

One thing about Cid was that he was a thinker, but he also knew when to act. He went directly to Hedrek, pulled him aside, and demonstrated how to tie the armguard strap correctly. Then he had Hedrek do it. Hedrek was slow, and fumbling his fingers maybe out of nervousness, but after being shown how to do it, he got it right. Cid slapped Hedrek on the shoulder and left without a word.

Hedrek stayed behind and practiced five more times. When he finally rejoined the Lance, there was a smile on his face and he joined in the work with a gusto.

“That’s really all it took. I can’t believe how easy that was,” Cid confided to Brin.

He had to agree. The Hedrek problem was figured out. Now if only they could do something about Govannon, he might actually have a decent Lance here.

As they worked, Brin watched through Invisible Eyes as the twelve Lances from the Order of the Broken Stone descended on the seven hundred goblins. Their journey ended up taking a lot less time than Brin had originally guessed. The horses ran at a full gallop the entire way and seemed to cross ground faster than the hooves were carrying them, no doubt due to some kind of leadership Skill of their commander. He hadn’t met anyone with a real commander Class before but the few history books he’d flipped through all acted like they were the only thing that mattered.

The knights crashed straight through the middle of the goblin horde, breaking their morale in one charge, and then spent the rest of their time running down the goblins as they fled. Any attempts by the [Chieftains] to rally the troops were cancelled by Skills from the knights, and the strongest ones were singled out for a quick death by way of a [Knight’s Charge].

The fighting was quick but the aftermath was slow, and they chose to camp out in the field rather than travel home in the dark.

They didn’t expend any noticeable Skills on the return journey, so they didn’t get to Dustrim until well after noon. When they did approach, most of them opted to simply ride past the town without entering.

They were close enough that everyone could see their shiny, pristine armor, enchanted and made of rare metals. It was a far cry from Brin’s Lance, who wore mostly simple steel that was now bloody, dented and gouged. Comparing the two, Brin could only say that his Lance looked much better.

Only two [Knights] approached the town. Their commander, named Caradawg, and a man in black leather and a wide-brimmed hat. No, that wasn’t a [Knight] at all. That was a [Witchhunter] by the name of Mal Onion. Now why would he be bringing a [Witchhunter]?

Brin walked through town and found the home of Eneuaw Pairs, the young woman that the [Witch] had used as a decoy. She had his armor; she’d insisted on cleaning it for him. For whatever reason, she thought that Brin was her personal savior and had suggested all sorts of ways that she could repay him. He’d refused most of her suggestions, and not because she wasn’t pretty. 

She was beautiful now, in a very female-gaze sort of way. Puffy lips, a small nose, sharp, pointed eyes, and perfectly monochromatic skin. He didn’t know what she’d looked like before, but he knew that she didn’t look anything like her parents and that she definitely needed something to do to keep herself occupied and not dwell on what had happened to her. So he let her clean his armor.

“Oh, but I’m not finished with it yet!” she said when he arrived.

“I know, but I may need it soon,” said Brin.

“Then just one more moment,” said Eneuaw.

She actually took ten more minutes, furiously scrubbing every inch of steel with a wire brush and rubbing the cloth portions with a rag. When she was done Brin thanked her, offered payment which she refused, and then donned it all at once with his magic. That elicited a gasp of amazement from the girl. "A knight, and magical, too? Is there anything you can't do?"

Brin fidgeted with his armor, trying to hide how much he enjoyed the praise. "I think I'll find out soon. Sir Caradawg is here, and if I'm not mistaken he's a bit upset with me."

"But you are Mistaken, sir!" Eneuaw said.

Brin grinned. "Nice."

Eneuaw blushed and fumbled with her words enough that Brin started to think the pun might've been unintentional. "What... what I meant was, surely sir Caradawg will know by now of your bravery defending this town. I'm sure he means to reward you!"

"I hope you're right," said Brin.

He hoped she was, but knew she wasn't. That wasn't the way his life worked. Lothar had spent plenty of time with sir Caradawg; he couldn't expect to have a friend there.

No, he needed to prepare for the worst. The Lance was mending, like a shattered plate mended with glass. It was the perfect time for some new hammer to rise up and smash it again. But Brin knew one thing about glass still warm from the ovens: it was a lot less fragile than it looked.

This was going to be tricky, but he thought he could turn this to his advantage.

He and the rest of the Lance found their way to the front of the town to meet Caradawg and Mal.

Caradawg had a wide face, and was probably a bit portly when not held tight in his armor. His moustache fit so well in with his helmet's faceplate that at first Brin thought it was part of the piece. [Inspect] didn't tell Brin a level, but it did give a Class. [Grand Master].

It felt a little strange to not salute such a senior officer, but they weren't in the same organization. Instead, Cid stepped forward to shake hands.

"Sir [Knight]," said Caradawg. "You are a credit to your Order. You and your men fought bravely and have done us a great service in defending this town, which may well have been lost if not for you. You have our gratitude. Know that the Order of the Broken Stone's doors will always be open to the Order of the Long Sleep."

Brin didn't think that Cid would accept any kind of monetary reward, and Caradawg wouldn't offer. That wasn't the way between knights. Instead, it was honor for honor; the Order of the Broken Stone would come next time that the Order of the Long Sleep called for aid, which was worth more than their weight in gold.

"I thank you, sir, for your words, but I cannot say that we did anything more or less than our duty," said Cid.

"Well put, and truly spoken," said Caradawg.

"It might be that you can settle a matter of curiosity for me, however. How is it that such a large group of goblins can creep so near to your territory?"

Caradawg pursed his lips so that his mustache bulged out even further. "A grim question, and a good one. I fear that to begin to answer that question I must turn to a more uncomfortable topic."

"In that case, then please forget I asked."

"I cannot, though it pains me. Indeed, I impugn my own honor in bringing this up."

"There's really no need," said Cid.

"There is a need. I must sully myself and my honor by casting doubt upon a member of your Lance," said Caradawg.

"If it sullies your honor to say these things, then please say nothing," said Cid.

"I must. I would sully my honor more to stay quiet. Yes, I have accusations to lay at the feet of the one they call Brin isu Yambul," said Caradawg. "My accusations begin with the manner in which he violated our hospitality. Sneaking around and spying."

Brin could almost admire the subtlety with which the [Witches] had woven this web. Had Lothar put Caradawg up to this? If so, when? Or had it been something else, or a combination of things?

Brin spoke up. "I have no interest in any secrets of the Order of the Broken Stone. My purpose in sneaking was to prevent spying. I swear. Fetch Lothar if you don't believe me; he'll know I'm speaking the absolute truth."

"I... don't need assistance in telling truth from a lie," said Caradawg. He rubbed his nose. "Putting that aside. Tell him your grievance, Master Onion."

Mal the [Witchhunter] seemed to preen under the attention of so many eyes, both from the Lance and the villagers who were starting to gather. He strutted a bit as he walked a couple steps forward, swishing his long overcoat like a cape.

"The rumors and your suspicions were correct. He has a Skill of Wyrd. A [Witch] Skill. It's likely that he once had an evil Class."

There were gasps from the villagers.

"What? Come on! I have a [Witch] detecting Skill that I got from killing so many [Witches]! You of all people should know what I'm talking about, Mal!"

Mal grinned. "I withdraw my accusations. How many [Witches] have you killed?"

"Let me think. Let me think. Three? Four, maybe. We didn't finish the one we saw yesterday, though."

Mal's eyes sparkled in delight. "There was really a [Witch] here, then?"

Brin leaned forward, matching Mal's intensity. "A strong one. Maybe even a [Great Witch]. Her blood is still on the floor in the public house. We killed a familiar, too. It was a cat."

"A cat? For real?"

"Yeah. Its body is still there unless Marksi ate it already. Marksi, can you show this nice man that evil monster you killed?"

Marksi skittered around from Cowl's feet where he'd been hiding and approached proudly. He waved at Mal to follow.

"A [Witch]-hunting dragon? What is your life? Switch me places!" said Mal.

Brin glanced at Caradawg who was watching this with a darkening glower. "I wish I could." He grabbed Mal’s shoulder before the [Witch Hunter] could leave. “Hey, there’s a girl here who got her face altered by the [Witch]. Can she be returned to normal?”

“What? I don’t know. Lead the way, little dragon!”

When Mal departed, Caradawg cleared his throat again. "In light of the situation, I would bring this boy Brin back to my Order for questioning."

"You have no authority to arrest my man. You have no grounds, either, not with the scant reasoning you've brought forth," said Cid.

"I have other reasons. Prepare your heart, for this will certainly shock you: Brin isu Yambul is a liar and a fraud. He stands as a sneak and a skunk among true men, though he is no man among men himself. This boy is an [Illusionist]."

And there it was. 

He kept his physical eyes fixed on Caradawg, projecting confidence, but his Invisible Eyes were on the faces of his Lance. He was usually pretty good at reading the faces of people he knew well, but for some reason, right now he couldn't tell what they were thinking. Was that surprise? Anger? Fear or suspicion? Hatred? Ambivalence? He really didn't know.

"What nonsense. We don't need to listen to this," said Cid. Brin wasn't so sure.

"I fear you must. I believe that in light of this and his other lies, it’s likely that Brin was responsible for luring this group of goblins here, or that he was at least coordinating with the one who did. I will take him into my Order to ascertain the truth. If we determine that he is no agent of Arcaena, we will of course release him with our apologies.

There was no other way, then. Brin absolutely couldn't get arrested and questioned with truth-finding Skills, not when there was a chance they'd learn what he knew about Lothar.

"A terrible accusation has been laid at my feet," said Brin. "I demand the Rite of the Crucible."