A Soldier's Life - 308 - Race To The Spire (final edit 7-21-25)

Chapter 308: Race To The Spire We raced out of the valley, and Ginger was the only one happy about the urgency. Mynasha was eager to overtak

Chapter 308: Race To The Spire

We raced out of the valley, and Ginger was the only one happy about the urgency. Mynasha was eager to overtake the others, but it would be four long days in the saddle. Maybe it was my cynicism with the trials, but I was confident that Fioasha probably just had to walk into his old village, be handed an artifact, and ride back.

“We can stop in a village this evening and get supplies,” Mynasha said as she galloped beside me.

I suspected the nearest villages might have been warned about Mynasha and would not offer timely aid. “There is no need. I have enough food for us and the horses to get us to the mountain.” She looked surprised, but I didn’t want her to dwell on my space. “I was prepared for this eventuality,” I said dismissively. Thinking ahead to possible problems, I asked, “Is there a trail going up the Spire for the horses?”

The lightning cleric bounced beside me in her saddle, assessing me again before replying, “I believe the summit is only accessible on foot, but I have never been there. Some of the past Supremes used to make a pilgrimage to seek the wisdom of the giants. I know not all of them returned.”

If there was lore about dealing with the storm giants, perhaps we should have spent some time talking with Glasha before we left. The road was familiar as we headed north, but we soon turned off the main road to follow a lesser road that paralleled the coast. It should be easy to find the Spire as it was on the northernmost tip of the continent.

When we took our first break at a spring to water the horses, I pulled out meat buns for us and grain to go with the grass the horses were eating. Of course, Ginger also needed an apple for her hard work. Mynasha’s appetite was satiated with a second meat bun.

“We have rested long enough,” Mynasha said anxiously after just a third of an hour had passed.

“There is no point in rushing and risking injury to the horses,” I said, not moving. She studied me a moment before reluctantly retaking a seat on the log. I nodded to her. “What else do you know about the Spire and the residents?”

“It is the last known enclave of storm giants on Desia. They are thousands of years old if the stories are true. Sometimes, a Supreme will visit them, seeking wisdom or lost knowledge,” she replied with the same knowledge she had already offered.

She had also mentioned that sometimes the Supremes wouldn’t return. “What type of knowledge would cause a Supreme to risk their lives?”

Mynasha bit her lip in thought. “I don’t know. I think the art of tattooing was passed from the storm giants.”

“That is fascinating. How do the tattoos work?” I asked conversationally.

“It is a secret of the Caliphate,” she stated. She seemed to reconsider. “The elves have appropriated the knowledge but have not utilized it to our knowledge. For your loyalty, you have earned the right to know the secret as well.”

Mynasha moved in front of me and sat on the grass much closer than she needed to be. I think she was afraid of being overheard while revealing the tattoos' secrets. “The tattoos are a blessing and a curse for those marked with them. You cannot imprint spells on your aether core if you are tattooed. Instead, you wear your spell forms on your skin.”

I interrupted with a question, “What if you already have a spell form on the core before you are tattooed?”

She frowned at being interrupted. “It will be blocked and unusable, permanently lost.”

“Then why get tattoos at all? Spell forms are much more flexible,” I replied, drinking from my canteen.

Mynasha looked a little indecisive for a moment. But eventually, she revealed the truth. “There are benefits. For instance, the spell forms that can be tattooed can be of any affinity, not just affinities you are strong enough to create a spell form for.”

That was interesting since affinities were rare. “How does that work?”

Mynasha inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly as she revealed the secret of the Caliphate warriors. “The ink the tattoos are made of holds the affinity of the spell form, transmuting the raw aether. It is common knowledge that we use essences for the ink, but I will not reveal the other ingredients required to make the ink. Another benefit is the warrior does not need to master controlling their aether. They just—squeeze their aether core to release the aether. Their saturated body naturally pulls it to the tattoos, activating the spell forms.”

Something occurred to me. “So, the warriors must activate all their tattoos at once?”

She looked a little uncertain. “For most, that is the case—empower all or none. It is rare for a warrior to be able to focus their aether into just one tattoo, but it is not unheard of. The tattooist must also be highly skilled to keep the them separated.”

“What do the tattoos do?” I already know what they did from my Hound training, but was curious what Mynasha would tell me.

Once again, she looked hesitant to tell me but eventually answered my question. “A pathfinder will have two or three tattoos focused on stealth, while one of our elite warriors typically just has one that is focused on either strength or speed.” She grudgingly explained a little further when I looked for her to continue. “Our elites usually have tiny aether cores, so they cannot sustain more than one tattoo for long. Giving them two just shortens their combat effectiveness.”

“And the warlords?” I asked, already guessing her answer.

“Three, four, and rarely five. There is only so much space on the body, and the skill of the tattoo artist comes into play to avoid overlapping with other tattoos. A warlord always has the three tattoos of speed, strength, and endurance. Beyond that, it varies on what the tattooist has mastered,” Mynasha explained.

Something occurred to me. “What ingredient in the ink is found in the Warlord Dungeon?”

Her jaw dropped open like I had just uncovered one of the Caliphate’s greatest secrets. Her jaw moved, but no words came. It made sense in my mind if a warlord needed to complete the reserved dungeon, then it had to be a secret to their power. “Demon horn,” she said after a long pause. “How did you know?”

I shrugged. “It was obvious. It is the only dungeon in the Caliphate that outsiders and adventurers are not allowed into.”

“I ask that you do not spread this even if you think it is—obvious,” Mynasha said tersely. “My people have feeble aether shaping skills. We have a tenth of the number of clerics that the elves do and a quarter of that of humans. Raising our best warriors with the tattoos is the only way to defend our lands. If others started tattooing their weaker warriors…” She left the rest unspoken.

I was not going to make any guarantees about that, but I nodded slowly in understanding. “We can leave now,” I said, standing.

We were soon back on the coastal road, passing small fishing settlements. When night encroached, we dismounted and walked the horses rather than divert to rest in a town. By morning, Mynasha was stumbling, and I offered her the pea-green Pathfinder potions of stamina. I had ten left and didn’t need them, as I also had four elven stamina potions that tasted much better.

Each vomit-tasting concoction worked for about eight hours, increasing alertness and invigorating you with a powerful stimulant. I was surprised when Mynasha unhesitantly downed the potion and belched a foul air. Soon, she was alert again, and we continued our ride.

We had short conversations over the next two days. I learned Warlord Rhuuk had five tattoos: strength, speed, stamina, self-healing, and toughness. The toughness tattoo fortified his organs and skin against attacks. He was also one of the few warlords skilled enough to activate individual tattoos.

Warlord Etus, who was the First of Fioasha, had five as well: strength, speed, stamina, water breathing, and a gust of wind. Since he was an admiral of the northern fleet, it made sense why he chose the latter two. He was also capable of activating specific tattoos.

It was good to know your enemy's strengths, but Mynasha seemed to think there would not be a direct confrontation between our groups. I doubted that orc honor would hold when so much was at stake.

By the third day, even Ginger was eager for a rest. “How are you still going? I never observed you consuming a potion?” Mynasha asked me during one of our spells walking the horses. She was stumbling from both fatigue and soreness.

“Human constitution,” I replied to the cleric, who once again reassessed me. “But we do need to rest, at least a time. The horses are beginning to stumble, and we don’t want them to come up lame.” Reluctantly, Mynasha agreed.

We took refuge in a small isolated farm, giving the old farmer a large silver to st in his hay shed. The farmer and cleric asserted the payment was unnecessary, but I insisted. Even I needed rest. We all bedded down after a meal, and I found myself drifting off to sleep.

My dreams were not pleasant as I confronted ancient storm giants who somehow pulled the truth from me about my role in killing one of their number. I ended up flattened underfoot and woke in a sweat. I returned to sleep and used my experience in the dreamscape to try and twist the nightmare into something more palatable. The best I could do was grow myself to match the size of the storm giant and wrestle them into submission.

Mynasha shook me awake. “It has been almost half a day.”

My hand was on my blade, and I couldn’t believe I had slept for so long, but it was already morning. Even the horses had been so exhausted they hadn’t stirred during the night. We unbarred the door, and I spent some time mucking out the shed, as it was not intended to stable horses. Mynasha didn’t understand my insistence on cleaning up after us, but explaining how a guest should act was foreign to her as she was used to being waited on.

The rest of the ride to the Spire was strenuous for the horses and Mynasha, but the only environmental issue was a warm, steady rain on the third day. When the Spire came into view, it was awe-inspiring. Jutting out of the distant landscape into the sky. It looked to be an isolated, narrow mountain with a ring of clouds around it. Faint flashes of lightning in the clouds could be seen even in the bright day.

We paused to admire the odd site. It felt ominous and uninviting. “Having second thoughts?” I asked turning to the cleric.

Mynasha stared for a moment, maybe reconsidering. “No. My people need me, and I will continue on this path.”

We continued, and rocky grasslands started to show flocks of sheep as we approached the Spire. A town started to emerge in the distance, and Mynasha indicated it, “That is Rosenrock. That is where Fioasha grew up.” It was still a few miles from the Spire and didn’t even have a wooden wall surrounding the twenty-odd buildings made of stone with thatched rooves.

We walked our horses into town and were greeted by someone I recognized as a cleric. The orc wore worn leathers and had a tusky smile on greeting us. “Cleric Mynasha. It is an honor to meet you. I am Cleric Woolasha.” He bowed his head in respect. “Cleric Glasha sent word to meet you and help you. Cleric Fioasha and Cleric Jhuarkasha have already started their climb with their Firsts.”

Mynasha exploded in disbelief. “How did they get here ahead of us!” I was still hung up on the fact that their Firsts had accompanied them. I had thought, or maybe hoped, Mynasha would climb the Spire alone.

Woolasha smiled conciliatorily as he relayed the bad news, “Cleric Fioasha grew up here. I know he can wash away fatigue for himself and others. Cleric Jhuarkasha can do something similar, holding fatigue at bay, but only for himself. I could see the frustration boiling over on Mynasha. “Cleric Jhuarkasha is only a few hours ahead of you. Fioasha is half a day. If you wish, I will take care of your horses. The ascent is too treacherous and narrow for them.”

I really didn’t want to trust the care of Ginger to this stranger. If they were lying and were not on our side, and something happened to Ginger, I wouldn’t be able to restrain my vengeance.

“Your mount will be safe with me,” he said as if reading my mind. “On my honor, your horses will be well cared for even if you do not return. It is just three miles to the start of the trail,” he indicated behind him. “If you want to rest, I will have my acolytes prepare something for you.”

“Yes,” I answered before Mynasha could. “We will rest for an hour before starting. We would appreciate you telling us whatever you can about the Spire.” Selfishly, I had hoped the other two candidates would already be returning with us on our ascent, and we could turn around, avoiding the risk of facing the storm giants altogether. Mynasha slowly nodded. Another hour to possibly gain valuable knowledge would be wise.