The Hermit, The Tower, The World (Vol.2 Complete)

24th of Inandyl - 4th Auryn

Restless nights made for long days. It was Auryn though, so even though there were no classes, most people in the morning session were excited for the weekend. Calas got to hear about the events that were scheduled in town and around campus from the regulars.

Of course, Daz was hyped up, as always. He found Calas monitoring an intense bout between Reith, a sturdy dwarf, and Gael. Calas knew from experience that their bouts could get nasty if they thought no one was watching.

"Cal, Cal," Daz started as he sidled up to Calas, who didn't take his attention from the bout in front of them. "How'd the party go? I didn't get a chance to ask you the other day."
"It was fine." Calas shrugged and hoped that Daz would drop it. He did not.

"Fine? Just fine? Was she fine, or was the party fine? Details, Cal. Details!" Calas groaned at Daz's excited babble.

"The party was fine." Calas spared a quick glance for Daz before he turned his attention back to the fight.

"That's not details! Come on, Cal, I tell you everything that happens at all the parties I go to." Daz complained.

"I know." Calas growled, but there was no malice in it. He was too exhausted for malice, especially at Daz.

"Give me something, then!" Daz demanded.

"I don't know what to tell you, Daz. There were people, most I didn't know. There was food and a silly riddle game. Then I left."

"Man, you really need to come out with us. How can you make a party sound so boring?" Daz was obviously disappointed by Calas' recount of the event and sulked.

Calas chuckled at that remark, but kept all the good parts of last Isharil to himself. He covered a smile at the thought of the mouse laughing beside him, but it was quickly diminished by the memory of sharp talons.

Calas crossed his arms over his chest as he tried to block out the dream. Thankfully, Daz hadn't noticed.

"There is a full docket of events planned for this weekend, compliments of the Arcane Club." Daz went on and matched Calas' posture, arms folded across his chest as he, too, watched the bout unfold. Daz winced as Reith took a harsh blow to the collarbone from Gael's sword hilt.

"Watch it, Gael." Calas called out to the pair and they both glanced his way in a momentary reprieve.

"My bad," Gael muttered and Calas knew that the comment was to him, though, not to Reith.

Calas sighed at their charged rivalry as they resumed where they had left off and was reminded of his own disagreements with Greyson last year. He hadn't wanted that one to spill over into this year, but it was apparent from the events of last term that Greyson wasn't ready to drop it.

What was worse was the fact that the prick involved Serea in it last term and Calas bit down on his rage. That snot nosed, pompus, dick of a baron's son could fry in the desert for all Calas cared, but when Greyson unleashed that tidal wave, his most powerful spell, on the unsuspecting Serea, Calas nearly shifted then and there.

If Blackclaw hadn't been there to handle Greyson and ground Calas, Calas might have succeeded in tearing a scribe to pieces that day. It was for the best, though, that Blackclaw intervened. Calas actually wanted to stay at Court and while it would have been nice to rid the world of a vicious asshole, it was not worth the cost of his time here.

Daz's voice cut into Calas' murderous daydream. Calas shook himself and forced his attention to Daz and the brutal bout still going.

"There is a party scheduled for each night this weekend with daytime events on Velron and Serrin." Daz went on while Reith and Gael went at it again.

"Hmm." Calas only confirmed to Daz that he was listening. Kind of.

"You should come tomorrow, Cal. They are having an illusion contest after lunch on the pitch. You would totally win! And first prize is a piece of Arcanum!" Daz chattered on enthusiastically.

"What's it do?" Calas asked as he wondered how much a special relic like that would cost his former Club.

"Uh, I don't know actually, but I can find out! Will you come?"

"Can't. I got staff duties after lunch."

"Damnit! Tomorrow night, then. It's at the Rooster again. There's some kind of 'guess how many pennies are in the jar' game and the winner keeps all the pennies."

Calas laughed softly at that one. He and Jem, a shrewd, hedgehog-shaped Gnawborn with a penchant for coin, came up with it early last year. The two of them worked well together on their little gambling ring they had set up for the Arcane Club, which wasn't actually a Court-sponsored social club like the name suggested.

"No thanks, Daz." He responded absently as his eyes followed the bout.

"Uhg." Daz growled in frustration, but before he could go any further, Calas shouted at the pair before them.

"Gael!" Calas' harsh tone reverberated off the training hall walls and everyone, including Daz froze.

Gael's sword stopped seconds away from Reith's neck as the both of them glared daggers at each other.

"That's enough from you two," Calas ground out at them. "Find something else to do. Away from each other."

It took a few heartbeats, but Gael lowered his sword and Reith took a step back. Once they had separated, the rest of the training hall came back to life. This kind of thing happen semi-frequently among the junkies. Tensions ran high with certain pairs and it was easy to get swept up by the adrenalin when emotions and intentions collided.

Calas knew this all too well, but luckily for him, he had Temulun as a mentor since he was a boy. Control and suppression were practically, and sometimes literally, beat into Calas for as long as he could remember. And yet, dreams like he had the night before still haunted him.

Calas suppressed a shudder and unclenched his jaw as Daz continued like none of it had happened.

"There's a broom race at midday bell at the pitch on Serrin. Your bookies will be there, the both of them." His tone was hopeful, but Calas shook his head.

"Jem and Dakota aren't my bookies. You know I'm not in the Club anymore."

"Says you," Daz smarted-off and Calas leveled him with an unimpressed glare. "Look, I know that there were some hiccups last year, but I can't believe that something as silly as rumors would make you, Calas Duskwood, quit."

The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

Calas froze his face in place and bit his tongue. That sure was an odd way to look at his reason for leaving the Club, but Calas wasn't going to correct him on it. The truth was stranger than Daz's fiction in this case and everyone was the better for not knowing.

The truth was that his Club activities became much too close to the home that he avoided by coming to Court in the first place. He started the gambling ring to fill a need for funds that the Club required to host all of their events throughout the year. It was lucrative because it was an easy way to get scribes to help foot the bill for their own fun. Entry was completely voluntary, but Calas added the extra incentive of a prize for each event as a marketing strategy.

It started with the sporting events as just a cash pot, and that was how he had met Jem and Dakota. Unfortunately, not all went as planned and Calas was left to deal with the fallout of certain scribes who thought that they could get away with not paying what they willingly bet. Also, unfortunately, Calas handled it the only way he knew how: by using the education he had garnered through his uncles.

Needless to say, the rumors of his misdeeds swirled like a tempest and caused him more than a few scuffles. Frustration built up in Calas over those few months last year and ended when he snapped and lost control to the heat of the mark.

"I'm not in the Club anymore," he repeated to Daz. "I don't have time with all my staffing duties." It was true, but it wasn't exactly the answer Daz was looking for.

"Fine. Serrin evening at the Cheerful Hearth. It's perfect! It's low key, low stakes, and there will be a band playing." Daz was relentless, today.

"Nope again," Calas responded. "Gotta turn in early for Ivora morning."

"One day, Cal, I'm just going to drag you to an event!" Daz huffed in annoyance.

Calas gave the Drakari a smirk.

"You can certainly try."

***

Calas checked in with Blackclaw over lunch and they reviewed the morning sessions from the week and rosters for next term. Calas mentioned casually that there might be one more signing up, but they just hadn't confirmed it with him yet. Blackclaw told him that was fine and instructed Calas to update the rosters when he had confirmation. The gruff professor dismissed him, but reminded him of the setup for tomorrow evening.

He spent the rest of the afternoon reading "Empires of Eld", or rather that is what he tried to do. What had actually happened was that Calas read the same passage over and over again after he jerked awake several times. He did this until dusk when he finally conceded that he wasn't in any state to study tonight, put the book down, and actually went to bed.

***

He found himself in the Eldwood, thankfully in his own skin for once. An odd change of pace from all the birds. It was strange, too, that he was barefoot and shirtless, his tattoos freely roaming under his skin which was exposed to the chilled night air. He felt he should have been colder, but Calas figured that such was the odd way of dreams.

The forest was alive with the normal sounds of nocturnal birds, bugs, and creatures, large and small. Without prompt or reason, Calas strode forward, his feet squelching on the soft, moist underbrush. He moved with confidence through the dense foliage despite the odd feeling of mud, dead leaves, and twigs between his toes and tried not to think of stepping on any mouse-sized owl pellets. Yes, twigs. Not bones. The thought came uneasily.

He had no clue how long he walked–who could tell in such a dreamstate like this, really?-- until he came to a placid clearing illuminated with white hued moonlight that spilled through the canopy to reflect off a small, natural pool. The pool was not the only thing in the clearing, though, and Calas inclined his head slightly toward the Beast of the Eldwood.

The ancient creature was more myth than beast, but its boar-ish, bulky scaled body towered over Calas twice over. It stomped one of its four clawed feet as it shook his huge bull-like head adorned with long, dangerous horns. If the horns didn't look sharp enough, his long canine fangs definitely did and his thick, fur-tuffed tail swung almost lazily behind him.

Its large, muscular form regarded Calas casually before speaking in the way of ancient Beasts; an echo through the mark Calas bore. "Ah, finally, the Bearer of Orendell has come."

Calas lifted his head and entered the clearing, speaking in his normal low tones. "I was not aware that I had been summoned or I might have come sooner."

It shook its bull-like head like a horse shaking its mane. "It matters little." They stomped a clawed forepaw on the ground and met Calas beside the moon-filled pool. "Bearer of Orendell, I have a grave task for you." It tapped the ground lightly, bidding Calas to sit. He did as the Beast bid, sitting on the soft mossy ground near the pool. The Beast also settled comfortably in front of him as a house cat might in front of a fire, head lifted.

"There was a trespasser in the Eldwood," the Beast began seriously, its powerful tail swishing from side to side in agitation. "A young girl who must be from the Court, as I discovered that she is a weaver."

Calas was careful to keep his face as still as the calm pool beside him, but caution had heightened his senses. There are surely more weavers than just the mouse at Court. It couldn't be my mouse they are after. Could it? When would she have gone to the Eldwood, anyway?

Calas afforded a nonchalant shrug, making his voice sound bored. "Is that all? What do you need me for?"

"Bring her back here. You are a student at the Court. You can find her and bring her here." His resonant voice filled Calas with dread as it swished its tail over the moon pool and revealed an image.

Calas' heart beat fast with trepidation, and he schooled his breathing as he leaned over to look at the moving images in the pool. It looked to be a memory, from the eyes of the Beast or another creature, whose focus was locked onto a small figure in a heavy wool cloak. The creature bounded for the small figure, and then it came into view more clearly.

Calas saw a mana barrier appear, rebuffing the claws of the Beast. The way that barrier was constructed, though, was completely foreign to him. Is that what weaving looks like? Just as he was thinking it, he saw it happen again with what appeared to be a reinforcement of the current shield.

His focus shifted past the brilliantly bright mana of the shield and he swallowed hard. There, in plain view, was Serea's deep blue eyes filled with a desperate fear and his heart dropped into a pit in his stomach.

The Beast and Orendell were hunting her. They wanted Calas to hunt her, too. A cold rage built up and boiled in his chest, but it was tempered by the fear that gripped him.

It was too much like the dream from the night before, but so much worse. If he wasn't being monitored by an ancient predator, he would have retched. As things were, no sign of weakness could be afforded here.

The barrier in the image exploded and sent the Beast sprawling. Glad I taught her that… Calas recognized the move as one that he had taught her in combat class, but he made no obvious move to give away his silent praise. The Beast's vision had righted in the image, Serea only barely visible now as the last part of her cloak faded into the dense thicket.

The image likewise faded from the pool, and the natural moonlight of Luna replaced it.

Calas took a deep breath, fixing his features and calming his emotions as he had done so many times before in his life. Facing the Beast, he forced an incredulous tone into his voice.
"You do realize that there are hundreds of scribes at Court and that what you ask is not exactly a small undertaking, right?"

The Beast shifted his posture, a gust of forceful breath escaping its nostrils in annoyance. Calas raised his hands quickly in a semi-defensive, semi-placating gesture, the edge in his voice left out this time.

"Not that it can't be done. Just that it is not something done in a day or a week but could take months." Calas explained and the Beast moved his head from side to side as he had before, when Calas entered the clearing.

"Yes, this is acceptable as long as it's before the next Shiver sets in. There will also be a boon for you once you have retrieved her." The Beast rumbled impatiently, perceptive eyes narrowed. Calas nodded slowly in feigned acquiescence.

"And if I can't find her?" Calas inquired lazily, waiting for the answer with bated breath.

"I will leave your punishment to Orendell, if that is the case." The Beast stood to his full height as he answered Calas.

Calas' wince was not feigned as he stood. All of Orendell's lessons were painful. He'd hate to see what a punishment looked like. As if in answer to Calas' thoughts, the mark flared painfully to life and his entire chest burned before it abated to its original dormant state.

The Beast turned and padded to the tree line away from Calas.

"Until we meet again, Bearer of Orendell." He sent to Calas, in a wave of mana, before the Beast darted into the trees and out of sight.

***

Calas woke in darkness, eyes snapping open, and sat up in bed. There was no way he was going to give Serea to the Beast of the Eldwood. Trespassing or no. All he had to do was placate them with tales of his efforts in trying to find the mysterious weaver, more like only weaver, and be prepared for whatever punishment he will inevitably endure from Orendell.

This week kept getting better and better, he thought with frustration. As he swung his feet out of bed, he stopped, noticing that they were caked with dried mud and dead leaves. His eyes went wide as he breathed through a moment of panic.

What if they already know I have no intention of bringing them the mouse? After cleaning off his feet, it was hard to calm his mind enough to find sleep.

This time exhaustion won out instead.