B6 Chapter 653: Simmering Anticipation, pt 1.

Kaius sighed, leaning back in his chair as he stared idly at the park across the road. It was practically a small forest — a little slice of welcome familiarity in the bustling hive that was Baanswell. Amber light filtered through boughs, softening the afternoon chill with a quiet ambiance.

After Kenva had burst into their rooms at a full sprint, they'd spent most of the day in the mustering yards, and now they’d stopped by a pub for a quick bite on their way home. The tavernkeep had been more than happy to shift around the outside tables for them. A benefit of their newfound reputation: people were more readily recognising Porkchop as a person.

Across the table, Kenva still had a happy smile plastered on her face. Seeing her family had been good for her.

It had been a strange experience, watching her smile impishly as she dragged distant cousins from their duties as her uncle grumbled about the work that needed doing, or the way she had slipped fluidly into the kitchen with her aunt, washing up as the woman cleaned. Somehow, they hadn’t bumped into each other once, despite how cramped it had been.

He didn’t have that. Even if Father still lived, they’d lived an isolated life. Everyone he could just…be himself around was sitting at the table already. It engendered something of a bittersweet longing to see his friend so at peace in such unfamiliar circumstances. Ianmus felt it too: he’d caught him looking a little wistful more than once. Porkchop had been right at home, of course — though they’d had to open carriage windows for him to shove his head inside, as there was no way he would ever fit in one. Well, maybe the spatially expanded storage carriages, but that was a poor place for lunch.

“I still can’t believe you got rid of my cart. Do you know how useful it could be? I don’t have hands!” Porkchop grumbled as he snatched a steak from the stack of six he had ordered.

Kenva rolled her eyes. “You still have your satchel. Besides, it’s just temporary. Most of the goods will clear in the next week, and a dozen or so crates of old liquor doesn’t take up too much room.”

“It means Bestot will be fine, right? That’s the main thing that matters,” Ianmus replied.

“Mostly fine,” Kenva corrected. “He still had plenty of cargo, but it’ll keep till he gets back to the Plateau. He won't make as much money on it though — saving it for another route is pointless, since most of it is from his early stops. Selling it to another caravan heading to the Frontier is his best bet, but the price won’t be as good. There’s the opportunity cost as well — he was looking to make a pretty penny buying supplies here to bring them to Deadacre. That rebuild will only take so much time.”

That was still something. Kaius was glad they could help the man, considering the task they had unceremoniously dropped in his lap. Especially since it cost them nothing except a little time over the next week.

“He didn’t seem to mind once he saw the Pegleg,” Ianmus pointed out.

That was very true. Kenva had been almost giddy to show it off, and to the last the members of the caravan had clambered over every inch of the thing. They hadn’t even cared that one of the legs was still sparking a little! Bestot had been practically beaming with pride, wrapping his niece in a hug.

“I told you, it’s a prestige thing. The simple fact that a clan member has one is basically the ultimate bragging rights. Even better, he gets to be the one that spreads the news to everyone else when he returns.”

For a while, they simply sat and talked, whittling away the hours over a few drinks and a meal. The light ran low, eventually vanishing over the closely stacked terraces, and a sea of soft yellow wardlights sprung into action to beat back the dark.

“So,” Porkchop said after a moment of silence. “What are we doing tomorrow?”

“More training,” Kenva replied.

“And more waiting,” Kaius grumbled. It would only be a week or so until they received their new gear — but he really hoped a greater gate would be found near Baanswell soon. That place was an unmissable opportunity to increase their strength, and take advantage of new resources. They couldn’t even go on a Delve! Even if there was a suitably deep portal near the city, which there wasn’t, they could miss an announcement. Then they’d be even further behind!

Kaius took a long drink of his beer, doing his best to shove his anxieties to the back of his mind.

…

“The lord is waiting for you in the rear gardens,” their guide said, pausing by a low iron gate that barred the path to the massive swathe of grass that stretched out behind Julian’s personal estate. One of the man’s household servants, he was wearing the black formal dress that Kaius had come to associate with the personal staff of Baanswell’s nobility.

“Thank you, Karlione,” he replied.

“The pleasure is mine,” the man replied politely, opening the gate and waving them through.

Kaius forced himself not to rush, strolling with his team across grass that cushioned his footfalls like a cloud. It had been nine days since Kenva’s run in with her uncle. Nine, grueling days of filling whatever moment he could with Skill training, team drills, and simple ‘rest’. It was hard to relax when the gnawing need to move built up by the day.

Four more gates had been discovered. Four! One of which had been found only yesterday as a Platinum team had pushed through the Shardworld to investigate the second gate that had been visible on the other side of the fungal forest valley. One was north-east of the Dukedoms, near the edge of the Liragana desert that was home to the hirgost. The other three were even further — and, in a biting bit of irony, one of those was nestled at the very furthest south-western corner of the Altier Steppe, right where the Drozag and Wildguard ranges met. If they’d still been in Deadacre, it would have been at the very edge of a reasonable journey, but still worth it.

The author publishes the story on the official page, where this chapter can be read; the copy here was taken without permission.

Rotten roots, it was like the very gods themselves were conspiring to keep them from the Shardworld.

Soon; it would come soon. New gates were being discovered ever more frequently, and while there hadn’t been any patterns found, the gates on the eastern coast were close enough that he felt confident one would be found near enough to the Dukedoms soon.

Despite his self assurances, Kaius couldn’t help but question himself. At what point did they cut their losses? The gate on the Steppe was the closest, but it was still a good two months' journey. In a little bit more than a month, they would have to head there if they wanted to make it in time for the Proving.

Walking down the grassy path flanked by perfectly spherical shrubs, they left the shadow of the manor and were greeted by a massive lawn. It was easily a couple of acres of simple meadow, right in the most valuable section of the city. Towering oaks had been planted along its edges, with four more scattered through the grass. Bright red honeysuckle wound around their trunks in an artfully chaotic imitation of nature — as if the gardner thought they could distract from the perfectly even field around the trees.

Right in the middle of the lawn, Julian lounged in a reclining chair, leafing through a book as he enjoyed the midday sun. Three empty chairs and a large blanket had been laid out near him in a blatant invitation, as had two conspicuously empty tables.

The sight was enough to banish Kaius’s simmering resentment at their poor luck. It was hard to be maudlin when there was new gear waiting!

“Ah, there you are!” Julian said, sitting up straight. The book he was reading vanished away. “No trouble on the journey up the hill, I hope?”

“We managed,” Kaius said, smiling as they approached.

They’d only met Julian once since their meeting with the duke, but the man had grown much more agreeable since their return to Baanswell. It was all too easy to be friendly once the man had dropped his lordly airs.

“We brought a gift,” Kenva said, unlatching their Vault to pull a dusty, dark green bottle from within.

Julian’s brow shot to the clouds. “A gift? Now that’s not something I was expecting. May I?”

Kenva passed the bottle over as they took their seats. Julian spun the bottle in his hands, his brow furrowing as surprise turned to delighted curiosity. He wiped the dust from a yellowed paper label, his frown deepening before he flicked back to them.

“Aegcaster? Aged sixty-eight years?! Where in the hells did you get this? Wesmar bottles like this cost a fortune, and I didn’t take the four of you for expensive frivolities like this!”

“Oh, you know — once a man comes into some wealth, it’s all too easy to enjoy a few petty luxuries that might have been missing in the past,” Kaius replied, waving his hand extravagantly. He couldn’t help but yank the man’s chain.

Although, he had tried the whisky and immediately claimed a crate or two of the stuff for himself. It was good. As long as he didn’t work out the cost of each bottle. Two hundred platinum each was way too much.

“Too right!” Julian said with a laugh. He cracked the wax seal with a twist of the wrist and pulled the cork free. A crystal tumbler appeared in his hand, and he poured a dram and held it out towards Kaius and his team.

Both he and Ianmus accepted, but the others declined and took some iced juice instead — a rather genius use of a storage ring that Kaius intended to make full use of himself.

Julian took a sip.

“That’s the stuff,” he said, reclining. “Seriously, where did you get this? Even I can’t magic up a vintage this old, let alone from bloody Aegcaster — that isle is legendary.”

“Funny story that,” Kenva said. “I met with a caravan master from my own people just over a week ago. Upon sharing the warning of the Onyx’s potential plans, he, of course, intended to head straight back to the steppe. A diligent man, that one — he was willing to abandon all of his cargo that he intended to sell in Baanswell. I was practically duty bound to assist!”

Julian narrowed his eyes as the ranger. He swirled the bottle in his hand. “Exactly how much Aegcaster do you have?”

“Well,” Kenva said, kicking back in her chair. Her expression might have been flat, but Kaius knew she was having the time of her life. “Six bottles to a crate, eighteen crates after Kaius pinched a few — just over a hundred, by my count.”

“Hey!”

He’d paid for those crates, damnit.

The pair ignored him, and Julian narrowed his eyes. “Nineteen thousand.”

“Thirty-five,” Kenva shot back, inspecting her nails.

Julian snorted. “Thirty-five! Are you insane? You might have just come into some new wealth, but we both know you don’t have the patience or the connections to easily sell off bloody whisky, and I doubt you want that much capital tied up in drink! Twenty-three.”

“Oh, I don’t know — I think Kaius would be pretty happy to chip his way through them for the next decade. Thirty. It’s cheaper than it would be to send someone to fetch it yourself.”

That he absolutely would.

Julian scowled. “Twenty-five.”

“Deal!” Kenva replied, beaming. Kaius was half-surprised she didn’t push the man any higher, but he supposed that ran the risk of actually irritating him.

“Drat. I overpaid, didn’t I?”

“A little,” Kenva acknowledged shamelessly, summoning the crates from her ring and passing them over. Each one was caked with a thick layer of dust, smelling thickly of a hoarded and forgotten treasure — they might have been aged for sixty-odd years, but they’d clearly been sitting in someones cellar for a good while.

“I should have guessed you’d be a frighteningly good bargainer,” Julian grumbled, each crate vanishing into his own storage ring. As soon as he had all of them, he rose to his feet. “A decent prelude to the main event, I suppose.”

Spinning back to them, he raised his glass. “A toast, to dragon slaying!”

“Cheers!” Kaius called back with a smile. They downed their drinks, and joined the lord.

With a wave of his hand, Julian summoned a mountain of armour.