Chapter 114: Travel

Chapter 114: Chapter 114: Travel

"To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield." — Alfred, Lord

The journey across the Crystal Basin required patience, planning, and more coin than Riven would have preferred to spend.

The public ferries were the obvious choice. They were cheaper, reliable enough, and carried travelers between the basin’s settlements every day. Unfortunately, they were also crowded, slow, and full of people who wouldn’t leave him be.

Riven had little interest in explaining why a fourteen year old with a not so great reputation and a strange creature wrapped around his arm was traveling with them.

So he paid for a private cargo carriage instead.

The merchant transporting the goods had not been particularly interested in Riven’s reasons for traveling. A handful of silver coins had been enough to secure a place among the crates and sacks in the back of the carriage. The merchant had only asked that Riven keep his companion from chewing through the cargo.

Nyx had looked offended by the suggestion.

Riven had told the merchant she would behave.

The first day passed along a rough road through damp timberlands. The carriage rattled over roots and stones, its wheels sinking into patches of mud whenever the road dipped beneath the trees. Riven spent most of the journey sitting against a stack of crates, keeping his cloak drawn close and his eyes half closed.

Nyx curled around his forearm, occasionally lifting her head whenever the carriage passed something unfamiliar. The scent of wild animals, distant campfires, and wet earth seemed to keep her attention occupied.

By the second day, the trees began to thin. The road climbed over a long ridge before descending toward the western causeway. Mist drifted between the pines, gathering in the hollows and spilling over the slopes like pale water.

The carriage finally reached the shore near dusk.

Mistveil Isle stood beyond the basin, its outline obscured by a veil of fog. Ancient stone ramparts rose above the coastline, and the dark shapes of towering pines crowded the island’s interior. Even from the mainland, Riven could make out the roofs of sprawling estates and the high walls of what looked like a fortified settlement.

The place had the appearance of a sanctuary built by people who had grown tired of the world.

That suited him well enough.

After paying the merchant the remainder of his fee, Riven stepped down from the carriage and stretched his stiff legs. His cloak absorbed the cold mist gathering along the shore. The dark material clung close to his body, flexible enough to move with him while concealing the faint outline of the armor beneath.

Nyx shifted around his wrist.

Her violet eyes watched the island curiously.

"Try not to stare at everyone," Riven murmured.

Nyx blinked.

"That includes the guards."

She lowered her head against his arm, though her gaze continued to wander.

Riven turned toward the crossing. A broad stone causeway connected the mainland to the island, its surface slick with moisture. Two guards stood at the entrance, dressed in dark blue uniforms with polished breastplates. Beyond them, the path climbed between old walls and weathered watchtowers.

One of the guards looked Riven over as he approached.

"Purpose of your visit?"

"Looking for someone."

"That’s a popular reason."

"I imagine."

The guard’s expression tightened slightly, as if he had been hoping for a more elaborate answer. He glanced at Nyx, then back at Riven.

"Name?"

"Riven."

"And the person you’re looking for?"

"Master Kaelen. The Sword Saint."

The guard’s posture changed. Not dramatically, but enough for Riven to notice. The man straightened and studied him with renewed interest.

"Do you have an appointment?"

"No."

"Then you’ll need to speak with the quartermaster. He handles visitors who come looking for the knights."

"Sounds reasonable."

The guard pointed him toward a narrow path leading into the settlement.

Riven followed it without further questions.

The island was larger than it had appeared from the shore. Its streets wound between old stone buildings, wooden residences, and courtyards enclosed by high walls. The place was filled with people carrying themselves as though every movement had been measured and corrected by an instructor.

Knights practiced footwork in small squares between the buildings. Groundskeepers swept fallen pine needles from the stone paths. Armored knights crossed the courtyards in pairs, speaking quietly among themselves.

There were no merchants shouting over one another, no drunkards stumbling from taverns, and no children running through the streets.

The quiet was almost unnerving.

Riven kept his head lowered and his pace unhurried. He had no reason to draw attention to himself before he knew where Kaelen was staying. A direct approach to the academy might have worked, but there was no point in making the search harder than necessary.

He stopped at a small trade stall near the center of the settlement. The stall sold practice weapons, leather wraps, and simple equipment for the academy’s students. Its owner was a broad shouldered woman with a gray braid and a scar running down one cheek.

"Looking for anything?" she asked.

"Information, if you have it."

"That depends on the information."

"Master Kaelen."

The woman gave him a knowing look.

"Everyone wants something from the Sword Saint."

"I only need to find him."

"Then ask the quartermaster. He’s usually near the equipment stores."

Riven thanked her and continued.

It took another fifteen minutes to find the quartermaster’s office. The man himself was outside, leaning against a stack of wooden practice shields. He was old enough to have gray in his beard but still carried the broad shoulders of someone who had spent years around weapons and armor.

He watched Riven approach.

"You’re not one of the recruits."

"No."

"Too young to be an instructor."

"Clearly."

The quartermaster gave a short grunt. His eyes moved to Nyx, who had lifted her head to inspect him.

"And what exactly are you doing here?"

"Looking for Master Kaelen."

The quartermaster’s expression changed. He folded his arms and studied Riven’s face.

"The Sword Saint?"

"That’s the one."

"Old Master Kaelen doesn’t live out as a hermit anymore. If you’re looking for him, you won’t find him hiding in a cave. He took up an advisory post months ago. He’s been running the curriculum at the grand knight training academy on the upper ridge, putting the young recruits through hell."

Riven glanced toward the mountain.

"Then what do you want with him?"

Riven considered the question. He could tell the man the truth, but he saw no reason to explain his entire journey to a stranger.

"I’m looking for someone he may know."

The quartermaster snorted.

"Then you’re in the right place. Though if you’re thinking of challenging him or begging for lessons, save your breath. He’s sharper at sixty than most men are at twenty."

He pointed up the steep stone switchbacks toward a massive citadel built from gray granite. Its slate roof rose above the trees, and the high walls were lined with narrow windows.

"That’s where he is. Administrative hall on the upper plateau. If he’s not out with the recruits, he’ll be in his office."

"Thanks."

Riven turned to leave.

"Boy."

He glanced back.

"Don’t wander into the training yards without permission. Those cadets are eager to prove themselves, and they’re not always careful about who gets caught in the middle."

"I’ll try to avoid being trampled."

The quartermaster gave him a doubtful look.

Riven continued up the path.

The climb was steep enough to become irritating after the first few turns. The stone steps were uneven, and the mist thickened as he ascended. Water gathered along the edges of the path, dripping from pine branches overhead. By the time he reached the upper ridge, the damp air had settled into his clothes.

The training yards stretched across a broad plateau.

The place was enormous. Several open courtyards were divided by low stone walls, each filled with recruits practicing different forms of combat. Wooden blades struck padded armor with a steady rhythm. Instructors called corrections from the sidelines, their voices carrying across the yard.

A group of cadets practiced shield formations near the western wall. Another line worked through sword drills, repeating the same movements until their arms shook. At the far end, a handful of senior recruits sparred with blunted steel beneath the watchful eyes of two instructors.

Riven paused just inside the entrance.

He had seen military camps, adventurer halls, and the training grounds of mercenary companies. This place was different. The discipline was more formal, the equipment better maintained, and the students more carefully selected.

It was also loud.

The rhythmic clatter of practice weapons echoed through the courtyard, occasionally interrupted by an instructor’s sharp reprimand.

"Your feet are too close together!"

"Again!"

"Do you intend to block the blade with your face?"

Riven’s mouth twitched.

At least the instructors had a sense of humor.

He was reminded of the drill instructors from his past life.

He walked along the perimeter fence, scanning the practicing ranks. He didn’t spot Elara among the cadets. That was hardly surprising. If she had come to find the Sword Saint, she wouldn’t be practicing with them.

Still, he had reached the right place.

The administrative hall stood at the far end of the courtyard. It was a heavy timber framed building attached to the citadel’s granite wall. Most of its windows were dark, but one glass paned office glowed with warm candlelight against the approaching dusk.

Riven crossed the training grounds.

The cadets noticed him almost immediately.

A few glanced at his dark clothing. Others looked at Nyx, whose violet eyes followed their movements with quiet curiosity. Their attention lingered on the strange creature wrapped around his forearm, then shifted to the faint pressure of his mana.

Riven kept his expression neutral.

His core rested beneath his skin, its mana held close and controlled. He had no intention of intimidating anyone, but the density of his presence was difficult to conceal entirely. The nearby cadets gave him a little more room as he passed.

One young man with a practice sword whispered something to his companion.

Riven ignored him.

He had spent enough time around people who judged others by their appearance. If the cadets wanted to decide he was dangerous based on a glance, that was their problem.

The administrative hall’s door was made from thick oak, reinforced with dark iron bands. A small brass plaque beside it bore the academy’s insignia. Riven checked the corridor, then looked at the office window.

The candlelight inside flickered.

Someone was there.

He approached the door and stopped.

For a moment, he simply stood in the quiet.

He had crossed an empire, followed rumors through crowded towns and forgotten roads, and spent weeks chasing a name that might have led nowhere. He had endured the Crystal Basin, paid for a private carriage, and climbed half a mountain to reach this island.

Now the person who might know where Elara had gone was on the other side of a door.

Riven adjusted the collar of his vest. Nyx shifted lightly against his wrist, her small claws resting against the fabric.

"Behave," he whispered.

She settled.

Riven raised his gloved hand and knocked three times.

The sound carried through the hall.

He waited.

A chair scraped inside. Then came the faint sound of footsteps.

Riven’s gaze remained on the door.

Whatever answer waited on the other side, he was finally close enough to ask for it.