Lina’s unamused facial expression was contagious, finding its way onto Dakkon’s face. “You know I have one already, hence Gullen’s commission.” Dakkon said.
“I know nothing of the sort,” barked Lina. “The thought occurred to me—but after some brief reconsideration, I realized that you had simply incurred his wrath and he wanted to send a message.”
“Why would you assume that? If he paid for me to die until I dropped or gave up a specific item, wouldn’t that have to imply I had something he wanted?” reasoned Dakkon.
“That was my first suspicion,” Lina admitted before adding pointedly, “until I used my head. If Gullen wanted your item, he’d buy it from you. You don’t strike me as the billionaire’s son type, so what possible incentive could you have to refuse Gullen’s money? You’re a beginner—a novice—a noob. What could you possibly have gotten your hands on that Gullen couldn’t buy from you?”
Maybe he had pissed off the mafia-boss-esque Gullen when Dakkon had tried to break into the man’s vault so brazenly, maybe not. Still, Dakkon could see where the sorceress was coming from. Dakkon had obtained an incredibly valuable item incredibly early in the game. He also passed up a considerable payday on what was more or less his own hunch. Maybe, from an outside perspective, his motives seemed unlikely.
“Fine,” said Dakkon. “So, I hunt for relics by paying attention and having some—trustworthy—friends to help. Anyone could have figured that much out. How does that help me?”
“I never said our methods were any great secret,” said Lina. “You wanted me to tell you about relic hunting, and I have. The most important thing is to have a team that’s clever, adaptable, and unlikely to swindle you.”
Dakkon was under the impression that there was more to hunting relics than Lina was letting him know about, but he had no way to know for certain. So, he rode along in silence, practicing his thermomancy.
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The three travelers passed by the little city of Rinden, the last settlement that the remnants of the expeditionary force had caravanned through on their way back to Tian. The calamity which the gods had supposedly loosed upon the land had burnt down yet another nearby village to the southwest—the direction which Lina had chosen to lead them. Dakkon still wasn’t sure where he was being taken. When he asked Lina to divulge that key piece of information, she dismissed his inquiry by saying that he’d know soon enough.
On the stretch of well-traveled road between Rinden and the burnt-down destination village of Gotswain, a familiar scene began to play out. In front of them, despite their relatively slow speed, two hempen ropes tightened from slack to taut between two trees across the road from one another.
Merri simply raised his massive foot and stomped on the ropes, forcing them back to the ground as he walked forward, unimpeded. Nightshade followed alongside. Eight highwaymen filed out of the woods with crossbows raised intently. Dakkon looked nervously from man to man, and then to Lina.
Merri continued to walk forward, unperturbed. Lina looked to Dakkon. “If they attack, I’ll be leaving them to you,” the sorceress said.
Was this supposed to be some kind of test? Of course, the bandits were going to attack. She could finish them off in an instant. So then, why would he have to do all the work?
“Oi!” yelled one of the perplexed would-be robbers when it was apparent that their targets had no intention of stopping as considerate victims should. “Can’t you see you’re surrounded?”
Merri could see just that. He didn’t care and continued on his way.
With a *thwang,* the bandit who spoke let a bolt fly forth from his crossbow at Merri, then the other bandits quickly imitated the act. Dakkon had anticipated the incoming missiles and, after the first shot, attempted to shield the giant man with an ice barrier. Dakkon’s lack of proficiency with the improvised technique only allowed him to create an unwieldy ice paddle which—more through chance than skill—managed to block two of the bolts.
Including the initial shot, five projectiles had lodged themselves all along Merri’s body. He continued to walk forward, disregarding the threat of the puncture wounds which he’d sustained and pulled out bolts one at a time.
With the encouragement of Dakkon’s heel, Nightshade sprang forward and trampled over the lead bandit. Dakkon formed and threw a shard of ice, which narrowly missed his target, but stuck into the ground with a satisfying thud. Dakkon climbed off his horse, a spear of jagged ice slowly forming in his hand.
The downed bandit backpedaled from his grounded position in a crab-like posture, leaving his crossbow forfeit on the ground.
“Gah!” the bandit cried. “Back off!”
By the time the brigand was back on his feet, he was legging it back into the tree line neatly followed by his band of miscreants. Apparently, they could stand to wait for more compliant prey.
When Dakkon caught back up with Lina, he wanted an explanation. “Why the hell didn’t you do anything!” he demanded. His patience with the unknown task was leaving him.
Merri stopped walking and turned to the sorceress’s defense. He raised his powerful hand to stymie any further protest. When it was clear that Dakkon understood and wouldn’t press the issue further, Merri turned forward and began to pull again.
The three moved in silence, once more, save for the stamping of hooves and feet, and the groan of wooden axles. Several cycles of using and regenerating mana later, Lina was the first to speak. “You’d have found out soon enough,” she said. “What was stolen from me, was my class.”
This odd statement grabbed Dakkon’s attention. He knew that he should try to learn more, but held his tongue out of lingering frustration. The three continued onward allowing the passage of time to settle their nerves.
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Seven minutes before they could see the little town of Gotswain, they could smell what had transpired there. Much of the small town had recently been ablaze, though now it merely smoldered. The remnant population of the town was being treated by a group of clerics whose banners championed Gae`el, the Goddess of Storms. Dakkon approached a group of NPCs tending to the town’s few remaining livestock.
“What caused this?” Dakkon asked. “Raiders? Some sort of monster?” Dakkon hoped for any answer other than a lone fire wielder. Lina’s confession that she had lost her class hadn’t comforted him. He didn’t want to accept the idea that if Lina could have her class stolen from her, then perhaps he could too.
“It was a man,” said the burly shepherd by either occupation or by circumstance. “One man.”
“Did you see which way he went?” Dakkon asked after a resigned sigh. The man simply pointed toward a dirt road and went back to tending his herd.
One of the clerics who had been at work easing pains of the wounded approached the three travelers. “There’s an old stone fort in that direction—only thing down that road not lost to time. Gods willing he’ll be hunted down in there, where he can’t cause any more harm to innocent folk,” said the wild-browed cleric.
“Hunted down? Is that just idle hope or is he being pursued?” Lina asked.
The cleric gave a weary smile. “The Order of the Nurturing Cloud will deal with him. No need to worry.” The cleric pointed in the direction of his banner with a nod of his head.
Lina nodded stiffly.
“Just don’t try to go and watch the fight. It could get messy,” said the cleric as he walked back to the mended, though distraught, townsfolk.
“Damn it,” said Lina as soon as the cleric was out of earshot. She bit her lip in frustration.