Book 2: Chapter 23: The Coming Storm

Book 2: Chapter 23: The Coming Storm

To miss a night’s sleep is to gain a dark day.

- Attributed to Lady Aelayah of House Salahaem.

The night was uneventful, much to my relief. Our patrols around the camp encountered no hidden enemies. No bandits or monsters lay in wait for us out on the quiet plains. Alone, with a simple torch for company, I practiced what magic I could and tried to make some inroads in growing my arcane might. Taking stock of my progress, something I had neglected to do for quite some time, I noted that my experience points had surpassed the three thousand mark, but beyond that, there were no significant developments of note.

My Identify spell, however, gave me a glimmer of an idea. Maybe, with a focused effort of will, I could manage to either reorganize or, at the very least, remove some of the redundant skills cluttering my interface. The sibilant voices that had been with me for so long fell into an uneasy silence at the thought. I mentally tinkered with my least-desired skill, Mining, attempting to banish it from view.

Suddenly, a sharp, piercing pain tore through my head. Just as abruptly as it had arrived, it disappeared. Had I deleted the skill? No, that was not my intention. All I had wanted to do was push it from view. Panicking a little, I quickly willed it back. Sharp pain returned, but through tear-filled eyes and gritted teeth, I saw that the skill had come back into view with it. Despite the discomfort, my experiment had been successful. Now, if I so chose, I could edit what my user interface displayed.

The powers that be did not appreciate me playing with their gifts, but I had finally attained a degree of control over my user interface, an achievement that had long eluded me. A measure of independence. Nonetheless, it was not an experience I was eager to revisit anytime in the near future.

This uneventful state of affairs persisted into the following day, and also the day after that, making for an unbearably tedious existence. With nothing to do, I even endured another splitting headache to hide the Mining skill again. This time I would not be bringing it back!

Later in the evening, I ambled over to Ankhset's wagon, only to be rebuffed by her children. They informed me that she was engaged in deep meditation and would not be receiving visitors. I wondered if there was a particular task I needed to complete to gain access to this elusive NPC, or if perhaps I needed to bring along the more-intimidating Kidu or the more-charismatic Larynda to finally talk with the mage.

The only respite from the tedium came in the form of the evening meals, where I could finally unwind. However, even in these moments of respite, Larynda would pester me incessantly, eager to hear more stories from my world. More often than not, I would give in to Larynda's persistent requests. Kidu would pretend to be uninterested, but I could see his genuine curiosity as he leaned forward, captivated by the tales. There was something enticing about performing for an audience, so eager and enthusiastic. I couldn't help but wonder how high Larynda's Charisma attribute must have been to affect me so strongly before I refocused on my own storytelling.

A feeling close to déjà vu enveloped me. So entranced was I, that I barely noticed another of their number.

Bound upright to a horse was yet another familiar face, though he looked a little worse for wear. Bruised and battered, Elwin was the very embodiment of painful despair, his expression hollow and haggard. With the Rogue in their company, the small warband's intentions were made clear. I gave a subtle nod to Kidu, who had also noticed our old comrade in their ranks.

One of the Tide warriors, an unscarred and youthful man, had his crested bronze nasal helm tucked under one arm. Clad in the full panoply of war, he wore an impressive iron coat of circular plates gilded with copper and silver, all sewn onto a tough leather backing. In his dominant hand, he held a long lance that was grounded in his right stirrup. The tasseled head of his weapon was a slash of iron in the morning sun. He looked confident and strong, with an air about him of someone filled with self-belief and fuelled by ambition. The leader of this band, if I was not mistaken.

With a clear voice that showed none of the strain of his long ride, he addressed the caravan in a ringing voice, “We are searching for a man. An escaped slave, foul brigand of ill-repute, and we believe him to be among your number. I would speak to whoever leads this group.”

With this exclamation, at least in my mind, violence now was all but inevitable.

Laes rode out to meet them on his horse, with two mounted guards at each flank. Despite his usual strong demeanor, there was a barely hidden nervousness about him. It made me wonder if this was all pre-planned, a convoluted scheme to capture me when I was at my most vulnerable. I held my breath, itching to take direct action. Instead, I chose the wiser path, casting Identify on the leader to gauge the threat he presented. The upcoming exchange had me on edge, and I waited with bated breath for what would come next.

Tarkhan Aigiam - Waverider [Human lvl.11] Health 142/144 Stamina 36/37

Mana 8/8

“May the winds favor you. Would you give this one, Laes of the Ravens, the honor of your name that we may address you properly?” replied the caravan master, his words almost as stiff as his seat in the saddle.

“Lesser merchant, you may address me as Waverider Tarkhan Aigiam, Captain of the 9th Lance...” he answered with no small amount of contempt, somehow able to look down his nose at Laes, despite their positions of similar height.

He took a moment to confirm his smug superiority before continuing in his ringing voice, and the stallion beneath him stamped its foot as it felt its rider’s aggression, “We know he travels under your colors, petty coin-counter. Bring him out, or you will know what is to go against the Tides.”