Chapter One Hundred and Sixteen. The centre cannot hold.

Chapter One Hundred and Sixteen. The centre cannot hold.

Rogard walked through the brilliant orange portal, leaving Harbordeep behind.

He stepped out onto a hilltop overlooking a bustling walled town, a rushing river bisecting it, with a patchwork of fields stretching from the walls to the base of the hill he stood upon.

He'd joined a group of merchants who were coming to purchase wool, winter wheat, seasoned timber, and ore.

He'd had no expectations due to the missing records, but he was impressed with what he saw.

He thanked the Dimensionalist who had opened the portal, tipping her ten mana crystals, and then with a gesture, he formed a sheet of stone under his feet and accelerated down the road towards the town.

He likely could have Earth Stepped, but he didn't want to surprise the guards, assuming there were any.

Control Earth would do.

Rogard rushed down the road, eager to find Nora, confirm that Holmstead was a simple town like any other, and return home with news that would assuage his wife's fears.

He slowed his approach as he neared the wall, seeing that there were indeed two guards posted.Read latest chapters at nov(e)lbin.com Only

Bringing his Control Earth spell to an end, he stepped off the slab of stone as it disappeared back into the ground and addressed the guards.

"Excuse me, could you direct me to the Adventurers Guild?" Rogard asked politely.

"Straight down the street, you'll find it on the southern side of the central plaza," responded the young woman to his right.

He paused for a moment, but no other challenge came from the guards, and he walked into Holmstead.

Rogard's first impression of the streets of Holmstead was that the people filling them were surprisingly happy.

He'd expected more cowering and fear.

Shaking his head, he continued down the street, noting as he went that the streets and buildings were clean, tidy, and in good repair.

A short walk brought him to the center of the town, a broad cobblestone plaza, centered by a walled and gated mausoleum, which simply had to be the entrance to the Dungeon. The northern side held the local Church and the southern a large structure with the crossed wand and spear of the Adventurers Guild.

He turned towards the Guild but halted when he saw an air elemental drop from the sky just to the side of the Guild's front door, the air condensing and swirling around the figure before coalescing into the slender form of a young woman.

That was interesting. Unless he missed his guess, that was an actual Elemental Form, akin to the one granted to him by his path. There was a subtle but distinct difference between an Elemental Form and an Elemental Body, but having had his for years, he was well acquainted with the nuances.

He hurried forward as she entered the Adventurers Guild.

She might very well be the Curator if she possessed an Elemental Form.

Rogard entered the Guild and was unsurprised to see a tavern. He could recall that before Dhaokes had taken over the leadership of the Guild, that Harbordeep's had been much the same.

The slender woman sat down next to a priest and proceeded to share a long, sensual kiss with him.

Rogard slowed his approach, timing his arrival when the amorous couple was likely to come up for air.

"Excuse me," he said as he finished his approach as they separated, "would you by chance be the Curator?"

The woman laughed as she turned to face him, showing a surprisingly youthful face.

"Stars no," she shook her head, long ash blonde hair flowing with the motion, "I've seen the hours Thidwell keeps; there aren't enough crystals around to convince me to take on that task."

"My apologies," Rogard said smoothly, "the curator would then be Thidwell?"

"Technically," the beautiful woman said slowly, her storm grey eyes narrowing, "may I have your name, sir? Mine is Bailli."

"Rogard Wallenstair," he introduced himself, "a pleasure to meet you."

"Why have you come to Holmstead?" Bailli asked bluntly, "I can see you're no merchant."

Rogard sighed and gestured towards the chair across from them.

Bailli nodded.

"My daughter ran off with a Shepherd named Bob, supposedly to Holmstead," Rogard shook his head ruefully, "and I committed the cardinal sin of not consulting my wife in the matter."

He lowered his voice and whispered loudly to Erick, "If you'll take a married man's advice," he emphasized, "never make any decisions regarding your children without consulting with your wife first."

Leaning back, he grumbled, "Even with your children are technically adults."

Erick snickered and pretended to cower away from Bailli, who had directed a mock glare towards him.

"So," Rogard went on, "in order to ensure a happy home, I joined the next merchant group that planned to open a portal to Holmstead and came along with them."

He just wasn't sure Bob's plan of traveling to each one was the best way to do it.

Or that Bob was the best person for the job.

The man had his moments, but by and large, Bob wasn't a great orator, and despite how well he'd integrated into Holmstead, there was still something about him that just screamed other.

No, it might be best to keep Bob out of it.

It was a well-kept secret that the message box in each Guild was a teleport beacon.

While the traitors in Harbordeep had sought to erase his father's legacy from the history books, the curators outside of the capitol still knew and respected the Orstang name.

If he sent the message that he would pay the cost of the rituals to have every Guild Leader bring half a dozen freshers to Holmstead, he could provide the knowledge of the Affinity Crystals and the new paths, all at once.

They could rush the freshers that took the crystals and the paths so that they would see for themselves just what was available.

It would take days instead of weeks.

He continued to work the idea over in his mind as he walked the familiar floor.

Nora was tired.

In some ways, shearing sheep was worse than delving into the Dungeon.

The shearing was finally done, and she wanted nothing more than a hot meal followed by a long hot soak.

As she slumped along with Wayna, Charn, and Orson to their favorite table, a very familiar voice called out her name.

"Nora!"

She turned her head, scanning the room, eyes wide in disbelief.

Her ears hadn't deceived her. Her father strode over and picked her up in a hug.

"Father?" She asked, her voice muffled against his chest, "what are you doing in Holmstead?"

Rogard set her down and smiled down at her.

"Your mother was beside herself with worry, and I decided that I had better check up on you," he replied, sharing a knowing smile with her.

Nora was well aware of how dramatic her mother could be.

"Well," Nora said, flustered and surprised by her father's sudden arrival, "why don't you join us for dinner?"

As they seated themselves at the table, Wayna, Charn, and Orson introduced themselves in turn.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Rogard acknowledged them, "I'd like to say I've heard all about you, but my wayward daughter seems to have forgotten how to write a letter."

Nora flushed.

She had been meaning to write, but she hadn't gotten around to it. Yet.

"So you're shearing sheep now?" Rogard asked the group.

"Done with that, thankfully," Wayna replied with a theatrical shudder, "I much preferred hiking and camping."

Amidst mass nods of agreement, Rogard asked, "Aren't you supposed to be delving into the Dungeon with a Shepherd?"

"We were," Orson said, "but then Bob had to take over curating the Dungeon for a few weeks, so instead of just sitting around, he's had various people teaching us different skills."

"He is paying for our room and board, though," Orson finished, "so it's actually a pretty good deal."

Theo arrived and took their orders, their choices being a pot roast or vegetarian skewers. Everyone opted for the pot roast, including Rogard, who handed Theo two mana crystals and looked surprised to receive one back.

Nora watched as her father skillfully drew her friends into a conversation about what they'd been learning, easily insinuating himself into the group.

They finished their meal, and the conversation wound down as each of her friends excused themselves and headed to their rooms for the night.

As Charn slumped away and Nora fought to stifle a yawn, her father turned his attention to her.

"So," he said, "I hope you can take the time to write a letter to your mother if only to save your poor father from her harping."

"I'll write it first thing tomorrow morning," she promised.

"Thank you," he said warmly, "now before you go to bed, what can you tell me about this?"

Rogard held out a worn but very familiar pamphlet.