Chapter Twentyone
Alexander marched toward the cluster of Whitespire knights. The strut was an absolute tragedy of overcompensation. He walked with his chin angled so high he was practically inspecting the clouds, his back rigid as a plank, and his arms swinging with the exaggerated mechanics of a clockwork soldier. He looked like a toddler pretending to be a General.
From the edge of the treeline, Siurad and Yona watched the silent pantomime. It was like watching a play with the volume muted. They saw Guil’s armored shoulders tense, his arms flailing in what was clearly an indignant tirade. They saw Alexander shrink for a microsecond, looking like he might bolt, before he suddenly straightened his spine.
Alexander produced the wrapped bundle. The dynamic shifted instantly.
Guil’s aggression melted into a distinct, predatory stillness. He snatched the gauntlet. He inspected it. Then, the High Knight’s shoulders slumped, not in defeat, but in the relaxed posture of a man who had just secured a promotion.
Alexander executed an awkward about-face and marched back, maintaining the ridiculous strut until he was just out of earshot of the knights. Then, he instantly deflated, his posture collapsing into that of a teenager who just got away with sneaking out.
“Okay,” Alexander wheezed, wiping a sheen of cold sweat from his forehead. He glanced nervously over his shoulder, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “It took some... creative interpretation of the Codex, but I am officially designated as your custodial liaison. However, Guil is technically still deciding whether or not to arrest you for existing, so I suggest we make haste.”
“Sure thing, Saint,” Yona chirped, offering a lazy, mocking wave to the distant platoon before turning north. “Lead the way.”
Siurad didn't move immediately. He looked back at the market square one last time.
Guil was watching them go, the gauntlet clutched to his chest like a prize. The High Knight’s expression was a mix of arrogance and suspicion.
Siurad slowly raised his black-gauntleted hand. He didn't wave. He extended a single, very deliberate middle finger.
'...A CRUDE GESTURE,' Obi mused in the back of his mind. '...BUT EFFICIENT.'
Siurad turned, his cape swirling in the dust, and followed Yona toward the forest.
“Well, we got out of that with our heads attached,” Yona grinned, the heavy clink-clink of gold accompanying her step as she patted one of her many bulging pouches. “And considering the loot drop? I’d say the return on investment was excellent.”
“Excellent?” Alexander squeaked, his voice cracking as he hurried to keep pace with Siurad’s long strides. He tugged nervously at the collar of his white ceremonial robes, which were now stained with dust and sweat. “We just handed a cursed artifact to the Whitespire battalion. Do you have any idea of the containment protocols required for something that radiates that much malice?”
“That is why we gave it to them,” Siurad said, his voice a low rumble. He didn’t look back. The itch in his chest where the anger wanted to lash out was fading, replaced by the dull ache of mana exhaustion. “They have the vaults. They have the manpower. And most importantly, they are not us.”
'...A PROBLEM DELEGATED,' Obi noted, the ring pulsing with a cold, smug satisfaction. '...LET THE FOLLOWERS OF THE SPIRE CHOKE ON IT.'
“It was the only logical choice,” Alexander muttered, mostly to himself, as he clutched his staff tighter. The absence of armor made him feel terribly exposed as he walked toward the wilderness. “High Knight Guil may be... aggressive, but he is a custodian of the light. The Church is equipped to suppress that gauntlet. We didn't trick him; we burdened him with responsibility. They can't execute you for doing your civic duty.”
“Keep telling yourself that, Saint,” Yona chimed in, tossing a heavy coin pouch into the air and catching it with a rhythmic chink. “But I saw Guil’s eyes. He thinks he just won a trophy. By the time his artificers realize that thing bites back, we’ll be three towns over.”
She sidled up to Alexander, slinging an arm around his soft, robed shoulders. He flinched, looking at her like she was a loaded crossbow.
“Relax,” she teased. “You’re one of the cool kids now. You stood up to the bully. How’s it feel?”
Alexander looked at her, then at the towering, black-clad figure of Siurad, and finally back toward the town where his normal life as a respectable priest was dissolving.
“It feels,” Alexander whispered, “like I have made a terrible error in judgment.”
“That’s just the fresh air,” Siurad said over his shoulder. “You’re used to incense and stone walls. You’ll adjust.”
They reached the tree line, the forest canopy swallowing the light of the rising sun. For Siurad, the shadows felt like stepping into a cold bath after a long, hot day. For Alexander, the darkness seemed to press against his white robes, threatening to stain them permanently.
The young Priest stopped, planting his feet. “So,” he said, trying to summon a shred of clerical authority. “As your... liaison... I must ask. What is the actual plan? We cannot simply wander the wilderness. There must be a destination.”
Siurad stopped. He turned slowly, looking at Alexander with dark eyes that reflected the gloom.
“We’re looking for information,” Siurad said.
Alexander blinked, adjusting his glasses. “What kind of information?”
“Information… about the Obsidian Authority. Architects. Locations. How it fell.”
He raised his hand, the black ring on his finger catching a stray beam of twilight.
“My... friend… needs to know.”
Alexander stared at the ring, sensing its wrongness, a cold pressure. But the request sparked something in his scholar’s mind.
“The Church purges such knowledge,” Alexander said, shaking his head. “The archives are sanitized, I admit. However...” He paused, looking north, his expression darkening. “There is one place that has been on the church's list. But it is forbidden. And frankly, suicidal.”
“We’re good at suicidal,” Yona quipped. “Where is it?”
“Far north,” Alexander said quietly. “Beyond the civilization line, near the lava bays. There is a sect known as Peronin’s Watch.”
Siurad tilted his head. “A cult?”
“Worshippers of Peronin, the Deity of the Arcane Dark Arts,” Alexander explained, his voice dropping to a whisper. “They believe that no magic should be forbidden, no matter how corruptive. They dwell inside the caldera of an active volcano to harness the geothermal and magical instability for their rituals. If there is a record of this Obsidian Authority that hasn't been lost to time, it would be in their archives.”
'...PERONIN.' Obi mused, the voice vibrating in Siurad's skull. '...A PERVERTED SCAVENGER.'
“An active volcano,” Yona repeated, her smile fading. “So, instead of spending this coin on a nice beach, we’re dealing with lava and cultists who probably want to sacrifice us to their god?”
“Likely,” Alexander nodded. “The caldera is home to beasts… they kill most travelers before they even reach the gates.”
“That's just great,” Siurad said, turning back to the north.
He looked at Alexander.
“Welcome to the party, Alex. Try not to melt.”
“It’s Alexander,” the priest corrected weakly, hurrying to catch up as the large man walked into the dark. “And I really do prefer the climate of a cathedral, thank you very much.”
“We’ll work on it,” Yona laughed, falling into step beside him. “No promises.”
They had been walking north for less than an hour when the argument started. It didn't begin with a shout, but with Siurad stopping dead in the middle of the road, his boots grinding into the gravel.
He turned, not toward Yona or Alexander, but toward the empty air to his right, his jaw set in a line of stubborn granite.
“No,” Siurad said, his voice low and dangerous. “We are not going to the volcano. Not yet.”
Alexander stopped, blinking. He looked at the space Siurad was addressing. “Is he... negotiating with the wind?”
Before he could finish the thought, Yona rolled her eyes, looking at the same patch of empty air Siurad was glaring at.
“Oh, don’t start with the inefficiency lecture again,” Yona snapped at the nothingness. “The big guy has feelings, okay? He’s not a calculator.”
Alexander froze. He looked from Siurad to Yona, his brow furrowing in confusion. “You... you hear it too? I thought the artifact was soul-bound solely to Siurad.”
Yona sighed. “Yes, I hear it.”
'...SENTIMENT IS A DEFECT,' Obi’s voice boomed, resonating clearly in Yona’s mind, '...THE FLOCK IS SECURE. THE TRANSACTION IS COMPLETE. SILVERSPIRE IS A WASTE OF RESOURCES.'
“It’s not a transaction!” Siurad shouted, startling Alexander, who nearly dropped his staff. “They aren't cargo, Obi! Valerius is still there. If we walk away now, they'll hire new slavers.”
“He’s got a point, Spooky,” Yona said, crossing her arms and tilting her head as if listening to a retort. “Leaving a job half-finished is bad for the reputation. Plus, Valerius is rich. I like rich enemies.”
'...REPUTATION IS FOR MORTALS,' Obi countered, his tone icy and dismissive in their collective headspace. '...POWER IS ABSOLUTE. I MUST BE FREED. THE VOLCANO IS PRIORITY. VALERIUS IS A SIDE QUEST.'
“A side quest?” Siurad let out a harsh, incredulous laugh. “Those are human lives, Obi.”
“Okay, that was a little cold,” Yona winced, looking at Siurad’s hand. “Even for you, Obi.”
Alexander took a hesitant step forward, looking between his two companions who were aggressively arguing with a piece of jewelry. He felt like a child watching adults discuss taxes in a foreign language.
“Um...” Alexander raised a hand. “I... Am I assuming the artifact is speaking? I cannot hear it.”
“You’re lucky,” Yona muttered, rubbing her temples. “He’s shouting. It gives me a headache.” She looked back at Siurad’s hand. “And stop yelling! We get it!”
'...THEN LISTEN TO REASON,' Obi pulsed, the violet light on the ring flaring. '...IF WE GO TO SILVERSPIRE FOR INSIGNIFICANT VERMIN YOU OPEN YOURSELF TO UNNECESSARY RISK. IT IS TACTICAL SUICIDE. DO NOT FALL FOR THE TRAP, VESSEL. YOUR POWER IS…. MEAGER AT BEST.'
“He says Silverspire is a trap,” Yona translated for Alexander, though she was looking at Siurad. “And... I hate to agree with the angry jewelry, Siurad, but he’s right. We just handed a cursed gauntlet to a High Knight. If anything goes bad, we'll have the Spire on our ass. Walking into a major city like Silverspire right now isn’t brave; it’s stupid.”
“We handled Guil,” Siurad argued, though his voice lacked its previous heat.
'...YOU SURPRISED GUIL,' Obi corrected sharply. '...LUCK IS NOT A STRATEGY. GO NORTH, LEARN THE TRUTH. THEN BECOME STRONGER. THEN RETURN AND CRUSH THEM... PROPERLY.'
“See? That’s a plan,” Yona nodded, gesturing to the Ring. “We go North, we raid the cultist library at Peronin's Watch, we get you some new Void powers or whatever, and then we come back and turn Valerius into a smudge on the floor. It’s delayed gratification.”
Siurad stood there, the wind rustling his cloak. He looked from Yona, who was nodding in agreement with the voice in her head, to Alexander, who looked completely lost but eager to help.
“The cult... Peronin’s Watch,” Siurad said to Alexander, ignoring the other two for a moment. “You’re sure they have archives?”
“I...” Alexander stammered, happy to be addressed directly. “Yes. They hoard forbidden knowledge. If the Obsidian Authority existed, they would have records of it. But Siurad... it is a volcano. It is a haven for atrocity and sacrifice.”
'...ACCEPTABLE,' Obi cut in.
“He says acceptable,” Yona deadpanned.
“I figured,” Siurad muttered.
He looked left, toward the road that led to Silverspire. He imagined Valerius sitting in his high tower, counting gold. The urge to go there and finish it was a physical ache in his chest. But the logic of Obi and Yona was sound. If they died in Silverspire now, the children would never be truly safe.
“Fine,” Siurad groaned, the word tasting like ash. “You win. Both of you.”
He glared at the Ring. “We go north. We get the intel. But the second we’re done? We go to Silverspire.”
'...AGREED,' Obi pulsed, the ring cooling down to a smug, satisfied hum.
“North it is!” Yona chirped, pushing off the tree. “Volcanoes, cultists, and likely death. My favorite.”
She slapped Alexander on the back, nearly knocking the wind out of him. “Come on, Saint. Try to keep up. It’s two against one, majority rules.”
Alexander looked at the dark path leading toward the mountains, then back at the civilized road. He adjusted his glasses, sighing a sound of profound resignation.
“I was a scholar,” he muttered to himself as he trudged after them. “I organized scrolls. I dusted shelves. Now I am following a possessed lumberjack and a woman who argues with jewelry into a volcano.”
“I heard that,” Yona called back, a little too sharply.
'...MOVE FASTER, PRIEST,' Obi’s voice leaked out just enough for Siurad to relay it.
“He says move faster,” Siurad grunted.
Alexander groaned. “I hate this party.”
Siurad’s stomach let out a sound like a shifting tectonic plate.
“That sounded angry,” Yona remarked, not breaking her stride. She pointed a slender finger toward a patch of tall grass near a bubbling creek. “There’s a rabbit there. Fat one. I could snag it in three seconds.”
Siurad didn’t even look. “No.”
“No?” Yona raised an eyebrow. “I wasn’t aware we were dining à la carte, Your Highness. It’s food.”
“It’s a rat with better PR,” Siurad grumbled, adjusting his heavy cloak. “There’s no meat on them. I’m six-foot-four and wearing forty pounds of steel. I need a deer. A boar. Or a cow. I’m not eating a fuzzball.”
“Suit yourself,” Yona shrugged, the illusion of her human form rippling slightly as she suppressed a very fox-like urge to pounce. “But I don’t see any cows volunteering.”
“I’ll find something,” Siurad insisted. “I’m a man of the land. I was a lumberjack.”
“You hit trees with an axe,” Yona corrected. “Trees don’t run away. Or hide. Or have ears.”
For the next two hours, Siurad attempted to prove her wrong. It was a painful display.
Siurad possessed the stealth of a collapsing building. Every time he spotted movement in the brush, his heavy boots snapped a twig with the volume of a gunshot. He would freeze, hold his breath, and watch as a majestic buck or what might have been a majestic buck vanished into the deep woods long before he could even draw his sword.
But the universe, it seemed, had a sense of humor.
While all the large game vanished instantly, the rabbits were everywhere. They were mocking him. Siurad stepped over a log, and three rabbits scattered. He sat on a rock to rest, and a rabbit hopped out from under it. He glared into a bush, hoping for a pheasant, and found himself staring eye-to-black-beady-eye with a hare that looked remarkably unimpressed by his aura.
“It’s an infestation,” Siurad muttered, wiping sweat from his forehead. “Why are there so many?”
“They’re rabbits, Siurad,” Yona said, leaning against a tree and cleaning her fingernails with a dagger. “Reproduction is their only hobby.”
Meanwhile, Alexander was attempting to contribute in his own way.
“I believe I have found sustenance!” the Priest announced triumphantly, emerging from a thicket holding a handful of bright purple berries. “These appear similar to the Cloud-Berries we use in liturgical incense.”
Yona glanced at them. “Those are Wolf-Bane. Eat two, and your throat swells shut. Eat three, and your heart explodes.”
Alexander dropped the berries as if they were hot coals. “Ah. Right. Good to know.”
He wiped his hands on his white robes, leaving purple stains. “I... I recall reading about edible roots. Perhaps I can dig?”
He found a stick and began poking ineffectually at the hard-packed earth. After five minutes, he had managed to unearth a single, shriveled earthworm and a rock that looked vaguely like a potato.
Siurad watched this pitiful display, his hunger headache now throbbing behind his eyes.
'...PATHETIC,' Obi’s voice rumbled, loud enough for Yona to wince.
“He’s trying, Obi,” Yona muttered.
'...HE IS A LIABILITY,' the Ring pulsed, the violet light flashing with irritation. '...THE PRIEST HAS NO SURVIVAL PROTOCOLS. HE CANNOT HUNT. HE CANNOT FORAGE. HE CANNOT EVEN IDENTIFY BASIC TOXINS. HE IS A MANA BATTERY WITH LEGS….AND FAULTY LEGS AT THAT.'
“What’s he saying?” Alexander asked, looking up from his hole in the ground, sweat dripping down his nose. “Is he offering guidance?”
Siurad sighed, rubbing his temples. “He says... keep looking.”
'...I SAID HE IS USELESS!' Obi roared in their minds. '...IN THE AUTHORITY WE WOULD HAVE RECYCLED HIS BIOMASS FOR FUEL OR SERVITUDE. HE IS A DRAIN ON RESOURCES.'
“He’s a healer, Obi,” Siurad argued aloud, too tired to keep it internal. “He keeps us alive.”
'...HE FIXES DAMAGE HE HELPS CAUSE BY BEING SLOW,' Obi countered. '...LOOK AT HIM, HE IS AFRAID OF THE DIRT.'
It was true. Alexander was currently trying to brush the soil off his robes with frantic, fastidious movements, looking like a cat that had fallen into a bathtub.
“I’m sure I can be of assistance,” Alexander said, trying to regain some dignity. “Perhaps I can bless the hunt? A Prayer of Bounty?”
“Unless your prayer summons a cooked steak, save the mana,” Siurad grumbled.
Another rabbit hopped onto the path directly in front of Siurad. It stopped. It wiggled its nose. It began to nibble on a dandelion, completely unconcerned by the hulking figure looming over it.
Siurad stared at the rabbit. The rabbit chewed the flower.
“Fuck it,” Siurad exhaled, his shoulders slumping in defeat. “You win, nature.”
He looked at Yona. “Kill it. Kill them all.”
Yona grinned. It wasn't a nice grin. It was a predator's grin, sharp and terrifyingly fast. “Thought you’d never ask.”
Her hand moved in a blur. A dagger left her fingers, and the rabbit fell over without a sound.
Thirty minutes later, the smell of roasting meat filled the small clearing just off the road. Alexander sat on a log, looking a bit green as Yona skinned the third rabbit with expert, practiced efficiency.
“You have... done this before, Miss Yona?” Alexander asked faintly.
“Once or twice,” Yona said, slicing through a joint. “Out here you can't get picky, Saint. You learn to catch what you can.”
She handed a skewer of meat to Siurad, who took it gratefully, blowing on the hot surface.
“It’s gamey,” Siurad complained after the first bite, though he ate it ravenously. “Stringy.”
'...IT IS NUTRIENTS,' Obi lectured. '...STOP WHINING. THE FOX IS COMPETENT. THE PRIEST IS EATING OUR PROFITS.'
Alexander took his skewer tentatively. “I must apologize for my lack of contribution. The seminary did not cover wilderness survival. We focused mostly on theological debate and calligraphy.”
'...CALLIGRAPHY!' Obi’s voice dripped with disdain. '...WE ARE TRAVELING INTO A VOLCANO WITH A MAN WHO CAN WRITE PRETTY LETTERS. YOUR SURVIVAL ODDS ARE DROPPING.'
“He says it’s fine, Alexander,” Yona lied smoothly, taking a bite of a rabbit leg. “He says everyone has different talents.”
Alexander smiled weakly. “That is surprisingly charitable of the artifact. Thank you, Obi.”
The ring flashed violently.
'...DO NOT THANK ME FOR LIES, PARASITE.'
“Eat your rabbit, Alex,” Siurad mumbled around a mouthful of meat. “Before the jewelry gives itself a stroke.”