Chapter 18 Unexpected Acquaintance #3
“Is that really what you wanted to do after you resigned from the Academy? You must be making pennies compared to what you were making. Why don’t you stay in the city awhile? I’m sure the Keep would find a place for you,” Olaf said.
“As nice as it would be to stop covering the same ground over and over, I made a deal with Cheyanne. I won’t go breaking my word to her for a job guarding an already protected castle with a host of highly trained warriors inside.”
“Ah, but that’s the beauty of this gig. Nothing comes after the Keep. And if it did, there’s a whole series of ancient dragonrider runes protecting us,” Olaf said, finally noticing Hardin standing behind his old friend. Olaf measured Hardin with a less than friendly eye.
“Anyway, this here is Hardin. He’s an honest lad looking to contract for some help with a little problem in his town back in Doran,” Ezra explained.
“Doran, you say? Why didn’t you go to Stormwatch for that?” Olaf asked Hardin.
“For the best, everyone knows you must come to the Vermillion Keep,” Hardin replied, somewhat flustered.
“Right about that. Well, you’ll need to hurry, if you want to submit your petition.
They’re just about to close out on the last of their contracts for the season.
Go to the castle now and maybe you’ll get a word in before they all sign.
They should still be gathered at the Great Hall.
Right straight through the main door. You can’t miss it. ”
Olaf gave Hardin a quick pat down and let him past. As he was leaving, Ezra offered the guard a cigar and said, “There’s a matter of importance I need to discuss with you know who about you know what.”
“Now?” Olaf said, Ezra’s response fading into the distance as Hardin made his way to the castle entrance.
Hardin stepped into the Grand Alcove. The passageway opened into the Great Hall like the throat of some magnificent beast. Paragons and Knights in surcoats bright as captured rainbows gathered.
Their house sigils, each stitched on with golden thread, marked their allegiances as clearly as branded flesh.
They moved between long tables overflowing with delicacies, their conversations reverberating off the vaulted ceiling.
Above them, candles hung in defiance of gravity, their flames dancing with unnatural colors that cast ever-shifting shadows across the assembled nobility.
Yogo sapphires adorned throats and fingers, each gem containing its own captured constellation of light, their blue depths holding slivers of a god’s power.
Hardin’s fingers found their position on his lute strings, the instrument wound tight with potential energy as he prepared to unleash a telling melody that would plead his case for a hero. But before he could strike the first note, the temperature plummeted.
A figure emerged from the shadows as if borne from them. The dark-haired man’s presence seemed to drain the warmth from Hardin’s surroundings, his body too thin, too angular to be entirely human. He positioned himself in the entrance like a gatekeeper of the underworld.
“What are you doing?” The words slithered from his lips.
“I need to get in there. If you’d move, I’ll be—”
A wave of cold magic pulsed from the figure, making the air ripple between them. “You can’t go in there. This hall is reserved for the honored warriors of the Vermillion Keep. They do not require any services from a bard. This meeting is strictly business.”
“That’s why I’m here. I need to hire a Knight.”
“No. I’m afraid you can’t. That isn’t how things are done at the Keep anymore.”
“Excuse me, but who are you?” Hardin said.
“I am Joc, the Archmagus Hierro De Vonte’s apprentice. But what I want to know is who you are and how you got in here?” said the demonic-looking man countered.
“If I could just speak with General Ashbrook for a moment,” Hardin said, seeing the woman in the background speaking to a Knight in a light blue surcoat. “General Ashbrook,” he called out loud enough for his voice to catch her attention.
General Ashbrook looked over at them. The mage nodded to her, then wrapped his arm around Hardin and pulled him surprisingly forcefully for what his frame suggested was possible, out of view from the Great Hall. The doors shut without anyone touching them.
“Get your hands off me,” Hardin said, resisting the tall man’s attempt to control him.
“I don’t think you know who you’re addressing,” Joc said.
“Some puffed-up wizard with a complex about who can go into the castle Great Hall. I was admitted by the security guards and the wards. I’m not here to harm anyone.
I’m here to seek a contract with a Knight.
It is my right to petition the Keep and let them decide if they want to accept my offer,” Hardin said.
“Some puffed-up wizard,” Joc repeated through clenched teeth.
The alcove darkened. The sunken pits of the man’s eyes grew deeper for an instant before he regained his composure.
“I will have you know that I am the right hand to one of the most powerful among the Magi Order. The Archmagus and I were sent by his Majesty, King Agadorn himself, to oversee the goings on in this Keep. When I tell you Lord De Vonte is no longer doing business with private, third-party contracts, then it is law. No Knight will contract with you as they are all on assignment now to serve the King and the best interests of Lamar.”
“The negotiations are still ongoing, are they not? It is my right,” Hardin insisted.
“Are you a citizen of Lamar?” Joc asked.
“I am a human in need.”
“You are not a citizen of Lamar, are you?” Joc countered.
“I hail from Doran.”
“Lamar’s Keeps no longer contract out to protect or fight for any group or domain outside our kingdom.
If one did work for you in Doran, they would be voiding their right to serve as a Knight for any of Lamar’s Keeps and they would forfeit any chance they might have of rising to the title and rank of Paragon.
You wouldn’t have been able to contract with a Knight even if you had arrived on time,” Joc said.
He took Hardin by the shoulders and pushed him from the castle.
“This isn’t justice. I must speak to General Ashbrook or the Archmagus Hierro De Vonte,” Hardin insisted.
“Be gone with you Doranian minstrel,” Joc said.
Just then the doors to the hall opened. A man dressed in dark robes similar to Joc but older and more skeletal walked out with General Ashbrook at his side. The two looked with concern at Joc. Hierro asked, “Is everything okay out here?”
“I was just informing this Doranian that he is unable to petition for a contract to hire a Knight or potential Paragon from this or any other Keep in Lamar,” Joc said.
“Right you are,” Hierro said.
“If you would just hear my story. Thorgan the Relentless cursed our—”
“Did you say Thorgan, as in the Northern mage who has proclaimed himself the Warlock King of Doran?” General Ashbrook asked, now engaged.
“Yes, he’s placed our town under a horrible curse,” Hardin said.
“Good work, Joc,” General Ashbrook confirmed. “We’re not going to allow smut like these lies be heard in our halls. Thorgan was defeated long ago.”
“Did you call me a liar?” Hardin asked, incredulous.
“I know you are lying for two reasons. First, Tel Roan killed Thorgan twelve years ago. He lost his Squire in the fight. And second, if you truly were cursed, you wouldn’t have made it this far.
You couldn’t have told us. Curses cast without precautions like that aren’t curses, they’re hexes and for that you can go to any warlock to be cured. Now be gone and don’t come back.”
“But,” Hardin said as they retreated into the Hall, the doors sealing with a magi’s touch.
“You heard them. Leave now or the guard will escort you out,” Joc said. An instant later something invisible caught his attention and he peeled away, his dark cloak billowing out as he stalked down the hallway.
With dashed hopes, Hardin left the Keep. Heartbroken, defeated, and confused, he retreated to the gatehouse where Ezra waited with Olaf, sweet cigar smoke curling lazily around them.
“That was quick. Must have gone well for you,” Ezra said. His almost-smile fading to a frown upon looking more closely at the young man.
Hardin stopped at the edge of the bridge and stared out across Astral City.
He wanted to answer Ezra’s question but something far more pressing had arisen.
A dragon appeared like a falling star, its scales reflecting the sunlight and throwing it back a thousandfold.
It flared out, speeding fast over the city.
“What’s wrong, lad?” Ezra asked.
Hardin’s trembling finger pointed out the beast’s descent as it plummeted toward the city below.
The dragon’s riderless form moved with vengeful purpose.
It crashed into the buildings, the resulting impact sent a ripple through the wards at the Keep.
The collision point erupted in a maelstrom of splintered wood, shattered stone, and fractured enchantments.