Chapter 13
Calamity
They’d been sent on a bloody fetch quest.
Despite the fact that The Varjo’s crew had nearly levelled them, Calamity and her friends were being asked to ignore that particular threat for now.
So far, the Adventurers Guild had been supportive of the investigation into The Twelve, but the new guild master – a small man named Ovinor Saudane – was less understanding.
He’d slunk in to them as they’d patched their wounds, claiming they’d drawn too much attention and needed to “earn their keep”.
He had explained that they were to retrieve a dangerous artefact known as the Shadowshard and return it to the Adventurers Guild, keeping it out of the hands of a powerful man, and, in the meantime, the guild would decide the best course of action against The Twelve.
“Who knows,” Saudane said, as the party grumbled and rolled their eyes, “maybe the artefact will be helpful.”
They’d been given next to no information about the artefact, only what it looked like – a black crystal shard, no bigger than a gold coin, on a delicate silvery chain – and who was rumoured to have it – a wealthy merchant named Elies Josse, famous for being near-permanently drunk.
With just these insights, they’d been sent to the city of Southhelm, four days’ ride away, which sat in the saddle of the mountains that divided the continent.
There had been a question of what to do with their newcomer.
Calamity had assumed Nashala would disappear or go back to Trulnuroth after the fight was over, but, when she didn’t, Saudane insisted that the party could use as much back-up as possible.
For now, it seemed the warrior was here to stay. Calamity didn’t trust her, though.
And she wasn’t just a warrior, it turned out. Nashala was only a bloody monk of Trulnuroth. Calamity hadn’t been around monks all that much – she didn’t run in those sorts of circles – but she’d always found them to be … well, buzzkills. And Nashala wasn’t exactly proving herself an exception.
“What I don’t understand,” Nashala said, as she sidled her chestnut-coloured mare up to Calamity’s bay gelding, “is how you could judge any pursuit to be worthier than serving your father.”
Calamity couldn’t help her sharp intake of breath – she still hadn’t addressed the whole “the Prince of Pandemonium is my dad” thing with her friends yet.
“Hmm, I don’t know,” she said, bringing her finger to her mouth in a show of consideration. “Maybe I don’t love the idea of bringing about an age of torment for the entire world?”
“The material plane is hardly the entire world,” Nashala said, snide with superiority. Which made sense, given that she was literally on a higher horse than Calamity. “Those whom Trulnuroth deems worthy will have a place in the new order.”
Calamity barked out a laugh. “The new order? Do you fucking hear yourself? We spend all our time trying to stop any kind of ‘new order’ from being established.”
“And how did you end up on such a path?” Nashala asked. “How – and why – did you remove yourself from Trulnuroth’s service?”
Calamity tried not to reel in astonishment that she’d been asked an actual question, instead focusing on the tiny waver in loyalty said question contained.
“I was never in his service to begin with,” she answered.
“My mother was just another soul wandering Pandemonium when she met Trulnuroth. When I was born, he bartered for us to return to the material plane, as long as she brought me back to see him once a year. Once I came of age, I didn’t see him at all until this last time. ”
She had never told anyone that story. Why was she telling Nashala now?
“And how did you come to be trapped in a totem?” she asked, figuring a question for a question was fair.
“The moment you stepped into the Astral Plane, I brought word of your imminent arrival to Trulnuroth.”
Calamity frowned. “You knew when I entered the Astral Plane?”
Nashala nodded. “He has eyes everywhere, your father. He knew why you were coming, and that you would need support. So he bound me then and there. I…” Nashala’s bravado wavered for a moment. “I didn’t expect to be in there for quite so long.”
Calamity blinked hard. “You felt the time pass?” she asked, incredulous.
Nashala didn’t offer an answer, but Calamity could see from the set of her face that she had, in fact, felt every second.
She couldn’t imagine what that must feel like – to be in stasis for months, just waiting to fulfil your purpose, powerless to do anything in the meantime.
It was her personal nightmare. She needed movement; freedom.
“I’m at home in my own mind,” Nashala said eventually. “It was no hardship, the stillness. I simply found my centre and maintained it. Though, I suppose someone as frenzied as you wouldn’t understand.”
Calamity rolled her eyes. She’d been called worse, but nothing quite so often as that. Frenzied, out of control, chaotic … calamitous, even.
“You’ll find,” Nashala said, “that a lack of self-control will make you all the more likely to fall into plots and onto paths you never intended to pursue.”
Calamity wondered if she was talking about The Twelve, this fetch quest, or even the prophecy. But she didn’t get a chance to clarify, because, like the enigma she was, Nashala trotted ahead to join the others before Calamity could ask any follow-up questions, leaving her in the dust.